Maybe being with Quentin would help me forget the world during the vacation and just forget everything else.
I’d like to know what being carefree might be like.
For once, I indulged in forgetting everything and just being with a handsome man. I’d likely never see him again once my trip ended.
I sucked in a breath and knocked on the white painted oak wood door between the rooms. “Knock, knock. Our rooms are joined.”
He opened the door then walked to the bed and zipped his bag. “Is your room acceptable?”
The connotation of those clipped phrases hadn’t sounded French or American. I raised my eyebrow. “You sound almost British with that word.”
He shrugged, moved his bag onto the floor, and joined me. My skin grew alive as he said, “I lived there for a while, and my mother is British, so my accent is probably mixed from years spent there.”
Now that was a slap in the face of a reminder that we didn’t know each other. I pushed my fingers into my pockets. “Either way, you don’t sound American.”
He pressed his hand on my back to lead me again when he asked, “Are you ready to eat?”
He’d turned cold since we left the Institut. We walked to the patio outside where there were a few wooden tables with chairs and a buffet dinner. We both scooped food onto our plate, and I have to admit, the chicken in the white sauce was tender. I took two helpings and followed him to his seat. A seating hostess left two glasses as I slipped into my chair.
“What’s going on, Quentin?” I asked.
Just then a waiter greeted us and asked if we’d like red or white wine. I pointed to the red, he poured, and left. Once we were alone, Quentin pointed to the lights in the trees around the patio and the moon that started to peek out in the distance as the sun set in the other. This place was gorgeous. “My parents were married in a place like this.”
“On a vineyard?”
“Oui.” He sat back more sullenly, like he was being forced to do something he didn’t want. “I also spent most of my life on one, so seeing a running vineyard is almost like being home.”
“That sounds like a magical childhood.” While we didn’t know much about each other, I reached across the table and patted his arm. “And it’s good that you have a home to go to.”
“What about you?” he asked.
I broke the roll that I’d reached for before his question. I hadn’t known it was hard, and crumbs went everywhere. “My sisters are in a state of panic, because Marlon called off our wedding. My best friend, Sabrina’s been point person about helping me stay sane, talking me into going despite how I quit my job. Turns out this honeymoon for one has been good so far.”
His dark eyes glinted. “Why?”
Must be nice to live without others, as I guessed Mr. Wanker was alone, but I wasn’t sure. “Marlon’s parents work closely with one of my sisters. Our parents had been friends. So now I broke up some business deal and complicated her life while my own went up in smoke. Guess love created my disaster.”
“That sounds complicated.”
Compassion was good, but I shrugged it off and met his gaze. “My sisters are always fighting about something, but they all have my back, with their own strengths.”
We both ate some of our meal and drank some of the wine. As the evening wound down he said, “No one has my back.”
“I’m one of six.” I let the wine relax me. “Sabrina, my best friend since second grade, is running interference and returned my ring for me.”
“I see,” he said, and we both watched as a few of the older patrons made a makeshift dance floor and played slow French music.
I had no idea the words, but the haunting voice caught me off guard. I met his gaze and said, “Enough of me. What about you?”
He leaned closer. “I don’t have any sisters.”
“Brothers?” I asked, but his nearness made my skin jump.
He shook his head. “I’m the only child now.”
“You were totally spoiled then,” I said, though the now buzzed in my ear. Maybe his only child syndrome was why he seemed so confident to me. I had no idea what being alone was ever like, but maybe I missed a clue. I decided the now must be broken English.
“I don’t think French parents are quite the same,” he said.
My lips ached for his. I never wanted a kiss this bad, not even the first time. “You had their undivided attention as a child. I had to stand out in a crowd. Both teach you different things.”
“I suppose,” he said, and the tone in his voice made me close my eyes.
A moment later I was finally returned to bliss.
His lips on mine made me feel like I was one of those grapes on the vines needing to be plucked.
And Quentin’s touch might make me forget how I almost married a wet fish that never once made me feel… desired and special—like I finally realized how alive I was.
I had no idea the time as laughter on the dance floor continued to grow, and my lips were yummy and swollen when we stopped for air.
Quentin winked and said, “I’ll get a dessert for both of us.”
Huh? How could he walk? I was a mess. And he did have a funny strut with a cute backside.
I sipped the last of my wine and watched him.
He returned with a brownie and two forks.
Perfect. Sharing meant I didn’t get all the calories.
As he slipped back into his chair, two people followed behind him. The blonde from the check-in desk now held hands and a bottle with a nice-looking Frenchman. “Hi, I’m Chelsea, the owner, along with my husband. We’re stopping by to offer a free bottle of wine.”
“Merci,” Quentin said.
I tilted my head. This didn’t make sense in a business. Who gives away the product? “Why? We’d buy one as this glass is good.”
Chelsea said, “You two seem happy and in love.”
My face was warm, but I couldn’t let people think lies or accept gifts based on misconceptions. “Oh… We just met.”
The husband of the innkeeper said, “Well, you’re here on our anniversary, and I hope our special day brings you both romance.”
Now that made sense. I relaxed and said, “I hope your anniversary is amazing.”
And then we were alone. Quentin materialized a wine opener with his keys. Did all Frenchman carry them? I wasn’t sure, but he refilled my glass for me as I mused, “The moon is full.”
He just smiled at me, but his fingers brushed against my hand.
I scooted closer and ignored the glass. “So, that was my stupid way to invite you to come over here and let me kiss you again.” There. I’d put my offer on the table.
But he leaned closer and fixed a wisp of my hair behind my ear. “In a few minutes.”
Was I a bad kisser? I hadn’t felt anything with Marlon, but I’d rationalized it. But if he was so calm and collected, perhaps I had more issues than I wanted to admit. “What’s holding you back?”
His gaze had a twinkle when he held me close. “I’m just getting my cock under control.”
Ahh. Mr. Wanker was right here. I glanced at his pants and sipped my wine.
We watched the other couples, including the innkeeper and her husband on the floor for a song. And I didn’t dare touch Quentin.