by CC MacKenzie
"She kept staring at me in a way that I knew would bring unwanted attention, so when she went to the restrooms, I followed."
Danni set her glass on the table. "Allow me to take it from here. She launched herself upon you and wrapped her arms around your neck and forced you to kiss her. Am I right?"
He blinked. "Oui. We talked. She told me she was no longer married and made it clear she was still interested in having a... fling... I believe she called it. I told her I am in love with you—her daughter—the next thing I know she's plastered against me and her mouth is on mine."
Danni sat back, folded her arms, crossed her legs and let her foot swing.
Her toe was itching to kick his very fine ass.
"You're what, six foot four and two hundred pounds?"
When he didn't even nod in agreement, but just stared hard at her, she leaned over the table. "And she's what, five three and a hundred pounds soaking wet? And you expect me to believe she forced you to kiss her? Do I look like I came down with the last shower of rain, Pascale?"
Bemused, he blinked. "I do not know what that means."
"It means I am not a fool, Pascale. It means I SAW you with my own eyes and Linda SAW you and filmed it. Trust me, you did NOT put up a fight."
"I was caught by surprise!" he shot back, his cheekbones slashed with heat.
Then a particularly lurid tabloid story about him, an old one, entered her brain and she grasped the straw with something like glee, which meant she didn't think it through before she opened her mouth. "Was it anything like the surprise you had a few years back when you were caught in bed with identical twins? Has your kink now progressed to mother and daughter threesomes?"
He went so white, she thought he was about to pass out.
But he recovered.
Fast.
Now his mouth went so hard and his dark eyes were like flint.
"You believe that trash?"
Actually, no, she didn't.
But that didn't stop her jerky shrug and it didn't stop her mouth either.
"Who knows? Maybe there's no smoke without fire. Ever think of that?"
"I will tell you what I think. I think you are not the woman I thought you were. I think I made a mistake falling in love with you. I thought you were fair and honorable and kind."
"And I thought you were a man who could stick to one woman at a time. Perhaps we both made a mistake." She grabbed her bag and stood. "Goodbye, Pascale."
Chest heaving, Pascale watched her walk out of his life.
Again.
Bottom line?
She didn't trust him, not even a little bit, not even enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Well, to hell with her.
He was finished.
"Would you like a drink, sir?" A po-faced waiter asked.
"Oui. A double Jack Daniels. No. Bring the bottle."
Might as well get piss-faced since his whole life had gone to shit.
***
Four hours later...
Danni had painted her nails vicious red and now waited for the lacquer to dry.
Earlier this evening, she'd cleaned every single closet in her apartment and scrubbed the kitchen until the glass fronted cupboards sparkled and stainless steel appliances gleamed. Of course, none of it helped. Her belly was still a churning mess.
When the doorbell to her apartment rang and rang and rang, she ran to open it thinking it had been a mistake to turn off her cell phone. Maybe something had happened to T.C. or Ana.
But it was neither at the door.
Instead, she goggled at a very dishevelled, and very drunk, Pascale Wolfe.
He opened his mouth and spoke in rapid French, the gist of which was that he loved her. He adored her. He couldn't live without her.
In response to a couple of neighbors who'd opened their doors to watch the show, she grabbed his collar and dragged him through the door.
Like a lost puppy, he followed her into her kitchen-dining arrangement.
He didn't complain when she pushed him into a chair.
His eyes followed her every move as she poured a large glass of water and shook a couple of aspirin in his hand for the hangover from hell he was bound to suffer in the morning.
"Take these and drink this."
"Merci," he croaked in his deep, gravelly voice, and did as he was told like a lamb.
"You smell like a brewery. What were you drinking?"
"Lots of Jack."
Preparing a large pot of strong black coffee, she turned to bean him with a black look.
"Who's Jack?"
He shook his head. "Non-non. Jack Daniels."
Once she'd set the steaming mug down, she sat across from him and folded her arms.
"Why are you here?"
Since he was in the process of knocking back the whole glass of water it took him time to answer. He placed the glass very gently on the table and blinked into her eyes. His were rolling in his head.
Good Lord, the man must have drunk plenty of JD to get him into this state.
"I love you. I cannot live without you. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I hate your mother."
"Yes, well, I'm not fond of her either."
He leaned over the table. "She is an evil bitch."
Okay.
Her mother was evil and a bitch.
She stared at him, at the way he was staring at her as if she was his whole world and he couldn't get enough of her. If anyone had told her that Pascale Wolfe could be reduced to a wreck over a woman, she'd never have believed it. The man she knew cut a swathe of superior confidence through life. He never doubted himself. But, now he resembled a man-child and she clearly saw the determined little boy inside the man.
For once, she cursed her soft heart.
And conceded defeat.
There was no way she was ever going to get him out of here tonight.
No taxi driver in his right mind would accept him in this state in his cab.
She stood.
