Page 36 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Lando

“ S o tell me what to expect.” I put my coffee down and watch Holiday.

We’ve been flying for thirty minutes. Her fidgeting has grown progressively more fidgety, and I’m not sure why.

I’m certain she’s not a nervous flier because she wasn’t gripping the armrests on takeoff.

She seemed perfectly comfortable settling into her seat, requesting a mint tea, and flicking through a bundle of loose notes she pulled from her bag.

She nodded to the pilot when he asked if we were ready to leave, and the moment the wheels became airborne, she turned to me with a blinding smile, following up with a kiss that made me wish this flight lasted longer than an hour.

But if she clicks the top of her pen any more aggressively, it’s going to break.

“Hol?”

Her face does that thing where I know she hasn’t heard a word I’ve said.

“What?”

“Are you okay? ”

She nods, though it seems more like she’s going through the motions of nodding. Head loose from her neck.

“Yeah?” It comes out as a question.

“Let’s try again. What’s wrong?”

She lets out a long sigh and slumps back in her seat. “Nothing.”

“Holiday?”

Her eyes roll closed. “Do you remember when I told you I sometimes think I can leave acting for good?”

I almost laugh. It was the night I kissed her, the afternoon I drove her back to Valentine Nook. One of the best two hours of my life. It’s not a day I’ll forget in a hurry.

But I just say, “Yes.”

“My agent, Marcy, will be in Paris. She’s very good, one of the best. I’m lucky to have her, really. She built my career, and she works phenomenally hard for her clients, negotiating top-dollar deals. I’m where I am today because of her?—”

Babbling is something I’ve learned Holiday does when she’s nervous, in particular whenever her agent is mentioned. It reminds me of being in investor meetings when bad news is being delivered.

Start with the good stuff, and no one will notice how you’ve lost one hundred million in land value after a season of terrible weather.

I wait for the but.

“She’s bringing me two offers for films next year.”

I study the drop in her face. Film offers seem like a good thing, but based on the way her mouth turns down, I’d wager it isn’t.

“You don’t want them?”

“I don’t.”

“What are they?”

She shakes her head and adds a sad shrug that pulls at my heartstrings. “I don’t know. ”

“You haven’t seen them yet?”

“No.”

I’m confused. I’ve never pretended to understand women, but right now, I really don’t understand, which thankfully, Holiday senses and takes pity on.

“If I see them, and I like them, it’ll make it harder to turn down. Marcy’s so persuasive. If I like them, she’ll sense my weakness. But I’m not ready to go back to movies. I have my Oscar, and it nearly killed me.” Her head drops onto the table.

I might not understand women, but I know when they’re on the verge of crying. And before she does, I leap out of my seat and pull her into my lap on the sofa.

“Do you know what else I remember from the day you told me you could give up acting?”

She shifts on my knee and peers up. Two frown lines appear between her brows. “What?”

“That you’d like to try the theater.”

“Oh.” She sighs and settles back into my chest. “Yeah.”

“Well?”

“I was just being flip. I didn’t mean it.”

I get the impression she’s brushing me off, which, unfortunately for her, doesn’t work. Because I become like a dog with a bone.

“Why can’t you mean it? What’s wrong with the theater?”

She sits up, her eyes flashing, “It’s hard. Night after night, in front of a live audience.”

It’s such a ridiculous argument that I scoff in her face. “You don’t strike me as the sort of person who’d shy away from something being hard.”

“I’m not, but?—”

“Have you spoken to Marcy about it?”

“I mentioned it to her once, a couple of years ago, but nothing ever came of it. She said movies are better. More money. Theater’s too limited because of audience numbers.

” Her hand mindlessly pushes against my palm, twisting them together, staring.

“I should look at the offers. They’re probably fine for me. ”

Her tone is so unenthused that I almost laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything more halfhearted.

“Holiday, I might not know the movie industry, but I do know business. And unless you’re prepared to go into something with your whole heart, you have to walk away.

Yes, theater is hard, but I bet you a million pounds that being up there and hearing the audience cheering for you every night would be more exhilarating than anything you’ve ever done on a set. ”

Her lips mash together, and she stares at me. I can see thoughts flickering as she wonders if I’m onto something. I know this much: if she ever stepped foot on a stage, I’d buy out the front row every fucking night.

“You have a forty-million-dollar contract to sign, and you said it yourself that it’ll give you the financial freedom to choose parts you want, not parts you have to take.”

She nods silently.

“But nothing will happen if you don’t tell Marcy what you want?—”

Both of us turn as the privacy curtain parts, and the purser appears.

“Your Grace, we’ll be landing in ten minutes. The car is waiting for you.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

Holiday jumps off my lap and marches down to the bathroom, grabbing a small bag on her way. “Time for me to get my game face on.”

T he driver transports us through the Paris traffic, pulling up to the George V—where I upgraded the suite she’d been booked to the penthouse with its panoramic city views—by which point Holiday looks tense enough that she might explode.

“ Monsieur le duc, bienvenue. Quel plaisir de vous accueillir à nouveau parmi nous. And a warm welcome to you Madame , welcome, welcome back ,” greets Charles, the head concierge, who’s waiting for us when we step out of the car. “We’re so delighted to have you stay with us again.”

“ Charles, toujours à votre poste ,” I reply, shaking his hand.

“ Et comment se porte Madame votre mère ?” he asks, always respectful when he’s talking about my mother.

“ C’est très aimable à vous. Ma mère se porte bien, elle garde un excellent souvenir de son dernier séjour ici. ”

It’s been a while since I’ve stayed here, but my mother comes so regularly that the proverbial red carpet is always rolled out.

Holiday’s head whips around from where she’s watching our bags get loaded onto the trolley. “You speak French?”

