by Angel Payne
“Ashamed?” I jerked back so fiercely, my head audibly slammed the headboard. Thank God for over-the-top padding. “Ashamed of what?”
He shuttled his own head back, defiantly jogging his chin. “It was our first date under the new contract,” he retorted. “And I had your thighs spread in under three hours. And then I rutted on you like a beast with no control…” For a moment, he looked sick to his stomach. His nostrils flared over lips that clenched in disgust. “That was a fine way to convey how I didn’t think of you as a whore, n’est-ce pas? That I valued you for something more than the fire you give my cock?”
The roller coaster of my stomach dropped into reverse. It kept going, crashing into the doors of my heart—and blasting them wide. Into the new gap, a flood swelled and flowed, warm and bright and crystalline as Caribbean waters. Part of me hated feeling this way when Lucien was still racked by such anguish, but I couldn’t hide my sheer delight…my consuming joy.
No more hiding.
Ever again.
I tossed aside the pillow. Climbed over and pressed against him. Dug a hand into the thick luxury of his hair and then hauled him close for a ferocious, delicious kiss.
When I finally let him go, I kept him locked to me with the pure purpose in my stare. “But Monsieur Paget…I like setting your cock on fire.”
I proved it by lowering his head to my chest. A throaty laugh escaped as his warm breath vibrated between my breasts. If I was in luck, that heavy breathing would soon become a long growl. Then some teasing suckles. Then all the goodness that would come after that…
But the man was damned and determined to twist my expectations like taffy this morning.
And then snap them like candy sticks.
Which was definitely the case as he shoved violently back. Lurched off the bed. Paced across the room with obvious anger. “Tu ne comprend—” He hissed more profanities before snarling hard and deep. “No. You still do not understand, damn it.”
I exhaled through my nose. Folded my arms. “Okay.” I extended the vowel, damn near turning it into a question. “I guess I don’t.”
He turned with a newly demonic scowl. “I do not want you to set my cock on fire!”
In lieu of an incredulous laugh, I cocked a pointed look to the erection between his braced thighs. “Probably should’ve copied your whole body on that memo, ace.”
He didn’t hear a word I drawled. He was too busy trying to shatter the windows with his extended roar. When I let the reverberations simply sit on the air—pauses were sometimes the most effective parts of an effective mix—he finally spat out, “Mon dieu, woman. Are you listening to me?”
“Listening?” More stark shock—enough to make me launch to my feet, as well. Once planted on the floor, I refolded my arms. “Okay, slow your roll, Paget. I’m right here; see? And I am listening.” And, thanks to the shaft that bobbed more prominently between his hewn thighs, also gawking. And fighting like hell to avoid an embarrassing drool too.
“‘Slowing my roll’ is not an option for me, Juliette.” He spewed it while stalking to the windows and back and then again, clearly not worried about treating the outside world to the masterpiece of his erection. “Slowing anything is not an option. Slow is not a fucking word I’ve understood since laying eyes on you!”
Well…shit.
I plunked back onto the bed as that stupefaction pinged every inch of my brain. Clearly, Lucien had more to say—a huge hell of a lot more—but gritted himself into silence, waiting for me to react. But I was dumbstruck. Speechless. Frozen. And in a lot of ways, hoping my icicle act would inspire his too.
That he wouldn’t do exactly what he did.
That he wouldn’t stride with such bold beauty back to the bed. Lunge back onto it with such unfaltering force. Sweep me back beneath him with such awestriking arrogance—before stealing my breath all over again with his deep, brutal slam of a kiss.
But worst of all, that he wouldn’t pull back from that kiss and gaze at me like this. Adoring me with every speck of starlight in his mesmerizing midnight eyes. Caressing my cheek with the magic of an angel’s wing.
And then whispering to me with the same spectral intensity.
Piercing me with the power of his raw, husky confession.
“Je tombe pour tu, Juliette Darienne,” he whispered. “I am falling for you.”
