by Natasha Boyd
Sleep when it came was fitful and tortured. In my dreams, Dauphine was still gone, and Xavier wouldn’t talk to me. He’d look through me like I wasn’t even there, even when I tried to pound on his chest to get his attention.
But when I awoke, I was resolved—I could lose my heart, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t lose my sense of pride, and that would surely happen if I stayed. He may not love me, but he’d want to sleep with me again. But come hell or hot Frenchman I was flying home before the week was done.
Chapter Forty-Six
I jerked awake, my neck aching and my eyes gritty as the plane touched down in Charleston. I took a deep inhale and tried to stretch my back, my shoulders stiff and sore. Having forgotten to close my window shade when we took off at seven this morning from New York, midmorning sun shone like a spotlight, making it hard to get my eyes open. Then the pain in my heart took over everything else, and the deep breath I’d just taken shot out of me like I’d been punched.
We taxied to the gate, and everyone around me hummed with the energy of excitement and anticipation. I rested my head against the window and let my eyes adjust, taking long, slow, breaths to ease what was happening inside me. Should I have left? Should I have stayed and fought for the father and daughter I’d fallen so hard for?
Madame had begged me.
Evan had begged me.
Dauphine had begged me.
My eyes burned as they flooded anew. I’d stayed with Dauphine five extra days, trying to give her some semblance of normalcy and joy after her traumatic experience that she still wouldn’t talk about.
Xavier and I had co-existed under the same roof. Strained family meals. Avoided eye contact. Awkward silences.
And then he had all but begged me. And I couldn’t regret the moment of weakness I’d had, allowing myself one last bittersweet goodbye.
The night before I left came back to me. Xavier, Madame, Dauphine, Evan, and I sat around the large worn wooden table under an arbor wrapped in trailing vines, eating make-your-own pizza baked in the brick oven in the garden. We’d also asked Astrid and Jorge to eat with us. Chances were it could have been the best pizza I’d ever eaten, but every bite tasted like sawdust. The evening air was thick with the leftover sunbaked scent of jasmine and lavender. The colors in the sky were fading to faint streaks of smoke and fire. The red wine had loosened my limbs, and I’d tried to laugh along and follow the conversation as it tripped back and forth between French and English.
We were clearing the table and Astrid and Jorge had just shooed Madame back to the house because it apparently upset the order of the universe to have Madame attempt to help. So she’d taken Dauphine by the hand to help her get ready for bed, and I was feeling useless. Astrid and Jorge took the plates to the kitchen, and Evan followed with a handful of glasses. Xavier went to grab the large wooden paddle that belonged to the pizza oven, and turned his back, scooping out the ashes into a metal bin. I looked away and across the yard toward the glowing blue pool. If I hadn’t spent the entire afternoon with Dauphine in the pool playing everything from Marco Polo to mermaids and gymnasts, I’d have done twenty more laps just so I would maybe pass out and wake up the day I was leaving.
Xavier had spent the day working under the fans of the loggia, and I’d felt the weight of his eyes on us all day. On me.
My flip flops made no sound on the worn stone patio as I stood and rounded the table so I could stack the remaining glasses to follow Evan.
Halfway through, I stopped to look up. Xavier’s stillness had caught my attention. His back was to me but as if he knew my every move. The tension was palpable. We were alone. We’d managed not to be alone since the night in the library.
He turned.
His eyes were the deep end, and I wanted to dive in.
I was still, rooted to the spot, as he set down the wooden pizza paddle to the side and came toward me.
He glanced briefly at the house, but I couldn’t let my attention go. Not for a second.
Gently he took the glasses from my hands and set them on the table with concentrated care. I flexed my hands open and closed, dropped them to my sides, and then brought them back up to cross my body.
Xavier frowned at my defensive gesture and circled my wrists, pulling them apart.
My breathing shallowed as his arms snaked around my waist and he gathered my stiff body close. He molded his frame to mine, and I tried not to breathe him in.
