by Mia Madison
Scream Come True
Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance
Mia Madison
Mia Madison
Contents
1. Adele
2. Pierre
3. Adele
4. Pierre
5. Adele
6. Pierre
7. Adele
8. Pierre
9. Adele
10. Pierre
11. Adele
12. Pierre
13. Adele
Pierre’s Epilogue
About the Author
Adele
“Seriously, Jean-luc?” I hissed, cutting my eyes at the taxi driver who’d been barely hiding a smirk for the past four blocks. “You really want to talk about this now? Can’t it wait until after the party?”
Jean-luc rolled his eyes and huffed out a dramatic sigh. “It’s never a good time for you, Adéle. That’s the problem. Seven months together and I still feel like I have to walk on eggshells around you. I’m trying to tell you about the things I’m feeling, and you don’t have the time to listen. But okay. Fine. It’s whatever.”
The cab driver snorted, and I looked between him and my disgruntled boyfriend, trying to decide which one I was more annoyed with. Luckily—for the all three of us—we pulled up in front of the old Garden District mansion before I could snap at either of them.
“We could just turn around and go home,” I offered, putting my hands up in a mock-surrender as Jean-luc glared at me. “And we can talk this out.” I couldn’t help but jerk my head in the direction of the cab driver before adding, “Privately…”
“And miss the costume ball that I’ve been looking forward to for months?” He shook his head and barked out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s just Halloween, right? Catch it next year?”
Was he being serious right now? Was he drunk? I knew that Jean-luc was sensitive and had a quick temper—those qualities, along with his movie-star looks, had attracted me to him in the first place. But damn. Was he really gonna go full Jerry Springer on me, here in the middle of the oldest, richest neighborhood in New Orleans?
Was he trying to get the cops called on us?
I opened my mouth to say something, but he had already jumped out of the car and slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone with the bemused cab driver.
“That’ll be thirty bucks,” he said, turning to face me with that same smug smirk.
Shit. Of course Jean-luc conveniently slipped out before it was time to pay the fare. I dug around in the ridiculous little clutch I’d brought—all fringe and lace and tassles, a perfect match to the ridiculous gown Jean-luc had insisted I wear—and pulled out two twenties.
“I don’t have change,” he shrugged, snatching the money from my hand before I could even object.
Because why would he have change, right? I would’ve probably laughed—or cried—if I hadn’t been so angry. But I needed to catch up with Jean-luc, and I didn’t wanna alarm the neighbors by beating the crap out of a cab driver while I was dressed as Marie Antionette.
“Great,” I said. “Thanks a lot.” I got out of the cab but poked my head back in before I closed the door. “I hope you get a flat tire.”
I was pretty sure the driver flipped me the bird, but I didn’t care. I had bigger fish to fry.
Jean-luc was already walking toward the big house, and I had to practically run in my little glass-slipper-stripper-heels to catch up with him. “Seriously, Jean-luc? What the hell?”
“What?” He whirled to face me, the hurt and anger in his eyes making me stop short in front of him. “I’m over this, Adéle. I need some time. Some space…”
I looked around and spread my hands to take in the whole house, teeming with masked couples. “Space? So we came to a party? That doesn’t even make sense, Jean-luc. Come on, let’s just go, and—”
“No.” He shook his head, cutting me off. “Stop. Just… I’m gonna go, okay? I just need to figure some shit out.”
My mouth fell open as he started to walk away from me. Was he joking? Was I being punked? Hidden camera somewhere?
But no. Jean-luc was still walking away, and I was still looking ridiculous all by myself.
“Wait a second,” I called, nearly tripping on the cobblestone path that led to the arched double-doors of the mansion. “Jean-luc, wait.”
He stopped and half-turned to face me, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “Yeah?”
“You’re just gonna leave me here? Is that the plan? Just leave me and then… figure this shit out some other time? Seriously?” My voice was raising to a volume that was definitely not costume-ball-appropriate, but I didn’t give a damn. “Do you know how long it took me to get my hair like this? I did this for you, Jean-luc.”
“And you look nice,” he said, his eyes and tone softening just a little. “But I just… can’t with you anymore, Adéle. I just can’t.”
He turned again and walked through the enormous doors into the cavernous house. I wanted to chase after him, to demand answers, to make him talk to me—or at least to listen to me—but… I didn’t. I couldn’t. My head was ready for an argument, but my heart was already shutting it down, walling itself off from Jean-luc just like it had with every short-term boyfriend before him.
My knees were weak, and for a moment I thought I might actually collapse under the weight of my big, frilly gown and the ten pounds of teased and ratted hair that was piled precariously on top of my head in an imitation of some ridiculous French queen.
I gathered my gown around me and staggered toward the house, praying that I’d make it over the cobblestones and up the steps to the large porch where I’d at least be able to lean against a pillar for support.
