His arms go wide, blocking my way. "Play with me."

My head jerks back. "What?"

"You know, how do you Americains say, play with me." His hand is circling in front of his crotch.

I'm so offended I'm not sure what to say.

Olivier does though. "eloigne-toi d'elle." His deep voice resonates around the room, penetrating my chest and I jump.

So does Stefan, but I'm not sure if it's from whatever Olivier just said to him or from the interruption. "Detendez-vous, l'homme. Je suis juste en tenant la porte ouverte pour elle."

I look between the two, caught in the middle until Olivier is at my side. Stefan opens the door wide with a fake smile plastered on his face. "Con casse-toi," Olivier mutters under his breath as we pass.

Stefan laughs, then says, "Ta Gueule, Americain."

The pressure of Olivier's hand on my lower back keeps me moving forward until we reach the stairs. He steps around me, takes my hand, then books it up the steps. I'm quick to follow but tire after the second flight. I stop, yanking him to a halt. "Slow down."

He nods. I can see the stress of the situation written in the lines of his face, lines that shouldn't be there at such a young age. He leans against the wall and I take a final step up and lean against him. "I missed you today. Is it too soon to say that?"

A perfect smile appears and he takes me by the waist, bringing me in for a kiss. "Non. Not too soon. I missed you, Sunshine."

I smile and kiss him again. This time more on the R rated side, hoping to move to an X-rating soon. "Hungry?" I ask.

"Hungry for you."

Laughing, I say, "I meant for food. I haven't eaten much and I'm starved."

"After." He starts up the steps again, taking me up with him.

"After?"

"After sex. I really missed you today." His cocky smile wins me over and I pass him on the last flight.

Running after me, he practically tackles me on the last few steps. I fall back, turning just in time to land on my ass on the hard wood. Olivier drops his arms on either side of me, his lips just a few inches away. I push up and he comes down and we kiss in the middle. As I wrap my arms around his neck, he lowers us back just as our tongues meet again. His pelvis presses between my legs and I respond with a moan. "Morrrreee."

I squeal when he scoops me up and hurries down the hall toward our room.

He stops just outside the door and says, "Pocket. Keys."

I go fishing in his pocket, then the other and pull out the key. Holding it in the air, I celebrate. "Success!"

"Success. Open the door."

Unlocking the door, I turn the knob, then Olivier kicks it until it slams against the wall. He moves us to the bed, drops me down on the mattress before rushing back to close the door and lock it.

Reaching over, I turn on the lamp as he stops to lean against the wall. "This is crazy, right?"

"Totally."

"But you're into it?"

Getting up, I go to him and lean against the wall right in front of him. "I'm into you."

"I'm into you too."

This time I take his hand and lead him to the bed, taking charge. "Now get naked and make love to me."

"With much pleasure."

Chapter 7.

"Do you work today?"

Olivier brings me even closer, his body wrapped around the back of mine. His chin rests on my shoulder and he whispers, "Yes, most of the day. I'll be stuck behind the bar. What are you doing today?"

Still tired, jet lag has finally set in. I guess I've been living off adrenaline and giddiness. My limbs feel heavy, my eyelids even heavier. I don't bother opening them, not worried about the time or schedule or anything else. Everything feels too good right now to ruin it with reality, time, or morning afters. "If I leave bed today, I want to go to the Sacre-Coeur and maybe hit the flea market."

"Every tour guide tells you those are must-sees." He laughs. "I will take you somewhere tonight. Somewhere the guidebooks don't send you."

That opens my eyes. Turning in his arms, I ask, "Really?"

He pushes some strands of my messy hair out of my eyes. The act so kind and caring, a lot like the way he's looking at me now. He says, "Oui."

Just as I begin to smile, he kisses me, making me forget all about heavy limbs and exhaustion. Our bodies begin to move, the closeness encouraging urges and longings that feel unsatisfied. Within minutes he's filling me-body and soul. His hand slips between us and his fingers find that spot that confirms my body belongs to Olivier DuMarche and I don't seem to have a say in the matter. He knows just how to make me beg for more and love harder. My ecstasy drives his and he comes with me.

Olivier leaves me with a warning of staying away from Stefan and a reminder that he'll meet me on the steps of the Sacre-Coeur at six this evening. I go back to sleep, needing it.

I wake up around one in the afternoon. Feeling lethargic, it takes me an hour to bathe and style my hair. Feeling fresher and ready for my date . . . I mean day, I dress with care and put on makeup. Feeling pretty in Paris is so not underrated. This vacation is the best ever. But I only have two days left, so I need to make the most of them.

