Love Me in the Dark, Page 4

  “The book? Oh, yes. Great.” I glance at the culprit and notice I’m holding it upside down. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I flip it back up. “I was trying … you know. To look at a picture from all angles,” I add lamely. Seriously, Valentina? All angles?

  He chuckles, and the sound is throaty and masculine and spine tingling. “I keep bumping into you,” he adds quietly, a soft, slow, and intoxicating smile lingering on that full mouth of his.

  “Is that a good thing or bad?”

  “I don’t know … I’m still trying to figure it out.” He looks at the empty chair across the table from me. “May I?”

  “No, I was—”

  He pulls the chair out and sits down across from me, our knees touching. He takes off his leather jacket and drapes it over the back. While he does, I try my damn hardest not to gape at him. Wearing only a faded black tee that molds to his muscular chest, it takes every ounce of willpower I own to tear my gaze away from him and his golden skin.

  “Getting ready to leave …”

  He nods towards the book lying open on the table. “Where you going?”

  I shut it closed. “Nowhere.”

  “Bien.” He looks around for the waitress to place an order, but he might as well save himself the trouble. She’s been eyeing him hungrily since he sat down, waiting for the chance to approach him. “Then you can join me for a glass of wine.”

  I grab my bag, preparing to leave. “I’d rather not, but thank you for the offer.”

  “You’re still mad about the other day?” He reaches across the tiny table for my hand. “If so, I’m sorry.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to apologize.” The warmth of his touch sends a shot of electric heat running through me stirring my senses. However, logic, or self-preservation, wins and I remove my hand.

  “I’m not. I’m sorry it upset you, but I’m not sorry it happened. Stay.”

  “As I’ve already said, I’d rather not.” Everything about him makes me want to put an ocean between us.

  He tilts his head to the side, sizing me up. “Pity … I didn’t peg you for a coward.”

  I tighten my grip on my bag, offended. “I’m not.”

  “Prove it.“ He raises an eyebrow. “Have a glass of wine with me.”

  Without saying a word, I let go of my bag and sit back down. I fold my hands primly over my lap and raise my eyes to meet his, responding silently to his challenge. Well, two can most certainly tango.

  He grins approvingly.

  The waitress comes over, and it seems for the time being we’ve reached a temporary truce. His gaze remains trained on me while he orders a bottle of Brunello, and I fight the urge to fidget in my seat. The waitress walks away, leaving us to ourselves.

  Leaning back comfortably in the chair, he rests his leg horizontally over the knee of the other as he runs both of his hands through his longish jet-black hair. My fingers itch to touch its softness. “They suit you.” He points toward my eyes.

  Instinctively, my hands go to my round, horn-rimmed glasses, and I inwardly groan when I realize what he’s referring to. I start to remove them but decide to keep them on.

  “Good decision. I like them on you.”

  My heart skips a beat. I blush furiously. “Thanks,” I say, but the statement comes out sounding more like a question.

  “You’re welcome.” He watches me closely as his fingers gently brush the crest of my cheek. The contact makes me feel as though I’m being doused with gasoline and lit on fire. “You look lovely when you blush.”

  “Do you always speak whatever is on your mind?” I laugh shakily as I curl my fingers around the espresso cup and drum them nervously on its surface, the smell of coffee and buttery croissants floating around us. The memory of his kiss and the reality of his touch pierce me like an arrow. “Do whatever you want?”

  He chuckles. “Oui, you should give it a try someday.”

  “Is that why you kissed me?”

  I flinch internally. Why did I have to bring it up? Now, he’s going to think I’ve been thinking about it. Which I have, but he doesn’t need to know that. Damn it.

  “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

  “That’s not a good reason to go around kissing strange women.”

  “Well, what was your reason for kissing me back?”

  Touché.

  I focus on the now-cold dark brew in between my hands, trying not to laugh at this impossible man. “Whatever happened to Margot?”

  “She got over it, I’m sure.”

