Sunday – Paris
James watched from the back seat as Jasmine exited the limo in front of the hotel. It was impossible to depart gracefully with such a dress and the doorman who opened her door was certainly privy to a magnificent view of her long lean legs as she placed her right foot on the cobblestone drive and brought her left around to steady herself and stand. James sat transfixed for the moment and then opened his own door to exit in a hurry so he could come around and assist.
They were finally in Paris, about to enter the Hotel Splendide, and he felt excited by the journey they'd already shared, as well as the prospect of the visit about to unfold. He swung around the open trunk a little too late, as the doorman had already assisted Jasmine from the limo and was guiding her under the porte-cochere to the front door of the elegant hotel. James smiled at the prospect. He'd better get used to folks going out of their way to interact with Jasmine – open a door here or pull out a chair there. She had that effect on people. He tipped the driver generously and followed them into the hotel.
The flight had been wonderful, as he expected it would be. He had seen the glee on Jasmine's face as they had entered the jumbo jet at Kennedy and settled into angled first class seats that were several steps above anything she'd ever experienced before. She had never in her life been served Champagne before even taking off. They shared a double seat combo and had had a great flight in every respect. The service had been impeccable and they had even managed to get a little sleep, nestled into their cushy seats that reclined into pseudo beds.
Jasmine had worn a simple silk shift and semi-sensible shoes. But once she was seated, her dress had slid up her long lean thighs in a tease to all who happened to walk by. The pull of her body and her personae was unlike anything James had ever felt before. He was thrilled to be sharing this journey with such an exquisite beauty.
Now, after a smooth flight and limo ride from De Gaulle, they were entering the lobby of one of the most romantic and classy hotels in Paris. James made fast work of the check-in process and they proceeded up to their rooms – both on the same floor, but across the hall from one another. They were all business as they moved into their respective rooms. James could tell that Jasmine was excited by the understated class of their accommodations.
"Oh, James. This is a lovely hotel. So elegant," she gushed with unbridled enthusiasm.
"Only the best for you, Jasmine," he chided.
It was mid-morning and they had checked in early. As they parted ways in the hallway, James suggested that they both take a nap and rest up for a couple hours, then reconvene in the lobby around 5pm. He knew that Jasmine hadn't slept all that well on the plane – she'd been too excited – and a good solid nap would slowly bring them both into the time zone and resolve the six hour time difference from the east coast. She agreed and they went their separate ways, both ready for a good sleep.
After a solid nap, a shower, a shave and a little office email business, James eagerly descended several floors to the lobby, hoping Jasmine had been able to wake up according to plan. He had no reason to fear as she was sitting in the ornate lobby as he sauntered in slowly to join her.
"Hi, James," Jasmine cooed. "I'd say good morning, but it's late afternoon and I really don't know what time of day it is or where I am," she joked.
"Well, as long as you got a little shut-eye, we should be able to while away a few hours now and get to bed early enough to get back into a Parisian rhythm by tomorrow," James proffered.
"Works for me," she replied. "I did sleep a little. But I'm in Paris!" she exclaimed. "And I can sleep when I get home. I can't wait to get out on the streets."
Neither could James. Jasmine was wearing tight black pants that stretched around her curvaceous form, a lovely short orange jacket over a silky white blouse, and relatively sensible walking boots. Her hair was wild and flowing, but in a measured way. Jasmine saw James's eyes scan her attire in approval and she lightly hooked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they departed the hotel.
"If you don't mind walking – and I hope you don't – then we'll take a stroll and find a place to eat. It's extremely early by French standards, but we're off by six hours so we'll have to eat as we see fit. I have a few places in mind, but let's get the lay of the land first. What do you say?" knowing exactly how Jasmine would respond.
"Lead the way," she responded.
They wandered north across the Seine and headed east along the Left Bank as they skirted Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cite and headed into a district that James referred to as "Le Marais". James could tell that Jasmine was happy to now be semi-alert and cruising the boulevards of Paris with her boss and traveling partner. And James was high on the subtle touch of Jasmine's fingers crooked into his bent arm. He could have walked for hours just so.
They headed further north into a maze of curving streets, James leading the way. He remembered a small bistro he'd visited before and they came upon it soon, ducking into the warm wooded interior from the early Paris evening. They shared a lovely meal, a nice bottle of red wine from the Rhone, and good conversation. Neither openly acknowledged the incredible situation that they found themselves in, yet both were highly aware and excited by the prospects of what lay ahead.
James kept looking at Jasmine in the flickering candlelight of their very private table. He was seated across from a woman whom he could not stop looking at. He kept waiting for some visual shoe to drop, but it never did. In fact, the more he looked at Jasmine's warm beauty, the more enamored he became of her. Never had he felt such an incredible draw; a magnetism that rivaled anything he'd ever experienced. James kept telling himself that this was a business trip; he had to exhibit some self-restraint, she was so much younger than him. Yet Jasmine's easy smile, lovely nature and deep green eyes kept him swimming in a warm pool of desire. The swirling rivulets of mahogany tresses that framed her gorgeous face just reinforced the focus of her intoxicating beauty and her lovely laugh melted away any hope he had of maintaining decorum. Still, he had to try.
They left the restaurant, a little tipsy and feeling no pain, and Jasmine was not shy to latch onto his arm again as they meandered back toward the 6th. James guided them down Rue de Rivoli and they headed left and back across the river at Pont Neuf. Halfway across the bridge they stopped to survey the scene. The dark inky waters of the Seine swirled below their feet as the golden lights of the monuments along the river glowed in the Parisian night. It was a magical view and moment to match. James felt Jasmine curve her arm up tighter into his as her warm body pressed against him.
He looked down at her fondly, embracing the moment at hand, and in a response to his gaze, she looked up into his eyes. He hesitated, though it was a hesitation borne of doubt more than desire. She was his assistant, his employee, his junior by more than twenty-five years. Yet he was more drawn to her at this moment than he had any right to be.
