by Carrie Elks
She turned her head to see Lachlan lying beside her on the king-sized mattress. His hair was a little mussed, and the white sheet was gathered around his waist, revealing the toned ridges of his abdomen and chest, his skin tanned in the half-light. ‘Hi.’
‘You didn’t run this time,’ he said, moving his hand around from her back to cup her stomach, pulling her back against him. He was warm, so warm, reminding her of another night when they’d gone so much further than she intended.
‘Give me time.’
He laughed. ‘Maybe I should impound your passport. That way there’s no escape.’
‘I’d like to see you try.’ She bit down a smile. ‘Anyway, you promised me a weekend in Paris, why would I want to leave?’
‘I promised you a weekend in bed,’ he corrected her.
She turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. ‘I just want to show a beautiful girl a beautiful city.’ She did a passable imitation of his accent. ‘Remember?’
‘You saw the city last night.’ He was drawing circles on her stomach with his fingers, dipping lower and lower.
‘I was in a cab and it was dark. I barely got to see any of it.’
He pressed his lips against her shoulder. ‘We got to see each other. That’s what matters.’
She closed her eyes for a moment as he brushed his lips across her neck, kissing his way to the other side. Her whole body tingled at his touch. ‘Lachlan…’
‘Mmm?’ His voice was muffled by her skin.
‘I can’t come to Paris and not see anything.’ Though right then she was sorely tempted. ‘What about the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe? The Louvre?’
‘They’re lovely. But not as lovely as you.’ He reached for her chin, turning her head so he could kiss her. ‘They can wait.’ His kisses became more insistent, lighting her on fire until she almost forgot about her need to sightsee. She could feel his excitement as he turned her around until their bodies were pressing together, his hands running down her back to the base of her spine, where every single nerve seemed to tingle at his touch.
‘Lachlan,’ she whispered against his lips.
‘Yeah?’ His voice was thick with desire.
‘We’re definitely going sightseeing this afternoon.’
As soon as they walked out of the lift, the wind whipped at her hair. Though the sun was still shining down from a clear blue sky, the air on the top floor of the Eiffel Tower was considerably cooler, and she pulled her jacket a little tighter against the breeze.
They walked towards the edge, Lachlan taking his hand in hers. She looked up at him, as if surprised at the intimate gesture. He suppressed a grin. If she thought holding hands was intimate, then what the hell had they been doing all night?
Below them, Paris stretched out like a contented cat, only slightly obscured by the criss-crossing of wires that encircled the viewing platform. She reached out for the handrail, and he slid in behind her, his arms encircling her as they stared out at the city.
It had been strange, seeing a city he knew so well through her eyes. He’d been caught up in her excitement as they wandered the banks of the Seine, and had bitten down a grin at her disappointment when she saw just how small the Mona Lisa was. By the time they’d climbed the Arc de Triomphe, Lachlan had spent more time looking at her than he had at the beautiful city before them. And now they were at the Eiffel Tower – the last place on her list – she seemed more radiant than ever.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered. They took in the Tuileries Garden as it stretched from the Louvre to the Place de la Concorde, the rectangle of green intersected with pale yellow walkways, and two ponds – one circular, one octagonal – that topped and tailed the terraces.
He leaned closer into her, his body caging her in. ‘It all looks so small from here,’ he said, his mouth close to her ear. ‘It makes everything seem so insignificant.’
She half-turned her head to look at him. ‘That’s because we are insignificant.’ A smile was playing at her lips, and he couldn’t work out if she was teasing him or being serious.
A shaft of sunlight hit her face, illuminating her skin, and he couldn’t help but stare at her, absorbing her beauty the way she was absorbing the rays. Her lips parted, but her words were stolen by the wind. She repeated herself – louder this time.
‘I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve been here.’ She shook her head. ‘All the travelling I’ve done, and this place was always on my doorstep.’
Lachlan swept the hair away from her face with his hand, exposing her neck. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against her throat, gently kissing his way up to her chin. ‘Remind me why we aren’t in bed right now,’ he murmured, feeling her laughter through her skin.
But instead of talking, she turned her head until her lips met his, their kisses becoming heated within seconds. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him, leaving her in no doubt that he’d rather be in their hotel room right then.
‘Because the anticipation is almost as good as the real thing,’ she whispered into his lips. ‘And we have all night, remember?’
But that was all they had, and he wanted to make it last as long as he could. Because when morning came, all bets would be off. She’d be heading back to Edinburgh, and he’d be on a plane to New York, and it would be like this weekend never happened.
He ran his hand through her hair, feeling the silken strands curling around his fingers. The way she was staring up at him, eyes soft, lips open, made him want to push her against the railing and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. But they weren’t alone – they were surrounded by tourists, brushing past them, grumbling, sending them strange looks.
