The Kiss Plot: Book Two of the Quicksilver Trilogy

by French, Nicole

  On the other side of the piazza flowed Tuscany, now a bit browner than more popular photos would suggest, with leafless trees and fields left to rest for the winter. But beautiful nonetheless, dotted with villas and even larger buildings, and rows of tall cypresses guarding the hills. I sighed. Yes, this was worth the walk, for sure.

  When I turned back around, I found Eric standing at the edge of the railing, staring out at the city too.

  “Was this someone’s castle once?” I asked.

  He started as if he’d just realized I was there. “What? Oh, no. It was built in the nineteenth century, I think. As a meeting place, like a city center, and supposedly to showcase replicas of Michelangelo’s work.” He gestured toward a bronze statue that was indeed a replica of the David.

  I looked back toward the city with him. “It seems like it would be a good place for a castle where a feudal lord could survey his holdings. The city in one direction, farmland in the other. You can see everything at once.”

  Eric looked down at me with a hint of a smile. “I don’t think there was ever a king here, though. Florence was founded by the Roman empire. And then it was a mercantile city. Right?”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t exactly well-versed in Italian history. “My argument stands. Even if this wasn’t a king’s landing, it would have been a good one.”

  “Mmmm.”

  There it was again, that noncommittal shrug.

  But it couldn’t be denied, as I looked at him. Even with the bad dye job, Eric couldn’t hide what he was any better than when he was in law school. He was kind. He was humble. But something else practically dripped off every inch of that strong, dignified posture. It was in the lines of his nose, cheekbones, the tip of his chin. Entitlement, some might have called it. But I saw something else: nobility.

  “What?” he asked when he caught me looking at him. He smirked. “What are you thinking, pretty girl?”

  But I wasn’t in the mood to flirt.

  I pushed a few strands of windblown hair out of my face. “I want to know when you’re going to stop being such a damn chicken and really take what’s yours.”

  All signs of amusement disappeared. “What?”

  I licked my lips, trying to think. “You were a prince, Eric. And now you’re a king. But you still act like a scared peasant.”

  His brow furrowed in confusion. “Jane, you don’t know what—”

  I stared at my hands. “I don’t know? Okay, fine, I don’t know. But I’m right next to you every night when you wake up shouting because of what Carson did. You’ve told me enough that I can imagine at least some of it. Ten days in a box having your balls swatted? And my picture flashed in front of you on a slideshow, right?”

  Eric cast me a suspicious look. “Well…when you put it that way…”

  I waved my hands in front of me. “I’m not trying to say it wasn’t horrific. Traumatic. I’m just trying to say it didn’t work”

  He nodded slowly. “It didn’t work?”

  “Don’t parrot me. You’re not a circus animal. But no, it didn’t. You said so yourself.”

  He crossed his arms. “I just said it didn’t work with you. But like you said, I’m acting scared, just like he wants. Fuck, Jane, I am scared. That guy is capable of anything.”

  I turned, because the thought had only just occurred to me.

  “It didn’t work,” I told him, “because you’re here with me. All he wanted to do was make you hate me. Make you want to stay away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t, could you?”

  Eric’s hands fell to his sides, allowing me to put my hands in his pockets and pull him close.

  “It didn’t work,” he repeated again, this time with a slight smile.

  “No, my king,” I said, only half playfully. “It did not.”

  “Your…” He shook his head again, confidence dashed. “Jane…

  “Don’t ‘Jane’ me. Not to get all Lion King on you, but in the words of Rafiki, ‘it is time.’ Mufasa’s gone. Scar’s on the loose, and he’s trying to chase you back into the elephant graveyard. Except you’re not a stupid lion cub, you’re a full-grown man, and you belong in New York.”

  “I didn’t realize you were such a Disney fan, Lefferts.”

  “Don’t change the subject. Time to take your place, Simba.”

  “Jane…”

  “And don’t take that tone either, like you feel sorry for me for not knowing your reality. Of the two of us, who’s made the biggest effort to learn that Gossip Girl world?”

