“We’ve not talked in a long time.” And Blake’s death had been my fault.
Simon sounded restrained, in his proper British he said, “Calliope spoke to her mother who spoke to yours.”
Another name I’d released to the past. In a flashback, I saw her small but perfectly round breasts in my bathroom mirror when she’d been babysitting me. I internally relaxed, as that was the first time I’d noticed a woman. “You were my older brother’s friend, not mine.”
I thought to the American woman’s breasts and how they would be much larger and more squishable. I wondered what color her nipples were as I sat back.
“If you need a friend,” Simon said, “I’m here.”
“I’m good,” I answered fast. Too fast. Honestly, my brother’s death was why we’d left England, moved to France, and never returned.
I didn’t need to talk about Blake—not after all these years.
Simon ignored my brisk tone. “From what I understand, you’re giving up your practice.”
Right. I let my shoulders relax and hoped he understood the undertones this time. “My father should be happy I’m taking the family business. Thank you for your concern, but—”
“Why did you become a doctor?” Simon asked.
Because I’d taken the life vest and left it in our garage, and if it had been where I was supposed to leave it, then my brother would be alive.
Guess my guilt drove pretty far in wanting to help people… better than selling them wine. Now I understood the allure; wine numbed and provided a much-needed escape. “I wanted to help people. Clearly, I don’t have the eye.”
Cecilia would be alive and well if I’d run different tests.
Simon said, “Sometimes cancer is impossible to find.”
Yet, there were always signs if a physician knew where to look, but the evidence confirmed, I didn’t have that gift. Cecilia’s death confirmed that. I stood, shaking out my arms. “Doesn’t matter. The world doesn’t need me pretending I can save people.”
I went to get my packing tape as Simon said, “I became a doctor to save people, too. I never forgave myself for what happened to Blake.”
He hadn’t been the one to forget to leave the life vest in the boat. The past didn’t change my future, and I hoped we could change the topic. “I guessed that’s why you called from America?”
“Yes, but I’m flying home with my family for the holidays.”
Simon sounded so responsible. The cocky, rebellious boy always looking for a dare was gone. I stilled with the tape in my hand and said, “Have fun. I’ve not been back there since…”
“Your family moved away soon after,” Simon supplied.
So, we were going to talk about Blake. I plopped down onto the old bedroom floor and rubbed my eyes. I was leaving after I finished packing. Hopefully, the blue eyes of my brother wouldn’t stare at me from my memory. “Yeah, my father was a frog anyhow. I mostly grew up in the sun and, until now, haven’t talked about Blake in years.”
“He loved you.”
My brother had always had the bullocks to tell me what I needed to do while he did the opposite. Get good grades when he cut class. He’d stood in the family boat but had told me to sit. I rubbed my face like that might wash the memories away. “He loved his days with you and Calliope more. I was the annoying little brother.”
“He talked about you all the time. I didn’t have a brother to brag about.”
Only to mention how I’d earned the best grades, so he didn’t have to. I was young but not deaf. “Not much to brag about but thank you.”
“I’d like to talk in person.”
So much for leaving on a high note after that kiss. Better to not give in to temptation. The American beauty had been right; without her name, I couldn’t search for her to determine if our interlude was just a one-time shock or if every kiss held fireworks.
I taped up the box and said, “I can’t. Doesn’t matter what happened to me anyhow. I’ll be the son my father wanted.”
“Blake, maybe if we speak in person…”
There it was. The polite pause. I fucking hated that. “I’m going to my parents’ place in Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer.”
“On the way is Monte Carlo.”
I glanced up and jumped. My brother’s reflection stared at me from the mirror. I shook it off as the white flowers that Cecilia’s sister, Desiree, must have put there replaced him. “Are you looking to gamble?”
“I’ll bring my family there. Calliope wants to meet you again. And we can talk about your case, man to man.”
I took another box and assembled the bottom. “We don’t need to.”
