Love Me in the Dark, Page 8

  “Ever since I moved here, about six years ago. They’re good people.”

  “I like them. I had a good time tonight.” She hesitates, seemingly waging her next words with great care. “What happened to your date?”

  So, she was paying attention. I smile, feeling like the motherfucking king of the world, the rain temporarily forgotten. I watch her again. “Jealous?”

  “Yeah, right.” Valentina crosses her arms over her chest and huffs as though offended by the mere thought. In the dark, I can almost see the sweet blush spreading under her glasses, picture the hitch in her breathing, her perfect tits rising and falling beckoning to me like a siren song. “I’m just surprised that she isn’t with you.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think she isn’t inside waiting for me?” I tease her.

  “Seriously? Of all the—”

  “She went home, Valentina. You shouldn’t be jealous, you know? She’s just a friend. Besides, she’s not you.”

  And it’s true. All my relationships after Poppy have been pleasant, full of physical hunger, and attraction. No promises, no strings, just one hell of a good time. I get to numb myself—to escape. She gets a man who will fuck every part of her body, and fuck her good. It might not be much of a life, but it’s been enough for me.

  That is until Valentina and that kiss …

  She’s about to say something, probably put me in my place, when my last words seem to register in her pretty head, robbing her of a quick, scathing comeback. A darling confused expression settles on her face. I only wish it was my mouth and not my words that put it there.

  Entranced by her, I fail to notice the storm is picking up speed until it’s too late. A strong wind blows past us. Another angry roar of thunder strikes. Lightning falls right across from us over by the park, striking the iron bench. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I utter. Shaken, I close my eyes while trying to calm the fuck down. And then, they come—the never-failing memories that choke me. What-ifs become punishment rather than escape. Poor pathetic fuck, I think. Even after ten years I’m still affected by this shit. It’s like every particle of my body relives that fucking night. What it smelled like when I got out of my car to walk into the hospital. Driving under a night sky illuminated by lightning as thunder boomed in my ears. Rain hitting the windshield. I should remember her laughter or the exact shade of her red hair or the way she felt in my arms, but instead …

  I open my eyes, watching drops land on my skin.

  Instead I remember this.

  After a pause, I hear her voice, soft and sweet, and it calls me back from the hell I’m drowning in. “Sébastien? Are you okay?”

  I notice that I’m holding onto the railing with all of my strength while trembling profusely. “I don’t know … fuck,” I curse, disgusted by the despair in my voice. “I can’t right now. I gotta go.”

  Rudely, I leave without giving her a chance to reply. In the room, I stop after taking no more than a few steps. What am I doing? Every part of my being begs to go back outside, already missing and needing her warm light, somehow feeling hollow, empty; but I’m frozen from the inside out. Unable to move. My mind won’t stop its torture, just like the rain.

  I’m drowning.

  I don’t know how much time passes until I hear the doorbell ring, making me aware of my surroundings. The next thing I know I’m opening the door and come face to face with Valentina.

  “What do you want?” I ask brusquely, holding onto the door. I fight the urge to pull her viciously in my arms and savage her until all the ghosts have left me.

  A tiny frown forms on her forehead, her gaze full of concern. “I was worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  “Are you sure? Back there—”

  “Yeah. Go back to your apartment.” I begin to close the door in her face, but she stops it by placing a small hand on it.

  “I don’t know. I thought,” she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, “maybe … Would you like some company?”

  What I want is to get on my knees and ask you to bless my soulless body, to let me find salvation in yours, but I know it’s of no use. “You thought wrong. Now go.”

  She takes a step forward, seemingly not caring that I want her out of my apartment. “But—”

  “Don’t come in,” I warn her. “Unless you’re looking for a fuck.”

  She flinches at the cruelty of my words, but the soft light in her eyes doesn’t disappear. If anything it shines brighter, like a lone star trying to show me the way. She extends a hand to touch me, and I move back as though the contact was poisoning. “Don’t.”

