Alibi In High Heels

'And you? What brings our Maddie to Paris?'

I lifted my chin, making the most of my 5'1 1/2' frame. 'I happen to be showing this week.'

He raised a blond eyebrow, suitably impressed. 'Really?'

'Yes, at the Le Croix show. All the models will be wearing Maddie Springer originals.'

'I should say you've finally arrived then.' He looked down at my one polka dotted ballet flat. 'This from your collection?'

'No. Thanks to the broken leg, I'm on a no-heels diet.'

'No heels?' He did a mock gasp. 'Good God, how will our Maddie survive?'

'Ha, ha. Very funny, Tabloid Boy.'

'Well, congratulations on the show. I'll look forward to seeing you there. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm afraid I'm keeping Auntie waiting. Good to see you again, Maddie. Uh…' He gestured down to Wonder Boot. 'Need a hand getting up to your room, love?'

I squared my shoulders (not an easy thing to do while holding onto a pair of crutches, by the way). 'No, thank you. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.'

Again with the grin. 'Suit yourself.' Felix did a little bow, then took off in the direction of the hotel's restaurant.

I watched his retreating back. He'd traded in his usual uniform of a white, button down shirt and rumpled khaki pants for a more sophisticated look of tailored slacks and a soft gray blazer. The color of the jacket brought out the highlights in his blond hair, the line of the slacks accentuating his long, lean form. I had to admit, it looked good on him.

Not, mind you, that I was looking.

I turned and hit the elevator button, immensely relieved that for all his teasing, at least Felix hadn't mentioned The Kiss. (Accidental as it was.) I'd expected some snide comment, but he hadn't even hinted. In fact, it was almost as if he'd completely forgotten all about it. Good. Perfect. Me too. What kiss? See? It never happened. Completely forgotten.

The carriage arrived and I awkwardly hobbled into the elevator, glancing briefly toward the restaurant as Felix disappeared inside.

I had to remember to ask Ramirez if he owned a blazer.

* * *

I opened the door to my room and immediately spied a note on hotel stationary slipped under the door. Ditching the crutches with a clattering thud on the carpet, I leaned down and picked it up. 'Went to Moulin Rouge. Don't wait up. Mom.' Mom and Cancan dancers. Now there was a combination.

I hopped over to my ruffled four poster bed on one ballet flat and flopped down on my back, spread eagle. I closed my eyes, and lay there contemplating the back of my eyelids. One day down, six more to go until Show Day.

I was hovering in that place somewhere between semi-consciousness and dead-to-the-world sleep when the 'William Tell Overture' started singing from the region of my purse. I groped, refusing to open my eyes as I fished by brail for my cell. 'Hello?' I asked as I flipped it open.

'How's my favorite designer this morning?'

Ramirez. Despite the tired ache in my limbs a smile lifted the corners of my mouth at his smooth voice, sounding deceptively close.

'Evening. It's eight o'clock. I'm beat.'

'Aw, poor girl. Slide a little closer, I'll give you a massage.'

I grinned in the dark. 'Don't tempt me, it's only an eleven hour flight.'

'Paris is that bad, huh?'

I sighed. 'No, actually it's wonderful. Absolutely amazingly exhaustingly wonderful.'

'Good. I'm glad to hear it.' Though I'd swear a tiny corner of his voice almost sounded disappointed.

'I still haven't even got a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower yet, though.'

'I'm sure Jean Luc wouldn't mind you taking a little time off to do some sightseeing.'

'Ha! You don't know Jean Luc.'

'What if you just go in a little early tomorrow and take a quick trip to the tower in the afternoon?'

I rubbed my temples. I had to admit, it wasn't a bad idea. 'Maybe.'

'Hey, by the way, I dropped by your place last night and watered your plants.'

Last spring Ramirez and I had finally taken the plunge and exchanged house keys. Probably the biggest commitment I could ever expect out of a guy like Ramirez. When I'd showed Dana the pink copy of Ramirez's house key that he'd had made for me, she'd warned that once the keys came out the ring wasn't far behind. I'd had a brief moment of panic until I realized a) this was Ramirez we were talking about and b) Dana's longest lasting relationship thus far had been with a battery powered rabbit. She wasn't exactly an expert.

I frowned into the phone. 'Um, honey, I don't have any plants.'

'Okay, I dropped by and watched the game on your TV. Cable was out at my place.'

'You are such a guy.'

'And that's a bad thing?'

I felt myself smiling in the dark again. 'No. Definitely not.'

'So, when are you coming home? Your place isn't the same without you.'

'A week from Sunday.'

Ramirez groaned into the phone. 'That's a long time.'

'Only ten days.'

'Only?' He groaned again. Though this one held a hint of his wicked Big Bad Wolf smile behind it. 'You know, I think you're going to have to make this up to me when you come home.'

I quirked an eyebrow in the darkness. 'Oh yeah? What did you have in mind, pal?'

'Oh, I've got a couple of ideas. How do you feel about whipped cream?'

I giggled into the phone. Even as my body went warm in places completely inappropriate to talk about in mixed company. 'Whipped cream, huh? What am I, an ice cream sundae?'

There was that growl again. 'Uhn huh. With maybe a cherry or two on top. Then I'd lick-'

But he didn't get to finish that thought as Ramirez's pager chirped to life in the background. I heard him shift, then curse under his breath. 'Shit. Maddie, Captain's paging me. I gotta go. Call you back?'

I swallowed down a lump of disappointment. Just when we were getting to the good part. 'Sure.'

'Five minutes. Promise,' he shot out. Then a click and silence sounded in my ear.

I looked at the phone in my hands. I swear if Ramirez paid half as much attention to me as he did his Captain, we'd be married and cooking babies by now. Not that I necessarily wanted to be a baby cooker, but quite honestly I wouldn't thumb my nose at a night of being a human ice cream sundae. I closed my eyes, wondering just how Ramirez had anticipated finishing that last thought.

There went that inappropriate heat again. I stared at my cell. Five minutes, huh?

I got up, rummaging in my suitcase for something suitable to wear while having intercontinental phone sex with my boyfriend. Unfortunately, the best I could come up with were the flannel pajamas with little ducks printed on them that I'd packed. Not necessarily Fredericks of Hollywood, but they'd have to do. I slipped the top on, giving up on the bottoms as they stretched and strained around Wonder Boot. I guess I could have taken the boot off. But I only had two more minutes. Besides, the shirt was long enough to cover all the important parts. I grabbed my cell, flipped the lights off and crawled back into bed with one minute to spare.

I sat there staring at my phone. A minute went by. Then another. One more. Okay, don't panic. Five minutes, ten minutes – what's the difference, right? I decided that a watched cell never rings and grabbed the remote on the night table, switching on the TV to wait it out. Surely Ramirez would call any second.

I surfed through one channel after another of people speaking way too quickly me for me to catch even a word or two, until I found a station airing Friends reruns dubbed in French. I still couldn't understand what they were saying, but I remembered this one as the episode where Rachel got drunk and confessed her attraction for Ross and could follow the plot well enough from memory.

Fifteen minutes later Rachel was blasted, leaving Ross's answering machine her thoughts on closure, and I was