I still couldn’t believe this was actually happening—that I had been dumped, or… something—at a party that I hadn’t even wanted to attend. On the other side of town. With no ride home.
“Great party,” I muttered, placing one foot in front of the other as I slowly, carefully made my way to the relative security of the porch. “Great party. Great night. Just… great.”
I sighed and popped another puffy crab-cake-thing into my mouth—my third one so far. Or was it my fourth? Whatever. I didn’t really care.
A half hour had passed since I’d worked up the nerve to actually enter the house alone, and once I’d found the buffet table in the corner of the massive ballroom, I hadn’t bothered exploring any further.
I’d spent the first few minutes in shock, and then had even mustered enough emotion to be angry again, ready to give Jean-luc a piece of my mind just as soon as he wandered by my buffet table.
But the clock was still ticking, and Jean-luc was nowhere to be seen—at least not from my vantage point in the corner. Fuck it if I was gonna give up these crab puffs for another pointless argument with my maybe-ex-boyfriend, though.
All that was left to do was to waste another twenty bucks on a long, lonely cab ride home. Although I was seriously considering liberating a few more of those crab cakes into my little frilly clutch before I left.
I was eyeing them, trying to determine the best crab-cake-to-clutch-bag ratio, when I heard the deep voice behind me, so close it seemed I could almost feel the heat from the man’s body.
“Enjoying the party?” he asked, startling a surprised squeak out of me as I whirled to face him and almost toppled over in my high heels.
Maybe it hadn’t been the heat from his body that I’d felt, since he was still a respectable distance away from me. Maybe it had been the warm, sensual tone of his voice that had shot an electric jolt
straight down my spine, directly to my core.
Or maybe it had been his eyes, drinking in my entire body and looking at me like I was a piece of candy.
“Yeah,” I lied, reflexively reaching up to pat my intricately coiffed hair. Thank God it was still somehow in place. At least I didn’t look like a complete mess in front of this hot stranger. “Actually, no.” I shrugged. “I’m not particularly enjoying it. I was just about to leave, so—”
“But you can’t leave yet,” his dark brown eyes caught mine and seemed to light up, as if that heat that I’d felt before was actually some kind of fire inside of him. “You haven’t even danced with me yet.”
If that line had come from anyone else, I would’ve probably laughed or rolled my eyes and turned back to my neglected crab cakes without another thought. But there was something about this man with his dark features and olive skin and just enough stubble that I could almost feel it rubbing against my cheek, or my neck, or my breasts.
“I don’t really, um… dance,” I said, my throat suddenly dry and feeling like it might close up completely before I could say another word.
The way he was looking at me made me feel like we were the only two people in the room, like all he could see with those burning, sexy eyes was me. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as his eyes shamelessly roamed up and down my body. God, the man was pure sex.
“Don’t worry,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I’ll lead. You just have to follow…”
“But I—” I swallowed hard, the heat that I’d felt earlier returning with full force. “I’m here with my boyfr—with someone,” I caught myself, choking back the word that I’d used for months to describe Jean-luc. That word didn’t really fit anymore, though. He’d made it pretty clear upon arriving at the party that we were going our separate ways.
He looked over one shoulder, then the other, finally shrugging as he faced me again—that sexy little smile still playing across his lips. “I don’t see anyone. He must not be a very good boyfriend, to leave such a beautiful creature unattended for so long…”
“Well, he…” I shook my head. He what, exactly? Jean-luc had left me alone while he went off and did God-knows-what with God-knows-who. “Anyway, I should go.”
“Just one dance,” the man said. “Please. If your boyfriend comes back, I’ll step aside.”
“But I don’t even know your name…” I said, the excuse sounding pretty feeble to my own ears.
The truth was that I was running out of excuses… and that I didn’t want to make excuses in the first place. I wanted to dance with the sexy stranger, but a part of me—a foolish, stupid part of me—still felt a twinge of loyalty to Jean-luc.
It was fading fast, though.
“Forgive me,” the man said with a little nod of his head that was very formal and old-fashioned and still sexy as hell. “My name is Pierre. And yours?”
“Adéle,” I said, not even caring that I don’t normally give my name to complete strangers.
“And now we know each other. So… shall we dance?”
He held out his hand and waited. I let my eyes flick from the strong, tanned hand to his smiling face and simply nodded. I’d run out of reasons to say no.
“Just one dance?” I asked, already thinking that maybe I’d stay for just one more if he asked me to.
“Whatever you want, Adéle.” I placed my hand in his and let him lead me to the middle of the ballroom. “Whatever makes you happy is what we’ll do.”
My heart lifted at the words. It might just be a cheesy line to get me to dance, but it still felt nice to hear a man say it. And cheesy line or not, it had worked.
We were going to dance. I was going to forget about Jean-luc, at least for a few minutes.
And judging from the way it felt when he placed a strong, possessive hand at my lower back and brought me closer to him, I might just enjoy every one of those minutes.