  “You’re shaking, Sébastien.” Valentina places a palm on my chest, and it’s like I’m being branded with a hot iron, her fingers burned into my skin. I want to move, but I don’t—I can’t. “What’s the matter? Please talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to talk.” I shake my head. There’s a deranged monster inside me who wants blood. The bastard wants to hurt as much as he’s hurting. Maybe then the pain will stop.

  Cursing, I reach for Valentina and pull her in my arms. “What I want is my cock deep inside you.” I dig my fingers into her skin, and run my lips on her shoulder, the elegant line of her neck, filling my mouth to the brim with her taste—to remember or to forget. It’s all the same. “Fucking that sweet cunt of yours.” My touch turns painful, but Valentina doesn’t fight me. I let go of her and cup her perfect tits, sullying her skin with my filthy hands. I want to punish and scare her. And while I’m at it, punish myself too.

  “Stop, Sébastien. This isn’t like you.” She wraps her arms around me, holding on. I try to push her away, but she won’t let me go. “Talk to me,” she entreats soothingly. “Hey.” Her eyes find and hold mine prisoner. “Hey. Come back to me.”

  Come back. Come back. She pulls me slowly out of the abyss until I’m no longer in the past but here in front of her. And the realization of what I was about to do is a visceral punch to the gut. Head hung low. An earthquake of shame spreads under my skin, leaving destruction behind. I struggle to meet her eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry, ma petite chouette. So damn sorry—”

  “Shh … it’s okay.” She runs a hand over the back of my skull again and again. Slowly the noises fade to a faint echo with each stroke of hers. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s the—” I close my eyes. Feel her around me. She brings me comfort like a shot of whiskey. I forget to measure my words and confine my emotions. I let them escape out of me, unfiltered and illogical. And through it all Valentina—this almost stranger who should be running for the hills instead of remaining here—holds me close. “Storms like this … they bring it all back.” I envelop her in a tight embrace and bury my face in her neck. Needing to feel her, to know she’s real when nothing else seems to be. “Don’t leave.”

  They say time heals all wounds, but I disagree. Grief never ends, it just changes. You learn how to live with it, rebuild yourself from the shattered pieces around you until you’re whole again, but you will never be the same. The light is gone. The flavors. The laughter. You become a stranger who you used to know. But then one day you wake up, and you find the dark has been penetrated by a spark in the shape of a slip of woman with brown eyes that could drive a man to perdition.

  “I won’t.”

  I shudder in relief. My mind shuts down. She’s here, I tell myself. And for now that’s more than enough. It’s everything.

  I BLINK A COUPLE of times and notice that it’s morning already, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, warm on my face. I reach for my phone on the nightstand, blindly grabbing item after item until locating it, and look at the time. My eyes widen in surprise. No shit. Well, this is a first. 10:40 a.m. I slept. A smile tugs the corners of my mouth. And like a damn baby, too. I’m rested—relaxed. There’s a new, strange feeling, though. One I had forgotten all about, and that is of being at peace.

  Then I remember.

  Valentina. Her softness. I wanted to hold her
close to me for as long as I could. Cling to her sweet words. Sink my claws into her as she told me everything would be all right.

  She took me to my bedroom, helped me out of my soaked shirt, and went in search of a new one for me to wear. There were no more words spoken. Silence and her presence were all I needed, and she knew it. Her fingers grazed my skin as she helped me into a clean tee, her touch tender, giving—asking for nothing in return. I wanted to weep at her feet.

  Suddenly bone tired, I fell flat on my stomach on the bed. For a moment, I was afraid that she would leave, but I should have known better. This was Valentina, and she was brave and kind. She sat next to me with her back reclined against the wall, her bare thigh so close to my lips it would have been easy to reach for her and bury my face between her legs. And by God, I wanted to. But I didn’t. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the smell of woman and Valentina. It would have to do. She reached for my hand then, holding the shattered pieces of me without being afraid to be cut by them, and sleep finally came.

  Sitting up on the bed, I scratch the back of my neck and glance around the room. The door to the bathroom is closed, and my clothes from last night lay in a neat pile on the brown leather seat by the door—Valentina’s doing, I’m sure. Everything appears as it should.

