Your French Kisses (Boyfriend Material Book 4) Read online

  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

  Wanderlust

  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.”