THAT MAN 4 (The Wedding Story-Part 1)
NELLE L’AMOUR
That Man 4
Copyright © 2014 by Nelle L’Amour
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved worldwide.
First Edition: October 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.
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Cover by Arijana Karcic, Cover It! Designs
Proofreading by Karen Lawson
Formatting by BB eBooks
To all my Belles who asked for more of Blake and his tiger.
This is for you.
Jennifer
Paris~Five months earlier
“T
hat
eez
a wrap,” shouted our wonderful French director, gurgling the “r” in “wrap” the way I now knew only the French did.
We had just finished production on the first telenovela I’d overseen for MY SIN-TV, the block of programming I’d developed around popular erotic romance novels.
Shades of Pearl,
based on Arianne Richmonde’s bestselling series.
The international cast and crew broke out in cheers. Among them were the lovely and beautiful Cameron Diaz, who had played the title character—her first television role ever—and her breathtakingly handsome co-star, Gaspard Ulliel, the French heartthrob, who played her much younger lover, Alexandre. Whoo-hoos mingled with hugs and out of nowhere, bottles of bubbly champagne popped.
I’d invited the author to the final days of shooting. A stunning, statuesque blonde, who looked like she could have easily played the part of forty-year-old Pearl, she was ecstatic. She enthusiastically gave me one of those double-cheek kisses.
“Oh, Jennifer! It’s brilliant. Do you think we can win an Emmy?” she asked in her British accent.
An Emmy?
To be honest, I’d never thought about that. All I’d thought about was making the best possible show for my audience. I wanted our viewers to love every sinfully sexy and suspenseful minute of it.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know,” I replied, but the fantasy of winning one danced in my head.
With a flute of champagne in her hand, the long-limbed Arianne sauntered off to mingle with the cast and crew. Suddenly, I felt very alone. I missed
that
man I loved terribly—Blake Burns, the head of SIN-TV and my fiancé—and wished I could share this triumphant moment with him. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my cell phone and speed-dialed his number. It was 4:00 p.m. The time difference between Paris and Los Angeles was nine hours. That meant it was seven o’clock in the morning in LA. Knowing his routine well, he should still be at home.
To my utter disappointment, the call went straight to his voice mail. I left him a message, telling him how well the final shoot went. And for him to call me. My final words: “Oh, Blake, I miss you so much. I can’t wait to see you.” I was flying home tomorrow.
The cast and crew began to dissipate from the set. Later tonight, there was going to be a big wrap party. To celebrate the completion of production, Conquest Broadcasting, SIN-TV’s parent company, had chartered several Bateaux Mouches to cruise around Paris and party. I’d looked forward to the event, but now, missing Blake so much, it just wasn’t as exciting.
*
A chauffeur-driven Peugeot sedan took me back to my hotel. While the stars and director were staying at the Hotel George V where we’d shot some scenes, I was staying at the newly renovated Ritz. It was like out of a fairy tale with its sumptuous décor and impeccable service. I’d never stayed in such luxurious accommodations before. They were so beyond. But what made the hotel even more special for me was this is where Ernest Hemingway, one of my dad’s literary heroes, had written his early books. To his delight, I’d e-mailed him a photo of me in The Hemingway Bar and photoshopped the legendary author into the picture.
Wearily, I inserted my key card into the door of my tenth floor suite. Blake had insisted on getting a suite for me, and though I’d protested, trying to save the company money, there was nothing I could do. Being engaged to the head of SIN-TV and the future chairman of Conquest Broadcasting, came with its perks. Most of which I didn’t need.
Dropping my shoulder bag on the gilded entryway console, I traipsed to my spacious bedroom with its regal canopy bed and breathtaking view of Paris. My eyes grew wide. Smack in the middle of the thick, fluffy duvet were two exquisitely wrapped boxes…one small, the other large. I recognized the wrapping of the small box immediately. With its signature hot pink heart, it was, of course, from Gloria’s Secret. Gloria Zander, the CEO of the renowned lingerie emporium, was sponsoring my block, and she had a popular store right here in Paris on the nearby Champs-Elysées. Though eager to open the big mysterious package, I reached for the smaller one and peeled open the envelope inserted under the bow. A note with handwriting I didn’t recognize met my gaze.
Congratulations on your first production! Wear these tonight.
