by Alix Nichols
“The one in the photos in your apartment?”
“Ninossos,” he says with a nod. “It’s even more beautiful in real life. I hope you’ll like it.”
I rub my forehead as if trying to prevent my thoughts from scattering all over the place. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.” He smiles. “I promise there’s no hidden agenda, no expectations, no strings.” He gives me a wink. “I’m a conscientious objector to strings, as you know.”
I do.
God, this is tempting.
“All I want is for you to have a bit of fun,” he says.
“Why do you care?”
“Honestly?” He shrugs. “No idea.”
“OK,” I say, hardly believing my own words. “Why not? Lily and I will tag along.”
He plants a kiss on my forehead, then turns around, and heads to the door. “I’ll pick you up Saturday at ten thirty.”
And then he’s gone.
He was right—Ninossos is even more gorgeous in reality than in those beautiful prints on the walls of his penthouse.
I take in a deep breath of air that smells of seawater and several other delicious things I can’t identify and put Lily back in her stroller. She was agitated earlier, so I left Raphael and his friends to finish their lunch on the patio of his villa and took Lily for a calming walk. I had to promise him we’d stay in the vicinity of the house and be back in fifteen minutes.
You’d think the island was swarming with wild beasts.
The wildest creature we’ve met so far was a sea gull.
The flight to Ninossos was quick and easy, Lily’s incessant crying notwithstanding.
“This is Mia and Lily” was how Raphael had introduced us to everyone before we boarded the jet. No other qualifier or explanation—just “Mia and Lily.” The responses to that laconic presentation ranged from Sebastian’s nod to Diane’s bear hug. When she let go of me, she asked if I’d let her hold Lily, and as she gently took her from me, I realized she was pregnant.
Between those two extremes were the firm handshake from Raphael’s buddy Cedric and the contactless cheek kiss from his bestie, Genevieve.
Yes, that Genevieve.
Finally, I had the honor of meeting Raphael’s oldest friend, who turned out to be a refined creature in her late twenties. Clearly, his equal in both status and money. Also, probably the only woman in his life he’s been faithful to, if not in flesh then in spirit.
She looked vaguely familiar. Maybe I’d seen her before in Raphael’s bar without knowing who she was.
Despite their different greetings, all four guests had one reaction in common. They stared at Lily longer and with more intensity than a regular person would look at a baby. The expression on their faces was that of a person trying to solve a puzzle. I knew exactly what that puzzle was.
Is this baby Raphael’s?
As I push the stroller, I wonder what conclusion each of them had arrived at.
By the time I’m back at the patio, Lily is fast asleep.
I set the stroller in the shade and return to my place around the table. The catering service Raphael has hired so we could “just chill” brings out coffee and dessert.
He apologizes to Genevieve, with whom he was chatting, and comes to sit next to me.
She glances at me with so much hatred it feels like a sharp punch to my face. I gasp, incredulous, and take a second look at her. Genevieve lifts her teacup to her lips without the slightest hint of emotion on her serene face.
I must have imagined it.
“I saw Noah yesterday,” Genevieve says.
“Where?” Sebastian and Raphael ask in unison.
“At the Tintin exhibit in Grand Palais. A friend of mine dragged me there.” She picks up a canelé and bites off half of the miniature pastry. “Mmm.”
“Noah’s always been a huge fan of Tintin,” Raphael says with a smile.
Sebastian’s gaze is hard when he turns to Genevieve. “Did you talk to him?”
“First, I wasn’t sure it was him,” she says. “Last time I saw him, he was a child. But I thought I’d try my luck, so I asked him if he was Noah d’Arcy.”
Raphael’s expression is now as grave as Sebastian’s. “And?”
“He said, ‘Noah Masson, why?’.”
“He uses Maman’s maiden name these days,” Raphael says.
Genevieve nods. “I knew that, so I introduced myself.”
She puts the second half of her canelé in her mouth and chews slowly.
“Come on, Vivie,” Raphael urges. “Don’t keep us hanging.”
“Sorry.” She smiles. “I told Noah his brothers were hoping he’d return their calls. He said he was hoping you’d gotten the message by now. And then he said good-bye.”
Raphael and Sebastian exchange a look full of frustration and disappointment.
“Fine,” Sebastian says, wiping his mouth. “I’ll stop reaching out. He can continue living like a bum, renting a shitty rathole in a shitty neighborhood while his trust fund is collecting dust and his castle in Burgundy is falling into disrepair. Not my problem.”
Raphael lets out a sigh.
“My theory is he doesn’t want any part of the d’Arcy fortune for ideological reasons,” Genevieve says. “Maybe he’s become a left-wing radical like Diane—except he actually lives by his principles.”
Ouch.
I feel bad for Diane, whom I like. I’ve been trying to like Genevieve, too, despite the pangs of unwarranted jealousy, but that’s finished now.
Diane stares at her, poker-faced.
“My wife has never been a radical,” Sebastian says, giving Genevieve a smoldering look. “And trust me, she does live by her principles.”
“I have another theory,” Cedric says. “Noah’s behavior isn’t political. It’s religious. He’s joined a sect which believes the meek shall inherit the earth.”
