Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed

by Fields, MJ

  Adriana came for a visit after graduation, and I felt my first real pang of homesickness. I missed her. She stayed for almost three weeks, and I didn’t want her to leave, but she had to get home to ready herself to move into the city. She is going to NYU in the fall and sharing a fifth-floor walk-up in Hell’s Kitchen with two roommates. Her papa thinks it will be a good learning experience for her to live as other college students live. I wanted to go with her. We were supposed to move into the city together, but I knew it was too soon, and I truly was starting to like my life here.

  The plan is to stay through the end of the year. I promised Mamma a year. I can start NYU at the beginning of winter semester, and I’m sure Adi will have run at least one roommate off by then.

  By the time November rolls around, I have met a boy. Antoine lives in the Montmartre area of Paris, which is a very eclectic mix of historical town charm and the evolving modern scene. The streets are lined with independent boutiques and old-world shops. The atmosphere is energetic, and it is filled to the brim with pubs and bistros and live music. For the first time in my life, I feel free. Free to sing and dance and date and kiss and just be a teenage girl without the men in my life breathing down my neck and trying to control my every move. It is magical, and yet I still feel this pull from back home.

  I have plans to go back by Christmas, but Aunt Mitzi falls in the shop one evening and breaks her ankle. She has been so wonderful to me, and I don’t want to leave her alone and helpless for the holidays, so I decide to stay at least until she is back on her feet. This thrills Mamma and Antoine even though it means missing the holidays with my family for the second year. To ease the sting, Mamma comes to stay with us the week after Christmas, and I am so happy to see her. We have talked on the phone every day and video-chatted, but nothing compares to her wrapping her arms around me. I missed the way she smelled and the sound of her laughter. She and I spend the week shopping and seeing the city. At night, we cook together, and the three of us just enjoy each other’s company.

  Antoine charms Mamma the night he takes us out on the Seine River for dinner. He treats her with the utmost care and respect. He is beautiful inside and out, and I really do like him.

  Still, something is missing. I don’t lie awake at night and miss him when he is off to London for work. I don’t dream of him when I drift off to sleep. My dreams are still reserved for one person.

  It is less painful to think of him as the time passes, but I miss him. I can’t believe that he has not attempted to contact me. Not even once in over a year. How very little I meant to him is a bitter pill to swallow, but the pain carries me and helps me to move forward.

  By the time Aunt Mitzi is back to her old self, I have talked myself into staying in France the rest of the year. Antoine is extremely pleased, and I keep to my mission to fall completely out of love with Christoff Scutari.

  * * *

  Home. I am home. As I unpack my suitcase and look around my bedroom, I realize how much things have changed. I’m no longer that seventeen-year-old girl. Two years abroad have changed everything. I’m older and wiser and will no longer allow myself to be held under my brothers’ thumbs. They aren’t going to like the new me, but they are going to have to get used to her.

  “Welcome home, brat.” Lorenzo engulfs me in a tight bear hug. “We have sure missed you around here.”

  I just stand there, wrapped in his arms. He doesn’t let go until I start wheezing.

  “I missed you guys, too.”

  “I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about us and were never coming back.”

  “As if I could ever forget my brothers.”

  “Tony moved out, you know. Got himself an apartment in the city. Stavros is crashing there most of the time, which Tony hates but lets him do it anyway. So, it’s just you, me, and Nicco.”

  “For how long? I can’t see you living here much longer.”

  “Me? I will be here forever. I have a great room. The maid does the cleaning. Nonna does my laundry, and between you, Mamma, and Nonna, I eat like a king. Why would I ever leave here?”

  He is not wrong. It is not a bad life at all, living in Casa di Mastreoni.

  “Come on, sis,” he says as he throws his arm across my shoulders. “The folks planned a welcome-home dinner in your honor. Let’s go eat.”

