by Cole McCade
“This is what I love about you,” Ion said softly. “When you love something, you give yourself to it completely. You don’t hold back. Everything with you is real. Honest. Unfeigned.”
Celeste let her arms fall and turned to find him watching her—oddly still, arrested and arresting against a night sky filled with flowers of flame. Something about the way he looked at her nearly broke her heart, eyes deep and yearning in the shadows of the bursting lights.
She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t lie to him like this. She had to tell him the truth. Tell him there was nothing real and honest about her. She reached for his hands, his name heavy on her lips.
“Ion…”
He swallowed thickly. “Don’t. Please…don’t tell me it’s too much, or too soon.”
“It’s not that.” She shook her head. “It’s not. I…I…”
“What is it?” His fingers gripped hers almost desperately tight. “What is it, Celeste?”
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She tried to force the words, and couldn’t. She couldn’t break this fragile thing she held in her hands. So she only smiled, even if it hurt down to the roots of her soul, and laced their fingers together. “Thank you for this. For everything.”
He just looked at her, something dark and pleading in his eyes, before he looked away—his answering smile tight and tense, voice thick, casual calm forced. “It’s not as spectacular as Bastille Day,” he said. “But you couldn’t leave Paris without seeing it.”
“Ion—”
“I can’t take the credit, though. This is a regular summer event, and—”
“Ion.” She squeezed his hands, then drew him down to her. “Now who’s deflecting?”
With a low, hurting sound, he cupped her face and kissed her. Slow, sweet, delicate, as if he thought she would break, and God, she thought she just might. Her heart trembled, and as the night raged with color and light and sound she knew only a deep and profound stillness as she fell into the dark, quiet pool of emotion building between them.
When they parted he looked at her as if his heart was dying, and she knew without a word…he didn’t want to let her go.
Leaning close, they watched the fireworks until the last sparks sifted down like burning snow and the fountains stilled. Churning water settled into a glossy pool, throwing back the sky’s reflection. Hand in hand, they walked through the gardens without needing to speak. As long as they said nothing Celeste could pretend this was timeless, and not one second or hour or minute could pass to bring them closer to the dawn.
By the time they made their way back to the rail station, the last train was just departing and the sky overhead darkened with clouds that shrouded the stars. Thunder loomed in a lowing growl. Their car was mostly empty; they claimed a bank of seats for themselves, sprawled with Ion’s back against one dividing wall and Celeste resting snugly between his legs, nestled against his chest. He held her as if he couldn’t stand to be apart. She clung just as close, wanting not a single breath of air between them.
The train let them off a few blocks from Ion’s apartment, into a night turned silver by sheets of rain. They watched the downpour from the station’s exit. Ion squeezed her hand. “I can run for an umbrella and come back for you.”
Celeste laughed. “What kind of ninny do you think I am?” She stepped back, toward the blowing storm, and pulled on his hand. “Come on!”
They ran as ice-cold water sluiced down on them and struck the sidewalk to explode into glimmering mist. Her dress was soaked within seconds, her hair ruined, skin prickling with goosebump chills, but she didn’t care. She laughed, forgetting for just this moment that this was their last night—and Ion laughed with her, holding her hand so fiercely tight.
They stumbled into the lobby of his building, dripping all over the polished marble tile as they tumbled into the elevator, giggling like children and clinging close. Ion barely paused to push the button for the penthouse before he pressed her against the elevator wall and kissed her over and over. Breathless with laughter, they tangled together, shivering and drenched, water dripping into their eyes and slicking their lips. Grinning, she pushed his hair back from his brow.
“You’re a mess.”
“You’re no better, my bedraggled siren.” He nipped her upper lip and hauled her closer.
“Siren?”
“Dragging unwitting men into the water with your wicked wiles.” His body was hot through the cold, damp cloth of his shirt and waistcoat; he caged her in the small space. “My wet little seductress.”
“Wet, hm?” Biting her lip, she arched against him.
His smile faded, eyes darkening. “Are you?”
“Getting there.” She curled her fingers against his neck as the elevator dinged and the door slid open. “Take me to bed, Ion.”
“As you wish.”
He swept her up and carried her through the door. The entryway and apartment door passed in a blur, there and gone as she closed her eyes and drowned in his kiss, pulled irresistibly into the heated current of his undertow. They fell into the bed, hands urgent on each other’s bodies, pulling at wet clothing to find skin that burned under the damp sheen of rainwater. Ion licked droplets from her skin, making her hiss as she arched up into him and stroked her hands over his chest, wrapping herself in him until she was drunk on the taste of him.
He stripped her bare and caressed her, fitted their naked bodies together, plied her lips; she opened for him in every way, denying him nothing. He kissed her with sweet desperation, dark with longing, until her throat closed and she couldn’t stand it anymore. She broke away and looked up at him through the blurred sheen of tears.
“Ion, please,” she whispered. “I leave tomorrow.”
“We still have one more night,” he said roughly, brows knitting. He threaded his fingers through her damp hair. “One more night, Cel.”
Her eyes filled, stinging. “One night is all it was ever meant to be.”
