by CC MacKenzie
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Pascal shifted to look down upon Danni's face and grinned at the way her cheeks were flushed, her gold-brown eyes dazed with arousal.
The taste of her, so good, so familiar, so addictive, seemed to slide through his system. He was also aware that she'd surrendered herself to him, completely. A tenderness he'd never felt before rose up to squeeze his lungs.
He took a shaky breath, pressed his lips to the frantic pulse beneath her ear, and had to laugh because his own pulse wasn't too steady either.
"I knew I had not imagined it. You want me. Tell me you want me," he said softly.
The light floral scent of her shampoo, along with her sweet breath, the soft skin, seemed to make his head spin. Again he bent to kiss a trembling mouth all wet and pink from his.
"I want you," she whispered.
When her breath hitched and her eyes swam with an overflow of feelings, he knew exactly how she felt.
Overwhelmed.
Emotional.
And he was devastated he'd made her cry.
"Don't cry for me, Daniella."
She blinked, heroically fighting back tears, and then she started to laugh softly.
Her slim hands rose from their nail-biting death grip on his shoulders to thread gentle fingertips through his hair. He closed his eyes to simply enjoy the sensation. It was the first time she'd reached out to touch him. And still she laughed.
He opened his eyes to find hers, still golden brown, still wet, but brimming now with fun. She looked gorgeous, just laying there on his bed, her fabulous hair spread like copper silk on his white pillow.
His English was pretty good, even if he said so himself, but now and again he made a blunder.
"What did I say?"
She shook her head, bit her lip in a vain attempt to stop the smile.
"Nothing, it's just my really weird sense of humour. The song Don't Cry For Me, Argentina, slid into my brain. It was the way you said it, the rhythm of the words."
When he growled low in his throat and pretended to bite her neck, she laughed even harder.
Grinning down into her face, he shifted to lean on his elbow. His hand rose to stroke her hair. It was slippery in his hand. He brought it to his nose. Inhaled. And immediately her cheeks went hot.
"I love how your hair feels, how it smells of flowers in a summer meadow. I love looking at you."
Now her knuckles stroked down his cheek and over the dark shadow on his strong jaw. Her eyes followed the path of her thumb again rubbing his bottom lip. Behind the zipper of his pants, his aching shaft, heavy and swollen, jerked at her hip. Her response was a shaky inhale of breath.
"You're all man, Pascal Wolfe." His lips curved. He was feeling pretty damn good about that statement, when she ruined it with, "There's nothing remotely pretty about you."
He blinked, not quite sure what she meant.
He was relieved she didn't think he was pretty.
The mere thought revolted him.
But?
"You do not find me attractive?"
Her eyes went wide with what he realized was disbelief.
"Are you serious? Your face is amazing, maybe even beautiful."
Now his eyes went wide.
Beautiful?
As a testosterone-filled male, he didn't know whether to be offended or thrilled.
Her laugh at his expression made him shrug.
As long as she found him pleasing to the eye, who the hell cared?
Again her thumb stroked his bottom lip - it appeared she had a thing for his mouth - and again his shaft reached for her.
"Hmm. No big ego. Interesting."
"I have a very healthy ego, ma petite. But I do not regard myself as God's gift."
The sound of her cell phone pinging made her blink, and right there he saw that their magical moment was broken.
He rolled away from her.
Danni shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, blew out a long breath.
Whoa, saved by the bell. One more minute and she'd have let him do anything he wanted with her. The man's sexual attraction was absolutely lethal.
Her hand, not quite steady, tucked her hair behind her ear.
He led the way into his kitchen where her bag sat abandoned on the floor.
She grabbed it, rummaged around for her cell to find a message from T.C. - U ok?
Danni: :) U.?
T.C: Shit hit fan. Ana dumped OC. Or OC dumped Ana. What time u back?
Danni: Later. Will txt u.
T.C: :)
Her frown had Pascal's brow rise.
"Bad news?"
Danni's eyes flew to his, caught the way he was watching her.
Intense.
Possessive.
Her heart hitched and she forced herself to take a breath.
And right there she knew that the fact their evening had been interrupted had probably been for the best. Plus, there was no way she was going to share her best friend's private life with a man she hardly knew.
"Just a message from T.C. asking if I'm okay."
Both brows now flew into his hairline.
"T.C.'s in Paris?"
"Yep. Ana, too."
He nodded and all the while his eyes never left hers.
"The gang is all here."
Now her brow creased at the silky tone.
"We're not a gang."
"Best friends then?"
"Family," she stated with a little bite to her tone.
He nodded, about to speak, when the doorbell rang.
Checking his watch, he strolled to the door.
"Ah, our meal has arrived."
Two things struck her.
One, he'd ordered food, which meant the seduction scene in the bedroom would have come to an end without the sudden interruption of her friend's text message. Two, unlike her he hadn't been as carried away by his emotions. She'd psyched herself up and been more than ready for him to make love to her. Truthfully, she was still ready for him to make love to her. But now the horrible thought occurred to her perhaps Pascal, while waiting for their food, had been toying with her. She was so out of her element, her comfort zone, with him it wasn't funny.
