Yanked (Frenched #1.5)

by Melanie Harlow

  In fact, her expression was downright arctic.

  And when she opened her mouth, I had a feeling her words would be too.

  I decided to strike first. “Is something wrong, Jessica?”

  She narrowed her cool blue eyes. “He’ll never marry you. If that’s what you’re hoping.”

  It was as if she’d punched me. “What?”

  “I know him. He gets like this, all lovey dovey, and you think you’re getting to him. Did he tell you he doesn’t want to get married? That he doesn’t want kids?”

  “Yes.” I was too stunned to tell her to fuck off.

  “Well, he means it.” She dried her hands on a towel and threw it into the hamper beneath the counter. “We were together for years, and if he didn’t change his mind for me, he won’t change it for you.”

  “This is none of your business.” Finally, I’d recovered some of my senses, but she’d touched a nerve.

  She faced me. Arched a brow. “He still loves me, you know.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “He does. He told me he’ll always love me.”

  My stomach churned, and I fought hard to maintain my composure. I’d gain nothing by losing my temper in front of her. “He feels bad about the way things ended,” I said through my teeth. “He’s trying to be a friend to you.”

  She nodded, licking her blood red lips. “Is that why he kissed me last night?”

  Wrath like I’d never felt exploded inside me, and I nearly struck her pretty face. But something about her expression as she said it was off—or maybe it was the way she licked her lips a second time as she waited for my reaction. She’s lying.

  “Bullshit.” I lifted my chin.

  Jessica shrugged. “If I’d known about you, maybe I wouldn’t have done it. But he obviously didn’t want to tell me he had a girlfriend. I wonder why that is.”

  “Because he doesn’t want you to know about his private life!” I snapped. “Maybe he knows you’re crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy.” She turned to assess her reflection once more. “I just didn’t want to play his perverted sex games.” She cocked her head to one side. “Although I think I’ve changed my mind about that. I might be ready to give them another try. I’ve decided I don’t need to get married anyway.” She smiled slyly at me over her shoulder. “And Lucas is such a good fuck.”

  Fury roared through me with the force of a freight train. Rushing past her, I stormed out of the bathroom and back into the bar, my entire body shaking with rage. I wanted to get Lucas and get out of there as fast as possible.

  “Hey, there you are.” Lucas looked relieved to see me. Had he been nervous about Jessica and I being alone together? Maybe because he was worried she’d tell me something? The image of them kissing in his bedroom popped into my mind.

  No. It’s not true. She was lying.

  But I needed to hear it from him.

  “Lucas, I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. Would you mind if we went back to our room?”

  For a second I thought he might try to convince me to stay, but he must have noticed the change in my demeanor or perhaps he saw the way my hands were gripping my purse. “OK.” He stood and addressed his friends. “Sorry, guys. We’re gonna head up.”

  While he pulled some cash from his wallet, I flashed an apologetic smile at the group. “Sorry. I’m just really tired. Long day. Traveling.” The look of pity on Andrea’s face told me she probably knew what my problem actually was, but I avoided making eye contact with her. “But it was very nice meeting you.”

  As soon as the money was on the table, I grabbed Lucas’s hand and pulled him out of the bar and through the lobby, refusing to look in the direction of the bathroom. When we reached the elevators, I punched the Up button and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

  “Mia, what’s wrong?” Lucas took me by the shoulders and searched my face for clues. “Hey. Are you OK? Did Jessica upset you?”

  Tears filled my eyes and I shook my head, not wanting to have a breakdown in the hotel lobby. “I’ll tell you upstairs.”

  His brow furrowed, but he didn’t press me. When the elevator doors opened, he guided me in with a hand on my back and kept it there. At the eighth floor, we got out and I walked ahead of him. The moment we were in the room, I whirled around.

  “Did you kiss Jessica last night?”

  “What? No!” Lucas turned on the lights, and his face was wrinkled in disgust.

