Love In Three Countries: France (A Billionaire Travel Erotic Romance)

  Love In Three Countries: France

  A Billionaire Travel Erotic Romance

  Bella Blue

  The characters in this book are purely fictional. Any similarities between them and real individuals are purely coincidental.

  As soon as I stepped off the plane, I felt like I was breathing in the air of romance and adventure. After a year of saving up and working hard, I'm finally able to take my long trip. Well, as long as a week can be.

  Three different countries. France, Italy, and Brazil before I'm back home to the states. Finally landing in Charles de Gaulle International Airport forced all my anxiety and work worries off my shoulders and deep into the back of my mind. I'm free! For a while, at least.

  Walking past the red carpet where new passengers sit, waiting for their planes while browsing the internet on an almost infinite number of cell phones and tablets, I quickly go to bag pickup to await my luggage. I'm not ashamed to say I might have over packed, with two large suitcases and my carry on. A girl needs her clothes and shoes!

  A half an hour waiting and waiting for my purple suitcases to come around the bend of the luggage carrier, the little machine whirring a couple dozen bags around and around. Mine are nearly the last ones to come out, but I grab them quick.

  My next stop is to board the RER train and head into central Paris. I feel like jumping up and down with excitement, ready now more than ever for this adventure to begin. I pass a group of schoolgirls who had shared my plane with me, high schoolers from an advanced French language class who gossiped the whole flight about boys and television shows. One girl cried for a few minutes, explaining that she missed her mom. The teacher escorting them, a handsome man with a sprinkling of grey in his otherwise jet black hair, reminded her they would only be gone a week. She is all smiles now as she sits waiting for the rest of her class to pick up their bags.

  My hotel is La Maison Favart, a quirky building that I'm told gives the artsy feel one should have while staying in Paris. I board my train with the help of a few kind men who help carry my luggage onto the train and then out to the street again before hailing a taxi for me. God, I love France.

  The taxi driver, a nice man who only knows a small amount of broken English, sings French pop music as he drives me to my destination. I thank him, tipping him much more than I would have tipped a driver in America, and leave his car. Again, the kind man helps me with my luggage up to the door of the hotel where two men grab my luggage and lead me inside.

  The lobby overwhelms me as I step in- paintings and a large, ornate mirror on the wall facing a room full of seating. Some chairs, a few white couches, and a plush carpet beneath them all, separated from reception desk by large white columns.

  “Bonjour, manquer.”

  I turn and am greeted by a smiling woman. She looks to be about 50, with stylish blonde hair. Though not thin, she still has a sexy body even for her age, and I find myself admiring her for longer than is appropriate.

  “Bonjour. Je ne parle pas beaucoup Français, I'm sorry!” Hoping she understands, I shrug a little in consolation.

  “That's alright, I know enough English,” she replies.

  “Oh, good! How lucky for me. My name is Olivia Valentine, I have reservations for 2 days.” Stepping up to the counter, where the men left my bags, I show her my passport and credit card. With slim fingers, painted a beautiful shade of red, she types on her computer to find me.

  “Ah, you are in room 36. It's a beautiful room. I'll have someone bring your heavy bags up, here is your key card.”

  “Thank you!” I bow a bit, taking the card and turning toward the stairs. Heading up the flights to my room, I check behind and see that two men are following me with my bags. I hurry the rest of the way so that they don't have to struggle with my heavy luggage longer than necessary.

  Unlocking the door to room 36, I press the handle down and step into the room. It smells very slightly of a floral perfume. The walls are a golden yellow, and from the door I can see a corner of the bed. Walking in further, I notice the coffee maker and sigh with relief, happy I won't have to travel far for caffeine.

  Hearing a bit of a struggle behind me, I notice both men entering the room behind me. “Thank you, you can set them anywhere.” I have no idea if they understand me, but they set the bag beside the large bed and turn to leave. Quickly, I hand one of them some money for a tip and they leave, shutting the door behind them.

  On the bed is a blanket with an ornate design of red and gold, along with two small brown pillows and two larger white pillows. On the right of the bed is a desk with a lamp and a lavender chair, the perfect place to set up my laptop. Sitting on the bed for a moment, I'm pleasantly surprised by how soft it is.

  Above the headboard is a golden sun, with a large mirror in the center and smaller mirrors randomly placed on its rays of light. I stand up to check myself out in one of the mirrors, noticing I look a bit tired. I may as well shower and take a nap before exploring the city.

  The shower's low pressure gently massages any remaining stress from my back and neck as I explore my body. I've never been one to give into desire, but for some reason at this very moment, my skin is tingling and my fingers want to roam. Using the no doubt expensive body wash given by the hotel, I soap up my breasts, the bubbles sliding down my skin and tickling my nipples. As I brush over the now stiff nubs with my soft hands, I let out a soft moan that echos very slightly off the tiled walls of the shower. I lean my back into the tiles, the cool stone against skin that's hot from the water raises goosebumps all over my body while I tweak my nipples just slightly.

