by S. L. Scott
I see through the act. I’ve noticed how she looks around as though she’s expecting her world to fall apart, but she never looks disappointed to see me. I can say the same about seeing her. “Sorry. I needed to check in with my brothers.”
“That’s okay. I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too. So where were we?”
“Drinking. Eating. Talking.” Her tongue dips out and runs over the corner of her mouth.
This woman . . . she does things to me. Many things.
She takes the last bite of our shared crème brûlée and then leans back. “I’m stuffed, and I’ve had a lot of wine. Basically, I’m in heaven.”
The bill is set down without a word from the waiter. Our hands bump when we both reach for it. I’m quicker, though. “I’m not letting you buy me dinner. This meal is on me.”
“Merci. The steak . . .” She moans while rubbing her stomach, and I swear the sound hits straight below my belt. “Just so good.”
I set my card down, and it’s swiped away before I have time to pull my hand back. Eager waiter. Back to the beauty at my side. “What do you have planned the rest of the night?”
“I’m hoping to spend it with you.”
Glancing at the bottle, I find it’s empty. Since I had a couple of glasses, she can’t be that drunk. I think it’s the full stomach. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
While we wait, she asks, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Have you been talking to my brothers?”
She shakes her head. “No, why would I have talked to your brothers?”
“It’s nothing.” I laugh under my breath. “Just a familiar topic.”
Resting her chin on the palm of her hand, she has her elbow planted on the table between us, looking at me like I’m that dessert she just finished.
Lowering my voice, I ask, “Do you?”
“I didn’t used to, but that’s because I’ve learned the difference between love and lust.”
“This is a lesson I’m not sure I’ve learned. Maybe that’s why I get bored or burned. What’s the difference?”
Her tone is friendly, but she holds me accountable. “You never answered my question, Mr. Everest.”
“I was happily avoiding.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I don’t want to lie to you.” Not any more than I have. I need to tell her the truth, and I need to do it tonight. Maybe confessions like that are best served after dessert.
Her breath catches, her lips still against the edge of her glass. She blinks and then takes a sip. When she returns the glass to the table, she says, “Lies are woven into the fabric of our lives. We were born of lies, and we’ll die because of lies. Sometimes, I wonder if honesty exists.”
She knows.
She knows I’m lying to her and sees right through me. The time has come. It’s now or never if I want the slightest of chances to see her again, and I definitely do. I’m about to speak, but she says, “Just answer from your heart.”
“From the heart . . .” She’s right. Most women haven’t always been interested in what I’ve thought or had to say, so this is different. Challenging. She’s forcing me to dig deeper and find what is from the heart as opposed to the defensive answers flooding my mind, to ignore the script I was silently writing. “Okay. I—”
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“I’m beginning to.”
I hadn’t noticed that these little cat whiskers form when she smiles big enough for the joy to shine in her eyes. For a beautiful woman, she seems to have so many versions of gorgeous. Right now, as happiness overcomes her, she’s breathtaking. Speak from the heart. “Yes.”
Like the other two times, the moment passes, leading us to another more emotionally complicated transition. Do we drop it?
The waiter returns my card. She finishes her wine, and says, “It’s time. We should go.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to go to our next destination.” When Winter reaches for my hand, I realize we have more time.
Time to get to know each other better.
Time together.
Time to kiss.
Time.
We have time.
“Ah. Right.” When we get outside, I think about the times we’ve missed a kiss, a touch, or an opportunity, letting the heavier stuff slip under a full moon and stars that shine a little brighter here in Paris. Not in any rush as we begin to walk, I ask, “Where are you taking me?”
“Not far.” There’s that glint again. She’s up to no good, and I like it. “A few blocks and then we’ll be there.”
“So you picked this restaurant for proximity.”
“I picked this restaurant because I like it and thought you would, too.”
“I do.”
The streets are full of people meandering, tourists surrounding the area—other languages float through the air in the silence between us.
Listening to her is my favorite, so I ask, “Almost a month in Paris is a long time. Don’t you miss home?” I don’t even think she realizes how her hand tightens around mine, or that she’s looking around like she’s searching for someone specific. “What’s wrong, Winter?”
I give her plenty of room and time to answer how she wants and when she’s comfortable. I want to hear it from her, not learn about her from her father. I owe her that.
She points at the corner. “We’ll take a left here, and then you’ll see.”
“I’ll see that you’re avoiding my question?”
“No.” We round the corner and then stop. “You’ll see that, which is way more interesting.”
In the distance, down at the end of the long avenue, the Eiffel Tower sparkles as if it knew we were coming. “Now that is amazing.”
“Right.” She tugs me forward. “Want to get a closer look?”
How can I deny her this? Look at her smile—relaxed, at peace, and happy. It’s like she was never anything but all of these wonderful things at once. I don’t want to be the one to ruin it. “Definitely.”
It’s not a quick walk, but it’s not too cold, and our hands are warm together. Any effect the wine was having at the restaurant is long gone and we’re left with each other now, and that’s enough.
