Love Redesigned

by Collins, Sloane B.

  “You looked for me online?”

  “I wanted to make sure you weren’t in France.”

  “Oh.” Her answer stung, and his heart sank.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you that to upset you.”

  “I think we should talk. I want to know . . .” He slowed the car at the crossroads. “Will you come to my house so we can talk in private?”

  Please. He held his breath, hoping she would agree.

  “Yes, I can do that, and I’d like to see your house.”

  Something relaxed in him, and he turned right at the intersection.

  “It is not too far from my cousin.”

  “What made you decide to move back here? And how come there’s been no mention of your move?”

  “It was time,” he said, trying to put into words what he was afraid to admit out loud. “I missed my cousin, and my homeland. I’ve kept it quiet as much as possible because I didn’t want the press to find out and hound me. I want solitude here. It’s time for me to settle down.”

  “Cut out the wild life you’ve been leading?” She laughed.

  She may have laughed, but he heard the derision in her voice, and he flicked a glance at her. Why would she care?

  She stared out the window. Her fingers clenched around the strap of her purse, and he wondered if she realized she was strangling it.

  He reached out and touched her tightly closed fist. “Most of the gossip printed about me is not true.”

  She snorted. “Riiight,” she drawled.

  “I may have been wild a long time ago . . .” after you left me. “But I don’t want to be that man any longer.”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  “I’m getting older now. I do not want a wild reputation.” He pulled into the driveway of his house. “I want a family,” he murmured.

  Realizing what he had just said, he jolted to a stop beneath the porte cochere by the garage. Please don’t let her have heard me.

  She reached for the door handle, but he held his hand up. She slowly pulled back, and he got out of the car, hurried around to open her door. He took her hand to help her out, and electricity crackled between them.

  She looked up at him, startled. Putting space between them, she turned her attention to his house.

  He tried to imagine what it looked like from her perspective.

  Built in the eighteenth century, the gray stone walls had held up well. A slate roof faded to grayish blue topped the two story house. He’d replaced the old windows with new white ones, and had the stone chimney shored up. Wooden window boxes filled with flowers brightened the façade, and dark green ivy climbed the walls to the roof. Flowers bloomed profusely in the garden, so many he didn’t know all the names yet. Soaring lilac trees surrounded the property around to the back. His new home had history and character. It was the first place he had felt at home in a long time, if ever.

  “Oh, my. It’s just lovely. I can’t wait to see the rest of the house.”

  The rain still streamed from the sky, so they hurried through the downpour to the front stoop. He unlocked the door and led her inside.

  “I’ll get you a towel,” he said, and led her to the small powder room by the kitchen. She went in and closed the door. He hurried to his own bathroom and picked up a towel and clothes for her.

  He knocked on the guest bathroom door. “If you want to wear these, I’ll put your clothes in the dryer.”

  She opened the door and he handed her the dry clothes and bath towel.

  He toweled his hair dry, then changed into jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. He forced himself to walk to the kitchen, and tried not to imagine her taking her clothes off just down the hall.

  A short time later, she joined him in the kitchen, carrying her damp shirt and jeans. He glanced at her and a slow smile spread across his face. Even as tall as she was, his sweat pants and thermal shirt still engulfed her. She had rolled the sleeves up past her wrists so her hands peeked through. She handed him her wet clothes and he walked into the laundry room, put them in the dryer.

  “Here are some socks if your feet are cold.”

  She sat down and slipped them on, sighing. “Much better. Thank you.” She looked around the room, and for some reason it was important to know what she thought of the kitchen.

  He had incorporated modern appliances into the old room, keeping the original stone walls intact. He’d added glass fronts to the sage green cabinets. A search through the old barn had unearthed a large wooden table for dining, and he’d sanded and polished it until it gleamed.

  He could see her here, baking, trying new recipes.

  His heart soared. Could we have a life together?

  She looked around at everything, finally turning to him. “It’s the perfect kitchen. The floor to ceiling windows make it feel as if the kitchen is part of the garden. I love it. Lots of room for cooking and entertaining.”

  She looked lost, and a little alone. He could only imagine what she was thinking.

  He opened a cabinet and pulled two glasses off the shelf. “Would you like a glass of wine? It’s from Francois’ vineyards.”

  “Are you allowed to drink anything else?” She grinned.

  His mouth kicked up in a half smile. “Let’s go into the other room. I started a fire, so it should be warm now.” He opened a bottle, and while it breathed, he put together a small platter of bread and cheese. He put it all on a tray and led her to the living room.

  “Very cozy. I like your house,” she said. She stood in front of the fireplace and held her hands out to warm them.

  “It’s becoming home.”

  “Isn’t it kind of big for you, though?”

  He hesitated. “I wanted to find a place large enough for my family.”