  “God, I hope so. She was really mad … Not that I blame her, though.”

  “What made you go inside anyway?”

  “Made a mistake. I didn’t realize I was crashing a party until it was too late.” I bite my lip, remembering the whole thing, finding it sort of funny now. “Actually, I was about to leave when I saw this painting with a poppy flower.”

  “Oh yeah? Bet you it was terrible.”

  “Not at all. Whoever painted it is very talented. You could see the love. Feel the pain.”

  “How?” he asks softly, the question almost a whisper.

  “I know I’m not making sense, but something about the painting made me hurt for the artist. Call it fanciful, but I felt—I felt as though it was his heart on the canvas.”

  “That’s fanciful all right.” He clears his throat, a shadow clouding his eyes momentarily. He blinks, and it’s gone. “So, neighbor. What brings you to Paris?”

  “Call me Valentina, please.” I take a deep breath, trying to think of an excuse. “Just needed a break, I guess.”

  “I’m Sébastien,” he says with the most divine French accent. “A break from what?”

  “Sébastien,” I repeat, rolling the word on my tongue, tasting it. I don’t understand why but my heart goes into overdrive by just saying his name out loud. “A break from life, I guess.”

  “You came to the right place. Did you travel alone?”

  I nod. “My husband stayed behind in New York.” At the mention of William, I’m assailed with guilt. Focusing on my hands, I think of excuses so I can leave.

  “You know, if you keep staring at that table, you’re going to burn a hole in it,” he says good-humoredly.

  I raise my eyes swiftly, meeting his.

  “There.” He stares at me as he crumbles my defenses little by little. His gaze takes me to a dark corner, undresses me, and fucks me. “That’s better.”

  I should get up and walk away from him, but like the other night at the gallery, I find myself unable to move. I foolishly remain seated because I know, deep down, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with him next to me. It’s a risky game to play, but I can’t seem to make myself care.

  “Don’t look at me that way, please,” I beg softly.

  “Why not?” He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. At ease, he places one loosely between his lips, lighting it. He tilts his head back and blows smoke out of his mouth. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

  And for a crazy, reckless instant, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him again. Would it be as good as the first time? Would he make me feel the same yearning? The same hunger? I tighten my hold on the cup, surprised it hasn’t shattered between my hands as an intense need to touch him comes over me. “Because I like it, and I shouldn’t.”

  “Because you’re married?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if I told you I don’t care?” He licks his lower lip, the tip of his tongue tracing its pillowy outline, as he brings his hand up close to his mouth about to take another drag, stopping halfway. A slow, lethally attractive smile spreads across his face, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “What are you really afraid of, Valentina?”

  You. Me. “I must go.”

  Before giving him a chance to protest, I grab my Birkin bag and get up, pushing the chair back and rushing out the door. I can still hear the bell on the door ringing as I pull my Burberry trench closer around me, walking as fast
as my feet will take me. Walking as far away as possible from that café, the man inside, and everything he makes me crave and desire.

  The next day I’m coming home from a walk when I find a large parcel waiting outside my door. Frowning, my gaze lands on a note stuck under the string. I open it.

  Nerves cause my hands to shake as I rip the paper off. Urgency makes my movements clumsy, which makes me take longer, and I gasp when I find the painting I admired the other night—the painting that led me to meet Sébastien. In a daze, I search for the signature and find it on the bottom right corner.

  S. Leroux

  Oh, my God.

  It’s him.

  “WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT?”

  I leaned back on the headrest, enjoying the warm wind and hair whipping my face. It’s one of the first days of spring. The sun is out, the flowers are blooming, and everyone has ditched their winter clothes for shorts and dresses. “I’m nervous.”

  William reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. “Don’t be. My family is going to love you.”

  I looked at his flawless profile as he drove the car with the top down. “You’re just saying that to calm my nerves.”

  “Of course I am.”

  I smacked him on the shoulder, making him laugh. “Asshole.”

