Fighting Gravity

by Julie Adams

  I had been doing so well. But that was before pure temptation was in the picture and refusing to step out of it. And all I could think about was how much I'd like to tumble into bed and forget everything for a little while.

  The cafe is packed as it always is around lunch. And even though it's cold, every table is filled outside. I don't spot Nathan so I go inside.

  Glancing around I still don't see him. Maybe he's running late.

  All the seats are occupied and the mass of people is making me a little anxious. I skirt to the side of the room near the counter. Planting my back against the wall so I can see everything around me. Breathe. Just breathe.

  Before I can check the time again Nathan comes in. Dressed in a form-fitting black cashmere sweater and black slacks. His brown hair is tousled just enough to be natural. He's so handsome it hurts.

  I'm not the only one who notices, a group of schoolgirls is admiring him in innocent awe. Prince Charming has arrived.

  He searches for me, a little furrow between his brows when he doesn't see me.

  I pull myself away from the wall and walk towards him. He sees me now. His brow smooths and his full lips pull up into a grin. “Afternoon,” He says his accent enough to make me want to moan.

  Rein it in. Rein it in.

  “Hello,” I say hoping I sound normal. He doesn't say anything, his gaze skims down my outfit and I know that I made a good choice.

  It makes me feel giddy when he looks me over, his eyes going hazy. To be noticed by a man who's being noticed by everyone else is intoxicating.

  “There's nowhere to sit, we may have to go somewhere else,” I say gesturing at the tables around us.

  “Nonsense. Come.” He nods his head for me to follow. Curious, I do.

  Nathan goes up to the counter where to-go orders are placed. I'm standing a few feet behind him and with the noise of the crowd I can't hear what he says. But the gentleman behind the counter nods.

  He must be placing an order to-go and we'll eat somewhere else.

  The man grabs two menus and comes from behind the counter. “Follow me, Monsieur, Madam.” He gestures with a tilt of his graying head.

  I look at Nathan, even more curious. He only grins and shrugs. “After you,” He says letting me step in front of him.

  I follow the man as we weave around the tables of guests and down a little hall that leads to the bathrooms and storage.

  Now I'm getting iffy. I'm curious but I draw the line at bathroom dining.

  The man takes a left and I can see up a dimly lit staircase. Looks like we won't be eating in the restroom after all.

  I follow him up the narrow, steep staircase, the steps groaning and creaking as we go.

  At the top of the staircase is a long hall, lit by pretty shaded sconces. A pale blue and gold rug runs nearly the length of it, stopping at a wall with a table, on top of which is a vase of flowers. On either side of it is doors.

  The man opens one and stands aside and holds out an arm, gesturing me to go inside. “Please, please,”

  Apprehensive I glance back at Nathan. “If this ends with me being some cautionary tale about naive American girls in foreign places, I'll come back from the grave and haunt you.” I warn.

  Nathan smirks. “You have my word that you won't end up as a television movie.”

  I nod as if to say, that's right.

  At the threshold of the room, I can see it's brightly lit by floor to ceiling windows, their shutters open for the day allowing in cool spring light. The floors are hardwood with faded vintage looking rugs here and there.

  To the right is a sitting area of plush white couches surrounding a giant stone fireplace above which another priceless antique gilded mirror hangs. To the left is a small cafe table near the window, its surface has a few scratches but it's been polished to a gleam. Two overstuffed sitting chairs sit on either side.

  The man pulls out a chair. “Mademoiselle,”

  I sit. This wasn't what I was expecting at all. This room is so elegant and comfortable. Other than electricity I see no other modern convenience. It's like being in old Paris. If it wasn't for the dull hum of traffic below.

  And it's so private. My anxiety slowly coming down now that I'm away from the chaos of downstairs.

  Nathan sits across from me and the man puts down our menus. “Drinks?” He asks.

  I order a latte and a glass of water. Nathan orders coffee and sparkling water. Then the man leaves giving us a few moments to look over the menu. I'm so drawn to the view outside that I don't even touch it. The beautiful blue-gray rooftops of Paris with their chimneys billowing puffs of smoke. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower proudly stands.

  “Will they make a cautionary tale about lunch in Paris?” Nathan asks.

  “No, but they should. This room and this view is amazing.” I say looking at him.

  He smiles, happy. “This is a private room for important guests. But mostly it's used by the owner to read and eat in peace.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “My mother had a lot of friends. They think fondly of her and I guess of me by association.” His tone is light but I can hear the tightening of his vocal cords. Just the slightest change in his voice telling me it hurts to talk about her.

  “Thank you, for bringing me here,” I say. “It will be one of my favorite memories of Paris.”

  “Good. I'm glad to hear it.” The tension is out of his voice. He flips open a napkin and places it on his lap just in time for our drinks to be delivered. Mine is frothy and steaming and the smell of chocolate and coffee makes my mouth water.

  I take a quick glance at the menu while Nathan chats with the gentleman. I order a croque monsieur with salad and Nathan goes for Steak Frites.

  The only thing about this room is without the sound of music or chatter of other patrons the silence is especially pronounced. Especially between two people who hardly know each other.

