When in Paris... (Language of Love)

by Beverley Kendall

  The place is a ghost town. If anyone’s in residence, they’re either out—and it’s still early for a Friday night—or in their rooms. I’m not sure I feel comfortable leaving her here alone.

  After she unlocks her door, I follow her into her room and place both pieces of luggage in front of her closet. She turns and looks up at me and desire coils in my gut. I feel myself getting hard again.

  “Come back to my apartment tonight,” I say, cupping her cheek in my palm.

  Her lids flutter down, her lashes brushing the crests of her cheekbones. “What about Troy?”

  When her eyes open, I feel like a bastard. I know she’s exhausted but I selfishly want her in my bed, lying beside me, under me, her body mine to caress and make love to at will. I should be ashamed of myself but still I persist.

  “Troy won’t be back until tomorrow night or Sunday morning. We’ll have the place to ourselves.” I stroke her cheek with the flat of my thumb, my other hand rests possessively on her ass as I pull her tight against me so she can’t help but feel how much I want her.

  We’d had sex almost every night while we were in Paris but back at home, she appears uncertain about spending an entire night with me. Undeterred, I continue to cajole. As I said before, I’m a selfish bastard. But I want her. “I don’t want to leave you alone. There’s practically no one here.”

  The look of weariness she’d been wearing since we got off the plane in Buffalo is replaced by glittering awareness. I waste no time taking my cue from that, bringing my mouth down to hers. Her lips part immediately for the hungry sweep of my tongue as I kiss her like I haven’t had sex in three months. Like I can’t get enough of her sweet mouth and the wet demand of her response.

  Restless hands push under her sweater and stroke over the rounded curve of her ass, the length of her naked back, and skim the sides of her bra-encased breasts until I can’t see straight. In the back of my mind I know I can’t allow it to go any further because I want to make love to her in the comfort of my much bigger bed. And I certainly don’t want to have to get up afterward, get dressed and head out into the cold again.

  Reluctantly, I break the kiss and order my hands away from her breasts. My head swims with the effort it costs. A voice I barely recognize says, “Come on, grab some clothes and let’s get out of here.”

  She looks dazed for a few seconds, her lips still moist and swollen from my kisses before clarity returns to her eyes. “Um, right,” she mumbles, running the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “Give me a minute.”

  I have to grit my teeth to stop from reaching out and plastering her against me again.

  ***

  OLIVIA

  How is it possible that a person can go eighteen years without sex, have it the total of seven times in the span of six days, and now can’t get enough?

  I’m living proof that it is—possible that is. I’m proof you can go from virgin to insatiable in the blink of an eye. But I’m not so naïve as to believe that for me it’s just the sex.

  It’s sex with Zach.

  Sex with Zach that has me wrestling with the stubborn buttons on his jeans the second we hit the door to his bedroom fifteen minutes after we leave my dorm.

  My overnight bag was discarded somewhere in the hall, along with my boots and our respective coats. His gold-and-brown turtleneck lies on the carpeted floor just beyond the entrance to his bedroom.

  We exchange a sizzling-hot kiss before we have no choice but to break apart to rid ourselves of the rest of our clothes. My fingers, too clumsy in their haste, can only manage one of his buttons. Zach urges my hands up to strip my sweater from me. Cool air can’t chill the warmth of my skin and it certainly can’t cool my ardor.

  I stare up into the burning fire of his eyes and a flood of heat and moisture collects between my thighs. With a deep groan, he’s kissing and nuzzling the sensitive skin behind my ear and length of my neck as he divests me of my bra. My breath hitches at the scratch of his bristled jaw against my skin, which I find more arousing than painful. But I know I’ll bear the visible effects of it tomorrow.

  After he smooths the bra straps from my shoulders, his hands move down to cup my breasts. My nipples pebble against his palms as desire has me in knots. I inhale deeply and exhale on a moan that feels torn from my throat.

