Didn't Mean To Love You (Serendipitous Love Book 2)

by Christina C Jones

  He snorted. “I wish that I could say the same, Vivi, but I would rather not have seen that you made the decision to mutilate your face. Why?”

  “Mutilate? You make it sound as if I have completely changed my appearance. Besides… what would our Malian ancestors think of you referring to a facial piercing as mutilation?”

  “You are not in Mali, are you? You are in France, and I expected that you would have the good sense to present yourself in a way that would not embarrass me in front of my colleagues. I see that I was wrong. So… you are dismissed.”

  And then… he closed the door in my face. My eyes and throat stung, but I held my head high as I swallowed back tears. I would not give him the satisfaction.

  I went to my room to unpack, and take a nap to help alleviate the disconcerting effects of the six hour time difference. When I woke up, I took a shower and started getting dressed for dinner, but just before I was about to leave my room, my mother knocked on the door.

  From the somber look on her face, I immediately knew I’d been disinvited from dinner. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as she followed me into the room to sit down.

  “You had to know this would happen, Vivi, right? He has been the same man for thirty years.”

  I gave a dry laugh as I took a seat at the vanity to dismantle my hair from the neat bun that had taken nearly fifteen minutes to tame. “And I keep hoping he will change, but I suppose that is a fantasy.”

  “Indeed.” She sighed, then turned to watch me through the mirror. “Vivi… I do hope you know your father loves you.”

  I scoffed. “You remind of this at least five times a week, mère, yet I never see the evidence.”

  “That is not true, chéri. Your father has made sure that you had nothing but the best.”

  “Perhaps if he spent less time doing that, I would see the love you insist is there.”

  My mother grimaced, then came to sit beside me at the vanity. “Sweetheart … your father… this is going to sound crazy, but I really think he exhausted his emotional ability in pursuit of me. I was a hard woman to catch, and I believe I may have driven him a little bit insane. He is not a man who opens up easily, not one who freely gives himself. He is very much the opposite of you. So, the two of you clash. You always have. Your father is hard on you, he always has been, but… Vivi, I think you take it harder than he actually is. And I also do not think you see how much you push him as well.”

  “I push him?”

  She nodded. “Yes, sweetheart, you do. You’re looking for some kind — any — kind of emotional reaction from him, to the point that even his anger gives you something.”

  “Anger is the only thing I ever get.”

  “He is a businessman, Vivi. Anger is the only emotion he thinks he can publicly show.”

  Rolling my eyes, I pulled my brush from the vanity and began pulling my hair into two braids. “That is no excuse. And publicly? What, I am just the general population to him, not a daughter?”

  “It is because you are his daughter. He feels he is setting an example of strength, and integrity, and no-nonsense… the type of man he feels would be worthy of his brilliant, beautiful daughter. And those are his words about you.”

  “If you say so. And for the record, the last thing I want is an emotionally deficient man who is incapable of showing love.”

  I winced when she pinched my leg. “This is still my husband, little girl, mind your manners.”

  “My apologies mère,” I said, turning to kiss her cheek. “I just do not understand how you, such a bubbly person, married my father who is… very spiky.”

  She broke into laughter, wrapping her arms around my waist to pull me into a hug. “Ah, he is not, as you say, spiky with me, so my bubbles remain intact. He and I have been together for thirty-five years, and he has certainly changed, in some ways good, in some ways bad… as have I. But… he was ridden very hard by his own father. Not a lot of words of endearment, not a lot of hugs. Pushing him, constantly challenging him, that is how his father showed love, by making Martin be the best he could be. But… that worked for Martin. I have not yet been able to convince him that it does not work for you.”

  She kissed my forehead, then stood, heading for the door.

  “Do you want me to have something sent up for you, or are you going out for dinner?” she asked, with her hand on the doorknob.

  I smiled. “Send something up please. I am still tired, no going out for me tonight.”