  “What is it you think I’ve been doing every day at DVS?” he burst out. “Needle pointing?”

  I snorted. “I’d actually like to see that.”

  “I’ve been working,” Eric reiterated. “Doing my best to learn a company I never wanted in the first place.”

  “Never?” I countered. “Or just since you thought they killed Penny?”

  “Thought?” Eric asked incredulously. “They did. They bullied her until she slit her wrists, Jane! I know you want to think my family isn’t so bad, but their avarice and cruelty is the reason we are here alone right now. Meanwhile, half the stockholders at DVS think I’m just a trust fund brat there to fuck up their stock options, and the other half think I’m the devil himself.”

  “Are you really telling me there isn’t any part of you that doesn’t like it?” I demanded. “Or was that just an act, the way you would come home and chatter about your day? Tell me this and that about such-and-such deal before I traded the latest gossip from Nina? Was I imagining the way you enjoyed that give-and-take?”

  His expression told me I wasn’t. We both remembered those scant, beautiful days before the wedding. Before John “Titan” Carson. A few sweet months where things had seemed to gel.

  “But it takes more than just a king to make things happen,” I continued. “The good ones knew their entire courts. You were just getting to know yours, and now you’ve quit and run away.”

  Eric shook his head. “This isn’t a monarchy, Jane. I’m not trying to maintain power.”

  “Well, maybe you should.”

  “What are you saying?”

  I stepped up and pulled on his collar, looking for something to do with my hands. “I’m saying you were born for this. You’re running away from the big bad guy like everyone else. But you’re not everyone else. If you just take the time to really understand what is at your disposal—not just the company and the money, but the people, the businesses, the power brokers. John Carson spent plenty on courting politicians last year, but you know what? Your grandmother spent even more. You have thousands of people in your debt, Eric. Learn who, and you’ll be just as big and bad as him.”

  Eric pulled me close and set his chin atop my head. It was a protective move, but also one that prevented me from watching that implacable face I was learning to read better and better.

  “If I’m a king, does that make you my queen?” he asked finally.

  I pulled back. His tone was light, but there was no laughter in his expression.

  I pressed my lips together. “Well, that has yet to be decided, hasn’t it?”

  That marriage certificate felt like a ticking time bomb, but it wasn’t fair to pressure him about it now. We had enough going on. I also couldn’t blame him if he wasn’t sure about it himself. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

  “If I’m a king,” he said quietly, a few minutes later, “it’s because you make me one.”

  I snorted. “Right. I’m sure a half-breed bastard child of a trick-turning stewardess is super royal.”

  Eric pulled back to look down at me, but there was no joke in his eyes. “You know I don’t like it when you talk about yourself like that.”

  “Is any of it untrue?” My words were unnecessarily sharp. Maybe it was because I hadn’t quite come to terms with them myself. After all, I had liked being the daughter of a mild-mannered psychologist and an esthetician.

  Be honest, Jane Brain. You never felt quite right in that life anywa
y,

  I sighed. Dad was right even if he was a product of my imagination. I had always felt a little out of place in Chicago. Hell, everywhere. Maybe now I knew why.

  “There are a lot of ways to command people,” Eric said. He reached down and took my hand, then slowly pulled off my glove, one finger at a time. “You do it better than anyone I know. You sure as hell command me, gorgeous.”

  “Stop,” I whispered. Don’t stop.

  “It’s true,” he murmured as his thumb brushed over my knuckles, lingering over my bare ring finger. “I might have the pedigree, Jane, but you’re the one who’s royal.”

  Then, before I could reply, his broad hands wrapped around my waist and lifted me suddenly to sit on the edge of the wall. They remained around the small of my back, keeping me from falling, strong and solid, as much a foundation as he claimed I was for him.

  Maybe when we challenged each other, we made each other stronger. Maybe that was what Eric and I really did for one another.

