by Natasha Boyd
“You were right,” I told Andrea after an hour where we’d danced, had water, more champagne, and danced some more.
“What?” she yelled.
“This is so fun!” And I’d needed it so much.
She nodded with a grin.
Since it was early and most of the groups there were part of couples, no one had really approached us to dance with them. But men sure watched us. Some girls too. We may not have been the most gorgeous or glamorous in the place, but even I knew there was something mesmerizing and attractive about a person full of joy and happiness. And for a few hours, that was exactly how I felt. The room filled. I was gently but firmly pulled into the embrace of a guy with swept back blond hair and ripped jeans and a Dolce and Gabbana t-shirt who barely looked like he was out of high school. He was absolutely beautiful but far too young for me. I laughed at his overblown confidence and enjoyed two songs with him. At least he was respectful about where his hands went. Andrea danced with his friend. When they tried to urge us off the dance floor, indicating a dark corner of benches, we declined and my guy held a hand to his chest, feigning a mortal wound. But it didn’t take long for them to find new conquests.
My hair clung to my neck, and it got smokier and warmer as more people showed up. I made a drink motion to Andrea and we forced our way through to the now crowded bar. After a glass of water, I motioned to the ladies room.
Down the hall, the air was cooler on my damp skin, and my ears rang with muffled throbs. It was comparably quiet. I held onto Andrea’s arm, still feeling slightly off-balance.
“Whew! That was fun,” she enthused as we pushed open the door. There was a small sitting area before the bathrooms.
A girl was fixing her hose and gave us a once over.
“Haven’t had a good old dance like that in ages,” Andrea said as the other girl left.
“Those two young guys were fun.” I peered into the mirror and wiped at the mascara shadow under my eye.
“Ahh, he was whispering and begging me to “bring him to heaven.” She laughed, raising her fingers in quotes. “If I were ten years younger,” she crooned. “Your guy was stunning.”
I chuckled. “And also twelve.”
“Yeah. Makes an old maid like me feel like she still might have it though.” She made her way to the mirrors to join me and grabbed a tissue to blot her glowing face.
“You aren’t an old maid!”
“Josie. I haven’t had sex in over ten years,” she said at my reflection. “I’m as old maid as it gets. And the last time I did it was … well, I left him, didn’t I? So that’s that.”
The mood plummeted.
I squeezed her arm, and she sniffed, turning around. “Argh. Look at me—a sorry-for-myself wreck after champagne. It’s always made me gooey. I just miss it, you know? The intimacy. The tenderness even, not that I got much of that.”
“You’re fine. You can feel sad about that if you need to. I mean, ten years?” I exclaimed in a teasing tone.
She leaned away and punched my arm good-naturedly. “Hey.”
“I’m kidding.”
“I’m not. I’m … lonely. The boat and all the people on it are lovely, family, almost, and I feel safe, I love my work. I feel valued but … I also feel invisible. Like there’s this whole other life out there I’m supposed to be living and that bastard stole it from me.” She sighed as she turned back to the mirror. “I’m a hologram in this life.”
I wanted to say that I didn’t think she was invisible to Evan, or that he saw her as a hologram. But it also was a heck of a long time for Evan not to make his move if he wanted to. “I don’t feel like I’m wise enough to give you advice,” I said softly. “I mean, look at me, I’m supposed to be an architect, but I’ve ended up a nanny. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’ve studied and invested huge amounts of money and years into getting a job my dead father would have approved of, and the man my mom married after him threw it all into jeopardy. The last guy to ask me out ghosted me after one date. And before that someone dumped me because of who my stepfather was. Utterly humiliating. And worse, I’m really damn attracted to my boss. I mean, God, could you get any sadder than that? I’m crazy about my boss.” I shook my head with a cringe. “I’m setting feminism back a hundred years.”
The sooner I got that resignation letter written, the better.
I could tell Andrea wanted to say something but didn’t know what.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to make it about me. Can I say one thing though?”
“Hit me.”