“Then if I can’t keep you…” He stroked callused fingers down her thigh and lowered himself to bring heat to heat, hardness nudging intimately against her as he lifted her into him. “Let me have as much of you as I can before you go.”
She couldn’t answer. Words would destroy her. She only kissed him, sealing her mouth to his and begging without words for all she could have of him—of them, this, together—for one last night.
They came together like the sea crashing to the shore, surging and pulling, flowing and rolling until her body matched his rhythm and her heartbeat slowed in time with each deep, lingering movement as he filled her. His breath shuddered against her lips, their voices trapped between them as together, they trembled. She tasted salt on his skin as fiery tracks of tears burned down her cheeks, and she blazed hot and bright as he whispered her name over and over.
She wanted it to last forever. She clutched at him as if she could keep this moment—another frozen memory, seconds captured in crystal. She begged time to stop for her, as he ravaged her heart and swelled her flesh with the fullness of her pleasure. And when her body broke her heart broke with it, as she fell into a molten sweetness that left every inch of her sobbing with its depth.
When he shuddered against her, tension rippling over his tawny hide, she caught his mouth and tasted his gasp as he found his pleasure. His lips went slack and soft against hers, and he lingered over a deep, twining kiss as he sank, breathless, against her.
When they broke apart he brushed his knuckles to her cheek, chasing her tears. “You’re like gravity,” he murmured, intense eyes locked on her, luminous in the dark, soft in the sated aftermath. “You pull me in. You hold me down. And I don’t want you to let go.”
“You don’t have to until tomorrow.” She cupped his face in her palms and kissed the peak of his chin, then brushed his lips. “We have that long.”
“Never long enough.”
They curled together, still fully joined, interlocked; she couldn’t bear to separate, couldn’t bear losing that clo
seness. As their bodies cooled in the night air, he wrapped around her, warm and solid and perfect; she tucked her head under his chin. If she could keep this forever—this moment, this now, this sweet silence between them—she would be happy.
Her eyes grew heavy, but she fought the call of sleep. Sleep would bring morning that much sooner. She wet her lips, curling her fingers against his chest, and ventured tentatively, “I have leads on jobs in Germany and Sweden.”
His soft sound as he stirred told her he’d started to drift. He shifted against her, then rested his cheek to her hair. “That’s not so far with a Europass.”
“It’s really not.”
“What if I asked you to stay? To look for a job in Paris? You could stay with me.” His laugh was choked, forced. His embrace tightened. “I’m not too terrible a roommate.”
“I can’t, Ion.” And the alternative was no better. She could never ask him to leave the city he loved, if he would even want to after learning the truth. She drew back to look at him, touching her fingertips to the sad smile curving his lips, tracing the fullness of his mouth. Memorizing him by touch, to keep with her forever and always. “This has been an amazing week. You’ve been amazing, and I’m grateful. But I have people to think about above what I want. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to stay.”
“And you won’t let me help.”
She shook her head. “Some things can’t be fixed so easily.”
Some lies can’t be taken back…and I can’t bear for you to hate me.
They held each other in silence, until Celeste couldn’t fight sleep anymore. She buried her face in his chest and let herself savor the warmth of falling asleep in his arms one last time.
But her peace was short-lived as, near dawn, her phone shattered the stillness with its shrill dart. She stiffened, while his arms hardened to iron around her. She couldn’t move. Nothing good ever came of her phone ringing this late.
“You going to answer it?” Ion asked tightly.
She was tempted to say no. For one moment she was tempted to be selfish, but she couldn’t. “I have to, Ion.”
The phone had finished one ring cycle and started another by the time she extricated herself from him and dug the compact Samsung from her purse. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.
The sound of Ophelia’s gasping breath froze her heart. She’d known that sound her whole life: her proud, fierce sister struggling not to cry. “I lost Dad,” Ophelia blurted. Celeste clutched the headboard as the world swam and her head lightened and her stomach crushed into a tense, angry fist.
“What?” she asked faintly. Her voice sounded far off, coming down a distant tunnel. “How?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. We were at the Riverwalk and he got away from me, and it’s been five hours and he’s not answering his phone—”
“Okay. Calm down. Breathe.” Celeste tried to follow her own advice, but her shallow inhalations ran up against an impenetrable wall in her throat. “Did you call the police?”
“Not yet. I was hoping you’d know where to look.”
“Try the planetarium. But call the police anyway.” Celeste tugged at her hair, then lifted her head to find Ion watching her with stricken eyes—making it harder to say, “I’m coming home.”
“Cel, no! You were there for a job—”
She closed her eyes, turned away, and bent to gather her scattered clothing. She couldn’t. She couldn’t waver, even if something inside her screamed, hurt and betrayed that these last fragile minutes had been stolen. “I’ve played out my leads. I’m coming home.”
“…okay.” Ophelia sniffled. “Okay.”
“I don’t blame you, okay?” Celeste sighed, slumping against the wall with her dress clutched close. “Don’t worry. You’re just not used to his habits anymore. It’ll be okay. Just find him and make sure he’s safe. I know you can do this.”
Ophelia laughed, harsh and tight. “I thought it was my job to make you feel better.”
