Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
MARKED
PHILLIPE WAKES UP an hour or so later to the melodic tune of Air running through his mind.
In the darkness, he closes his eyes and feels her there.
It’s almost as though he can smell her if he concentrates hard enough.
Just close your eyes and think of her, he tells himself, but it isn’t as easy this time.
No, this time, a blonde with big, guileless eyes, a perfect mouth, and a delicious ass keeps crashing into his thoughts. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to deny any kind of feelings he has for Gemma. There’s no room left in my heart for her. Is there?
Yes. I’m gone.
His eyes snap open. He thought he heard her. He swears he sees her when he calls her name. “Chantel?”
There, on the floor by the locked door, is the figure of a woman.
She’s naked, her hair falling down over her shoulders. She has her arms wrapped around her raised legs, which are crossed at the ankles as she holds her knees close to her chest.
She looks frightened. Chantel looks scared.
Pushing the covers aside, Phillipe gets out of the bed. Mindless of his nudity, he makes his way toward her.
Holding out his hand, he coos to her, “It’s okay, Beauty. I’m here.”
He hears a quick intake of air and goose bumps break out across his exposed flesh.
His heart starts to pound as he moves closer to the motionless figure on the ground.
She has her face turned up to him, and as he approaches, she doesn’t move.
Bach’s Air continues to float around him. It’s her favorite.
“Chantel?” he whispers again.
This time, there’s slight movement. She’s coming back to me. I haven’t lost her.
The woman before him shifts. She rises to her knees as he sinks to his.
She takes his hand in hers before she replies, “Gemma.”
Holding my breath, I kneel there before the man I just gave myself to completely. He is lost. He’s in some kind of hallucination where he can’t even see me. He is seeing, feeling, and remembering her. As I hold his hand in mine, I realize that he is shaking.
“Gemma?” he asks.
Squeezing his fingers tightly, I rise up on my knees so I am face to face with him. “Yes, it’s Gemma,” I softly reply.
There’s silence all around us, except for our breathing.
“I thought…” His voice sounds miles away even though he is kneeling right before me. “I thought she was here. I heard her.”
I swallow slowly. I try to decide if what I’m about to admit is better for him or just something that will make me feel less crazy. “She was.”
Haunted green eyes move to mine. The darkness still surrounds us, but he is close enough that I can make out the sadness and dejection in his gaze.
“That’s why I woke up,” I whisper. I run my fingers through his hair. “She was here only minutes ago. Give her to me, Phillipe,” I entreat him softly.
His weary eyes search my features. He raises his hand to my chest and places it over my heart. The warmth that radiates from him seems to seep through my skin, touching my soul.
“Will you look after her?”
Tears start to fill my eyes as I nod slowly. “Give her to me, and I will take care of her.”
He swallows deeply, his Adam’s apple moving, as he closes his eyes and removes his palm. “Where’s the journal?”
My breath catches as I look around the room.
I spot it on the floor where he dropped it earlier.
I reach out to pick it up. As I touch the leather cover, I feel a shock hit my fingers.
Deep down inside, as crazy as it seems, I know it is her.
I know she’s just as frightened as the both of us.
Refusing to be sidelined, I grab the journal and turn around, only to find he’s moved back to the bed.
He’s sitting on the edge of it, naked, save for the sheet he has pulled over to cover himself. I make my way over to him through the shadows. When I am standing before him, he looks up at me with eyes full of sorrow.
“I would have done anything to swap places with her. I begged him, you know.”
Gritting my teeth, I try not to let my tears get the better of me. My fingers tighten on the journal as he reaches out to take it from me.
“On the day she left, I made deal after deal with him to take me instead.”
I release the journal as I keep my eyes on his.
“He didn’t listen.”
Marked ~
“How could you have left me tonight, Phillipe?” I yelled as we made our way into the studio.
“Excuse me? I think if anyone left anyone, it would be you when you left me to have an all-night cozy chat with the ambassador.”
Fuming, I turned away from him. He is being so unreasonable. “He told me things.”
“I know what he told you, Chantel!” he boomed.
I felt it rattle my very bones. Phillipe was furious. I had never seen him this way.
Tonight had gone completely wrong. We arrived at the gala, went inside, and then were separated.
People wanted to speak to him. That was understandable.
I disappeared into a corner, a place where I felt the most comfortable, but didn’t remain alone for long.
