Two Nights in Paris Page 9

  “Merci,” Stephan said.

  “Merci,” Roselle said.

  “De rien, and take all the time you need.”

  When he was gone, Roselle stared at the cake.

  “Make a wish,” Stephan said.

  “I don’t know what to say. Why did you do this?” she asked in a thick voice.

  Stephan folded his arms on the table. “Because I wanted to. Make a wish.”

  Tears blurred her vision, and Roselle closed her eyes to keep him from seeing.

  She almost wished this night would never end, but that was silly. The night would be over soon, and then she’d go back to the reality of Atlanta. Work. The quiet aloneness of her apartment. Unless Stephan wanted more than a hookup. Did he?

  She opened her eyes, and he was staring at her.

  There was very little light inside the bakery. The street lights provided a glow, and the light in the back also provided illumination, while the candlelight flickered across his smooth, sandy-gold skin.

  “Did you make your wish?” he asked.

  I wish you were mine.

  “Yes,” she answered and blew out the candles.

  Stephan did the honor of cutting the cake, and they both indulged in huge slices of chocolate on chocolate that rivaled any dessert she’d ever had before. At the very least, it was the best chocolate cake she’d ever had.

  After they’d cleaned their plates, Stephan called out to Henri, and the baker came back to the front.

  “This is for your mother,” he said, handing Stephan a paper sack.

  “Macaroons?” Stephan asked.

  “Yes. Tell her they’re from the man who still loves her and waits until she is free again.”

  Stephan chuckled. “My father might kill me, but I’ll relay the message. Thanks for tonight. You made my friend’s birthday very special.”

  “Merci beaucoup, Henri. The cake was delicious,” Roselle said.

  “It was my pleasure.” Thunder rolled again, and Henri stared out the window with a frown. “You must hurry before the rain comes. One moment, before you go.” He went behind the counter and came back with a white box. “You will take this with you and enjoy the rest later.” He boxed up the cake and then handed it to Roselle with a flourish.

  She gave him a quick hug, and then they were on their way.

  Roselle waved at him one last time as she went out the door. “Thanks again.”

  “Bon voyage!” He waved at them from the threshold and then closed the door.

  They set out on foot since the apartment was nearby.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” She held up the box as if Stephan didn’t know she had it.

  “Eat it,” he quipped.

  “I can’t eat this much cake, though I am tempted.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re not so bad, Stephan.”

  He laughed. “I’m terrible, but sometimes I get it right.”

  She was starting to wonder if his whole persona was a front. He clearly had a big heart, and he was thoughtful and considerate. The fact that he slept around and had had several brushes with the law was definitely a negative, but he had redeeming qualities. He certainly was not what she expected when he started working at SJ Brands.

  “What are you going to miss most about Paris?” Stephan asked as they walked along the cobblestoned street.

  “Everything.”

  “Come on, you have to be specific.”

  I’ll miss spending time with you.

  “No, really. Everything. I love the food, I love the old buildings, I love hearing people talk with a French accent, and I like moments like this…walking along the street with cars going by and people strolling past. I feel like I’m in another world.”

  “It is a very unique place,” Stephan agreed.

  A drop of water plopped onto Roselle’s nose. She wiped it away and looked up. More drops fell from the sky.

  “Uh-oh, there’s that rain we suspected was coming.”

  The drops fell heavier.

  “Come on, we’re almost there.” Stephan grabbed the hand not holding the cake box, and they took off running.

  Roselle lifted her eyes skyward and laughed. She was in Paris, running through the streets in the rain, on her birthday, with a handsome man by her side. They arrived at the doorway of the apartment building without getting completely soaked, though her hair and clothes were damp. They sheltered on the stoop, heaving and out of breath.

  Roselle stared up at the stormy sky. “The perfect ending to the best birthday ever.”

  When her eyes shifted to Stephan, he was staring at her with an intensity that made her heart constrict.

  “Glad I was a part of it.” His chest rose and fell with the same frequency as hers.

  She swallowed against the lump burgeoning in her throat. “You were the best part of it. Because of you, I’ll never forget today and tonight. Thank you.”

  Time stood still as the rain fell around them. Then Stephan stepped slowly toward her, and she didn’t move, remaining locked in place. The air between them noticeably shifted.

  He took her chin and tilted her head up to his. “I keep thinking about last night.”

  “Me too,” she whispered.

  A muscle in his jaw clenched, and with a low groan, he pushed her against the cement and pressed his lips into hers. He didn’t use his tongue. His soft lips hit up against hers over and over again, plucking, teasing, and torturing with a caress that was sensual and intimate.

  Much as she’d enjoyed the cake, she wished she didn’t have it in her hand at the moment because it kept her from fully embracing him. Head tilted back, she pressed into him, using her free hand to cup his jaw and savor the sweetness of his chocolate-flavored mouth as he deepened the kiss. Stephan finally sucked in her tongue. She let out a soft moan and shivered against him. His head lowered as he kissed the side of her neck, licking away the water and setting her skin on fire.

  “Stephan,” she whispered, her voice a weak fraction of itself.

  “Let’s take this inside,” he said in a husky voice.

