by Karen Ferry
My jaw goes slack as I realise it turns out it’s her father who tipped me off as to her whereabouts. I quirk my lips, grinning as she rolls her eyes at me.
“I’ve met him, yes. He’s…not horrible, no. Or old.”
I peer down, holding my breath. I don’t know if I should be worried of them clearly talking about me or not, but I almost stumble at the amusing light in her eyes. I shake my head at her quiet teasing.
How the fuck am I going to be able to tell her goodnight?
More importantly, how am I going to stop myself from kissing her again?
“Okay, then I’ll speak with you tomorrow. Have fun at the theatre.” She lowers her voice. “Give my love to Maman. Love you, too.”
The low sigh that falls from her lips as she ends the call intrigues me, but I don’t want to push.
“Sorry about that,” she smiles up at me. “I couldn’t resist teasing him, you see.”
“Right.”
“My parents sprung the interview on me this morning,” she goes on even though I haven’t asked her to elaborate, “and to say that I was furious would be an understatement.”
I grin down at her.
“So, I’m not horrible, eh?”
She shakes her head.
“Mais non. You’re okay, I suppose.”
I clap a hand over my head, pretending to be affronted.
“Well, thank you very much,” I tease.
That sets off her laughter, sending fire through my aching balls, but I ignore the uncomfortable tightness in my jeans.
We walk in a companionable silence until we reach the white townhouse not far from the dance studio. She stops in front of the black wrought-iron gate, and I look up at the building. I didn’t really pay much attention to it earlier this morning, too busy wondering why she ran away from me, but now, I take my time. The front door is a deep green, and two flowerpots with some sort of haphazard flower arrangements stand on either side, giving the house an inviting feel to it.
I point at them.
“Did you make those?”
“I did, yes.” She seems to hesitate but then shrugs. “Flowers make me happy.”
I tuck the tidbit about her away for now, but I’d be a fool if I didn’t admit this new information about her didn’t fascinate me.
“I like them.”
It hasn’t gone unnoticed that we’re in the more expensive part of Edinburgh, but I let it go for now.
“Thank you for dinner.”
I nod and bend to give her a soft kiss on the cheek, unable to deny myself. The soft sigh that falls from her lips makes me grit my teeth, and I tuck a stray hair behind her ear.
“I’ll text you when the contract is ready and arrange to meet up.”
I pull back just as she moves to rest her cheek against mine.
“Okay.” She nods and takes a deep breath. “Speak to you soon.”
“Goodnight, Amelie.”
She turns abruptly and almost trips into the gate, stealing a low chuckle from me as she curses low at her clumsiness.
I take a step back, waiting patiently for her to get inside. When she turns in the doorway, she waves at me once.
“I had the best birthday, Finlay. Thank you.”
There she goes again, unmanning me with her sweetness. I don’t know what to say – or to feel – so I don’t answer. Instead, I jerk my chin at her.
“Get inside,” I murmur.
“Goodnight.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me staring at her closed front door, already longing for another sight of her. I want more of her.
I crave more kisses.
I want to hear her low moans in my ears. I want to make her fall to pieces on my mouth...I want to be the man to take her innocence. Already, she’s underneath my skin, fuelling the flames I could’ve sworn I felt in my blood when she kissed me back.
But I know I should leave instead of keep staring after her like a lovestruck fool, making a silent wish that she’ll appear and ask me to come inside.
Fuck, I’ve never been so conflicted before.
I can’t have her. Not yet, and not while I’m writing a story about her.
The damnedest thing is I can’t wait to get to know her.
But as I turn on my heels and walk away, a niggling thought is at the forefront of my mind, and all the while walking home, I can’t get rid of it.
Do I want to get to know her for my own selfish reasons, or is it for the sake of the story?
7
Amelie
I don’t hear from Finlay for four days.
The days feel long, cold, and grey. It’s completely irrational, but it’s as if he’s left his mark on me.
More than once, I stop to wonder if I dreamed the whole thing, but then the tingling in my lips remind me of our kiss, and I remember every delicious lick of his tongue against mine. I know I can’t have imagined the whole thing.
And then the text came this morning, and I definitely know he isn’t a figment of my imagination.
I rub my lips in quiet wonder. I’ve never been kissed like that before – it felt as if he savoured me all the while he tried to swallow me whole. The warm tightening between my legs makes me rub my thighs together…the achy need to find my own release a-bloody-gain sends my breath stuttering between my lips.
“Merde.”
I need to stop daydreaming about him. I have to focus on my career, on dancing, and on my degree as a criminologist as well. I can’t be mooning over some stranger despite the way he makes me feel. When he told me that he couldn’t date me while he’s spending time with me for the sake of his story, I admit the rush of disappointment that pierced straight through my needy heart was close to crippling – again, hello, irrational brain! – but now that I’ve had time to process my encounter with him, I have to agree.
Nothing muddles up things like romance.
Even I know that.
Okay, so maybe my knowledge about such things is dismal and comes purely from romance novels, but even so…he’s right. We have to keep professional even if it’s the last thing on my mind when I’m near him.
