Lord at First Sight (The Montevor Royals Saga #8)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LAURA

I shift to sit more comfortably and turn to Antoine. “Why are you keen on finding that music box?”

“Because I’m a competitive player,” he says. “Competitive and dogged.”

“Ah. Now I understand.”

My final sip of wine goes down smoothly, perhaps too smoothly. I sit back again and set my empty glass on the bedside table. Antoine is holding his glass loosely in his hand, like he’s forgotten it’s there. He seems lost in thought.

I tilt my head. “You OK over there?”

“Just thinking.”

“About the music box again?” I tease. “Because unless Pedro left us a map, I’m officially out of ideas.”

“You mentioned earlier that your family possesses no antiques or heirlooms. Why’s that?”

“We’re practically inclined, I guess. To my parents and aunt, if something doesn’t serve a purpose, it’s just clutter.”

Antoine’s gaze stays on me, steady. “And you? Is that how you see things, too?”

“My parents came to France with a hundred euros each in their pockets,” I explain. “Growing up, I never had anything fancy, just what I needed. And I turned out OK, didn’t I?”

“More than OK!”

The sincerity in his tone makes me pause.

“It must’ve been difficult growing up with the bare minimum,” he says in a quieter voice.

“Not really. It’s just how it was. I mean, my parents dote on me, which causes a whole other set of problems.”

“Ha!” He smirks. “Tell me about it.”

Are his parents as heavy-handed as mine? Hoping he’ll open up about his relationship with them, I reach for my glass. When I realize it’s empty, I try to play it off by fiddling with the stem. My hand slips, and the glass wobbles precariously toward the edge of the table.

“Oh, shit—” I move to catch it.

But Antoine is faster. His hand wraps around mine, steadying the glass before it can fall off. As he does so, his arm presses against my tummy, and his shoulder against my breasts. His body is deliciously firm and warm. He smells like heaven.

And he doesn’t draw back right away.

The more he lingers, the faster my heart beats. My breath catches in my throat. My thoughts are a tangled mess.

I want more of this.

Does he feel the same way?

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Shut up, Laura!

Instinctively, I know that silence is my best friend if I want one thing to lead to another. But I’m too nervous. And that makes me chatty.

“You’re really determined to save me from myself, aren’t you?” I say.

“Well, someone has to.” He steadies the glass and pulls away.

Why, Laura? Why did you have to speak?

I turn and look Antoine in the eye. He holds my gaze. The air feels heavier, the space between us smaller.

“Sometimes people love you and want what’s best for you,” he says, picking up our conversation like nothing happened. “But it doesn’t mean they understand what you need.”

“Do your parents understand what you need?”

His mouth presses into a hard line.

I don’t expect an answer, but he surprises me. “Until recently, I was the only worthy son, the one who never disappoints.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It was.” He stares into his glass like it holds answers. “My younger brother, Henri, was the opposite.”

“The black sheep?”

“You can say that. He could do anything he wanted—fail, succeed, fuck up, get in trouble—and it didn’t matter. The expectations were that low.”

His voice is calm, but there’s a raw edge so close to the surface you can’t miss it.

“I got all the love,” he continues. “And with it, the full weight of their pride. I couldn’t fail. I had to be perfect, because anything less was unacceptable.”

“But…” I squint at him, recalling a detail. “You’re some sort of bohemian, right? What with the tattoos and the outfits… Is that what your parents expected of you?”

Something flickers in his eyes. Hesitation? We aren’t allowed to reveal our professions before the end of the honeymoon. Is that why he paused?

“Bohemian isn’t synonymous with drifter,” he finally says. “I graduated top of my class, and I have a thriving small business.”

My mind connects all the dots. “You own a tattoo parlor, right?”

“That’s right, Sherlock.” He smiles. “But now you have to pretend you don’t know it until we leave the hotel.”

“I can do that.”

“You better.” His grin widens.

“As for not disappointing Mom and Pop,” I say, “it’s never too late to start!”

That makes him laugh. I giggle, too. I like that I cheered him up. And there’s something else. For the first time since we met, we’ve discovered we have something in common. But it sounds like he’s worse off than I am. Sure, I’ve been pressured by my parents. Hell, I chose my career under their pressure. But I was always allowed to fail. And when I did, they gave me comfort and support. I’ve disappointed them, too. Many times. Every guy I ever dated was the opposite of who they wanted for me.

The idea of always living up to their standards is inconceivable to my mind.

“Will you believe that I envied Henri,” Antoine says. “The poor kid muddled along, practically rejected by our parents by age twenty, yet I begrudged him his freedom.”

The words hang in the air, unexpected, heavy.

I don’t know what to say, and so I latch onto another detail, “You said you were the only worthy son until recently. What happened recently?”

“Henri surpassed expectations,” he replies.

“That’s great news! Less pressure on you.”

He looks at me like I said something outrageous. You’d think the thought had never occurred to him.

Wait, can it be?

I search his face. “You’ve thought of it, right?”

He doesn’t answer, but leans forward, his gaze locking on mine once again. I stare at him, my throat tight, my pulse quickening. His face is very close now. There’s fire in his darkened eyes, and his expression is completely unguarded.

I freeze up, unsure what to do.

But he seems to have an idea. His hand brushes my cheek, and a second later, his lips meet mine. The kiss is light at first, like the one we shared at the altar. But when I don’t pull away, he presses his lips more firmly against mine. They are a great match for mine, because the sensation is shockingly satisfying. His scent, the feel of his skin, his pheromones envelop me.

Antoine parts his lips, sending my senses into overdrive. I respond instinctively by opening my mouth. His tongue dips in at once and dances teasingly against mine. My heart pounds as I savor his touch, his taste. The man is yummy, no less delectable than a good tiramisu.

He deepens the kiss. His hands plunge into my hair, and I like the way he rakes his fingers through it. The balls of his palms massage my scalp. Our bodies gravitate closer together as if pulled by an invisible force that neither of us can resist. He cradles my face, holding me with a tenderness that sends shivers down my spine. I moan with pleasure.

Everything falls away—my doubts, our issues, the music box, the pretense. I find myself not giving a damn that there are no cameras around to film this kiss so Mike can see it. Actually, I’m thankful for that.

For the first time since I arrived on the set of this show, I’m not playing a part, not pretending to be excited, or happy, or falling in love.

I’m simply having a hell of a good time.