  The entire family is seated at the table. All my brothers, my grandparents, and Papa and Mamma. I’m so happy to see them all. I want to cry, but I don’t. New Gabby doesn’t leak as much as she used to. We eat and drink until I’m completely sated, and Adriana shows up just as dessert is being served.

  “I am stealing you.”

  “Adi, I’m exhausted. I had a really long flight home. Give me a day or two to recuperate, please.”

  “No way, bitch. You have been gone for two years. You owe me. I’m here to collect,” she says as she starts rummaging through my closet. “Surely, you purchased some sexy clothes while you were in Paris. Aha! Score!”

  She pulls a slinky black dress with a dangerously low neckline and high hem from the hanger. It has thin spaghetti straps, and the back is so low that it skims the top of my ass. I purchased it with every intention of wearing it out to a dance club with Antoine, but when I put it on and realized I couldn’t bend over in it, for fear of exposing my top and bottom, I changed my mind. I have no idea why I still have it.

  “No, ma’am, I am not going out in that thing. It barely covers my ass. I can’t.”

  “Oh, yes, you are. We are going to show everyone what a vixen Paris turned you into.”

  “I’m hardly a vixen, Adi.” I laugh.

  “Cross will be there. He is always there. With Angelica,” she says over her shoulder while holding the dress up to her reflection in the mirror. “Did I tell you they were back together? Have been for over a year now. I think it’s getting serious.”

  “It is none of my business who Christoff is or isn’t seeing or where he hangs out, for that matter. I have a boyfriend.” I yank the dress from her hand and strut to the other side of the room. Then, I start to change.

  “Uh-huh. Not your business.”

  “Shut up.”

  I slip on a pair of black slingback stilettos and do my hair and makeup. I give myself a once-over in the mirror and swipe on some red lipstick before we leave. I might be over him, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want him to see what he is missing.

  * * *

  When we make it to the Black Flamingo in Brooklyn, I’m brimming with anticipation. Adi has secured us fake IDs, which just makes me feel silly. In France, I could get in and drink anywhere. Now, I’m home and have to pretend to be someone else to get in. The bouncer at the door doesn’t even bother to card us though. He grins from ear to ear when he sees us approaching.

  “I was wondering when you were going to show. This must be the friend you told me about. Welcome,” he says as he takes my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist.

  “Thank you, Marcus. I promise to find you before we leave, baby.”

  Once we are inside, I ask, “Are you doing the bouncer just to get in?” I don’t put anything past her.

  “No. I’m doing the bouncer because he is gorgeous, and I like him. Jeez, why do you think I got the IDs, Gabby?”

  The place is loud and crowded, and we squeeze our way past the dance floor to the bar.

  “What’ll you have?” the bartender asks when he spots us.

  “I’ll have a vodka martini. Dirty, please, with extra olives.”

  “You are so highbrow now,” Adi accuses. “I’ll just have a beer. Whatever is on tap, handsome.”

  “Coming right up.”

  After we get our drinks, we head to the dance floor. I am a little tired and a lot jet-lagged, but once the martini starts coursing through me, all I want to do is dance with my friend. I missed her.

  We are on the floor, laughing and enjoying ourselves, when Adriana ends up in the arms of a sexy man who looks to be about thirty years old. I decide to
leave her to it, and I move to the middle of the floor, alone. I just start moving my body to the music. I feel light as a feather and completely lost in the beat when a pair of hands settles on my waist from behind. I should protest and move away, but why? Can’t I dance in the arms of a stranger for a while? I lean back, and I start moving with him. He is a good dancer, and he pulls me closer as he rests his chin on my shoulder. I can feel his breath on my neck and smell the scotch on his breath. The song slows down, and he snakes his arm across my stomach. I dissolve back into him with my eyes closed as my hips sway instinctively to the music. It’s very warm on the crowded dance floor, and I feel the sweat beading and rolling down my spine.

  I’m completely engrossed in the rhythm when I hear a whisper against my ear, “Welcome home, Tesoro.”

  I instantly halt dancing.

