Smitten

By Juliet Braddock

Winner of the 2019 National Indie Excellence Book Awards for Erotica!

Comedy and kink blend seamlessly against a breathtaking background of Paris and Provence in SMITTEN, the new erotic comedy from Amazon Bestselling Author Juliet Braddock. SMITTEN is the first book in Braddock’s new “Paris Après Minuit” Series.

January Gallimore has arrived at a crossroad in life.

A short-lived scandal that had made her the darling of the BDSM community did little to damage her status as America's sweetheart. However, her career starring in romantic comedies hasn't given her any insights into figuring out her own love life.

For five years, January shared a long-distance love affair with French rock legend, Etienne Marceaux. Their relationship is passionate but comfortable. Caught in the whirlwind between New York and Paris, they indulge in stolen moments in between their chaotic celebrity lives.

Although Etienne certainly knows how to entertain her with his Dominance, January realizes that something is missing. Now a thirty-something actress, she wonders how long her career will endure, and she questions some of the decisions she’s made.

On a spontaneous trip with her best friend to Provence, January encounters a chance meeting with a younger Englishman, Nigel Hereford-Smyth. With his naivete and somewhat awkward aristocratic ways, Nigel, nevertheless, sweeps January off her Louboutin pumps.

As they romp about the French countryside, January tutors her young suitor on the finer points of BDSM, and Nigel unwittingly leads January on a deep exploration of what really matters in her life. While she allows herself to revel in the bliss of a possible new man in her life, she also realizes that Nigel carries his own set of baggage.

Forced to leave Nigel by her filming schedule, January returns to the hustle of Hollywood, only to find her confusion mounting.

Will she choose Etienne, who makes her body sizzle...or Nigel, whose charm and manners leave her SMITTEN?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Juliet Braddock
• Release date: Aug 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463001967

Juliet Braddock

Award-winning, bestselling author Juliet Braddock loves eighties music, wine, food, theater and all things French. When she’s not exploring the big cities of the world—most notably Paris—she lives and writes in Brooklyn and is the proud cat mom to a very spoiled Russian Blue rescue. Juliet is legally blind and spins her sexy romances with the assistance of software for people who have low vision. Juliet won the National Indie Excellence Book Award in the Erotica category for SMITTEN.

Book preview

PART ONE

Entertaining Etienne

Chapter One

The second he opened the door, his attention settled upon the sight of a perfect heart-shaped ass, framed by frilly ruffles.

This particular ass exhibited perfection. Just plump enough with a rosy hue cascading over the fine porcelain skin, the delectable derriere presented itself to him at the most unexpected moment.

Nearly tripping in the presence of this surprise visitor, he stopped whistling an old Johnny Hallyday tune and scuffed his shoe. He dropped his weekend bag from his hand with a thud to the wide-planked floor in the foyer. As he ran his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair and blinked his chocolate eyes in disbelief, she turned around.

He just hoped that the bellhops wouldn’t be arriving with the rest of his luggage any time soon.

Well, Monsieur… the woman said with a shake of her feather duster as she tugged on the barely-there skirt of her black and white maid’s uniform. They didn’t tell me you’d be here so soon.

Her shiny raven hair, so silky that it almost sparkled, twisted into a bun beneath a white pillbox cap. Wiggling her hips, she continued to dust the table beside her, but she watched him all the while.

I did not realize that my room came equipped with a personal maid, he said finally.

The Plaza Athénée was arguably the most lavish hotel in all of Paris. With its recent restoration, the property attracted members of the global jet-set and celebrities alike, all of whom played behind the century-old walls, including beloved French pop icon, Etienne Marçeaux.

At your service, she said with a quick curtsy. Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?

Another sigh escaped his lips as Etienne looked beyond the scene before him to the open windows that afforded the suite a picture-perfect view of the Eiffel Tower.

How he loved this time of the year in Paris. Flowers bloomed in nearly every corner of the city, and nightfall came later each evening.

Home again, Etienne thought to himself, and he smiled for one brief second. Home again, but not for long.

What is that I hear in your voice? he demanded. Certainly, you’re not French.

All American, she winked with a bat of her thick faux-lashes. Corn-fed on the farm and delivered straight to you from Kansas. Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur…?

Monsieur Marçeaux, he said as he made his way toward her, his arms opening slightly. And the pleasure…is mine…

Her squeal shrieked through the living room as he reached around her and under her skirt to squeeze that ass that filled his palms so fittingly.

And then his hand came down again to spank her right through those lacey French lace panties.

Oh…! she nearly choked on a sob. Mmm…

You like that, ma chérie? he asked and cracked her again. You like?