Stefan is not around when I leave, though he doesn't scare me as much as he probably should. I can take care of myself when needed. My build may be slight, but I'm strong. All of those P.E. credits have paid off. But I'm still glad I don't see him. His lecherous ways are gross to witness when I'm just passing through the lobby.

With my museum pass in hand, I try the subway again. I find the right station to exit and end up exactly where I wanted to be. Two hours is spent at the Pompidou enjoying everything from an oversized pencil to literature. Immersing myself in this museum as much as possible has been fun, but I don't relate to the art as much. I think I'm more the classical kind of gal. It's always good to expand the horizons though.

Knowing I have to go from the 4th arrondissemont to the 18th to meet Olivier means I need to get moving.

I arrive at the Sacre-Coeur just before six, finding a place halfway up the stairs to sit and wait. Pulling my purse from my shoulder I set it on my lap and look out over the city. This is the highest point in Paris and my heart begins to race at the reality that I'm here, in this place that I've dreamed about for what feels like my entire life. I hope my feet never touch the ground. I love living a dream.

It feels cooler today, so I tighten my coat at the waist and lean back. Glancing at my watch often, I see the minutes ticking by too slowly. I'm anxious and want to see Olivier again. The top of the hour comes and goes and the next time I look at my watch it's fifteen after . . . thirty after . . . forty-five minutes after . . .

At seven, I sigh, then stand up and stretch while scanning the staircase and then the other one across the grass. I don't see anyone who even remotely looks like Olivier. I'm sure he just got hung up at work, though I'm starting to feel abandoned. I change spots, moving lower, closer to the main sidewalk at the base of the hill and wait.

By eight, I get up, pull my purse over my head, adjusting it across my body before walking down the steps and heading toward the street of shops ahead. Disappointment fills my chest. Tears well, but don't fall. I search the street as I walk hoping to see him, hear my name being called, or find the answer that will explain why I was just stood up. None of those happen and I'm left to return to the hostel alone.

Trying to hold my head up, the hurt I'm feeling sits squarely on my shoulders and I struggle to move past the negative thoughts that fill my head. Instead of going back to that depressing room, I stop into a restaurant, getting a table inside for one. I'm placed in the back corner and given a view of a bistro full of couples-young and old-in love. The French are definitely not shy about showing their affection in public. Is everyone in this city in love?

I drop the cloth napkin to my lap, annoyed. When the waiter comes to my table, I order a Nicoise salad and a glass of wine. The wine is delivered promptly. It must be obvious that I need a drink. There is no small talk with the waiter. He's just as anxious to move to the next table as I am to forget about how I wasted my time today.

Up ahead, an attractive man sitting alone at the bar catches my eye just as I catch his. He smiles. But I look down, not wanting the attention tonight. Maybe everything went wrong in Paris when I started being more concerned about Olivier than the reason I came here in the first place. I never expected to meet someone. But with the romantic movies of the past and the legends of how romantic this city is, I might have been gullible to the first charming guy with an accent. I'm a fool.

My salad is delivered with no words and I'm left alone to eat. I don't hurry, but I kind of want to. I should enjoy these moments, pretend I never met Olivier, like he never stood me up, like I never started to fall for him. Like the redhead from the other night, I now understand her anger and her pain. It makes me wonder if he stood her up as well.

With two glasses of wine and a large salad filling my belly, I leave the bistro and all the lovebirds behind and go back to my room. Surprisingly, I'm back quicker than expected. When I walk through the door, Stefan is there . . . naturally, and with a new girl. A blonde who looks to be much older than him is sitting on the couch and I begin to think about all the action that couch has seen. I'm also very glad I've never sat down on it. I'm too tired . . . or deflated to converse with anyone. I let out a sigh of relief when the door closes behind me.

Four flights up, I hear music coming from our room as I approach. I take a deep breath, trying to push down my hurt as I open the door. Olivier jumps to his feet. "Kandace, where have you been?" Worry punctuates each word.

"Where have I been?" I ask rhetorically, shutting the door behind me. "I sat at the Sacre-Coeur for two hours by myself. Did you think about checking there?"

"Je suis desole," he says, tentatively stepping closer. "I'm sorry."

I set my purse on top of my suitcase and turn my back to him, not really wanting to hear his apologies. "It doesn't matter now. What's done is done."

Warm hands cover my shoulders and his body presses to my back. Whispering this time, he repeats, "Je suis desole, soleil Americain." Pushing my hair to the side, he places a soft kiss on my neck.

