Two Weeks in Geneva

by Lydia Rowan

  But she wouldn’t ask. All that mattered was that he was here with her now, and she planned to enjoy it to the fullest while she could. As if conjured from her mind, Alexander appeared carrying a tray laden with…something.

  As he set it down he said, “Your first proper Swiss breakfast.”

  “I thought it’d be French.”

  “Ah, this is the beauty of Geneva, all of Switzerland, really,” he said as he poured a bit of milk and two sugars into the coffee cup before passing it to her. “French dinner, Swiss breakfast, German lunch, really, anything you could ever want, right at your fingertips. This is how you like your coffee, yes?”

  She nodded, unspeakably impressed that he’d picked up on something so small about her and wanting to move on before she thought about that fact and what it could mean. “And what does Swiss breakfast consist of?”

  “Coffee, of course, gipfeli.” He pointed toward the buttery-looking pasty. “Which is most like croissant, and the most important part, Muesli.” He indicated the bowl of yogurt that had various toppings mixed in.

  She laughed. “I must admit, we have Muesli in North Carolina, but I’ve only ever seen it at the retirement community where my grandmother used to live, and it didn’t look nearly so appetizing there.”

  They both laughed.

  “Tell me about North Carolina,” he said as they begin eating.

  “You’ve been there right, before the investment, to do reconnaissance on ARc?”

  “‘Reconnaissance?’ Seems so formal,” he said with a sly smile curving his lips. “But yes, I’ve been, though I didn’t see much of it.”

  “Well, it’s no Geneva, but it’s home. Some parts are rural, some urban, we have beautiful woods and mountains.”

  “You’re family’s there?”

  “Yeah, my dad was in the military when I was little and that was his last stop. We moved there when I was in third grade and have been there ever since. Well, it’s just me and Ma now. No brothers and sisters. My dad passed away four and a half years ago.”

  Even after all this time, she still teared up at the thought of the loss.

  He reached over grabbed her hand, stroking a thumb over the back. “Condolences.”

  “Thank you. I still miss him everyday, but he’ll always live in my heart. And my mother is doing better, starting to move on, so it’s okay.”

  “And what about your family?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “All here in Geneva. All still alive. My mother, two brothers, father and grandfather.”

  “And do they all work for the company?”

  “My brothers are too smart for that, so no, it’s just me and my father. My grandfather is retired, but he still meddles.”

  She heard the undercurrent of tension in his voice and decided not to press it and instead moved to another topic, wondering how he’d respond.

  “So, is my race an issue here in Geneva?” she asked.

  “To whom?” he responded with a raised eyebrow.

  “Well, everybody, anybody…you,” she finished tentatively.

  “Obviously not to me, Quinn,” he said, catching her gaze with his. “As for others, I can’t speak for them.” After a brief pause, he glanced around the room, seeming alarmed. “Has something happened? Were you mistreated?”

  A little trill raced through her at the protectiveness in his voice, and she reached across the table and grabbed his hand.

  “No, I’m fine. It’s just something I wondered about. So far, it doesn’t seem to be a big issue. I mean, I’ve gotten a couple of curious, maybe slightly hostile glances but nothing too overt and certainly nothing worse than I’d get in certain neighborhoods in Charlotte. Some of the stuff I read on the Internet mentioned a couple of incidents though.”

  He nodded and resumed his breakfast, looking calmer now. “Yes,” he said between bites, “it is a very unfortunate thing. Sometimes, a few idiots decide to hassle immigrants for sport.” He shook his head in disgust. “But the authorities deal with them swiftly and I hope severely.”

  Silence reigned as they finished their breakfast, and then Alexander reached across the table and captured her hand again, the contact reminding her of his expert caresses from the night before.

  “So, what do you plan to show me today?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

  “What would you like to see?” he responded, his tone equally teasing.

  “Everything.”

  He chuckled. “How about we start with one thing at a time? Are you finished?”

  At her nod, he disposed of the breakfast dishes and returned, offering his extending hand. “Mademoiselle, s’il vous plait.”

  She giggled like a giddy teenager—felt like one too—and took his hand, standing and then allowing him to tuck her hand under his arm and lead them out of the bakery.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Why, only to the most beautiful, special, important place in all of Geneva,” he said mysteriously.

  They walked several blocks before arriving at an ancient, at least to her eyes, church.

  “Cathèdrale Saint-Pierre. The most breathtaking building I’ve ever seen.”

  The reverence in his eyes as he gazed up at the structure left no doubt that he meant it.

  “Can we take a closer look?”

  “Of course! But there will be many tourists inside.”

  “Oh,” she said, “well why don’t you show me your favorite part.”

  He smiled and pulled her toward the door, his excitement clear. They made their way through the crowds loitering and taking pictures, and Quinn found herself captivated by the stained glass and impossibly tall arched ceilings. Alexander stopped short in front of a carved spiral staircase. The dark wood of the stairs contrasted with the light stone pillar, and even after hundreds of years, the details etched into the wood stood clear as she imagined they would have when the structure was first built. Alexander’s soft smile, the loving way he stroked the wood, left no doubt of his feelings about the place.

