4. Alistair

4

ALISTAIR

I f anyone had told me I’d spend a random weekday afternoon escorting a colorful American around the Louvre, I’d have thought they were mad. Mainly because I wasn’t in the habit of strolling through the museum for fun…or of leaving my desk while knee-deep in an important project.

This was Gerard’s fault.

All right, no, it was mine for letting his presence get to me. What the hell was he doing in Paris? Moreover, why hadn’t he contacted me now that he knew I was here? I’d checked my phone, expecting a message of some kind. Bonjour, I’m in town and heard you were too. Shall we have coffee? The silence was strange.

I pushed Gerard out of my mind and lost myself in the Louvre. Figuratively, not literally. I knew this museum almost as well as I knew the British Museum. The Winged Victory of Samothrace on her pedestal in the Daru staircase, Venus de Milo in the Greek, Etruscan, and Roman antiquities section, Jacques-Louis David’s The Coronation of Napoleon in the Denon Wing, and of course, the Mona Lisa .

I peppered Winnie with more information than he’d ever remember, poor chap. Did he know the contents of the Louvre were worth over thirty-five-billion pound sterling and that it would take a hundred days to see every piece of art owned by the museum? Did he know that the Louvre was more than eight hundred years old and according to some, was haunted?

“They say a mummy wanders the halls, and a woman in red roams the garden. I haven’t seen either, but I believe it. These old buildings have seen centuries worth of brutal history. We might be surrounded by ghosts at this very moment,” I commented, casting a sideways glance at Winnie.

Bloody hell, he was lovely. His cheekbones were razor sharp, his eyes glinted with greens and golds, and his lips were lush and full, painted in a pale shade of pink that offset his beautiful olive skin. I’d never spent any significant amount of time with a man who wore cosmetics. Not that he wore much. A bit of color on his lips, cheeks, and liner that made his eyes look impossibly big.

Winnie had the long limbs, graceful stride, and stylish clothing of a runway model. I didn’t know men who dressed, walked, talked, or sparkled like him. It might have been intimidating, but he had a wide-eyed aura of wonder that made him seem approachable. Someone you’d trust with secrets.

Strange sentiment, but perhaps it explained why I’d told him I was gay. That wasn’t something I shared with acquaintances. Actually, it wasn’t something I shared at all.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked, sinking onto a bench in the red room.

“Yes.”

He grinned. “Just like that? No need to think about it?”

I blushed at his teasing tone for no reason in particular. “We all have a spirit. It’s tangible—even though you can’t see it, you can feel it. It’s illogical to think we fade or disappear into nothingness. Of course, that’s not a hypothesis I can readily defend, so let’s keep that between us, shall we?”

Winnie made a zipped-lips motion. “If you could be haunted by a famous ghost, who would it be? I’ll go first…Celine Dion.”

“She’s alive and well,” I reported.

“I know. This is a preemptive haunting request.”

“Can you do that?”

“Of course,” he declared. “My game, my rules. Who’s haunting you?”

“No one, I hope.”

“Play the game, Professor,” he chided with an eye roll. “Who’s it gonna be? An Egyptian pharaoh, a sexy Roman gladiator, or?—”

“Charles Darwin,” I replied automatically.

“Why?”

“He was a naturalist, a biologist, a geologist, a?—”

“No. Stop. He would bore you to tears, telling you things you already know. He’d probably be better for me. I’ll take Darwin, you can have Celine.” Winnie tilted his chin toward the skylights and sighed dramatically. “The things I do for my friends.”

I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. He was daft, but he was thoroughly entertaining.

“You’re a gentleman through and through,” I agreed, pursing my lips. “Now let’s continue on to the?—”

“No, no. I’m parched and my dogs are barking. I need an art break and an infusion of French bread or a macaron, stat.”

I glanced at the time and did a double take. Blimey! It wasn’t like me to take hours away from my work. For a moment, I couldn’t recall what I was doing at the Louvre at all, but before I could insist on returning to the hotel, Winnie flagged down a guard and asked for directions to the nearest café in the museum.

Twenty minutes later, we sat at a table for two on the balcony next to the balustrade overlooking the gardens with a proper lunch of croque monsieur and quiche lorraine . Don’t ask me what we talked about. The weather; his cat, Liza; his aversion to the color gray; and a detailed account of the sights he wanted to see around Paris, like Versailles.

He’d already done quite a bit of exploring on his own, but he had questions that supposedly only I could answer about Notre-Dame and “that fancy bridge with the pretty lampposts.”

And somehow, an hour later, I found myself strolling along the Seine, pointing out architectural wonders as if I were a native.

Winnie stopped in the middle of Pont Neuf and pointed at the sun dipping low on the horizon, painting the sky pink and orange.