  When he lifts his mouth from my neck, I capture his lips with mine. From then on I pretty much forget everything else. The next thing I know we’re both naked and he’s above me, his forearms on either side of my head propping him up. His kisses are slow, deep and languid, not the hurried, desperate pace of not so long ago.

  He may want to take it slow, but I’m still writhing under him, my legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer, completely abandoned.

  “Zach, now,” I whimper, my hands pressing down hard on his butt.

  He lets out a sound that’s half groan, half chuckle. “And I thought I was impatient.”

  I can’t say I find any of this funny. My body feels like it’s on fire. He’s completely corrupted me.

  Lowering his head, he takes my nipple into his mouth. At the wet suction on my breast, my back bows like I’ve been shocked.

  After tormenting me to needy mindlessness, he dons a condom and thrusts into me. The peak finds me soon after. Strokes after that, it finds Zach too.

  ~*~*~

  I’m not sure what pulls me out of my sated and dreamless sleep until I feel the bed shift beneath me. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust to the darkness and then I see Zach climbing naked out of bed.

  “Look, this is not a good time to talk,” I hear him say, impatience lacing his biting tone.

  “Zach,” I say in a sleepy voice. “What’s wrong?”

  When his head whips around, I can see he’s on his cell.

  “Hold on,” he says to the person on the other end then he hits a button on the phone before he replies, “It’s nothing, Liv. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

  “What time is it?” I’m becoming more awake by the second and I want to know who he’s talking to.

  “After eleven.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  A flash of annoyance crosses his face and I wonder if it’s directed at me or the person on the phone.

  “No one. Go back to sleep, Liv.” With his cell phone still in hand, he yanks on a pair of boxer briefs and leaves the room.

  What the hell was that?

  My heart is pounding, my teeth clenching. Who the hell is calling him at eleven o’clock at night? Someone he doesn’t want me to know about. Nothing about this situation sits well with me. I’m confused, pissed and hurt. I scoot up into a sitting position, jerk the comforter up around me, turn on the lamp on the night table and wait.

  I can’t hear even the murmur of his deep voice so he’s either in the bathroom or he’s out in the living room speaking in a voice hardly above a whisper. This pisses me off even more.

  By the time he returns, I’ve worked myself into such a state, I have to take several deep breaths before I can bring myself to speak calmly.

  “Who was that?”

  At my hard tone, he stops at the side of the bed and stares down at me. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Just some shit I’m dealing with. Don’t make a big deal of it, ’kay?”

  Huh? Seriously? Now I’m not sure what to say. He sounds so weary that my first inclination is to let the subject drop. But I’m just not the type to sit idly by while my boyfriend takes a phone call from another girl—and my gut tells me it was a female—a call he can’t take in front of me.

  “So you think I should be okay with girls calling you close to midnight? That I should be okay when you run off to another room to take her call?”

  If Zach knows anything about women, he knows there’s only one possible answer.

  His stance shifts and I’m momentarily distracted by what he looks like wearing only his navy briefs.

  “It was Ashley, okay? You satisfied?”

  Ashley, his e
x?

  He. Cannot. Be. Serious.

  Satisfied? Um, that would be a big no.

  “I thought you guys weren’t seeing each other anymore.”

  “We’re not.”

  “Then why is she calling you?”

  Zach’s jaw tightens and he gets a little squinty-eyed and I can tell I’m testing his patience. But he doesn’t say anything, simply pulls back the covers and climbs into bed.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters as he settles in beside me, the muscular length of his hair-roughened leg pressed against mine.

  What? And that’s supposed to be it? He says conversation over and we’re done? I don’t think so.

  “Well I want to talk about it.”

  Contrary to the tick of his jaw, he closes his eyes and laces his hands behind his head in a feigned state of repose. Belatedly, I shimmy over until not a single inch of our skin is touching.

  In response, Zach lazily opens one eye and regards me as if to ask, What’s your problem?