  Nodding, my mother gave me another smile, then disappeared out the door. Fifteen minutes later, the butler delivered a small platter of food, and I ate, even though my stomach felt uncomfortable from the fatigue of travel and the emotional toll of the conversations with my mother and father. As soon as I finished eating, I changed into light pajamas. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  — & —

  “Help me understand why such a beautiful girl looks so sad.”

  I glanced up, drying my face at the sight of a stranger standing over me as I cried. I’d thought that the quiet spot I’d chosen in one of the greenery areas at La Défense would provide some measure of privacy while I wept my heart out, but apparently not.

  I’d just left my father’s office, so proud for him to know that I was officially done with my undergraduate studies, and he had promptly dashed my excitement by informing me that he would not be moved until I had completed my Master’s. So, yet again, my accomplishment was not good enough. It was never good enough. I was never good enough.

  But Thierry disagreed. He saw me that day in the park and sat down, smelling like Clive Christian cologne, and so, so handsome. Smooth bronze skin, a tall, powerful body, seductive green eyes, oozing raw sex appeal…My tears dried very quickly as he lifted a hand to my face to wipe my eyes, diverting that moisture to… another place. I spilled my heart out to him, all of frustrations, all of my disappointments, all of my fears, and he soaked it up.

  Thierry had a way with words. Not even an hour after he sat down, I was convinced that my father was a buffoon, and I was the smartest, most beautiful girl in Paris. No… the world. Later that same night, he made me believe I was also the sexiest… and I was hooked from there.

  — & —

  That was the type of thing that haunted my dreams whenever I came back to Paris. Memories of how incredibly foolish I’d been with Thierry, constant reminders of the disappointment I was to my father. I was only supposed to stay a week, but once I got there, one week turned into two. My father left for a trip, and my mother wanted to shop, and probe me with questions about why I “looked so well-worked”, and was pushing me to extend my second week into a month when I decided to put my foot down and go home.

  To America.

  To… Carter.

  It probably wasn’t a good thing, but I missed him terribly. We’d texted back and forth, and talked on the phone a few times in my absence, but that was a pitiful substitute for being in his arms. I would deny it in a heartbeat if anybody asked, but in the six weeks that passed between the first time we slept together and the moment I stepped off the plane, back on US soil, I had fallen for Carter, hard. I hesitated at even thinking the words “Vivienne, you’re in love”, because I truly didn’t believe that to be the case.

  There was, however, no doubt in my mind that given time, that statement would be true.

  And it was terrifying.

  I was supposed to be guarding my heart, taking what I needed from a mutually agreed upon arrangement with a friend — not falling in love. And yet, here I was, my hand poised to knock on Carter’s door and yell “surprise”, as if he was sitting around, lovesick and waiting for me to return. How presumptuous of me. I hadn’t told him exactly when I was coming back, operating under the assumption that he missed me as much as I missed him. But really, for all I knew, it was business as usual for him, and he was doing whatever — or whoever — he would have been doing if we’d never become “friends”. Sure, he’d kept in touch, but Carter had never, on a
ny occasion openly expressed romantic feelings for me. Except for when he implied that he’d like me to have his babies someday, which could have been a joke for all I knew. And that beautiful custom bracelet that I wore every opportunity I could. And then… there was the fact that his actions were very much those of a man who cared a great deal for me.

  Needless to say, I backed away from his door and quietly returned to my own apartment, where I unpacked, took a long shower, and then climbed into bed.

  But I couldn’t sleep.

  My mind was racing, battling between a need to pull myself back and un-involve my feelings in the situation with Carter, and a need to satisfy the little voice in my head that was urging me on, insisting that I wasn’t imagining reciprocated feelings. Off in the sidelines, another little voice said “forget all of that… you haven’t been with him in two weeks! Your body needs some attention!”

  Sex won.

