Like they knew I was checking the screen, it rang. Simon. I answered fast and rolled a t-shirt over my fit body to stay warm.
“Quentin, finally, man. When does your train get in?”
I went to the window and clicked speakerphone. The wind rattled the glass as I said, “It doesn’t. Mechanical difficulties.”
“We’re here now. Are you in Paris?”
I glanced at the full moon. Kara’s warmness seemed close. “I’ll be in Monte Carlo tomorrow. We can talk then.”
“Yes, I’ll talk some sense into you. You can’t just give up like this.”
Being a doctor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’d let Cecilia down and not protected her. She’d died under my care.
My patients can find another to bandage their broken bones. I shrugged and traced the moon in the glass. “Starting over is not a bad thing.”
“It is when you’re destroying your passion.”
I tapped the center of the window and remembered most of my life, wishing on the nightly globe, and none of that nonsense had ever come true.
Blake was still dead. So was Cecilia. And that was all me. Now I wished for more time with Kara, but she’d fly home. All we had was the moment too, which should make me satisfied.
“I’ll get over it,” I said.
Simon said, “We’ll talk more seriously when you’re here.”
“Talk to you tomorrow.” I clicked the phone off speaker and headed back into the center of my room.
I was about to say goodbye, but Simon said, “Wait… Calliope wants to talk to you.” I unzipped my bag and grabbed my cologne and my sweatpants. Grandmother’s ring almost fell out, but I slipped the box back in my bag fast. Then I stripped. No need to dress if I ended up where I wanted to be, but then I heard the blast from the past’s breath over the line.
“Hello, Calliope.”
Her voice hadn’t changed at all as she said, “Quentin, do you remember when we watched tons of cartoons?”
“I remember some,” I answered, but Blake’s flamed eyes when I’d mentioned Calliope’s breasts in the bathroom mirror flared in my mind. My brother had been seriously in love with her, though she probably didn’t know.
“You’re like my little brother too,” she said. “And I wanted to ask something personal.”
Maybe I was the wanker Kara called me. I pinched my eyes shut. “What?”
“What kind of girls are you interested in dating?” she prodded. “Maybe we can find you a better one than your last. Your grandmother wasn’t a fan of your ex.”
Grand-mère Marie complained about every girl she’d ever seen me with. Cecilia and I had fit well enough, and we’d never fought, even when I failed her.
I don’t remember if she ever said anything to Blake, though, when he’d been alive. I hadn’t even thought about it until now. “She’s overprotective of me. They all are after what happened with Blake.”
These phone conversations sparked more memories. My brother had acted like Simon was his brother, and I’d cried that I’d wanted to come that fateful day.
Calliope said, “I never should have gone with the boys. I spent years blaming myself.”
The last thing I needed was a day of crying. They’d been in the boat with my brother, but I was the one who hadn’t put the life vest back. I’d been protected when I shouldn’t have been. Years of being denied to leave the vineyard flew at me as a result of that day.
“My brother liked you. I remember that, and he’d not want you to be upset.”
“You were always a good kid.” She paused, and I imagined a soft smile curling her lips. “So, what kind of girl should I hope to find for you?”
I laughed. The last thing I needed was random women brought over to the table like I was some prize. No one wanted a broken doctor as a forever.
And I had no future to offer anyone.
Not even to Kara. Luckily, Kara would return to America and wasn’t interested in more than the now, so this respite with her was temporary. I tore my shirt off and decided not to wear another as I said, “I’m bringing my new girlfriend with me.”
Hopefully, she’ll agree. I hadn’t asked, but Kara responded like she’d wanted me. I sprayed my cologne as Calliope asked, “New?”
“One my grand-mère has not met.”
If she said no, I’d say we broke up. At least I didn’t have to explain bang-able curves over the phone.
“What’s she like?” Calliope asked.
“Nothing like my grand-mère disapproved exes.”
The truth flew out of my mouth. I’d never desired a woman so instantly as much as Kara.