"Oh, mais oui, Monsieur…"

Instead of spanking her again, though, he had to knock that silly hat off her head.

She looked like an old-fashioned pin-up girl with her black hair and creamy white skin. Etienne had to have her. He wanted to fuck her up the ass. He wanted to make her cry. First, though, he needed to kiss those puckered, red, American lips and give a bite to the beauty mark on her chin.

With his cock at full attention, he lifted her up and held her against his raging erection. One black stiletto pump and then the other fell to the floor as he carried her to the living room.

For a man of forty-five, Etienne maintained a strong body. He prided himself on his detailed abs and fit physique, but he worked hard with his trainer who traveled with him on his hectic tour schedule. He had an image to uphold—not to mention a mob of female fans. A daily fitness routine was all part of the job.

When he placed her down on the mirrored coffee table, Etienne knocked over a vase of fresh flowers, but he didn’t care. Raw desire took over, and he needed some release before the next leg of his tour began.

Clean it up! he ordered her as he pointed to the floor.

Well, yes, Sir, she said as she stood up and posed for a split-second with her hands on her hips. Let me…find some towels.

Slowly, she shook and shimmied her way to the bathroom, never missing a beat in her runway swagger. Even though those damn panties covered her completely, he still couldn’t take his eyes away from her rump.

Mouth, ass, breasts—Etienne wanted to devour her. He just didn’t know where the hell to start.

When she returned with towels in her arms, she circled her lips with her tongue. Now, she scooted along the floor like a geisha in a tight kimono. Yes, she was there to serve him—and she would.

Methodically, she stopped right in front of him and bent over to hike up her uniform before she got down on her hands and knees to clean up the mess he’d made.

Now, she played him, taunting with those virginal white panties. First, she picked up the flowers and arranged each one in the vase. Then she went back to pick up the petals and fallen leaves, which she carefully collected in a tiny pile on the rug beside her floral display. When she finally reached for one of the towels to sop up the water, her moves were delicate and dainty. All the while, she held those heart-shaped cheeks in the air.

Does it take you this long on the farm? he wondered out loud as his impatience surfaced.

She whipped her head around. "Excusez-moi, Monsieur?"

On the farm—where you came from in America—do you make the farmhands suffer like this when you do your chores?

Oh! She blinked her eyes, a deep gray with rising hues of navy blue. No, Monsieur. I don’t like to see anyone…suffer…

Even her voice—so affected and breathy—struck him right in the groin. This was not how Etienne planned to spend his day.

Behind her, he towered above her tiny frame while she continued to pat the thick velvety towel to the silk, Art Deco rug.

The carpet was dry twenty minutes ago, he griped. Now, you're just being a tease.

Why, how dare you? Twisting her head around again, her eyes shot him a warning glance. I would never—

At that point, there was no fighting himself. He brought his hand down to her panty-clad ass and gave her three more strikes of his palm, punctuating his words with each crack. "Yes…you…are…"

Ow-ouch! she cried out.

You are a…very… Just for sport, he continued with his smackdown. "…bad…girl…Miss America."

As she spread her legs wider, he spotted the evidence of her lust for his rough play, glossy and gleaming, between her thighs.

Oww! she wailed. "S'il vous plaît, have mercy on me…"

"Ah, chérie, did you say merci?"

I…said… she managed to whisper in between breaths …MERCY!

That’s it! With a grunt, he picked her up by her panties and moved her to sit on the mirrored table.

As his hands worked at the tight buttons on her uniform, her breasts popped forth and nearly smacked him in the face. Sacre merde, he wanted to kiss her, but not before he bit down on her rock-hard nipple.

Yeah… Her chest distended with that single word. "Harder, Frenchie. Harder…"

Ah, you American girls like it rough, do you? he muttered as he clamped his teeth down on her other nipple. You play like I’m hurting you, and then you want more!

Those teeth—nipping, biting, gnawing and teasing—tempted her. However, she didn’t touch him in return. She waited and watched, fascinated by his intensity.

Her hair, now having fallen from the wrap of her bun, floated upon her shoulders. Her skin smelled of roses. Her style upheld the test of time. However, Etienne refused to ignore the ache in his jeans.

While his attention settled on her breasts, he literally ripped her uniform open, exposing those panties that clung to the soft cushion of her lower lips.

Taking a step back, he absorbed the beauty of her body. Those tits jiggled above her tiny waist that swept down to the distinct curve of her hips. She almost looked as if she’d been corseted.

With greedy hands, he reached out and wound her hair around his fist, only to prompt a cry of delight from her.

That was it. He had to kiss her.