Moving to explore the sitting-dining area of the sprawling kitchen, she listened to him instruct the waiters in rapid French where to set-up a table for two (in front of the floor to ceiling window).
"Come, and sit," he invited her.
She turned and blinked at the table set with a pristine cloth of white crisp linen, silverware, crystal glasses, a fat lit candle was nestling in a bed of creamy flowers. A diligent chef wearing a white jacket and tall white hat was engaged in the kitchen, ably helped by a couple of busy assistants. Their jackets wore the logo of one of the city's top restaurants.
Wow, all this for her?
Sliding her hand in his, she let him tow her to the table and sit her.
A dark-suited sommelier poured her a glass of champagne, which she carefully sipped through a superb entrée of seafood. For their main course, Pascal had beef, bloody. The sea bass baked in a sea salt-crust simply blew her away, the taste delicate and delicious. They shared a dish of just-picked vegetables sautéed in a light garlic and garden herb butter.
When they were finally alone sipping strong French coffee with tiny hand-made chocolates, Danni was feeling mellow and relaxed.
"Thank you for dinner, Pascal. The food, the service, the ambience, everything was perfectly lovely."
Throughout the meal, he hadn't taken his dark grey eyes from her face as he'd watched her reaction to every taste. And she wondered if she'd ever get used to the intense focus of his stare.
"You are very welcome." Now he sipped his claret, and sat back in his chair, stretched out long legs. "Are you going to tell me what happened and who hurt you?"
The abrupt change of subject caught her completely by surprise.
She blinked.
Then decided not to pretend to not understand what he was talking about.
To a man of the world like Pascal, a man who understood pretty clearly what it meant when a woman reacted to his advances the way she had, her nervy jerks when touched and emotions that ran too high one minute and too low the next would have been obvious signals that all was not well with her when it came to sex.
So, was she going to confide in him, tell him what had happened to her all those years ago?
Six years.
In some ways the events that had made her the person she was today seemed like yesterday, and in other ways a lifetime ago.
Perhaps the truth would, finally, set her free?
Then again...
"I don't have anything to hide," she said now. "It's more a case of deciding how much very painful and very personal information to share with someone I hardly know."
Eyes steady on her flushed face, Pascal nodded his acceptance of her perfectly valid statement.
"Oui," he said in that deep growly voice, his accent making her tingle from head to toe. "I understand that learning to trust me with your body might be an issue for you. Perhaps you should give me a chance to pleasure you and we can take it from there."
The way he said the word pleasure had the tingle flowing through her system center to a liquid throb low in her belly.
"So, it's all about the sex?" she said in a soft voice.
His dark brows lifted.
Even as he shook his head, those eyes were still on her. "No. You put sex front and center, not me."
She blinked.
He was right.
And now she was complaining?
But something inside her made her push it. "Are you saying that you didn't want sex?"
He held up a hand to stop her. "I wanted you the first moment I saw you. Months later, nothing has changed. You are right for me." When her eyes went wide, he shrugged. "Perhaps I am saying too much, too soon. However, I need to be nothing but honest with you. The question is, do you think I am right for you?"
Omigod.
The man was absolutely serious.
"I don't know..."
Now his hand slid over the table to take hers as he looked deep into her eyes. A slick and practiced move, she knew. He was so good at this. Then Danni found she really didn't care.
"Of course you do not know. Not yet. Give me one chance."
"Okay. Now?"
He smiled in a way that lit up his grey eyes. His whole face changed, made him look younger, carefree and terribly happy.
"Are we in a rush?"
Hell, yes.
Her expression must have said the words because his grin was nothing short of wicked.
"I need you to feel comfortable with me, and with yourself."
As their eyes held, years of memories spun into Danni's reeling mind and fused with what she called her if only dreams. The place deep in her psyche where reality and imagination existed and merged together. If only she hadn't gone out that night. If only she'd listened to her friend's heated opinions on a man who'd dazzled her. If only, if only.
Part of her wanted Pascal so bad it hurt. And then there was the other part, the vulnerable, the scared shitless part, the part that terrified her. But surely if she did nothing, she'd remain trapped in the limbo she'd made for herself? Courage, and according to Ana she had plenty, was the first step on the road to the rest of her life. Doing nothing, rejecting a man she was desperately attracted to simply because of fear of the unknown was simply not an option.
She took her courage in both hands. "Wanna make-out?" she said.
He smiled and then his big hand covered hers, squeezed.
"Not before you share everything with me. Who hurt you, ma petite?" His voice was soft, understanding.
Oh God, this was it.
This was her chance to tell him... everything.
The burn of her lungs prompted her to take a breath.
In her mind she heard Ana's voice telling her to be brave.
Her head dipped and she stared hard at the table cloth until it swam.
