by Penelope Sky
My ankles dug into his ass as I pulled him inside me, wanting the thrusts to get harder. “I don’t want to share you…ever.”
He gave a quiet moan as he thrust into me harder.
“I want to be your only chérie.”
He pumped harder, his eyes deepening into a new level I’d never seen before.
I got lost in the moment, got lost in the sweat and the heat, and I said what came to mind. “You’re the only man for me…”
The moan he gave was so deep and sexy that I dug every one of my nails deep into his skin and came, watching him do the same. He held on to me so tightly my bones could break. He pounded into me mercilessly, grunting throughout. “Fuck, chérie.”
He lay on his back, slightly propped on the pillows, his thick arm around me and pulling me into his side.
I lay partially on top of him, my head on his chest with my arm draped over his hard stomach, looking at the fire in the fireplace. There was a big flat-screen above it, but he never seemed to have it on. The fire crackled just the way it did in the cabin, its warmth reaching us in the bed.
The sheets remained at our waists, and I wasn’t cold because his arm cupped me all the way down to my ass, acting as a warm blanket.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand and looked through email.
I could see the screen, but it was all in French. Couldn’t read a word of it.
He finished reading then set it on the sheets beside him. His rough fingers lightly touched my skin as he looked at the fire, one arm propped behind his head. If I didn’t speak, he would never speak. He preferred silence, the conversations that went unsaid. Sometimes, his hand would glide to the back of my neck, his fingers delicately moving through my soft hair, handling me with a gentleness that continued to surprise me.
“How did you learn English?”
His fingers continued to move. “English is a requirement in French education.”
“I wish French were a requirement in American education.” Then I could understand what he said in bed, could understand what he said when he spoke to other people around me.
“I could teach you.”
“Yeah?”
“Or have Gilbert do it.”
I released a loud sigh. “No, not Gilbert.” Even after I covered for him, he refused to speak to me. He continued his tirade of hatred. Sometimes people liked you no matter what you did. Sometimes people hated you no matter what you did. He fell into the second category.
Fender read between the lines, listened to words that were never spoken. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“He totally hates me. It’s fine.”
“You’re the woman of this house. If he treats you as anything less, I will remind him that he works for you as much as he works for me.” He turned his chin to look down at me, his fingers continuing to run through my hair.
“I said it’s fine. Leave it alone.”
“Why?” His voice deepened. “You think I’d allow anyone to disrespect you? Let alone in my own goddamn house—”
“It’s fine because…I know why he hates me.”
His fingers stopped moving. “Why, chérie? Tell me why anyone would hate a woman such as you? Beautiful like my rose garden, soft like its petals, quiet like the opening of the flowers in spring.”
It was such a beautiful description that I faltered before I replied. It didn’t seem like something a man like Fender would say, dark, rugged, marching through the snow in a bomber jacket with murder in his eyes. It only reinforced what I believed—that he was more than what he seemed.
I propped myself up on my elbow so I could face him, my hand planted against his muscled rib cage for balance. “Because he’s in love with you.”
Fender had no reaction. His eyes remained on mine, not blinking or moving.
“Did you…already know that?”
The silence continued.
I dropped my gaze and let the subject fade.
“Yes.”
My eyes shifted back to his. “How long?”
“Years.”
“Does that bother you?” I whispered.
He gave a subtle shake of his head. “As long as he does his job, doesn’t matter to me.”
“Am I the only woman to ever live with you?” I already suspected the answer, because Gilbert hated me for a reason, and that reason must be because I was special. I was different from the others.
“Yes.”
My finger traced the lines between his segmented muscles absent-mindedly, my eyes shifting down to watch my movements. I didn’t think about the other women who had been in his life because I didn’t want to. I had no idea what kind of love life he had, if he’d had relationships, been married, just one-night stands; I really had no idea. I just knew he’d had a lot of sex—because he was good at it. “Can I ask you something personal? Or will you—”
“You can ask me anything, chérie.”
My eyes lifted to meet his again, my finger halting. He gave me everything I wanted when he let go of my indiscretion. It felt like a relationship, husband and wife without marriage, the two of us together in passion and commitment. I couldn’t lie to myself and pretend it wasn’t the best relationship I’d ever had, even though it was wrong. “Do you have relationships like ours or…?”
“I’ve never taken a woman from the camp. I’ve never fucked a woman at the camp. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you, never been committed or monogamous. I’ve never had a woman the way I’ve had you, with nothing between us except each other. The women I occupy myself with are whores or socialites. But they feel the same to me, and the only difference is I pay for one and not the other.”
My eyes dropped once again, looking at where my finger lay between two groups of muscle. His promiscuity was satisfied with a single woman—me. And I didn’t see how I’d earned that. He was the one who was the fantastic lover. All I had to do was let him have me. “I understand why he hates me, then…”
After I fell asleep, he carried me to my bedroom and placed me on the mattress. When he pulled the sheets and duvet on top of me, it woke me up, because the cotton was cold, not warm like his body.