“I leave early for a meeting tomorrow. I will not be able to say goodbye to you, Josephine.”
Oh, okay, so this was a hug goodbye.
My throat constricted as I tried to swallow and not breathe. Seconds stretched. It was okay to hug him goodbye. I should, I was being childish by resisting. I mentally counted to three and forcibly softened every muscle I could. But my will against him softened too and suddenly the feel of him holding me close broke through, sent a rush of sadness and longing head to toe. Our bodies melted together, and my pulse pounded.
His face turned into my neck and air stirred my skin. “Joséphine,” he whispered in that musical French accent of his, turning me inside out.
My shallow breaths grew rapid for want of more oxygen and a clear head.
Then Xavier pulled back, his need-filled eyes meeting mine for a searing moment, and taking my hand, he pulled.
I stumbled to follow as he headed down into the darkness of the garden. We followed stone steps down past the terraced level of the pool to a stone gardener’s hut that glowed, barely visible in the shadows, but with enough light from the landscaping above so we didn’t walk right into it.
The wine I’d had with dinner was a bad idea I thought somewhere at the outer reaches of my mind as desire suddenly burned through me like a lit fuse. Because there was no other reason for him to be hauling me off into the darkness. I offered no resistance as Xavier turned, reaching for me, and pinned me against the stone-cold wall of the hut. His kiss when it came was feral, his lips sealed over mine, his tongue demanding.
I gave.
Hands skimmed up my body, shoving my t-shirt up over my breasts and slipping the cups of my bra down impatiently. I couldn’t catch my breath as I clutched his head, my hands gripping his soft brown hair. His hungry mouth left mine and closed over a nipple, sucking so hard, I cried out. His lips gentled, coaxing, teeth scraping, suckling so softly then that I arched and thrust toward him, offering and needing more.
I gave.
And I took. I wanted one more memory.
He gave a groan and straightened. He rested his forehead against mine. Night air swept over my damp, exposed skin, and inside my veins was liquid fire. “Tell me to stop,” he said.
I said nothing.
Suddenly he was unbuttoning my jean shorts and shoving them down my legs. He tilted my head back to look up at him. “Open your eyes, Josephine,” he whispered.
I hadn’t realized I’d squeezed them closed.
“Should I stop?” he asked.
My underwear followed my shorts. Which pair had I even worn? I shivered, but inside I was lava. I should stop this. The words rolled around my consciousness but didn’t seem to make any actionable sense. He kicked my legs apart. “Open your eyes.”
I didn’t want to. But I obeyed, my breath seizing in my chest.
He gazed down at me full of desire and wonder and hunger. A hot hand skimmed up my inner thigh and then his long finger slid into me.
“Oh, God,” I groaned, my voice low. It was too much to look into his eyes and see what I wanted to imagine. That this wasn’t just his base human need, but something deeper. He slid his finger out and then back in, his palm flattened and rubbing and oh, so good.
A wave of aching pleasure rolled through me as he did it again. And again. And each time I thought, I’ll stop this now.
He watched my face.
And I watched him right back.
His eyes grew glassy, his lips parted, and his nostrils flared slightly.
Then I answered him. Not in words
. No, I didn’t want to stop. My hands fumbled at his shorts. Urgent. When had I decided? Who was I kidding? There was never a question I’d stop. I wanted one more piece of him, even though it would be leaving another piece of my soul behind.
“Oui,” he rasped, and he withdrew his hand from between my legs, helping to shove down his shorts. In moments, he’d lifted me and my legs were wrapped around him. The stone wall bit into my shoulders. It hurt. It distracted from the pain in my chest. And the ache of needing him inside me was stronger. My heart pounded and my eyes burned with unshed tears.
He was hard and silky between my legs, close, but not quite there. The hand wrapped around my waist held me still while his other shoved between the tight fit between our bodies and took his length. He rubbed the tip of his cock through my wetness, sliding along my slit, and then he was there. Poised.
