Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

Stopped biting his tongue.

“Why didn’t I tell you I learned French for you?” He tossed out the question like an attorney cross-examining. “Why didn’t I admit I spent six years studying a language because I was in love with you?”

He’d wanted to hide it, to keep it from her. It wasn’t hard to pretend you didn’t understand. But those words, those things she said…he was only human. How could he hide his reaction?

She pressed her hand to her chest. “You learned French for me? Even though I know English?”

“You make it sound foolish.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m just processing. It’s big. That’s a big thing. How did you do it?”

“I started freshman year of college. It was my father’s idea. He even wrote me a note about it,” he said, softly, so his voice wouldn’t break. “He knew me better than anyone. He knew you were all I wanted. He wanted me to be with you. I still have the note,” he said, reaching into his back pocket, opening his wallet and taking out the worn, threadbare sheet of lined paper with the last words.

Annalise covered her mouth. Her bright eyes glistened with the threat of tears. “Your father wanted you to learn a language?”

He nodded and swallowed thickly. “He was practical, and he was romantic. He knew I wanted to be with you. He wanted me to have the means to, including the ability to speak the language and get a job. So I could live and work and be in France with you.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I took classes in college. I used to think I was doing it for him. And maybe in some ways, that was how it started. A way to feel connected to the man who was gone. But I didn’t let myself believe that for too long.”

“It wasn’t for him?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “No. His note might have been the reason I started, but you were the reason I never stopped. I wanted to be with you.”

“I wanted it just as much. You have to know that,” she said, her bright green eyes wide open and honest, not shying away.

He glanced at his watch, trying to avoid this deeper dive. “Your car is here in five minutes.”

“I know, but this is important.”

“So is not missing your flight.” He grabbed her suitcase, let the door fall closed behind them, and headed with her to the elevator banks. He pushed the button and then met her curious gaze. God, this was hard. Putting himself out there. He waited for her to go next.

“I knew you were taking classes, but I had no idea you’d become fluent. After we lost touch, why did you keep learning?” she asked as they stepped inside the car.

Ah hell. What did he stand to lose now? She was getting on a plane, leaving again. She might as well know. The elevator doors slid closed, and he fixed her with a serious stare. “Because I never got over you. I never stopped loving you. Even when we fell apart, I wanted to find my way back to you.”

There it was.

His heart. Served up. Given to her once again.

Her lips parted. She stepped closer. “I wanted that, too,” she said, placing a hand on his chest as the car chugged downward. “Don’t you know that?”

But that was the thing. He didn’t know. “No. How would I have known? We didn’t talk.”

“I thought about you all the time. I saved up every cent I earned from my job at a café. My airfare money, I called it. I was setting it all aside to see you again. I had enough for a few trips.”

“You did that?” he asked, surprised.

She nodded. “Yes. The year we tried to stay together and then through the rest of university. I wanted the same thing, Michael. I wanted to find a way back to you.”

His heart beat faster. Knowing she’d wanted the same thing even then thrilled him. “What happened then?”

“We’d drifted apart, and my sister needed money for her bakery, and I gave it to her. To help her. We weren’t together then, and if I wasn’t going to use it to see you, I wanted it to go to something that mattered,” she said, then returned to her questions, tugging at his shirt collar. “But I want to know more about your secret language skills.”

The car cranked its way to the lobby. Closer to good-bye. He’d kept such a tight lid on his emotions since Marseilles, squeezing them in, stuffing them into an airtight box, denying he felt a thing for her. He was tired of it. He was in love with her. He wanted her to know the full scope of his love, how far and deep it went. How it consumed him. Drove him. Carried him through the days and nights. The last time he saw her, he lost her. He might not have had a chance with her then, but he had a chance with her now. He wanted her to know.

The doors opened, and he walked through the lobby and out to the crowded avenue, thick with morning traffic and the din of horns and screech of tires. He peered down the street. Her car wasn’t here yet. He turned to her. My God, she was beautiful, and she was here, and he wanted her to know who she was to him.

Everything.