The Love in Duet Collection, page 51
I sigh, remembering Dominic. “I met with a former contractor for lunch, and he behaved like a complete jerk.”
“What happened?”
Part of me wants to cordon off my business life from him, but I remind myself that telling him about my day, like I did on our first date, is not akin to letting him distract me from my focus. I give him a few details about the project I’m pursuing, mentioning it’s in the travel sector. “I wanted him to do some analysis, and he basically said no, but thanks for the free lunch, and he’s now working for the competition.”
“He’s a total fuckwit.”
“Precisely.” I take a drink of the lime tea.
“Do you have anyone else who can do the work?”
“I’ll find someone.” But that could be hard. Dominic has a particular skill, and as far as I’m aware, it is unmatched. I’ll have to look harder.
Christian raises his cup to drink. “Let me know if I can help.”
The comment is so offhand and casual that it throws me off for a few seconds. “How could you help?”
“You said the job was in the travel sector.”
“I did.”
“A lot of my holdings were in travel, finance, and the green sector.”
“Interesting mix.”
“They were my favorites so that’s what I pursued. I’d be happy to offer any market guidance if that’s what you need.”
It’s exactly what I need. “Really?”
“I’d love to.”
I’m eager to toss out details right now, but I don’t know that I should accept, because accepting would create more obligations, and obligations have a way of confusing matters of the heart and libido. I also don’t want to entwine him in my business life.
“I can’t take advantage of you like that,” I say, though admittedly I’m intrigued by his offer.
We chat more about his background, and I’m fascinated to learn of the work he did, the deals he engineered, and the investments he made.
“Think about it. I’m not claiming to be the expert Domi-dick was,” he says, and I laugh.
“I do appreciate the offer, but I don’t think we should mix business and pleasure. Do you?” I ask, since it’s not that I don’t want his help—it’s that I don’t want us to confuse what we are.
“If pleasure’s on the table, I like to mix it straight up with more pleasure.”
“Of course you do.”
“But keep it in mind, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, though I know it’s best if we don’t commingle the two worlds. If one person is getting more from an arrangement, it becomes uneven, and starts to teeter under the weight.
“I’d be getting something out of it too. I enjoy that kind of work. You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me—unless you wanted to in the bedroom. In which case, you have an open invitation to take advantage of me in any way.”
I laugh. “Your business services and your bedroom services are up for grabs?”
“It’s all up for grabs. But for the record, I would help you because I like you. Not because of any tit for tat arrangement. Though I like your tits.”
“I like your tats . . .” I say, trailing off, then staring quizzically, moving away from the business offer. “Do you have any?”
“Don’t you know the answer to that? You took my photo, little mermaid.”
I quirk up my lips, feeling emboldened, my resolve turning into sexy strength. “I looked at your photos the other night, as a matter of fact.”
“My full monty?” He raises an eyebrow playfully, as the background music shifts to Ravel, reminding me again of the belle epoque feel of this salon.
“Yes.”
“Did you like what you saw?”
“I did.”
“Did it make you want to see more?” He shifts closer, runs his finger along my shoulder, over my collarbone.
I shiver, and my bones warm. “Perhaps it did make me want to see more.”
He drops his mouth to my neck, kisses me lightly, then nips my jaw. “I like that you’re starting to see the light about getting under me and climbing over me. But I don’t want to just fuck your body.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to know who you are, Elise.”
“Why?” I tense. I don’t want closeness. I’m not keen on emotional intimacy.
“Because then I can give you even more pleasure.”
“Don’t ask for my heart. It’s not for sale.” I cross my hands over my chest, as if protecting that precious organ.
He brushes his mouth against my neck again, his tongue flicking against my skin, licking me. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t even try to rent your heart.” He nips my earlobe, and I drop my hands. “But I want to know your mind. I have no interest in sex being only physical. I want to know who you are and why you’re here.” He pulls back, his cool eyes locked with mine. “Why is it that you like this little Friday-night arrangement?”
I draw a deep breath and resolve to be honest with him. To clearly delineate the boundaries of my heart. They are uncrossable, and they are guarded with a wall so high he ought to at least know why he can’t scale it.
13
CHRISTIAN
I wait for her answer. I’m as curious about her mind and her heart as I am about what’s beneath her clothes. You can’t just make love to a woman with your body. You need to understand what’s inside her head. Give her pleasure by knowing what she needs, where she’s been, and what will bring her the bliss she deserves.
Already, I can sense Elise has had her heart broken.
She lifts her chin, a little sign of her toughness. “I like our arrangement because I don’t believe everything needs to be over-the-top and all-consuming. I think sometimes things should be planned out and scheduled. Less heartbreak that way.”
“Did someone break your heart?”
She looks away, and that’s my answer. “Doesn’t someone always break our hearts?” She turns back, her brown eyes searing into me. “What are the chances you can skate through life and not have any sort of heartbreak? Except you probably don’t have any. There’s no way anyone can be as happy as you are and have had heartbreak.”
I scoff. “You really think I haven’t had my heart broken?”
