French Kissed

by Chanel Cleeton

  I was pretty sure I’d say yes to anything she suggested. I wanted to get to know her better, wanted to know all of her, and the promise of her was there, dangling in front of me. I’d take it any way I could get it. Take her any way I could get her.

  “I want to date you.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could rein them in.

  She blinked.

  “I think we should take things slowly,” I continued. “Get to know each other. No pressure.”

  It seemed really optimistic to suggest taking things slowly when the second I touched her I seemed to lose my mind, but it also felt too important to rush things with her. Whatever she said about not wanting to talk about her past, it was obvious that it still weighed on her. I’d rather give her time to sort things out, time to decide what she felt about me, rather than take things too far too fast and ruin whatever real shot I had in the process.

  I could do slow. It just might kill me first.

  “So we’re going on dates?” She said the word like it was a foreign concept.

  I grinned. “That’s the plan. We can shake things up and study together once in a while, too. Work on project finance. It’ll be fun. Promise.”

  Her lips curved, her smile blinding. “Okay.”

  And just like that, I was dating Fleur Marceaux.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Fleur

  I wasn’t sure how it had happened. One minute I was helping Max buy a suit, the next minute we were dating. Okay, maybe I had some idea. The kiss in the dressing room had helped a lot. The way he’d talked to me at the restaurant afterward had helped more.

  As crazy as it was, the boy who’d once thought I was an ice queen had sat across from me and looked at me like he saw me in a way that no one else had. He was a force to be reckoned with in a completely different way than anyone I’d ever known before.

  It had been a week since we’d started dating, and I was slowly figuring him out.

  He wasn’t cocky or aggressive, just determined. He left me with no doubt that he knew exactly what he wanted, and for some crazy, nearly inexplicable reason besides the obvious physical one, it appeared he wanted me. And something about Max told me that he wasn’t the kind of guy to hook up with a girl just because she was hot. There was more there. I just didn’t know what I had to give.

  “What do you think I should get her?”

  I turned my attention away from the eternal puzzle that was Max, and focused back on Samir. We were out shopping for Maggie’s one-year-anniversary gift. It was cute¸ if not a little funny how nervous he was.

  We’d gone to Selfridges today to make the trip work with Samir’s class schedule. We’d been here for three hours now, taken a break for coffee, and Samir still hadn’t come up with anything. I was beginning to understand how Max felt when I’d dragged him shopping.

  “How about a purse?” I suggested for what felt like the tenth time. “Or a dress? I’m taller, but she’s borrowed enough of my outfits for me to have an idea of what would fit her.”

  “It’s not special enough,” Samir replied.

  I groaned. “For the love of god, pick something. Nothing has been special enough. Maggie’s standards are not that difficult. You could get her a T-shirt and she would love it. I get that you want to buy her something nice, and it’s sweet, really, but this is ridiculous. Gift or not, I’m bailing in an hour.”

  “I want it to be special,” he grumbled.

  I rolled my eyes. “I get that. You’ve told me like a dozen times. But I don’t know what that means.”

  “That’s the problem. Neither do I,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  “What about jewelry?” I suggested, trying to get my impatience in check. I pulled out my phone for what felt like the hundredth time today and scanned my texts. Nothing from Max. Today was his big interview with the investment bank that was at the top of his list. If he did well, he would advance to another interview, and then hopefully another one after that, and then a job offer.

  “Earth to Fleur.” Samir waved his hand in front of my face.

  “Sorry. Distracted.”

  Samir wrapped his arm around me, pulling me over to the jewelry section. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. What’s up with your constant need to check your phone?”

  Part of me wanted to tell him about Max. But he was also Samir, and he was overprotective as hell. Plus, he hadn’t been crazy about George, so I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d think I was just making the same mistake again with Max. But I wasn’t, and unlike with George, I knew I liked Max. So I told him.

  “I’m waiting for Max to text me and tell me how his job interview went.”

  He looked confused, like he was trying to place the name Max and figure out why it was coming out from my lips. And then he froze.

  “Not again.”

  I shook my head. “It’s different this time.”

  “How? Aren’t they friends? Jesus, Fleur.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they’re the same person.” I laughed. “Maggie and I are best friends. Would you say we have the same personality?”

  His lips quirked. “True.” He sighed. “So after everything with George, this is what you want?”

  I nodded.

  “And you’re not just with him because he’s a safe, boring guy?”

  I almost felt an urge to laugh. Of all the words I would have used to describe Max, boring was a joke. Not after that kiss in the dressing room. Not after I’d gone home and lain in bed, unable to sleep, that kiss running over and over in my mind, my body craving his.

  “He’s not boring at all. He’s kind of amazing, actually.”

  Samir’s eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t he the guy responsible for the whole Ice Queen nickname? I thought you hated him.” His gaze was pointed. “I thought he hated you.”

  “Yes, and no, and no.” My lips curved. “We’re taking things slow, casually dating.” I hesitated. “I thought I’d bring him with me to your little anniversary party in a few weeks.”