  “No, you don’t. The song isn’t over yet,” he says as his arm grows tighter.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s too hot in here. I need some air.”

  I want to escape his grasp right now. Yes, I came in hopes of seeing him, but I wanted to see him at a safe distance because, even though I am sure I’m over my infatuation, I do not want to tempt fate.

  “Okay, baby, let’s get some air.”

  He leads me off the floor, out the back entrance, and onto a low-lit patio. Other patrons are tucked in corners, talking or leaning against the railing, smoking. I walk to the farthest end and turn to face him. He looks good. More than that, he looks somehow maturer and rougher around the edges. His jaw is covered in a light stubble, and his intense green eyes are dark and dangerous and focused on me. I think he must have put on about twenty pounds of pure muscle since the last time I saw him. His arms are barely contained by the sleeves of his Henley, which are pulled up to his elbows, revealing a new tattoo curled around his right forearm. He stands there, towering over me, and I try to find my words. When I finally do, I wish I could snatch them out of the air and put them back into my mouth.

  “Did you miss me?”

  Thirteen

  Brie - Present

  “This baby is the cutest thing I have ever seen.” Dawn has Cassian raised in the air above her, cooing at him.

  “Be careful. He just had a bottle. He is going to spew all over you if you keep shaking him up.” The words barely leave my mouth before he projectile vomits formula all over her face.

  “Oh my God, I think some went into my mouth.”

  Kelsey and I are both howling with laughter as I claim the baby from her, and she runs to the bathroom, gagging.

  “Oh, a little bit of baby spit-up isn’t going to kill you,” I shout through my laughter.

  The girls have fallen as hard for him as I have. His chubby little legs and arms and his angelic face just melt us into a puddle. Thank goodness he is a very chill baby, too. I’m able to take him with me just about everywhere with ease, which means I’m able to spend more time with him. He even lets me study without complaint. He just lies there, playing with his toes, unless he is wet or hungry.

  “All right, give him up.” Kelsey has her arms open wide. “Now that he has that out of his system, Auntie Kelsey wants some baby snuggles.”

  I hand him off and grab my purse as I hear my phone start to ring inside.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Brie. This is Mr. Cloniger at the club. I was wondering if you were free this afternoon for a private instruction.”

  “Sure.” I look at the clock on the wall. “I am on baby duty until five p.m., but I can head over after I drop him home, say around six thirty. Will that work?”

  “I will schedule it at seven just to make sure you have enough time to eat dinner before you arrive.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cloniger.”

  I end the call and look over at Kelsey as she blows raspberries on Cassian’s belly to make him giggle. He sure is a blessing. When my days get stressful or I get upset or homesick, all I have to do is go pick him up for an hour or two, and everything just fades away to bliss.

  “Another lesson?”

  “Yes. I think the private lessons are starting to pick up, which is great.”

  “Commission. Yay!” She lifts his little hands in the air, and he squeals.

  * * *

  After dropping the baby off with his mom, I head to the club. This pace is exhausting, but honestly, idle hands and idle thoughts are not my friends, so staying busy really doesn’t bother me.

  After getting a quick bite to eat in the bar, I head to our assigned court and wait for my new pupil. I start warming up and hear a low whistle from behind me.

  “That’s a killer serve.”

  I turn to see Jake standing there, watching me.

  “I see you made good on your threat to rent me out for fake lessons.”

  “Fake lessons? What are you talking about? I’m in desperate need of your services.” He places his hand over his heart, like my words have wounded him.

  “Sure you are. Don’t worry; I’m not complaining. I’ll take your money to just play and kick your ass in a couple of sets.”

  I continue to warm up by emptying a can of balls in a succession of rapid-fire serves. I feel him approach me.

  He brings his mouth close to my ear and says low, “How else am I supposed to get alone time with you? You keep blowing me off.”

  “I’m not blowing you off.” My words linger in the air between us, and I flush from head to toe when it dawns on me how that came out.

  He grins a wicked grin.

