Paris Was The Place I Met My Billionaire Lover (My Sweet Billionaire Love Story Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Kiera Zane
bottle. “ Maîtresse, embrasse-moi, baise-moi, serre-moi ,” he said, the French words rolling from his grainy throat. “ Haleine contre haleine, échauffe-moi la vie / Mille et mille baisers donne-moi je te prie / Amour veut tout sans nombre, amour n'a point de loi. ”
She waited, sanguine in the sultry silence that wrapped around the echoing of those wondrous words so fresh in her memory. She didn’t need to ask for a translation; she didn’t need to say a thing. He was reading her mind now, sensing her thoughts, feeling the vibrations of her body as a ripple of pleasure passed through her; up from her hips to her heart, pounding behind her chest, and down to her curling toes.
So low that it was almost a whisper, Julien said, “Mistress, embrace me, kiss me, hold me tight / breath against breath, breathe me life / thousand and thousand kisses give me I beg you /
Love wants everything without condition, love has no law.”
A knot rose in Caitlyn’s throat, blocking her pointlessly clumsy compliments on the loveliness of the poetry or the greatness and wisdom of its creator, whose identity was completely foreign to Caitlyn’s consciousness and just as irrelevant.
Around them, the limo slowed to a halt just as their faces began to draw closer together, the dark intimacy and slow rolling of the vehicle lulling them into a moment of delicate but inevitable collision.
But the inevitable would have to wait.
The driver pulled Caitlyn’s door open and she turned away from Julien to step out ito the Paris night, the cool night air tracing the backs of her legs.
The Eiffel Tower stood before them, tall and imposing, like the metal skeleton of a tower more akin to the medieval structures around it. Well-lit with white bulbs, it looked almost like the ghost of a tower, an artistic representation that never could have been intended for regular use.
Because it never was. Erected for the Paris Exposition of 1889, the tower was only left standing because of its usefulness in radio and television broadcasting, despite the almost riotous protestations of the Parisian artistic and architectural communities, which called it monstrous and and useless.
It has since become a symbol of not only Paris but of all France, perhaps the most recognizable such symbol there was. Funny how things can transcend their station, Caitlyn thought to herself, unable to resist drawing parallels to her own life.
They took the elevator past the first level, where shops and a restaurant catered to most of the tourists. The second level was where the other restaurant, the Jules Verne, and the higher-end shops catered to the more well-to-do visitor.
Julien had a table waiting, even though Caitlyn distinctly heard another American tourist just a few feet away mention that it took weeks to get a reservation there.
She didn’t allow it to bother her too much. Could be he keeps a bunch of reservations like this open, she reasoned . This is Saturday night, after all, and like he said, I’m not his first date.
Though I may just be his last.
Paris was spread out beyond the windows like a sea of light, twinkling and shimmering in the starry darkness, the lights off the tower itself casting a golden loom over the window.
Julien said, “You can see why Paris has such a hold on the human heart, and always has.”
“And always will, I imagine.” Her mind skipped across the innumerable sights she’d already taken in; the great artworks in the Louvre , the Arc.
Julien.
A waiter arrived and Julien muttered a stream of French at him, the words charging past Caitlyn’s ear at a volume too low to decipher even if she could hope to translate. But she knew Julien was ordering for them both, which she allowed and even enjoyed. It had an old-world sophistication. It meant that Julien was in control, knew what he wanted and how to get it. What was more, it meant to Caitlyn that he knew what she wanted, and how to give it to
She waited, sanguine in the sultry silence that wrapped around the echoing of those wondrous words so fresh in her memory. She didn’t need to ask for a translation; she didn’t need to say a thing. He was reading her mind now, sensing her thoughts, feeling the vibrations of her body as a ripple of pleasure passed through her; up from her hips to her heart, pounding behind her chest, and down to her curling toes.
So low that it was almost a whisper, Julien said, “Mistress, embrace me, kiss me, hold me tight / breath against breath, breathe me life / thousand and thousand kisses give me I beg you /
Love wants everything without condition, love has no law.”
A knot rose in Caitlyn’s throat, blocking her pointlessly clumsy compliments on the loveliness of the poetry or the greatness and wisdom of its creator, whose identity was completely foreign to Caitlyn’s consciousness and just as irrelevant.
Around them, the limo slowed to a halt just as their faces began to draw closer together, the dark intimacy and slow rolling of the vehicle lulling them into a moment of delicate but inevitable collision.
But the inevitable would have to wait.
The driver pulled Caitlyn’s door open and she turned away from Julien to step out ito the Paris night, the cool night air tracing the backs of her legs.
The Eiffel Tower stood before them, tall and imposing, like the metal skeleton of a tower more akin to the medieval structures around it. Well-lit with white bulbs, it looked almost like the ghost of a tower, an artistic representation that never could have been intended for regular use.
Because it never was. Erected for the Paris Exposition of 1889, the tower was only left standing because of its usefulness in radio and television broadcasting, despite the almost riotous protestations of the Parisian artistic and architectural communities, which called it monstrous and and useless.
It has since become a symbol of not only Paris but of all France, perhaps the most recognizable such symbol there was. Funny how things can transcend their station, Caitlyn thought to herself, unable to resist drawing parallels to her own life.
They took the elevator past the first level, where shops and a restaurant catered to most of the tourists. The second level was where the other restaurant, the Jules Verne, and the higher-end shops catered to the more well-to-do visitor.
Julien had a table waiting, even though Caitlyn distinctly heard another American tourist just a few feet away mention that it took weeks to get a reservation there.
She didn’t allow it to bother her too much. Could be he keeps a bunch of reservations like this open, she reasoned . This is Saturday night, after all, and like he said, I’m not his first date.
Though I may just be his last.
Paris was spread out beyond the windows like a sea of light, twinkling and shimmering in the starry darkness, the lights off the tower itself casting a golden loom over the window.
Julien said, “You can see why Paris has such a hold on the human heart, and always has.”
“And always will, I imagine.” Her mind skipped across the innumerable sights she’d already taken in; the great artworks in the Louvre , the Arc.
Julien.
A waiter arrived and Julien muttered a stream of French at him, the words charging past Caitlyn’s ear at a volume too low to decipher even if she could hope to translate. But she knew Julien was ordering for them both, which she allowed and even enjoyed. It had an old-world sophistication. It meant that Julien was in control, knew what he wanted and how to get it. What was more, it meant to Caitlyn that he knew what she wanted, and how to give it to
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