I groan when I think back on our evening together. Not for the first time, I hate my lack of confidence, and my inability to just act like a normal young woman around a man she fancies.
But, wait…I’m not supposed to fancy him, right? It’s too soon for that.
For the thousandth time, I ignore the needy throb and shake my head. I’m not making any sense, so instead, I pick up my phone from my nightstand and purse my lips. Since he didn’t give me his number the other night, I didn’t know the text came from him when I read it.
Two things – 1) Save my phone number at once. 2) The contract is ready. Text me where you want our legal department to send it? Thanks. /Finlay.
I snort again. He sounds bossy, not something I’m usually into, but then again, I don’t exactly have much to compare him to. I did as he asked, though ended up with Sexy Scot instead – because he bloody well and truly is, and I might not have him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see him like that – before I sent him a quick text with the contact details of my family’s solicitors.
That was three hours ago, and I haven’t heard a peep from him since. And since I’ve already finished my studies for the day, I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon cleaning my flat.
When the phone rings in my hand, I yelp, before I chuckle at my own silliness. But the chuckle comes stuck in my throat when the words Sexy Scot flash on the screen, and it takes me almost a full verse of my favourite song to unglue me.
“Hello?”
“Why do I get the feeling you weren’t going to answer?” he murmurs low in my ears.
I shiver at the sound, almost having forgot the timbre of his voice, but now, all my feelings come rushing back, and I forget to breathe.
“Are you there?”
“Yes,” I gulp. “Sorry, I was just, errrm, coming out of my shower so didn’t hear my phone at first.”
>
I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping he buys my lie.
The line grows silent between us and I quickly remove the phone and glance at the screen, wondering if I’ve lost him.
“Finlay?”
He clears his throat. “Still here. Sorry about that.” He sighs and then mutters, “I had to get rid of that visual.”
Confused, I sit down on my bed and scoot up to lean back against my mountain of pillows. Monty, no longer worried I’ll start vacuuming again, comes out from his hidey-hole and lies down next me. Absently, I scratch him underneath his chin, and his purring provides the calm I need to not make an epic fool out of myself as I focus on the hotter-than-sin man on the other end of the line.
“What do you mean?”
He groans, sending my tummy in o a flurry of butterflies.
“Sweetheart, you don’t tell a bloke you kissed a matter of days ago that you’ve just come out of the shower and don’t make him instantly hard.”
His crude words make me gasp.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” I breathe.
“Believe it,” he whispers. “Fuck, Amelie, I haven’t stopped thinking about you…wanting you. I’m going mad.”
Oh, my…I smile slowly, in awe that I can make a man like him crazy. It’s a heady feeling – unknown, yes, but I trust my instincts, and of this I’m sure: Finlay Jensen wants me.
“Let’s talk about something else, then.”
“Right, right.” There’s a brief pause between us, and I settle down further, crossing my ankles.
“I hope you’re having a good day?”
I grimace at myself. What a vapid question is that?
He chuckles, and I can’t stop smiling even though I can’t see him.
“It’s okay, I guess. Actually, the reason I wanted to talk with you you is that your solicitors have sent our legal department all agitated.”
“Oh? How?”
“I don’t speak their language, sweetheart, so I’m not sure, but the bottom line is that it seems it’s going to take another couple of days before I can interview you.”
“Hmm, I see.” I shrug. “Well, if that’s the way it is, then I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“Yeah, so…I guess I don’t know when I’ll see you again, and…”
Instantly, my heart flurries and my pulse pounds in my ears the longer the silence drags between us. I don’t know how much more of it I can handle it.
“And?” I whisper, holding my breath.
“And I don’t like that,” he admits quietly.
“Finlay…”
I don’t know what to say to his admission. I can feel the boundaries slipping between us, making it practically impossible to deny myself the pleasure of seeing him again.
“I’m not far from you,” he goes on. “Want to go get a cup of coffee?”
My lungs bursting for air, I remember to breathe, so I do, but hearing him asking me out on what sounds dangerously close to a date makes me blush.
“I thought you said you couldn’t date me?”
“This isn’t a date,” he grumbles, making my mouth quirk.
“Okay, then what is it?”
I pull at a loose thread in my sweater, the movement somehow soothing.
“It’s just two adults enjoying the unseasonably warm, Scottish weather.”
He is so bloody cute. Aggravating, but cute.
“You’re making it sound so simple.”
“It can be. Come on…it’s just coffee., Amelie,” he murmurs in my ear. His voice is like silk, inviting and tempting me. He isn’t being fair, but I have the hardest time resisting him. I can’t lie to myself: I’m aching to see him…and the fact that he feels the same way – that he’s breaking his own rules about us – makes it so easy to relent.
“Okay. Give me half an hour, and I’ll meet you outside.”
“See you soon.”
Then he’s gone so quickly, I don’t even get the chance to mull it over. I check the time on the phone, taking a full minute to think about what is about to happen, but then I hurry up from my bed and fly into action.
I tear off my yoga pants and sweater and open my closet, peering at my clothes and hating my options. Most of my wardrobe is about practicality and definitely not girly.
