I looked down at my jumper. “But I’m hardly dressed to go out . . .”
Before I could finish my sentence, he’d unceremoniously removed my jumper. “There. Now you look even more amazing.” He shoved my jumper into a nearby dustbin, but I stumbled over my complaint as I recognized the appreciation in his eyes as he regarded me.
“But I’ll be cold,” I finally managed.
“Not where we’re going.” His lascivious smile had returned.
“We’re going to hell?”
“Hardly. Just the Moulin Rouge.” He took my arm again and began leading me down the sidewalk. “Have you been before?”
“No. I don’t believe it’s a place one goes with one’s mother and sister, who are the only companions I’ve had on my Paris visits. Besides, my brother Charles told me that there’s an aquarium where naked women swim with snakes. Not really quality entertainment, I don’t think.”
If I’d expected for him to turn us around at that, I would have been wrong. “Yeah, I’ve seen them. Don’t worry. The snakes can’t get out.”
“It wasn’t the snakes I was concerned about.”
He squeezed my hand against his side. “Oh, come on, Babs. It’ll be fun. You need to let your hair down every once in a while. You wouldn’t begrudge a man having fun on his birthday, would you?”
“No, I suppose not . . .”
“Great. Did you know that more champagne is served at the Moulin Rouge each year than anyplace else in the world?”
“I didn’t know. Although I’m not sure I should drink . . .”
“It’s my birthday, Babs. Just try a glass of champagne to toast my big day, all right?”
“Just one, though.” I fought back the memory of us drinking together at Bar Hemingway on the night we’d met. At least Precious and Prunella wouldn’t be there to keep them coming.
As we headed down the Boulevard de Clinchy, I spotted the iconic red windmill and the bright neon lights announcing the Frou-Frou revue performed twice a night. I’d seen pictures, of course, of the famous cabaret dancers with their frilly skirts and high kicks, but I’d always imagined the whole experience of the Moulin Rouge as being a little naughty. Definitely not the sort of place to which Kit would deem appropriate to take me. So it was with almost a feeling of defiance that I entered on Drew’s arm, determined to enjoy myself.
Tiers of white-clothed tables dressed with red table lamps surrounded the stage. A bottle of champagne was already waiting for us as we were seated near the stage, and as Drew pushed in my chair, he spoke close to my ear. “You’re in for a treat tonight, Babs. I want you to enjoy yourself.”
I felt a warm shiver of anticipation jump along my spine. “But it’s your birthday,” I protested as he seated himself across from me.
“Trust me. Seeing you enjoying yourself will be the best kind of present.”
The waiter poured two glasses of champagne. I was about to make a small toast to his birthday when Drew raised his own glass. “To La Fleur. Without whom we never would have met.”
I didn’t want to toast the enigmatic La Fleur, but I didn’t have a choice. I took a small sip, allowing the bubbles to tickle my nose, then another larger one, hoping to forget all about La Fleur for at least an evening.
When I awoke the following morning, I kept my eyes closed, still feeling the rhythm of the music of the cancan inside my head. I opened one eye, and then the next, aware of two things at once. The first was that I was not in my bed. The second was that I wasn’t alone. I sat up quickly, my head spinning, aware that I was fully dressed except for my shoes. I had an odd recollection of kicking them off to climb onstage with the dancers and Drew pulling me back. But surely that had been a dream?
Drew lay supine next to me, shirtless, but at least wearing his pants and socks. Certainly that meant we hadn’t, well, we hadn’t. The opulent surroundings told me that we were in his room at the Ritz and not still in Montmartre, although I had no memory of returning to the hotel.
He appeared to be sleeping, although he wasn’t snoring. Kit didn’t snore, either, so I must be a good judge at choosing sleeping partners. I allowed my gaze to pause on Drew’s naked chest, at the smattering of gold-tinted hair and the pronounced muscles that moved under his tanned torso as he breathed. My fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and touch that smooth expanse of skin, to remember what a man’s bare skin felt like under my hand.