He wants to tie me up.
Bones turned to jelly. Vision went starry.
Now he was taking a tie out of his bag. Oh my God, is that the one? I’d never been tied up before but I nearly went sprinting from the closet over to the bed with my hands in the air. Instead I remained where I was, scared to let him to see my face as the full force of my feelings hit me.
I think I’m in love with him. For real.
“Oh, you know what I forgot? Shampoo.” Lucas turned toward me, and his brow furrowed. “Mia?”
Move. Get out of the fucking closet. Act natural.
“I have some. You’ll love it, actually. It’s going to spoil you for any other hair products.” On legs as unsteady as my voice, I went over to my bag and pulled out my makeup cases. “Use whatever you need.”
In the bathroom, I set my things on the vanity, glancing in the mirror at my flushed cheeks. Get a grip, Mia. It’s totally obvious something is up with you.
I shut the door and splashed some cold water on my face.
You’re not in love with him. You’re just happy to be here.
Really supremely fucking happy.
And all hopped up on the fresh air and orgasms.
I dried my face and hands on a towel and made a new list.
5 Appropriate (And Yet Also Wildly Inappropriate) Thoughts
You Are Allowed To Have About Lucas
1) You are allowed to imagine him whispering all manner of dirty words in your ear.
2) You are allowed to imagine him screwing you in every room in this house. Even the closets.
3) You are allowed to imagine going down on him at any given moment, including while he’s driving, at mealtimes, and in the pool. (You are not allowed to actually do this, however. Well, maybe the driving one.)
4) You are allowed to imagine what it would be like to be tied to the bed by him, helpless and at his mercy.
5) You are even allowed to imagine tying him to a chair and bossing him around a little. Whatever turns you on. But no matter what, you are not allowed to think or—God forbid—utter the L word. Got it?
I gave the girl in the mirror the fiercest look I had, and she seemed to understand.
When I came out of the bathroom, I noticed Lucas had changed from jeans into red swim trunks, and the sight of his bare chest did whirlpool things to my insides. “I thought maybe we’d sit by the pool a little after our walk. If you’re up for that, I mean. We have some time before dinner.”
“Sounds heavenly. I’ll get my suit on.” I rummaged through my clothing without seeing any of it, still feeling out of sorts. “So…do you get to visit here often?
“About once a year.” Lucas pulled a gray t-shirt over his head. “Usually every summer.”
My hands fumbled through my suitcase as I watched his abs disappear. When he caught me staring, I looked down. Damn. What am I looking for again?
“My mother guilts me about only visiting her only once a year,” he went on, “but planes do fly the other way across the Atlantic. Sometimes I think she forgets that.” Lucas pulled a pair of flip-flops from his bag and tossed them on the floor.
I smiled half-heartedly, but an insidious thought had invaded my brain. Had he ever brought his girlfriend here? Before I could decide if I really wanted the answer, the question was out. “Have you ever brought anyone here with you before?”
“Once.”
Jealousy gripped me hard by the throat as I closed my fist around my bikini top. “Jessica?”
“Yeah. We came for my oldest brother’s wedding a few years ago.”
“How nice.” I took my bathing suit out of my bag. I hate you, Jessica. “What a perfect spot for a wedding.” I could envision the entire thing—the white linen tablecloths, wooden dining chairs, candles in white frosted glasses, centerpieces made with lavender or maybe olive branches.
For a moment, I pictured myself in a beautiful wedding gown, not the formal beaded one I’d chosen before, but something softer and simpler. Arm in arm with my dad, I was floating down a gravel path lined with candles toward…
I swallowed hard.
That is not on the Appropriate list.
“I guess so,” Lucas said, running a hand through his hair. “Um, I’ll give you a minute to get your suit on, and then we’ll go down.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Lucas. You’ve seen every inch of my body up close and personal. I don’t mind if you watch me change into my bathing suit.”
“In that case…” He flopped onto the bed and set his head in his hand. “Start the show.”
