by Tara Hart
He opened the backdoor of the small blue hatchback. “I’ll sit in the front.” He pressed a kiss to my cheek as he rounded the vehicle.
I sat in the backseat and leaned forward to say hello to the driver. Words caught in my throat when I saw her face in the rearview mirror, the same familiar scowl upon her lips. It was the waitress from the restaurant and obviously, she was just as pleased to see me now as she was the first time she set eyes on me.
She tossed a look over her shoulder before saying something to Theo in French.
He eyed me nervously before turning his attention back to her. He pointed at the road as he spoke. His tone was so harsh that it even scared me straight. She started the car and threw the stick into drive.
Theo looked back at me, offering me a reassuring smile, but the tension in the car between him and Miss Attitude was palpable. I felt like I was intruding on their personal space and decided to lean back against my seat and close my eyes for the forty-minute drive. It sounded better than making small talk with the girl who pitied my very existence.
My eyelids felt heavy as they slowly lifted apart.
“We’re here, mon cheri.” He smiled as he gently shook my knee.
I startled upright. To my embarrassment, I’d fallen asleep during the drive. I brushed the back of my hand against my chin, making sure I hadn’t been drooling as I slept.
“Where are we?” I looked out the window, but the day had turned to night.
Little Miss Attitude mumbled something from the driver’s seat, causing Theo to roll his eyes and jump out of the car. He came to my door and opened it, holding his hand out to me.
“Come with me.” He closed the car door and waved at the waitress.
I turned to offer her a smile, but she was already backing the car onto the road. She couldn’t wait to see the back of me and I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to see her again.
Theo held his hand out and I took it. When he held my hand everything else in the world seemed to fade away. There was no noise, no darkness or light. All I could comprehend was him.
He tugged on my arm as he started to walk in the opposite direction. “Come.”
He stopped at the landing of a stone staircase. I did a half turn, for the first time recognizing the path ahead of us. “We’re at the restaurant.”
He nodded as he dropped my hand and walked into the bushes.
“Are we going inside?”
He backed out of the bushes, carrying something in his arms.
“You’re coming home with me.”
I cannot tell you of the thousands of seconds that I’d wished to hear those words come from his mouth, but when I saw what he was holding in his arms, I gulped.
Chapter 10
He placed the rusty old bicycle at my feet. I could see that it was once dark blue, the paint now peeling away from the surface.
“I’m not riding that,” I said.
It had been years since I’d ridden a bike and even then, I wasn’t confident. I preferred my transportation on four wheels.
“I will be riding. You can sit here.” His eyebrows rose as he patted his palm against the handlebars.
I scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
I was waiting for him to tell me it was all some big, laughable joke, but his expression told me otherwise.
He lifted his leg as he straddled the bike, one foot resting on the pedal as he waited for me to get on.
“You can sit here, or you can walk. It’s up to you.” He tilted his head to the side as he waited for me to make a decision.
I eyed the two-wheeled bicycle that had seen better days and then I looked up at his face. He was smiling as if my discomfort was amusing to him.
“How far is your house?”
He shrugged. “Four kilometers.”
Crap. How far was that? It sounded far, but as I tried to do the math, my brain couldn’t compute.
He rung the dingy little bell on the front of the bike as he waited for me to get on.
I turned around and backed up to the bike, slowly lifting myself onto the handlebars, struggling to balance as the front of the bike shifted from side to side.
“Fuck.” My teeth ground together as I tried my hardest not to fall.
I pivoted my legs to the side to as I steadied myself.
He chuckled as he started to pedal, the bike rattling as we began our bumpy journey along the derelict dirt road.
“Hold on, mon cheri.” He held back a laugh.
“Slow down,” I shouted back at him. “I’m wearing a dress you know.”
He did as I asked and slowed the bike as best he could without losing momentum.
I looked at the countryside around us. It was beautiful and untouched. Even in the eerie blue evening sky, I knew we were the only ones on the road and it should have scared me, but it didn’t.
He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss against my bare shoulder. My skin tingled where his lips had been and with that one innocent kiss, I relaxed. I trusted him and knew he wouldn’t let any harm come to me.
He slowed the bike a short while away and I jumped off the handlebars as soon as we stopped moving.
My ass was numb and my green dress was clinging to my curves as I rubbed the indents on my skin.
“Maybe next time we can bring a cushion, hey?”
I shot him a dirty look, only to realize he was being serious.
I cleared my throat, my hands coming to rest on my hips. “There won’t be a next time.”
He chuckled lightly as he jumped off the bike and opened the door of a small garden shed behind us. He hung the bike against the wall, the door swinging shut behind him. The old, rusty door needed some love and attention, the joints whining whenever he entered the shed.
He stood behind me, waiting for me to join him.
“Come in.” His forehead wrinkled as he tried to read my reaction.
“In there?” I pointed to the tool shed, my eyebrows raised.
He nodded. “This is my home.”