“I believe the mice shall inherit the earth,” Raphael says. “Or rather, the rats.”
Everyone smiles, looking relieved. The conversation had been turning way too serious for a weekend lunch.
We chat for another half hour about this and that, until all the canelés and macarons are gone and the coffee pots are empty.
Right on cue, the caterers return to clear the table.
One of them is a pretty young woman whose skirt is much shorter and tighter than her colleague’s. Her shirt is unbuttoned far enough to show the front clasp of her bra. She plants herself across from Raphael and sets her tray on the table. As she loads it with empty cups and plates, she bends down so that her breasts are practically in his face.
I steal a glance at him, fully expecting him to be enjoying the view.
But he isn’t even looking in that direction. He’s turned toward Cedric on his left, talking investments and financial markets.
This is weird.
The Raphael I used to know wouldn’t necessarily flirt with every woman who hit on him, but he would definitely acknowledge her.
There’s one possible explanation for this. Something is wrong with him. So wrong, it’s changed his personality.
Maybe he’s dying.
Raphael shifts closer to me, and I feel his hand on my knee.
OK, he isn’t dying.
Without interrupting his conversation with Cedric, he slips his hand under the hem of my skirt and trails it up my inner thigh, fingers splayed. As he progresses, hidden from sight by the tablecloth, the hairs on my body stand on end and my pulse quickens. By the time he reaches the edge of my panties and cups me, I’m soaked.
This is my undoing, and I know he knows it.
When I agreed to “tag along,” I suspected how today might end. How Raphael might want it to end. With the two of us in bed together.
The shameful truth is I want it, too.
Worse, I need it.
So badly I wonder how I’m going to make it through the afternoon.
OK. Fine. Bring it on.
At least I’m sure of one thing—ther
e’s no way I’m relapsing into a dead-end affair with Raphael. I won’t let it happen—for Lily’s sake, if not for mine.
But selfish as it may be, I can’t… I won’t deny myself a night with the man I still love.
The man I never stopped loving.
A whole night to kiss and be kissed. To feel him enter me, move inside me. My stomach clenches just thinking about it. My body is so hungry for him it’s hard to sit still and not push against his hand.
Patience, Mia. Tonight.
He’ll make love to me tonight. I’ll kiss him, touch him everywhere, bite him, and lick him to my heart’s content. After I come, I’ll run my hand through his thick, wavy hair the way I used to do. And then I’ll fall asleep against his naked body.
The best part?
Sunday morning, I’ll wake up in his arms.
On this gorgeous island.
Outside of time.
Chapter 27
Looks like we aren’t going to make it through the afternoon.
As soon as everyone leaves the patio and disperses around the island, Raphael goes to the still-sleeping Lily and begins to push her stroller toward the house. I follow. He carries it up the stairs and down a hallway before entering a room where he parks it by the wall. Then he takes my hand and leads me to the adjacent bedroom.
The window is open, and even though the sea is hidden from view by the linen curtain, I can smell it.
“We’ll hear her if she wakes up,” Raphael says, gathering me into his arms.
God, it’s good to be in his arms again!
So freaking good.
He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips it up.
For a few moments, I stare into his eyes, spellbound.
“I want you so much, Mia,” he whispers. “In every possible way.”
I put my arms around his neck and stroke his nape. “What are those ways, cher monsieur?”
“You want me to list them?” He trails the pad of his thumb over my lips. “For starters, I want you in bed on your back.”
“How old-school.”
He smiles. “Old-school is the best way to get you where I want you. It’s your favorite position, if memory serves me right.”
“It is,” I admit.
He kisses my forehead. “After that I want you to ride me.”
“I’d like that,” I say, feeling decadent and safe at the same time.
The way I always feel with Raphael.
His hands roam my body. “And then I’ll take you standing, your palms on the wall and my hands on your tits.”
Yes, please.
He begins to rain kisses on my nose and cheeks. “I want you in the hot tub, too. And on the rooftop of the villa on your hands and knees. Also on the beach, spread open like a starfish.”
“That’s a lot of ways, cher monsieur,” I say with a sassy smile.
“That doesn’t even scratch the surface.” He kisses my lips. “I want the entire fucking Kama Sutra with you, Mia.”
I sigh in fake resignation. “Do your worst.”
You have until Monday.
We undress faster than ever before, tearing off each other’s clothes as if they were contaminated. A few moments later, we’re completely naked, staring at each other shamelessly in broad daylight.
“Your breasts are bigger,” he says, eyeing them appreciatively.
“They’ll deflate to normal once I stop breastfeeding.”
“I see.” His gaze zeroes in on my mound and he touches his fingers to it. “You used to be waxed here. Smooth and silky.”
“And now I’m—”
“Bushy,” he butts in.
“Au naturel,” I finish my sentence.
“Letting yourself go, huh?”
“No.” I arch an eyebrow. “I just prefer myself this way.”
He flashes me a saucy smile. “But I prefer you smooth.”