  Chapter 9

  The flames crackled and popped, but she couldn’t feel the heat, couldn’t move. “Are—” her voice cracked, and she cleared it. “Are you engaged?”

  “No,” he said.

  He turned her around, and guided her to the couch. “What’s wrong? You are so pale.” He brushed the hair out of her eyes, turned her chin up. His eyes searched hers.

  She nodded. “I—I think I’m just cold and tired. It was a late night last night.”

  He poured them each a glass of wine, handed one to her.

  Where to begin? So many unanswered questions. So much pain over the years.

  “When were you divorced?” he asked, his voice low.

  Her face grew hot. “I was never married.”

  “What? But isn’t that why you left Paris when you did?” He frowned. Deep lines etched a furrow between his eyes.

  “No. I don’t know why you thought I was married. You surprised me yesterday when you called Daniel my husband. I didn’t know what to say. He’s my best friend. He and Connie Sue are friends also, so she invited him to the wedding. Besides that, he’s gay.”

  “When I came back from Milan, Patrice told me you left a letter for me, and she read it. Said you’d had a change of heart about me, you wanted to be financially secure instead of staying with a struggling designer. You were going home to marry a boy you’d been seeing before you went to Paris.”

  “Ah, yes. Patrice. Your patroness.” She swallowed a gulp of wine, and set her glass down so hard it clinked. “You know she always hated me.”

  “Nón, she did not.”

  She rolled her eyes. Is he really that obtuse? “Get real. She was always jealous of the time we spent together. She wanted you for herself. I may have been a naïve nineteen year old, but I could tell the way she looked at you that she wanted you. And obviously she lied to get rid of me. Seems to have worked, considering how fast she ended up in your bed.”

  Red suffused his cheeks, and he looked away
.

  “After you left, I started drinking. I couldn’t function. I barely remember anything . . .” He glanced at her. “How do you know she and I . . . we . . .”

  “I waited two weeks for you to call or answer my emails. When I didn’t hear anything, I called you early in the morning so I’d be sure to reach you at home. She answered the phone. I heard you in the background ask who it was, and she told you to go back to sleep. She couldn’t wait to tell me y’all had been celebrating, even hinted you two were an item now.”

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. “She took advantage of my state. It’s no excuse for me, but I was miserable without you. We were never an item.”

  “What about the partnership?”

  “There was no partnership. She garnered the investors for my label, and wanted more. But eventually she tried to control me, and my designs, so that’s when I moved to Milan.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I still do not understand this. If you did not leave to get married, why did you leave me?”

  “Right after you left for Milan, my dad had a massive heart attack. I was the only one left in our family. Even though we didn’t have the best relationship, there was no one else to take care of him. That’s what I put in the letter I left for you.”

  His hand crept to hers, lightly clasped it. “I’m so sorry. I wish I’d known.”

  “I didn’t know how to reach you in Milan. I was still in shock when I landed in Atlanta. My dad had triple bypass surgery the day I got home. It didn’t go well, and he was an invalid the rest of his life. I had to go to work to support both of us.”

  “Is he still living?”

  “No, he died several years ago.”

  He reached across the gap between them, brushed a lock of hair off her cheek.

  Her skin tingled at his touch.

  He hesitated, then pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “Je suis désolé. So sorry you had to go through that alone,” he murmured, stroking her back.

  She leaned into him, soaking up his warmth. What did she want? He still appealed to her on a basic, primal level. If the kisses were any indicator, they would still be highly compatible in bed.

  Compatible? Ha! An understatement. Their passion had flared hot and bright fifteen years ago. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. She’d never been able to say no to him. And she’d thought he felt the same way.

  But what about outside the bedroom? He was a world-famous designer, a celebrity in his own right. He could snap his fingers and have any woman he wanted.

  She was a nobody. Sure, she wanted to start her own bakery, and make the artistic cakes that were becoming more popular every day, but she couldn’t compete with him. Nor did she want to. He would swallow her up, and she would never be her own person.

  The long strokes down her back lulled her into relaxation, and she laid her head on his shoulder. He still wore the same cologne, and she breathed deep, closing her eyes.

  He lowered his face to her neck, his beard tickling her skin. Goose bumps rose on her arms.

  Pleasure fogged her mind, and she shuddered. Struggled not to give in and take what she wanted.

  She sat up, pushed against his chest to give her some breathing room. “I don’t—”

  He cupped her head and leaned forward, kissing her into silence.

  She shuddered, torn between pulling him in and pushing him away.

  He nipped her lower lip in a silent demand for more. She opened, and his tongue swept in. She shuddered at the intrusion, but welcomed it at the same time. He tasted of wine, coffee, and the unique flavor all his own.