He leaned his head forward, until his brow was pressed against hers. When she blinked he felt her eyelashes touch his. Her chest hitched, her breath stuttered against his skin, and all he could think of was how much he needed her right then.
‘Let’s go back to our room,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse. He brushed his lips against hers again, feeling a flash of desire shooting through his veins.
‘One more stop,’ she said, her lips moving against his. ‘Let’s just see one more thing and then we’ll go back.’ She closed her eyes as he moved his mouth to her neck, softly kissing his way to her throat. ‘You can choose where we go.’
He breathed in her warm skin, smelling the fragrance of her perfume, mixed in with the floral notes of her shampoo. ‘Okay,’ he agreed, ‘we’ll see one more thing, and then for the next fourteen hours the only sight I want to look at is you.’
He knew exactly what he wanted to show her as soon as she’d said the words. And it wasn’t a huge in-your-face monument like the Eiffel Tower, or a tourist mecca like the Louvre. It was smaller, more intimate, and yet he still found himself hesitating for a moment, before leaning forward to tell the cab driver where to take them next. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share this with her, more that he was afraid she wouldn’t see it the same way he did.
‘We’re going to another gallery?’ she asked, looking at him quizzically. ‘I didn’t think you liked the paintings at the Louvre that much.’
‘I liked some of them,’ he said, still feeling that strange edge. ‘But this place is different. It doesn’t have paintings.’
Within minutes they were pulling up outside a tall glass building, the light inside flooding out into the Paris streets. Lachlan leaned forward to pay the driver, then climbed out first, offering his hand to Lucy as she left the taxi.
‘Always the gentleman,’ she said, sliding her palm into his.
‘Almost always.’ If she could read his mind, she’d probably change hers. Every time he looked at her there was a need he was finding it harder to ignore. As though their weekend together was only bringing him to a boiling point.
Still holding her hand, he led her inside the gallery, nodding at the dark-haired lady standing behind the desk. There were only a few people inside, wandering around the exhibits, their vo
ices little more than low murmurs in the resounding silence. But it wasn’t the people inside he was looking at, it was her and her reaction. Would she see the beauty that he did, or would it simply be another sight for her to add to her collection? A photograph that would disappear among all the others on her desk.
He hated the thought of that, as much as he hated the thought of her leaving on Sunday.
‘What is this?’ Lucy asked, staring around the room. It was filled with ceramics – old ones, by the looks of them. From their designs and colours she recognised them as oriental – Japanese or Chinese, maybe. But it wasn’t their ethnicity that drew the eye. It was the jagged lines on each piece, filled with gold resin, making new patterns across the old glaze.
‘It’s called Kintsugi,’ Lachlan told her, as they walked into the centre of the room. His voice was strangely hesitant. ‘The Ancient Japanese art of ceramic repair.’ He pulled her towards a large plate. ‘This one is a few hundred years old. See the way each piece is glued together? That lacquer is mixed with powdered gold.’
She leaned forward, her eyes tracing the criss-cross pattern of glue. ‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Do they do it on purpose?’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘Not originally, though I’m sure some do now. It’s more than an art, it’s a philosophy. The belief that things can be more beautiful if they’re broken. That an object’s history only adds to its appeal. That we should enhance our imperfections, not hide them.’
His expression was intense as he stared at her, and she could feel her body responding to his gaze. He looked as excited as he had that day out by the loch, surrounded by nature’s beauty. As though he was springing to life. ‘How do you know so much about it?’ she asked.
‘I lived next door to a Japanese family when I grew up,’ he said, as they moved to the next piece. ‘They found me crying one day when I’d broken my mom’s vase. It was only a cheap thing from Walmart or somewhere, but I knew she was going to be crazy upset by it. The grandma showed me how to repair it and make it look more beautiful. She told me the gold lacquer was like a scar, that we should wear our scars with pride, because they proved to everybody we were survivors.’
Almost immediately her thought was drawn to her own scar. With her free hand – the one not holding on to Lachlan – she reached beneath her hair and touched it.
‘When I first saw that scar, I thought of Kintsugi,’ Lachlan murmured, watching her. ‘You hide it away as though it’s something to be ashamed of. But scars aren’t disfigurements, they’re medals. They show you survived.’
He’d done it again: said something that brought tears to her eyes. She rolled her lip between her teeth, biting on it to stem her emotions. Some things were too horrible to be proud of.
He stopped walking, and reached out to her, tracing the scar with his finger. She held her breath, the touch of his hand like fire against her skin. For a moment it felt as though they were the only people in the gallery, just the two of them, surrounded by ancient Japanese works of art. And the way he was looking at her, as though she was the most beautiful of all of them, was sending her soaring.
‘Why do you try to hide your scar?’ He traced it again, his touch as soft as cotton. ‘It’s part of you, and that makes it beautiful.’