  Feelings aside, there wasn’t even an inkling of doubt about our sexual chemistry, so I climbed out of bed, covered my nude body in the short black silk robe that Carter loved to see on me, and went back to his door, hoping that no one else came into the hall. I knocked, drumming my fingers against my leg as I waited for him to answer.

  When the door swung open, Carter’s mouth slacked, and he stared at me without saying anything until I began to fidget. “Carter, I—”

  Carter grabbed me around the waist, pulling me into a hug that took my breath away. He held me like that for a long time, tight against his chest as he breathed in the scent of my hair. Close like this, I could feel his heart racing, and mine swelled in response.

  I gasped when he picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he closed the door then pressed his back into it, staring up at me. Supporting me with one arm, he reached up to push my hair out of my face. “I missed the hell out of you, Frenchy.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes, but didn’t fall as I shrugged, then draped my arms over his shoulders, resting my hands at the base of his neck. “It was only two weeks.”

  “Felt like longer.” With his hand still buried in my hair, he kissed me, with a passion that gave the distinct impression he was reclaiming me after my absence. We exchanged very few words as he carried me to his bedroom, deposited me on the bed, then climbed on top of me. He unbelted my robe and then peeled it open, raking his eyes over every inch of my body before they returned to my face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Carter shook his head. “Nothing… just getting reacquainted.” He caressed my breasts, running his thumbs over my new jewelry, which created the illusion of dainty silver flowers circling my nipples. Next, he lavished kisses all over me, from the top of my head to my toes, but they were more reverential than erotic. It didn’t feel like he was trying to turn me on, more like he was trying to tell me something, and this was the only way.

  I gasped when he traded lips for tongue, licking a trail from my ankle to the juncture of my thighs, where he used his thumbs to spread me wider and then settled in, devouring me like he was starved. He stayed there, stroking me with his tongue until I arched away from the bed in release, moaning his name into the cool darkness of the bedroom.

  “Did you miss me?” he asked, once he was positioned over me again, balancing himself on his elbows.

  I reached up, holding his face between my hands as I kissed him. “Did you have any doubt?”

  When we kissed again, it was clumsy, almost frantic, but it only took us a moment to get back in sync. Then he was inside of me, and the weight of him was pleasant against my chest as he drove deep, burying himself as far as he could go. I locked my legs around his waist, whimpering as he began moving inside of me, filling me over and over with a passion that had my thighs quivering in what seemed like no time at all.

  Carter turned me over, pulling me onto my elbows and knees and wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me close before he entered me again. He made love to me in strokes that were deliciously, torturously slow, one arm still gripping my waist, the other hand tangled in my hair. “Faster,” I begged, and he obliged, filling the room with the sound of our sweat dampened skin slapping together until my arms and legs were so weak with pleasure that I collapsed on the bed.

  He pressed on, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand as he drove into me, using the other arm to keep my hips elevated off the bed. I opened my mouth to scream, but I was too choked up with ecstasy to make a sound. I found a burst of energy to rock my hips back against his, meeting him stroke for stroke, feeling the heavy weight of his hardness inside of me while his fingers stroked outside, paired with the exquisite friction of the sheets against my already sensitive nipples pushed me over the edge, and I came with blinding intensity.

  I cried out his name, repeating it until he slammed into me one final time and exploded, collapsing on top of me with a ragged breath as I clenched around him. After a moment, he raised up, turned me over to kiss me, then pulled me against his chest.

  I closed my eyes. Here, in his arms like this while he drifted in the state of uncertainty between awake and sleep, we felt very together. The way he embraced me at the door, the way he’d just made love to me… it seemed silly to doubt that whatever I felt for him was reciprocated. But… hadn’t I been under the same mistaken impression with Thierry and Darren? I’d been so certain of their love, so convinced of their devotion that their betrayals — separately, but especially when considered together — had knocked me off my feet. Was giving myself so completely again a risk I should ever even deliberate?