  “Forgive me.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. “I know my family will love you because they only want what’s best for me, and you are it, Val. Haven’t you noticed? I’m crazy about you.”

  Smiling cheekily, a wild impulse came over me to discompose his perfect facade, perhaps drive him mad with want, tease him until he was at my mercy. “How crazy?” I asked as I guided my hand toward his hardness, running my fingers over his cock. “How crazy are you about me, William?” I asked throatily, feeling the bulge in his pants turn rock hard beneath my touch, listening to his breathing accelerate. “Enough to let me go down on you right now?”

  “Val …” he begged, his voice deepening with hunger.

  I unbuckled myself, throwing caution to the wind, and kneeled on my seat as I bent down, the gearshift digging in my ribs, and slowly unzipped his khaki pants. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw William tightening his grip on the steering wheel as color flooded the crests of his cheeks. I smiled, drugged with him and freedom. I didn’t care that there were cars around us or that someone could easily see us out of their window. I took him in my mouth and his musky flavor and thickness filled me again and again. The sun on my skin, his taste on my tongue, recklessness ran through my veins, wetness gathered between my legs.

  His chest rose with each breath. “I’m going to crash the car, woman.”

  I laughed, kissed the tip of his cock, and whispered in his ear, “Then pull over,” I nipped his earlobe, “and fuck me.”

  I heard him curse before he pulled over to the side of the highway. I laughed as I removed my thong as fast as I could. He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me on top of him, impaling me in one deep thrust. It was fast. Hard. Needy. Indecent. The steering wheel dug in my back, my knees hitting the door and the gearshift. It didn’t matter. We climaxed quickly and intensely and as one.

  I knew William had been adopted by a family with a lot of money, his name alone told me so, but I couldn’t give two fucks about it. I was in love with William. If anything, I found his wealth to be intimidating. Some of the gifts he’d given me in the past could probably feed a small nation.

  But as the iron gates that protected his family estate opened to let us in, and we traveled on a winding road up a hill full of trees and rolling green grass, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was in over my head. We had been dating for more than a year, and things were getting serious between us. Yet, as we approached the sprawling, majestic manor, I felt only panic and fear bubble inside me. What if his family didn’t like me? What if they didn’t think I’d be good enough for the heir of the family? I knew my worth, but as I stared at the huge house in front of me, I began to doubt whether I was the right woman for William.

  I licked my dry lips, William’s flavor still lingering on them, as I tried to smooth my simple, plain day dress. What did one wear to meet American Royalty? I pictured his grandmother and sister dressed in country club attire while I showed up wearing a puffy ball dress. I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I turned to look at William, his blond hair messy from my hands, his lips swollen from my kisses, and I wondered if his smell remained on my body like the shadow of his touch.

  “Nothing.”

  We stared at each other, and I saw all the love he felt for me. And that love gave me strength to face his family and whatever happened next.

  We found his adoptive grandmother, his adoptive sister and her husband, and a friend of the family on the veranda having lunch al fresco. There were two large umbrellas shielding the guests from the sun. Crystal glasses brimmed with lemonade or champagne, and plates filled with every delicacy imaginable to man.

  As soon as the matriarch of the family saw William, she smiled tenderly at him, pride and love shining in her eyes. She appeared to be in her late seventies, with perfectly coiffed ice-blond hair and porcelain white skin unmarred by the sun. Loretta reminded me of winter. When her eyes met mine, I felt like an errant child under her appraising gaze, and I knew she found me lacking and underserving of her grandson.

  His sister, so very blond, so very tall and so very rich, inspected my dress, probably realizing right away that I had purchased it at a discount store two seasons ago. I tucked a strand of my unruly hair behind an ear, feeling like show cattle. William must have sensed my discomfort because he reached for my hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

  “There you are, William. Come and give this old woman a kiss.”

