The Paris Apartment (Love Nests Book 1)

by Sophia Karlson

  She didn’t want to look too deep; she didn’t want to acknowledge it. But deep down in her dark soul, she wanted to be that skilled woman who knew how to please James with such confidence and ease.

  His hand slipped into hers, interlacing their fingers before she could pull away. She shot him a woeful glance. “How could you have a share in a place like that?” The whole idea frightened her. The freedom with which the people in the club approached sex head-butted with her ingrained sense of shame. She was suffocating under the weight of her upbringing, which dictated that sex happened only between married people and that it was something sacred, done only to procreate and not to be enjoyed.

  She couldn’t quiet the whisper that surged through her body, insisting that the past sinful week had been exactly the opposite.

  “It’s a solid investment.” He sighed. “It’s been more than a solid investment.”

  “Is that all?” she blurted out. “Do you mean to say you were into this type of thing before you invested? Or did you invest first and then get involved with… all these debauched people?”

  Her innards tightened as her words resounded in her mind. The way her treacherous body had reacted to what she’d witnessed—was she debauched too?

  “This is hardly a chicken or egg situation, Mila.” He’d slowed down and let go of her hand. “It’s a matter of self-defense.”

  She walked faster and he picked up his pace. “Self-defense against what?” She’d never been so defenseless against her own feelings. Her body was a mess, wanting things her brain tried hopelessly to squeeze back into that little box they belonged in. Like a map that would never fold back neatly, she sensed her body was never going to fit back into that little box her brain was trained to make it stay in.

  “Against this type of situation.” He raked his hands through his hair and chuckled mirthlessly, sounding almost helpless.

  She didn’t understand what he was talking about and right now she didn’t want to dig deeper. She wanted to go where she felt safe, felt like her old self and where the rules were clean-cut and clear.

  From the start, there had been no question about James having years of sexual experience. If she were honest, there was a lure in his knowledge, which was in contradiction to what she’d been taught to look for in a partner. She shot a glance at him. His face was pulled into a grimace and his jaw ticked. He raked his hands through his hair again, seeming to be on the verge of trying to explain something to her.

  She didn’t want to hear it, not now. There was only one thing she wanted to know. “What I don’t get is… if you and Marlène were into this partner mix-up business… swing—” She swallowed, the word stuck on her tongue. She took a deep breath. “Swinging and going around having sex with random people…” She chewed her lip. “I’m sure it’s all more complicated than that.” She hoped it was more complicated than that.

  “It is and it isn’t.” He raised his hand to reach for her cheek. “Mila.”

  She stepped to the side, effectively keeping a distance between them. “What I don’t understand is how Marlène could have cheated on you with Damien?”

  Damien had been there tonight. Apparently, he owned the hotel with the rooms where the people in the club would continue what had only started on the ground floor. Now, she didn’t doubt for one second that James, Damien, and Marlène had had a liaison that had gone sour beyond what James had explained to her.

  He closed his eyes with a grunt and came to a complete stop, blocking her way. The apartment’s entrance was only a few meters from them. She wanted to go up, lock herself in the room and recalibrate.

  “You really want to know?” he asked softly as he opened his eyes and stared at her. There was no pain in his countenance, only an absolute despondency, which tugged at her heart.

  “Yes. Unless there’s something else you need to hide.”

  He stepped closer, but she mirrored him backward, feeling the wall of the apartment against her back. “I’m not hiding anything from you, Mila. I don’t want to hide anything from you. I would have told you, eventually. When the time was right.”

  She blinked and bit her bottom lip hard to get a grip on the quick rise of tears and the merciless tightening of her throat. “There’s no time like the present.”

  “I have my own limits. I don’t take stupid risks. Some things are just not worth the return.”

  “And you know all about risk, don’t you,” she murmured. She was not going to like this.

  He looked up and down the sidewalk, which had become quieter since she’d left earlier with Stacey and Marlène. “You might not believe it right now, but there are things I won’t get into and won’t do.”

  When he met her gaze again he didn’t blink. “Marlène wanted to try every illegal drug she could possibly get her hands on and see which would give her the best sex.” With a groan he turned towards the door of the apartment. “I wasn’t getting into that for anybody, but Damien offered to take her on every possible ride. Same thrill, different rollercoaster. The amusement park for the sexually sated.”

  The wall behind her was warm, the rough texture of the old stone somehow comforting as she leaned her shoulder against it, needing something to give her some strength at that moment. She’d gone numb. Not that she knew what to say in any case.

  “I want to stay with you.” He cursed under breath. “But you understand why I need to fetch Stacey and get her out of Damien and Marlène’s company?”

  She nodded and pushed off from the wall to take the last steps to the apartment’s entrance.

  “Please, Mila… don’t hate me for this.” His eyes begged, his brow furrowed. “I haven’t been to the club for eight months. For what it’s worth.”

  She couldn’t think further; the knot in her stomach tightened and she turned away from him.

  He opened the door for her and she tugged her apartment keys from her bag.

  “I’ll be back as quick as I can. Please wait up, okay?”

  She could only respond with a nod, the need to be alone overpowering every other faculty.