“Look. I’m a doctor, too, and you’re the closest thing I had to a little brother. Please.”
“Did Simon Hogue just say please?” As a boy I’d never heard him say that. Neither had Blake as he was invincible… until he wasn’t. I picked up my medical books and arranged them in the box to never open again, but a tingle on my spine hit me.
If my parents forwarded my number, perhaps talking wasn’t horrible. It had been my job for years to watch out for them, and now I’d be closer to do that job better.
Simon quickly said, “I’m teaching my children.”
Then my mother’s British voice appeared in my head, shouting at me to be polite. “And you have children.”
“Do you?”
“No.” Children complicated life, and despite how Cecilia pleaded, I’d always wrapped myself up. “My fiancée and I broke up. Look, I’ll head to Monte Carlo tomorrow. If you’re there, we’ll talk. If not, it’s fine.”
“We’ll be there. Don’t lose my number, Quentin.”
The train stopped there anyhow, so delaying life on a vineyard for a day wasn’t the end of the world. “I have to go. See you tomorrow.”
I hung up and finished with the books. Maybe facing my brother would bring me some measure of peace. As a doctor, I always recommended not letting anything in the mind color the future, and this might be a wake-up call.
One day was fine, but then I heard a familiar voice. “Who will you see?”
I knew that the woman staring at me was tall, leggy, but she lacked that sexy sway of hips, even in her high heels. I hadn’t noticed hips until the American. I taped up the box I’d intentionally forget about in a backroom somewhere and asked, “Desiree, what are you doing here?”
“I hoped I’d catch you before you left.”
Why? She’d cried and ranted at me that I ruined her life and killed her sister. I’d failed my fiancée and proved I wasn’t cut out to be a doctor.
I took out another box. “My train leaves tonight.”
She reached for my hand to stop me. Her sister had once made my hand spark, but Desiree wasn’t like her at all.
“Then we won’t see each other anymore, and I hope your new life is better.”
Friends with your exes’ family was easier than forgetting how I’d killed her. “Yours, too, Desiree. Take care of yourself. Let me finish getting the boxes ready for the moving company downstairs.”
She pressed her hand to her heart for a second and then took out the diamond and citrine ring from her pocket. “Of course. I wanted to give this back to you. Your grandmother will want this in your family.”
It had been passed down since the eleventh century in my family, though during the revolution, a few relatives waited it out in Britain until it was safe to reclaim our lands. “Thanks. To be honest, she’ll be relieved when I see her.”
If I ever got engaged again, the tradition would continue. If not, I would be the end of the La Trimouille line. At this point, I was okay with that.
“Then that’s everything. Au Revoir.”
Right. I grabbed my overnight bag, tossed a few more clothes in it, and zipped it up. As I finished with the closet and my belongings, my phone dinged. I picked it up and read the text. Quentin, it’s Calliope. We bought our tickets just now. We’re all excited about seeing you.
So, the reunion to reme
mber my brother was official it seemed. I quickly typed, I understand you and Simon feel guilty about Blake, but my brother…
What could I say in a text? I’d killed him when I hadn’t left the life vest for him? I deleted the words and wrote instead, See you soon.
I had never been the boy my brother wanted to hang out with. I wasn’t exciting like Simon or as perky as Calliope. I finished with the boxes in a few hours, had lunch, and greeted the movers at the appointed time. I let the older gentleman and his son in and signed the release. Soon my stuff was to be delivered, and I would be free.
Desiree’s family needed time to collect Cecilia’s items from our Paris apartment. She’d almost been my wife, and I didn't want to rush her family in their grief. I didn’t need to live near a hospital anymore anyhow.
I left the keys on the table and told the mover who went for the book box, “Guess that’s everything. If there is any problem, call me.”
“Ouch.” The older man rubbed the muscles of his back.
I went over and quickly surmised it wasn’t serious as I asked, “Your back?”
“Oui,” he said and continued to rub it.
