by S. L. Scott
“Are you okay?”
I feel the prick of tears as the cold air hits me. “Fine. I’ll be fine.”
His hand is warm, so warm, defrosting my chilling heart and stopping me before I can get too far.
Compassionate.
“Winter, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Talk to you,” I repeat quietly to myself. I can still hear the little girl’s sobs though they’ve lessened against her mom’s shoulder. “That’s not something ever asked of me since my mother died.” The straighter corners of his shoulders round as they bear the weight of my confession. Shit. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Why? Why is that something you should have to hold in?”
I like the concern that shines in his eyes. He cares. He doesn’t even know me, yet he’s showing more empathy than I’ve ever received. I could eat up the attention, losing my better judgment in the spoils of his kindness, and then leave him burning in the ashes of the betrayal. “You could become very addicting, Mr. Everest.”
The right side of his mouth rises as the darkness of the pupils overtake the golden of his eyes, shamelessly drinking me in. Men can do that. They can wield their desires like a sword through innocent flesh and walk away unscathed from the battle. “And that’s a bad thing?”
I’ve fought so hard to be seen as an equal to my brother and never was, but here stands this stranger serving it up on a silver platter and looking at me like I can be anything I want to be. He’s willing to relent the difference in height to treat me as an equal. “It’s too good.”
“We’re in Paris. If we can’t indulge in the City of Love, where can we?”
Tapping him on the chest, I reply, “Bonne remarque.”
“And that means?”
“That means good point. We should get a coffee and éclairs before continuing our adventure. Oui?”
“Oui,” he replies, “I’m starving.”
“Come on. Let’s feed you.”
* * *
Sitting inside the cozy patisserie, we’ve finished our treats, and our cups are empty. Chatter doesn’t fill every minute with him, but I like how easy it is to be with him. “You never told me how long you’ll be in Paris.”
He nods, looking down at his watch as if he’s late and has to dash out the door. “I shouldn’t be here now.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was ordered back to the States yesterday.”
“Ordered? Why?”
“Because my brother, the CEO, thinks I’m on a fool’s mission.”
“Are you?”
The intensity of his glare, the fixed gaze on me, stills me in my chair. “I hope not.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“That I needed to stay.”
“Why did you stay, Mr. Everest?”
“I think you know.” He moves his chair around to sit closer. “Is it bad that I want to kiss you right here in a dessert shop?”
“It’s a bakery.”
“Does it matter?”
“The kiss or the French word?”
He leans in, and I don’t move a millimeter in my seat. I don’t breathe. I just wait for his heat, his lips on me, his . . . My eyes fly open. “Did you just lick me?”
“I did. You had a little chocolate right there.” His lips press to my cheek, and even though it’s not where I want him to be, I’ll take anything he’ll give me because it feels so nice. And then I push him away playfully.
“You’re silly.”
“You need some silly in your life.”
I think I might need more of him in my life. Reaching over, I take his elbow and pull him in again. With our faces just a few inches apart, I ask, “Did you stay for me?”
“I did,” he whispers, “so let’s make the most of it. I have two days.”
“To live like you were never supposed to stay? I can work with that and make it so you never regret a single minute.”
I’m tempted to kiss him, so tempted, but I don’t. He’s become the master of the tease, and I’m starting to enjoy the game. I lick my lips with his eyes glued to the small action and then stand abruptly. “Well, come on,” I say, “we don’t have time to lose.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Such a Southern gentleman.”
“How’d you know I was from the South?” he asks as we walk toward the door. “Oh, right. You looked me up.”
Oh, no. I’ve really screwed up. “Actually,” I stumble over my words, trying to find something to land on. “You have an accent, Bennett. I’m from Manhattan. You may live in New York, but you’re clearly not from there.” I shoulder the door open and smile when I pass.
Happy.
Pure, unadulterated happiness. I can’t recall the last time I felt like this.
The wind whips his musky oceanic scent around me, and I rush to find him. Standing under the burgundy awning with his hands in his pockets, he smiles just from watching me.
Carefree.
I see it in his eyes. Eyes can’t lie.
I feel the same in my heart, letting it fill me and reach my eyes, too. Taking his hand in mine, I caress it, and with my smile too big to hide, I pull him with me as I walk backward. “The city is ours. What do you want to see?”
“I’m seeing all I ever need to of this city.” He’s quick, his arms going around me and pulling me against him. “What could we ever see that beats what’s standing in front of me right now?”
With our bodies pressed together, I slide a hand under his sweater to feel his heart beating. “Yours matches mine.”
He brings my other hand to his lips, kisses it, and says, “Maybe it’s a sign.”
“My mom believed in astrology, karma, and anything else involving a superstition. I gave up believing when she died. Though I still wish upon my necklace like she used to do.”
Holding my hand as he lowers it, he gives it a light squeeze. “Would it be so bad to try to believe again?”
“You make me want to.” A Vespa backfires down the street, bringing me from my daydream. I’m reminded of the little girl crying at the statue and now the scooter. Our bubble popped, an attraction building so fast that it probably would have burst on its own if given enough space and time to grow.
