by Karen Ferry
I’m stunned. Utterly shook, really, but despite the bossiness of his actions, I melt at the confident smile on his lips. He’s laying his claim on me, and I bloody love it.
Without a word between us, he hands me the pile of French toast I’ve cooked, and just like that, I’m back to swooning. He doesn’t take any of the food himself, handing me every plate to take my fill first, and I swoon a little bit more by his thoughtfulness.
For the first few minutes, we eat in the quiet, stealing glances at each other. I can’t stop staring at him. Thankfully, he’s buttoned his jeans, but that delectable V accentuating his hips is still noticeable, making me grow hot and bothered by the second.
The clang of his knife and fork against my china plates is oddly soothing. This feels…normal, like what a real couple would do – sans the getting up before the birds part, obviously – but I have a sneaky suspicion I could get used to having Finlay wake up next to me every morning.
The thought is sobering, even a bit frightening, and nerves dance in my belly.
“What has you frowning so hard?”
His words pull me out of my thoughts, and I shake my head.
“Talk to me, Amelie.” He takes my hand and starts to play with my fingers. “I’ve been inside you. Surely you can tell me anything,” he grins.
Images of yesterday flash before my eyes, instantly making me blush, but I don’t disagree. I should be able to blurt out whatever I think around a man I’ve been so intimate with, shouldn’t I? I square my shoulders and meet his raised eyes.
“I don’t know anything about you.”
His eyes gentle.
“What do you want to know?”
A million little things…all the bits that make him the man he is, but where do I start?
“Tell me about your family.”
He nods and leans back.
“I’m the youngest of four, and my sisters are all happily married and busy giving our parents grand-babies to dote on.”
I relax into my chair, enjoying listening to his voice.
“Mum and Dad were teachers and are now retired,” he continues and takes a sip of his coffee before he goes on. “Growing up, I learned to love the written words as much as they did, but I didn’t want to be a teacher, so that’s why journalism seemed to be the right fit for me.” He shrugs. “What else do you want to know?”
“Have you travelled a lot?” I ask,
He shakes his head.
“Sadly no, but I’d like to.”
I fiddle with the belt at my waist.
“I understand. But travelling can be lonely when you don’t have someone to share it with.”
He cocks his head, a line forming between his eyebrows.
“Sounds like you speak from experience?”
It isn’t really a question, more like a statement, but I merely hum noncommittally. The silence falls between us, our gazes locked, and the air grows heavy, sensual between us.
“Is there anything else you want to know, sweetheart?” His voice is soft, yet husky, and it sends a shot of desire straight through my core.
“You don’t have a girlfriend, right?”
Merde, why did I go and blurt out a thing like that? I scramble to take the words back, but I know it’s impossible…and more, I really want to know his answer.
His lips twitch, his eyes gentling even more.
“No, Amelie. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Relief pours through my heart, grateful.
“I’ve not really been in a seriously committed relationship before,” he admits. “But I have a feeling that’s going to change, and soon…”
My heart beats rapidly against my chest. The strongest urge to jump him comes over me, but the heat in his eyes, and the way his hands trail a scorching line up my thighs makes it near impossible to restrain myself.
Gosh, he’s so bloody cute.
“Are you going to stay?” I whisper.
He glances down at my mouth and licks his lips, reminding me of the sweep of his tongue between my legs. The memory assaults my senses, and I can feel my breathing speed up by the second. The longer he stays silent, the more insistent the pang between my legs become, and I quiver with longing.
“Listen carefully,” he starts slowly and brings my hand to his mouth. “I want to be with you, Amelie Winters. I don’t care about the contract, or my editor, or anything else. I want to explore things with you, and, yes, I also want to fuck you.”
Mon dieu, if he keeps talking like that, I’ll combust.
He moves my hand and places short, teasing kisses on the inside of my wrist, his intense gaze never wavering from mine. My fingers curl around his strong jaw, needing to touch him. My skin is on fire from the mere touch of his mouth. I’m turning into a living, breathing ball of lust, and maybe I should be ashamed I’m this needy, but I’m not.
“Do you want me to stay, just say it.”
His tongue licks at my pounding pulse, and I lean closer towards him until our mouths are only a hairsbreadth apart. I need to feel his lips on mine more than I need air itself.
“Stay.”
But he doesn’t kiss me.
“You can’t imagine what I feel when I’m around you,” he says, rubbing those sinfully full lips over mine, teasing me. I almost whimper the longer he denies me, the aching need inside me flaring to life as his fingers dig in to my thighs on his lap. “The way you fell apart yesterday…the gift you gave me, and the trust...the fire inside you matches mine, sweetheart. You are sweet when you ramble, and you are sexy as fuck when you kiss me, and the truth is…” He takes a shuddering breath. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”
His admission makes my heart grow in my chest. Now panting, I wet my lips, catching the top of his. The pleasure I feel when the teasing glint disappears from his gaze, replaced with a blatant and primal hunger is out of this world. He grips my thighs once more, before he releases my fingers and tugs at the belt around my waist. He groans as he reveals my bare breasts, biting his lip.
