I pointed to my black wheeled bag. “Why not?”
He went into the container like he was allowed and grabbed it. I gave him a thumbs-up. When he came out, he said, “There is a strike.”
A what? My mind raced, and I just pointed to the tracks that stopped in the middle of a suburb. “After the train already left the station?”
“Check your things are in order.”
At his words, I quickly unzipped my bag. Everything seemed fine, but I shivered a little and glanced around.
The passengers scrambled everywhere, and I crossed my arms as my mind couldn’t quite wrap around what was happening. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He bumped into me playfully and brushed against me slightly too intimately when he said, “Well, you have two choices. You can try to find a room around here to rent and wait out the strike, or you can come with me.”
Nine hours alone with Mr. Wanker.
Perhaps I’d find out the girth of my fantasies, but my neck and face flamed when I asked, “Come with you?”
He grabbed my bag and walked with me like he’d decided for me. “Oui. I rented a car.”
I followed him into the rental lot where only one car remained. He opened the trunk, and I asked like I still had options, “And you’ll take me to Monte Carlo?”
He put my bag inside and closed the door. “Oui, and I hope you’ll join me for dinner.”
I needed to take control. I stood in front of the driver’s door and said when he came closer, “Only if you let me drive.”
His eyebrow cocked as he asked, “Do you have a French driver’s license?”
My lips curved to the side of my face, and I shook my head. “No, just my American one.”
He reached behind me to open the door. “I’ll drive off the lot, and you can search Google to see if that’s legal.”
Fair. I walked to the passenger side, and he followed me. Then he reached out and opened my door, like he was a gentleman as I shrugged in defeat. “I need French notarized translation as I didn’t apply a few months ago.” I pressed my shoulders to my chair.
He turned onto the road. “Then I drive the whole way.”
The law was on his side, and I didn’t want to get foreign tickets. I relaxed into my seat and realized I had no idea how to read the signs anyhow. “Well, I’ll pay for the gas.”
He patted my leg and said, “Very well.”
I moved the half-empty wine behind our seats. I didn’t need police thinking we’d been drinking. “Guess it’s good we didn’t have that second glass.”
He laughed like I was joking. “That’s very American of you.”
I fixed my seatbelt and checked to ensure he was wearing his. “You like to comment on my nationality.”
He sped up on the motorways and said, “Until I met you, Kara, I hadn’t been very interested in your type.”
Nine hours with Mr. Wanker might leave me split in half, unable to think about more than just sex. “My type?”
His nose wrinkled a little when he said, “Extroverted—acts before thinking.”
Me? He must have confused me with one of my sisters. I licked my lips unsure how to answer that one but sounded weak when I said, “I’m no— Well, okay, I was with you.”
He pointed to his bag. “Now that we’re alone, feel free to have that second glass while I drive.”
No. I wasn’t getting pulled over and arrested for wine. “We’ll stop somewhere and share over dinner.”
He stared at me a little too long as my skin became jumpy. “You read my mind, Kara.”
As the minutes passed, silence clung to the air. I shouldn’t want to pull over and wrap my legs around him. I was a lady… or at least I thought I was. I heaved my chest under the weight of my own lust. I had no idea what took over my body in this man’s presence. I turned and hoped I sounded normal. “Quentin, why are you going to Monte Carlo?”
“I’m moving home.”
I glanced behind us. The backseat contained one bag. When I moved cross country after high school, my car had been full of boxes and college mementos. I scratched the side of my head and asked, “You’re not from Paris?”
His voice trailed off, a certain sadness overtaking his expression. The agony of loss. “I… lived there for many years now, but it’s time I go home.”
Interesting. I hadn’t expected to spend any time with a man, and now here I was… I wanted to fix him like I wanted to fix Marlon, my ex. I ignored the memory.
“Why are you alone on your vacation?” he asked.
Because I micromanaged my relationship like I was running it as a field office that I quit to get married and expected the fiancé to do more in our relationship than he was capable.
I should have realized his weaknesses sooner and worked around them… or called it off.
Not that my pride would have gone that route.
I let out a long sigh and managed not to cry when I told Mr. Wanker, “My fiancé called the wedding off a week before our big day, so I decided to take the honeymoon I planned, alone.”
“I see.” His lips pressed together like he judged me.
I didn’t want to know his thoughts on the matter. I crossed my arms under my chest and asked, “And you?”
He glanced at my breasts again until he faced the road and tapped the steering wheel. “And me?”
On the train his story had come out. I lowered my tone. “You said you were engaged.”
He shrugged and said, “We weren’t that far into planning when she called it off.”
“How long were you engaged?” I asked.
He lifted a shoulder then let it drop. “Five years, give or take a few months.”
Wow. The French held different values. I needed to not involve myself emotionally with Mr. Wanker. I knew it. This was at best about proving to myself I still had some sex appeal and nothing else.
And maybe that was all I could offer.
Chapter 4
Quentin
I hadn’t expected to enjoy another woman’s company in a while. I failed at protecting Cecilia when I should have had knowledge on how to cure her. Maybe Kara was okay because she couldn’t possibly want forever with me. What happened between us could never be serious or life altering as she wasn’t here for long.
Both my melancholy and my lust were fueled by the same woman, which was strange. Usually, I fucked the pretty ones I brought home but kept friends at a distance. Maybe if I knew more about Kara, maybe I’d be less charmed.
Right now, all that kept me safe was that she was clearly on vacation from her life, and we were both just a distraction from real life.
However, as we continued on the black-tarred freeway, in the blue Renault Clio which served its purpose, Kara flipped the switch from the silence. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
Blake was the flirt in the family. “Not anymore.”
“That’s too bad,” she said, and her head bopped. “Family is important.”
I let my shoulders relax. “I suppose.”
“It was good to have my family after my parents died, so I understand loss sucks,” she said with a smile.