We stilled. My head dropped back carefully against the stone. His eyes glittered back at me in the dark. “Joséphine,” he whispered. And then he shoved forward, and his length filled me, stretched me, completed me.
I cried out.
My back burned against the stone, but the fire between us was stronger. And the pain in my heart screamed, “Yes! You see, you cannot let him go.” I’d wanted a final goodbye, and now I wondered how I could be so crazy to let him so close to my heart again.
“Xavier,” I whimpered. My legs tightened around his waist. My arms clutched him close.
“Oui, that’s it,” he grunted the words, his face now against my neck, his breath hot.
He thrust again, long and hard. Then faster. Each time I thought I’d die of the pleasure.
“Xavier,” I begged, deep and guttural, as the beginnings of my climax clawed its way along my spine and spread out in a sharp burning wave through my body. I thrust back, every movement pain and pleasure. I held his head, his hair, his shoulders.
His body pounded into mine. Unintelligible French words came groaning and streaming from his mouth against my skin. Every one of them choked through grunting need and staccato breaths.
We shouldn’t have let this happen, but it was too late. Both of us had been taken by a tsunami of raw desperation. We didn’t stand a chance. His words, though I couldn’t understand them, grew harsh, begging, angry.
This wasn’t making love. No, this was fighting it.
We were fighting, both of us. Fighting against our hearts being blown apart.
And then everything pulsing through me coalesced—the ache, the need, the want, the fire, the pain, the love. My straining body bowed and snapped taut. My head crashed back against the wall and I stared upward. Stars were strewn across the black sky above me, and it was as though I flew up and out of my body, joining them.
I was still as Xavier followed soon after, like he’d been waiting. His body gave a final, brutal thrust and froze. The sound of a man in pain came from deep inside his chest.
Our breathing was loud in the silence, sawing in and out. The world around came back, soft distant music that had been playing out of the speakers on the patio. The sound of cicadas and the rustling of the wind across the fields. From the distance came the faint tinny tinkle of a cow bell.
My cheeks were wet and cold. My shoulders suddenly screamed with fire, and I gasped with it.
Xavier slipped from my body, and I winced as the jostle moved my back. Everything inside and out ached and burned. He seemed to sense my distress, and after tucking himself away, he knelt and grabbed my underwear, gently using the fabric to clean me. He tucked them into my jean shorts pocket, and then carefully directing my feet to step into the shorts, he pulled them up. He kissed my thigh and looked up at me.
I didn’t realize how much I was crying until a splash of water hit his cheek. He wiped it off with his fingertips and brought them to his mouth. His hand took mine and tugged, bringing me down. My legs buckled and he moved so he was cradling me in his lap, turning his own back against the rough stone.
As if that alerted him, he pushed me forward and looked at my shoulders. “Dieu,” he hissed, his voice rumbly with shock. “I cannot see in this light, but I have injured you. I’m so sorry. Are you in pain?”
It was nothing to what was hurting inside my chest. Instead of answering, I nestled closer to him and he held me close, careful not to squeeze too hard. I pressed my cheek against the pounding in his chest.
His mouth moved in my hair, kissing me softly.
The night sounds around us stretched out, keeping us cloaked and safe.
“Stay,” he said suddenly. His voice was quiet.
I stilled my breath. Shocked. I’d expected him to withdraw emotionally.
“Please. Forget everything I said and stay with us.” He swallowed, the sound audible against my cheek. “Stay with me.”
“I can’t.” I turned in his arms, raising my face to meet his. “Because you don’t mean it.”
He gazed down at me. “I thought you said I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean."
“I guess you learned. Nothing has changed,” I said and waited for him to refute it. “I need to return to my life. This …” I cast a hand around us, “this is not my life.” I bit back all the reasons this wasn’t my life because I was worried in my state of heightened emotion it would all come out wrong.