Calliope said, “Different is good. I look forward to meeting her. Simon wants to talk again.”
“Okay.” I glanced at the adjoining door. This delay was taking longer than expected. I tossed the cologne back in my bag and folded my clothes.
Simon popped in my ear. “Look, I’m not pushing, but giving up on being a doctor because of a mistake only lets that one moment destroy what you love to do.”
I grabbed my toothbrush. “I’m okay. When Blake died, my father lost the son he groomed to follow in his footsteps. So, it all worked out in the end.”
“Fulfilling other people’s hopes instead of your own never works out in the end.”
Score one for Simon. Who the fuck knew he’d turn out wise? As a boy I’d seen him counting the farts of his classmates on a calendar.
“Maybe, but most people don’t have my cushion. My life will be okay.”
“You’ll have to look me in the eye for that one. I spent too many years training to be a doctor to ever give up on this dream now. And I don’t think my wife would let me.”
Years of medical school and residency in the ER had been taxing but rewarding. I’d gone into private practice for sane hours, but that clearly had been wise. It was easier to quit when I lost feelings entirely. “Sounds like you settled into a responsible man now.”
“Funny, kid, still. Look, I hope this new girl you have is the good kind. A good woman makes life worth living.”
Simon was a different person now. He was smart and responsible. The boy I remembered never took anything seriously, ever.
All I could say now was, “Life passes you by whether you’re married or not, but I will see you tomorrow.”
“Take care. I’ll set up a lunch,” Simon said as a goodbye.
Good. I brought my toothbrush to the bathroom. “We’ll be there.”
Then I headed in and cleaned myself up fast. Kara had waited too long, and my wanker—as she named my cock—throbbed to enter her.
I washed the bin and my brush, leaving it for the morning, and headed to the adjoining door. My phone vibrated again, and I picked it up, half expecting the conversation to continue with Simon or Calliope. Instead, it was Cecilia’s sister, Desiree as she texted, You left a few things.
One day we might meet on the streets, and it was better to be cool and not let her know how Cecilia’s death cemented my indefinite bachelorhood. I texted back, Keep it all, Desiree.
Three dots appeared, and I knew one thing about Desiree. When she wanted to do something, she followed through. She’d call my parents next if I didn’t answer as she wanted. Finally, her words appeared on my screen, Quentin, you didn’t need to leave Paris forever. I want to send your things and not let my sister’s ghost haunt me for years.
Her tears and screams about Cecilia echoed in my ears. Nothing she’d said had made me feel better. I’d killed Cecilia, without help. It was like I relived Blake’s death as an adult, and I froze.
My hands trembled a little, and I typed fast, No problem. Send whatever you think I should have to my parents.
More dots. I glanced at the door and wished I was with Kara already. The night was taking too long, but then Desiree’s words popped up, Thank you for making this easy.
No problem. I have to go. Then I turned my phone off.
No more interruptions. I’d failed as a fiancé; I’d fai
led at being a doctor, but I’d not fail Kara and her needs. In fact, I’d ensure she experienced bliss. This was the only mission I could accept now.
Chapter 7
Kara
I checked myself in the mirror and patted on an extra layer of makeup.
My heart pounded.
I checked my drab clothes and my phone in my back pocket in case I needed to call for advice on what to do.
I looked… plain. I’d chosen this outfit for the train ride as I sought comfort and hadn’t planned on Quentin. Or wine. Or giving myself to a man I’d known for a day.
I was so out of character, and I didn’t care. Maybe the clothes were why I was here, alone. I unbuttoned my shirt he’d had his hand half up earlier today and unzipped my bag to find my black heels.
As I slipped them on, I took a moment to close my eyes and breathe. I opened the window, and I heard everything he said next door immediately as his words were clear, “I’ll be in Monte Carlo tomorrow. We can talk then.”
I backed up as I hadn’t meant to listen, but then another man said, “Yes, I’ll talk some sense into you. You can’t just give up like this.”
