by Ruff, K. S.
Michael groaned, but he grabbed my hand and led me out of the room. Rafael was nowhere to be seen. Michael snagged a bottle of red wine from the wine cellar on our way back to the room. He opened the bottle and sent me to the bathroom with a glass of wine.
I took a quick shower and toweled off. I tugged the bathrobe on and downed the wine while I applied makeup and styled my hair. Liquid courage, I thought. I was still wearing the bathrobe when I wandered back into the bedroom.
I stopped short at the sight of Michael. He had already changed into black dress pants, a crisp white shirt with cuffed sleeves and brushed silver cufflinks, and a deep burgundy and silver tie. His jet black hair hung in waves just below his collar. A black suit jacket lay over the top of a nearby chair. I forced myself to look away. The guy looked so devastatingly handsome that I doubted there was a woman on the planet who could resist him.
I was walking toward the closet when I discovered a black cocktail dress draped over the edge of the bed. I glanced at Michael in surprise. I reached for the dress, curious about what he’d selected for me to wear. The dress plunged in a beautiful drape that would fall dangerously low across my back. I glared at Michael when I realized the cut of the dress would make it impossible to wear a bra.
He raised a single eyebrow, daring me to object.
I dropped the dress on the bed and walked into the closet, intent on finding something a little less revealing to wear. I was reaching for another dress when Michael grabbed me from behind.
He nibbled at my ear. “Ma chérie, you don’t really think you can get away with that?”
As Michael spun me around, he slid his hands inside the bathrobe. One hand pinned me against his hips while the other slid from my hip to my breast. Michael didn’t wait for my response. His mouth captured mine as his thumb traced seductive circles around my breast. I whimpered as he pinched my nipple into a hard peak. “You really don’t want to deny me the pleasure of seeing you in that dress,” he murmured in a warning tone. His lips abandoned mine as he trailed open mouthed kisses all down my neck.
I cried out as Michael bent me back. His tongue flicked teasingly over my breast before he latched on with a long, drawing pull that completely curled my toes. “Okay,” I gasped. “Michael, I’ll wear the dress!”
Michael didn’t release me until he had completely consumed both breasts. I clung to him as my entire body clenched. “Please,” I rasped. “I’ll wear the dress.”
Michael’s voice was husky when he finally spoke. “I had hoped you would require additional convincing.”
I stood speechless as he strode back into the bedroom. He returned with the dress. I snatched the dress from his hand and clutched it in front of me until he left. I tugged a lace thong over my hips before pulling the dress over my head. I rubbed irritably at my chest. My nipples could easily be seen pressing against the soft silk dress. I gave up and stalked back into the bedroom completely annoyed. “Were you feeling strongly about the shoes too?” I asked sarcastically.
Michael laughed as he scooped a pair of strappy heels from off the floor. “Not particularly.” My heart was pounding as he handed me the shoes. He chuckled. “Perhaps you should think twice about playing with fire, mon coeur?”
I scowled at him as I perched on the arm of a chair and strapped on the four inch heels. When I stood, Michael slowly twirled a finger through the air, indicating that I should turn around. I huffed out a breath in complete exasperation before slowly turning in front of him. I glanced over my shoulder, a bit concerned about what he might do next.
His eyes were nearly black when they met mine. “I doubt we will make it through dinner before I rip it off.”
I gasped. I slammed my mouth shut as the words you wouldn’t rose to my lips.
Michael’s eyes sparked. “Oh, yes, I would.”
I muttered irritably under my breath as I stormed back into the bathroom. I pulled my hair up into a messy upsweep, not because I wanted to look nice, but because I wanted to give Michael some time to cool off.
Michael draped a silver pashmina over my shoulders when I returned to the bedroom. “Shall we?” he inquired with a smug look.
I didn’t bother responding.
He laughed as he ushered me out the door and into the limousine.
We were in the car for a whopping ten minutes. The driver pulled up to a dock along the Seine River. I glanced at Michael questioningly. “I thought we were going to dinner.”