  “Well I don’t.” With that he closes his eye. “Olivia, let’s just go to sleep. It’s been a long day. I’m tired, I’m aggravated and I don’t want to fight.”

  He sure hadn’t been too tired to have sex.

  “I want to settle this tonight,” I say calmly. I don’t want to fight either.

  “Liv—”

  “I think I have a right to know what’s going on between my boyfriend and his ex.” A perfectly reasonable assumption for me to make.

  At this, both his eyes fly open and his brows meet over the bridge of his nose. From the expression on his face, I get the sense I’m not going to like what he has to say.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ZACH

  My boyfriend.

  The sinking feeling I have in the pit of my stomach intensifies. I had hoped I’d be able to turn the rest of the evening around after I got off the phone with Ashley. Maybe I’m delusional, but I actually thought Olivia and I would be able to go on as if my pain-in-the-ass ex had never called. But Olivia is your typical girl and her possessive and jealous streak came out as it inevitably would.

  I could even have dealt with that had she not said the b-word. Now we’re going to have the conversation I don’t want to have. I love the way things are between us. I don’t want to change a single thing. That serious “couple crap” usually changes everything.

  “Look, Olivia.”

  Her body visibly stiffens at the tone of my voice, her eyes alert as she clutches the comforter tighter around her. Slowly, she straightens, her spine rigid and long. The distance between us is like a living and breathing thing, it’s that palpable, like she already knows what I’m about to say.

  I clear my throat but it doesn’t rid me of the constriction or my growing discomfort. “I really like you. More than I’ve liked a girl in a long, long time.” Ever really, but I’m not going to tell her that. “And I like what we have right now.”

  She blinks and silence begins and lengthens. “What exactly do we have, Zach? I just want to be clear.”

  The question and the stiffness in her voice is a bad omen. Not only do I need to stick to the truth but I have to make sure I say it right. If not, I can see this whole thing imploding on me and I’m not willing to give up the possibility of what I—we—could have because I didn’t say it right.

  “We’re seeing each other.” I hold my breath, waiting for her response. Luckily I don’t have to worry about dying of asphyxiation.

  “Seeing each other,” she says as if testing out the words on her tongue and pondering the meaning. “Do you mean dating the way April does, a different guy every week?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

  Her eyes narrow and her jaw tightens. “Then how would you put it?” she asks in a deceptively quiet voice. I’m not fooled into believing an explosion isn’t coming.

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say. I like you. You like me. I want to continue to see you. Isn’t that a good place to start?”

  “We are sleeping together, Zach. I think we’ve gone a bit beyond just dating, don’t you think?”

  Christ, I think she’s expecting me to declare my undying love for her, which is just not going to happen. I already admitted that I like her. A lot. I don’t throw that around loosely, much less the word love.

  “Right, and I don’t want things to change.”

  “So am I not supposed to ask about Ashley or any other female you talk to, is that what you’re saying? That I don’t have a right to know? That I shouldn’t assume we have a standing date for Friday and Saturday nights? Which means what, Zach? That we can date other people? That we’re not in a relationship? That I’m not your girlfriend?”

  After she’s riddled me with a barrage of questions, she regards me, her gaze direct and unblinking.

  “Look, I’m not looking for anything serious. But I’m not looking to date other girls. It’s just that I only recently got out of a relationship and I’m not—”

  “Right, I get you,” she bites out, her voice choked. “You don’t want to get serious. I heard you the first time.” She swallows and stares down at her lap, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. I move to put my arm around her but she flinches away from me as if she can’t bear my touch. I drop my arms to my side.

  “Liv, you don’t have to worry about Ashley. Honest to God, there’s nothing going on between us. She’s just—”

  Her head comes up and my guilt increases tenfold when I see the sheen of tears in her eyes. “This isn’t about your ex-girlfriend anymore, Zach. This is about the fact that we don’t want the same thing. What you want is someone to call over when you’re looking to get laid. You’re looking for something casual and I’m not. I’m just not,” she says, whispering the last three words.