  “Mila.” He paused in the doorway, waiting for some response from her.

  “Just go, James,” she mumbled as she pressed the call button for the lift. It was already on the ground floor, and as the doors slid open, she stepped inside, pressed the button to his floor and got the hell away from him.

  chapter 41

  James reentered the club with a chilled heart and an uncomfortable feeling of foreboding. He couldn’t allow Stacey to be lured deeper into Marlène and Damien’s dark world. Sex was one thing—it was normal—but drugs were a hellish quicksand his sister wouldn’t be able to crawl out of.

  He scanned the ground floor reception area, already busier than what it had been half an hour ago, but didn’t find any sign of Stacey, Marlène or Damien.

  He rushed up the stairs up to the second floor and the dance area that pumped with music and whatever else. The room was hardly dark, the flashing lights and lasers giving ample opportunity to scout who was on the dance floor.

  After a fruitless round, he cursed. If Stacey was wearing the LBD he’d bought her that afternoon, like Mila had, he would have a hard time spotting her. And he didn’t want to look too closely at any writhing white flesh that was getting sweaty on the floor, hoping that Stacey was still fully clothed.

  He was heading for the third floor when he came face to face with Marlène, who was still dressed, her mouth pulled into a grim line.

  “Where have you been?” she hissed. “Stacey’s up here.” She wanted to tug him along but he shrugged her off.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Fuck knows.” She rushed up the stairs, opening the door to an open space with subtle lighting, filled with several king-sized beds and mirrors.

  The erotic moans of the only threesome at it hit him first, but then he heard it—unc
ontrollable whimpering interrupted by the odd staccato sob. Stacey.

  “She won’t move,” Marlène whispered, but he’d already zoned in to where the crying was coming from.

  He navigated the beds, going straight to the dark corner where Stacey huddled. Damien sat on the edge of a bed across from her, still fully dressed, leaning with his elbows on his knees, unaware of his approach. Damien was speaking to her in soft tones.

  James grabbed him by the scruff, jerked him up and rammed his fist into his shitface. Damien yowled as his lithe frame slumped back onto the bed, clawing his cheek. “Mon Dieu, James!” he spluttered. “I didn’t touch her!”

  “That was for bringing Stacey and Mila here, allowing them in, you motherfucker,” James growled. “I’ll slit your throat if you even think of touching my sister.”

  He cast a glare at Marlène and she edged away as Damien sat straight. James’s chest heaved at the rush of adrenalin and sudden exertion. The fucking coward wouldn’t even lift a hand to defend himself.

  He went on his knees next to Stacey. “Sweetheart,” he whispered. “What happened?”

  Stacey hugged herself tighter, her sobs intensifying. He’d never seen her like this, and he tried to smooth her hair. But instead of calming her as his tender strokes always had, she yanked away from him, finally looking up, eyes swollen and wide.

  “Jamie?”

  She hadn’t realized he was there.

  “Shh, angel face. I’m here.” He swallowed at the fear reflected in her stance; her whole body was shaking. “I’m taking you home.”

  “James,” Damien said, his tone pressing.

  The man’s hand was on his shoulder, and he wanted to lurch up and strike him again. But something in the pressure in Damien’s gesture made him pause. He looked up, reading only urgency in the pull of Damien’s mouth.

  He rose. “What?”

  “She must have had some past trauma that got triggered when we stepped in here. She just broke down like this. Nothing I did helped.”

  The devil had cursed them. Stacey wasn’t unscathed. And the previous evening she’d hinted at it. But how? What? When? James stared at Stacey’s hunched-over frame, her whole body coiled up to protect itself. He shrugged off his jacket and settled it over her shoulders, then hugged Stacey close, and this time she didn’t pull away. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t face Damien’s or Marlène’s concerned hovering. “Leave us,” he murmured and listened until their footsteps faded.

  “Can you walk home, sweetheart?”

  She glanced at him and he gathered her hair from her delicate features. She nodded with a wobbly lip and he helped her up. She still shook and for a moment he held her tight, waiting for her to get a grip on her crying.

  They made their way out of the club, not making eye contact with anybody else, their bodies intertwined as he supported her.

  She let go as they entered the apartment’s lobby and waited for him to call the lift.

  “Jamie—” Her voice broke.

  “It’s okay, but we are going to talk about what happened.” What had she been hiding from him—and for how long? He took her hand and held it until they reached his apartment’s door. Her fingers quivered in his, a butterfly caught in his gentle grip.

  “Where’s Mila?” she asked as he unlocked the door.

  “She’s here. I brought her back before I came looking for you.” They entered the apartment where all the lights were lit but no human presence gave life to the place.

  The emptiness was almost eerie.

  “I lost track of her when Damien took me to dance. God,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I went tonight. I should have told you. I… Marlène—”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” Gone were the days of pretense. He didn’t want to think about what Marlène and Damien had connived behind his back. “Do you want to check up on her quickly?”

  “Yes, please. I feel wretched for leaving her behind.” Stacey walked off, and he dragged in a deep breath, watching as her shoulders heaved with an ill-contained sob.