  No answer for that question came, but the security I felt in Carter’s embrace was undeniable. He shifted, burying his face into my hair, and just before he drifted off, pulled me tighter and again murmured the words that brought tears to my eyes and tightness to my chest.

  “I missed you.”

  “Oh, so that motherfucker has game.”

  Eddie shook his head, giving me a sympathetic smile before he took another sip from his margarita.

  “He’s not playing me. He wouldn’t do that. I don’t think he would do that.”

  I hope he wouldn’t do that.

  Eddie and Simone exchanged glances, but neither said anything in response to my assessment that there was no way Carter would purposely toy with me. “He’s not that kind of guy,” I said, pushing another bowl of tortilla chips to Simone from across my kitchen counter.

  “The kind of single guy that would gladly accept pussy thrown at him from his pretty little neighbor? Girl, please. Every guy is that kind of guy.”

  I rolled my eyes at Eddie and turned to Simone, hoping for a voice of reason. She and Carter were good friends, and I didn’t doubt for a second that he’d talked to her about me.

  “What?” Simone asked, nearly choking on a mouthful of chips and salsa.

  “Tell him that Carter isn’t like that. That he wouldn’t lead me on.”

  Simone averted her gaze, reaching to take a long sip from her coke. “Not… intentionally.”

  My eyes went wide, and I felt like someone had splashed cold water on me. “What the hell does that mean, “not intentionally”. What do you know?”

  “Based on my personal opinion of Carter, I do not believe he would intentionally play with your feelings.”

  “She’s using that word again,” Eddie sang, turning his head to pretend he wasn’t engaged in the conversation.

  I crossed my arms over my stomach. “So… you think he would play with my feelings, just not on purpose.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Simone wiped her hands, then sat back in her barstool. “Why are you sweating this anyway, I thought you said it wasn’t serious?”

  “It wasn’t. At least, I didn’t think it was until I came back from France, and—”

  “ — didn’t even call anybody to say you were back?”

  I sucked my teeth at Eddie’s interruption. “Anyway, when I got back, it’s like things were different. If you had seen the way he looked at me when he saw me at his door, or
the emotion when he told me he missed me…. Eddie is saying that it’s just game, but I think Carter is serious about me. And if he is, that means I can be open about the fact that really… I am too.”

  Simone lifted an eyebrow. “Open?”

  “Yes, open,” I nodded. “I don’t want to have any doubts, not after my… history. I want us to have a conversation about this, I want to hear him say “Vivienne, I want to be with you.”, if that’s the case. I want to tell him how I feel.”

  “That’s a terrible idea,” Eddie and Simone said in unison, heads cocked to the side, eyes wide in alarm. Simone took another sip from her drink before she spoke again. “Look… I’m going to say this to you because I love you like a sister. Carter is not going to respond well to anything that looks like you pushing him toward a commitment.”

  My shoulders sank. “So… he does not feel the same.”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth, Viv. That’s not what I said, at all. I really shouldn’t be saying any of this to you, because it’s not my business, but… Viv, just… go with the flow.”

  “Go with the flow?” I scowled, brushing my hair back from my face. “With my dating history, you’re telling me I should trust going with the flow?”

  “I think,” Eddie said, draining the last of his margarita, “since she is the one who’s been privy to how the man feels about you… you should probably listen.”

  “I think you’re both crazy if you’re telling me I should keep giving myself to this man without knowing his intentions.”

  Simone raised her hand. “And I think that you should let Carter’s actions speak for him. Look… I’ve already said more than I should, but you have to understand… he’s not like… like Roman, for example. Roman is very upfront with his feelings, extremely transparent. Carter… is not, but that doesn’t mean the emotion isn’t there.”

  “So I should just… what, take your word for it?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “I think you can. Viv, I totally get it, I understand the hesitation. I would not give this advice to anybody else. It is only because of what I know about Carter that I even feel comfortable recommending it. Seriously… you say he makes you happy, just keep letting him make you happy. Don’t over think it.”