“Oh, I forgot to ask, whatever happened with Simon?”
I hesitate for a few seconds, knowing Jaxson isn’t fond of Simon. “He, uh, had a great reason for not showing up that night. We actually have a date tomorrow. I honestly think we have a chance to make it work.”
Jaxson keeps his eyes on the road and says nothing at first. Then about a minute later says, “Oh.”
That’s it? See…just friends.
We ride the rest of the way in silence and when he pulls up in front of my building, he kills the engine, hops out, pops the trunk open, then a few seconds later opens my door for me.
“I’m carring these up for you,” he says, holding up the bags of fabric.
“Okay, thank you.”
While on the elevator, he keeps his dark browns glued to the number display, avoiding eye contact. He seems annoyed. Why?
“So, you’re really going out with him again? Simon?”
I say nothing. Just nod.
He shakes his head. “What is it about him? He seems like a jerk to me. Any guy who stands—”
“He had a good reason. And I believe him.”
“You’re gonna get hurt. You deserve better.”
“By better do you mean, you?”
Just tell me you want me, please. Finish that kiss.
He glares at me and I can see the anger, or perhaps it’s disappointment in his eyes. “No, Lauren. Like you said yesterday, I’m just a friend, remember?”
Ugh. How dare he put this on me? Other than that almost kiss, he’s said or done nothing to indicate he wants more. Unlike Simon.
The ding of the elevator ends round one of our…conversation.
The doors slide open, I stomp out, and he follows; the ruffled sound of the bags he’s carrying intensifies.
Up in the distance, I hear voices, a woman’s giggles. And when I turn the corner of the hallway, I see Simon walking toward his apartment. In front of him, a blonde, long legs, pulling a suitcase. They stop in front of his door, you know, the one right across the way from mine.
Bewilderment runs through my body.
Who’s that with Simon?
The two of them whirl around, both seeming to be startled by me and Jaxson approaching their space.
Simon’s eyes grow large; the woman smiles innocently. “Hello,” she says, her accent British sexy, matching Simon’s.
I stop in front of my apartment door, Jaxson right next to me, the two of them standing across. Simon’s face is consumed with horror or guilt.
Maybe a mixture of both.
“Hello,” I say back to her, my eyes on Simon who is now as pale as a ghost.
“I’m Lydia, and uh, I’m not sure if you’ve had a chance to meet my husband, Simon. He’s only moved in a few weeks ago.”
What?
“Your hus—”
“Great to meet you,” Jaxson interrupts, stepping in front of me. He grabs my key out of my hand, unlocks my apartment door and whisks me inside, closing the door behind him.
I stand still, my jaw slack, as he drops the bags of fabric onto the floor.
It’s dark—the only light is Paris peeking inside through the living-room window’s open blinds.
Jaxson steps closer. The tears welled up in my eyes begin to fall. Trickling down, down, slowly.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me, as I weep first soft, then harder.
“How could I have been so fucking stupid?” I moan while Jaxson holds me tighter, rubbing my back.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” he says, still holding me. Soothing me.
He was right. He knew I’d get hurt. I’m the idiot who ignored all the warning signs. Too good to be true. Standing me up.
Ugh.
Embarrassed, I break from Jaxson and walk over to the switch on the wall to turn on the lights.
Truffles charges in from the bedroom and lets out an arf, pawing at my leg, demanding to be scooped up.
Jaxson bends down to lift him up, “Hey, little guy, show me the way to the kitchen so I can get your mommy some water.”
I plop down on the couch, and look around the room. I feel nauseous at the thought of me actually wanting Simon. He’s married. Married.
There goes another failed attempt at me not being alone.
I hate him.
Fury runs through my veins and I just want to flee. Anywhere but here. I don’t ever want to face Simon again.
Never get involved with the guy next door. If things don’t work out…someone has to move.
Jaxson emerges from the kitchen, a bottle of water in his hand. “Here you go,” he says.