With fierce abandon, he grabbed her shoulders, subsequently pushing the sleeves down her arm. He’d almost shredded the uniform, but she didn’t seem to care as his lips covered hers, pressing hard with passion. Since he hadn’t shaved that morning, his growth scratched her pale face. Nearly smothering her, he allowed his tongue to explore the sweet, hot taste of cinnamon in her mouth.

Then, she dared to reach out, and she sunk her fingers into his dark wavy hair. While she gasped for air, she never stopped moving her lips, manipulating his tongue as if she sucked his cock.

Her tiny cries of delight echoed between them and emboldened his lascivious libido. His hungry soul craved her, and with every murmur, Etienne coveted those red lips. Between them, he pulled at his fly, his anxious hands losing the zipper pull in the proximity of her sinuous movements against him.

As much as he hated the thought of leaving their kiss, he had better things to do with her mouth. The gentle shove of his hands pushed her back, and he ordered her, Get down on your knees. Seconds ticked away as she gazed at him with a steely yet almost detached look in her eyes. Right now. You know, I could just walk outside and find someone else who’s willing…

Well, with that kind of challenge—I guess I have no choice. Shedding the uniform with the shake of her shoulder, she slithered her way to the floor.

However, Etienne couldn’t seem to get his zipper down. Closing her hands over his, she gave them a squeeze, urging him to calm down—if only for a second.

Allow me, she suggested. Remember, I’m at your service.

Slowly, his hands fell away, but he continued to stare into those enigmatic eyes. Of course, you are.

Carefully, she gave the zipper a tug and pulled it ever so slowly over the track. Holding his gaze, she dragged both his boxers and jeans down his legs. Into her petite hands, he sprang, and she stroked the long, thick length of him with her sleek red nails.

Her attempt at tenderness, though, just irritated him. He needed to feel her. Without a scrap of decorum, he grabbed himself and guided his shaft into her open, waiting mouth.

The tickle of her tongue at the head soothed him, and as she took him deeper, Etienne thought he might relax.

Her lips did not disappoint. She had a way of savoring him by working every single muscle in her mouth. As he slid further inside and then down her throat, she knew how to take him, pleasuring him from the tip of his cock straight to his balls.

She drove him crazy—straight to the edge. With her coos and purrs that reverberated around him, she shattered his composure and sent him moaning and groaning into the stratosphere.

And then without warning, he pulled out.

She didn’t have to wait long for direction, though, as his hands circled her waist. So small and light, she was easy to maneuver around.

Struggling with his jeans at his ankles, he helped her gently to the table and settled her on her hands and knees. The mirrored top reflected her image. Her breasts jutted forward, and the struggle between arousal and fulfillment cloaked her face. She needed him just as much—if not more—than Etienne needed her. Together, they fed each other’s ravenous appetites.

One slight problem, however, presented itself: she still wore her panties.

"Ah, putain! he swore. Pourquoi? Why?"

Somewhere within, he mustered the energy and gave that fine lace a wild rip, splitting her lingerie just enough to allow him the room he needed.

Such a beautiful ass she had—even prettier now without the frills. Yes, he had to indulge himself in the pleasure of caressing his hands over those silky porcelain cheeks, adorned with the rosy evidence of his palmprints. Just feeling her petal-soft skin dizzied him. Temptation took hold as his fingers played along the crack of her ass. Of course, he had to test the waters and make sure that she was ready by sliding one inside her.

As he lifted that same finger to his lips for a taste, he smiled to himself. Yes, she was indeed ready.

His chance was now, and as he held his cock in his hand, he took a deep breath.

Oh…yeah! she cried out as he slipped inside her from behind. Give it to me, Frenchie.

As he propelled himself against her with a fevered intensity, he reached around her to cup her breasts. Between his thumb and forefinger, he twisted her nipples, and he refused to let go—even when she screamed.

You love this.

Yes, I do! she struggled to say each word in between his thrusts. Love to fuck…

I’ve heard about you farm girls, he muttered then smacked her ass again, as he gave her another hard poke. Fucking in barns and fields.

Oh, uh-huh… She backed up on his cock, giving it back to Etienne just as hard as he gave it to her. All the while, he continued to hold her left breast in his hand, squeezing the nipple. Somehow, in the throes of lust, she managed to keep their filthy conversation moving. Much to do…on the farm…

Yes, I bet you love those cowboys. His slide was steady inside her slippery tunnel, and she constricted around him like a snake to its prey. With another slap of his hand to her ass, he picked up his pace again. Ride ‘em, cowgirl...

Now, she whinnied through every rapid thrust of his cock, crying out for more. Etienne almost laughed, but he held himself in check with his burgeoning orgasm on the horizon. Every time he drove into her, he swatted those warm red cheeks, spurring her to pick up her pace.

