This time, he let me open the door and I was already halfway down the hall when his voice followed me.
“I’ll miss you.”
I didn’t turn around to let him see how freely my tears fell so I just paused and whispered, unsure if he could even hear me, unsure if I even wanted him to, “Me too.”
Chapter Five.
We managed to avoid each other for two and a half weeks. It’s amazing how productive my period of misery became. Almost every day, I made an effort to paint or walk around the city with my camera and, coupled with long conversations and hours of reconnecting with the twins and Mama, I was able to maintain my façade as a content, single girl.
If Cosima noticed my misery at home, the effort it took me to rouse myself in the morning, the times my eyes unfocused as I was tugged into the current of my memories with Sinclair, she didn’t say anything. She had always been perceptive but I suspected she wasn’t willing to talk to me about my private life because she wasn’t ready to speak about hers. She spent very little time at the apartment and sometimes when she arrived home, she seemed hollow; her beautiful eyes like gold lame over her turmoil.
I also met with Sinclair’s DS Galleries business partner, surprised to find an incredibly friendly woman waiting for me at the chic French bistro where we had scheduled to meet. She was one of the most beautiful older women I had ever met, with fine light blonde hair that softened her handsome face and large tilted eyes like a cat. Despite her inherent glamour, she was extremely well versed on the New York City art scene and the tight ball of insecurity I felt about my lack of artistic abilities loosened under the weight of her professional wisdom. Eddie, the pretty Asian receptionist that I had met the day of my confrontation with Sinclair, was often present at our discussions and I found their odd couple chemistry, Ms. Prim and Proper and witty, coolly bored Eddie, refreshing.
Despite the distractions, it sucked not having someone to talk to about Sinclair. I knew where to find Candy now and the temptation to make contact with her was strong, but I decided it wasn’t fair to drag her into my mess, especially not when she worked with Sinclair. And I was convinced that he had told no one about the horrific connection we had. Which was why I was both suspicious and thrilled when I received a call on my new cell phone from Cage late one Friday afternoon as I was exiting the gallery.
“How’s my beautiful European?” he asked into my shocked silence.
I cleared my throat and found myself looking around the busy street conspicuously, as if even talking to Sinclair’s best friend was a crime. “It’s good to hear from you, Cage, but how did you get my number?”
There was a pause and my heart clenched in worry before he laughed. It was such a familiar and infectious noise that I found myself smiling.
“Sin might have slipped up a bit a few days ago and you know me, I couldn’t lay it to rest until I found you so,” I could hear the triumphant smile in his voice, “here we are.”
“As good as it is to hear your voice, I don’t think Sinclair, er, Daniel, would like it very much if he knew we were talking.”
“That’s probably true,” he mused and even though I knew I was right, disappointment settled in my chest. “Which is why we won’t tell him about it.”
“Cage…”
“Good, I’m glad that’s settled. I’m starving. Meet me for an early dinner?”
“Cage—”
“Génial, there is a really great French bistro near the gallery. I’ll meet you there in fifteen.”
He rattled off the name and address before I could protest and hung up the phone.
I stared at the slim piece of technology for a few minutes, debating the pros and cons of meeting Cage for lunch. On the one hand, Sinclair would be furious if he ever found out, and it was definitely not fair of me to be seeing his best friend when we had agreed to stay out of each others lives as much as possible. But on the other, I was desperate to talk to someone about him and I didn’t doubt Cage’s sincerity or ability to lie to Sinclair.
Before I had even fully made up my mind, I looked up to find myself in front of the intimate French restaurant. Just as I was about to chicken out, I noticed the crowd of young women next to the entrance and the lovely sound of Cage’s heavily accented but perfect English. Their bodies parted enough to reveal him in all his superstar glory; using his white teeth, deeply tanned skin, long braided hair and formfitting leather pants to their distinct advantage.