  She rubbed her tongue over his, eliciting a husky groan from him. Lightening rocketed through her body, from her head to her toes, and down her arms to her fingertips.

  He pressed her against the back of the couch. She sighed, welcoming his weight. She ran her hand down his cheek, the bristles of his beard prickling her palm. She arched against his hard body. He’d been lean so long ago, but had filled out with hard muscles over the years. Deliciously so.

  He tore his lips away from hers, kissing a path to her neck. He gently bit her skin, just below her ear, then soothed the spot with his delectable tongue.

  She tried to catch her breath. Flames licked a path along her skin, following his lips, his tongue, his fingers.

  She had to stop this insanity. But it feels so good. He feels so good. Needing to touch him, she untucked his shirt, slipped her fingers underneath to his back. His muscles bunched beneath her hands.

  He groaned. “You are more enticing than ever,” he muttered thickly. “I can’t help myself. You’re like the finest wine, one I have been too long denied.” He pulled the neckline of the thermal shirt down slightly to reveal her collar bone, and pressed a kiss there. His fingers slid beneath the hem.

  Tracing a path along her stomach, he brushed the scar.

  No! She froze. No way did she want him asking questions about the scar. Horrified he would find out, she pushed against him. “Roman, stop. Stop! We can’t do this.” She struggled out from beneath him, stood up and turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around her waist.

  “What’s wrong?” He turned her around, cupped her cheeks in his hands.

  Her eyes closed, and she stepped away from him, leaving him cold. “I just don’t think this is a good idea. We haven’t seen each other in fifteen years. We don’t know each other now.”

  She was right. It had been a long time. A very long time. The lies he had believed for fifteen years were not true. She hadn’t deserted him. Hadn’t led him on only to leave him for someone else.

  His body ached to take her to bed, and everything else be damned. But he didn’t want to scare her away. He pulled her into a hug, held her gently. “I would very much like to get to know you again. You are an incredibly beautiful and talented woman.”

  She pulled back and stared at him. “Why me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can have your pick of any woman in the world . . . and may I say you have,” she said.

  She sounds jealous. Satisfaction bloomed inside him as he searched her face.

  “Why do you want to know me? I’m nobody.” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. Moisture shimmered in her eyes.

  “You are not nobody. You’ve always been someone special to me.”

  She tried to pull away from him. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  He held her tight, wouldn’t let her retreat now that they were finally talking. “You’re right, you’re nothing like the women I’ve been involved with over the years.”

  Her eyes narrowed dangerously and she shoved his hands away from her.

  “Listen to me. I’m glad you are not like those women. They are superficial, and you are real. Their only concern is being seen with me, dating me, for their reputations, and what I could do for them. You were a stunning young woman, and you brought happiness into my life. You’ve matured into an even more gorgeous and talented woman.”

  “You callin’ me old?”

  She was trying to be stern, but he could tell the compliment pleased her.

  If I rush her, I could lose her for good. She did not see in herself what he recognized in her. “Would you spend an evening with me?” He held his breath, praying she would agree.

  For long moments, she stared at him. Finally, she nodded.

  Relief swept through him and he wanted to cheer.

  “When?”

  He heard the hesitation in her voice.

  “I have to attend a banquet tomorrow night in Paris. I would very much like to have you accompany me.”

  “I—I can’t go to Paris! It’s a five hour drive each way, and I have so much baking to do.”

  “There is a small airstrip not far from here. Se
veral weeks ago I asked a friend of mine to fly me to Paris tomorrow afternoon, then back the next morning.”

  “You mean spend the night, too? I just told you I don’t think spending the night together is a good idea.”

  “You will have your own room. I would never ask you to do anything you do not want to do.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I will not touch you until you want me to. But it won’t stop me from imagining you in my arms, and in my bed, naked beneath me.”

  Color washed over her cheeks, and she bit her lip, enticing him to soothe the sting. She had no idea how every movement she made was seductive. Every fiber in his body cried out for her to be his once again. He ached to hold her, to show her what she did to him. He wanted to spend hours, days, worshiping her—body, mind, and soul. But if the only way he could be near her was to leave her alone, then he would, and would suffer through it gladly.

  She met his eyes, and he saw the trust. “I know you’d never force me. You’re not that kind of man. I have to be here to get ready for the shower on Tuesday evening. Will you promise me we’ll be back early?”

  “Oui, I promise.”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth, almost reluctantly. She traced his lower lip with her index finger, and he held still, refrained from reaching for her again.

  He would show her they were right for each other. He needed to spend time with her, convince her she could trust him not to hurt her.

  She looked out the window. “It’s getting late. If we’re going to be gone so long, I need to do a lot of baking for the shower. Would you please take me home?”

  “As soon as you are ready.”