When she called out with a rousing, Yee-hah! his release shot into her. While the sex might have been rough, the pleasure was so sweet. He always allowed himself to lose control at the very last.

"Now, or never…horsy," he muttered smugly as her soft folds tensed to clench him tight. For Etienne, there was just no greater indulgence than feeling the strength of a woman’s orgasm enveloping his cock. Beholding her stamina, he embraced every moment with exultation.

As the jockeying race passed the finish line, he slowed to a canter and bent down to drop kisses over her spine, starting at the small of her back.

Neigh…neigh… she murmured. He could see her face in the tabletop. Her smile was sleepy but satisfied.

Carefully, he pulled out of her and then finished undressing. She turned around to watch him. Her red fingernail returned to touch him, to tickle his nipples as he stood before her.

With a French mother and a father of Algerian descent, Etienne had olive skin, with a wild hairy chest that he had waxed every month. His eyes were kind, and his body lean. There wasn’t a housewife in all of France who didn’t want to fuck him.

And then he held his hands out to help her from the table. Come, chérie. When she stood, he boosted her into his arms. As he carried her into the bedroom, the wind picked up outside, but she didn’t seem to be cold.

With the pull of his strong arm, he released the layers of white bedlinens and tucked her beneath the blankets. After a quick trip to the marble bathroom to clean himself up, he joined her and pulled her into his arms for a sweet, calming kiss.

Now, Janny, tell me, he began, what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were in New York.

Chapter Two

January Louise Gallimore was a nobody destined to be somebody.

Growing up as the youngest child and only daughter of five, she was a short, chubby child with a headful of mousy brown hair—which her mother insisted was the color of dishwater blonde.

Always the farmer’s daughter, she preferred flannel and denim to rhinestones and sparkles. She was a smart girl who studied hard, and she had a circle of like-minded friends through the 4H program and her scouting groups.

Until that scorching, Midwestern summer of bonfires in the fields with her brothers and their cool older friends…when January made a red-hot discovery of her own.

His name was Michael Komenecki. Michael was tall, blond and tanned from ripping his shirt off every day as he worked on his own family’s farm down the road. Michael was sixteen to her fourteen years, and January recognized his appeal. She also realized that Michael seemed to have a preference for girls with very dark hair.

During that time, she’d also found a new love for the vegetables they grew right on the family’s hundred-acre homestead. She’d dropped some weight and colored her hair jet black with navy blue highlights, and she never looked back.

By August, Michael had taken notice, and nothing thrilled her more than to have him drive her to her first day of high school. However, as September transcended into October, January found her eyes wandering to Nick Walters in drama club, which she’d joined just to have the chance to see him.

Nick introduced January to big Broadway musicals, and she found that she could actually carry a tune. Her time spent in children’s choir had paid off.

In the springtime, they co-starred as Hugo and Kim in the high school’s production of Bye, Bye Birdie. She lost her virginity to him on opening night. Six months later, Nick came out of the closet, but January was fine with that. At that point, she had already moved on to her next conquest, Tommy Mancini.

The world changed for January once she started dating Tommy. He was a teenage girl’s dream, with his gelled brown hair and crisp blue eyes. He came from a good family that owned the most popular pizzeria within fifty miles. Every girl in her class always hoped he’d make their deliveries. He was never short on tip money.

Most people, though, didn’t know about Tommy’s fondness for the darker side of romance. By their third date, January slept with him, and as date number four rolled around, Tommy revealed his Alpha side.

He’d taken January to the hayloft and told her to strip. After tying her up with her brother’s rodeo lasso, Tommy left her there, wrapped in rope and all alone. Rather than fight him, January embraced the thrill of being bound—and the daring possibility of getting caught.

When Tommy returned an hour later, he untied her and spanked her over his knee. Much to his shock, January couldn’t stop coming. The harder he cracked her, the harder she throbbed. She, too, surprised herself with her body’s reaction.

Later, she would realize how stupid that whole scenario was. No Dominant man in his right mind would leave a woman alone in a barn the way Tommy did. However, they were young, and she blamed naivete.

It wasn’t long before they began to experiment with ice cubes, candle wax and any implement that Tommy could find in the barn to strike her ass. She never realized that what they were doing had a name until she decided to give a look online.

What she discovered alarmed and aroused her.

A website of free erotic stories taught her so many lessons. Sometimes, she’d send the titillating tales to Tommy so that they could reenact the scenes. Some lazy afternoons, she spent hours, pouring over the sex toy sites and dreaming of her own collection. Along the way, she decided that she was indeed a submissive in the world of Bondage, Discipline and Sadomasochism—and Tommy was more than happy to oblige her.

