by Alix Nichols
Ouch.
I feel bad for Diane, whom I like. I’ve been trying to like Genevieve, too, despite the pangs of unwarranted jealousy, but that’s finished now.
Diane stares at her, poker-faced.
“My wife has never been a radical,” Sebastian says, giving Genevieve a smoldering look. “And trust me, she does live by her principles.”
“I have another theory,” Cedric says. “Noah’s behavior isn’t political. It’s religious. He’s joined a sect which believes the meek shall inherit the earth.”
“I believe the mice shall inherit the earth,” Raphael says. “Or rather, the rats.”
Everyone smiles, looking relieved. The conversation had been turning way too serious for a weekend lunch.
We chat for another half hour about this and that, until all the canelés and macarons are gone and the coffee pots are empty.
Right on cue, the caterers return to clear the table.
One of them is a pretty young woman whose skirt is much shorter and tighter than her colleague’s. Her shirt is unbuttoned far enough to show the front clasp of her bra. She plants herself across from Raphael and sets her tray on the table. As she loads it with empty cups and plates, she bends down so that her breasts are practically in his face.
I steal a glance at him, fully expecting him to be enjoying the view.
But he isn’t even looking in that direction. He’s turned toward Cedric on his left, talking investments and financial markets.
This is weird.
The Raphael I used to know wouldn’t necessarily flirt with every woman who hit on him, but he would definitely acknowledge her.
There’s one possible explanation for this. Something is wrong with him. So wrong, it’s changed his personality.
Maybe he’s dying.
Raphael shifts closer to me, and I feel his hand on my knee.
OK, he isn’t dying.
Without interrupting his conversation with Cedric, he slips his hand under the hem of my skirt and trails it up my inner thigh, fingers splayed. As he progresses, hidden from sight by the tablecloth, the hairs on my body stand on end and my pulse quickens. By the time he reaches the edge of my panties and cups me, I’m soaked.
This is my undoing, and I know he knows it.
When I agreed to “tag along,” I suspected how today might end. How Raphael might want it to end. With the two of us in bed together.
The shameful truth is I want it, too.
Worse, I need it.
So badly I wonder how I’m going to make it through the afternoon.
OK. Fine. Bring it on.
At least I’m sure of one thing—there’s no way I’m relapsing into a dead-end affair with Raphael. I won’t let it happen—for Lily’s sake, if not for mine.
But selfish as it may be, I can’t… I won’t deny myself a night with the man I still love.
The man I never stopped loving.
A whole night to kiss and be kissed. To feel him enter me, move inside me. My stomach clenches just thinking about it. My body is so hungry for him it’s hard to sit still and not push against his hand.
Patience, Mia. Tonight.
He’ll make love to me tonight. I’ll kiss him, touch him everywhere, bite him, and lick him to my heart’s content. After I come, I’ll run my hand through his thick, wavy hair the way I used to do. And then I’ll fall asleep against his naked body.
The best part?
Sunday morning, I’ll wake up in his arms.
On this gorgeous island.
Outside of time.
Chapter 27
Looks like we aren’t going to make it through the afternoon.
As soon as everyone leaves the patio and disperses around the island, Raphael goes to the still-sleeping Lily and begins to push her stroller toward the house. I follow. He carries it up the stairs and down a hallway before entering a room where he parks it by the wall. Then he takes my hand and leads me to the adjacent bedroom.
The window is open, and even though the sea is hidden from view by the linen curtain, I can smell it.
“We’ll hear her if she wakes up,” Raphael says, gathering me into his arms.
God, it’s good to be in his arms again!
So freaking good.
He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips it up.
For a few moments, I stare into his eyes, spellbound.
“I want you so much, Mia,” he whispers. “In every possible way.”
I put my arms around his neck and stroke his nape. “What are those ways, cher monsieur?”
“You want me to list them?” He trails the pad of his thumb over my lips. “For starters, I want you in bed on your back.”
“How old-school.”
He smiles. “Old-school is the best way to get you where I want you. It’s your favorite position, if memory serves me right.”
“It is,” I admit.
He kisses my forehead. “After that I want you to ride me.”
“I’d like that,” I say, feeling decadent and safe at the same time.
The way I always feel with Raphael.
His hands roam my body. “And then I’ll take you standing, your palms on the wall and my hands on your tits.”
Yes, please.
He begins to rain kisses on my nose and cheeks. “I want you in the hot tub, too. And on the rooftop of the villa on your hands and knees. Also on the beach, spread open like a starfish.”
“That’s a lot of ways, cher monsieur,” I say with a sassy smile.
“That doesn’t even scratch the surface.” He kisses my lips. “I want the entire fucking Kama Sutra with you, Mia.”
I sigh in fake resignation. “Do your worst.”
You have until Monday.
We undress faster than ever before, tearing off each other’s clothes as if they were contaminated. A few moments later, we’re completely naked, staring at each other shamelessly in broad daylight.
“Your breasts are bigger,” he says, eyeing them appreciatively.