  With my hand in his, William walked around the table to where she was sitting. He let go of me to bend down and kiss his grandmother on each cheek as she watched him closely. “I haven’t seen you in a very long time. I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

  “How could I forget my first love,” he replied suavely.

  “Oh, save your pretty words for someone else. They don’t work with me,” she said, appearing to enjoy his words nonetheless.

  He straightened, smiling ruefully. “I’ve been busy. But I’m here now, and I’ve brought someone very special to me for you to meet. This is Valentina, Grandmother.” He reached for me and brought me to stand in front of her. “And, Valentina, this is my grandmother Loretta.”

  I extended a hand, but she dismissed it. “Come, let me kiss you since you’re my William’s sweetheart.”

  William’s sweetheart, she’d called me. And my heart was happy. But I should have known then that one day that’s all I would be, and all I would become. Not Valentina, but William’s sweetheart—his possession and nothing else. A person without an identity except for the one bestowed on her. I bent down, and as her lips landed on both of my cheeks, I felt an unwelcome chill spread throughout me.

  “What about us, Will? Won’t you introduce her to the rest of your family?” his sister teased.

  He introduced me to his sister, Gwyneth; his brother-in-law, Christian, who was too busy drinking and eating his lunch to notice me; and Julie, a longtime friend of Gwyneth and William’s.

  As we sat down next to Julie, something about the way she looked at William gave me the idea that once upon a time they had been more than friends. Oddly enough I didn’t feel any jealousy, but then again, I wasn’t the jealous type.

  “How was your drive?” Julie asked William, pretending I didn’t exist.

  “Bumpy.” I placed a hand on his leg, my touch reminding him of what happened in the car less than an hour ago, and smiled at William as he started to choke on the champagne. “But uneventful.”

  Maybe I was the jealous type after all.

  “Where are you from, Valentina?” Gwyneth asked with a sweetness that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “A town near Albany.”

  �
�Oh, really?” Gwyneth perked up. “Where exactly? We might have some acquaintances in common. My ex lives there, you know? He’s the governor of New York.” She laughed carelessly as she studied my face and attire down to my gently worn flats. “But then again, I doubt we run in the same circles.”

  “Gwyneth,” William warned her. “I think you’ve had enough champagne.”

  “Julie, tell William to stop being such a fucking bore. I’m just trying to break the ice with—” She pointed toward me with a crystal flute full of champagne. “What did your say your name was? It’s hard to keep up with William and all of his gol—”

  “Gwyneth! That’s enough,” William said firmly.

  Her words hit me like a bucket of freezing cold water. I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome, but this hurt, especially coming from William’s sister.

  “Let’s go, my love, I’d like to show you the rest of the house.” He looked at Gwyneth as though she was the dirt beneath his shoe. “I’ll deal with you later.”

  She pretended to shiver. “Oh, I’m shaking.” She focused on her husband. “I’m bored, Christian. Take me home.”

  William placed his hand on the small of my back prompting me to follow him. Too stunned to think, I took a few steps blindly until I realized that if I walked away now, if I didn’t stand my ground, she would win. And I wasn’t going to allow that to happen. Not now, not ever.

  I walked back to the table and stood in front of all of them. I took in their expensive clothes, the air of arrogance imbedded in their features, and raised my chin proudly. “You’re right. You and I don’t run in the same circles. I grew up in a trailer in an area of Albany that you’d probably think beneath you. My father and mother were drug addicts who died of an overdose when I was barely three.” I clenched my hands to stop myself from shaking. “My aunt raised me as her daughter while trying to support us on a waitressing job. I love her, and I’ll never be ashamed of that no matter how you look at me or what you say.

  “I have no money and no fine name like yours, but I’m damn proud of what I’ve accomplished. I finished high school at the top of my class, and now I’m attending my dream college on a full scholarship. So, you can sit there judging me all you want, but I’ll say it again, I’ll never be ashamed of who I am and where I come from.” I focused on William and his green gaze. “I love your brother. And I would continue to love him even if his name was John Smith.”