While their resources were limited, Tommy and January explored their every fantasy together. However, good things didn’t always last forever. A year ahead of her, Tommy went away to college. January spent the two following weeks, drowning in the depths of depression. She cried not for the loss of love, but for the dirty, filthy sex she craved.

In Tommy’s absence, she knew she had to focus on the next stage of her life, graduating high school. Based on her two greatest loves—sex and acting—January considered a move to Los Angeles to break into the porn industry. However, she knew that her brothers would probably kill her—especially her closest sibling, Charlie.

However, she did have some choices to make. January just couldn’t see herself spending the next four years behind a classroom door. Modeling wasn’t an option because she was too short. She did enjoy her time on stage, and she made her decision. Sight unseen, she moved to New York to pursue a career on Broadway. January had never been to the city before, and her parents thought she was crazy.

Lost in her own fantasies, January truly lived like Thoroughly Modern Millie for the first few months. She found a room at a women’s boarding house, and she had to admit that she had fun there. The vibe was young, and everyone had huge dreams of making a life in the big city.

With her job as a waitress in a popular theater district eatery, she got by. Quickly, she realized, that it was all about tits for tips. Working so close to the theater community, she also aspired to meet some producers or casting agents.

In between work and open casting auditions, she also made time to uncover the underground sex scene. After several blind dates with perverted men seeking young, naïve women, she met her first Dom at a munch. January never called it love, but she held a profound respect for him. He was in his forties and divorced twice, and he taught her how to embrace the pain as a reward in her sexual exploration.

With him, January discovered the sex clubs of New York. He never forced her to partake in any activity, but he wanted her to broaden her understanding of the lifestyle while he reinforced the importance of safety and discretion.

During their relationship, she also made her first trip to Paris, and January fell in love immediately. She adored New York, but there was just something so quaint and romantic about the City of Light that left her wanting more than seven days.

As they stood on the overlook from the Basilica of Sacre Coeur, with the entire panoramic view of the city before them, January promised herself that she’d live in Paris—somehow, some way.

However, their relationship dwindled, and she moved to New Jersey with two girls she knew at the boarding house in an effort to save some money. While she continued to work in the city, her coveted roles on stage were few and far between. She’d done a couple of off-off-Broadway shows and joined a local theater company. Determination fueled her spirit, but she knew she couldn’t carry on as the starving actress forever.

January gave herself until her twenty-fifth birthday before calling it a day with her acting career. She had to be a realist. Perhaps, she’d go back to school for fashion. Although January hadn’t given up on her quest to be known the world over, she did understand that she might have to resort to alternative methods.

Occasionally, she’d supplement her income with a gig at a comedy den. No one could laugh at herself quite like January could, and her observations of New York City seemed to amuse the audience.

Never did she expect to receive a call from a talent scout for one of the big weekend sketch comedy shows.

Weeks passed after her first audition. January tried to put the thought of stardom out of her head, but she still clung to her dream. She was twenty-three years old, and she still had time. But dammit, she really wanted that gig.

Once the call to audition for the show’s executive producer finally came, life as January knew it spiraled into a whirlwind.

Within two days, she was invited to become a regular on the show. In conjunction with the writers, she created some new characters for the next season. The critics adored her sense of humor—and her look. The old pinup gal had made a comeback through January Gallimore’s freshman season on the show.

In truth, the skits were packed with new talent, and the show received a renaissance in its popularity. Before May sweeps, when ratings were most critical, she’d already signed her first movie contract for a romantic comedy to be filmed during her summer hiatus from the show.

At last, she’d finally placed her stamp on the world—and she’d just beaten her twenty-fifth birthday deadline by seconds. In celebration, she took herself to Paris in between her filming schedule. Never one to squander, she’d continued to live on the cheap in New Jersey. Life was unpredictable. She could be the It Girl one day and forgotten the next, but she deserved a little treat.

While in France, she’d been referred to a Parisian munch by some friends in the BDSM community in New York. Although those secret gatherings required an invitation, the members certainly did not discriminate.

It was also on that trip when she met a certain Xavier Ranard. Rather than hooking up with a French Dom to have on the side for her European adventures—because she’d planned many more—she met her best friend in Xavier.

A twenty-something gay switch who toiled around the hallowed halls of the House of Chanel by day, Xavier was the perfect complement to January’s own lofty goals. Naturally, in between his daily world of haute couture and his transition between Domination and submission, Xavier worked on his own fashion line.

In an instant, he’d hand-picked January to be his muse.