“They’ll deflate to normal once I stop breastfeeding.”
“I see.” His gaze zeroes in on my mound and he touches his fingers to it. “You used to be waxed here. Smooth and silky.”
“And now I’m—”
“Bushy,” he butts in.
“Au naturel,” I finish my sentence.
“Letting yourself go, huh?”
“No.” I arch an eyebrow. “I just prefer myself this way.”
He flashes me a saucy smile. “But I prefer you smooth.”
“Tough shit,” I say. “I’m done with waxing. All that pain and hassle—just not worth it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.” I touch my fingertips to his lower abdomen, just above his jutting manhood. “Here’s the scoop—grown women have pubic hair just like men. Regardless of what porn movies would have you think.”
“I know, but—”
“I’m done with Brazilians.”
He gives me a pretty-please look.
“Raphael, darling, you’re a grown man… sort of.” I pat his cheek. “Deal with it.”
He leans his head into my palm. “You’ve become very authoritative.”
“Have I?” I shrug. “Motherhood does that to you.”
A moment later, he lifts me in his arms and takes me to the bed where he lays me down on my back as promised. His eyes are riveted to me as he climbs onto the bed and begins to caress his way down my body. I revel in the sight of the muscles on his arms and chest. When he bends down to place hot kisses on my tummy, I feast my eyes on the shape of his back.
Oh, how I missed that!
How I missed him.
Raphael stretches out next to me, his body touching mine, and I tremble with want. I stroke a hand across his broad chest, remembering his skin, his smell, the bulges of his pecs, and the tiny buds of his nipples. When my hand slides to his heart, I rest there for a while, absorbing his pulse.
“Mia,”
he murmurs.
As I caress his hard stomach, my fingers skim the tip of his erection. He lifts his hips to goad me on. But, even though I’m a wet mess of need, I don’t want to rush this. Every moment of this afternoon is precious, and I intend to cherish it.
So I press a kiss to his neck and start gliding my hand back up to his chest.
He catches my wrist over his belly button.
My heart ratchets up as he grips it and holds my hand still.
For a moment, we stare into each other’s eyes, and then he pushes my hand back down.
“Touch me,” he gasps. “I’m dying for your touch.”
I wrap my fingers around his thickness.
He moans.
I startle at the intensity of the tug deep within my own groin, wondering how much longer I can bear not having him inside me.
And then suddenly, within what seems like a second, he sheathes himself, nudges my thighs apart, and enters me.
I arch underneath him with the joy of it.
“Let’s get the first one out of the way,” he says, bracing himself on outstretched arms. “Then I can go as slow as you want for the rest of the Kama Sutra.”
I nod.
He looms over me for another moment, as his smile fades and his gaze grows dark. And then he slams into me.
I groan with pleasure.
Soon, our bodies move in synch, just like they used to, finding their perfect rhythm. We cling together as he drives into me, and I rock my hips to meet his thrusts.
When Raphael seeks my mouth and pushes his tongue between my teeth, I begin to spiral toward my climax. My vision grows hazy, but I force myself to keep my eyes open so I can watch his beautiful body toiling and sweating as he pounds into me without holding back.
I clench the sheets in my fists.
My body writhes and my heels press into his buttocks, spurring him on.
When I spasm around him, my legs shake uncontrollably.
He groans and collapses on top of me.
I welcome his weight.
I need it.
A few moments later, he presses a kiss to my cheek and moves to roll away. But I’m not ready to let him go yet.
“Stay a little longer,” I murmur.
He finds my hands and laces his fingers with mine. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”
Chapter 28
Raphael is a morning person, so I kind of knew the part of my fantasy where I wake up in his arms might not happen. Based on prior experience, it occurred no more than twenty percent of the time.
The thing is I’m a hopeless night owl. Especially these days, when I get up for Lily once or twice during the night.
Last night was no exception.
Her whimpers woke me up at around three. She wanted her pacifier and my company. I know that the right thing to do is to let her cry herself back to sleep. It’s the only way to tell her mommy won’t be getting up for her in the middle of the night anymore. I’ve read several clever articles and a whole book on the subject. All of them guarantee that baby stops waking up at night after a couple of weeks of such treatment.
I’m definitely planning to try it… some day.
The truth is I love those cuddle sessions as much as I hate being woken up in the middle of the night.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s ten.
As I begin to envisage getting up, the door to the en suite bathroom opens and Raphael ambles in naked except for a towel wrapped around his hips. His dark hair is combed back and damp from his shower. I take all of that in as I arch my back and stretch my limbs. He halts by the bed. With an appreciative smile, I clasp my hands under my head and survey him.
Yummy.
I eye his handsome face, lingering on his lips and breathtaking jawline. Then my gaze travels to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest and further down to his hard abs. A fine line of black hair runs from his belly button down into the towel. My breathing grows shallow. I expect him to unwrap the towel and lie next to me, but when I level my gaze with his, he’s grinning.