I sigh. Who am I kidding? I don’t understand this attraction. And fear seeps back in. What if spending time with me puts Bennett in the crosshairs of him? He’s almost too good to be true.
“You’ve gone quiet.” And very perceptive.
“I . . . probably shouldn’t make any commitments.” Not wanting to seem too unstable, I add, “You know . . . being unavailable and all.”
“You’re a very quirky woman.”
“I prefer unpredictable.”
“That you are. But it’s not bad to rely on something.”
We start walking slowly at first as if the direction doesn’t matter. Does it?
“My father once told me to be the hare. That, in real life, the tortoise would always lose.”
“It sounds like you were caught in the middle.”
“Caught between a dreamer and a realist. My dad was right.” He keeps his gaze directed ahead, but he’s not letting go of my hand, and I haven’t pulled away. A squeeze became a safehold that he’s apparently set on protecting.
Less than five hours together and I’m already beginning to feel something for this dark-haired man. How is that possible?
“Do you still talk to him?” The question gives me pause. For the first time since we met, something feels off. I drop my hand to my side and then tuck it into my coat pocket. It’s noticed, and he’s quick to add, “I’ve overstepped. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t offend me, Bennett. It’s just an odd question. Why wouldn’t I be talking to my dad?” This is how I should reply even if it is a lie. “Wouldn’t he worry about his daughter?” Is my father capable of worrying about someone he can’t even say I love you to?
“I’m sure he does, but is there a
reason he should?”
Yes.
He’d be furious at what I’ve done to protect him, but I didn’t do it to go against his wishes. I did it to save the Nobleman legacy. I pivot the conversation. “My brother, Braden, on the other hand . . . he hates me. Once my mother died, we ceased being civil to each other.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I don’t want to think of what’s to come, or the price I’m paying for diving into the deep end, thinking I could swim with sharks. “Let’s talk about other things. We only have two days, and my mom used to say that when you’re with good company, it isn’t about the destination.”
The pressure releases from his expression, and he smiles. “Let’s make it an incredible journey.”
“There’s so much to do. What do you want to start with?” He caresses my cheek, but before he speaks, I laugh. “I know where this is going, so let me rephrase that. What touristy thing would you like to see first?”
“I think I preferred the first offer.”
“I just bet you do.”
“How about you show me everything you love?”
“A man who lets a woman lead. You’re a breath of fresh air, Monsieur Everest.”
“As are you, ma chérie.”
8
Winter
It feels like I’ve been here forever, stuck in a city I never asked to visit. The option to talk to my family was taken away with one threat; that which would end my father’s life and ultimately mine for causing his death. It doesn’t matter how much I try to hate him for his lack of love for me, he’s still my father, the only parent I have left. I like to believe he would never intentionally hurt me, so it’s easier to blame my gender for his disinterest in welfare.
A whisper tickles my ear, and Bennett asks, “How does it make you feel?”
I like that he cares enough to wonder about me. I felt uncomfortable when he asked me about my father, but then I somehow started talking about my mother and memories I haven’t recalled in so long but seemed to come back as if they were yesterday. As if eighteen years haven’t passed since she left me. I didn’t know what to say because I can’t tell him the truth.
We’re in the early stages of what feels like something new—a new relationship, a new beginning, a new chance at love. A newness that blankets me like a cashmere sweater, feeling so good I don’t want to take it off. “At peace,” I reply.
I hate how much my answer exposes me, but that’s what happens when someone tempts you to let your guard down while also providing a safety net as you’re trying new things. And Bennett Everest is definitely something new I want to try. Leaning the side of my head against his, I whisper, “How does it make you feel?”
“Small.”
“I get what you mean. I’ve seen the Water Lilies paintings online, on postcards, and on TV so often that I felt it might even be disappointing when I finally saw them in person the first time. But they’re not.”
“No, they’re not. They’re incredible like you.”
“You’re pulling out all the stops, Mr. Everest.”
“When I go after something, or someone,” he says, coming to stand at my side, “I always give one hundred and ten percent. Because if it’s worth going after in the first place, it’s worth giving it your all.”
“You can be very charming when you want to be. Is that what you’re doing? Charming me?” He doesn’t realize I’m already under his spell.
“I’m spending the day with a woman who intrigues me as much as she attracts me. It’s like a two-for-one.”
“Two women for the price of one. Not so charming.”
“No, that’s not what I mean at all.” We shift to our right to see more of the painting as a new crop of people walk into the oval room.
“Then what did you mean?”
“That I’m not attracted to one-dimensional women. They should have lives, goals, and dreams of their own instead of focusing on mine alone. Believe it or not,” he says, “my ego is in check most of the time. I can handle a successful, confident woman who knows what she wants and likes. If I can satisfy her needs, there’s no bigger boost.”
“If. You said if when it comes to satisfying a woman? If isn’t a part of the average guy’s vocabulary. Doesn’t matter how big or small, they all think they’re God’s gift. What makes you different?”