Admittedly, January loved clothes, but she hadn’t really thought about creating an image. Her new best friend opened her eyes to a whole new world, and she discovered a sleek vintage style to debut on her first Red Carpet.

Once she’d returned home, though, January had little time to think of fashion or sex—or travel. Just as she wrapped filming of her first movie, the second season began with higher ratings and grander expectations than the last.

At twenty-five, she held the world in the palm of her hand.

She’d been a guest on the Tonight Show, while Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood had profiled her extensively. Cosmo and Glamour wanted to know what shade of red lipstick she wore, and Women’s Wear Daily and Vogue clamored to find out who designed her forties-inspired wardrobe.

Of course, Xavier created a new outfit for her for every appearance. She even took him as her date to the Emmy Awards. She’d lost, but they partied the night away—and the film and fashion press took note of her classic burgundy A-line dress. Within a month, Xavier gave his notice at Chanel, confident that the funding he’d received for his own line would translate into the success of an international brand.

Too much had happened so quickly between them, but somehow, they made time for their friendship—whether it was a long weekend of theater in London or a quick jaunt for Xavier across the pond to spend a few days with January in her new studio that she’d bought in Manhattan. Once, he’d even spent a month with her in Los Angeles. While she worked on the set of her next film, he made sales calls to the hottest boutiques on Rodeo Drive with his private trunk show.

Together, they made a powerhouse duo—the young gay designer and the beloved new star of the romantic comedy. January was adored by men and women alike, and Xavier’s designs dressed her with perfection.

While January remained frugal, she also knew just how much more she could make with a film career over her regular gig in sketch comedy. After two seasons, she’d decided to call it quits to fulfill the offers that came in from Hollywood. Of course, she told Xavier long before she made noises to the creators of the show.

In fact, Xavier was also first to know of her clandestine affair with an A-list actor with whom she co-starred in her latest film. Of course, January kept their trysts under wraps because they were only fucking. He was a mere amusement—not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but he knew how to wield a whip.

However, January didn’t realize just how stupid he was until his ex-girlfriend hacked into his phone and sold some revealing photos of their sadomasochistic affair to The National Enquirer.

In a matter of hours, January plummeted from America’s sweetheart to the local slut, tied up and showing off her welted ass to the world.

While the photos published in the magazine were rough, the slideshow continued online with graphic images straight from the dungeon. Before she had a chance to blink, all the celebrity glossies had copies—and everyone had something to say. Their erotic play exceeded bondage and spankings. Photos emerged of her so-called Master wearing a black hood. Shots of January blindfolded and affixed to the St. Andrew’s Cross with two disguised men made their way to racier outlets.

Women were crushed that their beloved heroine could stoop to such lows for degrading sexual pleasures. Men secretly harbored perverse fantasies of January. Meanwhile, her former lover found a surge in his popularity, and he signed on to a superhero film within days.

Outside her small apartment building, the press swarmed, waiting for the vixen to appear. However, from the online coverage that warned her of the circus on her doorstep—and from the neighbors pounding on her door to curse her for tarnishing the luxury building’s image—January couldn’t leave her own studio.

To add insult to injury, the producers of her next film called to say that they were canceling her contract. She certainly couldn’t play the ingenue with a reputation such as the one she obviously masqueraded to the world.

Crushed, she slumped into despair for the first time in her life. She considered phoning a shrink. However, she didn’t trust anyone, and she wasn’t quite sure of what she’d tell a therapist. She just happened to enjoy it when men were rough with her.

The Gallimore clan held mixed feelings about the scandal. Her parents refused to talk to her, but her brothers attempted to support her from afar. Naturally, they weren’t proud of their sister’s antics, but they still loved her.

When she stopped answering her phone, Xavier stepped in to save her. He flew straight from Paris and met the crowd outside her apartment in New York. That evening, they hatched a plan to sneak her off to Paris via the back exit of her building. She’d simply stay with him until the fuss died down.

As hard as she tried to escape the drama brewing back home, especially the angered calls from her mother that spewed utter disappointment, she couldn’t shake the blues. Her career was finished after one stupid mistake.

The French, however, still embraced her. No one really seemed to care about what she did behind closed doors. Fans even continued to ask for her autograph on the rare occasion that she left Xavier’s apartment in the gay Marais.

However, Xavier knew he had to give her life some purpose. Otherwise, she’d just sink into depression. January always got back on her feet, and she could do it again. He decided that his only option was to invite her to star in his next runway show during the illustrious Fashion Week in Paris.

Naturally, she offered him every excuse in the book—from the fact that she was too short to the reality that she could potentially ruin his reputation. However, Xavier persisted and insisted. When rehearsals began, he threatened to tie her up and drag her to the venue. January reminded him that she’d probably enjoy that too much, but she followed him toward the old catwalk begrudgingly.