“This is absolutely gorgeous,” he enthused, flashing a winning smile my way. “Thank you.”

“I—you’re welcome. I didn’t do anything, though.”

“Sure, you did. You took a whole day off to show me the city. That’s definitely something.”

Those hazel eyes and the charming lilt in his voice stirred butterflies in my stomach and made me dizzy. What was wrong with me?

“I can’t believe I’ve been gone all day.” I rubbed the heel of my hand on my temple and finally braved a peek at my mobile.

And there it was…a message from G. Poitier:

I heard a rumor you’re in Paris, my friend. Are you free for dinner or a drink?

I didn’t respond. I slipped my phone into my pocket and fixated on a riverboat slicing through the current, squinting against the sun’s glare.

I’d forgotten about Gerard for hours. And I’d forgotten the panicky feeling that always accompanied unwanted surprises.

“Who’s texting you in French and messing with your zhuzh?” Winnie asked, poking my ribs playfully before bugging his eyes out. “It’s Gerard. Shit! I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have told him you were here. He made it sound like you were friends.”

“He’s a colleague…not a friend.”

“ Mmm . He must be more than that. You’re green around the gills.”

I frowned. “I am not.”

Winnie shrugged, unbothered by my withering glare. “A teense. Trust me, there’re a few coworkers I’d rather not bump into—out of town, out of sight, out of mind. But you really hate that guy.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“But you want to avoid him.”

“No, I want to…minimize contact,” I replied, proud of my matter-of-fact tone.

“Because…”

“Because I have nothing new to share with him, and I don’t like to divvy my work in bite-sized portions for leisurely consumption. We keep schedules and diaries for a reason.” I felt around the bench in a sudden panic. “Where did I put my mobile?”

“In your pocket,” Winnie said matter-of-factly. “The coast is probably clear now if you want to head back to the hotel.”

I chuckled ruefully. “I’m not hiding from Gerard. It was more a matter of needing space to think. I come up with my best lines after unexpected confrontations.”

“Confrontation?” he repeated. “Are you sure he’s not an ex?”

“Positive. Gerard is the perfectly nice gentleman who…wooed my ex. It’s complicated,” I blabbed.

See what I mean?

I couldn’t shut up in Winnie’s presence.

He widened his eyes comically. “That cad! What, when, and how? I want all the deets. Unless, you’d rather not talk about it. That’s absolutely okay, too. But I will say this…I’m an excellent listener. In fact, in my capacity as hairdresser, I’m practically a therapist. I assure you, I have heard it all.”

“It’s not an exciting tale, Winnie. Boy wins boy, boy loses boy to a handsome, wealthy, successful, charming man…with a French accent. I bet you’ve heard better stories at your Hollywood salon.”

He studied me for a moment, then reached out to thread his fingers with mine. The unexpectedly forward gesture caught me unawares. By the time it registered that I should have pulled away, we’d been holding hands for over a minute, and damn it, this was nice.

“Let’s see…one of my customers broke up with his boyfriend in rush hour traffic on the 405 and demanded to be left on the side of the road where he was picked up by the police. He spent an hour sobbing in the back seat with a German shepherd howling at him. Another customer told me his lover was so thrilled with his Brazilian wax job that he showed it off…everywhere. And yes, he caught his man bent over, pants down, cheeks spread for his eighty-year-old neighbor. Somehow, they’re still together.”

I barked a laugh. “No!”

“Yes. I also had a client who walked in on his boyfriend and his ‘straight’ best friend doing the dirty, and another whose ex blew a stranger on a dance floor while my client was in the bathroom.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Winnie huffed. “Not all of those stories are true. Some guys just make shit up for entertainment purposes. I can usually tell the difference between grossly embellished and true horror stories. Tea is the currency at my salon. I’ve heard the ‘boy leaves boy for another boy’ tale from both sides, and it always makes me sad. Sometimes mad. Like now. Just know that you’re equally as successful, handsome, and desirable as Gerard. And your accent is hotter.”

“Well, now I know you’re lying,” I teased. “He’s French.”

“British accents, though…yum.”

I snorted. “Definitely off your rocker. Thank you for the compliment and your concern, however misplaced. I’m not heartbroken. All parties have moved on. Including me.”

He cocked his head curiously. “Okay, then give it up. What happened with the ex? How long ago did you break up?”

“Five years ago.”

“Tell me more. Where did you meet?”

“At the museum.”

Winnie crooked his finger. “Keep going.”

“Colin was an assistant to one of the curators while he was finishing his degree in antiquities. We hit it off, and everything was lovely for four years…or so I thought. We didn’t live together, but we talked about our future as if it was a given that we’d eventually do heteronormative things, like get married. But Gerard came along, and that was the end of us,” I finished in a rush, fighting the urge to slap a hand over my mouth. I’d never shared any of this information…with anyone.