Although I was nervous, meeting Lucas’s family was not as uncomfortable as I’d feared. His mother, Mireille, was a striking dark-haired woman with luminous skin and a petite frame. After welcoming both Lucas and me with kisses on each cheek, she insisted that we sit with her for a chat.
We sat at a table and chairs beneath a huge umbrella, where she asked me about where I lived and how I was enjoying my trip. She also asked how we’d met, and when Lucas told her the truth—omitting the bit about the canceled wedding—she didn’t seem to think it strange we’d only made each other’s acquaintance a few days before.
“How nice,” she said. “Lucas is a perfect tour guide for Paris.”
“He is,” I agreed. “I really got lucky.”
Lucas pinched my leg under the table.
#
“Your mom is so beautiful.” I leaned over to inhale the fragrant white flowers along the path Lucas and I were following through the garden. “No wonder she had all those men falling for her.”
“Well, lots of men are fools for beauty.” He nudged my arm. “Myself included.”
Straightening up, I blushed and smiled sideways at him. “Thanks.” We ambled slowly through the private little paradise. Even the bees seemed content here, buzzing about the blossoms without bothering us. “Your brother seems nice.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Another fool.”
“Oh, come on. He’s in love.”
I’d met Lucas’s older brother Gilles and his fiancée Lisette by the pool too, as well as several of their friends staying at the villa for the party. Gilles fawned over Lisette to the point of absurdity, fetching her towels and sunscreen and water and magazines, all the while gazing at her adoringly. He resembled Lucas in a way, but was taller, lankier, and not quite as handsome.
At least in my opinion.
Lucas’s oldest brother, Nicolas, had been playing tennis with Mireille’s husband Sebastien, but I was introduced to his wife Carine and their little girl, Gisele, a little fair-haired sprite in a bubble-gum pink bathing suit.
“And Gisele’s adorable. How old is she?”
He cocked his head. “She’s two, I think? I really wish I saw her more often.”
I grinned at him. “She adores you. Her face lights up every time you talk to her.”
“She just likes it when I swing her around by the arms like that. Makes her dizzy.”
“It made me dizzy just watching you two.” Or maybe it was my feelings making my head spin. There was something about seeing Lucas indulge the little girl that had me warm all over. I wondered if he wanted children of his own someday and if he’d bring them here in the summertime. I even entertained a brief fantasy of myself in the role of Madame Fournier in such a scenario before I gave myself a figurative slap on the wrist. Have you lost your mind? Knock that shit off!
“My dad used to spin me around like that, in our front yard when I was little.” Suddenly Lucas stopped to pick a pink bloom off a long stem. He studied it for a moment and held it out to me. “Here. You were wearing something in this color that day at the cemetery.”
My heart skittered. “That’s right, I was.” I took the flower from him and lifted it to my nose. Looking at him over the petals, I breathed in its sweet scent. Christ, this is getting ridiculous. I want to keep my thoughts from straying into Inappropriate territory, but I need a little help here.
“Lucas.” I twirled the flower aro
und by the stem. “I’m going to have to ask you to tell me something about yourself that isn’t sexy, sweet, or charming.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“Seriously. I’m starting to think none of this is real.” It was a lie—I was afraid it was all too real.
“Hmmmm.” His face took on a look of mock concentration as we started walking again. “Oh, here’s one. I’m a huge Rangers fan and I get very animated when watching games. I scream and swear and jump around.”
“No good. I’m from Detroit. We get hockey.” I shook my head. “In fact, I think you just made it worse.”
“Oh. OK, ummmm…” He looked skyward for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Aha! You’ll hate this: I cut my own hair.”
I stared at him, mouth agape. “What? That’s ridiculous. You can’t cut your own hair!”
He laughed. “Sure I can.”
“How can you even see?”