  She nodded her assent. She didn’t care about anything else right now except getting him between her legs.

  His hand slid down and squeezed her bottom, long fingers gripping the flesh, possessively kneading and exploring her ass. He kissed her neck and turned her toward the door. Roselle thought he was about to grind against her ass, but instead, he entered the code.

  His hand remained on her bottom, and she wondered if he’d forgotten it there. But it seemed to belong, part of her now, the casual hold on her body heightening her awareness of the sexual energy between them and making her wet panties wetter.

  Once inside, his hand shifted higher to the small of her back, and he guided her to the elevator. They rode up to the apartment in silence and once inside, placed their items in the refrigerator.

  Standing so close behind her that his warm body heated hers, Stephan didn’t waste any time. He kissed her neck and cupped her breasts from behind. Roselle groaned softly and let him guide her to his bedroom.

  The subtle smell of him filled the room—the scent of his cologne, the scent of his maleness.

  “This is our last night in Paris,” she whispered with a heavy heart.

  “Then let’s make it count.”

  They stripped out of their clothes and climbed into the bed. Nipples tight, breasts heavy and aching, Roselle welcomed him into her open arms. His mouth crashed onto hers, his hard length grinding into the wetness between her legs. Their bodies meshed together almost immediately, with urgency. He groaned as she licked his Adam’s apple and grabbed his tight ass.

  His pistoning hips filled her with his length, racing them both toward the ultimate goal. In no time at all, she was screaming, clutching his ass cheeks, tossing her head back as a blindingly magnificent orgasm launched her into the stratosphere.

  Later—much, much later—when the rain had stopped, and they were both exhausted from another bout of lovemaking, sh
e was gently brought awake by a light flitting across her eyelids.

  She and Stephan lay with their heads on the same pillow, his arm thrown across her waist from behind, his soft breaths brushing the back of her neck. And outside, the lights of the Eiffel Tower twinkled against the backdrop of the dark night sky.

  Chapter 14

  They agreed not to tell anyone. Not about last night or the night before.

  But that didn’t stop the ache of disappointment when Roselle woke up alone in bed. After sharing another night with Stephan, she’d hoped to find his warm body next to hers. Swallowing back her disappointment, she rolled off the mattress and dressed in last night’s discarded clothes.

  She exited the room and peeped out the door. No sign of Stephan, but she heard him and Giles talking in the kitchen. She scurried up the stairs and went into the bathroom to prepare for the day.

  After a shower, she donned a solid purple maxi-dress with short sleeves for the long flight home. She combed her hair away from her face and took a deep breath.

  She could do this, right? He had a great time. She had a great time. It was only casual sex—no commitment, no emotions, precisely what she’d expected.

  As she descended the stairs, the smell of coffee and breakfast fixings greeted her nose. She walked through the living room into the dining area and swallowed hard when she saw Stephan at the table, sipping coffee and staring at his phone. He wore jeans and a red T-shirt that said Naughty by Nature in white letters. When she approached, he glanced up.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerily.

  He frowned for a split second and then it was gone. “Good morning,” he said, his face impassive. His gaze scoured her ensemble and heated her skin.

  Giles appeared from the kitchen. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. What can I get you to eat? An American breakfast or a French breakfast?”

  “What’s the difference?” Roselle sat across from Stephan.

  “American, I can make a full meal as I did for Stephan, with eggs, bacon or sausage—or both. If you’d like pancakes or toast, I can prepare that, too. Whatever you like. French breakfast is much simpler. You have a choice of pain au chocolat, a croissant, or bread and jam.” Giles folded his hands in front of him and waited for her decision.

  “I’ll take an American breakfast—eggs, sunny-side up, sausage, and I’ll have a croissant with jam, please.”

  “Bon. Coffee?”

  “Yes. Black.”

  Roselle sat quietly, pretending to be preoccupied with the contents of the table for the seconds that it took Giles to go into the kitchen and bring out a white carafe of coffee. He flipped over her mug and filled it three-quarters of the way. The entire time, Stephan didn’t say a word, but she felt his eyes on her.

  When Giles went back into the kitchen, Stephan spoke. “You have plans when you get back?” he asked.

  Before answering the question, Roselle sipped her coffee and hoped he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her hand. Why was she always so unbalanced around him?

  “I’ll probably go straight home to take a nap and then visit my aunt tomorrow to give her the souvenirs and share pictures of the trip. You?”

  “Probably do the same thing—go home and take a nap. After that, who knows?”

  He bent his head over the phone again, and Roselle sipped her coffee. She wanted to yell and scream at him. Did their time together in Paris mean nothing? Did the two nights they spent together mean nothing? Did he really intend for them to act as if nothing happened? She could have been Namia for all he seemed to care.

  A man like him was used to having one-night stands, and she’d have to adjust to fit within whatever guidelines he was accustomed to, act as detached as he did. The last thing he’d want was for her to be clingy, and that’s the last thing she wanted, too.

  But that didn’t stop the pain in her heart from spilling into her chest, making it hurt with unexpected ferocity as if someone had continuously punched her in the same spot without reprieve.