  “She said you did. She said you told her that you’ll always love her and you kissed her.”

  Lucas closed his eyes and exhaled. “God. I can’t believe her.” He went over to the bed, unbuttoned his coat and sat down. “She was upset last night because she’d had a big fight with her sister, and she was crying about how she ruins all her relationships and no one loves her and she’s going to die alone. I was trying to make her feel better but she twists things all around. She always has.”

  “Did you kiss her or not?”

  “No! Maybe I gave her a little peck on the cheek, but I didn’t kiss her.”

  “You kissed her cheek?” My voice rose in outrage, as if he’d just admitted to licking her ass.

  “I kiss everyone on the cheek, Mia!”

  I had to admit he did. When he greeted people he knew, he always kissed them on the cheeks—it was a French thing, and I usually loved it. But not when it came to Jessica.

  “I was saying goodbye,” he went on. “She went to bed early and I met a friend for a beer down the street. I called you when I was walking home, remember?”

  He had called me, and we’d talked and laughed and he hadn’t said one thing about the fact that she was sleeping in his bed at that very moment. Feeling smug and gleeful about my surprise visit, I’d gone to sleep so happy, never imagining that he had the bigger secret. I couldn’t let this go.

  “What about saying you’ll always love her?”

  Lucas exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “She asked me if I’d ever really loved her and I said yes. But I didn’t say I’ll always love her. Maybe once upon a time, I did, but you can’t hold that against me, Mia. We were together for three years. I said a lot of things.”

  My back stiffened. “You say a lot of things to me, too.”

  “Mia, come on.” Lucas stood and wrapped his arms around me. “Let’s not argue. We have so little time together.”

  It might have been the perfect opportunity to bring up what I’d come here to discuss, but I didn’t. Instead I thought about all the sweet things Lucas had said to me over the last eight months. Had he said them all to her first? If things with us fell apart, wouldn’t he say them to someone else in the future? My throat closed up. God, how fleeting and pointless love could seem when you thought about it that way. How empty the words we say become when drained of the feeling that made them so full.

  I had no doubt that Lucas had meant the things he said to her, just like he meant what was saying to me now. He wasn’t a liar; it was just that his feelings had changed. Did that make things better or worse?

  His feelings could change again. I knew it. He knew it. Wasn’t that, in fact, why he refused to commit beyond long distance dating? Because he was uncertain about how he’d feel in the future?

  My body began to shake again, but this time it wasn’t anger rattling my bones.

  It was fear.

  “Oh, honey.” Lucas’s voice was gravelly but tender. His hands rubbed my back. “I love you. I don’t love anyone else. And I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel about you.”

  My chin quivered. “You probably said that to her once.”

  Lowering his lips to my shoulder, he rocked me gently side to side. “You know me. I don’t dwell on the past, and I don’t obsess over the future. I honestly don’t remember saying that to her, because I can’t remember what it feels like to love anyone but you. From the day we met, thoughts of you have consumed me. And the more I have of you, the more I want—it’s like I’ll never get enough.”

 
God, why did he have to say those things? Did he know what they did to me? “Do you really want more of me?”

  “Of course I do.” He lifted his head and took my face in his hands. “I want all of you.”

  Do it. Say it. Ask him.

  A chorus of voices in my head urged me to do what I’d come here to do, but I couldn’t. I was too afraid—afraid of hearing no, afraid of hearing he didn’t love me enough, afraid of being forced to walk out of his life to preserve my dignity. And my dream.

  “What’s going on in there?” Lucas tilted my head from side to side.

  I closed my eyes, unable to say anything.

  “Poor baby. Tonight’s been too much for you. I’m sorry.”

  I tried to smile, although my heart was splintering. This isn’t going to work. I can’t go on like this. “I think you’re right. It’s been…a rough night.”

  He embraced me again, rocking me back and forth as I fought another deluge of tears. “She’s out of my apartment after this weekend, I promise. I’ll text her I want her gone by Sunday night, OK?”