He smiled as he helped me from the car. “We are.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. He seemed to be enjoying my confusion as we walked toward a private yacht.
Rafael met us at the side of the boat. He reached for my hand as he helped me step across. His eyes met mine as I joined him on the boat. “Bonsoir, Madame Stone.”
“Bonsoir, Rafael,” I responded, just as he released my hand.
Michael stepped onto the yacht and immediately tucked me under his arm. “Rafael,” he growled in an irritable tone.
My eyes flitted between the two men. I suddenly realized I’d never seen them together before. I wondered if they’d had some sort of falling out.
Rafael seemed completely unfazed by Michael’s tone. He nodded once. “Enjoy your evening, Monsieur.” He put a great deal of emphasis on the last word.
Rafael glanced at me before bowing slightly and walking away. Two other gentleman disappeared into the cabin with him. Like Rafael, they were dressed entirely in black.
Michael led me up a short flight of stairs to the second floor of the yacht. My breath caught at the sight of a small table set for two with white linens, crystal wine glasses, and white porcelain china. Three candles, nestled inside silver votives, flickered in the center of the table. A beautiful bouquet of deep red roses was lying on the edge of the table next to one of the plates.
I was still struggling to speak when Michael tucked me into one of the chairs. He handed me the card that had been secreted inside the flowers. I opened the envelope as he took his seat. He had written his message in French, just as he always did.
Je ne rêve que de ce que l'avenir nous réserve. Tu es mon coeur, mon espoir, ma vie. Amour, Michael.
I only understood a few of the words, so I looked at Michael expectantly.
He reached for my hand. His lips brushed against my fingers before he spoke. “I dream only of what the future holds for us. You are my heart, my hope, my life.”
Goose bumps danced along my arms as Michael’s eyes held mine. “Merci,” I whispered softly. It was impossible not to be affected by the emotion in his voice, his face, and eyes. There had always been a part of me that wanted to love Michael, but he had approached our relationship with reckless abandon from the very beginning. His consuming personality had frightened me, not because I thought he’d hurt me, but because he threatened the control I had clung to throughout my abusive marriage. Kadyn had gently and methodically torn down the walls I had built around my heart, leaving me vulnerable to Michael in a way that I had never been before.
A waiter approached our table with a basket of sliced baguette. He poured sparkling water and Beaujolais into our glasses, just as the yacht pulled away from the dock. Soft jazz played from speakers hidden along the deck.
Michael raised his wine glass. “Santé.”
“Santé,” I responded, clinking my glass against his. I could barely tear my eyes from the Eiffel Tower, which was glowing softly against the dusky sky.
The waiter returned a few minutes later with two bowls of chestnut soup. “Bon appétit.”
“Merci,” Michael and I replied as one.
“Bon appétit,” I repeated to Michael, before reaching for my spoon.
He smiled. “Bon appétit, mon amour.” His eyes sought mine as we sampled the soup. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
My spoon paused in mid-air. “No,” I responded warily. I set the spoon back inside the bowl.
“What did you feel for me when we first met?”
His question c
aught me by surprise, so I took a few minutes to think about it. Michael and I first met at the gym. He struck up a conversation after asking to work in between my sets on the leg press. I asked about his accent because it was so uncommon for anyone in Montana to have a foreign accent. This inspired a rather lengthy conversation about where Michael was from. He kept talking and continued working in with me as I made my way down the weight machines. I was instantly attracted to him, both physically and intellectually. He was well-traveled, a bit mysterious, and extremely intelligent. His seductive tone had a mind numbing effect on me; and the fact that he looked like a Greek God certainly hadn’t hurt. He asked me out to dinner at the end of our workout, but I negotiated him down to lunch, thinking it was safer for a first date. As I reflected back on our first encounter I glanced back up at Michael and tried to explain. “I was enthralled with you.”
Michael nodded. “I wanted you the second I laid eyes on you.”