I hadn’t expected to ever give out advice again, but this wasn’t an official consult. I stood beside him and motioned as I said, “Remember to bend with your knees more. It doesn’t look serious but visit your primary if it continues. The pharmacy should have a muscle cream, and physical therapy always helps strengthen the muscles, especially the core.”
“Thanks, doc,” my mover said, and I cringed.
“No problem,” I said and walked out the door. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. I shouldn’t have helped, because I was a horrible doctor.
I absolutely shouldn’t be wondering what that sweet American was doing right now.
It was better to just retire to my vineyards and forget about Paris.
Chapter 3
Kara
The small portion of pasta and the small piece of chicken I ate at lunch in a small bistro I happened upon energized me.
Until this meal, I hadn’t really understood how everyone in Paris kept their slim figures, but my stomach was full, but even now the Wanker’s kiss still lingered on my lips.
Seriously, I must be desperate for a simple kiss to cause me to forget my life mistakes… or the stranger had really kissed me more thoroughly than anyone else in my life.
Good thing I’d never see him again. How wanton would I turn if I allowed myself to fall further into him?
I knew who I was. A jilted bride on her honeymoon for one that continued solo, but at least I experienced more than that hot kiss that left me aching, long after it ended.
Only when I closed my eyes, I kept wishing to know what all those muscles underneath the black sweater might feel like against my own naked body.
The sexy stranger made me wonder if orgasms really ended in a little death or if that was just a rumor whispered by more satisfied women.
Marlon certainly hadn’t made me see stars in bed, not that I’d ever complained… until today. Until the moment I experienced perfection. Normally, I’d never think about sex much at all. I’d admit to friends I’d probably just been above it all.
I was clearly in denial, but I’d board my train to Monte Carlo and tomorrow to Florence and hope maybe men in other parts of Europe were equally good-looking.
If that sexy stranger represented the best Frenchman, maybe I’d see that movie version of the perfect Italian guy from my fantasies.
Then maybe I’d stop wondering about Mr. Wanker’s wanker.
I laughed to myself at the thought, slid into my seat, and dug out my travel guide.
Soon I’d see more places on my bucket list—the casino from that James Bond movie and where Grace Kelly married her prince in a documentary. The train for Monte Carlo arrived early, and I booked a night train to continue on to Florence.
Finally, I’d see Italy where supposedly the hottest of hot European men existed.
But my body still wanted more carnal knowledge of Mr. Wanker.
I closed my eyes and let my lips slightly open as I had for his kiss. But then I heard a light knock on the door. I opened them, half expecting to be asked for my ticket when dark, sexy brown hues stared into mine and asked, “Est-ce que tu as un plan? Je me suis perdu dans tes yeux.”
My pulse raced. I still didn’t understand his words, and I sat straighter as I asked, “What?”
“Is this seat taken?” He pointed to the three empty seats in my small compartment.
If we locked the door, we’d have some privacy. I became breathless like this was all a dream and asked, “Wanker?”
Without waiting for my approval, he took the seat and closed the door.
My heart leapt. We were alone.
“It seems we both chose the same train to Monte Carlo.”
In movies, Italy was where hot men existed, but France had always played in my mind as a close second. Wanker proved the fervor inside me lit up at the sound of a French accent that had clips of English with different pronunciations. My muscles clearly tried to protest as I stammered and slightly trembled. “I… I w-wanted to see the countryside and then get to Italy.”
He winked at me and then reached into his travel bag. I wondered if he’d grab a condom and demand my attention right there, but he pulled out a bottle and asked, “Would you like a glass of wine?”
My breath escaped my lungs. Seriously? Did all the French travel with bottles? I nodded and tried to make sense when I said, “So… you plan on drinking for the next nine hours?”
He poured the wine into two glasses that were already in the cabin like the French foreshadowed their customers’ needs. “They serve decent meals, so I intended to indulge on some food, too.”