Talk of the weather and stars, the Eiffel Tower, and the Empire State Building have all made it into the casual conversation. “I’m just saying, any woman would swoon if she were asked to meet atop the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day.”
“But the foreshadowing ruins it.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s about the buildup. Even if you’re sure the other will show up, there’s always that one ounce of doubt that keeps you on edge until the last moment.”
“So is it that edge, the adrenaline that sparks, or the romance that you want?”
She shrugs. “Maybe both.”
“I can see that. We’re drawn to danger.”
“We sure are.”
We reach the park, and as she admires the monument, I admire her. “I don’t want tonight to end,” she says, turning toward me.
“Me either.”
Those missed opportunities replay in my mind—of how I wanted to kiss her at the statue, and when I almost kissed her instead of licking her at the bakery. “I don’t want to miss another chance.”
“Another chance to what?”
“Kiss you.”
“You want to kiss me?” she asks as if it’s not the only thing I’ve been dying to do since the first night we met.
“Of course, I want to kiss you.”
She glances at the Eiffel Tower lit up against the dark sky, then back at me. “Okay.”
Maneuvering around, I lean in, cupping her sweet face. “I’m not going for okay. I’m going for great.” When her eyes dip closed, and I look at this woman in my hands—dark lashes against her creamy skin, pink lips not quite puckered but patient, and a splattering of the lightest trail of freckles across her ch
eeks, my heart starts beating against my chest.
Her eyes open, and when the clear blues capture my attention, she whispers, “Are you going to kiss me, movie star?”
“I am, but it’s not every day you get to experience a first kiss. I don’t want to rush it.”
First touch.
The sweetest of smiles spreads across her pretty face. Just as she takes a breath, our lips press together.
First taste.
I sweep my hand around to her lower back and hold her, deepening the connection. Our lips part, and our tongues embrace.
First kiss.
Rich wine and the forbidden waiting to happen linger on her lips. I slide my hand up, weaving my fingers through her hair, slipping through the silky strands. When we part, our eyes slowly open. I don’t move, not ready for it to be over.
The chill of the night invades our space, and our breath comes out like clouds. “How’d I do?”
When she smiles and reaches up to caress my face, she says, “Better than great.”
In the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, I kissed her and suddenly knew I had to have more. “I don’t want to be forward, and I’m trying my best to let what’s happening between us happen naturally, but—”
“But we don’t have all the time in the world. We only have another day.” Her hands take one of mine between them, and she holds it.
“I want you to tell me what you want, Winter.”
“I want you.” The words come out quick, her heart speaking for her.
“I want you to stay with me tonight. Whatever happens tomorrow happens, but tonight, I want all of you.”
Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I lean down when she looks up and kiss her because I can and because when I do, she smiles afterward, making me want to give her a million more.
I still don’t know if I believe in love at first sight, but I know this is the closest I’ve ever been. I also know that I want to give her a million more of anything her heart desires. And right now, I hope it’s me.
11
Bennett
The taxi pulls to the curb, and the doorman opens the door. I step out and then offer a hand to Winter, not intending to let go until we’re alone. Not for fear of losing her, but for pride in the fact that this beauty is choosing to spend her time with me. I want to make a show of it, but I don’t. I try to play it cool.
Inside, we don’t rush. We’re not doing anything illicit. I push the button for the elevator and then nudge her lightly with my elbow. When she looks up, I ask, “Are you nervous?”
“Not at all. Should I be?”
“I am.”
Rolling her eyes, she nudges me back. “No, you aren’t.”
I kiss her hand. “You just can’t tell,” I say, chuckling. “I’m good at hiding it.”
“You’re ridiculous is what you are.” The door slides open, and when we step in, she quickly moves to the back corner. A tilt of her head. A wry smile. Her eyes only on me. I like everything about the sight before me. “What do you have to be nervous about?” she asks.
“I’m riding in an elevator with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, who not only intrigues me but also challenges me.”
“How’s that?”
“I can’t figure you out, Winter Nobleman.”
She stiffens when the elevator door opens, so I check behind me. A couple waits for us to exit. Taking Winter’s hand, I lead her out, giving them a friendly nod when we walk by.
She walks into my room first. The lights are on, dimmed, the food gone, but the wine is on ice with two clean glasses on a tray.
Slipping off her jacket, she sets it on a chair. The door closes automatically, and the hard lock makes her jump.
“You all right?” I set my wallet, key card, and phone down on the desk while watching her shut the drapes.
“Fine.” She asks, “May I have a glass of wine?”
“Sure. I’ll get it.”
I pull the cork and pour the wine. “Do you mind if I use the powder room?”
“Make yourself at home.”
With the wineglass in hand, she disappears, closing the door behind her. Something has changed. The particles in the air have rearranged, dissipating the lightness from before. Does she regret coming here, or am I reading the vibe wrong?
I pour another glass of wine for myself, though I’d really dig a beer instead. I consider calling room service, but if it’s going to take a while, I don’t want to interrupt our night.
