Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,75
see you. I worried about you, what was happening to you, and what would happen to you.”
She grunted. “And you still want to go home.”
“Eventually. Sometime … one day.”
She looked sideways at him. He thought he saw her lip quiver. He held out his hands. “But not today. And not tomorrow. And maybe not even next week. And—”
“What about the week after?”
Their eyes met and he saw a sliver of a smile growing radiant. She tilted her head up, and he saw tears spilling over a thousand watts. He flung his arms around her.
“I thought you were going to bloody leave,” she said. She crushed him in her embrace, pounded on his back with her fists, and forced her lips painfully on his. He felt the pounding of her heart.
He pulled back from her, and stroked her hair back over her ear. “Me?” He squeezed her tight and laughed. “I wouldn’t dare.”
She punched him on the shoulder. He wiped away her tears with his thumbs and they kissed, tender and gentle, long and hard, their tongues touching and exploring. He ran his hands through her hair and down her back. The feel of her curves under his palms overwhelmed him. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe out. She gripped his belt and pulled him upward and tighter to her. He closed his eyes, drank in the smell of her skin, and the world ceased to exist.
Minutes passed before a shrill voice called out, “Get a room.”
They ignored it.
A car horn sounded. “Really, get a room.”
Their eyes wandered reluctantly in the direction of the voice.
Little and Large were leaning against the side of a bright yellow taxi. Large opened the rear door. “Taxi?”
“No!” Sidney yelled taking a step back.
Large laughed. “You’ll be all right.” He nodded at Piers, “You’ve got your own James Bond to protect you.”
Little pushed himself off the car, straightened his back, and rolled his shoulders. “Course, we’ll be with you as well.”
Piers smiled at Sidney. “It’ll be all right.”
She stared at him. “Look what happened last time.”
He squeezed her hand. “Yeah, look.”
She laughed and squeezed his hand back. “Yes.”
He dipped down and swept her up in his arms.
She squealed as she looped her arms around his neck and held on. “What are you doing?”
He grinned as he walked to the taxi. “Something I should have done with you when I had the chance.”
Her eyebrows bunched together and she twisted in his arms. “What do you think I am, some easy—”
He held her tight, juggling to keep her from falling. “Dancing, I meant dancing.”
She froze, her hand on his shoulder and her mouth open. “Oh.”
He raised his eyebrows. “At Bernard’s?”
“Right.” She bit her lip and nodded. Her smile returned, soft and warm. “Dancing,” Her eyes locked on his and her fingers played through his hair. “Mmmmm, yes,” she said, “You can take me dancing.”
She nipped at the lobe of his ear. Her breath tingled his spine and he curled his head toward her reflexively. His lungs felt as if they would burst and he had to swallow before he could speak.
“And then?”
She lowered her head onto his shoulder and patted his chest. “We’ll see, lover boy. We’ll see.”
Note from the Author:
Parle moi!
Make me happy.
Tell me if you liked it,
Tell me if you didn't,
And tell me what you think happened to the diamonds.
I'd love to hear.
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Acknowledgments
This book would never have been written without the great many people who assisted, encouraged, and cajoled me to its completion. I offer them my sincerest thanks—particularly as the next book is in progress, and I may require at least as much assistance, encouragement, and cajoling!
In particular,
My wife and daughter have supplied all the peace, encouragement, and tea, a writer could want. And then a little extra, just to be sure. Thanks guys. I love you.
Kristen Lamb and the writers of several WANA groups have generously and freely shared their insight, experience, and soul-lifting humor. Thank you.
My editors, Beth Suit and Rebecca Peters-Golden, have elevated the quality of this text with their professionalism and patience. If mistakes remain, it is because I have failed to heed their advice. I will try harder next time, I promise.
My writer's group, David Walker, Charity Kountz, Mary Morgan, and Jillian Dodd, who are a constant source of support. Saturday’s are always an education.
And finally, Jillian Dodd. Yes, she gets a mention twice, because no one works harder, or makes everything look so easy. Plus, she puts up with me Nigelizing her Doddifications!!! Thank you.
About the Author
Nigel Blackwell loves Paris. He is ashamed to say he hasn't been to Elbistonia, danced at Bernard's, or jumped in the Seine, but he has cavorted in and out of wetsuits in freezing weather, raced the wrong way down Parisian one-way streets, and eaten in Terry's All Time. He also keeps a set of bolt croppers to deal with the problems these actives can bring.
And he's not telling what happened to the diamonds.
Yet.
Table of Contents
Title page
Copyright page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Author's Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author