I opened my eyes and looked at him over me.
He stilled as he looked at me. His eyes shifted back and forth before he leaned down and kissed me on the mouth. “Goodnight, chérie.”
Before he could pull away, I grabbed his forearm. “Stay with me.” I didn’t want to stay in this cold room alone. I wanted to be in his bedroom, with the fire slowly dying down, with his immense size heating the sheets throughout the night. I wanted his big arms around me, acting as a cage that kept me enclosed in his safety.
His eyes didn’t soften at the request like they did when I asked for him in other ways. “It’s not you, chérie. Don’t ask me again.” He gently pulled his arm away from my grasp.
“If you want me in a way you’ve never wanted anyone else, then why?” I’d become entitled now that he gave me things I asked for, but this was something I wanted more than the trivial requests I made.
His eyes turned annoyed, like he just wanted to go to bed and not have this conversation. But he didn’t bark at me. “I can’t let my guard down around anyone. This is the final time I’ll address it. Do you understand me?”
“No, I don’t understand. Let your guard down?” I was actually hurt by the statement. “Does that…do you think I’d ever hurt you?” He’d put his gun on the dresser, and I never took it. I could find a weapon in any room and fight back if I wanted to, but the thought never crossed my mind. Not only was that not me, not who I was, but I had no desire to ever lay a hand on him.
He held my gaze for a long time, his eyes shifting back and forth, his breathing growing deeper. “It’s not you, chérie. Not you.”
Fourteen
Hidden Desires
Fender
I sat behind my desk with the phone pressed to my ear. “Hand it off to Jeremy’s crew. They’ll take everything back to headquarters.” I hun
g up without saying goodbye, tossing the phone on the surface.
I had to return to the camp, so I rushed to finish up my affairs.
Gilbert entered with a couple folders. “Sir, Pascale just dropped these off at your request.” He set them on the edge of the desk. “I’ve made all your arrangements for your departure. The president has requested a dinner with you when you return. Shall I go ahead and schedule that?”
“Yes.”
“For three, it is.”
“Four.”
He gave a slight nod, understanding I referred to Melanie. “Of course.” He gave a bow before he turned away.
My eyes drilled into his back. “Gilbert.”
He halted without turning around, like he could detect what was on the horizon just from my tone. No one knew me better than he did because it was his job to know what I wanted without having to ask, to conduct his day based on my mood, to know when to disturb me and when to leave me the hell alone. He slowly turned around and came back to the desk, his arms by his sides rather than behind his back.
“Melanie will remain here. She’s not permitted to leave while I’m away.”
“And if she tries to run?”
He misunderstood me. “She won’t. I just don’t want her away from the estate when I’m not around.” My men would keep her safe from any threat that could occur, but I felt more comfortable being in Paris while she was shopping or doing whatever kept her entertained.
Gilbert gave a nod. “Understood, sir.”
My hand moved to the laptop, and I pushed it closed. “I’ll be gone for a while, so I expect you to keep her company while I’m away.”
He couldn’t hide his look of disappointment. The feeling was too raw for him, too difficult to swallow. He was the consummate professional, remaining jubilant even in my worst moods, but this was the one request that was too difficult. “I have many assignments that require my attention, sir.”
I hadn’t really believed what Melanie said—until now.
“Gilbert.” My anger remained bottled inside because of the affection I had for him. He made my life easy, and I knew the reason he was the best butler I’d ever had, provided an unparalleled level of care no one could replicate, was because of the way he felt. It never bothered me. I never cared. But now, it was directly affecting my life. “Melanie will be the countess of this estate, so you should treat her as such now. There will never be a time when I live here and she doesn’t. If this is unacceptable to you, then you will need to make other arrangements.”
He dropped his chin slightly and broke eye contact, visibly embarrassed that we were discussing his feelings without directly addressing them. He was put on the spot and forced to swallow a pill that would make him choke. His hands moved behind his back, and he cleared his throat. “I apologize, sir. I…I never meant for this to affect my professionalism.”
If I were ever to trust someone besides my brother, it would be Gilbert. He had served me faithfully for a long time, kept his eyes peeled and monitored my men when it was never his responsibility, snitched on any maid who didn’t meet his standards rather than have loyalty to the other people of his station. “I accept your apology. But if you have to apologize for it again, I won’t.” I gave him another chance when I wouldn’t give anyone else another. But his loyalty earned him a do-over. His attraction had been obvious for a long time, when I walked out of the shower with a towel around my waist and his stare lingered longer than it should, when he stared at me from across the room at dinner parties, when he smiled so brightly the first time he saw me in the morning. Just as if he were a woman, it didn’t bother me, didn’t make me think twice.
“Thank you, sir. Won’t happen again.” He cleared his throat. “And I apologize if I’d made you uncomfortable—”
“You don’t make me uncomfortable. Just don’t make my woman feel uncomfortable in her own home.”
I let myself into her bedroom without knocking.