As out-of-practice as January may have felt that afternoon, she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed returning to the limelight. Of course, she adored the outfits that Xavier chose for her, and she appreciated spending time with the other models in the show. It was her first social interaction with anyone but Xavier since the scandal broke.

At the after-party, Paris’ elite turned out to celebrate Xavier’s latest and most creative line to date. January, though, seemed to be the star of the show. A line of actresses, models and the world’s wealthiest women formed behind her as she ordered a well-deserved mojito at the bar. However, it was the amused smile and the warm brown eyes of the man sitting beside her that caught January’s attention.

Anyone ever tell you how luscious that beauty mark is? his rather gruff, French accent rumbled as she moved to lift her drink to her lips.

The command of his tone nearly brought January to her knees, but she remained calm and took the time to sip her drink while she thought of an answer.

Never quite so boldly, she said with an upturn to her red lips. Attraction seemed instant between them, and it was just fun to finally have the chance to flirt again.

She began to wonder who he was and why he was there. Perhaps, his wife had dragged him, but January didn’t see a ring. Maybe he was interested in Xavier’s debut of his men’s line, but this man seemed a little too roguish to wear Xavier’s creations of color and fabric. Dressed in a sharp black wool jacket and crisp white shirt, he was fabulously understated in that hot, French way.

When he reached out and took her hand to bring to his lips, Xavier scuttled closer in time to catch them.

Janvier…there are reporters in the pressroom who would like to speak with you. Xavier always called her by her name in French when matters were urgent. Then he turned to her would-be suitor, who still held her hand. Etienne, it’s good to see you.

The man nodded. Apparently, they were acquaintances. She hoped that Etienne wasn’t gay. Good show, he complimented Xavier and then turned to January. Great party.

Ah, merci, monsieur. Awkwardly, Xavier stepped between them to break their chain of touch. Glad you enjoyed.

"Oh, ouais… Etienne’s eyes clung to a grinning January like a wet t-shirt. Ouais, ouais…ouais…"

As Xavier playfully pulled her away, he babbled, Have your agent call her agent.

What the hell did you do that for? she asked once they were out of earshot. And who the hell is he?

You don’t know? Xavier’s eyes bulged from their sockets. He’s one of the biggest singers in all of France. Etienne Marçeaux. All the women want to fuck him. Apparently, so do you…

What? I just…we just…

He’s into the scene, you know.

Eyes brightening, she turned to face him. "Really?"

"Vraiment, Xavier mocked her with a pat on her ass. Now, move it, Mademoiselle. You have work to do."

When the reviews rolled in, however, the praise resounded from the celebrity word on the street to the fashion magazines of the world. Vogue and Elle both fought to have January on their covers, dressed in BDSM-inspired fashions from Xavier. Of course, she’d have to give her first interview since the now infamous photos appeared, but just the positive feedback from the show gave her the confidence she needed.

So caught up in the madness of her life, January didn’t realize that another phenomenon had broken. A round of applause broke out for her in the pressroom. However, once she took to the microphone, every reporter in the room seemed to have the same question for her. Since she was the expert on BDSM, they wanted to know what she thought of a new trilogy of books that women around the globe just couldn’t put down.

Since she hadn’t read the books, January said she couldn’t comment. However, her image seemed to lose its tarnish that evening. The public had renewed its fascination with her life and career.

From shunned harlot to the darling of the kink community, January Gallimore had made her comeback.

Within days, her agent began to field requests from press around the world, asking for her input and thoughts on the books. And by the end of the month, she’d given more satellite interviews than she would have for a movie press tour. Everyone had an opinion, but they wanted the reality straight from January’s pouty red lips.

And the media fed on her interviews. She presented BDSM with her witty sense of humor, and she discussed fact versus fiction with expertise. She was the perfect woman to question about this new sexual revolution, and even her agent was sure that she’d work in films again—although she shut down an early call for actresses to portray the heroine of the books in the movie.

In the meanwhile, Etienne procured her number. He was on a break from his tour of France, and he wanted to ask her out.

Much to her surprise, he picked her up in his SMART Car and drove to one of the outer neighborhoods of Paris. Immediately, he wowed her with his grounded nature. Etienne was nothing like the other celebrities she dated or fucked. He paid close attention to her, even while she chatted nervously.

Heading through one of Paris’ less glamorous areas, Belleville, January wondered if he had kidnapped her to steal away to some dungeon, but Etienne saw the questioning look tainted with fear in her eyes.

