Lindsay Evans - Affair of Pleasure

“Nicki...”

He groaned her name while her hands clasped him, caressed the tip of him with her thumb. A flash of mischief crossed her face.

She sank to her knees in front of him. Her breath stroked him, then her mouth, then her tongue. Her fingernails dug painfully into his thighs, a counterpoint to the humid heaven of her mouth. She hummed her delight around him, and Wolfe exploded with pleasure. He woke up gasping, his belly wet with evidence of his release.

* * *

Nichelle was furious at herself. One look at Wolfe’s naked body, and she had reacted just like every other empty-headed woman who’d ever seen him, damned near leaping across the room on top of him. Women literally came on to him every day. To get laid, all he had to do was point a finger or nod his head.

And because of this, Wolfe dismissed those women as if they were nothing. He shared a night or three of physical gratification with them, sure. But at the end of it all, they were forgettable, and he could and often did replace them every few weeks. Nichelle didn’t want to be like that. Ever.

After the meeting with Favreau, she left to wander the city alone. Instead of going back to change into more suitable walking clothes, she attacked the city in her business blouse and skirt matched with her favorite sunshine-yellow heels.

The heels weren’t the most comfortable to walk in, but they forced her to move slowly and take in all the city had to offer. She strolled through the Louvre’s courtyard to the Pont des Arts, one of the bridges festooned with locks from people who thought they were in love. The wooden slats of the bridge felt precarious under her high heels, even more so when she looked down and saw the water of the Seine wavering beneath the dark wood.

She wondered if all those couples who’d put their locks on the bridge were still in love and still together. A few feet away, an Asian couple, the woman in a lacy wedding dress, the man in a white tuxedo, posed for a professional photographer. Did they think their love would endure if they took wedding photos framed in the locks of other people’s love?

“I bet they won’t last a year.”

Nichelle nearly jumped out of her skin at the intimate voice near her ear. She turned. It was a Frenchman, or one who looked stereotypically French in close-fitting designer jeans, a T-shirt and a light scarf draped around his neck. His eyes were gray, and his mouth was framed by a sexy, well-trimmed beard.

“I won’t take that bet,” she said in response to his earlier comment. “They might end up lasting longer than we live.”

“True,” he said, but hardly looked repentant. “And maybe every fool who latched a lock to this bridge will end up dying happily next to the one they came here with.”

“You’re awfully cynical for someone who lives in the city of love.”

“It’s the City of Light, thankfully. The other name is just a dreadful rumor.” He flashed her a smile and crowded close to her against the railing. She could smell his cologne, something musky, mixed with his body heat and clean sweat.

Nichelle knew what he was doing. He was handsome, and she was single. She didn’t have a lover waiting for her at home and didn’t need anyone’s permission to enjoy someone of the opposite sex. But even though the strange Frenchman seemed nothing like Wolfe—he wasn’t as handsome, and his smell was almost too sweet—Nichelle looked into the teasing flicker of his gray eyes and only thought of the man she’d left behind at the hotel. The man who had stood tall, wrapped in light and kissed by shadow, his virile nakedness stirring a hot ache in the center of her. Nichelle stepped back from the stranger. Her spine connected with the railing of the bridge.

“You’re right,” she said. “Who needs love?”

His pale eyes sparkled down at her. “Definitely not me.” His gaze dropped to her mouth before connecting with her own. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”

She didn’t even have to think about it. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

He moved back a step, a gentleman. The sparkle in his eyes did not dim in the least. “You’ve broken my jaded heart today, mademoiselle.”

“But I’m sure you’ll be better by tomorrow at the latest,” she said with a soft laugh.

The stranger brushed her arm with warm fingers. “I hope whoever you’re pining for will adore you as much as you deserve.” Then he took another step back, still smiling. He winked at her then nodded in parting, deliberately stepping between the photographer and his subjects on the bridge.

Only after he disappeared did his words register. Pining? Hardly. But without prompting, images of Wolfe from the afternoon came back to her in brilliant color. His body, readying itself for sex, the firm muscles under light. His face, frozen in concentration as he stared at her. No, she was definitely not pining.

Nichelle left the bridge and the crowds to dip onto a side street. Yes, the city was magical in the sun. What she had missed while in college seemed a bit of a tragedy now. If someone like that flirtatious stranger had tried to pick her up back then, she’d have much better memories of Paris.

Maybe you can make some better memories now. With Wolfe.

The thought froze her on the sidewalk, hissed sudden breath into her lungs. Someone bumped into her, a woman who begged Nichelle’s pardon then kept walking and chatting on her cell phone. The sound of her own phone ringing shoved her back into motion. She answered without looking at the display.

“How is Paris treating you?”

She sighed at Nala’s voice. “So far the business aspect is going very well.”

Her friend immediately pounced on what she wasn’t saying. “And the personal?”

Nichelle sucked the inside of her bottom lip. “I just saw Wolfe naked.”

“Oh! I wasn’t expecting that.” Nala sounded positively delighted.

“Me, either.”

Nala’s impatient sigh fluttered through the phone. “So what the hell happened after the naked sighting?”

“Nothing happened. I walked out.”

“But...?”

She drew a trembling breath. “He’s hot, Nala!”

“Welcome to the world of eyes that see.” Nala huffed in amusement and exasperation. “I can’t believe you’re just now realizing that.”

“You know I don’t...didn’t see him like that.” She didn’t want to. She’d be damned if she would allow something as petty as sexual attraction to ruin the effortless business relationship she and Wolfe spent over three years building.

“Are you going to do anything about it?” Nala asked.

“No.” Nichelle shook her head. “Definitely not.”

“Hmm. Okay. Um...” A pregnant silence pressed between them. Nichelle could almost see Nala swelling with curiosity. Despite the gravity of the situation, she smiled.

“Okay. Out with it. I know you’re dying to ask something.”

A breath of relief came at her over the phone. “Oh, thank God!” Nala giggled. “Is he big? Cut? Interested in you?”

Nichelle strolled down the sidewalk, slipping past two women who walked side by side, smoking cigarettes and talking in rapid Spanish. A bicycle bell trilled from nearby as a biker warned a pedestrian who had wandered into the bike lane. She thought about not answering Nala’s questions then decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable aggravation.

“Yes. Yes. And I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean you don’t think so? Did he or did he not get hard for you?”

“Well, he’s a man. Of course he did, but that doesn’t mean anything.” Three boys in hip-hop gear boldly looked her over as they walked toward her. She held the phone against her ear, paying them little attention even as they leered in an obvious way, one of them saying something mildly obscene to his friends. Nichelle walked past them.