They might be the best few minutes of my night.
Pierre
From the moment I saw her standing outside like an angel in the moonlight, her dark complexion that hinted of Creole heritage the perfect contrast to the pale blue, lacy ballgown that swirled around her, I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her.
I didn’t want to look away.
I’d watched as she followed the man who had inexplicably left her standing there with a hurt and confused look on her face. And then I’d watched as she gave up and simply stood there for a moment.
It had taken every ounce of my self-control not to go to her in that instant, or to pummel the man who had so clearly left her heart in pain.
But instead, I watched.
Not him, of course. He disappeared from my sight and my mind as soon as he passed through the doors near the floor-to-ceiling window where I was standing, watching her.
She wobbled on her feet and I lurched forward, ready to run to her, to help her, to make whatever it was that had upset her right again. But then she caught herself and I stopped. I reached out to grip the window frame just as she reached out to the big white pillars on the porch for support.
I watched. I waited.
Even once she was finally—finally—inside. Even after she stood alone for the better part of an hour looking fragile and hurt and tired.
And even though I could sense that she didn’t want to talk—not to me, not to anyone—and almost certainly didn’t want to dance, I went to her anyway.
I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. It wasn’t my place to ask what had happened between her and the man she’d arrived with, just like it wasn’t my place to step in and make that man regret hurting her.
But if I could take her mind off him, even for a few minutes, my night would be complete. I’d be able to leave that party knowing that I’d made some small difference in this beautiful woman’s night.
That would have been enough for me.
Once I had her in my arms out on the dancefloor, though, I second-guessed myself. I’d thought one dance would be enough, but that was before I touched her, before she’d melted against my body as if she’d been made to fit there. Before I’d heard her voice and learned her name and seen the way she’d looked back at me when I looked at her.
Now I wasn’t sure if I could ever get enough.
I leaned in to whisper into her ear, the smell of flowers—lilies and lilacs and lavender—from her shampoo or her perfume or hell, maybe just from her skin was enough to make me pause, intoxicated for a moment as I breathed it in.
When I finally found my voice again, it sounded rough and breathless to my own ears. “I thought you said you didn’t dance…”
“I don’t. Or… I didn’t…” Even without looking at her face, I could hear the smile in her voice. “There’s just something about this night… this place… about you.”
I knew exactly what she meant, even though she hadn’t actually finished her thought. I felt the same way about her. There was just… something. Something beautiful and wonderful and magical that had drawn me to her like a moth to a flame, and that something had made me wish the night would last forever with her in my arms.
But it couldn’t, and it didn’t.
The music stopped, and after a final twirl on her unbelievably light toes, I caught her in my arms. I should have let her go right then and there. I should have let whatever magical spark had passed between us fizzle and die.
Doing what I should has never been a virtue I’ve possessed, though. It’s never even been something I’ve aspired to.
And when she looked up at me, still wrapped in my arms with that wide smile that played so delicately across her pouty red lips, I knew I was too far gone to worry about what I should have done.
Before I knew what was happening, before I could even think to stop myself, I had leaned in until my face was just inches away from hers. My eyes widened as I realized what was about to happen, and that voice inside my head—my conscience, if I really had one—screamed at me to stop, begged m
e to back away.
Then her lips parted, and I pushed that voice aside, letting it vanish with any other doubt I might have had as my mouth met hers.
My senses exploded as I drank her in, the scent of her, the taste of her, the flutter of her pulse so strong and quick that it nearly knocked me off my feet.
She whimpered, a delicate, faint, tiny sound that disappeared directly into my mouth—so small that I wouldn’t have even noticed it if I hadn’t tasted the passion behind it. My hands roamed up her back and I wanted to claim her, to make her mine in a way that went beyond intimacy, beyond sex, beyond anything that she’d ever experienced.
I wanted to make her mine the same way I’d experienced it nearly two hundred years before, when the one who made me gave me the blessing and the curse that I’d been living with every night since then.
With a willpower that can only be learned over such a long life, I backed away, smiling at the little gasp she gave when our lips parted.
That little gasp had only fanned the flames of the hunger inside me, but this wasn’t the right time. It wasn’t the right place.
She wasn’t ready—not for what I wanted. And if I was being honest, she probably wouldn’t ever be ready.
“I should, um,” she swallowed hard, and I could see her pulse pounding, beating hard and fast at the base of her beautiful neck. “I should go. Now.”
Reluctantly—and with a hesitation that I didn’t normally feel about anything—I nodded, standing aside so she could pass through the crowd.
“Thank you, beautiful Adéle,” I said, still smiling despite my internal anguish at letting her slip between my fingers. “Thank you for the perfect end to a perfect evening.”
Her cheeks turned a delicious shade of dusty rose, and she opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again with an audible snap when the only thing that came out was another one of those needy little whimpers.