I want to be the one to bite it.
I want to make him wild.
I want him to lose control.
I’m already wet, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
“The things I want to do to you,” he rasps, running his nose around mine. He rubs his palms against the hard peaks of my nipples, the callouses teasing me as he swipes his tongue along the seams of my lips. “You’re so fucking sexy. I want your hands and mouth on me. I want you to see and feel everything.”
His words make me tremble, and I grow more and more impatient to be closer to him.
“Yesterday, we made love,” he growls and widens my legs. As he runs them up my thighs, his thumbs draw achingly closer to my core. I want to meowl out in protest when they vanish, only to settle under my ribs, but then he lifts me up and brings me closer to where I want to be. Maddening pleasure courses through me, and I whimper as I sit down on top of him. “Today, I want to fuck you, eat, and sleep.”
“Tais-toi et embrasse-moi,” I moan, lifting my arms to burrow my fingers in his hair.
“Mmm, I love that you speak French when you’re turned on,” he hums in approval, “and I’ll shut up and kiss you in a minute, but…”
My pulse spikes as he pushes his hips up, the friction deliciously erotic against my swollen clit.
“But...?” I gasp.
“But first, I need to hear you want this as much as I do, sweetheart.”
One more swipe of his tongue, this time on my neck, is one more reminder of what he can do to me. He cranes his head to stare deeply into my eyes, showing me that the fire he speaks of is rising to the surface. I burn from the look alone, but I crave his body on mine.
Can he really doubt I want this as much as he does? Another day spent in his arms feels like heaven to me. I want to feel his firm weight pressing me down on my bed, my arms and limbs holding him close. To taste his sweat on his chest. To play with his body as much as he plays with mine.
The answer is an easy one to answer.
“Oui, mon chéri,” I whisper. “I want all that and more.”
Triumph flashes in his eyes as he finally gives me what I crave – he tilts his head moments before he takes my mouth, our teeth clashing from the wildness of our hunger for each other. It’s a desperate kiss, a crazed one, but oh, so lovely and honest as it is raw.
Then we do as he asked for: we fuck, we eat, and we sleep.
Then we do it again.
And I have never felt happier in my life.
“There’s something I should tell you,” Finlay murmurs in my ear.
We’re spooning on my sofa, naked underneath a soft blanket, and watching old episodes of Friends on the telly, but his words instantly make me tense.
“What’s that? That you’re really married and have a brood of children?”
He chuckles and I feel his lips pressing down on my neck.
“Nothing like that.”
I shrug, but I’m not sure he buys it.
“Whatever it is, tell me before the next episode is on.”
He snuggles closer to me, and I secretly thrill at his need to cuddle. While I’ve never experienced it before, I am already a huge fan of spooning.
“Right. The day we met, I Googled you.”
I groan and bore my eyes down to his arm resting under my head.
“And?” My voice comes out muffled, but I don’t care.
“And I didn’t find anything, which strikes me as odd since my editor at the paper has heard of your talent. But then an old article from a French paper popped up, and I tried to translate it. Even with my rubbish skills, I believe I got the gist of it…”
“Go on.”
I know which article he refers to, though. Of course I do. I spend too much of my free time making sure I haven’t been caught by the paps, I’ve come across that ancient article too many times I count, but I know it’s harmless and doesn’t reveal anything.
“You had an accident when you were a teenager?”
I nod and stop burying my head. I want to see his face when I tell him the story, and I turn to my back. He lifts his head, freeing his arm underneath me, and rest it in the palm of his hand.
“It was while I was dancing.” I place my hands on top of the blanket and frown at the memory. “I was in the middle of doing a pirouette – something as simple as that – when something snapped in my ankle, and I fell to a heap on the floor.” I give him a crooked smile. “It was a clean break, but the doctors couldn’t say why it happened. Only that I’d have to be prepared for it to happen again.”
A line is etched between his eyebrows as he listens intensely to me.
“That’s why you’re taking classes at university next to dancing, isn’t it?”
I’m impressed he came to that conclusion so quickly, but I’m not surprised – he’s a journalist, after all. Probably a very good one.
“I know that there’s a real risk that my next performance will be my last, yes.” I let out a humourless laugh. “I suppose I’m preparing myself for failure.”
He shakes his head.
“Not failure,” he murmurs softly. “I’d hate for it to happen to you, sweetheart, honestly. I do.” His sincerity makes my breaths fall faster. “But having a plan b is never a bad thing. I think it’s a smart move, to be honest.”
Unwanted tears clog up my throat, but I do my hardest to suppress them. I don’t want our day together to end with me acting like this: a blubbering fool crying over a lost future even though I don’t even know if it’ll happen.
“Really?”
He smiles before he leans down and kisses me softly, his lips lingering sweetly on mine, before he releases a long breath.
“I have faith in you, sweetheart. Even if your dream shatters, you have another plan, and I admire you for it.”
