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“Where are you going?”
“To my room. I didn’t think...” Her voice trails off, and then she shrugs. “I just didn’t want to make any assumptions.”
I roll on top of her and pin her to the mattress.
“You’ve just been made love to in one of the most expensive hotel suites in Paris.”
She smiles. “Every woman’s fantasy.”
“Exactly.” I lean down and skim my lips along her jaw. “How can I let you go without seducing you at least once more?”
I’m using humor to hide that I want her again. That I’m not ready to let her leave my bed. Later, yes. I don’t sleep with lovers. It’s too intimate.
But I mean what I say. I can’t let her go. Eventually, yes. Just not yet.
Her eyes widen. “Again?”
I shift my hips, let her feel my body already stirring again at the thought of sliding in and being surrounded by her.
A sigh escapes her lips. “Well, if you insist.”
As she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her breasts against my chest, I banish the fear, the questions, everything but the feel and taste of my wife in my arms.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Juliette
IWAKEUPto an empty bed. I lie there in a sea of satin sheets and rumpled pillows, my body pleasantly heavy from making love with Gavriil.
I hadn’t planned on falling asleep in his bed. Didn’t want to risk further deepening the intimacy that had developed between us in just a few hours. Whether that was because I didn’t want to get any more emotionally entangled or didn’t want Gavriil to beat me to it and ask me to leave first, I don’t fully know. Probably a combination of the two. But when he pulled me close and tucked me into the curve of his body after the second time, I promised myself I would just shut my eyes for a moment.
Long, caressing strokes awoke me sometime around dawn. He stirred my body to a fever pitch, teasing me with his touch even as he ignored my pleas for more. I finally took charge, rolling over and straddling him with a speed that stunned him long enough for me to grip his length and guide him inside my body. The pleasure, the heady power of watching his eyes flare as he gripped my hips and guided me up and down, was the most powerful aphrodisiac I’ve ever experienced.
It also, I remembered with a satisfied smile as I stretched my arms above my head, didn’t last long. He flipped me onto my back and drove inside me with long, deep movements that sent me soaring over the edge. We fell asleep draped over each other as if it had always been this way.
I sit up and blink against the bright morning sun streaming through the windows. I grab one of the plush robes hanging in the marble bathroom and make my way out into the main living space. A clink of glassware on the balcony draws me to the doors with a smile growing on my face.
I freeze. The smile disappears. There’s a butler setting the table with bagels, cream cheese, jellies, fresh fruit and boiled eggs. A traditionally light French breakfast. But it’s the single plate and glass that catches my attention.
Gavriil’s gone.
“Bonjour.”
“Bonjour,” I reply automatically, even though my heart is racing. “Is my...husband here?” I only hesitate for a second on the word.
“No, madame. But he did leave a note.”
The butler gestures to a white envelope with the hotel’s logo in the top corner. I wait until he’s gone to sit and open it with trembling fingers. Written in a strong, bold hand, it simply says he’s out for the day and he hopes I enjoy my morning.
I drop the note on my plate, my appetite gone. Not even the sight of Paris sprawling for miles can chase away the sting of disappointment, the burn of humiliation.
I told myself last night that I could handle a casual fling. I promised myself I wouldn’t confuse sex with emotion. But apparently my heart hadn’t listened. The dinner at the Eiffel Tower, his sharing of some of the mysteries and trauma of his past, of listening to my own hurts. All of it continues to peel back the mask Gavriil wore and reveal an entirely different man. One who could still be arrogant and flippant. But one who overcame incredible odds and horrible circumstances. One who, despite being hurt by his brother’s indifference, still managed to have some compassion for what Rafael had probably gone through during his own childhood.
And our lovemaking...the way he pulled me back into bed. The way he held me afterward with such tenderness. I hadn’t thought him in love with me. But I thought he might be starting to care.
I was wrong.
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself firmly as I rub at the painful spot in my chest just beneath my ribs. His absence and the note are clear signs of how he views what happened between us last night.