It hurt. Good.
A few minutes later, he pushed open the door to the brasserie and walked in.
“Over here!” Thomas waved from the bar.
They hugged and spent the next hour talking about common acquaintances, Thomas’s new job, and Rob’s prospects.
At one in the morning, Thomas climbed down from his barstool. “Sorry, pal, but I have an early start tomorrow morning, so . . .”
“Sure, it was great seeing you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Rob was back in Very Nice. He stopped in the middle of the lobby. Amanda would still be awake, the night owl that she was. He didn’t want to talk to her right now. He dropped onto the worn armchair and picked up one of the leaflets stacked on the table next to it. The cheap-looking pamphlet featured the hotel’s rooftop terrace on the cover page. Bingo. He jumped up and headed toward the stairs. An hour in the fresh night air under the stars, and then he’d sneak into his room and get some sleep.
But someone else had remembered about the terrace, too. Rob walked over to the dark figure wrapped in a blanket that occupied one of the wicker armchairs. It was Lena. She sat hugging her knees, her head thrown back toward the night sky.
She startled as he got closer, squinted at him, then acknowledged him with a small smile.
He smiled back. “I see I’m not the only insomniac tonight.”
She adjusted the blanket around her shoulders.
He pulled a chair and sat facing her. This was the perfect opportunity to apologize and clear the tension between them.
“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you about my Russian,” he said.
“You don’t need to apologize.” She searched his face. “I just can’t imagine why—”
He looked down. “I wish I could explain.”
“Never mind,” she said.
He pulled his chair a little closer and leaned in. “I do need to apologize, even if I can’t explain why.” A deep sigh escaped him. “I’m so messed up, Lena.”
Her brows shot up, but she said nothing.
Please, let her forgive me. Please, let us be like before, he surprised himself praying. Why did it feel so vital that they be like before? Was it to make it easier to get intel on her dad? Or was it for a reason that had nothing to do with Anton Malakhov at all?
Jesus, he was messed up.
“Can we be friends again?” he asked.
“So you think we were friends?”
He nodded.
She arched her brows. “And you think you can be friends with me and Amanda at the same time?”
“Why not?”
“Can be a health hazard, what with all the sparks that fly.”
He grinned. “Never mind Amanda’s taunts. She’s like that with everyone.”
“Nefarious?”
“Spiky. But she’s a sweetheart, once you’ve grown on her.”
“I wonder how I could ever accomplish that.” Lena smiled, a speck of sadness still lingering in her eyes.
He stared, mesmerized. He could never get enough of that smile.
A cloud hiding the moon must have shifted, because suddenly silver light poured over the terrace turning it into an enchanted place.
Lena gasped. “What happened to your hand?”
He followed her gaze and saw that the knuckles of his right hand were smeared with blood. Shit. He could bet there’d been none after he punched the wall.
He covered the abrasions with his other hand. “It’s nothing.”
She grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand closer to her face. “Have you disinfected them?”
Rob didn’t register her question. He looked at her delicate fingers holding up his hand. Then at her face. She was squinting at his hand, trying to assess the seriousness of his cuts. Her gesture was devoid of any erotic subtext. And yet the contact of her skin scorched him, just like when he held her hand at L’Espace. It stirred an impulse inside him that was both feverishly raw and infinitely gentle. It made his heart bump against his ribcage as if demanding to get out.
He gazed at her hands holding his. The urge to run his fingertips over her skin, from her nails down to her wrist and then inside her palm was too overwhelming to resist. . .
“So have you?” she asked.
Rob blinked and looked up. “Have I what?”
“Disinfected.”
“It’s just a graze.”
“I have a disinfectant in my suitcase,” she said. “I can fetch it—”
And release my hand?
“Stay,” he blurted out. Shit. “I mean, I also brought some, so you don’t need to bother. I’ll disinfect as soon as I get back to my room. I promise.”
“OK,” she said softly and let go of him.
It took him superhuman effort not to grab her hand and bring it to his lips. Get a grip, man. “So, how does it feel to be a study-free person?”
“Great. But also weird. Suddenly, I’ve got all this time on my hands.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “There may be a sight or two worth seeing in Paris.”
“Oh, I’ve made a huge list. Three lists, actually. One for Paris, another one for France, and a third one for cool places around the world I want to visit or revisit.”
“What’s the first trip on the list?”
“I wanted to go to New York with my dad, but I’m not sure how that’s going to play out in light of the recent scoop.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“My dad just got engaged,” she said.
Ah, that scoop. He’d heard.
And so had Boris.
* * *
“Wow,” Mat said, whipping his camera out.
Amanda nodded in agreement. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Reminds me a little of Spain,” Pepe said.
Rob grabbed the railing and glanced down. The view was worth the steep climb. From this vantage point at the top of the Castle Hill, Nice was uniquely alluring, its red roofs sandwiched between the blue of the sea and the sky.
“Isn’t your hometown somewhere around here?” Pepe asked Jeanne.
“If you mean on the Mediterranean coast of France, then yes,” Jeanne said. “But Nîmes is much further west.”