He noticed me shyly lingering a few feet away and his bad boy grin stretched into a true smile. Excusing himself quickly from the giggling mass of breasts and hips, he strode my way. Giddiness and genuine pleasure propelled me forward, sending me walking and then running into his arms.
He chuckled into my hair as he caught me and squeezed me tight. “It’s good to see you too, Elle.”
I pulled away, blushing with embarrassment, which made him laugh again.
“It’s good to see you just the same as ever.” He winked and threw an arm around my shoulders to usher me into the cool interior.
Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I secretly delighted in the feel of Cage’s arm around my shoulder, the security it afforded me, and the comfort, as we stepped into the trendy restaurant filled with the crème of New York society. The hostess smiled warmly at him and ushered us immediately to a table against the far wall. I was grateful too that he remained silent until we were seated.
“I hear you are settling in well,” he began, but his eyes sparkled as if he were a kitten toying with a mouse before pouncing.
He sat easily in the chair, slouched slightly with his leather jacket open to reveal a tight grey t-shirt embossed with the name of his band in uppercase black letters. The end of his thick, perfectly mussed braid hit his sternum and his slashing brows covered large, almond shaped eyes that denoted him as something other than purely Caucasian. His body was huge, surpassing six feet by numerous inches, and the hand that tapped out a tune on the table was large and powerful. I almost snorted at my former analogy. Cage was nothing like a kitten.
“Oh, what leads you to say that, Cage?” I asked with a small smile because I had honestly missed his games. “In fact, if I remember correctly, I never gave you any of my information.”
“I have my ways, Giselle.” He winked and broke into a wide grin when I laughed. “Just as you have yours.”
My smile dissolved into a sigh. “Sure, the ways of a freaking adulterer.”
Cage’s laughter prompted the tables closest to us to look our way but my charming companion waved them away with a smile. “So hard on yourself, Elle. As they say, it takes two to tango.”
“In this case, there were too many people on the dance floor,” I muttered, playing with the short hem of my purple dress. Sinclair had loved me in purple; he once said it was the color of my scent. I swallowed hard and put on my auto smile for Cage. “I hope you didn’t ask me to lunch to talk about him.”
“No,” he spoke carefully. “Not exactly.”
The waitress chose that moment to take our drink orders and I waited impatiently for Cage to stop flirting with her. His eyes twinkled as he did so and I knew he took some satisfaction from annoying me.
When he was finished, he turned to me again. “You know, we have never spoken my language together.”
“Non, je ne savais pas si tu l’aimeras,” I said.
We grinned at each other.
“For future reference, I do like it. Sinclair and my band mates are the only ones I know in America who speak French with me.”
“How long have you been here for? Despite all the time we spent together in Mexico, I don’t know anything about you.” I realized that with sadness. How could I have spent such an endless week with such fascinating people and know so little about them?
“And I, you.”
My gaze snapped to his and something locked in place with an almost audible click. It was a comforting thing and I recognized it immediately as friendship.
Leaning across t
he table, Cage took my hand between his two large ones. “Sinclair is like a brother to me. I have known him through everything and he will always be family. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have room for a friend.”
The waitress arrived with the bottle of Burgundy we had ordered and I grinned, ignoring her hostility, as I raised my glass. “I can cheers to that.”
A bottle and a half later, Cage and I were still sitting at the table, swinging from French to English and back as we imbued more of the heady French wine. The chef had even come out to see the faces of the couple that had ordered two main courses each, leaving it to him to decide what they were given. He was entirely too young and handsome to head up a successful restaurant and I told him as much when he finally agreed to sit down for a moment.
“Ah, well, I was blessed with good luck,” Chef Devereaux, or Dev as he had encouraged us to call him, said in an accent as thick as Cage’s. “And even richer friends.”
I laughed. “And rich friends make great investors.”
He tilted his head in agreement. “But I have to say, I prefer the beautiful friends over the rich ones.”
“Is that true?” I grinned behind my wine glass. “Then you and Cage should get along just fine.”