  Did she leave?

  The thought fills me with disappointment. Man, you’ve got it bad. Shaking my head, I chuckle sheepishly, push the sheets to the side, and get out of bed. I’m stretching when the smell of coffee drifts into the room. I open the door and stop as my eyes greedily take in the scene unfolding in my kitchen. Frozen. Mouth on the floor. Feeling like a kid in a candy shop.

  Completely unaware of me, I watch Valentina slow dance as she cooks something on the stove while humming a familiar tune, but the food is the last thing on my mind. I grin like a son of a bitch, reclining on the doorframe, cross my arms, and enjoy the show. Thank you, baby Jesus. I owe you one, man. My eyes are glued to her slim hips swaying from side to side, pleasure and decadence in her every move. Her whole body curves and bends to the rhythm of the music in her head, and I see no traces of the stuck-up, standoffish woman from the gallery. No, this woman is wild, untamed, passionate, and so damn sexy—the one I see glimpses of once in a while in the way she laughs, the way she stares at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention, and, goddamn, in the way she kisses.

  Snap out of it, loser, I tell myself. But then the cardigan slips down her arm to reveal the soft skin of her shoulder. An unbidden image of her straddling my lap flashes before my eyes. She would roll her hips on my cock, my fingers digging in the soft skin of her ass while my tongue finds that same spot on her shoulder where I would discover what sin tastes like.

  Nope. No can do. I’m fucked. Royally fucked.

  And just when I think Valentina can’t surprise me anymore, she lifts the spatula in her hand and uses it as a pretend-microphone. Losing herself in the song, she sings about trying to hold back a feeling for so long. She asks if you feel like she does. Throwing her heart into the chorus, she misses the notes of the come ons and oohs, but no one watching her would give a damn. They’d be goners like me. She sings endearingly out of tune, and I go from wanting to fuck her brains out to wanting to kiss her silly until her lips only know mine.

  She twirls once for the grand finale and shrieks when she finds me there. “Oh my God.” A hand to the chest, shock and embarrassment register in her lovely features. “I thought you were still sleeping. How long have you been standing there?”

  I push myself away from the doorframe, strolling toward her, enjoying the blush spreading through her cheeks. The inner savage, hunter, caveman in me shouts, Mine. Mine. Mine. All mine. “Not long enough.”

  Valentina places the spatula on a white plate next to the stove in a very ladylike manner and turns off the burner. Gone is the careless girl from a moment ago, and I want her back. “I hope you enjoyed the show.”

  Five steps separate us.

  “You’ve got no idea.”

  Four steps …

  Flustered, she straightens her cardigan, crosses her arms over her chest, and leans her back against the counter.

  Three steps …

  “What song was that anyway?”

  Two …

  She strokes the back of her neck, trying not to fidget under my appreciative gaze. “You know … ‘Let’s Get It On’?”

  I’m now standing so close to her, we might as well be touching. Towering over her, I grin wickedly as I place my hands on the counter, enclosing her within my arms. “Yes. Let’s,” I whisper softly.

  She blinks repeatedly as though disoriented. “I-I meant the song by Marvin Gaye.”

  “That was Marvin Gaye?”

  “I was a little off.”

  I raise an eyebrow, the corners of my mouth twitch. “Is that so?”

  “Okay, maybe a lot off.” She laughs openly, her eyes a swirl of chocolate and caramel behind the glasses.

  Ah. There she is again.

  “Are you hungry? I made breakfast.”

  “Depends. Are you as good of a cook as you are a singer?” I tease her, enjoying myself more than I should, more than it’s safe. “Because if you are …” I pretend to grimace.

  She smacks my chest playfully. “Jerk.”

  We laugh, and it feels as good as a smoke after an energetic fuck. Silence falls when laughter disappears and all that is left are lingering smiles on our lips. I could get used to this—her presence filling the empty rooms in my home—laughing. The unbidden thought takes me by surprise. But once planted, it grows like a seed, its roots taking hold of me.