He opens his right hand to show me something.
It’s tiny, fluffy, and pink.
And it’s a pair.
Lily’s socks.
“I stopped next door to check on Lily and found these on the floor,” he says. “What a ridiculous size.”
“You should’ve seen her newborn socks six months ago.”
He arches an eyebrow. “You mean four, right? Seeing as she was born only four months ago.”
Crap.
“Yes,” I say. “Of course. I mean four.”
He doesn’t press the matter further.
I wonder if he believes me. Probably not. But whatever suspicions he might harbor on Lily’s account, he’s choosing to respect my choice and keep them to himself.
Unless it isn’t from respect but from his preference to remain childless and family-less. A preference he’s voiced clearly and repeatedly many times.
Raphael pulls one little sock over his left ear and the other over his right ear. “Do I look good?”
“Perfectly silly,” I say.
“You’re being socksist.”
I raise my brows.
“Haven’t you heard about sockers?” he asks. “I converted while you were in Martinique. My religion prescribes that I wear pink socks on my ears at least ten minutes every day.”
I roll my eyes.
He sits down next to me, his expression growing sober. “We’re gonna go exclusive, like the first time around, right?”
I look away, my mouth refusing to tell him there won’t be a second time.
“No,” I finally say.
His mouth gapes, then flattens in comprehension. “You’re seeing someone.”
I nod.
“Is it serious?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say honestly. “We’re sort of colleagues, and I’ve only had one date with him.”
He gives me a forced smile. “OK, then. I hope you choose me before you reach the five-date threshold with him. Assuming you still adhere to that rule of thumb.”
“I do.”
He shakes his head, incredulous. “I never dreamed Mia Stoll would agree to a non-exclusive arrangement, let alone ask for it.”
“There won’t be any arrangement between us this time around,” I say. “What happened here was a one-off.”
He gives me a long, hard stare. “You can’t resist me, Mia. We both know that.”
“Then don’t put me in a position where I have to resist,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion.
“Why are you so hell-bent on driving me away when you want me so much?”
“Because you’re toxic.”
He flinches at my epithet.
“That came out meaner than I intended.” I sit up and cup his cheek gently. “What I wanted to say is that I’ll never be able to fall for another man if you stick around.”
His eyes bore into mine. “When you say you won’t be able to fall for another man, does that mean you’ve fallen for me?”
I study a speck on the sheet.
“Does that mean you’re in love with me, Mia?” he asks.
I nod, my gaze still on the sheet.
“Then let me ask you this: Why are you so hell-bent on falling for another man if you’re in love with me?”
“Because…” I give him a pleading look. “Don’t you see how we’re after completely different things? All you want from a relationship is a fun time. You won’t even call it a relationship, for Christ’s sake. You call it an arrangement.”
I lift up my chin, daring him to say I’m wrong.
He doesn’t.
“I want more than that,” I say. “A lot more. I want something solid and long-term. And that means I need to find a man who wants the same thing.”
A part of me hopes against hope he’ll say, “That’s my wish, too, Mia. I’ve changed. I want to be there for you and Lily.”
When he opens his mouth, my muscles are so tense w
ith apprehension it’s surprising they don’t snap.
“I see,” he says.
I hang onto a glimmer of hope a little longer, but he doesn’t add anything to his “I see.”
Slowly, I breathe out, hiding my disappointment the best I can.
That’s when my handbag beeps on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Saved by the gong.
I rush to it and fish out my phone.
“I’m expecting an important email,” I lie and click on the notification on the screen without reading it.
The message that opens up makes me forget my letdown. It makes me forget to breathe. I read it once, then once more, and then a third time in a crazy hope it will melt away before my eyes. But it doesn’t. If anything, its words appear bigger and their lowercase letters scream louder that the caps of Gaspard’s one-sentence notes a year ago.
Hello, Mia.
You thought you could just change your phone and email to make this go away, didn’t you? You should’ve changed your name.
I’ll be in Paris next week. I know you have your defense coming up, so you won’t run again.
Meet me next Saturday at noon, in the same diner. If you don’t show, the tape hits the Internet, and I mail it to your parents the same day.
You will not get a third chance.
So, choose wisely this time.
Gaspard
Chapter 29
After breakfast, Cedric pulls Raphael aside to pick his brains about some business-related matter. I use the opportunity to head to the beach with Lily and a book. My plan is to play with my baby, read, and try to relax. I’m aware it’s a shaky plan, given the distressing effect of Gaspard’s email, but I’m determined to do my best to enjoy this beautiful island a little more before we fly back to Paris.
A half hour into “reading” without registering a word, I shut my book and sit up.
Diane sits down next to me. She picks up Lily’s Sophie the Giraffe teether and plays with her for a while, making my little girl giggle.
Then she turns to me and smiles. “You know, I recognized you the moment I saw you at the airport. I’d seen you a year go at Le Big Ben.”
“I recognized you, too,” I say, smiling back and pointing at her rounded belly. “Five months?”