The two men laughed too loudly, not caring who heard them and I felt a pang of homesickness for the beautiful country I had fled. Though I loved Italy, it was France that had fostered my soul and turned me into a person I could be proud of.
My nostalgia got lodged in my throat when I dragged in a startlingly familiar smoky scent. I barely had time to swallow my mouthful of wine before I felt his presence behind me.
“It’s good to know where I stand with you, Devereaux.”
His voice ran its fingers down the back of my neck, feathering along my spine like a light caress. I shuddered almost violently and nearly spilled my drink. Cage’s heavily booted foot found my heeled one under the table, pushing against it lightly in a subtle show of support.
“Ah, but Sinclair, if it is any consolation your date is both beautiful and rich and for whatever reason, she chooses to associate herself with you so,” Dev shrugged charmingly, “that is something, uh?”
I looked up at them as everyone laughed, at least, everyone but Sinclair. He was standing beside his companion, a gorgeously dressed Elena, with his eyes on me, hot and overexposed. Simultaneously, I wanted to tell him to quit being so obvious and lay myself out on the table before him, naked in offering.
I shuddered again.
“Giselle.” My sister obstructed our gaze as she leaned down to brush her lips against my cheek, eschewing the Italian custom of kissing both. “What a lovely surprise.”
She spoke like that, my sister. It had taken her longer to master the English language than she cared to admit, and she was determined to put her vocabulary and etiquette to good use. No trace of her accent remained and though her tones were smooth and dulcet, they were missing softness.
In fact, as she stepped away from the kiss, I noticed the lack of softness anywhere on Elena. Her limbs were taut, honed by hours spent running and dancing, and her features were harder than mine, pinched further by a discontent that had plagued her for years. She was only twenty-six years old, a whopping thirteen months older than me, but she carried herself like a woman who covered her grey hairs and wore pearls.
I almost snorted when her hand went to a beautiful string of them at her throat.
“Cage.” Sinclair had shifted his focus to the singer lounging in his chair like a God. “I wasn’t aware you knew Giselle.”
He shrugged and brushed the end of his braid against the plush weight of his bottom lip. It was such a sensual gesture that both Elena and I shifted restlessly. “We met in Paris. We are friends for a while now.”
“You never mentioned,” Sinclair said, his teeth slightly bared.
Cage shrugged again. “I didn’t make the connection between Giselle and your lovely Elena until just now.”
The atmosphere between us, already fraught, vibrated with tension. Elena looked between us all with a small smile that was far from genuine. My sister didn’t like to be left out of the loop.
“You two are dating, then?” Something like distaste flashed across her face as she looked at Cage and a high flush crept up her neck.
“No,” Sinclair barked, at the same time that Cage grinned at me and winked.
“Would it be the end of the world if they were, Daniel?” Elena looked at him with disapproving concern and I was surprised that we were getting away with the barely concealed deception. It was so obvious to me that a secret was being – poorly – hidden right before her eyes, but for all her natural curiosity and brainpower, Elena was oblivious.
“Yes.” Dev nodded solemnly. “You see, there is already a line.”
“A line?”
He nodded again. “A waiting list for the honor of taking this lovely woman out to dinner.”
I laughed at the flirtatious Frenchman; grateful to him for reasons he couldn’t possibly understand. Playing along, I placed my hand on his arm and leaned in intimately. “Technically, you beat everyone to the punch. You’ve already fed me dinner.”
We both looked at the empty plates littering the white clothed dinner table and everyone, except for Sinclair, laughed.
“Cheater,” Cage accused with playfully narrowed eyes but I noticed them flick over to Sinclair and held my breath when he stirred restlessly next to me. “Although, if any woman is worth it, it’s Giselle. Don’t you agree, Elena?”
I kicked him hard under the table. That was taking his twisted game way too far and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Sinclair glared at his best friend with such concentrated hatred that I thought his blood vessels might pop.
“Daniel.” Elena tried to soothe him with a soft stroke down the arm.