  The motion sends a jolt down my stomach and to another stiff nub. My hands roam down now, washing my stomach and circling around my belly button before my fingers run through the trimmed and groomed hair on my mound. One hand slips between my legs, the flowery smell of gardenia from the body wash lulling me into a sort of relaxed trance as I suds up the outer lips of my vagina. I part the lips as I wash the soap off of my other hand before gliding it between them, pressing my palm into my clitoris.

  I rub my palm against my engorged nub, moving it in circles. My breathing grows heavy as I pleasure myself, my skin tingling as each rush of small orgasms courses through me. I look up, noticing with ecstasy that the shower head can be removed.

  Taking it from its sheath, I run it down my body. Not wanting to burn myself, I turn the heat down just enough before I spread my legs and let the jets of water push up into me. I enjoy the soft pressure for a few minutes, but know I want more. Turning the head, the water pressure gets harder and harder. The highest setting almost makes me scream, but that's exactly what I want! Sitting down in the shower, I lean back and spread my legs, letting the water hit my clit hard and then slide down to my ass. The naughtiness of this brings me to an orgasm so intense I can't help but let out a little yelp before I drop the shower head and lay twitching on the floor of the shower.

  Once my knees feel strong enough to hold me, I stand up and put the shower head back. I wash my hair, enjoying the tingling heat on my scalp, and then get out of the shower. A robe is hanging from the back of the bathroom door, which I take and wrap around me, before I lay on top of the soft bed and dose off.

  When I wake up, the room is dark. Looking to the window, I see that night has fallen and the sun is nearly gone. I check the clock on the desk next to the bed, and see that it's 7 PM.

  “Shoot,” I mumble. Standing up, I notice my robe was partially open while I was sleeping, and that the room has been cleaned. The cleaning lady probably got a good look of my vagina. The tho
ught makes me blush, but I'm not too embarrassed.

  I get dressed and pull my hair back. Falling asleep with wet hair means it's too wild to even bother trying to style. Twisting my medium length brown hair into a low bun, I slip on a black dress and pull a small black clutch wallet that I put my credit card and passport into before heading back down to the reception.

  The lobby is still a bit overwhelming, but it's growing on me. Passing by the woman, I wave as I head out onto the street, hoping there is a restaurant where I can buy dinner somewhere nearby.

  Luckily for me, there is a small cafe across the street from my hotel, a cute little building called Chez Mimi. Stepping into the building, I am greeted with ambient lighting. It's nearly packed, but I head to the counter and order a coffee along with a doughnut. Not the most nutritious meal, but it'll tide me over until I can find a larger restaurant. My stomach is growling too loud to permit myself to wait longer.

  My eyes wander around the cafe, looking for an empty seat. Ah, there's one. Way in the back, in the corner, there is a single empty chair next to a window. No one seems to be saving it, so I make my way back, my hips swaying slightly as I step and swerve to avoid hitting anyone. The smell of my coffee is making me a bit woozy, and I know if I don't sit soon I may collapse.

  The chair has a pretty cushion on it, which makes the seat just comfortable enough. I only have a small table on which to set my things, so my purse is in my lap while I sip my coffee and daintily bite into my doughnut. From the corner of my eye, while taking a small bite, I notice a man staring at me from across the room. At least, I think he's staring at me.

  Too embarrassed to look and be sure, I finish my doughnut and continue working on my coffee. Back home, though I'm tough and hardworking, I'm not that great with men. I've dated a few, but even though I'm 24 and my mom reminds me almost every month that she wants grandchildren, I just can't find someone I'm comfortable with.

  Even just from the corner of my eye, the stranger is obviously handsome. My heart starts to beat faster with the idea that maybe he really is looking at me. What if he comes to talk to me?

  I'm on vacation. I can pretend to be anyone. I decide then and there, that I'm going to pretend to be a real seductress, someone everyone wants. If he doesn't come talk to me, maybe I'll go talk to him. My body is still on fire from my self love in the shower earlier, and I know that if I don't get someone to take care of me tonight, I might go mad.

  While I'm thinking about this, I don't notice the man stand up, picking up his coffee as well. The couple sitting next to me stands up to leave, and the man ogling me from across the room takes their place. I only notice this once he's already sat down. In my surprise, I accidentally glance at him, my mouth open slightly. Seeing my eyes flick over to him, he smiles, but I turn away again. Real smooth, Olivia.

  “Mademoiselle, you are the loveliest woman I have seen tonight.” Surprised again, I can't help but look to him to be sure if he's talking to me or someone else. Me, lovely? But sure enough, his dark brown eyes are focused solely on me, examining my face with a twinkle of laughter in his eyes.

  I nearly stutter out something embarrassing, but remembering that I am playing a character, I straighten my back and lower my voice slightly. “Thank you, monsieur.”

  He smiles at me, setting his coffee down on the tiny table beside him. He's wearing a suit, which seems odd for someone just dining in this small cafe. He leans back against a half wall used to separate the grouping of tables while continuing to stare at me. “Are you alone tonight?”

  The question catches me off guard. He's so forward! I let my eyes droop as I turn my head before answering. “I am.”

