Page 4 of Pampered in Paris

“I’ve always wanted to be a chef and went right to culinary school after I graduated. I met François there and we’ve sort of been buddies since. I’ve been the chef here for five years now. What about you?” He drinks water. I don’t usually drink more than one alcoholic beverage but the wine pairs so perfectly with the fish that I find myself finishing it.

“I used to be in marketing, but I went through a very drawn-out divorce and during that time, I was baking a lot. It was therapeutic for me and I decided to switch careers. Luckily, I knew the owners of the bakery I now work at and they helped me make the switch.”

“Sorry your divorce wasn’t amicable. Paris is an excellent place to stay occupied.”

“I’m the one that wanted the divorce. He couldn’t see we had issues. But…” I put my silverware down, trying to find the right words. “…it was the right thing. If two people aren’t in love, then what’s the point in staying together?”

Alexandre pats my hand. If this small action makes me feel as if sparks are dancing over my skin, I wonder what else his fingers could do.

It may be the surplus of alcohol in my system, but I feel quite brave. “When do you get off work?” I ask as I try ignore the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

“Tu seras ma mort,” Alexandre mutters. “Would you like me to escort you home? I can leave when you’re finished.”

“But don’t you have to work?” My ex-husband worked all the time. He cancelled numerous date nights and even anniversary dinners because of work. How could Alexandre leave on a moment’s notice to take me home?

“It’s only work. It’ll all still be here tomorrow. Are you full?”

“Stuffed. All delicious, of course. If you’re sure you can leave then I’m ready.”

Alexandre nods and goes back to the kitchen. I button and unbutton my sweater several times. Perhaps the bravery from earlier is already fading. I consider inviting him in for a nightcap, but I have to get up early for a nonrefundable museum tour. He comes back, having swapped his chef coat for a black leather jacket, and he hands me a small white box.

“This is ourfraisierdessert. I figured you were at the market this morning so perhaps you like fresh fruit. I think strawberries are best around this time of year.” He places his hand on the small of my back and escorts me out of the restaurant. They’re both small gestures, the dessert and the walking me home, but they make my heart flutter.

I tell him where my rental is and he leads the way. He holds my hand and tells me little pieces of information about the places we pass. He explains which cafés serve the best espresso, which florists charge too much, and small bits of history about some of the buildings. The air is chilly, and I wrap myself closer to Alexandre. I hold onto his arm and breathe in the scent of the leather and spices. It must be a jacket he wears frequently to the restaurant to have those lingering mixed scents. As if in a daze, suddenly, I realize we’re at my place.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He lingers as I search through my tote for my keys.

“Yes, I have an early tour at the Louvre and then some other places I want to try to see.”

“Anne, I know we just met, but would you see me again tomorrow?”

I look up from searching my bag.

Under the streetlights, his eyes seem to darken as he continues. “Would you meet for me coffee at thePetit Plisson Aux Tuileriesafter your tour, about one o’clock, and spend theday with me? It’s in the garden area by the museum. I’ll be your personal tour guide while you’re here in Paris.”

Before I can reply with anything other than a nod, Alexandre tilts my chin upwards, our height difference more noticeable now. He leans down and kisses me.

At first, it’s soft, as if he meant to give me a quick peck. But with a hunger that surprises me, I wrap my arms around his neck and claim his mouth with my own. I swirl my tongue in circles around his. His hands wander over my hips. I want to invite him inside.

I want to feel his hands on my bare skin, to run my fingers through his hair, and then wake up next to him in the morning. I can feel the fire igniting within my belly. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything even close to lust. I don’t want to end this kiss.

Alexandre murmurs something as he gently pulls away. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and strokes my face. I lean into his hand, not wanting to end the night.

“I know you have an early morning, and I’m afraid if I don’t stop now then I won’t be able to stop at all. I’ll see you for our date tomorrow.” His accent is thicker, as if he can’t handle the English language in this desire-fueled state.

“Of course.Bonne nuit,Alexandre.”

He kisses my forehead as I speak. He steps a few feet away as I return to search for my keys and then open my door. I wave goodbye and head inside.

What a good night indeed.

I softly touch my swollen lips. I know I’m not dreaming but somehow, I have a date with a gorgeous Frenchman.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

Chapter 3

Anne

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