Your French Kisses
A Boyfriend Material novella
Lauren Blakely
Little Dog Press
Contents
Also by Lauren Blakely
About
Your French Kisses
1. Reid
2. Marley
3. Reid
4. Marley
5. Reid
6. Marley
7. Reid
8. Marley
9. Reid
10. Marley
11. Reid
12. Marley
13. Reid
14. Marley
15. Reid
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Blakely
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Also by Lauren Blakely
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
The Gift Series
The Engagement Gift
The Virgin Gift
The Decadent Gift
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
Boyfriend Material
Asking For a Friend
Sex and Other Shiny Objects
One Night Stand-In
Your French Kisses
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Unzipped
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Instant Gratification
Overnight Service
Never Have I Ever
Special Delivery
The Sexy Suit Series
Lucky Suit
Birthday Suit
From Paris With Love
Part-Time Lover
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
Sports Romance
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
Standalones
Stud Finder
The V Card
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
21 Stolen Kisses
Out of Bounds
The Caught Up in Love Series
The Pretending Plot (previously called Pretending He’s Mine)
The Dating Proposal
The Second Chance Plan (previously called Caught Up In Us)
The Private Rehearsal (previously called Playing With Her Heart)
Stars In Their Eyes Duet
My Charming Rival
My Sexy Rival
The No Regrets Series
The Thrill of It
The Start of Us
Every Second With You
The Seductive Nights Series
First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)
Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)
After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)
One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)
A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)
The Joy Delivered Duet
Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)
Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)
The Sinful Nights Series
Sweet Sinful Nights
Sinful Desire
Sinful Longing
Sinful Love
The Fighting Fire Series
Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)
Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)
Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)
The Jewel Series
A two-book sexy contemporary romance series
The Sapphire Affair
The Sapphire Heist
About
To do list for my last day of my Paris vacation...
1. Walk along the river
2. Visit all the chocolate shops in the city
3. Wander along the cobblestoned streets.
Things I don't expect to happen...
1. Meet a charming Englishman while strolling along the Seine
2. Spend the afternoon with him exploring Paris, and kissing. So many French kisses...
3. Board a plane that night wishing I'd gotten his last name.
Besides, you can't fall for someone in one day, especially when you live a world apart...
Your French Kisses
A Boyfriend Material short story
By Lauren Blakely
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1
Reid
New York
You know that saying about kids in candy shops?
They’ve got nothing on a fella in a lingerie shop.
Forget lollipops and chocolate bars. I’ll take teddies and corsets. Not for me though.
For . . .
Who do I want it for?
Who am I kidding? I know how to finish that sentence.
I’ve known it for three years.
But what are the chances I’ll see her again? I’ve nearly given up. I’ve been searching, stupidly searching this city for a woman I met once upon a time.
I wander into shops, look in windows, imagining I might see her again.
Someday I’ll shuck off that wish for good.
But today?
Today, I still have a smidgeon of hope. After all, I can recall with crystal clarity the way she curled a hand over my shoulder, showed me a display of pink and white lace, and said it was her favorite.
I sigh, wishing I’d done something different that day.
One thing different.
Regret is an awful taste.
To counter it, I’ve given myself three months to entertain a quest.
To pop into shops.
Jewelry stores. Clothing boutiques. Lingerie shops.
What are the chances I’ll see my five-hours-in-Paris woman?
I don’t let myself answer that question.
Because the three months are nearly over.
But today I’m still looking. Today, I sti
ll have a chance, one offered to me by the store owner who I met thirty minutes ago.
Peyton extends a hand, gesturing to the shop she’s lured me into.
“And this is my little slice of New York. Welcome to You Look Pretty Today,” she says. I made her acquaintance in a coffee shop with my good friend Lucas, and she encouraged me to stop in here, luring me with promises of a single woman who likes water parks.
What can I say?
I’m easy. I like water parks.
But does the woman I met in Paris like them?
I have no idea.
See, I don’t even know her last name.
Another regret.
This woman can’t possibly be the one I’ve been looking for. But my time is running out, so why not turn over this stone? You never know.
I walk inside and gesture to the shelves of underthings. “I see you have some wonderful items for my nan,” I joke.
“I can definitely find something for her,” Peyton says. “I have customers of all ages. But right now, I want you to meet my store manager.” She guides me through a display of bustiers.
“Got a little matchmaker in you?”
Her eyes twinkle. “I might. She says she has a thing for British accents.”
“Lucky for me.”
“Yes, it’s totally her weakness.”
For a dangerous second, my heart beats faster.
But I tell it to settle down.
It won’t be her.
Instead, I scan the lingerie on the shelves, my mind ever so helpfully assembling an image of a svelte blonde in one. A lithe brunette. A pretty redhead.
Nameless women. Faceless women. Never her.
As I wander past a shelf of satin shorts, the scent of lavender drifts into my nose, reminding me of gardens in Paris.
Another memory best forgotten.
After today, I will banish all of them and kick this pointless quest to the curb.
I snap my gaze away from the pretty items, my eyes returning to Peyton, who has her hand on the arm of her store manager.
I can’t see the other woman’s face.
But then she rounds the corner as Peyton says to her, “I have someone I want you to meet.”
The store manager steps forward, and I am swept back in time.
Brown hair, brown eyes, a smile for days, and dimples. Those dimples. I swear I’m seeing things. Seeing her.
Someone I never thought I’d see again.
Someone I’ve desperately wanted to see again.
And I made a promise that if I ever did, I’d do everything different.