You know Eddy Mitchell? He’s what we call a Dinosaur of French rock. He grew up here, Etienne told her as they cruised past an entire block of Middle Eastern restaurants. And so did I…

Coincidentally, he played the older singer’s cover of Tell It Like It Is softly in the background. Even in French, the song lyrics resonated, and January wondered if this was a message to her. One thing she’d learned quickly about Etienne, there was always a soundtrack to everything he did in life.

At that point, January realized she had nothing to fear with him. He was just being real, and that’s more than any woman could have asked for on a first date. Like her, he grew up with little more than big dreams. She could relax and maybe enjoy the ride a bit.

And you, chérie, he began. Your parents owned a farm?

Straightening her silk scarf at her neck, January shook out her mane of black hair. You’ve done your research.

It is very hard to escape you these days, he chuckled. Your face is everywhere.

Then, she pulled her scarf over her head. Oh, what have you read about me?

A few things, he said contemplatively. But I think there is so much more to know.

Well, Xavier told me a few things about you, too. January waited for his response. The pure burn of sexual adrenaline seared between them in that oh-so compact car. Just once in her life, though, she longed for more than sex.

Ah, putain de merde, he mumbled. He is a little piece of shit. We will discuss that later.

From that moment on, a spirited tension would exist between Xavier and Etienne in January’s little world.

As he maneuvered the car into the smallest parking space she’d ever seen, he minded her through his aviator sunglasses. Come, ma belle, and he offered his hand. Go on a journey with me.

That was an offer January couldn’t refuse.

Like most Parisians, he took such pride in the city. Back in his old stomping grounds, he played the perfect tour guide. In fact, he’d parked at the top of the hill so that she could appreciate the views from above as they descended through Buttes Chaumont park.

And what views there were to be seen. She could understand why this was his favorite spot in all of Paris. Seeing the city, literally at their feet, left her breathless. As they stumbled upon the Temple de la Sibylle, the open-air gazebo afforded an expansive look at the hills of Montmartre and Sacre Coeur. January felt like a tourist who’d accidentally veered off from the beaten path.

It was at that moment when she realized that Etienne held her hand along the uneven ground as if to tell her silently that he would protect her. She continued to pretend that she hadn’t even realized they were touching. The second she acknowledged him, she knew she’d be in trouble.

As they stepped up to take a closer look at the skyline, she giggled.

What is so funny, Janny?

No one ever called her Janny before, and she loved his pronunciation. She knew then that she could get used to the French treatment.

Oh, I’m just thinking back to an old trip here when I got out at the wrong Metro station in Montmartre, she reminisced. "I was looking for some tiny museum, and I tried to ask for directions from an older lady. She pointed to the steep stairs and told me, ‘Montez, montez…et montez.’"

Climb, climb…and climb, he repeated in English. That is cute.

So are you, Monsieur Marçeaux…

Abandoning all fear and reservation, she closed her eyes and allowed him to plunder her open lips that ached for a kiss just like that one. And he still held her hand.

With care and delicacy, he gripped her shoulder to brace her—from the dizzying altitude and from her own dwindling perception of reality. His lips were soft but clearly commanding, coaxing her to move her mouth in rhythm with his own. She knew that if she opened her eyes, she just might faint. However, she allowed the kiss to linger as she took his breath as her own.

Just open your eyes slowly. I am holding you.

Under his spell, January obeyed, and she found those big brown eyes that she felt so compelled to trust minding her with not only passion but also affection.

I hope there’s more where that came from, January thought out loud.

Ah, there shall be, he assured her. For now, I promised we would explore.

Step by careful step, they meandered down the hillside. Etienne wished that he could show her every inch of that park, but one afternoon wasn’t enough. January suggested that they would just have to make another trip or two, which met his big, lopsided grin.

Eventually, they followed the path to a grotto waterfall where they sat down and listened to the sounds of the cascading flow. She pinned her hair up and relaxed beside him.

Etienne discussed his life with brutal honesty. He had been divorced for two years, and he hadn’t really dated anyone seriously. He focused on his music, and he spent the rest of his time with his two young daughters, aged eight and six. His life, he told her, stopped when the girls needed their Papa.

In turn, she confided about her brush with scandal. Etienne was quick to admire her candor with him and with the rest of the world. She’d faced those secrets in her career, whereas he had not.

Etienne also knew that he had to address the elephant that had been lumbering beside them all afternoon. He confirmed that he had practiced BDSM for years—and he was ten years her senior. However, he preferred to play only in the elitist of circles—which is how he came to become acquaintances with Xavier. They were both members of an exclusive club where well-heeled members of society congregated to fulfill their filthiest fantasies.

January worried that the public might make assumptions if they were to start dating, while Etienne joked that a