“There’s nothing to prove when you can back up your words with skill.”
The museum must have turned the heat on, so I slip my jacket down my arms. Fanning myself, I ask, “I didn’t realize we were talking about sex.”
“We’re talking about life and fulfilling your partner’s desires, but the same things apply to sex.”
I like how he says sex more than I should—natural as if there’s nothing to be ashamed of or nothing to hide in dark rooms, like I’m not the slut I’ve been called.
“You’re not intimidated by a strong woman.” I don’t ask a question, and I don’t expect an answer. He doesn’t need to justify anything, so I say, “I guess I should have asked long before showing up at your hotel, but better late than never. Are you single, or have you been hiding a wedding ring somewhere in that wallet of yours?”
Pulling his wallet out, he holds it open. “Nope, no ring hidden in here.” Waggling his left hand, he adds, “No tan line, no indentation, and no ring here either. I’ve been flying solo for quite some time now.”
“Were you previously married?”
“No. I’ve had a few girlfriends, but no fiancées or wives in my past.”
I don’t have a right to feel this good about that, but I do. “Now that we got the first date questions out of the way, what do you think about the art?”
“So this is a date? Well, if that’s the case . . .” He takes my hand and holds it like we do this every day as we walk into the next room together. Being goofy, he swings it between us, playing it up. I’m not sure if he’s doing it for him, onlookers, or me, but I’m good with it.
My hand feels small in his and held with care just as he’s treated me since we met. When we’re standing alone, away from the crowd, he says, “I figured I’d make it official.”
“Official, huh? And here I thought you were going to say a production since this seems to be for everyone else.”
“Trust me, sweetheart. This is just for you and me.”
I hate that I love when he calls me sweetheart. There’s an edge to his normal tone that makes me think he takes no prisoners in bed.
“It’s easier if we just call a duck a duck and a date a date,” he says with a shrug.
“I want to trust you. Guessing games are never as entertaining as they sound.”
“How about instead of guessing, we just ask what we want to know?”
“And answer anything?” I ask, starting to stress.
“Yes, just that easy. We can even take turns.”
“What if we don’t want to answer, or what if we can’t?”
Facing me, he slips his hands around to the small of my back and pulls me close. If anyone saw us, we’d fool them into thinking we’re a couple, just as I’m temporarily fooling myself. “Let’s not overthink this. If you don’t want to answer, then you don’t have to. But know that I’m interested in you, Winter. And I want to know more.”
My instinct tells me no, don’t even try this. But when I look at him, I want to know more about him—everything the internet didn’t tell me. I want to know the real him. And I want him to know the real me because when I finish paying my debt to the monster pulling the strings, there isn’t any remaining doubt that Bennett is someone I would like to see again. “All right, I’ll play along.”
Rubbing his hands together, I see the devious glint in his eyes and start to get nervous. But what I’ve learned about Bennett so far is that the last thing he seems to want is to see me squirm. I wonder if that holds true in the bedroom. I hope not. “Bah!”
“Something funny you want to share?”
“No. Not at all. Sorry
. If I let you inside my brain, you’ll run out of here, and I’m enjoying your company too much to ruin the date this early on.” I laugh to myself, and then he tickles my side. When I get louder and push off, he doesn’t let me go and pulls me right back in as if I was made to fit against him.
I’m starting to think I might have been.
We’re shushed by a lady with a name badge. Our laughter subsides, and I say, “You’re going to get us kicked out if you keep that up.”
“Let’s live on the edge. It’s not every day you can say you were kicked out of a museum.”
Before he can tickle me again, I slip out of his reach. Stepping up to the painting, I let my gaze slip into the paint strokes. Keeping his words between us, he asks, “What do you do for a living?”
He comes out hitting hard, confirming my dread from earlier. What am I supposed to say? I’ve told him what I felt I could without giving the dirty details away. The more personal he gets, the more I’ll have to pull away. Some secrets should stay buried. It will only get ugly from here, the details too bad to pretend I don’t know better.
I like the way he sees me now. I like who I am when I’m with him, so I skirt around the issues. “I earned a business degree.” It’s one of the few things that never caused me shame, so I go with the truth. “I used to work with an acquisitions firm specializing in shipping, cargo holds, and docking rights.”
“Really?”
Moving to his side, I watch as his eyes follow the lines of the large canvas hanging on the wall. But he turns, and by how his brows are cinching together in the middle, I can see more questions forming.
“I used to get that look a lot actually. I don’t think most people associate a woman in that area of industry. I worked in an office most of the time. It’s not like I was loading the ships at port, though I did once just for the experience. Prada are more flattering than work boots, especially since I’m on the shorter side.”
“Everest Enterprises owns rights down in East Bay.”
“Ah. That’s where I know the name.” Wiggling a foot in front of me, I’m quick to add, “My turn.”
“I had no doubt that you’re a badass who can do whatever you set your mind to and do it in style.” His smile, like the one he’s wearing now, has become one of my favorite parts of the day. There’s just something so genuine in the grins he shares with me.