  “The artists you've sent me have been good, but not exactly what I'm looking for at the moment,” Nathan says, and I sense he isn't sure what to talk about either. So he dives right into what we're supposed to be here for.

  “From your label’s website I thought they might be a good fit, they have a similar style without being the exact same artists.”

  “Yes, and that's good. But not what I want, I want the branch out with the label. Move away from the R&B and pop a little bit.”

  I raise a brow over my mocha. “But that's what's selling right now.”

  “Yes, and that's why I signed those kinds of artists in the past, they've made me a good profit and have gotten both my label and studio into completely new territory. But now I want something less mainstream, something unique.”

  I nod. “I think I know what you're looking for, something soulful, something emotive and transportive... toned down and raw just about the voice.”

  He nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! That's what none of my scouts have gotten so far. I want something that goes straight into your bones and causes a reaction.” His eyes are bright as he talks about the music. Full of fire and passion I don't think I've ever seen another person have. It's exciting being the one he shares this with.

  “I'll change my criteria and see what I find.”

  “Okay. I knew talking to you in person would be better than email. There are some things that you can't get across with a screen between you.” He looks at me, growing calm. Almost hesitating. “Some things have to be experienced in the flesh.” He murmurs and just that sentence goes right through me and to the bone, just like the music he had been talking about.

  I want him. No doubt about it. I want to spread out in his bed while he fucks me slow and hard, our bodies making music that feeds the soul. I can feel my breathing change as I picture it. I think he notices, his eyes drifting to the neck of my shirt and the bare skin above it. It makes my heart thrum faster.

  His gaze flicks up to mine, his hazel eyes going
as smoky as quartz and I swear he's thinking the same thing I am. And I am ready for it. For him.

  He opens his mouth, but before he can speak the stairs squeak as a waiter brings our food.

  The moment is gone but the effect of it is not. I squeeze my thighs together.

  We eat and talk about music and Paris. We talk a little about each other but keep it on the surface, not drifting too far into dangerous waters.

  He was born and raised in Paris, went to prep school in England and then college. He wasn't self-made, he got an inheritance from his mother and stepfather when they passed, that entailed money and several businesses relating to music. He combined them to create his studio and indie label, both named Blue Holiday. He was single and dedicated to his work.

  I told him a little about myself. That I'm from Indiana, that I went to a two-year college for an associate degree in English. I'm working at the the theater. That I'm also unattached.

  It wasn't a lot of information but it felt like it, these days telling someone my birthdate seemed as personal as giving my social security number. But this was part of the process, learning to let someone in again. Trusting that not everyone had some secret agenda.

  He stares at me, studying me. And I can't help but stare back.

  At last he speaks, and I realize I've been holding my breath. “We've been here nearly two hours and have talked nonstop. Still, I feel like you've told me very little about yourself.”

  “There's not much to tell,” It's a white lie. Of course, there's more. How can he see through all I've said?

  “Tell me something no one else knows about you,” He leans forward in his seat and with his height, he's halfway across the table.

  I stare at him, unsure if he's being serious. This conversation has taken a turn. He wants to know more and it's scary because I want to tell him more.

  I think of the most innocent thing I can say, something that no one else knows but is still safe. “I write poetry. I don't know if it's any good, it just feels good to write. That's something no one else knows.”

  He smiles, it's soft and the feeling it gives me is like being slipped into warm silk. “I bet it's good,” He says quietly.

  Has the air in the room changed? Become warmer?

  “What makes you say that?” I ask.

  “You have a way with words, you're quick with them. A good person to banter with.”

  “Basically, you're saying I'm a smartass?”

  He grins. “I like it. You keep me agile mentally. You're challenging.”

  Now it's my turn to laugh and try to control the blush I feel beneath my skin.

  I want to think of something clever to say, some way to compliment him back without being overly flirty. But for my supposed ”quick wit”, I can think of nothing.

  “Tell me something no one knows about you,” I say to fill the silence, it sounds flirty and I feel foolish for the way it comes out like I was trying to channel Jessica Rabbit.

  “There's a lot people don't know about me,” His gaze is intense, his eyes going dark. I expect him to laugh, who can say that sentence with that look and be serious?

  Obviously, he can. He doesn't laugh, his eyes sweep over me quickly. A chill goes through me. If he can do that with a look, what can he do with a touch?

  “But, I'll tell you anything you want to know, just ask.” He says and I can practically feel his voice vibrating through the air and caressing me in all the right places.

  I can't find my breath to answer. Damn it. I cringe at myself, I'm not nearly young or naive enough to be this way.

  “I can't think of anything, but I will and I'm holding you to an answer.”

  “You have my word. Now,” he leans forward his elbows on the table. “When do I get to see your poetry?”

  I sit my drink down quickly shaking my head. “No, I write to clear my head, I'm not showing anyone my words. Ever.”

  “I want to see, I work in music but I also really enjoy it. And lyrics are just poetry. I want to see.”

  “No. That's a firm no.” He sticks out his bottom lip his eyes playful. “No.” I laugh.

  "We'll see." His eyebrows quirk as he challenges me.

