Free French Kisses by Jan Ellis Page A

heartbeat and the blood swooshing around her body.
    “Darn,” she muttered, deciding that she would just have to be patient and wait for Paul to get up when he was ready. She was just about to tiptoe away, when she remembered the lock low down on the door. Sinking down into a squat, she placed an eye against the keyhole and squinted into the room.
    Ahead of her s he could see a mound of lurid pink and purple duvet and the sole of one brown foot sticking up over the arm of the sofa. She chuckled at the thought of going in and tickling it, but decided that the sensible thing to do would be to make a big pot of coffee and see if the aroma would lure him out.
    “You drop something, Madame?”
    Irina’s voice at full volume made Rachel swear and topple backwards onto the floor.
    “Oh, you gave me a fright!” she said, bringing a hand to her chest where her heart was pounding.
    Irina stood over her, arms folded across her chest looking a bit miffed. “I wipe the door and I polish the handle every week.”
    “Your work is immaculate,” hissed Rachel, from where she sat with her back against the wall, the empty glass clutched in her hand.
    “You have problem with throat, Madame? Your voice is sounding funny.”
    Rachel patted her throat, “I’m fine really.”
    Irina raised one sharply defined eyebrow. “And why you sit on the ground?”
    “No particular reason,” whispered Rachel, shrugging her shoulders. She then watched in horror as the beautifully polished brass knob slowly turned and the door opened to reveal Paul Callot in Michael’s Metallica T-shirt and a pair of blue and white striped boxer shorts.
    From her position on the floor Rachel was at eye level with his shorts. Lifting her gaze to preserve his modesty, she gave Paul a wave in what she hoped was a casual manner.
    “ Good morning. I hope you slept well?”
    Paul looked blearily from Rachel to Irina, who had a barely suppressed smirk across her face. Paul ran a hand across his chin, which now sported a rather attractive sprinkling of salt-and-pepper stubble. “Are you all right down there?”
    Rachel smiled and got to her feet. “Yes, yes. Just checking for, er . . .” Her mind went a complete blank as her mouth opened but no words came out. What possible reason was there for her to be on hands and knees directly outside Paul’s room?
    After what seemed like an age, Irina broke the silence. “Spiders, Madame?”
    The woman was worth her weight in gold. “Spiders, yes! I can’t stand them, you see,” she added, turning to her guest. “Have you met Irina, my wonderful housekeeper?”
    Paul extended a hand to Irina, both of them ignoring the fact that he was in his underwear.
    Rachel grinned desperately. “Yes, excellent work. There are definitely no spiders to catch down here.” She handed the glass to Irina. “Do carry on.”
    Irina turned and headed back to the laundry room from where she could be heard trying and failing to suppress a laugh.
    Rachel got to her feet, dusting off her hands. “Is there anything you need?” she asked brightly. “Coffee?”
    “Could I have a shower perhaps?”
    “Sure, help yourself.” She pointed him in the direction of the bathroom then went into the kitchen to feed the cats. She stood at the sink, her head in her hands groaning.
    “He’s going to think that I’m completely mad.” She sighed deeply. “But we must just carry on as normal, pusskins. It’s the only way.”
    Twenty minutes later Paul came into the room, his damp hair brushed back in unruly strands on his head. He smelled fresh and clean and Rachel had a vision of herself nuzzling his neck. Instead she smiled and asked him again how he had slept.
    “Not too bad, thanks.” He dug in his jeans pocket and dug out a plastic soldier and a tiny pink shoe that he placed on the kitchen table. “You might be needing these.”
    Rachel picked up the shoe and smiled at it. “You know, Barbie has spent years looking for that.” Grimacing, she