That does it: tears flow silently down my tears at his praise. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear he believes in me until now. That I wanted the reassurance of someone else besides my family that what I’m doing with my life isn’t foolish. But the truth is, I did. I do.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I blurt out, not caring in the least if it makes me sound needy.
His eyes gentle, the laugh lines around them deepening as they roam my face.
“So am I,” he whispers.
Not wanting to talk anymore, I raise my head and take his lips, pushing gently on his shoulders until he moves to lie down on his back. I’m done with talking for tonight.
Luckily, he catches on quickly, banding his arms around my middle as I deepen our kiss. Everything else can wait for another twenty-four hours.
But in the back of my mind, I remember what else the old article reveals, and a niggle of doubt about Finlay’s motives for being with me wants to make itself known. I’m too far gone to care, losing myself in his lovemaking, but I know I can’t evade his questions for much longer.
Still, I let myself have tonight.
Tomorrow, I’ll face whatever questions he might have.
10
Finlay
My fingers fly across the keys on my laptop as I turn my notes into something that resembles an article about Amelie.
It’s been two weeks, and despite her busy life, we’ve managed to meet up every couple of days. Blood buzzes in my veins whenever I think about her, which is often, and I can hardly believe how strong my feelings for her have grown in such a short amount of time. It’s like she’s lit a fire inside me, and it flares up whenever she’s near.
I hardly know everything there is to know about her, but I don’t care.
I know she prefers strawberries to ice-cream, but, if hard pressed, she loves Italian sorbet.
I know that she gets up at five a.m. each morning to study before her classes start because most of her evenings are spent at the dance studio. I found her one morning at her dining table, books and notes on practically every surface, but that isn’t what made me stop and stare. No, but the fact she was wearing glasses was a sight that instantly made me hard…she looked so perfectly serious and sexy at the same time, I had to go to her and kiss her.
That was the time we both learned that neck kisses make her grow wild in my arms.
My breathing speeds up as images of her bent over her table, me behind her, flash through my mind, and I look away from my laptop and just stare out the window in my small office. Grinning, I shake my head at the almost lovesick fool I’ve become.
But it’s more than lust that has me completely captivated.
No, it’s so much more than that.
It’s the fiercely protective side of her that I’m slowly starting to see in the way she doesn’t often talk about her family, but when she does, she grows soft and warm…
And then there’s the funny sides of her that has me grinning like a madman whenever I think about them. When she admitted she reads her horoscope each week, I burst out laughing.
I rub my right fist against my heart. She can throw a mean punch when she sets her mind to it.
And then has to go get cute as she scrunches up her nose when she watches her British crime shows, her knowledge about real criminology shining through each time. I can never stop watching her more than the telly. I fucking love she doesn’t believe the crap TV producers want her to believe, yet still seems to be addicted to them.
But most of all, I now know what a passionate woman hides underneath her shy demeanour, and that I’m the lucky sod who brings it out of her.
Only me.
She makes me feel alive. As if there’s been a vital part missing inside me, even though I didn’t realise it until I met her.
My phone vibrates on my desk, interrupting my thoughts, and I glance down at it lying next to my laptop. It’s yet another one of Erik’s calls, but I let it ring. It’s the third time today I’ve dodged his calls, but I don’t give a flying fuck. I don’t want to speak with him, or to hear him shouting at me.
Avoiding him has become
my top priority next to being with Amelie whenever I can. While I know I can’t avoid him forever, I need more time with her.
I want to dig deeper into her life. To find out why her family wants her to come out of her hiding place and why she’s so she’s reluctant to do it.
Tonight, I hope I’ll find out her reasons.
And I fucking hope my world won’t shatter to pieces when I do.
“Is this really me?”
I move from my leather armchair and walk towards her. She asked to see my office the moment she arrived, and I’ve been enjoying watching her take in my workspace for the past twenty minutes. I like having her here – to watch her interest in me and my life. This place is as much my office as it is my sanctuary: the bookshelves look a mess to most people, but I know where everything is.
Right now, she looks down at a one of the photographs the freelancer sent to me earlier. I couldn’t resist printing a few of them.
I embrace her from behind, loving the way she fits against me, and rest my chin on her shoulder.
“Yes. You look formidable, sweetheart.”
She raises her hand, and I can’t help but notice it trembling as she runs her pointer over her profile in the photo.
“I never knew I looked like that when I dance.”
The wonder in her voice makes me feel ten feet tall, knowing I’ve had a hand in making her realise what a beautiful sight she is. The fire inside her is out in full force, her body frozen forever in midair and her hair in disarray while a small smile plays on her lips. Her arms and legs are up, bent in ways I never thought a human body could twits itself into, but she makes it look effortless.
“Wow,” she breathes.
I squeeze her tighter in my arms and kiss her softly on her neck, breathing in her scent.
“Believe it,” I murmur in her ear. “The fire inside you comes out when you dance, and the camera encapsulates it. I’m going to keep that one,” I admit on a whim. “I could never part with it. Plus, the photographer sent others that’ll fit the article.”
I stop talking, all at once nervous if she’s guessed how much I need her in my life.