The edges of my vision clouded. My chest was a roller coaster park again. “Lucien—”
“Do not go.”
“Wh-What?”
“I said do not go. I want you to stay here, Juliet.”
“Where?”
“In Paris. With me.”
Ohhh…God.
The words I’d dreamed of.
And dreaded.
The dream I could never give in to.
What the hell did I do now?
The answer to that was as blatant as writing on the wall. And the dread in my heart. And the cycling clothes in the corner, waiting for me to scoop them up.
Because my walk of shame was going to be that in a thousand ways.
The shame of what I had to do to him. The lesson that every other relationship had taught me before this…that this was the inevitability of my life, a truth that Pax and others like him had simply seen before me. I only saw it this time because Lucien and my’s soundtrack was cranked to a faster tempo.
But this time would be no different. And I had to face that shame too.
The shame of knowing I’d never be brave enough to face it, or change it.
And that I was about to break the heart of the one man worth doing it for.
10 Days and Counting
“You look like hell.”
I glared across my dressing room at the man who’d already pilfered half my basket of fries—and showed no signs of stopping there. “Thanks. Way to motivate your key talent, boss.”
Milo regarded me while chewing slowly. The air thickened, turning abnormally quiet except for the distant thud of the newest Pitbull remix. Though Avanti had opened thirty minutes prior, it was a Wednesday night with pouring rain outside. We likely wouldn’t be sold out, even when midnight rolled around.
It wasn’t optimal on the drowning-in-work scale of getting over Lucien, but it would have to do.
And it beat the alternative.
Being alone. And now, thanks to the magic of having known Monsieur Paget, being acutely aware of it.
“Oh, I’m not here as the rah-rah squad,” Milo finally answered. “Though I thought Arista took care of the atta-girls at lunch today?”
I trickled out a laugh. “Ahhhh. Now we’re getting down to it.” I rose and walked over, joining him on the couch. If anything, I was determined to get my fair share of the frites, though Claude in the kitchen would always readily whip me up a batch. Damn, I was going to miss that guy.
I was going to miss everyone.
Claude, Liev, even all the bartenders and waitresses and doormen and tech staff…they’d all come to mean more than I ever imagined possible.
Who was I kidding?
All of Paris had.
Trés fantastique. I’d found the one city in the world where I could really imagine starting over from Pax, and now it contained the two men in the world I needed to most avoid.
Slippery slope, girlfriend.
Waaayyy too slippery.
Back to a safer subject. Fries. And to this strange, pseudo-house call from my boss, whom I suspected as the subject of a tip-off from his well-meaning wife. Though my heartache had swelled into a good-sized thunderhead by now, I couldn’t imagine Leese or Greer busting past the dome of silence to which they’d been sworn. That left Arista, who had a heart of gold but a very clear alliance to her gorgeous husband.
Who was, by his own admission, not here to roll out the feel-good wagon.
So what the hell was up?
Unless Milo had started suspecting shit on his own, and was playing a mean game of reverse psychology.
Sneaky tactics, even for him�
��but not a plan I’d put past him either. But just like his bestie Lucien Paget, the man didn’t surrender a clue past his sublime fry-eating facade.
Damn it.
Time to grab the fry stealer by his mayo dish.
And yes, I really yanked the bowl away in order to fully snag Milo’s attention. “Okay, look,” I leveled. “You know I’ll get it together by show time, okay?” To prove the point, I broke off the end of a fry, tossed it into the air, then smoothly caught it in my mouth. Yeah, I was nearly a pro at the fried food version of nothing-but-net.
The move never failed to impress—until now. Milo merely shrugged, his version of a two-star review.
Okay, back to suspecting reverse psychology. Big time.
I really didn’t buy the guy’s casual mien for a second but let him take the lead on this thing. “Of course I know that,” he stated. “But it’s not show time I’m here about, Juls.”
“But you’re here about something.”