I tried to hide the surprise from my face, but he could tell, I was mortified. I swallowed roughly and stepped forward. We were standing in a building that was no bigger than my closet at home.
In the entry, his bike hung against the wall and an array of shoes sat on the floor beneath it.
I followed him through a second door and when he flicked on the light it was obvious that we’d entered the main living quarters. Even with the light on, the room was dark and smelled of wet paint and coffee.
He pulled out a chair at the small table that sat in the center of the room. “Sit, please.”
I sat down on the plastic covered dining chair. It was cold against the bare skin of my legs. I wrapped my arms over my chest and he noticed instantly. He pulled a brown woolen blanket that sat atop the sofa and draped it over my shoulders.
“Perfect.” He cupped my chin in the palm of his hand as he looked into my eyes.
He was trying to read me—to gauge my reaction at having seen where he lives and what he has to offer me. I tried my hardest not to let my feelings show, but I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions.
He saw right through me. I was sure of it. It could have been the subtle pooling of tears in my eyes or the way my lips turned down at the sides without my consent, but he knew too well how superficial I really was without me uttering a single word.
“Wine?” he asked. “I have a wonderful rosé that was made right here in this town.”
I nodded. “Please.”
He grabbed two wine glasses from the counter and filled them to the brim.
He crashed his glass against mine, downing half his glass in one long mouthful.
“You’re not drinking?” he questioned as he sat at the opposite side of the wooden table. The chairs didn’t match and there were only three, which bothered me more than it should.
I took a sip of my wine and looked at him. “It’s nice. Thank you.”
He smiled knowingly. He was a smart m
an. He knew what was going through my mind and it’s as if he suspected I’d act this was all along.
“I don’t have much,” he said. “What’s in this room is about it, but I don’t need much to survive in this world. I have friends, I have family and I have my paintings, that’s all I need to be happy.”
In all my dreams, this wasn’t how I imagined it would be. I imagined him sitting in his Paris apartment, overlooking Arc de Triomphe, drinking coffee and reading the paper in the morning and drinking wine on the terrace in the evenings.
Not this.
Not in a room where he cooked his dinner next to the television. Not with brick walls that were once painted white, now tinged yellow and peeling away from the bricks.
I shook my head. “I don’t care where you live.” It was a lie. A complete and utter lie, but I wanted to mean the words that fell from my lips.
This was how he lived and the entitled person I’d become didn’t like it. I didn’t know if I could overcome this.
“You can leave if you want.” He broke me out of my trance.
I looked at him. His face brought back memories—wonderful memories. After spending the day with him, I knew that this house suited him. From the abstract paintings that hung on the walls, to the coffee pot that sat on the kitchen sink with coffee from the morning still in the bottom of the pot.
I shook my head. “I don’t want to leave.” This time I spoke the truth.
The last thing I wanted was to leave. This was where I needed to be in this moment. I needed to be alone with him. I needed to explore what I felt. I needed to know if I was in love with a memory and not a person.
I stood up and walked over to the taupe two-seater couch a few steps away. He watched me intently, his gaze didn’t leave me once in case he lost sight of me.
I held the curve of my wine glass against my palm, swirling the wine as I drank another mouthful. The wine was crisp and fruity and I drank it far too easily. I tucked my legs beneath my body as I settled in my seat. “How long have you lived here?”
I took another mouthful of wine as I allowed myself to relax.
Live in the moment, Selina, I told myself. This is your moment.
“My whole life.” I could hear the smile in his words. “This is my home.”
How wonderful that must be, to feel as though you truly belong in a place. I’d never felt a sense of belonging, not even in my parents’ home. It was always their house, we lived under their roof and when I moved out, I lived in an apartment that was all for show. It belonged on the pages of a home decor magazine, it didn’t come with a feeling of nostalgia and permanence. Perhaps I didn’t know the true meaning of that word. Home.
I openly glanced around, assessing the room as I did a full one-eighty. “It suits you,” I said and meant it.
He smiled subtly as he stood from his chair and walked toward me. When I thought he was going to sit down, he reached for the dusty record player behind me. He flicked a switch and the sound of my childhood came flooding back to me.
It reminded me of being at my grandparents when my grandfather would play jazz music far too loudly because he couldn’t hear a thing. He used to wake the whole house on Christmas morning, playing his holiday records as he’d gently hum along.
The soft music filled my ears and it made me want to curl up into a ball and close my eyes.
“You like?”
I didn’t realize it, but my eyes were closed and he was staring at me, an amused expression on his face.
I nodded my head yes. “I love the music, but I fear the wine has gotten to me.”
He smiled. “I know just the thing to fix that.”
He walked over to the counter and took the coffee press from the sink. He rinsed the glass cylinder and loaded it up with freshly ground coffee. He added some boiling water and let the coffee percolate.
The smell filled the room and livened me up instantly.
He poured us both a shot of coffee, carrying the small ceramic cup to me.