“I don’t think you’re invisible to Evan.” There, I’d said it.
Andrea went pink, and then pale.
“Shit, sorry. Are you going to pass out?” I asked.
“No. No, I’m fine. But since we’re being honest, I don’t think you’re invisible to Mr. Pascale either.” She took my arm. “I could tell from the beginning that there’s something between you. And maybe it’s just a physical attraction. Maybe it’s more. But it’s there. And that man deserves some happiness. Some joy. And if you leave tomorrow, he’s going to be a grouchy mother fucker. And you are so fantastic with Dauphine. Not that you should throw your own life plans away for a widower and his daughter. But I’ve never seen him even have the twinkle in his eyes he’s had the last few weeks. Even when he’s not in a good mood he has … spark. He hasn’t had that in a while. And never mind the laughing. My God. The man hasn’t found anything funny in years. Years. Long before she died.” She let go and stepped back.
The silence that followed felt like the heavy, deafening aftermath of a resounding explosion.
I realized I was stunned still, my pulse pounding. I closed my mouth, my jaw snapped shut.
“Yeah,” she said. “I can’t believe I dropped that bomb on you. I blame the champagne.”
We both turned by unspoken agreement and went to the bathroom stalls to do our business.
Nerves climbed from their dance party in my belly up to my throat as I washed my hands at the sink. The bathroom and retiring area were a lot more crowded now. We needed to get back out there and have fun, dammit. “I don’t know what to do with the information you gave me. I’m too champagne-headed for this,” I said. And I wasn’t sure I believed her. But I wanted to, and that was pretty terrifying.
“I don’t know what to do with what you told me either,” she said with a wistful grin. “So I’m going to pretend you didn’t.”
We agreed to one more drink and a few more dances, and then we’d call it a night. I was hoping to be too tired to even think let alone wake up breathless as I still did most nights. Outside the quiet chatter of the retiring room, the deep throb of the club resumed. The music had changed from 90’s classics to sexier, deeper beats. My thoughts were whirling. Back at the bar we ordered two more glasses of champagne. The place seemed even more electrified than it had been before we went to the restroom. The bartender looked up and past us into the distance for a moment, and then turned to grab an open bottle from a silver ice bucket.
I turned to look behind me to see what had caught his attention and only saw the dark, smoky club—laughing faces, and dancing bodies on the dance floor. Then something made me look up. Maybe it was because there was an energy drawing attention upward.
My throat closed.
He was there, on an upper level, his white shirt turned up to his elbows that leaned on the railing, looking down over the crowded club.
Xavier Pascale. Scowling like he’d kill anyone who came near him. The energy of the entire room seemed swept into his orbit even though he stood alone, telegraphing don’t-fuck-with-me vibes.
In slow motion his gaze found us then found me, and my mouth went dry.
Andrea must have seen me staring, or she felt the shift along with everyone else. “Holy shit,” she said. “I think I need a cold shower.”
“Huh?” I forced my eyes from him and turned to her.
“Never mind. I guess you’re go
ing up there.”
“What?” My heart pounded in my chest and ears. “No. I’m staying with you.”
“No. You need to go talk. I don’t mind. Trust me.”
“I do. I mind. We came to dance. We came to have fun. Let’s do that.” I tilted the champagne and gulped it down, the tiny bubbles almost threatening to explode out my nose, I drank so fast. My eyes watered.
“I’ll go back to the boat and check on Dauphine and make myself scarce.” She put her mouth close to my ear, so I could hear her properly. “You go up and talk to him.”
“I can’t,” I said, turning my head slightly in case he could read my lips. My nerves made my legs feel like jelly, and I gripped the bar top tightly. “No. Come on. Let’s pay for our drinks and get back out there.”
“He already bought them for us.”
I let out a long breath. “Of course he did.”
“Go talk to him.”
“Ahh, les filles élégantes!” We turned to find our two young admirers looking a little sweatier and just as enthusiastic as before. “Voulez-vous danser encore un fois?”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Evan appeared on the other side of us. His gaze burrowed into Andrea’s. “Having fun?” he growled.