“Tough shit,” I say. “I’m done with waxing. All that pain and hassle—just not worth it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.” I touch my fingertips to his lower abdomen, just above his jutting manhood. “Here’s the scoop—grown women have pubic hair just like men. Regardless of what porn movies would have you think.”
“I know, but—”
“I’m done with Brazilians.”
He gives me a pretty-please look.
“Raphael, darling, you’re a grown man… sort of.” I pat his cheek. “Deal with it.”
He leans his head into my palm. “You’ve become very authoritative.”
“Have I?” I shrug. “Motherhood does that to you.”
A moment later, he lifts me in his arms and takes me to the bed where he lays me down on my back as promised. His eyes are riveted to me as he climbs onto the bed and begins to caress his way down my body. I revel in the sight of the muscles on his arms and chest. When he bends down to place hot kisses on my tummy, I feast my eyes on the shape of his back.
Oh, how I missed that!
How I missed him.
Raphael stretches out next to me, his body touching mine, and I tremble with want. I stroke a hand across his broad chest, remembering his skin, his smell, the bulges of his pecs, and the tiny buds of his nipples. When my hand slides to his heart, I rest there for a while, absorbing his pulse.
“Mia,” he murmurs.
As I caress his hard stomach, my fingers skim the tip of his erection. He lifts his hips to goad me on. But, even though I’m a wet mess of need, I don’t want to rush this. Every moment of this afternoon is precious, and I intend to cherish it.
So I press a kiss to his neck and start gliding my hand back up to his chest.
He catches my wrist over his belly button.
My heart ratchets up as he grips it and holds my hand still.
For a moment, we stare into each other’s eyes, and then he pushes my hand back down.
“Touch me,” he gasps. “I’m dying for your touch.”
I wrap my fingers around his thickness.
He moans.
I startle at the intensity of the tug deep within my own groin, wondering how much longer I can bear not having him inside me.
And then suddenly, within what seems like a second, he sheathes himself, nudges my thighs apart, and enters me.
I arch underneath him with the joy of it.
“Let’s get the first one out of the way,” he says, bracing himself on outstretched arms. “Then I can go as slow as you want for the rest of the Kama Sutra.”
I nod.
He looms over me for another moment, as his smile fades and his gaze grows dark. And then he slams into me.
I groan with pleasure.
Soon, our bodies move in synch, just like they used to, finding their perfect rhythm. We cling together as he drives into me, and I rock my hips to meet his thrusts.
When Raphael seeks my mouth and pushes his tongue between my teeth, I begin to spiral toward my climax. My vision grows hazy, but I force myself to keep my eyes open so I can watch his beautiful body toiling and sweating as he pounds into me without holding back.
I clench the sheets in my fists.
My body writhes and my heels press into his buttocks, spurring him on.
When I spasm around him, my legs shake uncontrollably.
He groans and collapses on top of me.
I welcome his weight.
I need it.
A few moments later, he presses a kiss to my cheek and moves to roll away. But I’m not ready to let him go yet.
“Stay a little longer,” I murmur.
He finds my hands and laces his fingers with mine. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”
Chapter 28
Raphael is a morning person, so I kind of knew the part of my fantasy where I wake up in his arms might not happen. Based on prior experience, it occurred no more than twenty percent of the time.
The thing is I’m a hopeless night owl. Especially these days, when I get up for Lily once or twice durin
g the night.
Last night was no exception.
Her whimpers woke me up at around three. She wanted her pacifier and my company. I know that the right thing to do is to let her cry herself back to sleep. It’s the only way to tell her mommy won’t be getting up for her in the middle of the night anymore. I’ve read several clever articles and a whole book on the subject. All of them guarantee that baby stops waking up at night after a couple of weeks of such treatment.
I’m definitely planning to try it… some day.
The truth is I love those cuddle sessions as much as I hate being woken up in the middle of the night.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s ten.
As I begin to envisage getting up, the door to the en suite bathroom opens and Raphael ambles in naked except for a towel wrapped around his hips. His dark hair is combed back and damp from his shower. I take all of that in as I arch my back and stretch my limbs. He halts by the bed. With an appreciative smile, I clasp my hands under my head and survey him.
Yummy.
I eye his handsome face, lingering on his lips and breathtaking jawline. Then my gaze travels to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest and further down to his hard abs. A fine line of black hair runs from his belly button down into the towel. My breathing grows shallow. I expect him to unwrap the towel and lie next to me, but when I level my gaze with his, he’s grinning.
He opens his right hand to show me something.
It’s tiny, fluffy, and pink.
And it’s a pair.
Lily’s socks.
“I stopped next door to check on Lily and found these on the floor,” he says. “What a ridiculous size.”
“You should’ve seen her newborn socks six months ago.”
He arches an eyebrow. “You mean four, right? Seeing as she was born only four months ago.”
Crap.
“Yes,” I say. “Of course. I mean four.”
He doesn’t press the matter further.
I wonder if he believes me. Probably not. But whatever suspicions he might harbor on Lily’s account, he’s choosing to respect my choice and keep them to himself.
Unless it isn’t from respect but from his preference to remain childless and family-less. A preference he’s voiced clearly and repeatedly many times.
