He grins right back, just as foolishly, making me throw my head back and laugh. I’m so happy I can barely contain it.
“Let’s go.” I’m the one to say it, this time.
He nods. “Let’s go.”
Our hands entwined, we run to the elevator and the doors open immediately. We climb on and as the doors close behind us, I see a crowd running towards us from Jez’s room. He just waves to their confused faces and I burst out laughing again, my heart brimming with joy.
We turn to face each other and the smiles on our faces soften.
And fade.
The look in his eyes now burning hot.
It makes me burn for him in return.
“Noemie,” he whispers. His voice full of lust. And my body lunges forward, to be with him.
He catches me, and we kiss.
We kiss like we’ve longed to kiss.
Like there’s nothing and nobody else in the world.
His mouth is hot, almost searing against mine, and I feel something between my legs start to pulse.
“God,” I moan, scratching my nails down his back.
“You are going to be the death of me, girl,” he growls. “But I’ll go willingly if I can keep kissing you.”
“Shut up and just do it,” I say, and he does.
It takes someone clearing their throat before we realize the elevator has reached the lobby and that people are waiting to get on. Jez takes my hand and we run out, out past the front desk, out of our prison and through the front entrance.
He flags down a cab and climbs in after me.
“Where to?” he asks me.
“I don’t know!” I laugh.
‘Anywhere in the world, I mean it. Anywhere.”
“Seriously?”
“Never more so.”
And I know exactly where I want to go.
***
Four hours later, I’m standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.
Not that real one, of course. But the closest thing to it.
By the time our cab had reached LAX, Jez had a private plane waiting for us. For me. Oh my god.
He’d asked me one more time, where I wanted to go, and the answer was the same.
Paris.
It’s always been Paris. I didn’t expect to be taken there, of course. We didn’t have anything with us. Just the clothes on our back and an old ukulele. And each other.
But when I climbed those stairs up to the plane, the wind in my hair, Jez’s hand on my back, an open sky in front of me, I really thought we could just about go anywhere in the world.
So we did, we went to Paris.
Well, the closest thing to it.
When we landed, right there on the tarmac in Las Vegas was a limo. Again, for us, for me.
And it whisked us away, to a penthouse suite at the Bellagio across from the Paris Las Vegas Hotel.
And now I’m looking at the Eiffel Tower.
She’s lit up like the world’s most beautiful Christmas tree. Sparkling lights towering up into the sky, lording over the famous dancing fountains of the Bellagio hotel.
Standing behind me, his chest against my back, his face tucked against my neck, his lips brushing on my cheek, is Jez.
And I’m in bliss.
“I hope this is okay, it’s the best I could do on such short notice,” he says.
I think I’m being cool about everything but apparently not, because Jez whispers into my ear “why the big sigh?”
I giggle and spin around, still encased in his embrace, and wrap my arms around his neck.
He smiles down at me, and it’s brighter than the Eiffel tower.
“Thank you,” I sigh happily.
“What for?”
“For everything. For being you. For rescuing me.”
“Thank you for choosing me.”
“I really didn’t have any choice.”
“You always have a choice, Emmie.”
I smile at the nickname. I’ve always hated nicknames, but I like it coming from him. Like I exist to him in a different form than I do to the rest of the world.
I sigh again. “I’m so happy,” I tell him. And the smile grows wider.
“Me too. I didn’t think I could be this happy.”
“We’re a couple of happy mush-heads.”
“Well, you’re a happy mush-head, I’m a smoldering pile of happy muscle and manliness.”
I poke him gently in the chest and he lets out a little yelp.
“Ow!”
“Oh, yes, very manly.”
“You have strong fingers! Those uke strumming fingers. I used to have fingers like that.”
I grin and reach for his hand and drop a soft kiss to the fingertips. “They’ll be strong again. I’ll be sure to give them lots of practice.”
His smile changes to a look of want and he lowers his head to mine, kissing me, gently at first, and then it builds, and builds and builds, his hands are in my hair, mine around his neck. I want him. My body feels like it needs to be devoured by him, taken, possessed.
I nibble on his lip and he lets out a low growl, his mouth moving to trace along my neck. I throw my head back, exposing his tongue to more skin and he dips it into the valley between my breasts.
And then he stops.
Dropping small gentle kisses back up my decollete to my mouth, he then pulls away, kissing the top of my head.
I wonder what made him stop, but I don’t ask.
I face the window again, the sight of the tower overwhelming me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to seeing it.
We stare out into the strip for a few minutes, the music from the fountain drifting up to us, like orphaned notes scattering in the desert winds, the fountains shooting a canon of water droplets high up into the air with only some returning to the pool, the rest catching on a whoosh of air and disappearing into the night, cooling on the upturned faces of the spectators.
Then it’s over, the crowd dissipates, and it’s just us once more.
“So, what do you want to do now?”
Have you fuck me. My mind answers. But my mouth keeps it between us.
I thought he’d want to.
I’ve given him every sign that I want to. That I want him.
“Um, what do you want to do?” I ask him, my voice suddenly shy and quiet.
“Well, you can’t come to Vegas and not gain 10 pounds. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. Shall we hit the buffet? The Bellagio’s is one of my favorites. Or we could go to Wicked Spoon or one of the newer ones. But if you like desserts, which I know you do, we’re just a few hundred steps away.”