Whatever was on Evan’s face had the two boys disappearing into the crowd as quickly as they’d shown up.
“Hey,” yelled Andrea over the noise. “What was that?”
Evan said nothing, though I could tell he was biting his tongue, and Andrea looked ready to spit fire. Whoo boy. If anyone had chemistry around here it was these two. It was pretty funny that she couldn’t see it.
My eyes left them and found him again. He hadn’t moved. He watched us still. He watched me. Like a leopard from a tree.
“I’ll make sure Andrea gets back safely.” Evan’s voice was loud in my ear, presumably so I could hear him over the noise. “He wants you upstairs.”
I flinched. “He does?”
And then, in the time it took for me to process Evan’s words, he and Andrea were gone.
Xavier Pascale took a drink from a heavy looking tumbler, then he set it down somewhere next to him I couldn’t see.
My legs shook, and my heart pounded in my throat. I knew if I went up there, it was going to forever change me.
A spark of anticipation and nerves, hot and searing, scorched through me from my neck to my navel. And then I was halfway across the room, pressing through the people, my pulse racing at Mach speed and my breathing not much better. Apparently, I’d started toward him before my mind could give me permission.
There was a bouncer at the bottom of the stairs. A rope. But somehow I was past them. The bouncer hadn’t stopped me. The stairs were glass as I found my footing. The railing was cool wood and steel under my palm.
By the time I’d reached the top, I’d run a marathon. Adrenaline pumped. My lungs bellowed.
He waited for me, retreating from the railing and inclining his head slightly toward a small couch and table in the dim corner. I felt curious eyes on me from the darkness and dismissed them.
“Is it true?” I stalked up to him.
He dragged his eyes from my face to my feet and back again. “Is what true?”
“You want to send me home,” I snapped. “You emailed Tabitha. Don’t be dense.”
He hissed and his eyes flashed in warning. He circled me, and I turned with him. “Evan?” he asked.
“It wasn’t Evan.” Shit, I didn’t want Tabitha getting in trouble either. “I overheard you.”
“No, you didn’t.” He stepped toward me, and I retreated to the darkness of the wall next to the couch. There was no way I would sit down and share a nice congenial moment with him. I needed to clear the air, and then I was getting out of here. There was a danger to this man tonight. Who was I kidding? There was a danger to him every night.
Why did everyone else see a kind, handsome, and broken pussycat?
All I saw was a lethal predator who I felt sure had the means to snatch my heart from my chest with a single swipe.
He loomed.
“What are you doing?” I gasped as my back hit the wall and he kept coming. “Y-you’re scaring me.”
“Good.” His palm smacked the wall by my head, and the smell of stale, smoky and alcohol fueled club air sifted slowly into linen and rough pine wood. “Because you scare the shit out of me,” he said. “Tu me détruis.”
I swallowed but my throat was stuck. “Wh-what does that mean?”
He leaned in, nose skimming up my cheek, inhaling me. We’d never been this close. My body lit up like a glowing tinder.
My breathing grew shallow.
Fingers lightly pressed into the hollow of my throat, resting. His skin to mine. “You don’t seem like a girl who scares easily.” The words, delivered so softly right into my ear, made every molecule of my skin vibrate.
“I’m not,” I managed, though I knew that wasn’t what he’d said in French. My hands, pressed to the wall on either side of my hips, dropped and I fisted them to keep from reaching for his waist. To stop my fingers curling into the belt loops of his jeans and tugging him closer. I was enclosed in the energy of his body, aching. But resisting. This was my boss. And he’d taken leave of his senses. One of us had to keep our head.
“What about me scares you?” he asked.
I squeezed my eyes closed, like I could gather my courage. I dragged in air laden with his woody scent. The same air that was weighed down with the heady and heavy atmosphere of the club. We were suspended in time. His face hovered next to mine, his mouth by my ear. My nerve endings screamed for contact as his every exhale stirred across my skin.