A single tear escaped the barrier she’d tried to create, rolling down her cheek. She tried to swallow, but the congestion in her throat prevented her.
‘It’s an imperfection,’ she finally whispered, her skin on fire beneath his touch. ‘By its very nature, it makes me less than perfect.’
‘What the hell is perfect?’ he asked, sliding his hand until he was cupping the back of her neck. Gently, he kissed away the teardrop that was lingering by her mouth. ‘It’s pretty damned overrated if you ask me. All those women with Botoxed faces, not able to smile or frown? It’s horrible. And these ceramics – before they were broken and mended, they were nothing. Unremarkable. And now they’re exquisite, enough to be displayed in one of the most beautiful galleries in the world.’ His thumb rubbed circles into her neck.
She looked up at him. ‘Is that why you like them?’ she asked. ‘Because of their imperfections?’
‘I like them because they represent a second chance. A second life. They show that no matter how broken things get, they can be mended. And they can become even better than they were to start with.’ He leaned towards her, rubbing his nose against hers. His lips ghosted the corner of her mouth. ‘One man’s imperfection is another man’s work of art,’ he whispered, his breath tickling her skin. She held her own breath as he pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard enough to send shivers pulsing through her spine.
Christ, the man knew how to kiss. She was like potter’s clay in his hands, moulding to him, aching for him to form her into something new. Every time he touched her, every time he said something to her, she was sinking deeper. Into a need she didn’t know she had, and a desperation she had no idea how to control.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, watching him pull the white terry-cloth belts from both their bathrobes, laying the cords on the bed in two parallel lines. ‘What are they for?’
‘Insurance,’ he said, trying to hide a smile. She was so fucking cute.
‘Against what?’
‘Against your better judgement.’
Her mouth dropped open. She was sitting on their bed, her bare legs curled beneath her. When they’d got back from their day of sightseeing he’d run her a bath, pouring her a large glass of white wine to relax her. Her skin was still pink from the heat, her eyes a little glassy from the wine. An intoxicating combination.
‘Stop trying to frighten me,’ she said, sending him an icy stare, though her smile spoiled the effect. ‘I’ve seen a bluff before, remember? It’s my job to work out the truth.’
He’d spent the time she’d been in the bath trying to work out what he was going to do with her. When he’d made the bargain last night, it had been more of a joke than anything else. A way to get her to relax. And it had been pretty fucking hot, too.
But now a whole world of opportunity lay in front of him. Or rather sat in front of him, wearing one of his old, grey T-shirts, her hair wet and brushed back from her face. There was her scar again, a little pinker than the rest of her, a jagged line from her brow to the top of her ear. For some reason he was drawn to it, his curiosity eating at him like a hungry wolf.
‘As soon as I take my shirt off, it’s on,’ he said, pulling it from his waistband. ‘After that you don’t talk back, you don’t question, you just do what I ask. Okay?’ Deftly, he unfastened his buttons, his white cotton shirt gaping to reveal his chest.
Her mouth was slightly open, her eyes wide, her gaze following his hands as he unfastened his cuffs. He could see her swallow, the emotion in her face making her so goddamn expressive. He wanted to kiss the worry lines from her brow.
‘What if I want you to stop?’ she asked him.
‘You won’t want me to,’ he said, grinning. God, this side of her was so different to the Lucy he saw in the office. ‘But if you do, then just say it. “Lachlan, please stop.”’
‘And you’ll stop?’
‘Yes, I will.’
‘Do you do this often?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘Dominate women?’
He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’m not a dominant, Lucy. I’m not going to do any more to you than you did to me last night. I’m going to be in charge, tell you what to do, but believe me, we’re both going to enjoy it.’
‘The way you did last night?’
‘The way we both did.’
‘What about those?’ She inclined her head to the belts, still laid out beside her.
‘I meant them as a joke,’ he admitted. ‘Unless you want to try them.’
‘Okay.’
Her answer shocked the hell out of him. He shook his head as though to send some sense back into it. ‘Seriously?’ She never failed to surprise him. It was one of the things he
liked about her the most, he could never quite guess what she was going to do next.
‘Seriously.’ She nodded.
His cuffs released, he shrugged out of his shirt, watching it fall to the floor in a pool of white cotton. ‘You have one last chance to back out,’ he warned her, more for effect than anything else. This kind of thing had never floated his boat before. Sex had never been about being on top, or planning intricate ways to dominate another human. It had been a way of getting off and that was it.
But now, seeing her sitting in front of him in his over-worn T-shirt, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do. It wasn’t about controlling, it was about pleasing her, about giving her the things she didn’t know she wanted.
Until she had them.
‘Take the T-shirt off,’ he told her, deliberately making his tone sharp.