Her emotions were a hot rock burning in her throat, roaring in her ears.
"It was bad."
"Danniella. Look at me."
She lifted her head, did as she was told.
And now his other hand took hers, his thumbs rubbing her white knuckles in a slow rhythm. His touch seemed to soothe, seemed to calm the jaws of the savage beast who had her by the throat.
"I want to make you a firm promise," he said now in the same gentle tone. "I do not make promises lightly. I promise never to hurt you. Never, Daniella. You can trust me."
She heard it in his voice, saw it in his eyes, sincerity.
"I really don't know what I am doing here with you," she admitted.
"At the moment you are holding my hands."
That made her smile. "I'm really not sure I'm the right type of woman for you." And that was an understatement.
"That is for me to decide."
"Is it? You have no idea what you're getting into with me. I like my solitude. It's not been easy, but I like the life I've made for myself... after..." She broke off.
How could she tell him there had been days, weeks and months when she hadn't wanted to live?
What would he say to that?
What would he do when she told him she still saw the therapist who'd saved her life?
Not as often, true, but still regularly.
"Look at me," he said in a tone that brooked no refusal.
The tone made her frown into his eyes. "Plus, you're very bossy."
Still his hands held hers, still those thumbs stroked in a way that made the tingles tingle deep in her belly. "I have not even begun to boss you."
The words were said so seriously, her lips twitched. "I think I like it, a little."
Again his wonderful real smile bloomed. "You can rest assured that the only place I need to rule absolutely is in the bedroom."
Oh my.
"So you want me to trust you with my secrets, even if you're bossy and domineering in the bedroom?"
"Oui. I want you in my life, as my girlfriend, my lover."
Her jaw nearly dropped at the realization that he wanted a lot more than perhaps she was ready to give.
And what did she feel about that?
Immediately the logistics of having a relationship with him rose.
"I live in London. You live in Paris. How is that going to work?"
He shrugged, the move a very Gallic act. "Compromise. Negotiation. We talk about it."
She blinked.
He'd obviously thought long and hard about what he wanted from her.
But what about what she wanted?
"What if I don't want you to have total control in the bedroom?"
"Then you say so. We talk about our needs. We respect each other's wants and feelings."
A wave of heady relief that talking to him about her fears had been so effortless, so easy, made her smile.
"Okay."
Now he dipped his head, his eyes studying her face very carefully. "I find you adorable. Sexy. And I want to be with you, making love to you in my bed, right now. I want to be deep inside you, and in the morning watch you sleep in my arms."
As he spoke the words in a soft but deeply intense French accent, she knew she wanted it, all of it, too.
If only she could lose the fear and find the bravery to take everything he so freely offered.
"You have gone very pale," he said now. "Too much, too soon?"
"No," she shook her head. "It all sounds amazing. I've never had a normal relationship."
His eyes narrowed in a way that told her he was not unhappy with her news.
"Excellent. If you are considering saying yes it means you have deep feelings for me."
"I do."
Now he brought her hands to his mouth, kissed her knuckles.
"You should also know I do not share, Daniella."
Very slowly, she blinked twice, amazed he'd even consider she'd go with a man while in a relationshi
p with another.
"Ditto," she said with a bit of a snap.
"Tonight," he said. "I will return you to your hotel and your friends. When you are ready to come to me, let me know."
Excuse me?
'But... I am ready!' she wanted to yell.
Her face must have shown the shock, the disappointment, the confusion.
He seriously wasn't going to have sex with her right now, tonight?
She'd psyched herself up and got all hot and bothered, for nothing?
Now the horrible thought slid into her mind that he was treating her like a child.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"I'm thinking about the age difference."
He blinked and she recognized by his face that she'd wrong-footed him.
It was a very heady feeling.
"I am thirty-four," he said now.
"I'm twenty-four," she shot right back.
The tone of her voice, the irritation, was clear.
Abruptly the confident-man-about-town attitude was gone now, replaced by a stunned male confusion that utterly thrilled her.
"You think I am too old for you?" His voice, the expression on his face, was filled a disbelief that almost dared her to answer in the affirmative.
And Danni had never backed down from a dare in her life.
"Hmm. The age difference is a concern for me," she answered honestly.
She had to bite down very hard on her bottom lip when he paled.
"I am a young man. I am fit, healthy."
"Domineering. Bossy," she added.
"Only in bed, ma petite. I like what I like."
Whereas she had no idea what she liked in bed. Wasn't it better to be with a man, she reasoned, who'd had plenty of experience? Even though she had zero confidence in the bedroom, she still wanted him. The delight that he was considering a relationship with her, slowly drained away.
He might not be so eager to want her as his girlfriend when he found out the details, the facts, of her past.
She was damaged goods, both physically and mentally.
Abruptly, the truth of her situation struck her a sucker punch of reality, that hit her so hard she actually shuddered with the force of it.
Who was she kidding?
She couldn't imagine any man wanting her.
Especially a man like Pascal Wolfe.