Brief Encounters. Various

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      Brief Encounters

      Tales of Fast Love

      

      Table of Contents

       Title Page

       Sanctuary! – Rose de Fer

       In It for the Long Haul – Izzy French

       Holiday Showmance – Viva Jones

       Voulez Vouz Couchette? – Primula Bond

       Wanderlust – Mina Murray

       Mile High – Kathleen Tudor

       Her Ocean Saviour – Giselle Renarde

       Home, James – Elizabeth Coldwell

       The Silver Man – Medea Mor

       No Words – Scarlet Rush

       More from Mischief

       About Mischief

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

      Sanctuary!

      Rose de Fer

      So far nothing had gone according to plan. They’d nearly missed their early flight because of traffic that made them late to the airport. They were the last ones on board and the plane took off into a churning black sky like a ship into rough waters. The short journey was filled with gut-wrenching turbulence that made them wonder if they would even make it to Paris at all. By the time the plane had yawed and pitched and finally thumped down onto the tarmac, Kelly was a nervous wreck.

      Jake put his arms around her and gave her a reassuring squeeze. ‘Everything’s fine now,’ he said soothingly. ‘We’re safe. The plane didn’t crash. And hey – we’re in Paris!’

      She curled into his arms, feeling instantly comforted. ‘Paris,’ she murmured, smiling.

      Except that it didn’t look like Paris. The taxi ride was anything but the romantic journey they’d envisioned. They might have been driving through any crowded industrial city in the world but for the French signs and billboards. They frowned though the windows of the car, watching the ugly landscape whiz past and wondering if the driver had misunderstood their destination. After all, he’d merely acknowledged it with a surly grunt. But they could see the address of the hotel they had given him displayed on the satnav, and the motorway signs did seem to suggest they were heading for the city centre.

      Their fears evaporated once they left the urban sprawl and graffiti-covered tower blocks outlying the city and entered the Paris they recognised from countless films. Extravagant baroque façades and Romanesque columns shared the crowded streets with charming little cafés where people sat outside eating crêpes and croissants as the city gradually woke up around them.

      Kelly heaved a huge sigh of relief. ‘Thank God! For a while there I thought maybe the plane had been blown off course into the Twilight Zone.’

      ‘I think the only gremlins we’ll see here are the ones on Notre Dame Cathedral,’ Jake said with a smile.

      The hotel was compact, with an irregular floor plan that could best be described as ‘resourceful’. The space had obviously never been intended for anything as ambitious as a hotel and the shape of the room was disorientating. Still, it was cosy enough and the bed looked plush and inviting. After the hellish journey all Kelly wanted to do was put the NE PAS DÉRANGER sign on the door and tumble into bed with her husband.

      Even after fifteen years of marriage things still showed no sign of getting stale. Her body was as hungry for him as it had been when they’d first met. His deep, authoritative voice could still make her weak in the knees and it only took the slightest touch to make her wet and ready. The mere act of packing her sexiest lingerie the night before had sent a parade of wild fantasies through her mind.

      She saw herself stripped and bound to the iron legs of the Eiffel Tower, on display to the hordes of tourists. Chased naked through the Tuileries Garden, pinned down and fucked among the flowers. Splayed across the gothic tombstones of Père Lachaise and teased to orgasm. Handcuffed by burly security guards in the Louvre and forced to confess her naughty intention to steal the Mona Lisa …

      ‘Where’s the Eiffel Tower?’

      Startled out of her lewd reverie, Kelly joined Jake at the window.

      The hotel’s website had promised that every room had a view of the famous landmark, which didn’t seem possible without altering the laws of physics. After several minutes of looking, they discovered that by clambering onto the two-foot-wide balcony and craning dangerously out over the street, they could just about see the tip of the spire in the distance.

      Kelly laughed. ‘Oh, who cares? Honestly, the only hotel view I care about is the one inside the room.’

      She returned to the bed and lay back, stretching like a cat. At least the bed was spacious and comfortable. It took up nearly the entire room. She rubbed her bare thighs together, imagining all the ways Jake could have her. She’d worn a red silk dress with a flirty skirt, intending to top the sexy ensemble with a red beret from some naff tourist shop. Then, when they’d exhausted themselves with sightseeing and gorged themselves with rich food and wine, they could make love with Kelly wearing nothing but the red beret.

      She looked up at Jake and smiled. ‘I love you madly, you know.’

      He kissed her. ‘Happy anniversary, darling,’ he said.

      A breeze ruffled the curtains, bringing with it the smell of freshly baked pastries. Kelly’s mouth began to water and she could almost taste the cinnamon and chocolate and rich buttery croissants.

      ‘Is it too early for champagne?’ she asked.

      ‘Never. Let’s get a bottle and drink it on the way to the Louvre.’

      Several hours later, the champagne buzz had worn off and Kelly’s feet were killing her. They had underestimated the walking distance from the hotel to the Louvre and, like many first-time tourists, had also neglected to factor in the miles and miles of corridors within the gigantic museum itself. By lunchtime they had seen so many paintings, statues, sculptures and sarcophagi that everything had started to bleed together. And now Kelly was sure her feet must be bleeding too.

      ‘I can’t take any more,’ she gasped, sinking onto a bench. She wrenched off her shoes with a hiss of pain. Why hadn’t she thought to bring her hiking boots? Even trainers would have been a better choice than the battered old ballet flats she’d worn. They were her most comfortable shoes and generally the kindest to her feet, but not for this kind of route march. At least she’d had the sense not to wear heels. ‘I also think I’m about to