  “Don’t.” I point my racket at his chest as I warn, “Don’t say a word.”

  He raises his hands and declares, “I didn’t. You are the one with the dirty mind, not me.” He makes a lock-and-key motion against his lips, and then we both burst out laughing.

  “Let’s get started, and you’d better bring your A game, buddy, because I’m not taking it easy on you.”

  “Bring it, gorgeous.”

  He’s the one who brings it. Three hours later, we are exhausted and sweaty. We sparred hard. Playing three sets. He won. I wasn’t the least bit surprised that he did, but I am not going to lie; it stung a little.

  “Dinner?” he asks as he is toweling off.

  “You just paid to play tennis with me. Now, you want to buy me dinner? Either you are really bad with money or you are trying to trick me into the strangest date in the history of dates.”

  “What if I let you buy dinner? Would that make you feel better?”

  “No, it would not. You just beat me in the sport I was supposed to be teaching you. By virtue of soothing my wounded pride alone, you owe me a meal. And, just so you know, I might be small, but I eat a lot. I mean, a lot, a lot, and I’m ravenous after that beatdown.” I scowl at him.

  “Damn, you are cute when you are angry. Calm down, sore loser. Dinner is on me. Let’s go.”

  He leads the way, and I follow him off the court to the locker rooms. He stops in front of the girls’. He turns his head to glance at me and winks. “You were easier to trick than I’d thought.”

  Bastard.

  * * *

  We leave my car at the club and get into his fancy-as-hell Maserati. It’s a matte gunmetal gray, and I have to stop myself from drooling as I slide into the soft-as-butter black leather passenger seat. I love cars. I especially love fast, foreign imports. It is impressive and sexy, and it suits its driver to a T. His blond hair is still wet from his shower, and he smells of fresh soap. He has his arm out the window, and the music blaring. For a moment, I let myself get lost in the fantasy of being young and free and on a date with a gorgeous, charming guy in a hot, fast car. It’s a carefree feeling I have rarely had the pleasure of experiencing before, and just for tonight, I wish I could let go.

  We pull up to The Beverly Hills Hotel about twenty minutes later. It’s an old hotel but legendary and still a beacon of old Hollywood glamour. The original iconic sign greets you as you pull up. Not exactly what I was expecting, but I have to admit, a little thrill jolts through me as we approach.


  “This looks a little too fancy for my jeans and tee,” I inform him.

  “Don’t worry; it’s casual.”

  Somehow, I don’t believe him as we exit the car and round the hotel to a back entrance. We are met at the door of The Cabana Cafe by the maître d’.

  “Right this way, Mr. Mason. We have your table ready.”

  “You know, if you are trying to impress me between the car and your dinner spot of choice, it’s totally working.”

  He glances at me over his shoulder and gives me an incredulous look that says he hasn’t even begun to try to impress me. This is just who he is.

  “You’ll know when I start trying to impress you,” he confirms.

  The maître d’ passes us off to a server who leads us around the hotel’s massive pool to a private cabana booth. He places menus in front of us and starts listing off the drink specials.

  “I’ll have The Pink Drink.”

  I snicker at his choice, and he gives me a quizzical look.

  “What? It’s their signature cocktail. And it’s yummy. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

  “Challenge accepted. Make it two, please.”

  A few minutes later, the server returns with two elegant and, I have to admit, delicious cocktails and takes our order for burgers and fish tacos.

  “Awfully fancy burger joint you brought me to.”

  He looks around and then brings his eyes back to me. “I like it here. It’s comfortable and quiet and pretty private for a burger joint.”

  It is lovely. The pool area is subtly lit in an array of soft colors. Everyone is lounging in their cabanas or seated at low-lit wicker tables. Very nice indeed.

  “So, Jacob Mason, tell me all about yourself.”

  I decide to start the personal interrogation so as to keep it from being pointed at me.

  He leans in super close. “What do you want to know?” I can feel his breath on my cheek as the words leave his mouth. That’s too close for my comfort.