“I can’t stay here, Jaxson. Not tonight anyway. Can you take me and Truffles to a hotel, please?”
“Of course, if that’s what you want.”
I really don’t know what I want.
After I throw some things in a suitcase, and grab some items for Truffles, we leave Chateau De Grenelle.
It’s close to 10 p.m. now, and Paris is still lively as Jaxson cruises down the road. Couples laughing, playing, loving. How’d they get so lucky? Six years. I’ve been in Paris for six years and I have yet to find love.
“Where to?” Jaxson asks, his voice like a soothing balm.
“Hotel De Jour, by my office, please.”
About fifteen minutes later, Jaxson pulls up to the front of the boutique-style hotel. It’s where I stayed when I first came to Paris.
“Bonjour,” says the valet as we drive up. “Are you visiting a guest?”
“Uh no, she would like to get a room,” Jaxson says.
The valet bends slightly forward, peering at me through Jaxson’s open window , “Oh Madame, I do believe they are all sold out. Most of the hotels are. It’s Design Week.”
Crap. I forgot about Design Week. The annual event where designers showcase home design, art, very little fashion. Not like Fashion Week anyway.
And great, now what?
“Okay, have a good evening,” Jaxson tells him, then drives off.
He looks over to me, “Where would you like to go?”
“I can just sleep at my office; it’ll be fine. We have showers and—”
“Lauren. I’m not letting you sleep at your office.”
“Well, I can’t go back home. Not with—” I pause, thoughts of me being an idiot cause tears to resurface. “Jaxson, I-I can’t go back there. Not tonight. So please, just take me to HC Headquarters. I’ll be fine. Truffles will be with me.”
He lets out a sigh. “How about you come with me to the villa? There is a guest apartment, completely furnished. You can stay as long as you like.”
“What do you think, Truffles? Should we hang out at Jaxson’s place?”
Truffles sits up in my lap, paw up, and yelps a commanding, arf!.
Jaxson laughs and says, “Does that mean yes?”
I look down at Truffles, then to Jaxson and say, “Yes, definitely yes.”
Act Two
“Paris France is to Love, what Haute Couture is to Fashion.”
Joslyn Westbrook
Chapter 26
Jaxson
Asshole.
Simon is a fucking asshole. The next time I see him, I’m punching him in the face.
How could he hurt Lauren like that? Hell, how can he do that shit to his wife?
Lauren and Truffles are all settled in my guest apartment; they’re welcome to stay as long as they like. I don’t blame her for not wanting to be at her own place right now. I understand how it is to realize you’ve fallen for a liar.
He used her. How far would he have gone with her? Jerk.
Hopefully after a goodnight’s rest, she’ll feel okay, even though I know better than that.
I shower, slip into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, then mosey on into the kitchen for a drink. A bottle of sparkling wine from one of Gramps’s collection. He left me a few bottles. Fifty, to be exact. A hefty start to my own wine collection. I pop the cork, take a whiff, and pour myself a full glass of the bubbly
.
Mmmm. Nirvana.
A tap at the door startles me. Lauren?
I walk to the door, push the curtain to the side, and see Lauren, one hand gripping her suitcase handle, Truffles cupped under her arm, both of them shivering.
Immediately, I swing the door open. “What’s wrong?”
She gives a half-smile. “Can we stay here, instead?”
Both her and Truffles serve me an irresistible set of puppy-dog eyes.
“Is there something wrong with the guest apartment?”
“Never mind. It was silly of me to ask.” She spins back around, begins to walk toward the apartment.
“Lauren, wait.” I follow after her, my bare feet hitting the cold concrete.
She whirls around. “I-I just don’t want to be alone, Jaxson. I’m tired of being alone.”
Tears stream down her face and for once I see Lauren’s tough facade come crumbling down. It’s far more than Simon—he is just the coup de grace. The mortal blow to an already existing wound. The final push that sends her over the edge.
I’m here to break her fall.
