But Beautiful

Chapter 11: Million dollar man

Marilyn and Max sat across from each other at a small dining table at the top of the Eiffel tower, drinking sweet champagne and eating fine French cuisine. She had learned through the night that he was a multi million dollar business man, just like that of Sam, and they had met in England on business. Max was a self made man whose parents had passed away long before they should have, he shared that this experience made him the man he was today. He opened up casually to her during this time, as did she, then the conversation stopped, and he looked at her with eyes that gave her butterflies in her stomach.

"Come here." He spoke as he stood from his chair. She made her way to him and placed her hand in his. He stood behind her as she looked over the Eiffel tower's railing and slipped his arms around her slim waist. She smiled. "You smell like the sweetest lavender." He whispered, his breath trickling down her neck causing her to shiver.

"Do I?" She asked, biting her lip.

"You do." He spoke as he kissed her neck tenderly.

"Maxwell, stop it." She giggled as his hands roamed her hips.

"Stop what?" He spoke huskily. "This?" He spoke as he bit the most delicate spot on her neck. She sighed.

"Maybe I should go now..." She trailed off.

"Oh no, don't do that, darling..." He whispered delicately in her ear.

"I must. It's late, and I'm sure Mr. Kennedy wants me to get some work done. This is a business trip, you know." She smiled, turning in his arms and resting her hands on his strong shoulders, running them down his arms softly. "This has been wonderful. Truly exquisite." She smiled, as she stared into his eyes. He was transfixed once again on her eyes that seemed to hold their own sparkle. He lent in, and their lips touched again for the third time in two days. It was a passionate, movie like kiss. A kiss that should have been gravity defying, fire starting, was but average to her. The simple kiss she had shared with Sam held more spark than the one she was sharing now, and it frightened her.

The music that was once drowned out came slowly back into focus as his lips left hers and the beautiful voice of Nat King Cole flooded her ears.

"For all we know, this might only be a dream, we come and we go, like the ripples in the stream, so baby, love me tonight, tomorrow was made for some, but tomorrow may never come, for all we know.."

"Let me walk you back to your hotel." Max spoke quietly.

As they walked the streets of Paris together, they joked and spoke softly. She had never been treated so well by a man. She had never been with a man whom could make her feel so happy, with the exclusion of Sam, that is.

They walked her hall together and laughed, in which Marilyn had to shush him and calm her own laughter.

"Mr. Kennedy's room is right here." She whispered, smiling. He pressed her against the wall between her door and his, running his left hand to her hip and kissing her.

They we're then interrupted by Sam's door opening.

"Miss. Kerr." He spoke drowsily. It was late, and he was dressed in his silk pajamas. Marilyn and Max both looked his way, still pressed against each other. "Miss. Kerr, please sleep. You're interrupting mine." Something was different about him, maybe it was that he was still drunk and he had only slept it off an hour.

"Goodnight, sweet Marilyn. Until we meet again." Maxwell winked before he kissed her cheek and walked down the long, silent, hall back to the elevator. Sam stood still in his door way with his arms crossed.

"Mr. Kennedy, are you drunk?" She asked, staring at his tousled appearance.

"Very much so." He laughed.

Go back to bed. I'm sorry for waking you." She stated, opening her door.

"And I'm sorry for telling you to forget." He spoke before his door closed. She stood in shock, before she gathered herself again and walked into her hotel room. She took a long shower and laid in bed for what seemed like hours staring at the ceiling. His words playing over and over in her mind. He must have been truly inebriated to spill his words like that to her. He was kind and gentle when need be, but never did he speak like that, or share such emotion. Was he truly sorry for telling her to forget? If so, that must mean that he doesn't regret kissing her. Her heart fluttered in excitement at the thought. Then, she let her head spin about other things, like Maxwell. He was everything she had ever wanted in a man, sweet, charming, romantic. However, the feelings for him weren't there, and she hated herself for constantly comparing him to Sam.

Soon, she would be heading back to America, and all of this will be left behind, Maxwell included. That date and those kisses would be but gone with a gust of wind, turning into fine, sweet memories. Her exhausted mind then wondered to childish like thoughts, such as if memories had a taste, what would they taste like? This memory, this time, would taste like sweet French wine and lips. Yes, that's what it would be. With that final thought, she drifted off to a dream filled sleep. This memory was but French wine kisses and Eiffel lights.