  Samir had booked a dinner at Maggie’s favorite Lebanese restaurant for the two of them and rented a table at Babel for all of us to celebrate after. It was all a surprise.

  Samir shook his head, a smile playing at his mouth. “Maggie’s going to love this. Especially since he’s American.”

  I laughed. “Who would’ve thought we’d both start dating Americans?”

  Samir grinned. “I did set the trend first. Clearly, you had to copy me.”

  I elbowed him. “You’re such an ass. You’re lucky she’ll have you,” I teased.

  “I am,” he answered, his voice completely serious. He walked over to one of the jewelry racks and bent over, looking at some necklaces in a glass display case. When his head lifted up, he studied me.

  “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

  It was a simple question, and yet it did funny things to my heart.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  A ghost of a smile slid across his face. “Good.”

  ###

  We settled on a vintage-style flower pendant from Tiffany. It was elegant, beautiful, and classic. She’d love the necklace, and I loved the look on Samir’s face when he bought it for her. I gave it a year or two, tops, before they were engaged. I was definitely picking out the ring, and when I told him so, he just shot me a knowing smile.

  “Do you want to get dinner?” Samir asked as we walked out of Selfridges. “I’m in a sushi mood. We could go to Nobu.”

  I pulled my phone out again. Still nothing.

  I shrugged. “I told you. I’m waiting to hear from Max.”

  “You can’t do that while we eat? I’m starving.”

  “I thought he might want to celebrate after his interview.”

  Samir blinked. “You’re totally gone over this guy.”

  I kind of was. Maybe I’d taken advantage of the cooler weather to change into leather pants that made my ass look amazing. And maybe I was wearing one of my favorite black tops, and a long blac
k coat, and my stiletto-heeled boots. Maybe I’d spent an hour on my hair and makeup on the off chance that Max would want to celebrate.

  “Yes.”

  Samir shook his head. “I will never get it.”

  “We didn’t get off to a great start; I’m not going to deny that. But he makes me smile, and he makes me laugh. And he’s really smart. We’re partners in Project Finance, and we’re actually working together. He listens when I talk and doesn’t just blow off my ideas.”

  I didn’t add the rest, like how when he kissed me I felt fireworks inside my body, spreading throughout my limbs, or how when he looked at me, I felt special. I didn’t add that he made me feel alive, either.

  I was still enough of the old me to be embarrassed by that shit, and Samir, despite his relationship with Maggie, was still enough of the old Samir to probably be freaked out by me saying it. So I didn’t. I just squeezed his hand and gave him what I hoped was my most reassuring smile.

  “I know what I’m doing this time. Promise.”

  “Okay. But he should know, if he hurts you, I’m going to kick his ass.”

  I laughed. I loved Samir, but Max had to have like forty pounds and several inches on him. “I’ll pass that message along,” I teased.

  He rolled his eyes. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before you completely destroy my ego.”

  ###

  Max

  I wasn’t sure I could feel my limbs, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t keep this stupid smile off my face. I’d made it to the next round.

  I’d made it to the next fucking round.

  I barely resisted the urge to jump, or scream, or do something to release the adrenaline pounding through my body.

  I’d been so nervous walking into the interview, and then it was like something had clicked, and a sense of calm had settled over me. I didn’t know if it was the suit, or Fleur’s words rubbing off on me—Of course you’re going to get a job in finance—but when I’d walked into that office, I’d believed it.

  This was it. Everything I’d worked for. This job was the chance to pay back my student loans, but more than anything, it was my shot at a real future, my opportunity to not have to run back to Chicago as a failure, the chance to silence the doubts that had run through my head every time my parents looked at me like I was crazy for aiming so high. Sure, the competition would only get steeper as I advanced, but at least it was something—the foot in the door I so desperately needed.

  I wanted to tell Fleur.

  I pulled out my phone, still not used to the idea that I had Fleur Marceaux’s number in my phone.

  I was a nerdy guy from a nondescript suburb outside of Chicago whose future ten years ago had seemed like my father’s: a boring job I’d eventually grow to hate, a couple kids I’d barely know, a wife I’d know even less, a house and car whose payments would cause a monthly fight and a permanent tightness around my mouth and eyes.

  Not anymore.

  I lived in London. I’d just advanced to the next round in one of the most competitive investment banking programs in the world. And the hottest girl I’d ever seen, a girl who could make me laugh at the drop of a hat and made everything seem like an adventure, a girl I was completely and totally falling for, wanted me.

  I wasn’t sure how this had become my life, but all I could do was be thankful for the fact that it was. And pray I didn’t do anything to fuck it up.

  I found her number and sent off a quick text.

  I made it to the next round!

  She responded immediately, and my smile spread even wider as I read her message.

  Yes! Congratulations! Celebrating?

  I wanted to see her. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted everything.

  Yes :) Leaving Canary Wharf now.

  Her text came a minute later.

  Meet me at the bar at the Park Lane Hilton. Mist. Drinks on me for the big, hotshot banker. xxxx

  I grinned.