He handed me the red blend. I couldn’t possibly read the bottle to decipher the vintage, so I decided to go with the flow. “Are you heading to Monte Carlo to gamble?”
He leaned closer, and the air smelled like him, and my lips ached for his again when he said, “If we’re getting personal, let’s start with names.”
My heart beat a mile a minute. If this was a sin, I’d have to somehow make it to a confessional. My knees trembled as I offered my hand to shake. “Right. I’m Kara Johnson.”
He turned it and kissed my knuckles like I was some queen. “Quentin La Trimouille. Now, let me know your thoughts on this wine.”
Quentin was a cute name, though he’d forever be my wanker. My skin zipped with anticipating carnal activity as I batted my eyes. “My thoughts?”
He stared at my lips, and my libido rose another notch. “How does it taste to you?”
“Yes,” I said and sipped my glass.
He stared at me, and I tamped down the urge to jump over the space between the seats and uncover his family jewels. The visual played out like reality, until the fantasy went up in smoke when he lifted his eyebrow, waiting for me to respond. I sucked my bottom lip to get the flavor. “Like wine?”
He waved his hand in a circle to encourage me. “More detail. Don’t gulp, sip and let your lips greet the drink.”
My lips didn’t want to greet the liquid as much as they ached for more kisses. More of his kisses.
“Are you a wine expert?”
“I pretty much grew up a sommelier.”
No pressure or anything. At the bottle factory for wine, we weren’t allowed to sample. I ignored how my pulse raced.
I swallowed a thought that probably shouldn’t exist and tried again. I met his gaze over the rim of the glass and abandoned my reservations. “Well, there is a wanton recklessness on my lips.”
His brown irises had almost a shine to them until he said, “So the wine makes you… horny?”
My cheeks heated, and I glanced into my drink. “I don’t use words like that.”
He reached across the aisle and brushed his hand on my knee. “But with me, there is an exception clause.”
My lips parted. “There is?”
The train
took off. The engine underneath me roared to life, and the vibrations relaxed and excited me.
“Bien sûr. Once we complete what we started.”
I moved my knee from his touch and glanced out the window as the trees started to sway with the train’s increased pace. “I don’t sleep with married men.”
He crossed his legs and waited for me to turn again. I refused, but he finally said, “What I’m thinking doesn’t require sleeping.”
I started this. I ignored how my spine wanted to bend toward this stranger and instead crossed my own legs to hold myself together and sipped my wine. “Okay, I don’t do anything morally suspect with a married man.”
He sipped his own wine and sat back as he studied me. “That’s fine. I’m not married, though American morality confuses me sometimes.”
I’d send a praise up to Jesus right now, but I wouldn’t want him to think I was religious. Instead, I glanced skyward in thanks that I hadn’t committed that horrible of a sin and relaxed my shoulders. “You’re not married?”
“No.” He stared at me.
Right now, I didn’t care what he thought. I needed these answers, so I leaned forward. “Fiancée?”
His eyes widened. “Not anymore.”
I held my stomach and asked, “Girlfriend?”
He stared at me and my chest. I realized just now I’d left my bra in my overnight bag.
“No. I’m leaving Paris alone.”
“Oh.”
He paused, his eyes sweeping my body. “Interesting.” His eyebrows rose. “Your nipples are glorious pebbles, mademoiselle.”
My… what? I sat up. My shirt hadn’t fallen down, had it? I mean I don’t normally wear loose fitting cotton, but then again, I don’t normally travel more than an hour. I tugged on my shirt to somehow hope it covered my pair of twins.
He drank his wine like nothing happened and then said, “And you, Kara?”
I relaxed in my seat, determined to ignore that moment. “Say my name again?”
“Ka-ha,” he said, and I listened closely to every syllable.
I let my shoe slip off my foot so I could sit on it while the train pressed on. My lips tugged upward. “Sounds like you’re laughing at me.”
French Wanker : A Hero Cub Novel Page 2