  Giles brought a plate with her breakfast choices. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  A few minutes later, Stephan dismissed Giles. The butler set the carafe of coffee on the table and exited the apartment.

  While Stephan scrolled through whatever he was looking at on his phone, she was consumed by insecurities. What did he think of her?

  “Do you think I’m a slut?” Roselle blurted.

  Stephan’s head shot up, and he stared at her with his mouth dropped open. “What? No. Why’d you ask me some shit like that?”

  She’d been called that before. As the sunlight came in through the windows, its brightness shined on memories so ugly she couldn’t face them.

  She set down her fork. “Nothing. I’m being ridiculous.”

  “You asked me for a reason. Why? Because we slept together?”

  She let out a shaky breath. “Yes,” she admitted quietly, staring at her plate of food.

  “Sweetheart, we slept together. If you’re a slut, then I’m a slut, too. And I’m no slut.”

  She looked at him and saw no trace of condemnation, which gave her relief. The negative thoughts would have tormented her indefinitely if she hadn’t asked. She would have second-guessed her actions, and despite his behavior now, the last two nights had been magical. She didn’t want to regret what she’d done. Not like she had all those nights ago.

  “Good. I should have known you were different.”

  She was about to dive back into her plate when he said her name. She looked up and saw concern etched his features.

  He rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “Listen, the last two nights have been great, and—”

  “You don’t have to say another word,” Roselle interjected, keeping her voice light and playful. She added an amused expression, hoping her eyes didn’t expose the burden of pain in her heart.

  She didn’t need a speech. She couldn’t bear to hear him diminish what they’d shared, so she spoke up to lessen the pain and humiliation. To prove they were on the same page.

  “I have absolutely no expectations. We had fun, we had great sex. You made my birthday memorable, that’s for sure. Obviously, we can’t continue screwing around when we get back to Atlanta. I mean, we work together, and that would be a disaster.” She added a laugh for good measure. “But we’ll always have Paris, and what more could a girl ask for?”

  She dropped her gaze and sliced a sausage link in two. She ate one half, barely tasting the meat because her senses were numb.

  Stephan pushed back his chair and stood, towering over the table. “I need to finish packing. Sébastien will be here in thirty minutes to take us to the airport.” His eyes were guarded.

  “I’ll be ready.” She put on a bright smile to hide the twist of pain her stomach.

  His jawline hardened, and without another word, he left the table.

  Roselle watched him walk across the living room floor until he disappeared behind the stairs. Having lost her appetite, she scooted the plate out of the way.

  Why did these memories have to come back now? She pressed trembling fingers to her temple and closed her eyes, praying for the strength to shove back the painful thoughts that had pushed through when she opened her mind’s door a crack.

  At sixteen, she’d snuck out of the house to meet her friends at the local burger joint where fellow high-schoolers and college students hung out. When she arrived, her two girlfriends were crowded into a booth with three guys, one of them being Charles Baker, who’d recently graduated. She’d had a crush on him for years.

  He was a basketball hero in their town, leading the varsity team to three state championships and taking home the trophy from one of them. With a basketball scholarship to Duke, everyone expected great things from him. He was good-looking and well over six feet, with sandy brown skin and a smile that could shame the sun into hiding.

  Her girlfriends each left with their dates, and she was left with Charles. When he invited her for a ride in his graduation gift—a
red Mustang—she became excited. But Charles Baker was a bad person. Later, she learned how bad he could be.

  She should have known not to get into the car. She should have known not to go into the house because his parents were away for the weekend. She should have known not to go to his room when he coaxed her up there to look at his artwork, claiming they had something in common.

  More than anything, she should have known that when he closed the door, he was not going to let her out, no matter how much she begged.

  She had been called so many names. Slut. Liar. Stupid. Gold-digger. Whore. Easy. To this day she regretted her actions from that night. She didn’t understand but accepted the doubts from the strangers, people who didn’t know her. The real pain came because people she knew didn’t stand by her.

  The door to Stephan’s bedroom opened, and she slammed the lid on the thoughts that would torment her if she let them. He set his suitcase at the front and then went back into his room.

  The truth became as clear as black ink on a white sheet. She’d developed feelings for him in a short period—feelings she’d have to suffocate if she were going to be able to function at work.

  She’d spent two days and two nights in Paris with a man who made her feel more like herself than she had in a long time. She’d become so settled in her routines over the years, but these past couple of days had reminded her that she was young and should have fun. Moving forward, she’d venture out more and join her roommate when she invited her to events. There was a whole world out there for her to explore and become a part of.

  She couldn’t have Stephan. But she could have Roselle back.

  Chapter 15

  “You must have had a good time. You’re smiling a lot and generally seem happy.” Seated behind her desk, Sylvie fixed her eyes on Roselle. She looked very much the businesswoman in a white collared shirt, open at the top to show a string of pearls around her neck.

  “We were in Paris, Mother. Of course, she enjoyed herself,” Stephan said.

  It was Monday morning, and he and Roselle sat across from Sylvie in her office, briefing her on the meetings with the Rue de la Mode reps, but he had a feeling his mother was fishing and wanted to cut off her investigation before Roselle said anything incriminating.