“Aha!” I shout in triumph and close my fingers around a black skirt with white flowers printed on it and I nod in satisfaction. A simple, white t-shirt with glittery script saying I’d rather be a unicorn hangs next to it. That’ll do – casual, fun, but not too comfy that it won’t fit our coffee date.
Or…non-date?
I push the unwanted thought from my head and quickly take my clothes and hurry to my bathroom. I need to grab a quick shower before Finlay arrives.
This may not be a date, but there’s no reason to look like I’ve been struck down by the flu.
He’s even better looking than I remember.
It’s not fair, but as we sit on a bench in one of the two adjacent parks, Princess Street Gardens, with our Starbucks coffees in hand, I have to say I’m starting to enjoy the fluttering in my tummy whenever he aims those light chocolate-brown eyes at me, which is often. I’m glad he picked this spot as it always brings me peace, and the fact that Edinburgh Castle is only around the corner – well, up the hill, that is – is a bonus. I never tire watching the formidable castle, and I marvel once again at all the passing years it’s stood here.
Such stories it could tell if only bricks and mortar were able to speak.
“So, what have you been up to?” Fin takes a sip of his coffee, and I lick my lips at the sight of his Adam’s apple bob.
I wonder what his skin tastes like?
Outwardly, I try not to let the effect he has on me show, but it’s hard. I snap my head away and stare unseeingly straight ahead and try to find my voice.
“The usual. Dancing, studying…not much, to be honest.”
Ugh. I sound so boring!
“What about you?”
He scoots closer to me, as if he can’t help himself.
“Well, not much, either. My life pretty much consists of working, but since your people are preventing that, I’ve had way too much time on my hands.”
“Hmm.” I shrug. “I can’t really do anything about it. You know that, right?”
I sneak a glance at him, watching his strong profile. He’s pursed his lips as he mulls over my question.
“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make me less frustrated, though.” He looks down at me from the corner of his eyes, and for the first time, I notice the lines around them.
“Mostly, I’ve been thinking about you,” he answers, his voice so quiet I’m glad we’re the only one in the park, or I might not have heard him. It’s too early for dinner, but a few people have passed us, striding quickly as they’ve no doubt been on their way home from work. “You fascinate me, Amelie.”
I try to steer the conversation away from myself.
“What do you do when you don’t work?”
“Not much, really. I fence, go to the cinema, hang out with friends…” He lets out a small, deprecating laugh. “My life isn’t exactly exciting.”
“You fence?” I turn to face him better, the tension ebbing away from my shoulders now that I’ve got him talking about something besides me. “Is it as difficult as it looks like?”
He grins down at me, and another belly-flip flutters inside me.
“It is, yes. Takes a lot of concentration out of me, but I do my best thinking after an hour or two of it, so I like that part.”
“That’s partly the same for me,” I admit. “With my dancing, I mean…it’s more than physical exertion, you know.” I put my elbow on the bench behind me and rest my chin on my fist. “Your mind has to know every single step, pirouette, before your body takes over. It’s exhilarating and exhausting at the same time – but that’s one of the things I love about it.”
“And yet you still study criminology?” He mirrors my pose, k
eeping my eyes captivated. “You’re a walking contradiction, aren’t you?”
I cock my head at him.
“I don’t think so. I need to fall back on something when my dancing days are over, or if…” I swallow hard, the words are so difficult to push past my lips. He lifts his head from his fist and moves slowly, a questioning look in his eyes. I can’t look away, and I nod slowly, admitting that I’ve wanted to feel his touch ever since he knocked on my door earlier. The intense way he keeps my eyes locked with his as he runs his knuckles down my cheek, makes it difficult to breathe. I shiver from his touch. Even though it’s over quickly, my skin is set ablaze, and I feel a blush creeping up my neck.
“If?”
“If my career ends sooner…if I, for some reason, can’t be a professional dancer anymore, I need a plan b.”
“I’m sure it won’t happen.”
His thumb and forefinger settle on my chin, lifting my face, and he bends his head. Alarm bells go off in my head, but the closer he gets, the weaker they become until they fall on deaf ears.
“Finlay…,” I don’t recognise my own voice when it comes out husky…I sound needy and desperate for him, my lips tingling. “We shouldn’t…”
“I know,” he rasps. “Fuck, I know that, but I can’t resist you.”
He stares at my mouth, and my tongue darts out to wet my lips, catching his thumb, and the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard leaves his lips. It’s a rumble that comes from deep inside him, a primal sound that shoots warmth to my very core.
It’s insane, this attraction…
He hasn’t even kissed me again, and yet I’m panting, and I can feel my nipples harden against my bra. My breasts grow heavy, fuller, and I yearn to taste his lips again.
“Fuck, I want you,” he sighs against me.
“I want you, too,” I admit. The way he looks at me – with desperation, desire, and uncertainty – make me bolder, and I scoot closer towards him, plastering myself against the hard planes of his chest.
“It’s madness…”
I nod as I tuck my face in the crook of his neck. His pulse beats frantically, just like mine…I don’t know how long I’ll be able to take it.
