Chapter 1-2
1338 Words
Breanne regarded her companion but didn’t know what to make of him.
I came away with him without thought or reflection. Unheard of for me, but the moment I saw his lovely brown eyes, his neatly trimmed light brown hair, his European features—my innate wariness switched off. It’s as though my soul recognized him as an old friend. I want to trust him. I want to go out with him again. I don’t want to quiz and analyze it. He makes me feel comfortable.
She had told him things in their brief hour of conversation she had taken years to disclose to her closest friends, and still, the desire to spend more time with him grew increasingly potent.
She tore a sheet of paper out of her notebook, wrote her phone number on it, and silently handed it to him. “I have to go, Nicolas. It was very nice to meet you, but I want to get back to my room before it gets any later. The bus is kind of scary at night.”
“Let me give you a ride,” he offered.
She gave him a considering look. He seems sincere, but… “I don't know you. Why would I get in your car?”
“It's a valid question,” he agreed, his expression open and disarming, “but I swear I would never hurt you.”
Her shoulders sagged. Common sense, Breanne. “You might know, but how can I?”
“I have no sensible answer.” Nicolas reached out and touched her cheek. His fingers warmed her skin. She leaned into his touch. He stroked her, and then, when she relaxed completely, he leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. Like the conversation, kissing this total stranger felt completely right and natural. His warm lips caressed hers without demand or hurry, eliciting enticing tingles from her core that radiated out into her every extremity.
“Let me drive you, Breanne. You're safe with me,” he vowed, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.
Sense drowned in the heat of his compelling touch. She nodded, her fingers fluttering to her face where the wonderful sensation of his kiss still lingered. “I feel safe,” she admitted.
“You are. I promise.” He rose to his feet and extended a hand to her.
Another invitation. At what point do I stop accepting? She had a feeling this unknown part of her would not allow her to refuse anything he offered. How unlike me… and yet, I suppose I’m overdue. Please, Lord, let this not be a disaster.
She laid her hand in his, allowing him to help her to her feet. “Okay.”
They dumped the substandard coffee in the trash and walked out, hand in hand. Unsurprisingly, this astonishing banker drove a sexy car… a black BMW. He opened the passenger door for her, and she climbed in. A moment later, he slipped into the driver's seat beside her. “So, where do we go, chérie? I can't use telepathy to know your address.”
“Sorry. I live at the university, in the residence hall. It's hard to remember we met today. I feel like I've known you forever.” Her cheeks burned. Stop babbling, Breanne.
“I know what you mean,” he said, grinning as he started the car.
Could it be he feels it too? He looks like he does, but… how is that even possible? I could swear I’ve conjured him out of my overworked imagination. “All this makes me a little… nervous.”
His dark eyes slid her direction. “So I noticed. Are you a woman who gets nervous easily?”
“Yes,” she admitted. At least, I normally am. This situation… holy cats, I’m confused. I’m not acting like myself at all.
“Good to know.” He reached across the console and patted her hand. “If I call you, ask you out again, will you become nervous?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
His eyebrow quirked. “Will you refuse?”
“I doubt it.” They had left downtown and were passing through a neighborhood of high-rise apartments with few trees and little grass. Such an ugly area. I feel bad for the people who live here. The idle passing thought did nothing to distract her from the conversation.
“That's good. I really want to go out again, on a proper date this time.”
Now that’s an easy decision to make. “Okay. Maybe we should plan it now, so I won't have to get nervous about it. It's easier.”
The way the corners of his mouth turned upward set her heart to fluttering. “D'accord. What do you feel like doing, Breanne?”
She considered, watching as they passed a park in which summery trees crowded, nodding gently in the evening breeze. “I don't know. I think not a movie.”
He glanced her direction. “Pourquoi?”
“I want to be able to talk,” she explained.
His lips curled upward. “Ah, I see. Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“What do you like?”
“Everything. I'm not picky. Growing up, we didn’t have that option.”
As he pondered the answer, she examined the scenery. They had left the crummy apartments. Though the university still remained a few blocks in the distance, the small, artsy-looking bungalows in which many professors lived now filled the neighborhoods, set on steep hills with low, white retaining walls and many a wildly blooming garden.
“Middle Eastern?” he suggested after a moment of reflection.
How intriguing. “I've never tried that. Sure. Why not?”
“Bon. Tomorrow?”
Her grin was starting to ache, but she couldn't make herself stop. “Yes. Tomorrow. What time?” His rapid-fire delivery sounds as eager as I feel. I really like this.
“Six,” he suggested.
Class ends at five, so that should be enough time. “Six. Perfect.”
“And after?” he wanted to know.
Right, I have a feeling dinner won't even be close to enough. “I don't know. Walk along the river? It's supposed to be nice.”
“Parfait. Please don't become nervous, Breanne. I promise your interest isn't one-sided.”
She gave him a wide smile, enjoying watching his face light up in response to her excitement. “No, I can see that.”
“Amazing, isn't it?”
“It is.” Almost as amazing as you, Nicolas Brassard. Where did you come from, and what fairy godmother sent you my way?
He slid his hand into hers and held it in silence until they reached the parking lot of the university residence hall. Nicolas pulled the Beamer into a spot beneath a shady, overhanging elm whose brilliant foliage provided them a measure of privacy. Nicolas turned to Breanne. “I'm so very glad I ran into you today.”
Breanne admired the intriguing way in which his lips moved to form the accented words. “Me too. Nicolas?”
“Oui, chérie?”
I can't believe I'm about to say this. “Kiss me again.”
Unperturbed by her boldness, he cupped her face in his hand and leaned across the center console to touch his mouth sweetly to hers. It felt great, and when he pressed with his tongue, opening her mouth to his penetration, it felt even better. She let him in deep, so deep. Of course, a Frenchman would have the French kiss fully mastered. She could feel him smiling against her mouth. “What?” she asked, hoping he would say something sweet and flattering.
“You taste delicious.”
A thrill fluttered in her belly and her cheeks warmed with pleasure. “Thank you. Want to taste again?”
“Oui.” And he did, again and again, long, deep, passionate kisses. The console between them did nothing to deter their explorations.
At last, he released her.
She sighed. “I can't wait for our date.”
“Moi aussi. How nice that will be.” His fingers tickled her cheek in a tender caress.
That feels so good. I had no idea. “Nicolas?” She rested her hand on his cheek, mirroring his touch.
“Chérie?”
“Be real, okay? Promise me. Don't be on your best behavior. Be yourself,” she pleaded.
His open expression clouded. “Pourquoi?”
Looks like you're not making sense, Bree. So, what else is new? “Because I'm going to fall for you pretty fast,” she dared to admit, delighted to watch his face light up again. Boldness has its benefits, I guess. “I want to be sure it's the real Nicolas Brassard, not some glorified image.”
“D'accord. You do the same.”
And that surely must mean he feels the same way. Wow! Her guarded heart began to melt. “Yes. Bonsoir, Nicolas.”
“Bonsoir, Breanne.” He kissed her once more and she got out of the car, waved, and walked into the building.
- Writer