He didn’t shift. Instead, he laid out the dots and now expected me to make the connections for for myself. There was genuine concern on his handsome face, beyond just the surface attendance and numbers shit. That ruled out anything alarming about Mom. He wouldn’t be playing about that shit.
Crap, crap, crap.
That left only one subject open.
Lucien.
But I really had sworn Gigi, Leese, and Greer to top secrecy—and had made damn sure not to mention Lucien by name to Arista today. Even if she’d spilled in full to Milo, there was no defined way he’d put together his own dots on—
At that moment, my logic finally kicked in.
Dragging me to a single, awful, unnerving conclusion.
Milo Proust was my boss.
Milo Proust was my damn boss.
But technically…so was Lucien.
I drilled a mental glower at my brain’s peanut gallery. Then shot off the couch before Milo could see the full extent of my furious blush. “I don’t believe this.”
“Well, that makes you a party of one.” The man continued chomping on the fries as if we were merely sampling one of Claude’s new creations.
I couldn’t help peeking over my shoulder. “Wh-what does that mean?”
He shrugged one broad shoulder beneath his stunning Prada three-piece. “Only that the saying must be true, about being blind to the blessings on your own doorstep.” He pushed away the fries in favor of a more assertive pose, his elbows parked on his knees. “And Juliette, my friend, the gift basket on your stoop right now is pretty damn obvious.”
I pivoted around a little more. “What…basket?”
He waited a long moment. Seemed to deliberate what he said next. Finally gave up his inner battle and asserted, “The one with the gift tag about Lucien Paget being in love with you.”
Thank God I was so close to my dressing table. My knees buckled, plunking me into the chair as if I’d finished six glasses of vino at lunch instead of three. My spinning head lived up to that special momentum. “He…” But I couldn’t get out the rest of the confusion—because it wasn’t confusion. “Yeah.” My eyes squeezed shut as I admitted it. “You’re…you’re right.”
Milo’s exhalation seemed etched with a little victory, despite the somenity of his reply. “All right. And do you love him too?”
I kept my eyes shut. Simply let the tears spill from them, coursing down my cheeks. After the better part of a minute I stretched a hand out, curving my fingers around the edge of the vanity. I gripped the thing like a life raft in a storm. Wasn’t it? My head was a tempest of conflict. My gut was a sea of heartache. I saw no secure land anywhere, not even when thinking of home and Mom. I’d never not longed for the waters of the Hudson, the bustle of midtown, the grandeur and icons of the Manhattan skyline. Now, I was disconnected from it. Lost. I didn’t know what to do but hold on and pray the chaos passed soon.
“I know I can’t imagine my life without him.”
“Then why did you tell him you couldn’t stay here with him?”
And there it was.
The six trillion-dollar question.
That could only be answered with the truth.
That was what spilled out of me for the next half-hour. All of it. I held nothing back. The confusion and pain from Dad’s desertion. The heartache and rage from Pax’s betrayal. The sweet revenge of my professional success, dealt with a double-edged sword bearing loneliness on the other side.
And the complete, magnificent joy of meeting someone who’d understood it all, without even hearing it all.
But then the fear of wondering what he’d do when he did.
No. It had been better this way. Blurting it to Milo—actually putting it into words, beyond the confines of my fucked-up head—had actually helped me comprehend all of it. Finally.
And maybe…this was also the key that unlocked the door to the other side. The portal I could use for moving on.
At least I thought so.
Prayed so.
“Thank you,” I finally told him, ending with a deep sigh. “I think I just needed to hear myself say all that.”
For a long beat, Milo didn’t answer that. At last he murmured, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nodded and locked my teeth, using the clench to eek out a smile. Fake it ’til you make it, right? I believed it. I did.
Which was, of course, why I dropped my face into my hands and started blubbering all over again.
Which was why the tears came harder when Milo stepped over and pulled me up from the chair. Then harder as he hugged me close.
