Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

Visions played in my head. Images of her blindfolded and tied to my bed. Helpless and hungry for pleasure.

Until Eden, I’d never wanted to bury myself in someone so badly. For these years of war, I’d been existing in a continuous state of arousal. And I never let another woman satisfy it. I doubted another woman could.

Soon she’ll be in my arms.

Louis leaned my way. “What do you want to do? Should we take her after she finishes playing?”

I kept my attention on her, drowning in the music. I didn’t even want to stop for a second and respond to Louis.

He persisted, “I could get a van to wait out back.”

“Kidnapping her is not an option.”

“But we have the opportunity to grab her.”

“No. I have the opportunity to talk to her tonight.”

“We’ve gone too far to just have you talk to her, Jean-Pierre.”

“True, but in the end, the choice would always be Eden’s to make.”

Louis mumbled, “For all the men that have died, she better make the right choice.”

“No one’s ever complained as the money has piled up these years.”

Louis went silent. Since this conflict with Celina, he’d bought his third house and was considering purchasing a yacht. Men had died, but these years of war had done all of us good.

Never mind war. I finally have Eden in front of me.

“How will you get her then?” Louis asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “A brothel wasn’t where I’d planned to meet her.”

“Maybe you should proposition her. We are in a brothel after all.”

“No. I doubt Celina has her niece working like that. And I didn’t avoid whores all these years to then treat Eden like one.”

Louis shrugged. “Celina took down the Belladonna Symphony. I doubt she’s letting any other symphonies get close to audition her. And now Eden’s playing in a brothel. She’s probably desperate.”

I studied Eden.

She tapped her feet along with the rhythm and played like a true skilled musician. But there was something deep within her eyes. Something growing with each bow movement. Rising each time she shifted into a new song.

“You’re right, Louis.” I gripped the table harder. “Eden’s desperate and hungry.”

“Then, you can get her like that.”

My gut twisted at the possibility. “I’ll have to think about this. Until then, find out why she’s playing in the Candy Shop and if it will happen again.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” I leaned back in my chair. “I’ll be here all night.”

The beast within, le Boucher, he yearned to take Eden now and hide her away from the world.

I can’t. Not yet.

Chapter 32

A Sexy Extension

Eden

After we made love, Jean-Pierre showed me Paris. I doubted most tourists had the opportunity of such a gorgeous and passionate tour guide.

Jean-Pierre’s heart lay within the very boundaries of the French capital. How beautiful, when it was coined the city of love. It was easy to see the romantic appeal. And just like with him, the place made my knees go week.

I would never be able to come to this city again and not think of him.

After breakfast we walked hand-in-hand along the charming cobbled streets of Montmartre and the Marais.

We went shopping, driving to chic boutiques and designer stores. All around each place echoed Paris’ fascination with art, fashion, and jewelry. When we entered, the clerks politely asked other customers to leave, closed the place up, and brought out champagne. Everyone greeted him with respect as they said his name.

Sipping champagne, Jean-Pierre had me model several dresses. I took sips from his glass each time I strolled out. By the time we finished, both of us had become a little tipsy. He bought the dresses I loved and added a backless gown that he loved most of all.

Back in the limo, I begged him to model for me. I was interested in his style and the way he liked to shop.

How could I not be intrigued by this man?

I soon learned, that while I loved to shop, I’d met my match with him.

We drove to his exclusive tailor.

When we stepped in, the other man that had been getting measured, nodded at Jean-Pierre, grabbed his jacket, and left.

The shop held an elegance on its own. Polished mahogany walls. Smooth lighting. The scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air.

The tailor shook Jean-Pierre’s hand as they spoke in a cheery French. A few times Jean-Pierre gestured to me and the man nodded my way.

“This is Alexandre,” Jean-Pierre said. “He’s been my tailor since my mother, and I moved here.” He turned and signaled to the right. “And this is his son, Victor.”

Victor looked around my age. He pushed a silver tray out. Some sort of fountain stood on top. It seemed funny to think, but the fountain was shaped like a woman who had her hands elegantly spread out at her sides. Silver made up her legs and arms. Glass served as the body. There were four taps covered in carvings of leaves.