“ Bien s?r .” I wink, and behind her dark glasses, I know I receive an eye roll in return. Taking her hand, I plant a kiss on her knuckles. “Come on, mon petite fromage . Let’s go and see our suite.”

Holiday doesn’t say a word. Not as we walk across the ornate lobby’s marble floor or the plush carpets of the hallways until we reach our home for the next three days. Nothing.

Our bags are placed in the bedroom, and I hand the bellman a couple of neatly folded twenty-euro bills while Holiday drifts over to the balcony doors overlooking the city.

Flipping the Do Not Disturb sign onto the door, I roll up my cuffs, kick off my shoes, and quietly pad toward her.

My arms snake around her belly. “You know, I think it’s against French law to be in a bad mood while you’re staring at the Eiffel Tower.”

A small puff of amusement pushes up from her chest.

Running my nose along her jaw, I inhale her citrusy scent, and my dick jumps to attention. “You might end up in a French jail.”

Her tense shoulders drop a little, and she leans against me. The bulge in my jeans gets tighter. I know she can feel it.

“We wouldn’t want that,” she replies, turning to look up at me. There’s fatigue in her eyes that I haven’t seen since the week she arrived in Valentine Nook, but there’s also heat behind them.

“What time is your meeting?”

Her watch slips around her wrist when she spins to look. “At three o’clock.”

“Which gives us exactly one hundred and forty-three minutes to relieve some of that tension you’re carrying. You’ll have to get your game face on again, Hollywood, because I’m about to mess it all up.”

A perfectly shaped brow shoots up. “How are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to fuck it out of you.” If she’s shocked, she doesn’t show it. Blue eyes fall to my mouth. Her tongue swipes against her lips. “Do you think the French use fuck ? Or is everything about making love ?”

She shrugs like she doesn’t care, which would work if her eyes weren’t already glassy.

“Is that what you want? Gentle lovemaking?” A slow roll of my hips forces her back into the glass doors, pressing into her so she can feel exactly what I want. “Or a good, hard fucking?”

My hands push under her T-shirt. Palms smoothing over her soft, warm skin and into her bra, where I tweak a nipple so hard it could cut glass.

Her breath sucks in sharply, and her head flops against the door, inviting me into her neck. It’s a silent demand for my touch, but I’m not falling for it.

She’s been quiet enough this morning, and now I want to hear her voice.

I want her to use it.

“C’mon, Hollywood, tell me what you want. Get the practice in now because later, you’re going to tell Marcy you want out of movies.” My lips breeze along her clenched jaw. “So what’s it going to be? Lovemaking or a good, hard fucking?”

I still my hands on her hips. She gets nothing except my hot breath across her skin.

“Fuck me.”

I shake my head. “Not good enough. Do you want my cock or not?”

She’s so wound up that it’s almost too easy to push her buttons. “Lando, this isn’t relaxing me. Stop fucking talking and fuck me already.”

I lean in, my lips curving as I gently press them to hers. It reminds me of the day at the pool when she stood in front of me, arms clasped to her chest as she snarled, eyes blazing.

It was anger that matched mine.

I wanted to fuck it out of both of us then. I’m going to now.

“I knew you were in there somewhere.” Twisting her around so fast she nearly topples, I bend her over the large round marble coffee table by the window. “Palms flat. Don’t move.”

I strip quickly, my cock springing out toward her while her breath shoots across the reflective black surface.

Making light work of unbuttoning her jeans and tugging them down to her knees, I spread her open as far as she’ll go. The sight of her glistening pink pussy lips dripping for me as she’s bent over a table is so hot and sexy that I nearly blow on the spot .

I lick my lips and lean down, taking care not to touch her as I push my hands through her hair and fist it.

“You should see yourself, Hollywood. Pretty face, perfect hair, about to get all mussed up because you need my dick so badly.”

Her breath comes in jagged bursts.

Gripping my cock, I slide the tip through her wetness to her swollen clit, and back to her arsehole. Her body tenses more with each swipe until she grits out a frustrated, “Lando.”

Smirking at her back, I position myself at her entrance.

The visual of my cock sliding inside her soaking pussy combined with her hot, forceful clenches as I bottom out short-circuits my brain. My mind goes blank. The sensation is unreal .

I will never think of Paris again without remembering this moment.

An extended “fuucck” comes out as more of a hiss, while all I get from Holiday is a punctured groan.

It’s not for me to question how she feels this good, but how the fuck does she feel this good? Like her pussy is custom-fit for my dick.

My hips roll and flex as I pull out and ease back in, her body tensing each time like she’s holding back. Her fingers claw at the cool marble as she curses under her breath.

“Say it louder, Hol. I want to hear you being loud. You want something, fucking tell me.”

She groans again before I hear the words. “Faster. I want it faster. Harder .”

“Yeah, I can do that. And my cock is so fucking hard for you.”

One hand splayed between her shoulder blades and the other gripping her hip, I slam into her hard, making her cry out. I do it again. And again, until I’m thrusting into her with wild abandon and zero finesse .

She uses her voice until she’s hoarse, screaming at me to fuck her.

Expletives penetrate the air. Our skin slaps together. And I fuck her like it’s my job.

Harder, faster until I can’t tell who’s shaking more. Her or me.

My balls tighten, and at the first strangling grip of my cock, I pull out, finishing her off with my fingers while I fist myself.

Hot ropes of cum shoot across her back, between her shoulders and on her hair until I’m totally spent and collapse onto her.

“Oh my . . . fuck . . . Holiday . . . what the fuck was that?”

From somewhere underneath me, a giggle escapes. “Well, I’m definitely relaxed. But I don’t know if I can walk.”