Mat stopped taking pictures and turned to Jeanne. “I’ve been there once, it’s a pretty town.”
Jeanne beamed. “It sure is. Could be our next trip, by the way. My parents won’t be able to host the whole gang, but they’ll ensure a constant supply of the best croissants and pastries in town. They’re bakers.”
Amanda stretched her lips in what was supposed to stand for a polite smile. “That sounds wonderful.” She turned to Lena. “And what is it that your father does for a living, Lena?”
“IT services,” Lena said, looking wary.
“How exciting! The Russians are famous for their IT skills, aren’t they? All those super hackers one hears about . . . Does he run hacking services, too?”
Lena ignored Amanda’s question, turning her head to gaze at the sea.
“Hey, why don’t we go clubbing tonight?” Mat said. “I spotted a cool place downtown. I think we should check it out.”
“I’m not sure—” Lena started.
“Great idea! I haven’t danced in ages, what with all the thesis writing and exams. I’m definitely in,” Amanda said.
“I never say no to clubbing,” Pepe declared.
Jeanne nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
“Will you come?” Rob touched Lena’s arm. “It’ll be fun. You can’t visit Nice and not sample its nightlife.”
Lena glanced at Rob, then at Amanda, and then at Rob again. “Why not.”
He beamed.
By the time they’d made it to the nightclub, it was almost midnight. The place was undeniably trendy. It had the exact kind of lighting, upholstery and sound a self-respecting Riviera club would be expected to have. The decibel level made it difficult to have a conversation, but then again, you didn’t go to a nightclub for a conversation.
&
nbsp; Rob wedged himself between other clubbers crowding space in front of the bar. “What are you having?” he shouted to his friends.
Once the drinks were bought and downed, Amanda was the first to jump on the elevated dance floor. She began to move in the same competent way she did everything else. She was good, she was hot, and she knew it. The dancers around her stepped back a little so that she could have enough room to execute her sophisticated sequences. After a few minutes, she turned to Rob and hooked her index at him. He joined her. They had practiced their routine at enough parties over the past two years to be the best double act on any dance floor.
One after the other, Mat, Jeanne, and Pepe climbed on the stage and began to dance. Pepe also sang along, in spite of Jeanne’s throat-cutting gestures. Lena was the last one to get on the dance floor. She began to move with the rhythm, and suddenly Rob could no longer focus on anything or anyone but her.
As Lena danced, her silk top shifted in a fluid movement hugging one curve at a time. Her dancing was self-conscious yet strangely free. And it completely mesmerized Rob. She danced unexpectedly well, in perfect synch with the rhythm, as if it was her body setting it. The way she moved wasn’t extravagant or studied. Her movements were reserved, their amplitude small, but they were just so . . . spot-on. Each tiny sway of her hips, each lightest shake of her shoulders was painfully exquisite to him.
When the music changed to Latin, Rob realized he had stopped dancing and stood there gazing at Lena. This kind of behavior was uncharacteristic of him. He told himself he had no business staring at her like that. He reminded himself that Amanda needed him for their salsa routine. But he simply couldn’t take his eyes off Lena.
He swallowed hard. There was no denying his reaction to this woman.
I want her.
He turned away, marched over to Amanda, and took her hand to lead her in a perfectly coordinated salsa.
Wanting Lena was the last thing he needed right now.
* * *
The trip back to Paris on Sunday afternoon was uneventful. It contrasted starkly with the boisterous few hours they’d spent on the train to Nice two days earlier. They didn’t talk much, preferring the company of their books, tablets, and the landscape speeding by. Even Pepe was quiet with only lips moving as he listened to his music.
After the train arrived in Paris and they said their good-byes, Lena rushed home. She should have been happy and relaxed after that little escapade. Instead, she was in turmoil. There was the lingering hurt over Rob’s “omission,” a feeling that something significant had happened on the rooftop terrace, and anger against Amanda. And jealousy. Amanda and Rob went back a long way. They knew and understood each other so well. They danced together as if they’d done it for a living.
They had shared a room for two nights.
Once inside her apartment, Lena took a long shower and then started the kettle to make tea. While she waited for it to boil, she resolved that as from tomorrow she’d stay away from La Bohème and spend her time doing all the cool things she’d put on her three lists.
As the kettle went off, so did the entrance buzzer.
She went to the intercom by the door. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Rob. I have your eyeglasses. Can you buzz me in?”
She just stood there, unable to wrap her mind around the situation. “But . . . Did I leave them on the train?”
“Yep. I noticed them just before I got off, and by then you were already gone. I thought you might need them tonight, so I just . . .” He trailed off. “I was in the neighborhood anyway . . . Can I come up?”
“Yes, yes, of course!” She shook off her bafflement. “Third floor, left of the elevator.”
Two minutes later Rob walked in, as sexy and gorgeous as ever. Lena suddenly felt self-conscious about her tangled damp hair, her jersey tank top, checkered boxers, and rubber flip-flops.
Oh, well—too late to do anything about it now.