“Come on, I’ve got plenty of space. Of course you and Truffles can stay in the villa.”
I let her choose a room, one that has furniture, of course. She picks a room closest to the kitchen, one equipped with a full-size bed and an adjoining bathroom.
I turn to leave her to get settled and she says, “I didn’t pack any pajamas. I only grabbed other stuff and clothes for work.”
“Okay, I’ll give you something of mine. Will a T-shirt and sweatpants do? They may be a little big on you though.”
She smiles. “That’ll work, thank you.”
About an hour later, Lauren joins me in the kitchen, the tantalizing scent of bacon and eggs most likely enticing her.
Her hair is wet, and she looks cute in my V-neck T-shirt and sweats even though she’s practically swimming in them. I try hard to keep my eyes in check; I can see her nipples through the shirt beckoning my mouth, tongue, hands…me.
So I focus on the task at hand.
Food.
“You hungry? I hope you and Truffles like bacon and eggs. It’s just about all I have right now. I’ve been eating out a lot.”
She toys with her hair. “Truffles fell fast asleep on the bed while I was in the shower. But, I on the other hand, love bacon and eggs.” She surveys the food sprawled all over the counter. Diced peppers, mushrooms, tomatoes. “Wait, are you making an omelet?” Her eyes gleam.
“Yes, and all of these veggies are from the garden. Nana loved using fresh from-the-garden veggeis when she cooked.”
She joins me behind the counter, looking up at me with those hypnotic blue eyes. “Can I help?”
I swallow hard, after getting a subtle look at her cleavage taunting me through the V-neck tee. “Sure.”
We cook together, her standing so close to me, driving me insane. Honestly, all I want to do is lift her up, prop her up on the counter, and finish that kiss. And more.
Stand down, soldier. Having her here may be harder to handle than I thought.
When she sets the table, she notices the blue scarf I placed on the chair.
Her scarf, from that day at the airport.
“You saved my scarf?”
I know my face has turned an obvious shade of red. “Yep. Well, in my defense, I meant to drop it off at the airport lost and found, but forgot. It’s been in my carry-on bag all this time.”
She holds the scarf for a minute, a faraway gleam in her eyes accompanied by a lingering smile. I wonder if she’s recalling that day we first laid eyes on each other. More than ever I think I should have run after her right then and there. If I had, surely by now, we would be an us. The thoughts I’ve had of kissing, touching, holding her, would be thoughts no more.
She’s here now, don’t let her get away this time.
When we sit down to eat, she eyes my wrist and says, “Jaxson, can you tell me about your tattoo?”
My tattoo. Something that’s always hard for me to talk about. But she’s poured her soul to me about so many instances in her life. Shit, I just witnessed her getting her heart broken; surely I can share the details of my tattoo.
A small drawing of a motorcycle on the inside of my wrist.
I swallow my sip of water and take a deep breath in and out, praying that I get through the story without her seeing my sensitive side. “I had a best friend since grade school, Brad, who got killed in a motorcycle accident three years ago, two weeks before he was to be married. He was like a brother to me and his death took a lot out of me. About six months after he died, I walked into a tattoo shop, looking for a way to honor him. And this”—I run my fingertip along the tattoo—“is was what I came up with.”
I let out a deep breath, the pain of Brad’s accident hitting me all over again.
Lauren’s eyes glisten, “Oh, Jaxson, I’m so sorry. And what a sweet way to honor your friend.” She runs her index finger on the tattoo, her touch sending static to my brain.
Damn. She’s electrifying.
Chapter 27
Lauren
Jaxson.
He makes me smile, makes my heart skip one-thousand beats. And for anyone keeping score, note the bonus points: the man cooks.
After we ate our bacon and vegetable omelets, we cleared the table, then the counters, and now we’re just about done washing the dishes. What he washes, I rinse, then place in the dish rack.