“I turn around and use the mirror. It’s not that hard. And it’s not like my hair is that difficult.” He shrugged. “If I fuck it up or it gets really uneven, eventually I’ll wander into a barber shop.”
I sighed. “Well, I’ll grant you that is odd, but I still need something worse. Something that will make me say, ‘Boy I’m glad I don’t live in New York. I’d hate to run into that asshole again.’”
He elbowed me and scrunched up his face. “OK, how about this: I rarely make reservations at restaurants. I just like to get there when I get there.”
I winced, but I nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere. That would drive me crazy.” Moving ahead, I stepped in front of him to walk backward. “OK, one more thing. Something I’ll totally hate.”
He stopped walking and thought a moment. “I don’t ever want to get married.”
I blinked. “You don’t want to get married to anyone, ever?”
“Nope.”
“Why not? Because of your parents?” Despite the warmth of the sun on my skin, I sort of felt like someone had just thrown ice water in my face. I’d been teasing Lucas, but this felt serious, like he was telling me something significant. Oh God, he knows what I’ve been thinking. He’s trying to tell me not to get carried away.
He shrugged. “Probably that’s there in the back of my mind. I was there when their marriage fell apart. I saw what it did to my dad. But it’s not just them; most marriages don’t last. And also, I’ve just never wanted to get married.”
I turned around and took a couple steps forward, struggling to make my voice sound casual. “What do you see yourself doing in the future?”
“Well, I want to finish my research, write about it, maybe teach a few different places. I like to travel a lot, and I might like to open up my own bar sometime, either in Paris or New York, I’m not sure.”
My heart ticked faster than it had a right to, agitation itching under my skin. What the hell are you getting upset about? Jesus, probably a couple should exchange phone numbers before they exchange rings. You haven’t even known him a week.
Plus, it wasn’t like I thought everyone my age wanted to get married. Even Coco said she wasn’t sure about it. But I’d always known I would. In fact, I remembered asking Tucker about it once we’d been dating a few months and thinking that if he’d said he didn’t ever want to get married, then I’d move on. He’d said it was part of his plan eventually, just not any time soon, and I’d been OK with that.
Suddenly I had a thought, and as usual I couldn’t let it go. I took a deep breath. “Is that why you and Jessica broke up?”
Lucas took a moment before answering, his eyes glued to the gravel. “It wasn’t the only reason, but yes,” he admitted. “She wanted to get married. I didn’t.” Then he stopped walking and put a hand on my arm. “But if you’re thinking I did to her what your ex did to you, I promise you, I didn’t. I’d always made my views on marriage perfectly clear. It wasn’t like it was a surprise or anything.”
“No. No, of course not.” I told myself to ask about something else, but the subject of Lucas’s ex was like that stupid breakup song you can’t stop listening to even though it makes you feel horrible. I had a twisted fascination with her.
“You said marriage was just one reason. Can I ask about the others?” It was a personal question, too personal, and he had every right to tell me to mind my own business, but he didn’t.
“Well…” He appeared to struggle with words. “For one thing, we had different appetites.”
Appetites? “What do you mean?”
He glanced at me, and I saw the red in his cheeks. It was more than color from the sun. “Remember how I told you I was nervous about scaring you with…things I wanted to do to you?”
“Nothing you do scares me.”
“Well, some things I liked used to scare her. Or at least, she wasn’t into them.”
That was amazing to me. How could any girl be with Lucas and not want to submit to his every whim? Maybe I was a little sex starved, or at least good-sex starved, but Lucas was perfection in that regard. He made me feel like an angel, a devil, beauty and desire incarnate. He let me do anything I wanted to him and did things to me I’d never even dreamed of. How will anyone else live up?
I cleared my throat. “Was the breakup bad?”
“Pretty bad. She said I didn’t love her enough to change, or to make a promise that she was ready to make to me.”
“Wow. That’s rough.” I actually felt sorry for both of them—yes, even goddamn Jessica. Because they were both right, in a way. I could see both sides. “So when was that?”