  "Mmm," I reply sitting back and crossing my arms. He'll see just how stubborn I can be.

  Eight

  Nathan

  On the way back to the office, all I can think about is Lily. Every movement, every word. With just a look that woman had the power to undo me. The banter only added to my arousal. I wanted to lunge across the table and grab her, grasp handfuls of her dark hair while my lips devoured hers. I wondered what she would taste like. I shift in my seat. I'm not sure the driver would be flattered by the nine-inches tenting my trousers.

  Damn it. Control yourself.

  This is all going to come crashing down on me. As soon as she discovers the truth. I know more about her than I should. I could end up in jail if she ever found out how. And the press would have a fucking field day with it.

  I should walk away now. Put it all behind me. But I can't, I've never met anyone like her. Something about her makes me feel like I haven't felt in years. With her I don't feel alone. With her I feel as if I met my equal. She looks at me and doesn't see my wealth and connections.

  But what does she see?

  There was a flash in her eyes for a brief moment today, her eyes hooding and filling with lust. That was good, it was a start. A start that I was good at, I knew enough about sex and seduction to write books, plural.

  It takes three days for her to contact me. In those three days, I had become irritable and distracted. I wasn't happy about it either. It was out of character. I may have inherited my business and fortune, but I made damn sure I was worthy of it. I worked hard and with dedication. I could tell my closest colleagues noticed my performance today.

  I was going to have to escalate this. If I could find release maybe I could get back to work at my usual level.

  The trouble was the only woman who could make me aroused was Lily. And I wasn't up for faking it with someone else, it would only be disappointing. Or worse non-functioning.

  So here I am reading her text message and planning how I can make this night into something more than business.

  Lily: I think I found what you’re looking for. Live show tonight if you want to see first hand.

  I can't type “Yes.” fast enough. Every part of me hums at the thrill of seeing her again. I'm like a damn schoolgirl with her first crush. It isn't a good look on me. I'm a grown man with plenty of experience, a business to run and this is the first time someone has gotten to me like this. The only feeling that comes close to this is my obsession was music.

  My phone vibrates and there’s the address to the venue. I know it. It’s a small place, for intimate shows. The kind of place where there the lighting is low and with a permanent haze, and the music thrumming through you from the speakers. It was the kind of place where you could get away with anything in the dark corners. And I was thinking of all the ways I could use that to my advantage.

  The day drags by, a tedious meeting followed by a phone conferences. I leave as soon as my appointments are checked off. Something I rarely do, but I want to get myself together for tonight. Pull out all the stops as far as my appearance goes.

  Freshly showered and shaved I put on a spray of cologne. Black jeans and soft cotton dress shirt under a sleek black blazer. I look good but unpresumptuous.

  The car ride takes forever, a crowd already forming on the sidewalk when I get to the venue. Getting out of the car I notice the night is unseasonably warm, quite the change from the cold of yesterday.

  I’m making my way towards the entrance when a mass of dark curls stops me in my tracks. My eyes trail down the figure, silky blush blouse tucked primly into a cream-colored skirt and toned tan legs leading to pink satin peep-toe shoes that look like they belong in the bedroom. Preferably on the floor of mine.

  Lily turns and when s
he spots me her full lips part into a big grin. More than just American politeness, this is a grin like she's actually happy to see me. I like to think I’m the only one she smiles at like this.

  Her eyes drift over me. Lingering a bit. I feel good beneath her gaze, confident. “Hi, how are you?” She asks. Very polite and impersonal, the complete opposite of her eyes.

  “I’m good. And you?”

  “Excited to see the show.” Her eyes sparkle and I bet I could see them sparkle even in the dark.

  “You look amazing,” I have to get away from the business manners we’re using. I’m not going to get anywhere if we’re acting like we’re in a boardroom.

  She grins again, like I made her night, but surely she has to know how gorgeous she is right now. How every man is looking at her, even those attached are sneaking side glances. “Thank you.”

  “I hope you don’t get me into trouble tonight,”

  She laughs and shakes her head making those styled curls bounce. “Let’s go in before all the good spots are taken.” She turns to go inside and I follow, watching every sway of her body as she goes.

  Inside is just as I remembered it from my teenage years of coming to see local bands and sneak alcohol with my friends.

  It’s crowded, mostly couples. Lily moves between them with ease, she’s clearly a pro at navigating concert crowds. Unfortunately, I’m out of practice, I watch most shows from beside the stage or in an audience box.

  To avoid losing her, I place a hand on her lower back and she stiffens for a moment as if I shocked her. She looks over her shoulder and seeing it’s me she relaxes, leading me deeper into the crowd. Into her web.

  She stops at a place just to the right of the stage, it’s not as densely packed here. And we’re in one of those dark corners I’ve been fantasizing about. Sadly, I don’t think she’d appreciate me enacting any of those fantasies just yet.

  “This is the best place at any concert.” She breathes. I can see the excitement written all over her.

  “I agree.” Is all I can say as I watch her, she stares at the stage as if she can will the act to appear. My hand is still on her back and she’s nearly resting against me, I don’t think she realizes it.