  It doesn’t matter. “OK.”

  “Tell you what. I’m hungry. Let’s order a bunch of room service, a bottle of wine, and watch a movie. I’ll make sure to get something with bacon, and I’ll even let you choose what we watch. How’s that sound?”

  “It sounds perfect,” I said into his shoulder, resisting the urge to pummel my fists on his chest. I twined my arms around his waist instead, and we held each other close without saying a word. Why, why, why can’t things be different?

  “And then I’m going to devote the rest of the night to making sure you know exactly how much I love you.” He kissed my temple. “How much I need you.” My cheek. “How much I want you.” My lips. “And if you don’t have at least three orgasms in the process, I’ll have to start all over again tomorrow.” He paused. “Actually that’s my plan for tomorrow as well.”

  Goddamn it. “That sounds perfect too.”

  Totally fucking perfect.

  How would I ever find the strength to walk away?

  5 Things That Are Amazing

  Even When You’re Sad

  1) Room Service—especially juicy bacon cheeseburgers served next to a mound of thick, crispy French fries.

  2) A bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape drunk with a gorgeous French man in a luxury hotel room. Or any kind of room. Or any kind of wine, really.

  3) A foot massage from said French man while you’re waiting for room service to arrive, one during which he kisses the soles of your feet and swears even your toes turn him on.

  4) Getting to choose the movie and discovering that Crazy Stupid Love is on.

  5) Sex with Lucas. (And yes, there were three.)

  I’d like to say that I thought twice about having sex, but the truth is, after a bottle of wine, a foot massage, and a dose of Ryan Gosling without a shirt on, to say I was in the mood would be an understatement. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognized that a night of fantastic sex was not on the list of things that would help me find the wherewithal to end things with Lucas if I had to, but when he offered to give me a full body massage with his tongue, whatever fuck I might have given about wherewithal went au revoir.

  (Bonjour, orgasm number one.)

  After the massage, we ended up over by the windows, and I found myself looking out over Midtown Manhattan at two AM, bent forward at the waist, my hot hands on the cold glass as Lucas whispered delightfully dirty things in my ear about the possibility of being watched while he fucked me.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, to be seen like this,” he said between slow thrusts of his hips. “With my cock pushing into you. With your legs spread and your mouth open and your nipples hard. You want everyone to see how fucking beautiful you are when I make you come.”

  My mouth was open. I was shocked at how it thrilled and scandalized me—both his words and the idea. Part of me wanted to back away from the window rather than put my body on display in its most heightened and vulnerable state. But another part liked being framed anonymously in that darkened eighth story window, revealing everything about myself that was shameless and impulsive and passionate, allowing other eyes to see me the way Lucas did.

  How many pairs of eyes watched orgasm number two? I have no idea.

  But I liked it.

  Eventually we fell into bed, slid naked beneath the covers and curled up together. Lucas’s left hand captured mine, and he placed them between my breasts, fingers laced. His back and torso and legs cocooned mine, his face was buried in my hair, and I should have felt safe and warm and content.

  But I didn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything—the failure to convince him we should make a more lasting commitment, the entire debacle with Jessica, the fear that I couldn’t handle going on like this… Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. My stomach muscles tightened up in a conscious effort to trap all the regret and frustration threatening to escape. I imagined my ribs as an actual cage trying to confine my sad, swollen heart. But just as quickly, I pictured love and sorrow oozing between the bars, overcoming any resistance my body attempted.

  Because I adored this man, and he adored me.

  I knew it, I saw it, I felt it.

  Maybe we weren’t supposed to meet, or maybe we were—I got lightheaded wondering about the orchestrations of fate and the role of chance. But the truth was, we found each other in a city of millions, and our chemistry was irrefutable. We were different, sure, but so far those differences had complemented each other. I’d eased up on planning every detail of my life, I’d stopped torturing myself over being married by age thirty, and Lucas had learned the value in making the occasional dinner reservation. Buying tickets in advance. Grocery lists.