“Yeah.” She smiled weakly. “Guess I had to grow up sometime. See you soon, ‘feela.”
“You haven’t called me that since you were six.”
“Couldn’t be too grown up. You might start expecting me to act like an adult.”
Ophelia’s laughter strengthened, but was still rough with impending tears. “You’re still such a brat. Okay. I’ll call when I have an update.”
She hung up and tugged her dress on, keeping her eyes on her shaking hands. She couldn’t escape the dark and heavy pressure of Ion’s gaze, unspoken questions screaming in the silence. God, she owed him an answer, but couldn’t find one. Couldn’t find her voice. She continued dressing hastily. She’d known this moment would come; a few hours didn’t make a difference. She should just get over it.
“So you’re going,” he said, words brittle. “Just like that.”
“It’s an emergency. I have to. I have to.”
She’d expected anger. Frustration. She hadn’t expected warm arms wrapping around her from behind, or the quiet, understanding strength of him. He kissed her shoulder. “Let me at least take you to the airport.”
“Don’t.” She was so close to crumbling. To just sitting down right there and sobbing. Her father was missing and could be hurt, and she had to walk away from this beautiful, wonderful man she’d been stupid enough to fall in love with all over again. She shook her head and pulled away, facing him as she stepped back, putting distance between them. “Don’t make this harder. Just let me go.”
His hands fell to his sides, fingers clutching until his knuckles turned white. “What about the money I owe you?”
“I don’t care about the money. I never did.”
She couldn’t stand it when he looked at her that way. As if she’d ripped out his heart and squeezed it until it broke. She stepped closer and, before she lost her nerve, kissed him. The last kiss, and she savored every moment—imprinting the taste of him, the fire of him, the sound of his despairing groan so she could take them with her and keep them forever, burned on her soul like a permanent brand. He kissed her fierce and hard, a silent plea in every touch, in the way he grasped her close. A plea she couldn’t answer. She forced herself to tear back, to retreat again.
“Take care of yourself,” she said, clutching her phone and purse like shields. “Keep writing your books. Keep writing beautiful things for girls just like the one I used to be.”
“Celeste…” He reached for her, eyes bright with anguish.
“I have to go.” She let herself look at him for a moment longer, so perfect in the shadows of night, like the dark prince in every fairy tale daydream she’d had as a child. “Goodbye, Ion.”
Then, before she could talk herself into staying, she ran from the apartment—and forever from his life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ION SANK TO HIS BED. A bed still rumpled with the imprint of her body; a bed that smelled of the love they’d made, and suddenly seemed far too large for him alone.
She was gone. Just like that. Gone and leaving him hollow, with only those small, beautiful details of her to hold on to. The way her lashes trembled when he kissed her. The way her hair fell just so over her shoulder, and the way she always brushed it back. The way she spoke so quickly, with such joy, when she talked about the work she loved. The way she teased him. The way moonlight ran silver along the crest of her jaw when her head fell to one side in her sleep; the way she bit her knuckle when thinking about something particularly hard; the way her laughter always sounded startled, as if she’d been caught off guard and was utterly delighted.
And the way her lips parted, soft and gasping, when he touched her—as if she inhaled pleasure like air and filled herself with it.
He’d thought he’d have more time to say goodbye. He’d thought…it didn’t matter what he’d thought. When he looked at the cold, hard facts, this had been a fling for the short time she was in Paris. Maybe he only wanted her because he couldn’t have her; maybe he was drawn by the lure of the unattai
nable, the romantic idea of something that would never work in reality. Just because it felt like more didn’t mean anything.
Except it did. He’d been searching for a reason to let the past go and move on. He’d found her.
And like hell he was letting her go.
He stood, snagged his phone, and moved to his laptop to pull up Expedia, looking for last-minute flights to…she’d said Los Angeles, but it was a big city and he didn’t even know where to look except the address on her business card—which could be an office, an apartment, anything. That wouldn’t stop him from trying.
He wouldn’t catch her now. She was upset, and needed to deal with the demons riding her shoulders; she’d made it clear it was her problem to handle alone.
But he could be there when she was done, and needed someone to lean on.
He thumbed through his address book, hit call, and waited for it to pick up. After the obligatory drowsy the fuck do you want, Blackwell? from his ever-so-charming best friend, he asked, “Drake? You need me in New York for anything? I should be back in the States in a few days.”
“You woke me up to tell me that? I just got to sleep.” Drake groaned, followed by a male voice murmuring close by. Muffled, Drake said something more soft and soothing than Ion had heard him sound in his life, before speaking into the phone again. “Visa time again?”
“Personal business.”
“In New York?”
“Los Angeles. Then Bayou’s End. After that, I’m all yours.”
“Last time you said that, you were drunk.” Drake sighed. “What’s bringing you home?”
“Chasing a girl like the idiot I am.” Ion found a flight leaving tomorrow. Enough time to scour Los Angeles before packing up for Louisiana. He booked the flight, then crossed to the closet and dragged his suitcase out. “Since I’ll be stateside, no harm in stopping by the reunion. Need closure on a few things anyway.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something? Like your deadline?”