I knew that was true. There had been an intensity about Michael, a look in his eyes that made it physically impossible to breathe. He had been incredibly attentive and romantic on the first date, even though we had only gone to lunch. I had suggested we meet at the restaurant, but he insisted on driving. He brought me roses and kissed me on both cheeks when he picked me up. He opened doors for me, kept his hand on the small of my back when we walked, and he acted like no one else in the world even existed when he was listening to me. The one red flag had been how annoyed he became with our waitress when she interrupted our conversation. Still, I found Michael fascinating. He was unlike anyone I had ever met before.
Our lunch date lasted for hours. I had been so captivated by Michael’s stories that I didn’t want the date to end. Michael ordered a bottle of wine, so I was a bit tipsy when he finally took me home. I was totally unprepared for the way he kissed me goodbye, because he’d been such a gentleman all afternoon. He completely ravished me as he pressed me up against my door.
I was shocked by the intense desire he had stoked in me; it had been in such stark contrast to what I’d felt in my marriage. I seriously doubted my ability to resist him, so I didn’t invite him inside my apartment. Still, when he insisted on taking me out to dinner the next night, there wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to say no. I looked back up at Michael and confessed, “I had never wanted anyone the way I wanted you when you kissed me at the end of our first date.”
Michael looked relieved. “Then you felt it too?”
I nodded, although I wasn’t entirely certain what “it” was. The very next day, I had asked the owner of my favorite wine store to recommend a wine that would impress someone from France. I wanted to do something special for Michael, to thank him for that first date, and a bottle of wine seemed like the perfect gift. The wine had cost close to fifty dollars, but I was thrilled with the expression on Michael’s face when I handed it to him.
Aside from his repeated rudeness to the waiters, dinner had been great. I had deflected most of his questions about my past, because I didn’t want to share any details about my abusive marriage. Still, Michael seemed captivated by the few stories I did share about my work, my interests, and my extremely limited travels. Neither of us wanted the evening to end. So, we went to his apartment after dinner to share the wine I’d purchased for him. We decided to go to my place when we discovered his roommate was home. I glanced at Michael questioningly. “Did you really have a roommate in Montana?”
Michael’s eyes lit with amusement. “No, that was my bodyguard. I had just moved to Montana. I was uncertain about the level of protection I would need there, but I didn’t want him ruining our dates.”
My eyes widened as we drifted past a beautifully lit building that looked a lot like a palace.
“That is the Musée d'Orsay,” Michael explained before leaning across the table. “In Paris, it is customary to kiss under the bridges.” He nodded over my shoulder.
I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, the yacht was inching toward a stone bridge. I rolled my eyes and gave him a quick kiss, knowing full well that my refusal would lead to something far worse.
He hooked his hand around the back of my neck as he prolonged the kiss. A number of people standing on top of the bridge cheered when he finally released me.
I was trying really hard to be annoyed when what I really wanted was another kiss. I groaned when I realized the full extent to which my body had responded to the kiss. I tugged the pashmina back over my shoulders. My nipples had hardened and were now straining against the thin silk dress.
Michael did not hide the fact that he was staring at my chest. His attention was rapt, as if trying to solve some puzzle. His eyes locked on mine. “What about after the second date?” he asked, steering the conversation back to where we’d left off.
I suddenly realized I should be very worried about this line of questioning and the power Michael would hold over me if he knew how deeply I was attracted to him.
Michael held my gaze as I took a sip of wine. He was far too observant, far too in tune with my body for me to get away with lying.
I drained the entire glass of wine before setting it back on the table. My thoughts returned to our second date. The first two hours at my apartment had been innocent enough. We sipped on wine and talked while curled up on my couch. Eventually, Michael reached for my glass and set it aside. He kissed me so hungrily, that I lost all ability to think and breathe. Things quickly spiraled out of control after that. Michael stoked an insatiable need that far surpassed anything I had ever felt. “I was mindless with desire,” I admitted breathlessly. Why was it so difficult to breathe?
Michael’s eyes turned black.