"You can sleep on the couch. I'll leave a plastic bucket on the floor."
His eyes went all teary.
Seriously alarmed she helped him to his feet and pulled his arm around her shoulder.
"You love me," he said.
At least that's what she thought he said.
"You're drunk and over emotional. We'll talk in the morning."
He collapsed on her sofa and let her unlace his boots, remove his socks and shrugged out of his jacket. "You love me. I love you. I want you to have my babies. Lots of babies."
Danni's heart thudded against her ribs.
Omigod.
She blamed the way the room swam on the fact because Ana and T.C. were pregnant.
She was over emotional that was all.
"Yeah, well... we'll talk all about it in the morning."
As she placed a throw over him, he caught her wrist and pulled her close.
"Admit it. You love me."
The heady whiff of alcohol made her eyes water, but she patted his cheek and watched as his eyes closed and he dropped like a stone into sleep. Someone was going to suffer the agonies of hell in the morning.
Idiot man.
She told herself to go to bed and leave him to it.
If she got up eight times during the night to make sure he was all right, no one knew about it except herself so it didn't count. And when she settled in a chair with her feet on a footstool and wrapped in her comforter to watch him, that didn't count either.
Then she decided she was a fool.
A fool in love with a foolish man.
They were both fools.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
"I've never seen anyone sit in a chair like that and type for three hours straight," Sean said to T.C.
She eyed him over the lid of her laptop and continued to type. "In yoga it's called sukhasana or the easy pose. I'm comfortable like this. It keeps my spine in alignment."
Dressed in jeans that had seen better days, but fit h
im in all the right places, plus a faded navy T-shirt, he looked delectable. He hadn't shaved this morning either and his tawny hair stuck up in damp spikes on top of his head. This morning he'd left her to catch up on her blog and headed to his daily workout at the gym.
He placed a couple of cardboard boxes on the corner of her desk. "Delivery."
She snatched them up and tore them open, oohing and aahing at the contents of lotions and potions and tubes.
Contents which were a complete mystery to him.
When she opened lids and sniffed and made a horrible face, he grinned. "That bad?"
She shook her head. "It's my hormones. Stuff I used to love I can't stand. It's weird."
He poked through a box filled with shredded tissue and found a fat tube of something.
"What's this?"
Peering at the minuscule instructions on the back, her eyes flicked to his. "It's a clay face mask to remove impurities from the skin. Wanna try it?"
The way he reared back on his heels made her smile.
"No way. I'm a man."
Unscrewing the lid, she placed a dollop on the back of her hand and sniffed. "Plenty of men use clay masks and face scrub and moisturize."
"Not any men I know," he growled, affronted.
Fascinated by the way heat scorched his cheeks, she decided to have a little harmless fun.
"Wanna bet your little pal, Pete, uses skin products?"
His eyes bugged. "Does not."
She nodded wisely. "Yup. I can tell by the baby bum peachy skin on his cheeks. He's a man who looks after himself. And you're never too old to begin. Come here."
He backed up, held up his hands in the universal sign of peace. "Nope."
She batted her eyes. "You don't want a beautiful smooth and clear skin?"
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "There's nothing wrong with my skin. I've had no complaints."
"How many women have stroked their fingers down your cheek?"
"None. Except for you when you're nice to me."
The serious look on his face and in the tone of his voice, made her bite back a smile.
He was so fucking cute the way he looked at her like that, as if she was a conundrum he couldn't work out.
"Do you want me to stroke my fingers down your cheek again?"
"Of course. I'd also like your fingers to stroke something else, but I'm betting that won't happen anytime soon either."
She held up a finger for silence while she rummaged around another box on the table and like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, held another product. "Ta-da! And here we have a hot wax. I bet you've never had a Brazilian."
His face went sheet white, but he kept it together. "Can't say I have. What is it?"
She squinted at the instructions and made them up on the spot. "It's for scrotum, ass and crack. Heat wax until melted, not too hot, and spread a thick layer over the area. Wait until it has cooled and then very quickly—because speed is essential—rip it off."
The look of horrified shock on his face tipped her over the edge.
She threw back her head and roared with laughter.
By the time T.C. had gathered herself together, he stood next to her.
Bulging arms folded, legs spread, he watched her through slitty eyes.
"Yeah. Keep it up. See what happens."
She lifted a pencil with a rubber at the end and poked it into his hard belly. "Such a big, brave, soldier, all scared of face products and hot wax."
Between one beat and the next she was plucked out of her chair, swept up in his arms and carried into her bedroom.
Utterly thrilled, she wrapped her arms around his neck and nibbled on his jaw.
"Hmm. I love your scruff. It makes you look all manly."
He didn't toss her on the bed, instead he laid her down gently and began to strip her.
By the time he had her naked, her breath panted in her throat as his gaze lingered on the satin smooth skin between her legs. "You went through all that to achieve the look?"