“You want me to drink it, without cream or sweetener?” I asked incredulously.
He chuffed. “Real coffee doesn’t need sugar.” His eyebrows rose as he waited for me to take the cup from his hand. “Trust me.”
And I did.
I took a sip, and then another. He was right. It was the right amount of bitter and sweetness without the additions.
It was as if I’d never heard music before or never tasted real coffee. I’d never experienced contentment.
Until him.
Chapter 11
He downed his coffee in two mouthfuls and then sat next to me on the sofa. It was only a two-seater that barely had enough room for both of us.
He was so close that I could smell the coffee on his breath.
So many things were running through my mind at that moment and I didn’t know where to begin. I wanted Theo to be next to me, to hold me, but I didn’t want to ask that of him. I wanted him to know what I wanted—what I needed—without me uttering a single word.
“Do you want another wine?”
I shook my head. I didn’t need anything else to drink. All I wanted was the man sitting next to me.
He looked into my eyes, his grey eyes now shining silver as they drank me in. “How is it after ten years you still look the same?”
I blushed because whenever I thought of the past it caused my cheeks to warm.
“I don’t know,” I said weakly. “I feel…different.”
His lip lifted into a smile, but it was weak and didn’t hold longer than a few seconds. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but he was holding back.
I turned my body to face his, my ass scooting closer to him as my hand reached for his cheek.
“What are you doing?” he asked his voice low and husky.
“I don’t know,” I muttered under my breath.
I never made the first move—ever, so it felt unnatural and forced.
Pulling my hand away, I stood up with my arms crossed over my chest. My heart was split in two. I was a married woman and he was trying to respect that, but that was the last thing I wanted him to do.
He stood up and walked over to me, stopping short of pulling me into his arms.
“I know what I want,” he whispered, his accent coating every syllable. “But I don’t know what you want.”
I squeezed my eyes closed. He wanted me. I tried to push my husband to the back of my mind, and in all honesty, it was easier than it should have been.
I opened my eyes again and his face came into my line of vision. At that moment he was all that I could see.
I stepped forward, pressing my hands flat against his chest. I could feel his heart beating against the palm of my hand. The rhythmic beat reverberated through my arms as I pressed onto my toes and kissed him for the first time in ten years.
“I want you,” I whispered against the bare flesh of his cheek. “All I’ve ever wanted was you.”
My lashes brushed against his skin as he held some space between us, a torn expression on his face. It was as if he wanted to kiss me, but if he did, he might not be able to stop himself.
I couldn’t handle it anymore, the tension, the want for this man coursing through my veins.
“Say something,” I whispered.
His hands wrapped around my middle as he walked my body backwards until I was flush against the cold brick wall.
I looked up at him and smiled. It was exactly how I imagined him in my dreams. Slow, yet forceful. I wanted him to be in control like the first time we met.
Without warning, his lips crashed against mine. His tongue entered my mouth, massaging my tongue with his own. After years of dreaming about this kiss, he took my breath away—literally. My hand came to cup the side of his face, feeling the stubble against my fingertips as his hands traveled to my ass, gently squeezing my cheeks as he deepened the kiss.
He had me hooked to his kisses in a matter of seconds. He tasted delicious, like coffee and wine. I co
uldn’t get enough.
He broke away from my lips, his mouth making its way down my neck and to my collarbone, licking me seductively as a moan escaped from the back of his throat.
“You taste so good,” he said. “So sweet.”
I kissed him again, pressing my breasts against his chest as I pinned his lips with mine. His breathing was heavy, his fingers reaching between us both, toying with the straps of my dress.
One strap fell from my shoulder and he inclined backward to take a better look at me.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his breath now coming in short spurts. “If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.”
I shook my head and smirked. There was no fucking way I was backing down now.
He didn’t hold back. His hands wrapped around my middle, lifting me against his body as he carried me back to the sofa, his fingers fiddling with my other strap, slipping it over the curve of my shoulder as he dipped his head and kissed my skin tenderly.
I wrapped my legs around his torso, my feet locking behind him as my pussy pressed against his stomach. I was wet already and I wanted nothing more than him to bury himself inside of me.
We kissed again, my body wedged between him and the hard-cushioned sofa. I was trapped, but I didn’t want to escape him.
“Tell me now,” he said. “Tell me if you don’t want me to devour every inch of your body.”
My only answer was to kiss his lips hard. I couldn’t help myself. The way he said it, the way he said anything, turned me on so much.
He carried me into the next room, a room I hadn’t been in before. There was a bed in the corner and a small dresser against the wall and that was it, but I wasn’t getting caught up in the furnishings or the layout. I wanted him, he was what mattered, not the décor.
He gently placed me down on the bed before standing up and ripping his shirt off. He looked exactly how I remembered. Brown hair dusting his chest and leading down his torso and beneath the band of his pants. Oh God, his cock. I remembered it well and I couldn’t wait for the reveal.