  Sounds like a plan xxxx

  I figured I’d let her buy me one drink. The money thing between us was a little awkward. Obviously, she had way more of it than I did, and we both knew it. I worked summers, and normally during the school year, although this semester the courses I needed for graduation pretty much made it impossible to do so. And I had my student-loan money, although I’d tried to limit what I took out to what I needed to pay for books, the balance of my tuition, and room and board.

  Fleur was champagne, and Ferraris, and shoes that cost more than my parents’ monthly mortgage payment. I didn’t want her paying for me. Didn’t want her to feel like I was someone she had to take care of. Maybe I couldn’t afford big nights out like Costa had been able to, but dates were on me.

  I took the Tube, transferring to the Piccadilly line at Green Park, trying to fight off the mad crush of rush hour commuting. If I got this job, I’d be in London for the foreseeable future. Given the long hours I’d be working, I figured I’d let an apartment in Canary Wharf to be near work. A place that was nice but small, maybe find a roommate from the trainee program. I wanted something comfortable that would help me save money for the next few years so I could pay off my student loans, start saving up to buy a place of my own someday. Start saving up for the life I wanted.

  And wasn’t it just ironic, that after I’d been the one who’d said we should take things slow, that when I thought of my future, the first person who came to mind was Fleur. Coming home to her after a long day of work and talking about our days. Curling up beside her in bed and watching her sleep. I’d been fantasizing about Fleur for so long now, I wasn’t surprised by how much I wanted her—I’d wanted her for years—but I was surprised by how the sexual fantasies had shifted to images of holding her hand, going out on dates with her, or just having her in my arms.

  ###

  I got off the Tube at Hyde Park Corner and started walking toward the Park Lane Hilton.

  The hotel was impossible to miss. Its modern architecture stood out in this part of London that was still largely ruled by tradition. It jutted into the landscape proudly, the building lit up in the darkening night sky. I was more “casual pub” than “flashy bar,” but dressed in the suit Fleur had picked out, it felt like the perfect place to be.

  Mist wasn’t big. The ceilings were low, the room all sharp angles. The bar was black with some metallic accents and flashy lights. Mellow house music played from the speakers. It couldn’t have been more different from my favorite pub, with its peeling paint, the constant smell of cider and fish and chips, and the sound of people yelling at whatever football match was playing.

  And then I saw her, and my heart fucking stopped. I could have been in Borneo for all I noticed my surroundings.

  As usual, she was dressed to kill. Sexy black top. Black leather pants that were about to give me a heart attack. Black boots . . .

  Christ.

  As usual, the first punch was sexual. I’d just come to accept that it was just Fleur. It was a part of her—a big part. The most noticeable part but not the best part. It would be easy to look at her and just see the sexiness.

  And it would be the biggest mistake. Because for as hot as she was, the thing that was the most blinding wasn’t her clothes, or her body, or her hair.

  It was her smile.

  She beamed at me. I’d never seen her smile like that for anyone, and I would crawl across broken glass on bare hands and knees to keep that smile to myself always.

  She walked toward me, hips swaying, hair swishing. She looked like she had a wind machine going as she walked, maybe even her own soundtrack, and I still couldn’t look away from that smile.

  She didn’t stop before she reached me, instead she pressed her body against mine and wrapped her arms around my neck until our mouths fused together. Our tongues tangled, and I forgot everything but the feel of her and the shape of her lips.

  Fuck falling. I’d fallen.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Fleur

  Max Tucker shouldn’t be allowed to wear a
suit. It was overwhelming for women at large. Wasn’t fair to other men who could never measure up, either.

  I’d been wrong when I’d said Max didn’t have swagger. So wrong. He had swagger, it was just his own brand of it, completely different from anything I’d ever known.

  Mine.

  There was something about him standing in front of me in that suit. He didn’t seem to notice, his gaze had been searching for me, but when he’d walked through the bar, people had noticed him. Women had noticed him. And some possessive, jealous streak I hadn’t even known I had pushed me to claim him.

  He stood there like a warrior who had just come back from battle. Maybe his armor was an exquisite classic black suit and the white dress shirt I’d pushed aside as I’d kissed down his stomach in a cramped dressing room, and maybe his battle was a chance at one of the most prestigious jobs in finance, but there was still something primal that the sight of him evoked in me.

  I was proud of him, and so happy, and three seconds away from wrapping my legs around his waist, and I didn’t even care who saw.

  I kissed him, instead.

  I kissed him as though my life depended on it, as though it was the last kiss we’d ever have, when really, this felt like the beginning of everything. I kissed him because I had to put this feeling bubbling up inside of me somewhere. So I gave it to him with my mouth, and my hands, and my body.

  Max took the gift and returned it in spades.

  His hands played at my waist, gripping and stroking, one hand sliding under my shirt and fitting in the small of my back, yanking me even closer to him. It was not a public kiss. It was a private let’s-fuck kiss, and right now the last thing I wanted was slow.

  He broke away first, still holding my body to his. His head brushed against my hair, his lips teasing my ear. I shuddered and my nipples pebbled.

  “One night I’m going to have you in my bed wearing nothing but those boots,” he half whispered, half growled.