Jennifer Greene - Blame It On Paris

Last, he cut the engine, and suddenly there was silence.

Magic.

She didn't know what else to call it.

People and city sights and sounds disappeared. The wind cupped the sails and they flew across the water, the sun blessing her cheeks, the air brushing her hair like sensuous fingers.

"You want to take the helm?" Will asked her.

"Are you nuts? Do you want me to sink this gorgeous boat?"

He laughed. "You can't sink her. Promise. I'll be right behind you."

He was. Right behind her. Perched on the fanny of the boat while she stood at the wheel. There were dials-for water depth and wind and speed and Lord knew what else. But Kelly was conscious only of him. of his sun-warmed body just behind her. shirtless, his brown chest nestling against her back. The boat skimmed the water in a silent dance and unbidden, unexpectedly, she felt a burst of emotion. A feeling like freedom. Joyful. Easy.

"Did you know," she asked, "that I couldn't have needed a day like this more?"

"We both did." he said, and then snapped his fingers. "I forgot something. Just a second."

He peeled down the steps to the cabin, emerged seconds later with two Notre Dame sun visors. He perched one on her head, one on his. Then readjusted hers, to fit her smaller head, making her laugh- which made her accidentally turn the wheel too hard, which made the boat suddenly dip and the sails wildly flutter.

People and city sights and sounds disappeared. The wind cupped the sails and they flew across the water, the sun blessing her cheeks, the air brushing her hair like sensuous fingers.

"You want to take the helm?" Will asked her.

"Are you nuts? Do you want me to sink this gorgeous boat?"

He laughed. "You can't sink her. Promise. I'll be right behind you."

He was. Right behind her. Perched on the fanny of the boat while she stood at the wheel. There were dials-for water depth and wind and speed and Lord knew what else. But Kelly was conscious only of him. of his sun-warmed body just behind her. shirtless, his brown chest nestling against her back. The boat skimmed the water in a silent dance and unbidden, unexpectedly, she felt a burst of emotion. A feeling like freedom. Joyful. Easy.

"Did you know," she asked, "that I couldn't have needed a day like this more?"

"We both did." he said, and then snapped his fingers. "I forgot something. Just a second."

He peeled down the steps to the cabin, emerged seconds later with two Notre Dame sun visors. He perched one on her head, one on his. Then readjusted hers, to fit her smaller head, making her laugh- which made her accidentally turn the wheel too hard, which made the boat suddenly dip and the sails wildly flutter.

"Whoa there, lady."

But her heart didn't want to whoa. Her pulse was racing, chasing, as exuberantly as the wind. He smoothed sunscreen down her arms and neck when she had the helm, and she did the same for him when he took his turn at the wheel.

It was foreplay. that touching, the smell of Cop-pertone and water, the ripple of his skin under her hands, the responsiveness and heat of her skin under his. He knew. The way he looked at her. With invitation. With wanting.

With waiting.

They sailed the shoreline until around lunch. Will didn't stop the boat or throw out an anchor, but he did something with the sails he called "heaving to." Once the boat stopped, he gave orders. She was to close her eyes. Sit there. Not move. "And for damn sure, don't think."

"Hey." She put plenty of "insulted" into her voice. but he just laughed.

She closed her eyes, as ordered, heard him rummaging around, up and down the steps, humming an old rock song under his breath. She was aware when he finally stopped moving, because there was suddenly complete quiet-except for the sound of a distant gull crying in the sky and Will's shadow cooling her hot cheeks. And then something else. A sensation of something fluttery-light and soft and fragrant raining on her head.

Her eyes popped open. Everywhere, on her shoulders, her arms, the deck, were rose petals. Bowls of them, buckets of them. She wanted to laugh, and did, but something squeezed her heart-the gesture was so frivolous, so romantic. So Paris.

Suddenly he was watching her in a way she couldn't back away from. The way the wind ruffled his hair, the rush of heat in his eyes, the electric tension between them-every detail invoked a flush of memories of Paris. It was as if they were there again, in his bed, waking up to warm rumpled sheets and a patch of lazy sunlight and street vendors below, hawking flowers to lovers.

Lovers like they'd been.

Lovers…the way she still felt with him. for him.

"Lunch," he murmured. "French style. Baguettes. Cheese. Fruit. Wine. There's ice water, as well, because I figured we'd be thirsty."

She tried to eat. She was certainly hungry enough. Will wolfed down lunch easily, but then he stopped, poured the wine, hunkered down next to her on the long white cushion.

That was the last time she could put a bite in her mouth.

"You know what occurred to me?" he asked lazily.

Everything before really had been foreplay. she thought. The looks. The smile. The sun and sea and sexy white sails. The hopelessly corny rose petals and French picnic and wine.

All that was nothing, though, compared with the next seductive trick he pulled.

He lifted the forefinger of his right hand, hooked it with the forefinger of her left hand.

Was that the act of a low-down sneaky creep, or what?

That was all. Absolutely no body parts touched except for their two fingers. And then his lazy, quiet voice asked, "You know what I was thinking about?"

Torturing women? "What?" she asked in a reasonably normal voice.

"I was thinking that this was how it was in Paris with you. As if there were just the two of us. The rest of the world didn't mean a damn." He added carefully. "Have you noticed that I haven't made a pass?"

What could she say? No? Why haven't you jumped me?

"It's because you asked me not to, Kel. Because I've tried to honor what you asked of me." He lifted their hooked fingers, waggled them together playfully. "You felt there was too much confusion and trouble in your life, that you needed to work some things out before tangling your life up with sex."

"Yes." Why had she said that? When had she been that sane?That stupid?The tip of his forefinger circled hers, such an innocuous, lightweight caress that there was no explaining the thrumming low in her belly.

"And I wanted you separated from that guy before I made any more moves. But you did that. And now

I think we're both ready for a new plan. I want you to come back to Paris with me."

"Paris," she repeated.

"Just listen." Still he caressed her finger, slowly, gently, as if there were nothing in the universe hurrying either of them, stressing either of them, worrying either of them. "There's nothing holding you here. You've come home to nothing but trouble. You love your mom, I know that, but she could visit us in Paris anytime she wanted. I'll pay. I've got money, Kel. My grandfather left me a good inheritance. Anytime you wanted family to visit-or you wanted to come back to South Bend-we could swing it. absolutely no sweat."

She was getting dizzy from his eloquent finger caress. From his soft, slow, tender voice.

"You could work there. Do whatever you love to do there, no different than here. We could find a place of our own, if you don't like mine. Are you hearing me? We could do this. Go back to Paris. Be in Paris together. Forever, if that's what you wanted. There's nothing we can't do together, Kel. Nothing we can't try."

She turned to face him directly. She didn't interrupt him. but as if he feared she was about to lodge a handful of protests, his voice sped up. "Nothing was right for me after you left. Nothing's right here, either, until I'm with you, and then everything works. It's not the boat. It's not the day. It's being with you. Everything gets right again when I'm with you. Kel, come to Paris with me. You know how it was. You know how it can be again."