“Have you?”
“Of course I have.”
“Who hurt you? I’ll kill her.” She holds up her hands, fashioning them into fists. I laugh, loving her fiercely protective side, and I’m not the least bit surprised she has one. It suits her.
“I think we broke each other’s hearts, mostly because we drifted apart. That’s a kind of heartbreak, isn’t it?”
She nods. “I don’t really think we should judge heartbreak. One isn’t necessarily worse or harder than another. What happened?”
“I was married.”
Her eyes widen. “You were?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“It does. You seem the consummate single man.”
“I do enjoy my single life, but I also loved Hannah. I met her my last year at university. She was in London on an exchange program, and we fell for each other. The way you can only be in love when you’re twenty-one.”
“The stupid, foolish kind.”
“Exactly. But it felt like the real thing. She moved back to the United States, and I had a job on Wall Street, so it all felt like . . .”
Amused, she quirks her lips. “Like fate?”
I laugh at how easily she calls me on it. “I suppose it did.”
“What happened? What cratered?”
“That’s the thing. Nothing and everything. We didn’t work out. We were married for about a year, and I think we both realized we were too young. We didn’t really know what we wanted. I was getting started in the finance business, and she wanted to be a ski instructor and live in Colorado. That’s not to say you have to want the same things to last, but we wanted opposites. She wanted an easy life. I wanted a challenging one. I’m not sure you can truly be with somebody unless you have similar ambitions, or a complete understanding of each other’s hopes and dreams. Neither one of us possessed that.”
“You didn’t understand her, and she didn’t understand you.”
“Exactly.”
Elise lifts her cup and takes a drink, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “Ambition is a strange bedfellow. I want it in a partner, I think.”
“Me too.” Sighing, I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “So, it ended. We didn’t crater so much as peter out. We were like embers in the fireplace, then we turned to ash.”
She inhales deeply, her eyes shining. “Sometimes it’s all so sad. We try and try to come together, but so much gets in the way.” She wipes at her cheek and seems to fix on a smile. “I still can’t believe you were married.”
“Bit of a shocker. But see? I’m not a total cad.”
“I don’t actually think you’re a cad,” she says softly, reaching for my hand under the table.
“Good, because I’m not. I’ve been straight with you from the start. I’m not one of those I’ll-never-get-involved guys. I think I’m more of a what-you-see-is-what-you-get guy.”
“Are you? Because I could use that.”
“Why? What cratered for you?”
She swallows hard and draws what seems to be a fortifying breath. “I was married too.”
I offer a sympathetic smile. “Welcome to the divorce club.” But when I see her stricken expression, I sigh heavily. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“The widow club, actually. And I wasn’t the only widow he left behind.”
“Are you kidding me?” My jaw hangs open.
“I wish. It was a whirlwind courtship. Four months, and he hid it the whole time. He traveled a ton, and he romanced me to the ends of the earth, and I had absolutely no clue. We were married for only six months after a short and very intimate ceremony, and he was gone half the time. I thought, silly me, that he was away on business. He probably was, but that business involved his other wife.”
“Was she in Paris? Another country?” I ask, still shocked that her ex pulled off such an act. I’ve heard stories of double lives, known they existed, but haven’t met anyone who’s encountered them.
“She’s Spanish, like he was. She’d been married to him longer. About two years. They lived in Barcelona. I found out at the funeral when I met the other grieving widow. She’d had no idea either. We actually wound up having coffee a few months later when she was in Paris for business.”
“You did? What was that like?”
“It was . . .” She stares at the corner of the salon, as if she’s conjuring up that moment. “Weird, but it was also necessary. We were both trying to move on, and I think we were both ready to ask each other questions. ‘Where were you when he went to this conference?’ ‘Oh, when he said he was going to Madrid, he must have been heading to see you.’ ‘That time he said he was stuck in a storm, he must have had to go back to your home.’ And so on. We sort of filled in these puzzle pieces that we hadn’t realized at the time were missing. But they were.”
“Did you blame her? Did she blame you?”
She shakes her head. “Neither. We both were in the dark. I felt strangely bonded to her for that hour we spent at a café.”
I barely know what to say, but at the same time, a million questions zip around in my head. “So he lived in two places. Does that mean he was married in two countries?”
She nods. “And he used a different last name when he was in Spain. He had two passports for two countries, so I presume that’s how he pulled it off. His ‘brother,’” she says, stopping to draw air quotes, “called me after the funeral, trying to reassure me that Eduardo had married both of us because he truly loved both of us, and couldn’t choose. ‘Don’t doubt his love for you,’ he’d said, as if that was going to make any of it better.”
“Was he really the brother?”
She shakes her head. “The guy was simply his best friend. Eduardo had called him his brother so it’d seem like he had family at our wedding.”
“You must have felt like nothing he’d said was true.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly how I felt.”
“Jesus, Elise,” I say, my shoulders sagging as the enormity of that double-whammy sinks in. “I wish I knew what to say except that sounds bloody awful.”