Chills run through me each time my hand grazes his, and it seems like we keep inching closer and closer than how we were when we started. Ten minutes ago, we stood about one-foot apart. Now nothing but sexual tension separates us as we stand side to side, hips locked.
I place the last dish onto the rack, and he takes his hands out of the bubbles, flicking suds onto my face.
Eyes widened, I stick my hand in the suds and flick some on him.
“Oh really? It’s like that, huh?” He chuckles and with his index finger, swipes the suds off of my face, then his.
Pivoting to rest my back against the countertop, I fold my arms. “You started it.”
He moves in close, licks his lips, his dark eyes heady, zooming in on mine.
Those eyes. Those lips. They are like passion bullies. Teasing me. Dousing a hot shower of desire all over me.
Through quickened breaths, he cups my face and whispers, “Well Lauren, now I’m about to finish it.”
With one swift move, his mouth and mine continue what was started that night on the deck, our lips now taking their time getting acquainted. Slowly. Softly.
Ever so sensually.
He moves his hands from my face, grazing my breasts, and then brackets my waist, pulling me even closer to him as my fingers run like crazy through his thick hair.
I shudder. He moans. I groan.
Our lips part, allowing our tongues to join in on the lengthy meet and greet. And by now, my whole entire body practically melts into him.
I can feel his erection. Oh my god. Am I dreaming or is this really happening?
Our mouths break free and the look in his eyes mimics the way I feel.
Hot. Aroused. Erotic.
He lifts me up onto the counter and moves in between my thighs, slowly running his hand up and under my shirt, landing on my breasts.
Shivers. Chills.
Oh, God it’s been years since I’ve felt a man’s touch.
My head drops back, my back arches, and my center pools with warm desire as he plants wet kisses from my neck to the shell of my ear and whispers, “Lauren. Beautiful Lauren, would you like me to make love to you?”
Unable to speak complete sentences, I mumble in a breathy tone, “Yes. Please. Now.”
He removes my shirt, exposing my breasts, awakening my nipples as he traces them with his thumb. Then he smiles and licks my bottom lip, kissing me again before he hums, “Not here, baby, I want our first time to be on my bed.”
He lifts me off the counter and carries me, my legs s
till straddling his waist, to his room, the two of us kissing all the way. And when he lays me on his bed, we both hurry to free each other from the confines of our clothes.
The moonlight creeps through the sheer window curtains, showcasing his fine-ass body, the muscular planes of his chest swooping over my breasts as he eases on top of me. He is so sensual as he kisses me, stroking my breasts, and then my thighs, taking time to get to know each and every curve.
He’s harder than ever now, and all I want is to feel him inside me, filling me with his need.
And when he slides in, I swear it’s just like heaven on earth.
We made love two times before I laid my head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat lulling me to sleep. Then an hour later, we both opened our eyes, and went at it again. He’s a magnificent lover. Caring. Patient. I don’t remember the last time I had multiple orgasms.
Oh wait, that’s right. Never.
It’s 4 a.m. now; he’s resting beautifully. I want to wake him up for more.
Yeah, he’s that good.
He turns over to face me and I gleam.
Yay, more sex!
He looks at me and says, “Hey, beautiful, what are you doing awake?”
“I can’t go back to sleep for some reason.”
“Come here, let me hold you.”
I slide next to him, turning my back toward him, and he spoons me, his strong arms enveloping my upper body like a security blanket.
He makes me feel safe, secure, wanted.
I wish this moment with me in his arms could be frozen.
“I’m crazy about you Lauren Blake, even more now that I’ve had the pleasure of making love to you.” He nibbles on my ear, then in a hushed tone adds, “You’re amazing.”
Allowing the chills to run through my body, I lay here, eyes shut, as I take in what he just said. I kiss his forearms and pull them closer into me, as if to say don’t let me go.
Because the honest to God truth is, I never, ever, want this man to let me go.
The next morning, I wake to the sound of Jaxson talking to Truffles in a high-pitched singsong tone.
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