“You’re welcome.” He watches me closely as his fingers gently brush the crest of my cheek. The contact makes me feel as though I’m being doused with gasoline and lit on fire. “You look lovely when you blush.”
“Do you always speak whatever is on your mind?” I laugh shakily as I curl my fingers around the espresso cup and drum them nervously on its surface, the smell of coffee and buttery croissants floating around us. The memory of his kiss and the reality of his touch pierce me like an arrow. “Do whatever you want?”
He chuckles. “Oui, you should give it a try someday.”
“Is that why you kissed me?”
I flinch internally. Why did I have to bring it up? Now, he’s going to think I’ve been thinking about it. Which I have, but he doesn’t need to know that. Damn it.
“I kissed you because I wanted to.”
“That’s not a good reason to go around kissing strange women.”
“Well, what was your reason for kissing me back?”
Touché.
I focus on the now-cold dark brew in between my hands, trying not to laugh at this impossible man. “Whatever happened to Margot?”
“She got over it, I’m sure.”
“God, I hope so. She was really mad … Not that I blame her, though.”
“What made you go inside anyway?”
“Made a mistake. I didn’t realize I was crashing a party until it was too late.” I bite my lip, remembering the whole thing, finding it sort of funny now. “Actually, I was about to leave when I saw this painting with a poppy flower.”
“Oh yeah? Bet you it was terrible.”
“Not at all. Whoever painted it is very talented. You could see the love. Feel the pain.”
“How?” he asks softly, the question almost a whisper.
“I know I’m not making sense, but something about the painting made me hurt for the artist. Call it fanciful, but I felt—I felt as though it was his heart on the canvas.”
“That’s fanciful all right.” He clears his throat, a shadow clouding his eyes momentarily. He blinks, and it’s gone. “So, neighbor. What brings you to Paris?”
“Call me Valentina, please.” I take a deep breath, trying to think of an excuse. “Just needed a break, I guess.”
“I’m Sébastien,” he says with the most divine French accent. “A break from what?”
“Sébastien,” I repeat, rolling the word on my tongue, tasting it. I don’t understand why but my heart goes into overdrive by just saying his name out loud. “A break from life, I guess.”
“You came to the right place. Did you travel alone?”
I nod. “My husband stayed behind in New York.” At the mention of William, I’m assailed with guilt. Focusing on my hands, I think of excuses so I can leave.
“You know, if you keep staring at that table, you’re going to burn a hole in it,” he says good-humoredly.
I raise my eyes swiftly, meeting his.
“There.” He stares at me as he crumbles my defenses little by little. His gaze takes me to a dark corner, undresses me, and fucks me. “That’s better.”
I should get up and walk away from him, but like the other night at the gallery, I find myself unable to move. I foolishly remain seated because I know, deep down, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with him next to me. It’s a risky game to play, but I can’t seem to make myself care.
“Don’t look at me that way, please,” I beg softly.
“Why not?” He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. At ease, he places one loosely between his lips, lighting it. He tilts his head back and blows smoke out of his mouth. “You’re a beautiful woman.”
And for a crazy, reckless instant, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him again. Would it be as good as the first time? Would he make me feel the same yearning? The same hunger? I tighten my hold on the cup, surprised it hasn’t shattered between my hands as an intense need to touch him comes over me. “Because I like it, and I shouldn’t.”
“Because you’re married?”
“Yes.”
“What if I told you I don’t care?” He licks his lower lip, the tip of his tongue tracing its pillowy outline, as he brings his hand up close to his mouth about to take another drag, stopping halfway. A slow, lethally attractive smile spreads across his face, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “What are you really afraid of, Valentina?”
You. Me. “I must go.”
Before giving him a chance to protest, I grab my Birkin bag and get up, pushing the chair back and rushing out the door. I can still hear the bell on the door ringing as I pull my Burberry trench closer around me, walking as fast as my feet will take me. Walking as far away as possible from that café, the man inside, and everything he makes me crave and desire.
The next day I’m coming home from a walk when I find a large parcel waiting outside my door. Frowning, my gaze lands on a note stuck under the string. I open it.
Nerves cause my hands to shake as I rip the paper off. Urgency makes my movements clumsy, which makes me take longer, and I gasp when I find the painting I admired the other night—the painting that led me to meet Sébastien. In a daze, I search for the signature and find it on the bottom right corner.
S. Leroux
Oh, my God.
It’s him.
“WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?”
I leaned back on the headrest, enjoying the warm wind and hair whipping my face. It’s one of the first days of spring. The sun is out, the flowers are blooming, and everyone has ditched their winter clothes for shorts and dresses. “I’m nervous.”
William reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. “Don’t be. My family is going to love you.”
I looked at his flawless profile as he drove the car with the top down. “You’re just saying that to calm my nerves.”
“Of course I am.”
I smacked him on the shoulder, making him laugh. “Asshole.”
“Forgive me.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. “I know my family will love you because they only want what’s best for me, and you are it, Val. Haven’t you noticed? I’m crazy about you.”
Smiling cheekily, a wild impulse came over me to discompose his perfect facade, perhaps drive him mad with want, tease him until he was at my mercy. “How crazy?” I asked as I guided my hand toward his hardness, running my fingers over his cock. “How crazy are you about me, William?” I asked throatily, feeling the bulge in his pants turn rock hard beneath my touch, listening to his breathing accelerate. “Enough to let me go down on you right now?”
“Val …” he begged, his voice deepening with hunger.