She was on the couch in her living room, reading. She finished her sentence before she lifted her chin and looked at me. When her eyes shifted in subtle surprise, it was obvious she expected to see me in sweatpants, not jeans and a leather jacket. “Going out?”
“Yes.” I came farther into the living room and stared her down.
She held my gaze and stayed in her seat. “Where are you going?”
“Dinner.”
Her eyes fell in disappointment, either because I was leaving her alone tonight or because she wondered who would be at that dinner. “Will I see you when you get home?”
“Yes. And you’ll see me during.”
I drove us into the city, and we entered my favorite restaurant. Reservations were six months to a year out, but when I walked in the door with Melanie on my arm, I was instantly escorted to a table without having to say a single word.
Menus were handed to us, my favorite bottle of wine was delivered to the table, and our glasses were filled.
Melanie sat across from me, her long hair in soft curls and pinned back on one side so her strands were down the opposite shoulder. Diamonds were in her ears and around her neck, and the designer dress she wore had been fitted to her exact measurements, not amplifying her beauty, but complementing it. Her eyes scanned the restaurant for a long time, taking it all in like she was beside herself to be in a place like this, dressed like that, with a man like me. She eventually brought her eyes down to the menu in her hands.
Which was in French.
“I’ll order for you, chérie.” I set down my menu and took hers, and the second they were at the edge of the table, the waiter rushed over. In French, I ordered what we wanted, and a baguette with butter was placed in front of us.
She looked around for a bit again, looking at the couples at the nearby tables, watching the waiters walk by, and then glancing out the window.
I drank my wine as I watched her, more fascinated by her than anything in this room.
When she was finished absorbing the scene, her eyes shifted to me.
Beautiful. Smoky. Rich blue.
She was still, her hands hidden below the table somewhere in her lap, and she didn’t reach for the bread. “I’m sorry. I just haven’t been out in…a really long time.” Every time she shifted her head slightly, the lights shimmered in her diamonds. Her long, elegant neck was proud on her shoulders, her high cheekbones sharp like the perfect cut of a diamond. She was the most beautiful woman in this room. The entire world, in my opinion.
I drank my wine again, entertained by her beauty just the way I was entertained by a painting for hours. It was easy to fall into those eyes, to forget about work, forget about the past, to forget about everything.
Our food was delivered with lightning speed because everything in the kitchen had been put on hold until my dinner was finished. The steak and potatoes were placed in front of me as well as Melanie. Silently, the staff dismissed themselves.
“That was…fast.”
I placed the linen across my lap and grabbed my silverware. “Because everyone knows I don’t wait.”
I drove us back to the estate, and we entered my bedroom.
Dinner had been for her, not me. But I enjoyed it because she was easy to be around. She didn’t talk too much like most women. She didn’t ask a lot of questions. She didn’t meet my gaze fearlessly, always slightly intimidated by it. There were times when she looked at my arms, glanced at my chest, held my gaze with a slight burn in her eyes like she wanted me, and if we were alone, she’d be on her back with me inside her.
I stripped off my jacket and tossed it on the floor. The rest of my clothes followed.
She grabbed her zipper at the back of her dress and started to pull it down.
“Leave it on.”
She flinched at my command and released the zipper.
I came up behind her and pushed her to the bed, grabbing her by the hips and lifting her up so her knees hit the sheets. When she pushed herself up onto her hands, I grabbed her neck and gently presse
d her back down again. Her dress was pushed up over her waist, I yanked down her thong, and then I shoved myself inside her, keeping my hand against the back of her neck.
I moaned when I felt how wet she was, when I saw the damp stain on the material of her thong. She had been the most beautiful woman in that restaurant tonight. Every man knew it, even if he would never admit it to his woman, and every woman knew it, even if their man told them otherwise.
But I was the only one who got to fuck her.
With her moans muffled by the sheets, her back arched as far as it would go, I fucked her harder than I ever had.
When we were finished, we lay in bed in front of the fire, her body tucked into mine like the sheets and the fire weren’t enough to keep her warm.
I was the only thing that was enough.
Her body was light on top of mine, like rose petals. They weighed nothing, but they smelled like the garden, were soft to the touch. My fingers stroked her soft hair, gently wrapped it around my finger like a string. I could almost fall asleep like this.
Almost.
She released a quiet sigh, the same sound she made when she was on the cusp of drifting off. Her arm gave a gentle tug into my side as she used my chest as a hard pillow.
“Chérie?”
“Hmm?” She opened her eyes, turned her cheek to kiss my hot skin, and then lifted her body to look at me, her makeup a mess, her mascara running like fresh paint on a wet canvas. Her lipstick was smeared as if another color had transferred from the palette. But her appearance was still art to me, perfect in its imperfection, evocative. Every time I looked at her, it resonated deep in my soul.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Her sleepy eyes started to stir, and the gentleness of her relaxed face suddenly hardened. “Leaving? Where are you…?” Her words faded when her mind found the answer before she could finish speaking. “Oh.” Her gaze dropped, her long lashes stretching over her cheeks.