  But he didn’t let me say it, instead kissing me. This time he commanded me, with strong lips, strong hands, the kind of kiss that whistles through the air right along with a brisk December wind. The kind that makes you forget that you’re missing a glove on one hand and that no one else in their right mind is standing outside in this kind of chill. He kissed me long and hard and didn’t release me until we were both breathless.

  A sudden gust of wind sent a shiver down my spine, even under my thick wool coat. Eric held me close, shivering right along with me.

  “I think,” he said, “that maybe it’s a little too cold for a picnic. Would you agree?”

  I sighed, then nodded. We could always use our food from the market for dinner on the train.

  “We passed a couple of good cafes on the way here,” I said. “Why don’t we get our fill of pasta while we can?”

  Eric nodded, seemingly relieved that I was letting go of our previous topic of conversation. And I would, of course. But only for now.

  Twenty-Four

  “Fuck. Me. Like, right in the ass.”

  “That could be arranged.”

  I nearly tripped on the porch steps of the tiny guesthouse we had rented outside of Engelberg, Switzerland.

  “I think you took care of that a few nights ago,” I replied dryly as I waited for Eric to unlock the door. I sagged against the cabin wall and dropped my snowshoes to the ground with a clatter.

  Eric gave me a mischievous once-over that dropped slowly to the part of my body I’d just mentioned. “There’s always room for improvement. I was enjoying myself, but you came too fast. We need to work on your endurance there too, I think.”

  I removed one of my new fleece mittens and swatted at him. He dodged easily, then chuckled as he shuttled me the rest of the way inside the warm, inviting little cabin. I had to give points to Switzerland for good cheap accommodations. What the country lacked in picturesque architecture, they made up for in basic, utilitarian comfort and, of course, mountains.

  “Gaaahhhhh.” I collapsed onto the bed in the middle of the cabin, reveling in the rush of blood from my sorry, swollen feet back into the rest of my body. “I need to spend the next two days in a hot tub. Please tell me again: why did you think snowshoeing for hours would be a good idea?”

  “Because it’s fun.”

  Eric unloaded the crash pad—essentially a giant foldable mattress he could fall on when rock climbing—onto the floor. He’d rented it from the owners of the tiny guesthouse along with a pair of climbing shoes he’d dismissed as “mediocre, but usable.” We hadn’t actually gone that far, just hiking maybe an hour until Eric found the particular three-story miniature mountain he was looking for that day.

  I didn’t know. They all looked like big rocks to me. But I enjoyed the solitude, sketching in my notebook, making tea on a Bunsen burner, and watching Eric play Spiderman until we were ready to make our way back to town.

  I did wonder if he had taken me up here as much to distract from the fact that amidst all the snow, it was also Christmas Eve. The rest of the world was probably decorated up the wazoo, but our cabin only had a couple of pine boughs stuck on the fireplace. Maybe he thought up here, it would be easy to ignore the fact that we were spending the holiday alone and on the run instead of surrounded by family or friends.

  “Lefferts.”

  I could barely prop my head up to see Eric squatting at the foot of the bed. “What is it, Petri dish? I’m too sore even for a decent comeback, so don’t even think about tying me to this bed again.”

  The mention of what Eric had done the night before—a particularly creative episode that involved some of his climbing straps, snow, and a camisole re-appropriated as a blindfold—brought another sly smile to the man’s face. But he remained where he was, untying my hiking boots.

  “You just need to exercise more, gorgeous.” One sleek brow arched. “Not that I’m complaining, to be clear. I just don’t like to see you in pain.” He popped over me for a moment and gave me a kiss. “Well, not unless it’s the good kind.”

  I pulled him down to continue the kiss a bit longer, even as I flushed, thinking of the color of my breast the other night after he’d paid it some especially brutal attention. But even at that thought, I was too tired to respond. The man had simply worn me out.

  I released him and flopped back onto the bed. “I street hike.”

  “Walking across Central Park is not hiking,” Eric said as he pulled off my second boot.