The door opens, and she flicks the light off when she walks out. She’s flipped her hair to the other side, and the wineglass is almost empty. It’s only been a few minutes. Is she trying to psych herself up or get drunk? “Everything okay?” I ask.
“Pretty okay,” she replies with what I think is a snort. Her hand covers her mouth as she cracks herself up.
My eyebrows shoot up. This is a turn I didn’t expect. She comes to where I’m sitting in the chair and bumps my feet farther apart with the tip of her shoe. When I spread them, she sits on my lap, while setting the glass down and then wrapping her arm around my shoulders. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”
Patting her hip, I ask, “Oh yeah?”
“The first time I saw you, I could have never imagined we’d end up here a few days later.” She presses her palm to my cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t wish we could.”
“You made a wish for me to bring you back to my room? And then what?”
Leaning down, she kisses me. With her forehead against mine, she sighs with her eyes closed, still holding my face to hers. “Do you mind if we just do this?”
I pull back. “This, as in sex? Like get it over and done with? Or just do this to distract you since something is clearly wrong?” I sigh and look down, my hands loosening from around her. “I’m sorry, Winter. I guess I misunderstood what was happening between us. If you’re looking for something meaningless and void of emotions, you have the wrong guy.”
“Do I?”
In the past, I might not have given every night I spent with a woman as much thought—both of us acting on instinct and need, but I thought tonight was different. Standing, I set her on her feet and move around to see her face. “I don’t think you’re naïve when it comes to me. I’ve been with women. I’ve had one-night stands. But that’s not what I thought tonight was about. It may sound fucking ridiculous, but I guess I thought there was a shot we might see each other back in New York.”
“New York? Bennett, I can’t plan for tomorrow, much less New York.”
I sit on the bench when she sits in the chair, curling her legs under her. “I want to spend more time with you whether we do anything tonight or not.”
She rubs her forehead, seemingly in debate, but then she sets her feet down and comes to sit next to me. “I’m sorry, Bennett. You’ve been nothing but kind and respectful. I didn’t give you the same courtesy. I do feel something. That’s what scares me.”
I reach over and take her hand. “Don’t be scared. We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to. We can hang out and talk, or watch movies, French TV, or gorge on room service until we fall asleep. And if you want to leave at any time, I’ll take a cab with you and see you home personally. Forget about tomorrow. I just want us to enjoy tonight. Stress free.”
“I want that, too. How about we start with TV and room service?”
Reading her body language, I can tell she’s genuine. Kicking off my shoes, I tug my sweater off over my head. “A woman after my own heart. Bed or bench?”
“Bed.” She flips her shoes off, and asks, “Robe?”
“Closet.” And just like that, we’re back to easy. I know there’s something beneath the surface that Winter isn’t telling me, and that’s fine. For now. But in moments like these, when she and I can so easily work a miscommunication out, I feel positive we can be more. She’s strong and knows her mind but isn’t manipulative in achieving what she wants. That’s rare. And welcome.
She grabs the hot
el robe from the closet and disappears into the bathroom again. I strip off my clothes, leaving on my boxer briefs. Dropping to the floor, I do ten quick pushups and a few sit-ups before popping to my feet and running my hand over my stomach. But I realize I can’t stand here like an idiot no matter how sick my abs look.
I dive for the bed, and when the door opens, I’m kicked back under the covers with my hands behind my head. Basically killin’ the stud pose. She tries to keep a straight face, but she can’t. Her laughter fills the room as she tugs the belt on the robe tight around her waist. “Just hanging out there, huh, movie star?”
Just as she can’t hide her smile, I can’t hide mine. I flip the covers over as an invitation. “Climb on in.” Reaching for the remote, I offer it to her.
“The water’s fine.”
I chuckle, looking her over. “It sure is.”
Climbing onto the bed, she tucks her feet under and pulls up the covers. “Are you going to scoot over or hog the entire center of the bed?”
“I have to say, I’m quite comfortable right where I am.”
She snuggles against me, one hand resting on my chest, the other under her. Clicking on the TV, she asks, “Do you always sleep in the middle?”
“I do.”
“That’s the sign of a man who sleeps alone.”
“I’m not seeing the problem.”
“Neither am I,” she whispers with a gentle grin, and then places a kiss on my shoulder. The volume is turned up.
“I’m still full from dinner, but if you’re hungry—”
“No. I’m not. I’m comfortable.”
Wrapping my arm around her, I kiss the top of her head. “Me too.”
* * *
“I’m missing my donkey shaved pencil. It has to be here somewhere.”
“No. No, I got it. My ass is cold so give me a pen to fumigate the apartment.” She bursts out laughing. We’ve been watching TV with the volume off for two hours and filling in with our own dialogue to soap style shows.
I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard hanging out with a woman. She may have some high walls built to protect herself, but lying here, they’ve all but disappeared.
I thought her looking me up online would taint things, but it’s not been like that at all. With her, I’m not a millionaire or the brother of a famous billionaire. I’m not the ladies’ man or a high school football star. None of that seems to matter to Winter.