“It was.” She squares her shoulders. “But you move on. You learn from your mistakes.” Her eyes are fierce now as she meets my gaze straight-on. “That’s why I like things the way they are between us. I like things prescribed and in control. I like that they’re not consuming.”
“I like it too,” I say, because I like my lifestyle. I don’t need to venture down a more serious road when the road I’m riding is smooth. “And I assure you, I’m not secretly married to anyone else.”
“Excellent. No secret identities either?”
I glance at the ceiling, as if hemming and hawing. “Well, I do moonlight as a cape-wearing superhero with super strength and a killer grin.” I flash her a smile that makes her laugh. “But other than that, I’m just me.” I strip the teasing away and look at her earnestly. “But that’s the truth. It’s just me.”
“Good. I like knowing where you stand. That’s honestly the only way I want to be with someone right now, and it’s probably for always. I won’t go through what I went through with Eduardo again.”
“Let’s resolve to be honest. Let’s resolve to not play any games, except in bed. Cards on the table.”
“I’ll put mine down.” She spreads a hand on the table, as if showing a pair of aces. “To start, I want to make this arrangement exclusive. You and me.” She wags a finger. “But no expectation of love or of laundry.”
I laugh. “It’s been exclusive since the night at the garden bar, little mermaid. There hasn’t been anyone else. And I’ve done my own laundry for a long, long time, thank you very much.”
“Excellent. Let’s keep it that way.”
I take her hand and run my fingers through hers, sliding them together slowly. “Can we enjoy this arrangement more fully tonight? Maybe explore the terms of it at my place?”
“What sort of terms do you have in mind?”
With my other hand, I run a finger down her throat. “I’d like to slide this top off you, kiss my way down your body, and lick your breasts.”
She shivers. “I think I could sign off on that point.”
“And under this arrangement, I’d very much like to peel off this skirt, slide my hand along your legs . . .” I whisper, my hand now drifting to her skirt.
“Oh God,” she whimpers.
“So, a yes to that?”
“Yes.”
“You say you don’t want to be consumed, but I’d love to consume you with my mouth.”
A flush spreads over her skin, and I want to take her out of here, strip her naked, and lick her all over. But I also don’t want to stop. My hand slinks farther under her skirt, my fingers climbing up her legs. I can feel her heat as she spreads her thighs a little wider.
“Would you be amenable to that provision in the deal?”
“I would,” she whispers, then she bites her lip as my fingers reach the apex of her thighs. She’s so fucking wet.
I slide my fingers across her soaked panties, the tablecloth shielding my busy hands. A quick glance around tells me we can pull this off. We’re in the corner, the waiters are busy, and the nearest patrons are a few tables away.
A tremble spreads over her shoulders as I push the fabric to one side, then slip my finger inside her wet knickers. She gasps, parting her thighs a little wider as I trace her slickness. “Does this deal include letting me worship you with my mouth tonight?”
She nods.
“And does it include giving me the chance to fucking adore you with my tongue?”
Another nod.
My fingers slide along her wetness, and the hand that holds mine grips me tighter. As I reach that delicious rise of her clit, her grip on me turns bionic. “And under the terms of this arrangement, I’d want you to get naked under me, so I can help you let go of all this tension from your shitty day and your shitty ex. You can forget it all and be consumed by how I fuck you with my tongue.”
“Christian.” It comes out like a desperate, quiet plea.
I slide a finger inside. She digs her teeth into her lower lip, arching into my hand as she trembles. “We can arrange for you to come all over my face,” I say, rubbing my stubbled jaw against her cheek.
She whimpers as she pushes against my fingers, trying as subtly as she can to ride me to the edge of her orgasm. She clenches around me, a sign she’s nearly there. I inch closer, my mouth near her ear. “Would that work as one of the terms? If I could spend the evening with my face buried between your legs?”
She parts her lips, lets out a quick breath, then nods as she shudders and seems to melt, to turn boneless. A small sound escapes her, but she stays quiet, trembling as she comes on my fingers in the tea salon.
Her eyes close, and when she opens them, she’s woozy and sex-drunk, and I need to make her look that way again. “You’re wicked. And I want another.”
“Greedy girl,” I say approvingly as I lick the sweet taste of her off my fingers. Her eyes widen as she watches me.
I wipe my hand on a napkin and signal for the bill, and once I pay it, my phone rings. I have half a mind to ignore it, but I see Erik’s name flashing. “Let me see what’s up with him.”
I answer it. “Make it good. I’m about to shut the ringer off for the night.”
He sobs. “Jandy left me.”
14
CHRISTIAN
“Where are you? Are you home?”
“No. I’m outside.”
“Outside where?”
“I’m at . . . I don’t know. There’s a bloody window planter on the building across the street.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, as Elise watches me with worry etched in her eyes. “Does the street have a name?”
He hiccups. “It’s rue something,” he says, and that’s not useful at all, since nearly every street starts with rue. Tears are thick in his voice. Elise must be able to hear his end of the conversation because she sits forward, seeming cautious and careful with her movements. “I texted Oliver too but he has no idea where I am.”