  He followed two steps behind her, having no idea how to deal with the situation. With Stacey in a state like this. That Stacey had been thrown by what she’d experienced at the club, little as it was, made his innards crunch together in fear. He wanted to talk to her—now—but he wasn’t sure whether Mila should be privy to what they were going to talk about. Whatever Stacey had gone through wasn’t going to be pretty. Or did Mila already know?

  Fuck. He needed a drink. Instead of going for the cupboard where he had some whiskey he paused at the kitchen counter. Mila’s watercolor of the view from the apartment, still unfinished, was next to the only two phones left on the counter—Stacey’s and Marlène’s.

  He picked up the drawing and the paper quivered in his hand. He turned it over, his stomach dropping.

  I’m leaving you and Stacey to spend some quality time together. Hate to be the fifth wheel and Stacey deserves to have you all to herself. Thank you for a lovely week in Paris. Will treasure the fond memories.

  In self-defense.

  Mila xoxo

  His chest clutched tighter with each word. Self-defense? A lovely week? Fond memories?

  She was the love of his life.

  The sudden insight chilled him to the bone. He’d never expected to fall in love. Had never wanted to fall in love. He felt his pockets for his phone, intending to call her, but Stacey’s breathing next to him pulled him out of his shock.

  “Mila’s left. All her things are gone.” Stacey stared at him, chewing her thumbnail. “God, Jamie. What have I done?”

  James took a deep breath. “None of this is your fault, Stacey.”

  The tremors that ran through his body intensified and he went out to the terrace to get a grip. The fault was all his.

  He scrolled to find Mila’s number on his phone and dialed. It didn’t even ring; the phone just killed the call by itself.

  Mila had blocked his number.

  “Can you call her?” James asked. Stacey had followed him to the terrace. “I can’t reach her.” He’d lost every bit of control over the situation. Mila was gone, and he had no idea where she went.

  Stacey nodded and got busy with her phone, her hands trembling. After a minute she withdrew it from her ear. “It’s ringing but she’s not answering. I can’t leave a message. Possibly because we’re in France.”

  He hung his head. At least there was that. Mila would still speak to Stacey, but not right now. She must have gone somewhere close to sleep. Even if he spent the rest of the night tracking her down at one of the youth hostels in the area, he had to find her.

  He scanned Stacey’s face. She looked haggard; all the spark that usually twinkled in her eyes when she was with him had disappeared, the sweet gusto completely sucked from her. He’d never seen her like this. Or had he never looked closely at his sister?

  “What happened tonight, Stacey?” He had to know. If he didn’t wrench it from her now she might never tell him.

  She fiddled with her dress, stroking over the curve of her hip with a nervous hand. She’d shed his jacket, but despite the warm evening, goose bumps spread over her skin. She bit her bottom lip hard, and he flinched at the blood-drawing pressure she applied.

  “Stacey, I can’t watch you like this. It’s tearing me to shreds.”

  She dropped her head. “There was this song playing tonight. I wanted to get away from the dance floor before it got any worse… before it got to me. But then Damien took me one floor up and there were all these white beds and mirrors and everything just came crashing back to me.”

  With every word her voice narrowed, until he had to lean in to hear her.

  “What crashed back to you?” He didn’t want to know, didn’t want to hear what she was going to tell him, but already every truth shone from her pale face and her eyes that avoided him.<
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  He cupped her cheek in his palm and it was wet with tears she’d silently let go. He lifted her chin to make her look at him.

  “I was raped, Jamie, a week before Mommy killed herself.”

  His hand circled her neck, pulling her to him in an all-consuming embrace. He wanted to take every drop of pain away, by some magical osmosis let it travel from her body to his. “Why haven’t you ever told me?”

  “I just couldn’t. Jamie—” She was all choked up, hardly able to breathe.

  “Who was it? Do you know?” He wanted to kill the motherfucker who’d touched his sister. Who’d stolen her innocence and still suffocated her spirit. This was where she’d been, in the dark abyss of abuse where he’d been unable to follow and find her.

  She’d pushed her face into his neck, hardly breathing. “Nick.”

  An angry sob tore from him, releasing the stifling pressure on his chest. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his back.

  Nick. The lover who’d died with his mom in a gruesome accident that had been no accident at all. Had Stacey just admitted it too? His quiet suspicions, which he’d kept buried deep inside, crash-landed in this warped reality in which he didn’t want to breathe the poisoned air.

  “How?” he croaked. He had to know everything, irrespective of the pain it brought her.

  “Dad had gone on a business trip. Mom had invited some of her friends over. I was supposed to stay in my bedroom and study. But he came to find me. Mom was too high to notice he was gone. Too high to care.” She hushed and he wanted to block the memories for her.

  “He was so strong, Jamie, I tried to fight him off but I couldn’t breathe.” She gulped, pushing away from his neck where her tears had spread in a warm film. “It happened so quietly, but he took his time. He held my mouth so tight, forced me to watch in the mirror.”

  She shuddered and he closed his eyes, but the image still burned.

  “Did you tell anybody?” At least she was talking. How was it possible that she hadn’t told him before?