  I stare, my eyes devouring her as I try to memorize the exact location of the tiny beauty mark close to her lips. Top left, right by her dimple—my own Bermuda Triangle. “Thank you for last night,” I say huskily.

  “Don’t worry about it. I did what anyone in my position would’ve done.” She looks nervously around, avoiding my gaze. “Besides, you have a lovely guest room with a very comfortable bed. You know … I-I think it’s time for me to go. Enjoy breakfast.” She tries to escape like a hunted animal, nudging my arm to move.

  But I don’t let her. I tighten my grip on the edges of the counter. “Why did you stay?”

  “Because you asked me to.”

  “You could’ve left after I fell asleep.” My heart kicks into overdrive. Time seems to freeze as she considers her next words carefully.

  “Because I wanted to stay,” she whispers. “And it felt nice …”

  I lean closer to her. My lips brush her earlobe. “What did?”

  “Being needed.” She raises her gaze, meeting mine.

  And what I see is like a punch to the gut. I want to fly to New York and kill that motherfucker husband of hers, beat him down to a pulp with my own hands for having dared to put that pain in her eyes.

  “Wanted. I-I had forgotten what it felt like and … and—”

  “You’ve got no idea, do you?” I brush the hair away from her shoulder with the back of my fingers. She trembles under me. Trace the elegant line of her neck and shoulder with hands that desire to conquer and dominate—that long to own her.

  She releases a shaky breath. “What’s that?”

  “J’ai envie de toi.” I take her wrist in my hand and kiss the inside, feeling the pulse as it beats life back into mine. “J’ai besoin de toi. Tu me rends fou.” Wish my lips could embed the words on her skin, show and make her believe them. I let go of the wrist to cup her face, my thumb stroking the inebriating blush on her cheek. “If I were a weaker man—”

  Valentina licks her lips, her chest rising and falling brokenly. “Yes?”

  The incessant ring of the doorbell breaks the moment as though cold water has been poured down on us. I let her go, cursing under my breath. Valentina staggers back as I realize how close I came to losing control of the situation. Jesus Christ. One more minute and I would have ravaged her on the kitchen counter.

  “You should
really lock your door, you know, Sébastien,” a familiar voice says teasingly from somewhere behind us. “We were in the neighborhood and thought we should surprise you—Oh. Looks like—uh—hello!”

  This can’t be happening. But Valentina’s mortified expression tells me it is. Trying to cover herself, she pulls the cardigan closer about her.

  “Uncle Sebs! Uncle Sebs!” A little urchin with black curls comes running toward me, wrapping his little arms around my legs. “Lowk!” He tilts his head back, giving me a shit-eating grin. “I lost a tooth!”

  “Awesome, buddy. Why don’t you tell me all about it later?” I ruffle little Jack’s curls while looking at my cousin Sophie, her husband, and niece.

  Ever since Jack, Sophie’s husband, became the new Ambassador of the United States to France, and they moved here all the way from D.C., they’ve tried to adopt me as the fifth member of their family. They are gawking at Valentina and me with eyes as wide as saucers, bags in their arms filled with food worthy of feeding an army. I would laugh if it weren’t for Valentina and how this affects her.

  An innate desire to protect Valentina from embarrassment prompts me to stand next to her. “Well, this is definitely a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you guys.” I throw a quick glance at Valentina, the kind that says I’m sorry and understand if I’m in the doghouse, before introducing her to my family.

  After the initial shock, Valentina seems to relax. The introductions are made. Everyone laughs the whole thing off as a good joke. And if she’s aware what this must appear to my family, she takes it in stride. The only telltale sign of any lingering embarrassment is the soft blush on her cheeks.

  “Who are you?” Needing his own introduction, little Jack asks Valentina with the openness of a child barely five years old. I’m about to tell him to mind his own business when she surprises me once again.

  She focuses on my nephew as a soft expression crosses her face that makes me think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My fingers itch to paint her, capture her just as she is right now. Without an ounce of pride or reserve, just the real Valentina.