God. God. Portal, my ass. The only thing I’d unlocked was the black, awful well of my self-imposed grief…
And the bottomless lake of my love for Lucien Paget.
“Sh-shit,” I finally got out. “What the hell have I done, Milo? What the hell have I done?”
“Okay, sssshhh.” He pushed a wad of tissue against my nose. Rubbed my shoulders with firm strength. “First, you’re going to breathe in then out. Deeper. Deeper. Steady. Again. Good.” He sat me back in the chair then swept in to hunker in front, waiting for me to calm again. Once I had, he stated, “Second, you’re going to recognize this isn’t an unfixable situation.”
I narrowed my eyes. Well, narrowed them more, since they were likely puffed into disgusting slits by now. “What part about how I broke the man’s heart did you not hear, Mr. P?”
A soft smile took hold at the sides of his mouth. “I’ve learned a thing or two about hearts in the last few years, Miss Darienne. I actually learn new things about them every day, through the love in my wife’s eyes and the light on my son’s face.” He tilted his head, tossing some of his blue-black hair into his distinctive blue eyes. “I know they’re more resilient than we ever think, and more enduring when connected with their true, destined love.”
I sniffed. Pulled in a high sigh—and a breath of something I hadn’t experienced in five damn days.
Hope.
“You…you really think so?”
Milo pushed up, stood to his full height, and walked over to grab my sweater off the back of my dressing room door. “Come on.” He pushed the garment out to me. “Let’s take a walk.”
“A walk?” I sputtered. “Right now?”
He chuckled. “It’s Paris, Juls. It’s what people do to clear their heads. Come on; Liev has the boards for now.”
I still tried for a solid double-take, but I should’ve remembered that Milo was likely friends with Lucien for many reasons. One of those key elements? Clearly, the man never took no for an answer.
I followed him out the club’s back entrance as Liev threw on a customized dubstep mix. The guy was getting good. One day, if my production studio dream ever worked out, I’d help him lay down some tracks. Selena Gomez’s voice would sound awesome with his style.
I let my mind skip off on that tangent for a while. I liked calling them “sound threads” because one I had enough of them, they’d be woven into a new mix. These threads were especially
helpful for replacing any questions I’d have about Milo’s route through the neighborhood. Oberkampf pretty much rocked every night of the week, but the misty night was keeping tonight’s rhythm to a snare drum more than a timpani boom. The vibe up and down the streets was hip but laid-back—
Ensuring my bewilderment was a contrasting crash as soon as Milo halted in front of a boarded-over building. And then pressed on the call bell.
“Dude,” I muttered. “What the hell are you—”
To my shock, somebody yanked open the door. “Well, look what the cat dragged over.”
“Gigi?”
My gorgeous friend hauled me into a generous hug. “That’s my name, baby; don’t wear it out. While you’re at it, come on in.”
I let her take my hand and lead me inside. Immediately, we were surrounded by a beehive of construction activity. “Come on in…where?” There were fresh wood planks everywhere, along with carpet and tile sample books…
And pallets of soundproof studio foam.
“What…the…hell?”
Gigi had a turn at her own double-take, but it didn’t diminish the intensity of her gawk. She finally flashed a glance at her brother. “You really didn’t tell her?”
Milo puffed out his chest. “Managed to get her here without a word.”
“Without a word about what?” I cut in.
“Nice.” Gigi fist-bumped him.
“Without a word about what?”
Well, sometimes small miracles did happen—because fate let me get out the whole question before I was stripped of the ability to speak anymore.
As my answer unfolded before me.
Starting with Lucien’s appearance from somewhere in the back of the building.
Looking more godlike than I ever, ever thought possible.
No…seriously.
What the man did for a business suit, he rocked twice as hard in a basic black V-neck tee and jeans. The way the cotton and denim clung to him, accentuating every virile inch of his lean, corded muscles…
Holy God…
But even the splendor of all that wasn’t what paralyzed me.
That feat belonged to the perfection of his stare.
The onyx depths of it…still there for me.