The gift must be from Gloria. How thoughtful of her! With eager fingers, I tore off the wrapping and lifted off the lid.
My breath hitched. Inside beneath layers of delicate pink tissue paper was a magnificent set of pearl white lace lingerie: a demi-cup bra, matching bikini, and a garter. Plus a pair of lace-trimmed sheer silk stockings labeled: Made in France. Little bows embellished with pearls accented the lingerie in all the right places. The undergarments were exquisite enough to wear on my wedding day. I glanced down at the big snowflake diamond ring on my left hand, always awed by its sparkle and size and the memory of that magical night when Blake had proposed to me only a month ago. To my overjoyed mother’s chagrin, Blake and I had not yet set a date. We had too much on our plates when it came to work.
Spreading the beautiful lingerie on the bed, I reached for the big package. My fingers anxiously unwrapped it. Inside the tissue-lined box was another envelope. I carefully slit it open with my index finger. Another note with the same unrecognizable handwriting.
And wear these too.
It must be another gift from the generous Gloria, I surmised as I unfolded the delicate paper.
With a gasp, I removed the contents from the large box. First, the strappy silver Jimmy Choos. And then the elegant ivory chiffon dress by my favorite designer and dear friend, Chaz Clearfield, from his new couture line, which Gloria had helped launch. It had a pearl-encrusted neckline, nipped waist, and full skirt. My size—a four. I’d never owned or worn a dress as stunning as this. Very grown up, it belonged on a movie star. Someone like Cameron Diaz. Or an elegant goddess like Gloria. Not a petite, middle-class, Midwestern girl like me.
I padded over to the imposing armoire and stood in front of the mirrored doors, holding the dress up against me. Wow! I was going to look dazzling in it. And then my heart sunk a notch. If only Blake could be here to see me in it.
*
What a perfect night to cruise along the Seine. The mid May air was mild and the evening sky couldn’t be clearer. Chartered buses had taken the
Pearl
cast and crew to the Pont D’Alma along the Rive Gauche from where the glass-enclosed boats were departing. Everyone was decked out to the nines for an evening of sightseeing, fine dining, and pure fun. Numerous partygoers, including Cameron and the very flirtatious Gaspard, came up to congratulate me on the production and commented on how
magnifique
I looked. I was both flattered and humbled. Paparazzi and publicists were snapping pictures at lightning speed. I smiled for the camera. But to be honest, while being Blake’s fiancée and my career had launched me into this glitzy, star-studded world, I still wasn’t used to so much attention and glamour.
On the quay, everyone was handed tickets, indicating which boat they would be on. I glanced down at mine. Number six…the last one. Carefully, in my new heels, I boarded the vessel and made my way to the upper deck. I leaned against the railing and took in the magical City of Light. The Seine quietly lapped against the side of the boat while my new dress billowed like a sail in the warm Spring breeze. The majestic Grand Palais faced me. All lit up, it resembled a giant jewelry box.
The rumble of motors of the other boats ahead of mine roared in my ears. They were taking off. I guess we were still waiting for more passengers to board this one because I was the sole person on it. Maybe there was another bus of people on the way?
Ten minutes passed. And still not another passenger. The other boats were now well on their way, and they began to fade in the distance. My heart began to race. Shit. Maybe, there was some kind of mistake, and I’d boarded the wrong boat.
“You look beautiful in that dress. Are you also wearing the lingerie I sent you?”
At the sound of that familiar sultry voice, my heart almost leapt into the Seine. I felt my insides melt. And my center grew as wet as the river itself.
I spun around. There he was. Leaning against the banister to the lower deck.
That man
. Who loved me body and soul. And mind.
That
devastating man. Blake Burns.
My mouth dropped. Speechless, I now understood why I hadn’t been able to reach him earlier. He’d been flying. Flying to see
me.
And now, every part of me was flying because he was here.
Dressed in one of his impeccably tailored dark suits, he loped up to me. His long-legged gait was as sexy as his smoldering gaze. I sprinted up to him and met him halfway.
“Oh my God, Blake.” My heart pounding, I flung my arms around him. “I can’t believe—”
He tugged my head back by my ponytail, and then his mouth captured mine, cutting off my word supply. The tongue-driven kiss was fierce, passionate, and oh so delicious. With his hard body and colossal cock pressed against me, the boat began to move.