Alyson Moore is a high school art teacher, recently divorced from her out-of-the-closet husband. She's been beaten down by life. Thanks to her ex-husband's lack of interest and his coldness toward her, Alyson doubts her femininity. Baggy clothes and flip-flops are her usual attire.
At her sister's insistence, she's reinventing herself. Surgery to correct her astigmatism, thus ending the need for glasses. Her hair's been lightened a few shades. And she now sports a butterfly tatoo on her upper thigh. Her final step is a trip to Paris for her fortieth birthday so she can study the Mona Lisa and make some decisions about her future.
While in the Salon Carre, where the Mona Lisa hangs in the Louvre, she unwittingly foils a terrorist's bombing attempt. Because she can ID the terrorist, she is put in the potective custody of Niko Reynard.
Niko has a reputation of being ruthless at his job. With his family, he's the demanding, yet protective younger brother. With Alyson, he’s not sure who to be. What he does know is he has to keep her safe from The Red Hand, the same terrorist group who tortured and killed is fiancé Hae Won.
To help keep her safe, he wants her to dress like Parisian women, which means wearing high heels. The following scene takes place in a shoe boutique.
Niko perched on the stool at Alyson’s feet, opened the first box and deftly flicked back the tissue paper on a pair of black kidskin pumps with skinny gold looking heels. “It’s rumored Da Vinci invented the high heel.” He removed her Birckenstocks and placed her bare foot on his thigh. Warmth from his muscled leg flowed up hers, causing her foot to give an involuntary wiggle.
His gaze lifted to hers and locked. Slowly he slid his hand from her heel up her leg to cup her calf. Thank God she shaved her legs that morning. “Stop.” The rawness of her voice surprised her. His touch made her very aware of her body, and her body was very aware of him. She couldn’t count the years since she was touched in such a manner—if ever.
Still, it was nice to know she could respond to a man’s touch. Thanks to her ex-husband’s avoidance, she thought herself sexually dead, certainly sexually unappealing.
“High heels do wonders for a woman’s figure, Aly. They make the legs look long and shapely, lift the bottom and make the hips sway.” His hands moved in a descriptive manner while he talked. “They make a woman look sexy and confident. Men’s eyes naturally pivot to a woman in stilettos.” Niko shrugged. “We can’t help it. We are men, after all. Weakened by women.”
Alyson stared at him. Men made weak by women? She’d never heard such talk, especially from a male, a very virile male if looks meant anything. He was gorgeous, arrogant as all get out, but gorgeous just the same.
Niko slipped the shoes onto her feet, stood and extended his hand. “Stand. See how you like the feel.” His gaze focused on hers again and for a second or two, when she looked into his eyes, her world stopped.
She vetoed the four-inch stilettos Niko favored in five painful, toe-pinching steps. Good Lord, a girl could get nosebleeds in those things.
Ten minutes later, Alyson wobbled in front of the cashier ready to pay for the black kidskin three-inch Pradas she wore. As soon as she saw the bow at the back of the heel, she fell in love with the shoes. Gwen called her a “bow freak.” When Niko reached for his wallet, she elbowed him. “Look, as long as they take Visa, I’ll pay for my own shoes.”
“Please, allow me.”
“Absolutely not. I planned on having an expensive birthday meal at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant tomorrow. With all that’s happened today, that plan is ruined, too. So I’m rationalizing since I won’t be paying for my birthday meal, I can pay this ungodly amount for the shoes.”
Niko placed his hand over hers. “I don’t mind. Let me treat you since I goaded you into buying them.”
“Really, that’s not necessary. Even my husband…er…ex-husband never bought me things. I’ve always paid my own way.”
He leaned an elbow on the glass counter and looked at her. “You’re kidding me. He never bought you little surprises? Little treats? A woman like you should be spoiled, treasured—” his voice lowered as he slowly trailed a finger up her arm “—loved often and well.” Merciful heavens, he was trying to seduce her in a shoe store. Gwen would squeal in delight when she told her about this.
“Down, buster. American women are different than French women. We’re not so easily seduced by glib words or smooth moves.”
His eyebrow arched and his demeanor turned insolent. “You think I’m trying to seduce you?”
Typical male. He touched her almost nonstop since they stepped into Minelli’s. Now that she called him on it, he wanted to deny everything. “I think you’re toying with me, seeing if you can make an old, lonely American woman quiver at your feet.”
“First of all, you’re not old. Second, if you’re lonely, that’s your fault. Third, if I wanted to make you quiver—” he leaned in, his lips against her ear “—I damn well could.”
View the Book Trailer: http://bit.ly/MonaTrailer
THE WILD ROSE PRESS (digital) -- http://bit.ly/MonaLisaDigital
THE WILD ROSE PRESS (paperback) -- http://bit.ly/MonaLisasRoom
AMAZON (paperback) -- http://amzn.to/QQZGyD
AMAZON (eBook) -- http://bit.ly/MonaLisasRoomeBook