I turn back around. "You left me. You left me sitting there by myself for hours, Olivier."

"I tried to explain to my manager, but we were short waiters. I went as soon as I left work, but you were nowhere to be found. I searched the nearby streets, then caught a taxi back here hoping to find you."

"You found me too late."

"Non!" he speaks with authority, taking my cheeks between his hands. "Don't speak of such things. Je te adore."

I drop my gaze away, absorbing his words and the need he seems to feel for me. "I adore you, but you hurt me, so I shouldn't."

Covering his heart with his hand, he says, "Let me make it up to you."

Back to being a sucker for an accent and blue eyes, I'm weak so I give him another chance. "Okay."

He kisses me. The kiss is full of the need his words expressed only a minute earlier. But then he stops. "We should go. It's started."

"What's started?"

"You'll see. Are you ready to see something that the guides can't tell you about?"

"Are you sure? That's so . . . crazy veering off the beaten path."

"Step out of your box and live a little. Don't just exist. Live."

Excitement surges, and I say, "More than ready."

The moped is parked and I slip off the back. "I didn't even know you had a scooter."

"I don't use it much because I have a lot of tickets."

"I didn't know they cared here by all the crazy driving."

"Mine are more parking tickets. They won't ticket me next time. They'll just put a boot on my tire, so I keep it parked in a friend's garage nearby. Tonight is different. It's a beautiful night and I'm with an even more beautiful woman."

Taking my helmet off, I stand on the curb with him still on the scooter and kiss him. Wanting to forget about the past and live in the present. "So where are we?"

"Avenue d'Richolet. It's an artist's squat. France has a long history of squats, but this one is my friends. He shares it with twenty other artists and tonight they're having an exhibit."

I might be swooning. "You brought me to see art?"

Taking his helmet off, he smiles and it's slightly crooked, but completely adorable. "Oui." We start walking and he says, "Some of the people from the club will be here."

I'm not sure how I feel about seeing some of them again. I just hope things will be different since I'm with Olivier as more than a friend.

The area doesn't look safe and I stand nervously by his side as he knocks on a rusted door. The knock has a rhythm that he repeats twice. It's catchy and unique. The door opens and a man pokes his head out. When he sees Olivier, he laughs. "Entrez. Entrez." He opens the door wide for us.

Olivier says, "Comment ca va?"

"Bien, mon ami Americain."

Taking that as my cue, I walk in and through an opening in some large, dark blue velvet curtains. My mouth drops open. The space is huge, the size of a warehouse. The walls are bright white with graffiti all over. Paintings, photographs, and sculptures are throughout and people fill the space. When I look up, I see rusted beams and air ducts of the warehouse is exposed. It's a juxtaposition of modern art versus old reality, and I love it.

Olivier passes me, and turns to walk backwards. Summoning me with a sexy grin and hands that call me to him, I quickly catch up, taking him by the arm. We cut through a group of very serious looking people. Maybe they're the critics for the exhibition tonight. Maybe they're just guests. My attention is drawn away when I see a huge photograph of a penis on the wall. I gasp just as Olivier turns me around. "Bonjour ma toute belle." His lips crash into mine and my lips part just for him.

My arm weaves around his neck as the other holds his body to mine. His fingers tickle through my hair, keeping me in place, wanting me just as much as I want him. When we part, my breath is jagged, my lips tingling, and my body and mind worked up and turned on. He leans his forehead against mine and says, "You will be the death of me if I'm not careful."

"I'm only here one more day, so I think you'll survive," I tease.

"That's what's going to kill me." He's not teasing.

Standing back to look into his eyes, I see how serious he is. "But you barely know me."

"I know you enough. You're different and I'm already wishing you could stay longer. Is there a chance?"

I shake my head, a sadness coming over me. "I have to get back. This is only a week long break from classes. It was just the only time I could take the trip before graduation."

"Take a semester off. Stay here with me." He pushes my hair to the side and holds my cheek, his thumb rubbing gently back and forth. "I'll show you the real Paris. I'll make love to you every day. I'll make you fall in love and never leave. Joie d'vivre"

I smile gently. Holding his hands in mine, I say, "It sounds so tempting to throw caution to the wind." Looking down, I sigh. "But I can't. This is my last year. I have too many commitments, too many expectations, too much of everything. I can't disappoint everyone."

"I'm disappointed that I only get to know so little of you."

"You're getting the best of me." I laugh. "Trust me. I'm not that interesting in my real life."

He tilts his head to look me in the eyes again. "This is not real life? The real you?"