  As bad as I feel, I know it’ll be ten times worse for me in the end if I cave. I think about all the times in my life when I just gave in and did what others wanted me to do. My father with football. All this crap with Ashley that has me still tied to her in a completely unhealthy way. Even my mom and my aunt expecting me to stay away from Olivia because of what her mother did. And I did. I convinced myself she must be like her mother and I stayed away, far away. All the good it ended up doing me.

  Well I’m done with that. I have to do what’s right for me and I’m not going to be guilted into having a girlfriend when I don’t want one.

  ***

  OLIVIA

  Breathe. Breathe.

  I force the air from my lungs and then inhale deeply as I fight for my teetering composure. I can’t afford to totally lose it. But what else do you do when you realize the guy you gave your virginity to, the guy you just had sex with doesn’t want a girlfriend? What do you do when he essentially tells you he’s looking for what equates to as a friend-with-benefits arrangement? Nothing too deep, nothing too serious.

  Oh my God, I have to get out of here. Right now.

  Throwing modesty aside for the sake of expediency, I drop the heavy comforter from around me and bolt from the bed—butt naked—and quickly collect my clothes that are scattered on the floor. It takes about ten seconds but it’s the longest ten seconds of my life. I feel Zach’s gaze burning into me.

  “Liv, what are you doing? Where are you going?” he asks, rising from the bed.

  I ignore him. Once I have my clothes bundled in my hands, I walk quickly from the room and don’t stop until I’m locked in the bathroom.

  Seconds later, Zach’s knocking on the door. “Olivia, talk to me.”

  “I’m going home.” I dress in record time, not bothering about the disheveled state of my hair or my complete lack of make-up.

  “You don’t have your car,” he reminds me.

  Shit.

  It’s late but the dorm is only about a mile and a half from his apartment.

  “And don’t even think about walking because it’ll be a cold day in hell before I’d let you do that.”

  What, is he reading mind
s now? Anyway, I wasn’t seriously considering it.

  After pulling on my socks, I open the door to find Zach standing there, wearing only his underwear. I really wish he’d put some clothes on. Not that there was any chance of me having sex with him, but this would all be much easier if he was covered up.

  “I’ll call a cab.” I step around him and head down the hall toward the front door, scooping up my coat on the way. I grab my handbag from the kitchen counter and rummage through it until my hand closes around my cell phone.

  “You’re not calling a cab.” Zach’s standing a foot behind me, looking resolute and pissed off. I glance up at him, making sure my eyes don’t budge below his collarbone. Some clothes, please.

  “I’m going back to my dorm, Zach,” I say firmly. Though I have no idea if the cab company is open this late and if so, how long it will take one to come.

  Seconds elapse before he replies, “Fine. Then I’ll take you home. Give me a minute to throw some clothes on.”

  He waits for my curt acquiesce before returning to his room. I exhale an unsteady breath, my hands braced against the wall.

  By the time Zach returns a minute later—clothed, thank God—my boots and coat are on and my purse is slung over my shoulder.

  The ride to my dorm is completed in silence save the two times Zach attempts to talk to me and I cut him off with a curt, “I don’t want to hear,” and a stony look.

  I don’t protest when he insists on walking me all the way to my room, suffering the torture of his presence. My hand shakes as I unlock my door and when it opens, I practically bolt inside, only glimpsing Zach’s inscrutable expression when the door closes shut on his face.

  Slumped against the door, my heart races madly as I wait to hear his retreating footsteps. But all I hear is silence. Knowing that he hasn’t moved from the other side of the door causes tears to sting the backs of my eyes.

  I think I hear him say my name but by this time, I’m convinced I’m hearing what I want to hear. Another minute passes before I hear his measured tread and then the sound of the door to the stairway opening…then closing.