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A Canadian in Paris by Vicki Savage

Price:
$2.99
SKU:
978-1-77233-882-9
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Product Description

 Wanderlust, 1

After a messy breakup with an emotionally abusive man, Maggie Babou has all but given up on life. She climbs up to the top of the Eiffel Tower, determined to end it all. There she finds a handsome army Sergeant who convinces her to give him one night to change her mind. She follows him back to a café, where she meets his handsome French friend, and through their elaborate seduction, Maggie peels back the layers of hurt and discovers a confident, kinky side of her that she never knew existed.  

Brice and Claude have made a business out of helping those in trouble, but the special needs of this beautiful, caramel-skinned stranger require a unique touch. The more they try to help, the more they see Maggie’s inner strength and courage. They quickly fall for the Canadian beauty, and after spending a night in her arms, become determined to never let her go.

Be Warned: menage sex (MFM), anal sex 

 

Excerpt:

The American helped me into my seat. “Claude, this is. . .” He turned to me with a questioning look.

“Maggie,” I answered.

“Ah.” Claude’s golden eyes sparkled as he picked up my hand. “Maggie.”

“Maggie said that she is feeling a little reckless tonight.”

“Is that so?” Claude raised his brow as he took my hand and kissed my knuckles. I giggled like a schoolgirl. Who the heck kissed knuckles anymore? It was so . . .  Downton Abbey.

“Audrey, take over for me.” Claude tossed a tall brunette his bar towel and apron. He grinned as he turned back to me. “I’m busy.”

“Yes, sir.” The brunette immediately put on the apron and started serving drinks.

Claude leaned his elbows on the bar and tilted his head to the side. “So, what brings you in here, Maggie?”

I glanced at the American and wondered just how much of my story to tell. “My boyfriend broke up with me this morning.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. A breakup can be very hard, no?”

“No. I mean yes.” I took in a deep breath and let it out. “But it was for the best.” When the men gave me questioning looks, I tried to explain. “It was an abusive relationship.”

Claude raised his brows. “He hit you?”

“No, but he was constantly comparing me to everyone else.” I averted my gaze and toyed with the edge of my jacket. “He always found me lacking. I was never pretty enough or smart enough. . .” I knew what he was doing was wrong, but I had been so lonely. Robert was a rich and powerful businessman. With him, I felt like somebody. Without him, I was nothing.

“Idiot,” the American muttered.

Claude crouched down until he met my gaze. “A man who doesn’t cherish a woman isn’t really a man.” He glanced at his friend. “Don’t you agree, Brice?”

The American nodded. “Absolutely.”

Perhaps it was the conviction in their voices, or the fact that I hadn’t talked to anyone since the breakup and really needed to let everything out. Whatever the reason, I found myself pouring out every last dirty detail of my relationship to these two men. As I talked, they fed me croissants and cappuccino and listened as if there was nowhere else in the world they’d rather be.

“What an ass,” Brice said when I finally finished.

“Agreed.” Claude slapped his towel on the counter. “Good thing we have just the thing to help you get over this relationship.”

“You do?”

The smile he gave me lit up his face, highlighting the golden flecks in his eyes. “You told Brice you felt a little reckless tonight.”

“Well, yes.”

The men exchanged a look. “Then I think it’s time to throw caution to the wind, no?”

I studied each man in turn, wondering exactly what they were trying to tell me. “I suppose.”

“No worries,” Brice said. “This will be fun.”

“We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do.” Claude turned to Brice and motioned over his shoulder. “Mind helping Audrey close up?”

“Not at all. I will be along in a little bit.”

I frowned and glanced at the large clock on the wall. “Close up? But it’s only nine.”

“What good is owning your own café if you can’t make your own hours?” Claude rounded the counter and helped me off of my stool. “Come.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Women are like flowers,” he said as steered me toward a small doorway in the back of the cafe. “Comparing two women is like comparing two roses. It can’t be done.” We walked down a long hallway, then stopped in front of a door.

He inserted the key. “Each is beautiful.” He turned and brushed his fingers down the side of my cheek. “Each is special.” He opened the door with a flick of his wrist and took my hand. “Tonight, Maggie, we are going to show you just how special you really are.”

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