  He looked over at her, the gentle smile still ghosting about his lips and his eyes lit with childlike glee. “It was here that I first understood true beauty, true passion. My grandmother used to bring us here all the time, but one visit when I was thirteen, something clicked for me. I stood here, in front of these stairs and imagined all the people who’d stood here before me, all the people who’d felt closer to God, or who’d just been touched, how amazed they’d been. It was over for me then. I mean, I loved building stuff, still played with the Legos my father had brought from America, which is not cool for a teenager,” he said with a laugh, “but this was different…”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “It was just, I knew that my family built things, but it wasn’t until that day that I understood what that could mean, that my family, that I, could make something not just that people lived in or worked in or worshipped in or whatever, but that I could make them feel something as well. In some ways, it’s silly. I mean, I won’t ever build anything as beautiful as this and I very much doubt that the boutique hotel or condos I’ve built inspire any feeling at all, but since that day, just knowing that there’s potential that someone, someday, might look at one of my buildings and feel even a millionth of what I felt looking at those stairs…I forget that sometimes, but it always comes back. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  A group of visitors came by then and began snapping pictures, so Quinn and Alexander wandered through the pews and looked at the stained glass for a bit longer before leaving.

  “I envy you,” Quinn said as the idly strolled down the street.

  “Why?” he asked, looking over at her.

  “I said before that I’m not passionate about being an architect, and it’s true. I’m good at it, maybe even very good, but at best, it’s an interesting intellectual exercise. But you…it fires your blood, feeds your soul. That’s enviable. And very attractive…”

  When they came to a stop,
she leaned over and stretched up to kiss him.

  “I believe I was promised lunch,” Quinn said in a husky, throaty voice.

  ••••

  He closed the door and walked across the foyer, turning to Quinn and standing with his arms down, saying without saying, Your move.

  The wicked gleam in her eyes confirmed that she’d accepted the challenge, and she walked across the room to stand in front of him, close enough that he could feel her warmth, smell her intoxicating scent, but not close enough to touch. He resisted the urge to reach out to her and was rewarded when she slid her hand up his abdomen and across his chest, up farther to his shoulders and underneath his jacket. Even through the fabric of his shirt, her soft hands left a trail of warmth that had his cock standing at attention, and it surprised him that such a simple touch could have him on edge, though nothing about Quinn, about the combustible attractive between them, should have surprised him anymore.

  She slid his jacket down his arms and without a moment’s pause, lowered her hands to his belt and began making quick work of the clasp and buttons. Instead of lowering his pants as he expected, she gripped his cock through the fabric, gently kneading him.

  She leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I had such plans,” she said, her voice breathy and full with arousal. “I was going to go slow, tempt and tease and lick everything except your cock.”

  She breathed heavier now and sped her movements. “But patience has never been a virtue of mine,” she said between the kisses she placed along his jaw and neck, the soft press of her lips contrasting with the hardness of his jaw and the rasp of her skin against the beard that was beginning to form there sending shivers through him. “And I think I’ll skip to the best part.”

  After one final kiss, she dropped to her knees and looked up at him. His cock jumped in anticipation of her touch and at the scorching look in her eyes as she peeled the denim, and his underwear with it, down his legs and to the floor and exposed his cock to her greedy gaze. He stood at full attention, and as she watched him, her warm breath against his flesh contrasting with the slight chill in the air, a single drop of precum gathered at his slit and seeped out to drip down his crown. Quinn exhaled at the sight, the brush of her breath making his cock leap, and then she used her tongue to trace the drop’s path and to lave his slit and crown.

  He moaned his pleasure, which seemed to encourage her as she used her tongue to stroke his shaft, cupping his sac, which pulled tight to his body. She continued her tortuous ministrations, tracing the veins that threaded his cock with her tongue. She’d said she wasn’t going to tease, but he almost growled in frustration. He wanted her to take him into her mouth, but she seemed content with the playful swipes of her tongue.

  But soon, mercifully, she wrapped her lips around his crown and sucked, drawing him deep into her mouth and eliciting yet another moan, deeper this time, of both pleasure and relief. He’d closed his eyes against the sensation, but when he looked down, the sight of her, still fully clothed with her lips wrapped around his cock, the dusky flush of her skin contrasting with his own, it was all he could do not to come on the spot.

  She had him on the edge, wanting, needing more, wanting more than anything to hold her head still while he buried himself in her throat and fucked her face. Instead, he clutched her shoulders, determined to let her have her way, and to his pleasure, she began sucking him in earnest. With one hand wrapped around his shaft and the other cupping his balls, she bobbed up and down, alternating between taking him deep and pulling back to swirl her tongue around his head.

  He couldn’t resist touching more of her, stroking her cheeks, the feel of his cock through the barrier of her flesh, a novel and exciting sensation. Then he laced his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp as he whispered words to spur her on. Soon, he felt the orgasm build at the base of his spine, the pleasure beginning to spiral. He wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer, and he pulled back, hoping she understood his message. In response, she moaned and sucked him harder, taking him deeper to the edge of her throat, holding him there on the precipice.