“Gerard sucks,” Winnie deadpanned.

“It takes two to tango, doesn’t it? Colin was unhappy, and I didn’t know it. According to him, the writing was on the wall, and it should have been evident to me that we weren’t a good match anymore. His list was extraordinarily detailed. I worked too much, I never remembered birthdays or anniversaries, and the sex was…uninspired and infrequent.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Ouch.”

“Maybe it was true, but it hardly mattered. He had feelings for my handsome business associate.” I fixed my gaze on the glint of fading sunlight on the Seine. “They’re married now and have a lovely home in Dijon…or I’ve he ard. We’re not friends, but we’re friendly out of necessity. I see Gerard at conferences, and occasionally he’ll turn up in London to discuss various projects. And it’s all very normal.”

“Except for the part where he stole your man.”

“He didn’t steal Colin.” I quirked a brow, adding, “He lured him away and absconded with him. That’s quite different.”

Winnie elbowed me playfully. “Ahh, see? You have a good sense of humor.”

“I try. As I mentioned, it’s been years. I know evidence suggests I’m not over it, but I am. I have to be. Gerard has worked on countless excavations, and we collaborate quite often. Always have. Unfortunately, I’m not good with people. Even ones I’ve known for years, so…it’s awkward.”

“Yeah, but you get a hall pass for the absconding part.”

“It’s not as though I want Colin back,” I said. “However, it would be nice if I could meet Gerard by chance at a hotel lobby and know for certain that I wouldn’t panic, forget how to speak, or say something that makes it sound as if I still care when I don’t.”

“I can help with that.”

“Thanks, Winnie. But I don’t need help.”

“You do,” he insisted. “The good news is…it’s easy. You’ve already self-diagnosed. You work too much, and your feng wee is off.”

“Feng shui?”

“That’s it.” Winnie twisted on the bench and pointed at my chest. “I’m gonna be real with you, Professor. You’ve forgotten how to have fun. I understand that old civilizations are your jam, but you live in the twenty-first century and you need to relearn how to socialize with people in this era.”

“I’m perfectly capable of socializing, thank you very much,” I huffed haughtily .

“When was the last time you let loose and had a drink or three, went dancing, or flirted with a sexy man?”

I felt around on the bench for my phone. “It’s been a while. I just had my mobile, didn’t I?”

“It’s still in your pocket.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“You flirted with me earlier today. I’m a sexy man…if I do say so myself.” He certainly was. “We didn’t go dancing, but we’ve been hanging out all day, and I ordered wine with lunch, so the answer is today. Well done, Alistair.”

I chuckled lightly. “Thanks, but I didn’t flirt with you. You’re an assistant, and circumstances are…”

“Ambidextrous?” he offered.

“Ambiguous.”

“That’s the word.”

I furrowed my brow. “No, I don’t think that word applies either. Our roles aren’t ambiguous. I’m your employer.”

“Only temporarily. Formalities don’t apply. I mean, c’mon…I would never spend the day hanging out with my boss back home. In spite of the fact that he’s overlooked me too often for my sanity, he’s a nice guy, but…it would have been weird. This doesn’t feel weird.” Winnie gestured between us meaningfully.

He was right. It didn’t feel weird in the slightest.

“No, I suppose you’re right.”

“I am, and that’s what makes me the perfect person to get you out of your social funk,” he continued. “Circumstances couldn’t be better ’cause I’ve got the blahs too. A different variation from yours. Mine is more of a ‘What am I doing with my life?’ funk, but it’s still a funk and I don’t like it. Solution: we’re both going to take Paris!”

Winnie threw his arms open wide and tilted his head to the sky, a moonbeam smile lighting his beautiful face.

“Take Paris…where? ”

“It’s an expression, silly. I propose we paint the town and do something fun every day. We can take turns expanding our horizons. I should see things and get cultured, and since you’re an expert, you can be my guide. In return, I’ll help you explore clubs and bars so you can practice honing your dormant sexy skills.”

I balked. “No, thank you. I have no desire to go to bars, and my sexy skills aren’t dormant, they’re nonexistent.”

“No way. I don’t believe it.”

“Well, you should. I haven’t so much as kissed a man in five years,” I admitted, pushing my glasses to the bridge of my nose.

Winnie lifted one brow in what might have been surprise. “Kiss me.”

“I-I…wh-what?” I sputtered.

“Kiss me,” he repeated.

“I-I can’t kiss you.”

“Of course you can…for all the reasons we already discussed. It’s just a facet in our quest to take Paris. Is facet the right word?”