Or maybe it would come out right, and it was a truth not worth making him face. And the truth was he’d been right. He wasn’t ready. Not for the magnitude of what I believed we could be. Of the kind of love we could share. Anything less than that was me giving up my life and career for him so I could hang out with his daughter twenty-four-seven and be available for occasional sex.
I may have fallen in love with him, but I wouldn’t give myself up for him. “You said it yourself, you need to be focused on Dauphine. I understand that completely. You and I, we are not … meant to be. It’s not like I came here for an architectural position, and we happened to meet where we could have a relationship based somewhere on more equal footing. No, I took a vacation from my own life to come and help you and Dauphine. And now the vacation is over. My real life is back home, waiting for me.” I shifted and climbed to my feet, wincing as my back protested. I’d have bruising, there was no doubt.
He climbed to his feet too.
“I’ll miss you, Xavier. I didn’t know I could fall like this. It hurts.” My voice shook. “And it’s lonely down here. And I need to go home.”
His silence was deafening, and the expressionless mask he wore, or what I could see of it in the dim light, was back. I realized now, he wore it when he was feeling things the most.
I squeezed his hand. “Goodbye, Xavier.”
Then I’d turned and walked back up to the house.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“So, are we sending Xavier Pascale a bag of dicks?” asked Meredith, eyes widening with feigned innocence as she closed her mouth over her paper straw. The Mexican restaurant in downtown Charleston was quiet for a Wednesday evening.
“Stop.” I laughed thinly. Then I frowned when I thought about Dauphine accidentally coming across a bag of candy penises. No. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” My fingers were making confetti out of the paper coaster.
“Apart from not seeing what an awesome creature he had in his grasp and letting you go. Nay, pushing you away.” Meredith set her drink down. “I’m just saying. You’ve been back three weeks. Stella, baby, you need your groove back.”
My smile wasn’t forced, but humor was just a foreign place for me. “I loved that movie. We should watch it tonight. Actually, let’s go home and put on PJs right now. Taye Diggs for the win,” I deflected.
She gave a saucy smile and flicked her hair off her shoulder. “He’s a tasty snack. And he follows me on Instagram.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Does too.” She snatched her phone off the table top and swiped the screen. Then her phone came at my face so fast I ducked. “See?”
“Dude, I can’t focus on the screen when you’re trying to shove it up my nose
.” I suppressed a laugh. Grabbing her wrist, I held her phone at a respectable distance. “What am I looking at? This isn’t Instagram.”
“I screen-grabbed the notification of him following me obviously, duh. That’s once in a lifetime shit right there.”
“Let me see his profile,” I teased. “Something tells me he also follows three hundred million other people.”
She pouted but held her phone away from me. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Does too.”
“Just because you’re in heartbreak-loser-ville, don’t drag me there too.”
“Gee, thanks for the sympathy.”
“I don’t have sympathy.” She leaned forward. “You could be boinking a smoking hot French billionaire right now, who literally asked you to stay for the hot sex by the way, and instead you came moping back home.” She picked up her paper straw and swatted my hand. “You don’t deserve the luck. Seriously. And we’re not going home to get into PJs.”
“Please?”
“No. I was by myself for weeks since you’ve both been gone. And then you were back with post-vacation blues, and no job, and refusing to go out. Now you have that job at the Charleston Historic Foundation, and now I have you here, we are staying out. We are having fun, dammit,” she ordered.
Saluting her command, I took a small sip of my cocktail. “Okay. Also, when is Tabs coming back? I can’t believe she’s been gone so long.” I needed to tell her what happened in person. All she knew was, after Dauphine’s kidnapping, Xavier decided they didn’t need to be on the boat anymore and no longer had need of someone to help since his mother was going to move in for a time.
“Between you and me, I think Tabs has hooked back up with her high school sweetheart. There’s something about going home after so long for a family wedding that feels an awful lot like a cable TV happily-ever-after movie.”
My jaw was hanging open, so I closed it. “No. She wouldn’t.” I racked my brain for all the high school stories we’d swapped over the years. “Would she?”