  And then she opened, let him slip in a little deeper.

  It was his undoing. He released a guttural moan and clenched his hands in her hair as his cum burst out of him in a heated rush. He could do nothing but let the release take him as jet after jet of cum flowed from him. Through it all, she held him, one arm wrapped around his waist, her hand still cupping him as she swallowed his essence.

  After what felt like forever, he pulled his softening cock from her mouth and stepped back to help her stand. He looked into her eyes and then kissed her swollen, wet lips, the taste of himself on her arousing him again despite his recent orgasm. Then, without warning and to a chorus of shrieks and laughter, he hoisted her over his shoulder and walked toward the bedroom, depositing her on the bed.

  “Hey, I was enjoying the view!” she said through her giggles as he lay beside her and folder his arms around her waist. “And I still have my clothes on!”

  “We’ll fix that soon enough,” he said. “And I think I know exactly what I’m having for dinner.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Why am I doing this again?” Quinn asked as she looked back, watching the ground get farther and farther away, the gentle sway of the gondola making her more nervous than she cared to acknowledge.

  “Because you are the most courageous, adventurous woman I have ever met, and you made me promise I would encourage you to go through with it—I believe your words were ‘strap me to the fucking things if necessary’—even when you tried to change your mind.”

  “Oh God. Don’t listen to me, Alexander. I’m a moron, and I no doubt said that while under the influence.”

  “You don’t drink much, Quinn, so I doubt it.”

  “Not alcohol. I was clearly out of my head from your magic fingers or tongue or cock,” she said, her tone a mix of pouty and flirtatious.

  He laughed, the sound soothing her a little. What he’d said was true. He’d proposed a day trip to the mountains, and she’d pounced on the idea, excited to see their beauty up close. And when she’d seen Alexander’s ski gear and listened to him wax poetic about his love of skiing, she’d made him promise to teach her, foolish woman that she was.

  Now, after several hours of bunny slopes and fun in the snow, they were facing the biggest challenge yet. She should be embarrassed; five-year-olds were gliding down the slope with ease as she watched, but she was still nervous. Alexander touched her hand, comforting her even through the gloves they both wore and she looked over at him. He’d raised his goggles, baring his brown gaze, revealed his unwavering support.

  “You’ll do great,” he said and jumped off the gondola. “Last one down…” The rest of his words were lost on the breeze as he launched himself down the hill.

  She found herself laughing, buoyed by his playfulness and despite her fear, she rushed down after him.

  “Shi—” The word froze in her lungs as she flew down the hill, her fear at some point shifting to pure exhilaration.

  The trip was over in a flash and before she knew it, she found herself standing next to Alexander as he caught her in an embrace. Her limbs tingled with leftover adrenaline, and blood rushed through her head, the sound of it filling her ears until everything else was muted. She returned Alexander’s embrace and toppled them over into the snow, uncaring of the stares of others, some curious, some annoyed.

  “Oh my God, that was amazing. I’m never doing that again!” she said, breathless.

  “You’re a natural, Quinn,” he said and then splayed his hand over her waist, “and I don’t think I’ve seen anything sexier,” he said, his voice lowering an octave. “Are you ready to go home?”

  Home.

  The word hung between them, reminding her both of what they’d shared and that she’d be leaving tomorrow, taking the some of the playfulness out of the air. He removed his skis and then hers before standing and extending his hand. She took it and then busi
ed herself with wiping away snow, suddenly reluctant to look at him. He stilled her with one hand and placed the other under her chin, turning her head so that she looked into his eyes.

  He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. The emotion was clear in his eyes, and somehow she knew that the sadness, resignation, and the beginnings of love that she saw there were mirrored in her own. It was insane. She’d known the man for two weeks, but she was, irrevocably she feared, in love with him, and her heart tore at the thought of leaving him.

  But there was nothing to be done. He had his life, and she had hers. She sighed and determined that she’d absorb and enjoy every last moment they had left.

  ••••

  The ride back to Alexander’s was subdued, each preoccupied with their own thoughts of tomorrow. They shared a light dinner and then, as he had every night and most days, Alexander took her to his bed and made the sweetest, most tender love to her, showing her with his body what he’d told her with his eyes.

  Hours later, long after the sun had set and night had fully fallen, she slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. After rummaging through her suitcase, she retrieved one of the nightshirts she’d packed but hadn’t had occasion to use. She walked through the house and made her way out onto the deck, disregarding the frigid air. She stood, leaning against the chest-high balcony she’d come to love over the last few days. The city lights were twinkling as always but seemed brighter tonight somehow, maybe as a way of saying good-bye, she thought fleetingly. The low whoosh as the balcony door opened and closed sounded in her ear, but she didn’t look back, not even when she felt his warmth, then the hard expanse of his chest pressing against her back, his arms wrapping around her waist. She leaned into him and closed her eyes, wanting to absorb all she could, somehow imprint his feel, his scent, his warmth in her mind so that she’d remember it forever, have memories to relive on those cold, lonely nights that lay in her future.