  And the sex. The SEX.

  Never in a million years had I imagined myself the kind of girl who’d like being spanked, tied up, or fucked in front of a hotel room window. Lucas had shown me the dizzying joy in being sexually uninhibited and allowing him to indulge his fantasies with me. I might be a good girl—most of the time—but I had a naughty side where Lucas was concerned, and it made me feel alive and sexy and beautiful. I was the fullest, the most vibrant version of myself with him, and I didn’t want to give that up. Not ever.

  Not even for a family?

  I gulped back tears again. What did I want more—Lucas or a family? What if he said anything was possible but never changed his mind? What if I threw away my chance to have what I’d always wanted?

  If I wanted to be with him, that was the risk.

  But if this isn’t worth fighting for, what is?

  The sadness pushing up inside me retreated, reforming itself into determination. I clasped his hand tighter to my chest. If I failed to make Lucas see that what we had was the real thing and deserved a stronger commitment, then so be it. But I wasn’t going back to Detroit without telling him I was willing to do whatever it took to make us both happy, whether it was my moving to New York, asking him to move to Detroit, or suggesting we both move somewhere new. I didn’t even care if we maintained separate apartments there. I just wanted more of him, more of us.

  And if he said no, or if we tried it and one or both of us was unhappy, then at least we would go our separate ways knowing it wasn’t the distance that prevented us from making it work. Nor would it be unwillingness on either side to do something that made us uncomfortable—his having to make a promise about the near future or my having to put off the chance of having a husband or children for a few more years. If Lucas didn’t see himself with a family down the road after this next phase and it was still something I wanted, I’d move on knowing it was the right decision.

  Lucas’s deep, even breaths told me he was asleep—resting up for round three, no doubt—and now that I’d made my decision to say what I’d come here to say, I felt sleepy too. Closing my eyes, I matched the rhythm of my breathing to his and snuggled even closer to his warm body. I brought his hand to my lips. A serenity I hadn’t felt for a
long time washed over me, and I hoped he felt it too. I like to think it meant our hearts were content, beating so close to one another.

  #

  I awoke to a sensation that felt like butterfly wings tickling my arm. My eyes opened, and for a moment, I was confused about my surroundings. With the curtains open, the room was suffused with grayish light, and I blinked at the high-backed chair in the corner, the desk, the dresser.

  Oh, right. Hotel room. And Lucas.

  He brushed his fingers slowly up and down my forearm again and spoke in a whisper. “Mia? Are you awake?”

  “Yes.” My voice was scratchy.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here. I thought you might be a dream lying next to me. Or a ghost.”

  That made me smile. “Haunting you with my naked body?”

  “Yeah, exactly.” He swallowed. “Can we talk?”

  I turned onto my back. Lucas had his head propped on his right hand, and even in the semi-darkness I could see his expression was serious. “Sure. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I was just lying here watching you sleep, and I—” He cleared his throat. “You’re so beautiful. I started getting hard just looking at you, and I was torn between wanting to wake you up for sex and letting you sleep so I could stare at you without apology and take in every detail—the smell of your hair, the shape of your mouth, the sound of your breathing, the rise of your chest…”

  “God, I hope I wasn’t drooling or anything.” Quickly I touched my lips just to make sure. How disconcerting to be studied so closely when you’re unaware you’re being watched. But I was flattered too—I’d done the same. Lucas was beautiful when he slept.

  “No, no.” His lips tipped up slightly, just for a second. “You’re perfect in my eyes. And everything about you, every physical detail I noticed, reminded me of something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Your hair reminded me of our first day together in Paris. I loved it from the moment I saw you, and then at one point when we were walking through the cemetery, I grabbed you from behind and got this big whiff of it. And I thought, How the fuck is it possible her hair smells like the beach?”