If I had been in a position to offer comfort, I would have slid my hand into the back pocket of his slim fitting trousers and squeezed his pert ass. It would have both turned him on and forced him to recognize my presence. My fingers twitched on the table to do just that, and I wasn’t surprised when his eyes snapped to them. I extended my pinkie finger towards him, furious and ashamed that I could offer no more. A muscle in his jaw ticked once before his mask slid back into place.
“You are here for dinner, yes?” Dev asked, standing up to flee back to the kitchen and away from the awkwardness. “Let me show you to your table, oui?”
Elena’s eyes flicked across our faces, her pink lips pursed. She was clever enough to sense the undercurrents swirling beneath the murky waters and I wondered if her curiosity would get the better of her instinct to back away from the mess.
“Giselle, I have a favor to ask of you. Do you have a free moment tomorrow morning for coffee?”
I held my breath as my mind raced across excuses, leaping from one to another as if they were hot coals. Nothing seemed suitable and besides, I had the stupid, crazy desire to see the apartment that my ex-lover and older sister shared.
“Sure.”
I risked a glance at Sinclair and found him looking at me with guarded eyes. His lips moved slightly as if he wanted to say something but Elena’s tugged him forward and broke our connection.
“Tomorrow then.” She smiled slightly at me, the same tiny slice that Sinclair was prone to give out, but she ignored Cage, a snub that was notable if only because Elena prided herself on decorum.
As soon as they were out of hearing distance, my mouth fell open like a puncture mark on a heavy sigh. “That was horrible.”
“Hell,” Cage agreed. “But interesting.”
I frowned at him from behind my wine glass as I downed the rest of the crimson liquid.
“Sinclair couldn’t take his eyes off you and Elena couldn’t stand to look at you.”
“She doesn’t know if that’s what you are trying to say. Elena hasn’t been able to look me in the eye for years.”
He nodded but his dark eyes remained focused on the dregs at the bottom
of his wine glass. “I thought it was just me she hated the sight of.”
His melancholy surprised me. “Are Mr. Rock Star’s feelings hurt?”
My teasing tone had the effect I desired, he gulped back the rest of his wine and grinned at me. “Never. Now, I could use something a hell of a lot stronger than wine after that little situation.” He wiggled his fingers over his shoulder at the departed couple. “I could also use a woman. And you could use a man, no?”
My heart clenched painfully and for a second, I actually thought I was having a heart attack.
“Maybe.”
He laughed beautifully. “Good enough. Let’s go.”
Chapter Six.
I hadn’t been to a club since the incident in Mexico, and at first, I had been nervous, especially when we entered Sinner’s nightclub and Cage was practically assaulted by a group of women. Most of them didn’t know he was a rock star but it didn’t really matter, the French singer exuded sex and impossible magnetism. I tried to side step away, to give him space to entertain the scantily clad women, but his hand had reached through the gaggle to snare me and tuck me against his side.
“Ladies,” he rumbled in his low, accented voice. “I owe this gorgeous cherie a drink so please, excuse us.”
“So smooth.” I laughed as he turned us towards the bar.
He shrugged and squeezed my waist. “You know how it is to be beautiful.”
I didn’t argue with him. As soon as we had left the restaurant, I decided to let Cage take the lead. A night in the life of a rock star had to be a thrilling experience and I wanted to remember what I had felt like with Sinclair in Mexico, throbbing like a strobe light with sexuality.
“Four shots of tequila,” Cage ordered, cutting to the front of the crowded bar without fuss.
When I raised my brows at him, he lifted my hand and quickly licked my skin before shaking salt onto it. “For Mexico.”
I sucked in a shaky breath, tucked a lime into one hand and the shot in my other. “For Mexico.”
That had been four hours ago, I thought, or at least three. But I had lost all sense of time in the black space, punctuated only with flashing colours catching on glistening bare skin. My dress was damp with sweat, mine and those I had danced with, both men and women who had felt my body intimately as if being on a dance floor gave them the right.
The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin Book 2) Page 5