I’d kissed a total stranger. Here I was on the second floor of one of those places people call romantic and finally tasted a real man. Clearly, every ex was a frog, and I’d gone through too many of those. I glanced at the elevator to continue my journey now.
My skin buzzed. Hopefully, my brain wasn’t fried, and I’d get back on track. My feet shuffled, and I headed toward the second bank and handed over my ticket.
As I soared higher in the sky, it was like I was shooting straight into the heavens in a glass bubble.
Part of me whispered, be terrified but the threat fell flat. I couldn’t be. Until the doors opened and instantly my body zipped again as I made my way and caught sight of Mr. Wanker.
He handed me a glass of champagne and said, “Je pensais que mon ange ne venait pas. Je suis content d'avoir eu tort.”
“I don’t speak French.” I glanced at his hand and saw no ring on it, not that it was a surefire way of assuring myself he was actually single.
I sipped and quickly swept his marital status to the side. I wasn’t looking for more. In the morning, I’d leave for Italy. Paris had been a one-day stopover, nothing more.
“I’ve not spoken English in Paris before,” he said while he stood close enough to touch. The “en” sounded more like “in” which made me pause, but I let it go.
My heart pounded as I raised my eyebrow. “You do sound sweet talking with that French though.”
His lips curved, and a dimple appeared that made those dark eyes sparkle. “Oui. I speak a dozen languages, mais tes yeux bleus me hanteront jusqu'à mon dernier souffle.”
I didn’t understand, but my face flushed anyhow. If he continued speaking and making my panties twist, I’d want to find a room and discover if Mr. Wanker lived up to the fantasies in my mind. I batted my lashes as I asked, “What?”
He traced my cheek, and my skin came alive from his touch. “I find when I speak about your beautiful blue eyes, my native language comes out. And I was worried you hadn’t enjoyed that kiss earlier.”
“It was great. I just needed to calm down.”
“I’ve not been kissed so intensely in a while, either.”
Sweet little lies sounded sexy in his language. He probably had sex every night. I mean he could be talking about a paint brush, but the thrill in my veins grew. And for all I knew he could be married, engaged, have a girlfriend or any number of things that might ruin this moment.
At least I wasn’t here long enough to do permanent damage. I played it off while I sipped my champagne and pretended the intoxication was from it and not him. “Well, Mr. Wanker, this champagne is delicious.”
His gaze narrowed, like I was the one speaking a strange language until he asked in a laugh, “Mr. Wanker?”
My cheeks burned. I’d said that aloud. If I denied it now, he’d argue.
I lowered my flute. “I heard you on the phone when you stepped into the elevator, and the British slang was all I understood. And while I don’t know the exact meaning of the phrase for Brits, I know what I imagine.”
His lips quirked, and there were those dimples again. “And what is that?”
Get a grip, girl. I glanced out at the distance of the city and the river and said, “Something I can’t say out loud about the male body.”
A deep laugh escaped his throat, and I couldn’t help but turn toward him as he was more interesting than the view I’d come to see.
“Americans are always confusing about sex. Kissing a complete stranger but not being able to mention la queue embarrasses you.”
I tilted my head and tried to understand when I asked, “La queue? Is there a line somewhere?”
His eyes sparkled. “La queue… the cock though more polite. Le zob or la pine are probably more in line with cock.”
Le zob caused a chuckle and made me instantly rhyme the term with job. Then my mind slipped into the gutter entirely. And if a girl’s job involved his cock, I’d be employed taking money for tricks instead of my boring data management job for a bottled wine factory. I ran my hand through my hair and said, “Now I am embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” His fingers against my skin made me curl into him more. “It’s not often a beautiful woman walks over to me and asks for a kiss.”
I glanced down at his muscles and black pants. They weren’t cheap and were clearly tailored to fit him. “You’re probably lying, and this happens to you all the time.”
“No.” He tugged my chin up. For a second my lips opened like he’d kiss me again, but instead he said, “Today was special. Would you want another champagne, Mademoiselle?”
He let me go, and I backed away. “I shouldn’t…”
He kissed my cheek, and my tongue became more like Jell-O when he said, “I’ll get another, and you can tell me your name in a moment.”
So much for arguing. If I drank too much, I’d blame the alcohol, not that I’d felt the slightest tinge of a buzz. It was almost like French champagne was somehow different from its American counterparts.
I smiled to myself and glanced out toward the horizon. The Eiffel Tower appeared in countless rom-coms I’d seen, and here I was. Finally. I let out a sigh of wonder.
But then my lips thinned. My favorite movies had always been Italian rom-coms, which was why I’d booked most of my honeymoon there.
A second later a thrill raced down my spine, and I turned to meet the brown eyes of the sexiest man I’d ever seen and reached for the flute he offered.
“Thanks for the champagne and company, but while you were gone, I was thinking… no names. No history. It’s better to just let this moment live in our memories.”
His lips pursed. “Did I not impress you?”
I was not ready to get involved with anyone. I knew it in my brain. I’d just called off my wedding and the hours crying hysterically at the post office as I returned all the wedding gifts replayed in my mind. I sipped my glass of bubbly and cupped his handsome cheek. “The opposite, but I’m leaving Paris in a few hours, and I want to imagine what might have been.”
He placed his flute down and took mine from me, sitting it next to his. “I, too, am leaving Paris. I came here to bid adieu to my former home, and you made the last moments sweeter.”
“Thanks for the champagne, Mr. Wanker,” I said, and my heart beat as my lips tingled like he’d kiss me again.
“Au revoir, mon ange,” he said and then his lips crushed mine.
This was the single hottest moment of my life, and I hung onto him, unable to do anything else.
Chapter 2
Quentin
The woman’s lips were burned on mine. Whoever the chestnut-haired American was, she’d given me a moment I’d never forget.
I hadn’t expected the electric shock she’d brought to my heart would make me actually see the world in vivid color. For the first time in months, I felt something I couldn’t explain. L’amour was rumored to help tame the wild changes in life, but that hadn’t been my fate.
Women, including my ex-fiancée, were accessories to the life I chose. They were like a fine wine that made the day pass a little easier, but the American woman’s kiss was potent, risky, and packed with a firepower I’d never experienced.