Give up? What was Quentin abandoning? My skin was jittery that this was about his ex when he said, “Starting over is not a bad thing.”
Starting over? Because his relationship ended? He hadn’t seemed upset over his relationship ending, but I hadn’t asked for details. I reached to close the windows, but then his friend said, “It is when you’re destroying your passion.”
My wanker had nothing but passion, except when he was rather brooding and silent. Part of me wanted to help, though that was silly. We hardly knew each other.
And then he said, “I’ll get over it.”
His friend said, “We’ll talk more seriously when you’re here.”
I had a horrible track record at fixing men. I doubted I’d ever trust myself to try seriously.
Marlon took my faith in love when he’d left.
I didn’t want to think about him, though.
Tonight was about Quentin and feelings and experience. Tomorrow when he was out of my life, I’d figure out what I did next.
We’d made no promises to each other. Once we made it to Monte Carlo, we would each go our separate ways. Now was all we had, and I wasn’t sure he’d even want my help.
I was a walking disaster. I’d been left at the altar and traveled alone.
Either way, I finally reached to lower the glass, but I heard him when he said, “Talk to you tomorrow.”
And his phone conversation was over. I rushed into the bathroom and checked that my legs were shaved, my breath was clean, and I smelled decent.
Minutes ticked past, and my heeled feet tapped the floor. As I patted my chest to count the seconds, I started to pace. He took too long, but if tonight went well, the prep would be worth it.
I ignored how my skin grew goosebumps, but then he jiggled our adjoining room door, and I called out, “Come in.”
He gazed at me, making my skin smolder. “My friends never stopped calling or talking. Are you coming over?”
So, he hadn’t wanted to ignore me. I sauntered over in my heels, but he stared at me like I was strange. Heat rose up my cheeks, but I tried to play it off. “I was confused for a minute. But I did hear a little bit and figured you were on the phone.”
He shrugged and opened the door for me to show me the table he’d set with the glasses, wine, and some fruit and cheese. “Friends in Monte Carlo were expecting me, and I needed to mention I was running late. And I wanted to change into sweats.”
My best friend, Sabrina, when she’d dropped me off at the airport had said to let go and have fun. Italian guys love American women, though I hadn’t made it to Italy yet. The logic probably worked on French guys, too, so as he closed the door, I gave him a once over. “And show off that perfect V-shaped pelvis of yours.” He tugged the elastic to tighten, but I shook my head and said, “Aww, don’t pull them up.”
Tonight was all we had, and that was fine. It had to be. I was here because my knees weakened near him. My skin sizzled for him, and we’d soon never see each other.
He came closer, and I thought he’d kiss my lips, but he chose my cheek and then directed me toward the couch in his room. “Let’s pour the glasses.”
I sat but placed my phone on the table as I didn’t need it here. He poured, but then it buzzed again.
Quentin picked it up and asked me, “Do you need to answer your phone?”
“Ignore it,” I said, but my hair stood on end.
He raised his eyebrow, and then answered it. “Bon soír, Marlon.”
That meant good evening, right?
I could hear Marlon’s muffled, “Who’s there?”
“L’homme qui va baiser votre ex.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I hoped it meant he and I bounced on that mattress of his for a while. I reached out and took my phone. “Marlon, don’t call me anymore.”
His voice was high-pitched as he asked, “You’re fucking a French guy?”
Not yet, but hopefully soon. Quentin, at this moment, hugged my waist and kissed my shoulder he’d exposed while I said, “He doesn’t look at me like a paycheck and then decided he didn’t want to make the commitment.”
Best part of quitting my job had been finding out Marlon had used me.
Quentin’s lips burned on my neck as he kissed me, like he’d marked me as his territory. “Give me the phone,” he whispered.
And like a fool, I handed it over without asking any questions. Quentin’s lips left my skin steaming for more of him, and he directed his voice to the phone. “Marlon, you lost Kara. She’s mine now.”
