Page 25 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
We stood there in silence for a full ten seconds, during which I couldn’t help wondering what he’d be like in bed.
I’ll bet he’s a million times more generous than Tucker. I’ll bet he’s fun and hot and willing to take it slow sometimes. Just talking about sex with him felt so easy…and damn if I wasn’t turned on again thinking about him that way. My stupid nipples were hard, poking right through the thin material of my bra and cotton tank. I don’t have huge breasts or anything, barely a C cup, but my nipples get incredibly hard and they’re ultra-sensitive. Naturally, Lucas’s eyes were drawn right to them, but then it was obvious what he was looking at and he dropped his gaze to the ground, his cheeks coloring.
I opened my mouth, racking my brain for something clever or flirty to say, but the moment had dragged on too long, and Lucas just gave me a quick smile and started walking again.
Shit.
Next time, I’d be braver. What did I have to lose, anyway?
As we got closer to the river, the towers of Notre Dame came into view, and Lucas began telling me a little bit about the Île de la Cité, the small island in the middle of the Seine on which the cathedral stood. I listened with interest as he told me about narrow medieval streets, stone walls, and the construction of Notre-Dame, which took almost two hundred years.
“God, imagine dedicating all that time and labor to something you knew would never be finished in your lifetime,” I said. “Or even your children’s lifetime. You work your ass off for something and then you never even see it completed.”
Lucas shrugged. “I think it was less about the finished product for them and more about their faith. The reason they were building it.”
It may have been an offhand comment, but it made me think about the huge, ridiculous wedding I’d planned for myself, and how mad I’d been that it didn’t come off. I should have been thinking more about the reason for the marriage, and less about the wedding. But I’d never felt the kind of devotion to him I should have, nor had strong faith in the relationship. Thank God we didn’t get married.
Lucas insisted the outside of the Gothic masterpiece was even more magnificent than the inside, so we spent quite a bit of time looking at its exterior—from the bridge we crossed over the Seine, from the square in front of the cathedral, from the garden behind it. I wanted to know the names of all these things but Lucas wouldn’t let me open my guidebook.
“What does it matter what the name of the bridge is? You don’t need to stick your nose in a book right now, Mia—look at the damn cathedral.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to call it a damn cathedral.” I handed him the book. “How about if you read to me while I look?”
Lucas nodded. “That is acceptable.”
We found an empty bench and sat down. Leaning back, I studied the church while Lucas read to me about buttresses, barrel vaults, and gargoyles. After a few minutes, though, I stopped being fascinated by characteristics of Gothic cathedrals and starting rhapsodizing about the low, fluid sound of Lucas’s voice, the expressive way he read, the charming hint of an accent that sometimes crept beneath his words when he wasn’t paying attention. Hiding a smile, I told myself to quit drifting and pay attention—I’d have a hard enough time remembering any of the information—but his reading was so sweet and soothing, I grew a little drowsy.
When he was done, he closed the book and said, “Want to go inside?”
Actually, I kind of just wanted to sit there with him on that bench, maybe lay my head in his lap. Kiss him. Take a nap or admire the scenery. But instead I got to my feet and stretched. “Yes.”
After we toured the crypts underneath Notre-Dame and admired the soaring ceilings and gorgeous stained glass windows inside, I asked Lucas to climb the tower with me.
“What? No, Mia. I already told you I don’t like heights.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
“No.” I have no idea what made me act so bold but I actually took his hands out of his pockets and held them between us. “Please, Lucas. We won’t stay up there long, and I promise I won’t make you go to the edge.”
“Why do you need me up there?” His expression was pained. “The view’s the same whether you’re alone or not.”
“I know. And it’s not that I won’t enjoy it alone. I just really want you to come up there with me.”
His shoulders sagged a little as he exhaled, closing his eyes.
“Please, Lucas, for me?” I shook his hands.
He opened his eyes and peered at me warily. “You’re gonna make me do this, aren’t you.”
I nodded. “Yep. So you might as well give in sooner rather than later.”
He grimaced. “All right. I’ll do it.”
Three hundred eighty-seven steep, narrow spiral steps later, we emerged at the top. Lucas was a bit pale and skittish, but I took his hand and tugged him forward. “Come on. Show me where you live.”
Reluctantly he moved closer to the edge but remained behind me, speaking into my hair to be heard above the wind. Over my left shoulder, he pointed in the direct
ion of the river. “I have a studio apartment in the sixth, near Saint-Germain-des-Prés. It actually belongs to my mother but I’m the only one who stays there anymore.”
“And where is she? At the vineyard?” I was curious about his family, but mostly I was enjoying having him stand so close behind me.