"I like how it feels," she whispered, her eyes focused on the way he undressed without hurry.
God, the man was built.
His shoulders and chest were strong and wide, tapering down over impressive sculpted abs to narrow hips and long, long legs.
She couldn't remember the last time she was so aroused it felt like her bones were melting from within. The erection jutting between his legs seemed to swell and grow thick and hard as she stared at the compelling evidence of how much this man wanted her. Needed her. And that thought seemed to click open something in her heart. She'd never been needed before. It felt—good.
"What are you thinking?" he asked as he joined her and drew her into his arms to study her face.
"I like you very much," she whispered and grinned when he batted his black lashes like a girl.
"I like you, too. In fact, I more than like you."
And again, just like that, their conversation had turned from fun to serious.
"Why?"
She wasn't being cute, she truly needed to understand.
His eyes were gentle on hers as his knuckles stroked her hot cheek, as he slid his thigh between hers and felt her arousal. "When I first saw you, I thought the woman of my dreams had just walked through the door."
Her eyes went big. "Did not."
"Oh, yeah, darlin'. I did. Plus, you're real. You say what's on your mind with no filter. You care deeply about your friends. You work hard and give it your very best. I think you care about me. And I want you to know that I am here for you, through everything."
"Everything?"
He nodded. "Everything. Whatever blessings and challenges life brings. I am on your side. I'm only human and will make mistakes, but I will never let you down."
When he dipped his head and his mouth lingered on hers, she was the one who took the kiss deeper. She was the one who licked at his lips and sucked his tongue. She was the one who searched and found him and gently stroked until he groaned into her mouth. She was the one who opened her legs wide and took him in deep. And she was the one who wept through an orgasm so profound and overwhelming it felt as if her whole world shattered and then came together again, different but whole.
As she closed her eyes and curled up tight in the arms of a man who truly did care, T.C. felt as if maybe she had found a safe place, an island of calm in the churning dark ocean of her life so far.
Maybe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Against the sudden glare of a morning sky burning too brightly in a blue sky, Pascale turned his face into a velvet cushion.
Someone had taken an ice-pick to his skull and buried it deep.
The sound that came from him wasn't exactly a whimper, but it was pretty damn close.
His mouth tasted like sweaty armpit and his heart beat sluggishly in his chest.
"Drink this. You'll feel better after you've eaten some breakfast," Danni's voice spoke from somewhere above his head.
As reality filtered slowly into his aching brain, he groaned.
Had he really turned up at her door blind drunk?
He seemed to remember something about telling her he loved her and could not live without her.
Oh.
Dear.
God.
It took a heroic effort, but when he turned over the world did not end.
His lids fluttered.
And there she was.
Danni.
Dressed in tiny black cotton boy shorts and a matching tiny vest.
Her glorious copper hair was caught on top of her head in a messy updo.
Those endless limbs were long and lean and smooth.
Hazel eyes, filled with zero sympathy, stared into his.
He stared back.
The stirring between his legs told him he wasn't dead.
Not yet.
She held out a glass with something fizzing in the water. "Can you sit up enough to drink this?"
Leaning on his elbow, he took the
glass and drank it down.
Whatever was in it was vile to the point where he almost vomited it right back up again.
Seemed Danni was a mind reader because as she plucked the glass from his fingers, she said, "There's a red plastic bucket on the floor. Please do not be sick on my good rug."
Closing his eyes, he gently laid his head on the cushion and prayed for death to take him.
He'd no idea how long he simply endured, but the scent of bacon and fresh coffee had him crank open one eye, just a little. And was he feeling a tiny bit more human?
When he rolled to sitting the world didn't tilt on its axis.
Staying perfectly still, he watched her pour coffee and set a plate heaped with food on a round glass table. She added cutlery and then turned to study him.
"You'll feel better once you've eaten."
His stomach roiled in total disagreement with that statement, but since he didn't want to piss her off more than he'd already done, he shuffled to the table and sat.
Behind a wide glittering worktop of inky granite, she buttered a slice of wholemeal toast, poured herself a coffee and watched him over the rim of the mug.
The fried hash browns, crispy bacon and eggs over easy, slid down without effort and seemed to agree with his stomach. By the time he'd eaten three slices of toast and was on his second coffee, Pascale felt almost human.
Danni slid into the chair across the table and tucked a foot beneath her ass.
Unblinking hazel eyes gazed into his.
He stared back. "I apologize for turning up at your door in such a state. If it is any consolation, I have never done such a thing before."
She didn't smile. "Apology accepted. I've had a lot of time to think about... us. How fast we got together. Maybe too fast. Maybe we need more time to get to know each other properly before we do something we both might live to regret."
The queasy feeling was back.
"I do not regret meeting you, or loving you."
"Do you want the truth?"
"Oui."
"Seeing you with your arms around my mother..."
"My arms were not around your mother. My hands were at her waist to push her away."