“Uh…no,” I replied distractedly. “Listen, Winnie, while I appreciate your inventive thinking, intimate exchanges are?—”

“Kissing is the French equivalent of a handshake,” he intercepted. “I read it in Vogue , and it totally makes sense. If you ask me, kissing gets way too much credit. It isn’t a marriage proposal, you know. But it is a skill you want to hone, to be sure. You let those skizzles go flat, and poo f! There goes your confidence. So, pucker up, buttercup. Let’s do this.”

Winnie scooted into my space, closed his eyes and presented his gorgeous mouth to me like a gift. There was only one logical, appropriate response here and it involved a simple “No, thank you” and a gentle reminder that kissing an employee, regardless of the length of their tenure or whatever country you happened to be in at the moment, was never a good idea.

But my God, his eyelashes were impossibly long, his cheeks were flush from the cool breeze off the river, and his mouth was a thing of beauty. His lips looked plump and pillowy and so inviting. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have sworn there was a magnet, drawing me toward him.

I leaned in, inch by inch, until our noses brushed. I should have pulled away then, but gravity had me in a chokehold. I couldn’t stop my momentum.

The next thing I knew, my lips were pressed to Winnie’s and the sky erupted with fireworks as a choir of angels sang from the heavens.

Dramatic? Yes, perhaps, but accurate.

When he molded his mouth against mine, angling his chin and parting his lips, I had to wrap a hand around his shoulder to stay vertical. He tasted like cherries and mint and felt like lava in my arms. He was the sun, and I was in danger of combusting. But I couldn’t let go. Not yet.

I licked the seam of his lips, and oh so tentatively pushed inside. Winnie gasped, his low moan of approval vibrating deep in my chest as he took over, threading his fingers in my hair as he glided his tongue alongside mine.

We carried on like teenagers in a never-ending lip-lock till oxygen deprivation became a cause for concern.

Winnie nipped my jaw and straightened, his drowsy gaze fixed on my mouth for a beat before finally meeting my eyes.

I waited for him to break the silence. Nothing.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Winnie blinked as if coming out of a fog. “Yes. Wow, yes, yes. I’m…very good. Fuck me, Professor. You are a man of many talents. Including kissing. Why didn’t you tell me you’re an expert?”

“Uh…because I’m not. I told you I’m?—”

“Out of practice. I remember.” He raked his teeth over his bottom lip and exhaled theatrically. “Well, like I said, I think it’s a good idea to keep your skills up, so if you want to do that again…I’m cool with it.”

Yes, I was also very, very cool with it.

I pushed my hands into my pockets. “It’s getting cold. We should go.”

We wordlessly headed north along the cobblestone path, making way for faster moving pedestrians. Somewhere in the melee of lackadaisical tourists and Parisians hurrying home for the day, Winnie hooked his arm through mine. Along the Quai de la Mégisserie, past Pont des Arts, across the street to the Louvre…he stayed glued to my side.

We said our good-byes in the hallway outside of my suite.

There was no talk of future plans or of work that had been left undone. And there was definitely no mention of the kiss. Good thing, as I didn’t trust myself to speak while my lips were still tingling and my heart was hammering in my chest.

I was sure I’d feel more like myself as soon as I sat at my desk and fell into a rabbit hole in the Middle Kingdom, circa 1938 BC.

I turned on the light and cast my gaze around my room, noting that the reams of paperwork and the laptop I’d left open were untouched, but the wreckage of biscuit wrappers and tea cups had been cleared away by housekeeping. It looked nice, I mused, shrugging off my jacket.

At the last second, I remembered my phone and rescued it from my pocket.

A new text from Gerard popped up on my screen.

Sorry I missed you today. Quel dommage. I could meet early for breakfast if that is possible.

I waited for the usual wave of panic to hit in the form of a choking sensation followed by palpitations or a case of the sweats. Perhaps that was a gross overreaction, but I didn’t do well with personal strife.

Deleting Gerard’s number, ignoring his texts, and canceling him from my life would have been professional suicide. As I’d told Winnie, I needed Gerard’s field expertise, and he needed my historical insight.

It was too bad he’d seduced my boyfriend and apologized as if he’d accidentally run over my post box. It was too bad he was ridiculously attractive and interesting and French, and it had been a shame Colin thought so too. C’est la vie . That was ancient history and as my therapist had said, their choices weren’t a reflection of my worth—my work was. Well, she didn’t say that last part, but work cleared the cobwebs.

So had a day running around Paris with my temporary assistant.

I reread Gerard’s text and replied, Yes, of course.

He responded immediately with a lengthy message regarding his train and Colin’s plan to meet him at the station in Dijon. That alone should have raised an internal alarm, but it didn’t.

No, not a smidge of panic. Nothing at all. That had to be Winnie’s doing.

I touched my lips and smiled.

Later, when I finally crawled into bed and turned out the light, I was still smiling.