And he hung up.
His lips claimed mine, and I wrapped my arms around him and let my fingers sink into his thick, dark hair. His kiss was hard, delicious, and exactly what I wanted.
As the kiss ended, my eyes were still closed, but a flash of light jarred me back into my body, fast. I knew the sound and grabbed my phone from him. “What did you just do?”
He handed me a glass of wine. “I texted him a photo. He sounded jealous, which is very immature, so the picture will help.”
Immature didn’t begin to describe Marlon. Not that I’d have admitted that two weeks ago, but then his callous breakup changed my perspective. My face was hot, and I lowered my gaze. “I… thanks.”
His arm wrapped around me, and he nuzzled my neck. “Let’s get back to more interesting…”
My lips quivered. Since when did I quiver for anything? I maneuvered to gently kiss him as his lips were more delicious than wine, but then I patted his chest. Before anything got too heavy, I wanted to speak now before I lost my nerve. “Can I ask why you were so silent on our drive here?”
His brown eyes were so intense, and I wrung my hands together. “I’d like to talk a little bit.”
He poured the wine for us and handed me a glass. “That’s fine. I’ve been a Fils de pute to you, and I have wanted to apologize.”
Now that sounded interesting. “A what?”
He clinked my glass. “An asshole, as you say in English.”
I bit away a smile. “Only a little bit, to be honest. No one has tried to kiss me at all in a while, Mr. Wanker, not that I wished for anyone else like I fancy you now.”
He traced my face. “But you’re beautiful.”
Damn. I yearned for him. I hungered to forget how I spent all that time at work, how I directed my team and was accused of losing that account.
I craved to be flat on my back, in his arms. I don’t know if I’d ever wanted anyone this badly, ever. But I sipped my wine and then admitted more to my glass than to him, “I’m… bossy, to be honest.”
He winked at me and put his glass down. “To be honest, I didn’t know I’d be dating an American at this point in my life.”
“Wait. Dating?” The words flew out of my mouth. Dating meant relationship and commitment, and I’m on vacation. I wasn’t ready for any
thing serious.
The idea of being possessed by him turned me on in a way I hadn’t expected. I sucked on my bottom lip and decided a week-long relationship might be fun. It would be nice to know I was the only woman in his world while I was here.
He pressed against my shoulder and made me all twisted up with desire. “We kissed more than once, so you’re my girlfriend. It took me a while to wrap my head around why I liked you.”
Wow. I honestly wondered what went through his mind, as I thought something bad happened to him in Paris. Maybe I was wrong on that one… or heard wrong. But I pressed my hand on his knee and asked, “You were deciding why you liked me? We hardly know each other.”
He shrugged. I never saw body movement as its own language before, and it was nice to just understand him as he said, “This went fast for both of us, but I’m warming up to it. I’m open to you when I swore to myself I’d never be serious with another woman.”
He’d been burned, too.
We needed each other. I wanted to rip my clothes off and get naked with him, but I stared down at our covered knees and said, “My honeymoon ends in a week, and in America, we talk about being exclusive.”
He took off my heel, placed it on the floor, and his light touch tickled. “Talk? In France if we continue kissing and carrying on as we are then we’re dating.”
His lips were burned onto mine, and his was the only kiss I craved more than food. I straightened my collar. “But you’re going to Monte Carlo? I didn’t think we’d last beyond a train ride.”
He played with my fingers. “Look, stay with me while you’re in Europe. My friends are in Monte Carlo. I’ll introduce you when we arrive, and then we’ll take it from there.”
As our palms touched, my body was already his for the taking. “My honeymoon for one was planned for Italy.”
He pushed my hair off my shoulder and asked, “Is that set in stone? You must be there the day after tomorrow? We can go there after Monte Carlo… together.”
Together sounded amazing, but details would be good. I’m used to planning and taking care of the minutia that men never wanted to deal with in the office. At least that was the old me.
French Wanker : A Hero Cub Novel Page 5