  “Sure it is. Through the concrete jungle, right? And I’ll have you know that the Guggenheim and the Met are both multiple levels. Up and down those steps for an afternoon is basically like summiting the Matterhorn.”

  The smug bastard grinned from the foot of the bed, but his large hands closed over one foot and started to rub, so instead of continuing with another slick retort, I just moaned.

  “Oh, wow, VD. You have the touch.”

  I jerked when he pinched my pinkie toe.

  “What did I say about those names?”

  “What is there to say?” I chided. “You earned it, you manwhore. Own your truth.”

  The hands on my feet paused. Shit. And for several seconds, no one moved.

  When I finally propped myself up again, I found Eric watching me with a very intense expression. I froze, my entire chest tightening under the intensity of his dark gray, almost black gaze.

  “You know it’s just you, don’t you?” His voice was soft, but almost a threat.

  He scooted up the mattress to sit next to me. I sat up against the pillows.

  “Jane,” he said. “Tell me you understand that. Tell me you understand that the entire reason we’re here is because of you. What you mean to me.”

  I couldn’t help it. I melted. Like a fucking candle. “Is it?”

  Eric’s voice shook with emotion despite not rising one decibel. “Yes.”

  I swallowed. I wanted to jump him, but my gaze landed on his empty ring finger. If that was the case, why hadn’t he put it back on? Why hadn’t I?

  “What was it you said?” I murmured as I stared at his hand. “‘Better single and poor than married to a whore?’” I hadn’t ever admitted out loud how much those words stung. I could take that accusation from anyone but Eric. “It’s catchy, you know. It almost rhymes.”

  “You know I said that to drive you away, don’t you?” Eric took my chin, urging me to look at him. “Jane, the only thing I was thinking was that I needed you to get away from me. For your own good.”

  “And you thought calling me a whore would be just the key?”

  He had the grace to look ashamed, but his ferocity didn’t lessen. “I would have said anything in that moment to keep you safe.”

  But all I could do was shrug. This was our history—in moments of anger, we lobbed insults like Molotov cocktails. It wasn’t like I didn’t tease him incessantly about his sexual history. I had literally just called him a venereal disease, so I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I couldn’t take w
hat I dished out on the regular.

  Still, from Eric, in that moment, it had really, really hurt. Even if he believed it had been for my own good.

  “I got you back with that slap,” I finally said, shaking off his grip. “I think we’re even.” I offered a grim smile. “It’s forgotten. See?”

  Eric examined me for a moment. And then, before I could stop him, he tackled me onto the bed with another kiss that took my breath away.

  “Stop it,” he ordered.

  For a moment, it was almost like we were wrestling, not cuddling. Despite my intense desire for him to subdue the doubt swimming in my stomach, I couldn’t help but fight a little. Eric’s hands wrapped around my wrists like handcuffs, pinning me to the bedding. I pushed back, sucked a little harder on his mouth, wrapped my legs around his stronger ones and bucked with my hips. Eric grunted with the effort to keep me in place, but still worked that much harder. We grappled on the mattress, enjoying a bit of cathartic combat that eventually gave way to surrender. On both sides.

  No one loves to fight you like I do, he’d said. I sighed into his kiss. It was the truest thing I’d ever heard. And the truest thing I’d ever felt.

  If only he could learn to fight like that for himself.

  I pulled back, much to Eric’s obvious disappointment. His chest rose and fell as he regained his breath, and his dilated eyes revealed how much he wanted to continue exactly what we were doing.

  But I needed something sweeter.

  “Tell me what you used to do for fun when you were small,” I said as I rolled onto my back.

  Eric’s brow rose in surprise. He adjusted his pants. I did my best not to look—I’d be a goner if I did. “Are we going to reminisce about our childhoods now? I never took you for the banal conversation sort.”

  I just sighed. “I don’t think it’s banal. It’s all part of knowing someone, isn’t it?” Though my voice was light, I really did need some levity at the moment. For some reason, I felt like I was about to cry all over again. Maybe it was being on the run for this long, but something was really starting to take its toll.