Home,my tiger hummed happily.
I touched Gen’s back and watched as she made the panther — now a tiger — practically leap off the page.
She stopped to contemplate her work, then the sculpture. “Bugatti… Like the car maker?”
“Brother to the car maker.”
She chuckled. “Of course you would know that. Pretty artistic family, huh?”
“They don’t hold a candle to yours.”
She laughed, bumping my shoulder. “Maybe in some ways. But we’ll leave the cars to you.”
Visions of handing me tools and sketching me at work on the Jaguar danced through her mind, and I hid a grin. The equivalent of me watching her sketch, I supposed.
Twenty minutes later, we stood and explored other artworks on that level. Then we indulged in cake and coffee at the café, right by the massive clockface with its iconic views over Paris.
Gen reached across the table to wipe a crumb off my cheek. I licked it off her finger, andwhoosh!My inner temperature soared, and my tiger grew dangerously hungry.
Gen licked her lips, which only made things worse.
“There’s got to be a broom closet we could disappear into around here,” she murmured.
I thought she was joking, but no. After a few dead-ends, she found one by sneaking down a narrow hall of administrative rooms.
“Oh my gosh. I really am a genius,” she whispered, running her hands down my rear in the darkness of that small space.
“You are,” I agreed, helping her shed a few layers and hoisting her up.
We might not have scored points forgraceorelegance, but we did managequiet.
The important thing is to score,Gen chuckled into my mind.
Then she choked back a moan and hung on.
So, whew. I hadn’t exactly planned on that little interlude, but it was like Gen said. Sometimes the best things in life were unplanned.
Afterward, we held each other, panting hard. Then, when we caught our breath, we doubled over in chuckles at what we’d just done.
“Shh. Shh,” I urged, trying to muffle my own laugh.
“Talk about an artistic movement,” Gen chuckled.
“An interactive installation,” I threw in.
We both cracked up. I’d never laughed so hard — the silent kind where you heaved for breath and held your sides.
“Now you’ve truly corrupted me,” Gen said when we finally got ourselves together.
“You, Mademoiselle Durand, are the one corruptingme,” I insisted.
She listened at the door, then nodded. “The coast is clear.”
We snuck out as stealthily as we’d snuck in. Then we split up at the restrooms to clean up as best we could. I splashed my face with water and ran my hands through my hair, undoing the bedroom look Gen had given me.
A twentysomething guy at the next sink glanced over, wide-eyed.
“Euh…tu profites bien des expos, toi?” he deadpanned.Enjoying the exhibits, huh?