“The way you make me feel,” I uttered finally. Oh, Josie. You did not.
His body stilled. His breathing faltered. “Again.”
“What?”
“Tell me again,” he growled in my ear.
“I’m scared of the way you make me feel,” I said louder. “It’s not … it’s—”
“Oui,” was all he muttered. Yes. The fingers at my throat, flattened into a hot palm against my chest. “Oui,” he said again.
I blinked as my breath stuttered. Okay, this was happening.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
My fingers found Xavier’s waist, the soft nub of his linen shirt, and then curling into the tense muscle beneath, hard lines that trembled at the contact.
He trembled as I touched him. What sorcery was this?
The darkness of the club and the loud beat of the music seemed to channel all my senses to feel the scent of him. Telling him I was scared of the way he made me feel might have been the most reckless thing I’d ever done. Until I’d started touching him. But I couldn’t make my hands stop.
Against my ear, I heard his breathing falter as my fingers moved. Then my name tore through his lips in his French accent. “Joséphine,” and my insides spontaneously melted.
I turned my face, my mouth finding the rough skin of his jaw. I wanted, no needed, him to kiss me.
A tremor snaked through him under my palms.
And slowly, deliberately, our bodies moved and pressed closer.
I breathed calmly, consciously, trying to slow this heady rush that felt like I was plummeting downward. I had to keep my head, but it was almost impossible. I was giddy, flying, and pinned to the ground with lust and panic all at the same time.
His palm slipped up my throat and around to cup my nape. My skin burned.
A rough, denim-covered knee touched mine and pressed slowly, insistently, parting my legs. A hard thigh slipped between mine.
Oh my God.
My body arched, my mouth opened, and a whimper escaped. His mouth was so close, a slight turn of my face pressed against the sublime roughness of his jaw, and I could have it. But his mouth remained stubbornly out of reach. He was going to kiss me, right?
What was this torture? And when had I lost all control of this situation?
The hand against the wall by my head was suddenly
an arm, hard as steel around my waist, locking me against him as heat blazed through me.
He growled in what I thought was a French curse, and his hand drew my hair into a tight fist, tilting my face up.
I was trapped. Unable to move.
His eyes in the dark seemed fevered and low-lidded. And then our mouths were there, millimeters apart. We breathed together. My heart hurled itself against my ribcage. My body throbbed and ached. And my hips made a small movement against him beyond my control.
“What about this?” he muttered into my breath, and his hips responded to mine and ground up in a slow roll. God. He was huge. And hard. “Does this scare you even more? We should both be fucking terrified.”
Holy shit. I was going to die. Arousal was going to cause an arrhythmia and my heart would stop. It burned through me. And I was literally going to die from lust. How could people experience this and not want it all the time? It was like a hit of the most potent drug there was. There was no way this was normal. Allowed, even. He hadn’t even kissed me. I wasn’t even naked with him yet, and I’d never been so turned on in my life. It made me want to cry. My eyes burned.
His hips moved again, but they were already meeting mine as I pressed forward.
I bit my lip in an effort not to gasp at the contact. My dress was too thin. His thigh too hard.
His face moved back slightly, his eyes finding mine, burning with intensity, watching me.
He moved again, harder, grinding up. Testing me.
My dress was nothing. The sensations too acute. “Oh, God.” The friction was perfect. It was too much. It was too fast. Lightning began flashing white hot as I pressed myself back at him. On him. Small movements, but they were enough. I couldn’t stop.
The hand in my hair gripped tighter, he stared at my mouth, and I licked my lips. I wanted his mouth. I’d never needed a kiss as badly as I needed his. I thirsted for it. I tried to reach him but he held me back just out of reach.
“No,” he whispered. “Not yet.”
“But—” His thigh pressed. My hips rocked. Perhaps people would think we were dancing. “But, it’s okay to make … make me come like this,” I choked out. I couldn’t breathe. God, I was almost there.