  “I have a reservation for a restaurant, my favorite restaurant in all of Paris. My previous date has decided another man would be more interesting tonight. Would you like to join me?”

  His French accent is heavy, but not so much that I can't understand him. I consider having dinner with this strange man, weighing the potential danger against my growling stomach not quite satisfied with the pastry I just finished. Finally, I shrug slightly before giving the man a smile. “I suppose I could join you, if you'd like.”

  Standing up, he straightens his suit jacket before holding out his hand to help me rise as well. I take it, secretly marveling at how polite every French man I have met has been so far.

  “My name is Jacques Gautier.”

  “Mine is Olivia. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  Back out on the Parisian street down, he quickly escorts me to the street, where he hails the taxi. Within seconds, he's opening the door and helping me into the vehicle.

  Within a moment, he's by my side again, telling the driver in quick French exactly where he wants to go. “I am sorry for rushing you, but we are a bit late.”

  “It's quite alright,” I lie. I'm honestly tired and dizzy now from practically running from Chez Mimi.

  “You look ill suddenly. Lay your head on my shoulder, we will be to the restaurant soon.”

  I look at him suspiciously for a moment, before doing as I'm told, leaning against him and closing my eyes. He has such a faint smell of cologne that I wouldn't even know it if I weren't pressed against him. It's a deep, manly smell that matches his voice and his looks. I'm not one for folly or falling in love at first sight, but I am becoming quite fond of this stranger.

  I may have dozed off then, because Jacques has to shake me a bit once the taxi stops. He pays the driver before helping me out of the car again.

  We stand before a proud building, with the words Le Cinq written above tall windows on vinyl in a golden font. More slowly now, Jacques escorts me past the doors where we are greeted and immediately seated. Jacques laughs at a joke shared between the waiter and himself in French, before we are left alone.

  Seated by one of the tall windows, we look out to a garden past the golden-pink trim of the window. Next to us is a sort of palm tree, and the cream colored chairs we sit in are comfortable with the cushion on the back and large cushion beneath us.

  My stomach growls again, loud enough for Jacques to hear it. “You are very hungry,” he comments. “We will order soon.”

  The waiter, as if he could read our minds, pops up next to Jacques almost immediately. “Do you like lamb?” he asks.

  “I do.”

  “I will order the lamb shoulder, then. Is that agreeable?”

  “I think so.”

  He turns to the waiter and orders in French. Maybe I should have tried to learn a bit more before I began my vacation, but it seems most people know enough English for me to get by. The waiter scurries off, and Jacques turns to me again. “I took the liberty of ordering the best red wine, as well.”

  I nod, taking in the beauty of the restaurant. It's attached to a hotel, and I wonder if this is where Jacques is staying.

  “Jacques!” Both of our heads turn to see a man walking towards us quickly, a smile on his face.

  “Ah, Eric!” He turns to me and leans in now, whispering. “Eric is the Restaurant Director here. He's a good man, but does not know much English.”

  I nod and we both turn back to the man, short and balding slightly. He smiles brightly at us and the two men converse again. After a few minutes, Eric turns to me.

  “Madamoiselle,” he takes my hand and kisses it gently. I simply smile and bow my head slightly. He turns to Jacques again with wide eyes. “Lucky!”

  The exclamation makes us both laugh, and the men say goodbye and Eric leaves. “I am sorry about him. He is a bit of a womanizer.”

  I giggle and shrug. “I have met my fair share of womanizers. He doesn't seem too bad.”

  Soon after, our table is filled with food and wine. We quickly dig in, the flavors of the lamb sending me straight to heaven. What an amazing meal, and the wine is likewise to die for. Though we did not talk much, there seems to be an emotion between us. A sort of excitement, of possible conquest. As I take my last sip of wine, the alcohol finally hitting me and making me a bit giggly, I r
est my hand on the table and the handsome man before me takes it. His dark brown hair shifts gently against his forehead as he leans in, staring deep within my eyes and searching my soul. Before he even asks the question, I know I am going to say yes.

  “Olivia,” he starts, the words no louder than a breath. “Would you like to see my room?”

  I nod, and Jacques again takes my hand, helping me up. We leave the table, and I wonder if we will get in trouble for not paying. Or maybe he paid beforehand?

  Through the doorway to the hotel lobby, he leads me to the elevator. “I am up a few floors,” he comments while we wait for the doors to open. I stand close to him, feeling his heat through his suit, breathing in the masculine scent from his cologne. The double doors open and we both step into the empty elevator. He presses the button for the 5th floor, the doors pausing for a second before closing.

  Suddenly, I'm pressed against the wall of the elevator, Jacques' soft lips pressed against mine. He opens his mouth and shifts his face for a better angle, and I part my lips a bit as well. His tongue licks my lips before invading them, flicking into my mouth and pressing against my own. We don't have enough time to do much more than kiss, and as my stomach drops I know the elevator is slowing. I try to pull him close, to prolong the kiss, but from over his shoulder I see a couple is standing in front of the door, waiting for us to let them on.