His friend said, “We’ll talk more seriously when you’re here.”
I had a horrible track record at fixing men. I doubted I’d ever trust myself to try seriously.
Marlon took my faith in love when he’d left.
I didn’t want to think about him, though.
Tonight was about Quentin and feelings and experience. Tomorrow when he was out of my life, I’d figure out what I did next.
We’d made no promises to each other. Once we made it to Monte Carlo, we would each go our separate ways. Now was all we had, and I wasn’t sure he’d even want my help.
I was a walking disaster. I’d been left at the altar and traveled alone.
Either way, I finally reached to lower the glass, but I heard him when he said, “Talk to you tomorrow.”
And his phone conversation was over. I rushed into the bathroom and checked that my legs were shaved, my breath was clean, and I smelled decent.
Minutes ticked past, and my heeled feet tapped the floor. As I patted my chest to count the seconds, I started to pace. He took too long, but if tonight went well, the prep would be worth it.
I ignored how my skin grew goosebumps, but then he jiggled our adjoining room door, and I called out, “Come in.”
He gazed at me, making my skin smolder. “My friends never stopped calling or talking. Are you coming over?”
So, he hadn’t wanted to ignore me. I sauntered over in my heels, but he stared at me like I was strange. Heat rose up my cheeks, but I tried to play it off. “I was confused for a minute. But I did hear a little bit and figured you were on the phone.”
He shrugged and opened the door for me to show me the table he’d set with the glasses, wine, and some fruit and cheese. “Friends in Monte Carlo were expecting me, and I needed to mention I was running late. And I wanted to change into sweats.”
My best friend, Sabrina, when she’d dropped me off at the airport had said to let go and have fun. Italian guys love American women, though I hadn’t made it to Italy yet. The logic probably worked on French guys, too, so as he closed the door, I gave him a once over. “And show off that perfect V-shaped pelvis of yours.” He tugged the elastic to tighten, but I shook my head and said, “Aww, don’t pull them up.”
Tonight was all we had, and that was fine. It had to be. I was here because my knees weakened near him. My skin sizzled for him, and we’d soon never see each other.
He came closer, and I thought he’d kiss my lips, but he chose my cheek and then directed me toward the couch in his room. “Let’s pour the glasses.”
I sat but placed my phone on the table as I didn’t need it here. He poured, but then it buzzed again.
Quentin picked it up and asked me, “Do you need to answer your phone?”
“Ignore it,” I said, but my hair stood on end.
He raised his eyebrow, and then answered it. “Bon soír, Marlon.”
That meant good evening, right?
I could hear Marlon’s muffled, “Who’s there?”
“L’homme qui va baiser votre ex.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I hoped it meant he and I bounced on that mattress of his for a while. I reached out and took my phone. “Marlon, don’t call me anymore.”
His voice was high-pitched as he asked, “You’re fucking a French guy?”
Not yet, but hopefully soon. Quentin, at this moment, hugged my waist and kissed my shoulder he’d exposed while I said, “He doesn’t look at me like a paycheck and then decided he didn’t want to make the commitment.”
Best part of quitting my job had been finding out Marlon had used me.
Quentin’s lips burned on my neck as he kissed me, like he’d marked me as his territory. “Give me the phone,” he whispered.
And like a fool, I handed it over without asking any questions. Quentin’s lips left my skin steaming for more of him, and he directed his voice to the phone. “Marlon, you lost Kara. She’s mine now.”
And he hung up.
His lips claimed mine, and I wrapped my arms around him and let my fingers sink into his thick, dark hair. His kiss was hard, delicious, and exactly what I wanted.
As the kiss ended, my eyes were still closed, but a flash of light jarred me back into my body, fast. I knew the sound and grabbed my phone from him. “What did you just do?”
He handed me a glass of wine. “I texted him a photo. He sounded jealous, which is very immature, so the picture will help.”
Immature didn’t begin to describe Marlon. Not that I’d have admitted that two weeks ago, but then his callous breakup changed my perspective. My face was hot, and I lowered my gaze. “I… thanks.”
His arm wrapped around me, and he nuzzled my neck. “Let’s get back to more interesting…”
My lips quivered. Since when did I quiver for anything? I maneuvered to gently kiss him as his lips were more delicious than wine, but then I patted his chest. Before anything got too heavy, I wanted to speak now before I lost my nerve. “Can I ask why you were so silent on our drive here?”
His brown eyes were so intense, and I wrung my hands together. “I’d like to talk a little bit.”
He poured the wine for us and handed me a glass. “That’s fine. I’ve been a Fils de pute to you, and I have wanted to apologize.”
Now that sounded interesting. “A what?”
He clinked my glass. “An asshole, as you say in English.”
I bit away a smile. “Only a little bit, to be honest. No one has tried to kiss me at all in a while, Mr. Wanker, not that I wished for anyone else like I fancy you now.”
He traced my face. “But you’re beautiful.”
Damn. I yearned for him. I hungered to forget how I spent all that time at work, how I directed my team and was accused of losing that account.
I craved to be flat on my back, in his arms. I don’t know if I’d ever wanted anyone this badly, ever. But I sipped my wine and then admitted more to my glass than to him, “I’m… bossy, to be honest.”
He winked at me and put his glass down. “To be honest, I didn’t know I’d be dating an American at this point in my life.”
“Wait. Dating?” The words flew out of my mouth. Dating meant relationship and commitment, and I’m on vacation. I wasn’t ready for anything serious.
The idea of being possessed by him turned me on in a way I hadn’t expected. I sucked on my bottom lip and decided a week-long relationship might be fun. It would be nice to know I was the only woman in his world while I was here.
He pressed against my shoulder and made me all twisted up with desire. “We kissed more than once, so you’re my girlfriend. It took me a while to wrap my head around why I liked you.”
Wow. I honestly wondered what went through his mind, as I thought something bad happened to him in Paris. Maybe I was wrong on that one… or heard wrong. But I pressed my hand on his knee and asked, “You were deciding why you liked me? We hardly know each other.”
He shrugged. I never saw body movement as its own language before, and it was nice to just understand him as he said, “This went fast for both of us, but I’m warming up to it. I’m open to you when I swore to myself I’d never be serious with another woman.”