He handed her the glasses. “As I said, I was in the neighborhood.”
“Thank you.” She motioned him to the kitchen. “I was making myself some herbal tea . . . if you like that sort of stuff. Otherwise, I’ve got regular tea, coffee, soda . . .”
“A soda will be fine, thanks.”
She gave him a glass and a can of soda from the fridge, and turned away to make tea. As she dropped the teabag into the mug, she heard him take a few steps toward her, then place the soda and the glass on the countertop. Slowly, she poured scalding water into her mug and put the kettle down. Rob was now so close she could feel his warm breath on her bare shoulder.
And then he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his chest against her back.
She stood motionless, as her heart raced and her vision clouded. A swarm of delicious sensations overwhelmed her—his head-turning masculine scent, the gentleness of his strong arms, the comfort of his chest against her back. She told herself she had to stop him, right then, before he went too far. But she knew at some visceral level, in every nerve ending under her skin, that there was no force on the face of the earth that could make her stop him now.
Rob’s mind had gone completely blank when he followed his crazy impulse and put his arms around Lena. But when Lena froze, he began to panic. He had no idea how she would react to this. Seconds stretched into an eternity. And then she leaned back into his embrace, ever so slightly, but enough to tell him what he needed to know. He wanted to roar with joy. He wanted to see her face. He wanted to remain in that moment forever.
Then she turned around and looked into his eyes. She was radiant. It was one of those charmed instances when everything, absolutely everything was perfect. This universe, this city, this specific spot in the kitchen, and this precise instance in time. And so he cupped her face with his hands and kissed her. Tenderly at first and then passionately, claiming her mouth, sampling the warm softness of her lips, and sweeping his tongue between them.
She responded with ardor, saying yes with her kisses, with her hands stroking the back of his head and with her body pressing into his. Rob was walking on air. He craved Lena, and she left no doubt she wanted him back.
But through his arousal and bliss he heard an admonishing voice. You don’t deserve her trust. You don’t deserve this pleasure. And all at once, he felt like a fraud, like a thief who had acquired something precious through deceit.
He needed her to know the truth.
Lena was light-headed and drowsy when Rob broke the kiss.
“I have to tell you something . . . before we go any further,” he said.
She felt like she was falling. There you go, there’s the catch. It was too good to be true. “So tell me.”
“I’m . . . I get paid to spy on you.”
She blinked. “By my father?”
“No, by his competitor. He pays me to listen in to your conversations with your dad and pass on anything of interest.”
Lena couldn’t speak. Her stomach knotted and she had to concentrate hard to hold back the tears. She looked at Rob’s hand on her shoulder and then glared at him. He released his grip.
“I’m not proud of what I’ve been doing. But please believe me that our friendship and . . . and this, it’s genuine.”
She was silent, staring out the window. His words hardly registered. Her mind was too busy replaying the same phrase, like a broken record. Too good to be true. Too good to be true.
Robe spoke again. “I got to know you over the past couple of months, and I really, really like you. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, Lena.”
Her gaze remained fixed on the window. He liked her. How sweet. Everyone liked her—her mom, her dad, her ex best friend, her ex-boyfriend . . . Now Rob. And yet they all ended up hurting her, through neglect or betrayal, even if they didn’t mean to.
He moved into her field of vision. “If it’s any comfort, I’ve been careful not to cause your dad any real harm.”
Does he expect me to thank him for that?
“Lena, I’m so sorry
for having spied on you. And I’m even sorrier for having lied to you.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I had no idea you’d be this kind, intelligent, lovely person . . . You were supposed to be a spoiled brat.”
She gave him the coldest stare she could manage. She wanted to hiss, I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations. But she was afraid she’d break down and cry the moment she opened her mouth.
“Which, of course, is a crappy excuse . . .” He gave her a helpless look.
She walked to the door and opened it. “Please leave.”
Rob gave her a sad, defeated look. He stepped over the threshold, then paused. “Lena, please, will you give me a chance? I want to be with you. Can you at least think about it?”
He turned around and ran down the stairs. She shut the door and leaned against it, listening to the sound of his footsteps fading away. When she couldn’t hear him anymore, she slid to the floor and stopped fighting her tears.
Oh, I’m so far from heaven!
You—in my reach, so warm.
God, please don’t judge—you haven’t
Been here in female form.
Marina Tsvetaeva
SEVEN
It was late morning when Lena returned from the grocery shop around the corner. She was unpacking her bags when she heard a knock on the door. Rob, she thought. She made a move toward the door and stopped. A few seconds later, she took another step forward, stopped, turned around, and went back to the kitchen.
The knocking became more insistent “Lena, open up, it’s me! I know you are there—I saw you walk in!” Jeanne said in her familiar throaty voice.
“Coming!” Lena rushed to the door, taking deep breaths and wiping her damp palms on her jeans. She couldn’t tell if the feeling that washed over her was relief or disappointment.
Jeanne walked in and looked around, nodding approvingly. “So, this is the den where you’re hiding when you’re not at La Bohème . . . Cute.”
What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) Page 8
