So while he put pencil to paper at sidewalk cafes, I was absorbing everything around me. My eyes blinking like the lens on a camera, making little snippets of memories that I'd eventually call forth to insert into my stories.
Small cars literally were parked bumper to bumper. All around me were the tatooing of stiletto heels on sidewalks as French women hurried by, scarves artfully draped around their necks. I never saw a French woman who wasn't dressed to the "nines," as we say here in America. Nor did I see any young men with droopy drawers, either. Frenchmen wore their jeans snug across their behinds--not that I was one to notice, mind you. I was charmed by the beautiful architecture, so much of it centuries old. The hiss of espresso machines, a champagne cork popping were merely background noise as the French spoke their native tongue at lyrical, rapid-fire speeds. While walking down streets, delicious aromas wafted from bakeries. Paris truly is a delight for the senses.
That's why I've enjoyed writing this series so much, for it's been like revisiting my favorite city in the world. I've poured over our picture albums, tour books and online sites. Book one, Mona Lisa's Room, is available for purchase. The romantic couple in it are Alyson Moore, an American art teacher, and Niko Reynard, second in command of the French counter-terrorism unit. The villians? A terrorist group called The Red Hand. Communist? No. After a murder or bombing, they donned a latex glove, dipped it into the victim's blood and leave a handprint on a nearby wall. Makes for a macabre calling card, doesn't it?
Here's an excerpt of a scene with Alyson, or Aly as the hero calls her, and Niko. They are in a shoe store--Minelli's--where I found a purse that called my name.
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.”
BUY
LINKS:
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
4 comments:
Image if you took a vacation to Rome...you could have Niko globe-hopping.
We've been to Berlin since Paris. I'd love to go to Rome, but I think Athens calls Calvin more.
I've got to read this book! And now visit Paris. I need to find me a Niko.
I hope you do read the book. You might enjoy your armchair romp through Paris.
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