The waiter quietly approached with the main course, a seared white sturgeon drizzled with caviar in a creamy white wine sauce. We were passing by the Louvre. Notre Dame loomed just up ahead.
Michael waited for the server to leave. He looked thoroughly perplexed when he responded. “Then what happened? What scared you off?”
I had no trouble pinpointing that. “You, Michael, and the way you made me feel.”
Michael scowled. “What’s wrong with feeling passion, with wanting someone?”
I fought back panic as I tried to explain. “I wasn’t used to feeling those things, Michael. I wasn’t used to losing control like that.” I had come so close to having sex with Michael that night, and it had only been our second date. We ended up completely naked in bed. I had wanted him in the worst possible way, but he didn’t have protection. So I refused to have sex. We had come damn close, and he still ended up sleeping in my bed.
I made another attempt to explain. “I began to freak out the next morning, after you left. I lost all control when you were kissing me, Michael. Control was the only thing that had really kept me safe in my marriage.” I looked down at the food on my plate. “Well, it didn’t always keep me safe.” I forced myself to look at Michael. “I’m sorry, Michael. I was terrified about how you made me feel, the intensity of your feelings, my feelings, and my complete inability to maintain a respectable amount of self-control. I just needed some time and space.”
I held up my hand as Michael began to interject. “I know you tried to give me space before our third date, but then you referred to me as your fiancé when you introduced me to your colleagues. You insisted it was a misunderstanding, then you turned around and proposed on New Year’s Eve. You were moving way too fast. I needed time to sort through my feelings, time to get to know you better, and time to adjust to this idea of you being in my life. I tried to explain all of this when I declined the ring, but you wouldn’t listen. You kept pushing me to marry you, and you were so upset when I refused. Then you showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night. You pounded on the door and demanded I let you in. I was too terrified to let you in.”
My breath caught. “I was too terrified to let you in,” I repeated brokenly. “I assumed it would turn violent, like my previous relationship.” My chest tightened as tears pooled in my eyes.
Tears slid silently down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Michael. I’m sorry I presumed the worst… that I didn’t give you a chance to prove you wouldn’t hurt me. But you were the first person I dated after my divorce. My marriage had been a disaster. I didn’t know passion, I didn’t know what love was, and I didn’t trust anyone.”
Michael rose from his chair. He reached for my hand and gently pulled me into his arms.
I burst into tears as I mourned my marriage, the nine miserable years I’d spent beaten and abused, and all the ways my ex-husband’s actions were still ruining my life.
“Je suis désolé,” Michael murmured soothingly. He dried my tears with his hands as my sobbing subsided into deep, shuddering breaths. He reached for my hand and held it against his chest while his other hand softly caressed my back. I closed my eyes as he tucked my head under his chin. His weight shifted. Then his feet led mine in a slow, tender dance.
I took a deep breath and relaxed into the scent of his cedar, citrus, and clove laced cologne. I could feel his heart beat under my hand, the warmth of his body, and his well-muscled thighs as we moved in time to the soft jazz wafting across the deck.
Michael nuzzled the side of my head. “I wish I had known. If I had known about your past, I wouldn’t have pushed so hard. I would have taken things slower, and I would have never pounded on that door. I am so sorry, Kristine.”
I sighed into his chest. “I know, Michael. I’m sorry too. I should have been more honest about my past.”
Michael stepped back so he could look at me. “I would never hit you, Kristine. I swear it. I will never hurt you. I will make sure no one ever hurts you again.”
Tears welled in my eyes.
Michael looked defeated. A long sigh eased through his lips. “I didn’t mean to scare you, mon coeur. I had never proposed before. I hadn’t even considered getting married until I met you. And I know you think I’m crazy, but I knew. I knew the second I met you that you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I couldn’t bear the thought of being without you, and I could feel you pulling away after I spent the night. I thought if I proposed you would see my feelings for you were sincere. I was crazy in love with you, Kristine. It took me by storm, and it killed me when you said no. I couldn’t believe you had refused to marry me. And this idea that you needed less from me didn’t make sense. I was so certain you needed more.”