“Last Christmas.”
Six months ago. Lifting the soft petals of the pink flower he’d given me to my nose once more, I inhaled and exhaled. “Do you still love her?”
He shook his head. “No. I mean, I still care about her. I want her to be happy, but I knew that it ultimately wasn’t going to be with me. I guess I’d known it for a while and should have ended things sooner, but I didn’t want to hurt her.”
I nodded, wondering if that’s what Tucker had felt like. Had he wanted to end things sooner too? Had he stifled the impulse to tell me he didn’t want to get married because I was so obsessed with the wedding? God, I could hardly recall a conversation between us in the last year about anything non wedding-related. What a fucking circus it was going to be. For the first time, I felt an iota of sympathy for Tucker. One iota.
“It must have been hard after such a long time,” I said.
“It was. I felt horrible. But she wanted something I couldn’t give her. I didn’t want to lie about it, make a promise I knew I couldn’t keep.”
I nodded, thinking he’d done exactly as I’d asked—told me something about himself that made me realize he wasn’t perfect for me, at least not in the long run.
So why did it feel so shitty?
We reached the edge of the garden where it bordered on the olive grove. Lucas stopped walking and took me into his arms. “Come here.” He kissed me warm and soft. “Let’s not talk about the past. Or the future. Where we came from and where we’ll end up don’t matter to me as much as being here right now with you.”
I melted into his kiss, telling myself he was right. OK, maybe I did have some feelings for him, and maybe it was more than a fuck fling, but it wasn’t love, not the kind that would last. Because as shitty as it felt to have my wedding called off, I still wanted to get married someday. I still wanted a home and a family. I was sure of it.
Lucas didn’t. And he was sure of it.
So even if some secret piece of my heart had been hoping for a different outcome, my head knew for certain now—this was all temporary.
Just a dream.
#
We went back to the pool and spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and hanging out with his family and dozing next to each other on a cushioned double chaise lounge. And the more I analyzed the conversation we had in the garden, the more I was certain this was a rebound thing, for both of us.
I liked that Lucas was
the opposite of Tucker, and Lucas liked the necessary short and sweet nature of our fling. It had an expiration date that wouldn’t be his fault—he wouldn’t have to break my heart to end things.
And the sex? Well, we both liked that.
As the tension drained from my shoulders and my mind wandered to the episode in the back seat, my entire body rippled with gooseflesh. My nipples got hard.
It didn’t go unnoticed.
Lucas put a hand on my thigh and tipped his mouth to my ear. “Are you doing that on purpose? You know, your bathing suit top is white.”
I smiled without opening my eyes.
“You are a very bad girl, Mia Devine,” he whispered. “I think you need to be punished tonight.”
My toes curled.
#
For dinner that night, one of the patios was transformed into an outdoor dining space with a long picnic-style table covered with soft, cream-colored cloth, benches lined with colorful pillows, and various lanterns hanging from the ribbed pergola roof. All twenty-four guests were seated at the table while the meal was served by waiters supervised by a critical-eyed Jean-Paul at one end of the table. He was seated across from Henri, whom I couldn’t help think of as The Count and picture in a black cape. He was tall and lanky like his sons, silver-haired like Jean-Paul, although not quite as handsome, and had welcomed me warmly.
Music played on hidden speakers, accompanied by the low hum of conversation and the clinks of forks and glasses. The food was delicious, platters laden with local produce and poultry, flavored with herbs grown in Jean-Paul’s gardens. The wine was delectable, almost as delectable as Lucas, who sat beside me wearing charcoal slacks and a white shirt that set off the color in his cheeks from the sun today. But it was the tie around his neck that really made my insides clench.
Is that the one he mentioned before?
As if that wasn’t enough, he’d let me fuss with his hair after he got out of the shower. I’d put some product in and sort of neatened the curls while he stood there with a towel around his hips.
It was too tempting. I’d yanked it off and dropped to my knees.
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