Her eyes lock with mine, and I see that day flash across her irises too.
“It’s you?” I ask. Then it’s no longer a question. It’s a statement. “It’s really you.”
2
Marley
Paris
Nearly three years ago
I’m not afraid of many things.
Spicy food? Bring it on.
Horror movies? I can handle them.
Camping, hiking, biking, and pitching a tent? Not a problem.
But heights?
Who invented heights?
Clearly someone who hates me.
Heights are officially the worst.
When my girlfriends declare at Café Roussillon over eggs, potatoes, and croissants that today is the day, I shake my head. “Au revoir.”
“Marley,” Bethany says, with a squeeze of my arm and a peppy grin, “You can do it.”
She’s Rosie the Riveter, tough and badass, but I’m undeterred.
Heights and I don’t get along. “I know I can. I don’t want to,” I say to my college roomie, who wants nothing more than to shoot up to the top of the Eiffel Tower.
“Are you truly saying you don’t want to view all of Paris, drink in the vistas, see the Seine cutting across the city like a ribbon?” Emery asks with a sweep of her arm.
I laugh at the image she paints. “You sound like a travel brochure.”
“And travel brochures should be followed,” she declares as she takes her last bite of egg.
Bethany sips her café noisette—she’s gotten me addicted to them—then says, “Paris is for shedding fears.”
“And we did that by ordering escargot the other night,” I point out as I set down my fork.
Bethany shrugs. “Fine. That was a little terrifying.”
“And seriously, thank you for encouraging me, and you are the best, but I swear I have enjoyed seeing the Eiffel Tower from the ground,” I say as we pay the check, then leave some euros on the table for the waiter.
“Merci,” I call out as we exit and I walk with my friends to the most famous landmark.
This is our last hurrah trip before the three of us scatter across the United States—Bethany to law school in Texas, Emery to a job in San Francisco, and me to business school, starting next week.
Emery pouts. “They say the line will take about two hours, and then we thought we’d do the Montparnasse Tower too. Knock out all the heights today without you.”
I nod approvingly. “I like that idea.”
“What will you do?” Emery asks.
“Something on the ground,” I say playfully as we walk past a gorgeous stone building with curling ironwork framing the tall windows.
What will I do?
I will wander.
It’s the thing I like most.
Walking.
Seeing.
Looking.
“I’m going to meet some fabulous Frenchman,” I muse as we enter Champ de Mars, the park at the base of the tower. “Have a tryst in a secret passage somewhere in the city, tucked off on a quiet cobblestoned street; kiss a handsome stranger as Édith Piaf plays; and then have a glass of wine and tell my secrets to the river.”
Bethany gives me the evil eye, then looks at Emery. “And why are we going to the top of the Eiffel Tower? I want to go with her and have a secret tryst with a gorgeous Frenchman.”
Emery purses her lips, her eyes twinkling. “Dinner’s on us tonight if you do have that rendezvous. Because you will be entertaining your besties with details.”
I stare at the tower, as if deeply considering the offer. “Let me get this straight. If I have a secret tryst, I get one, a tryst; two, a free meal; and three, the memory of the tryst? Sounds like I’ll win.”
Emery narrows her eyes and stomps her foot. “She bamboozled us. I want what she’s having.”
“Maybe you’ll have a secret love affair at the top of the tower,” I say, then hug my best friends goodbye, telling them I’ll meet them later, since we need to get ready to leave for an insanely early flight.
I stroll along Rue Saint-Dominique, stopping along the way to check out displays in jewelry stores and clothing boutiques, before I pop into a chocolatier.
A red-haired man behind the counter nods, smiles, and says, “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour,” I reply, then I ogle the displays of mouthwatering sweets, choose a few, and leave with chocolate in hand.
I cross the boulevard and find a bench by the river. “It’s just you and me, river,” I say to the water.
I grab a truffle and bite into it. As decadent caramel spreads on my tongue, a man I didn’t notice at the end of the bench turns and smiles.
“Good morning.”
3
Reid
My team came in third, but I can’t complain because we didn’t even think we’d place.
Tenth was more like our goal.
Hell, not finishing in last place would have been an achievement for the Road Flyers, my amateur bike team that competed in a four-day race ending in the City of Lights. It surprised the hell out of the four of us when we landed a spot on the podium.
Tour de France contenders we are not, but it was a right adrenaline rush. Now I’m enjoying a few hours in Paris before I catch a flight back to London, my teammates having taken off already. I’m booked on a different flight.
I pop a chocolate square in my mouth, sav
oring the orange zest flavor in the dark chocolate, when a brunette with a spray of freckles across her cheeks takes the spot at the end of the bench.
She gazes at the river with a happy sigh, then says, “It’s just you and me, river.”
My brain is a pinball machine, lighting up, buzzers whirring.
I barely speak a word of French, and she has an American accent. Perhaps it’s my lucky day.
“Good morning,” I say.
She jerks her gaze to me, then smiles. “Good morning to you too.” Her eyes drift to the bag from the shop. “A kindred spirit, I see.”
“Well, you know what they say.” I gesture to the chocolate like there’s some well-known saying about it.
She arches one brow, and it’s wildly adorable the way it rises, matching the corner of her lips quirking up. “I don’t know what they say. What do they say?”
I lower my voice, cup my mouth, and stage-whisper, “They say it’s never too early to eat chocolate.”
“Ah, yes. I have heard that,” she says with a nod, dipping her hand into the bag. “I believe it’s called chocolate o’clock.”