No, not five minutes after I had retreated to my own space, I felt someone behind me.
Spinning back to where I knew Phillipe was, I asked him pointedly, “And what am I supposed to believe? You just left me standing there tonight! You didn’t introduce me to anyone—”
“You didn’t want me to! Jesus, Chantel, make up your fucking mind!”
“Was she there?” I asked him softly, feeling my jealousy clawing at me like a vicious animal.
“Who?”
“Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot.”
“No. No, she wasn’t even there.”
Swallowing back my irrational tears, tears of anger and unwarranted jealousy, I spun away from him. “Just go away. Leave me alone.”
I heard movement, and then his hands were on my shoulders, spinning me back to him. I knew he was in my face because I could feel his breath, warm and intoxicating, floating over my lips.
“I wanted to kill him tonight,” he confessed.
I believed him.
“You almost did,” I pointed out. “Leave me alone, Phillipe.”
“No.” He gripped my shoulders tightly.
“Are you going to hurt me, too?” I asked him.
I knew it was a low blow. Automatically, he released me. “I’d never.”
I lowered my head. “Yet you have.”
Looking down at Phillipe, I notice his left hand is clenched into a fist.
“You know you didn’t hurt her that night, right?” I ask.
“I betrayed her trust that night.”
“But you told me you didn’t go with Susanna. I believe that. She would have too.”
Shaking his head, he grimaces and lowers his eyes to the page. “Not in that way, Gemma.”
He has finally left me alone for a moment. He’s given me time to think. He’s so all-consuming all the time. Everything about him binds me. Everything about him makes me love him.
Even as he was continually punching the ambassador, all I could think was, He is doing this for me, and I love him.
I don’t know what I feel. I think it is love. It steals every fiber of who I am and wraps around me like a tight fist. It makes me burn with jealous rage, and it also makes me cry at the thought of loss.
I’ve realized that I don’t know how to be without him. I don’t want to know. I want him to take me and mark me. Does that sound absurd?
Maybe, but that’s how I feel. I want it to be just him and me. I want him to own me.
Here with me—that’s where I want him to be. I want to be with him in this little room where we sleep and forget about the rest of the world. Forget about the fame. Forget about the stupid paintings. They are the reasons for everything that happened tonight.
Those stupid paintings. I wish he’d never painted them.
Now, the world wants him, and he wants the world.
I just want him.
“Phillipe, she was angry. We always say or write things when we’re angry.”
Closing his eyes, he places the journal by him on the bed.
I’m disappointed. I want to know more. I want to know what else she wrote.
Spreading his legs apart, he beckons me forward.
I step between his naked thighs as he raises his hands to my hips.
Leaning forward, he places his mouth against my stomach, just above my navel.
I take a deep breath and bring my hands to his hair.
I brush it softly and ease his head back, so his eyes are focused on mine.
“She loved you completely. Even when she was angry, she wrote that she loved you.”
Blinking slowly, he remains silent.
“She was intoxicated, just as I am.”
He flicks his tongue against the small indentation in my tummy. Against my flesh, he says, “God help me, so am I.”
He didn’t leave me alone for long. He came back, not even ten minutes later, and held me in his arms.
“Don’t be angry at me,” he begged.
There was no way I could stay annoyed.
Wrapping my arms around him, I admitted, “I’m scared.”
He pulled back from me to kiss my forehead. “What are you scared of?”
Taking a deep breath, I decided to be honest because he was always honest with me. “I’m scared of losing you. Sometimes I wish I’d never told you to go to the gallery.”
I closed my eyes as he stroked my hair.
“Nothing, Chantel, nothing will ever take me away from you.”
Tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to blink them away. I tried to hide them from him.
“Will you do something for me?” he asked.
I swiped my eye and nodded. “Yes. What is it?”
“Come to town with me.”
“Phillipe, it’s nearly one a.m.”
“It doesn’t matter. This place stays open late.” He took my hand in his. “Trust me?”
I smiled tremulously at him. “I trust you.”
I can feel Phillipe’s teeth as he nibbles around my navel. He moves back, and the sheet falls away to reveal his interested cock.
“Come up here,” he says gruffly.
I wrap my arms around his neck and straddle his thighs, wedging his shaft between us. He runs his hands up my back and down to my ass.
“Are you sore?”
I nod slightly. “A little.”
His fingers flirt with the crack of my ass, and finally, a small smile appears at the corner of his mouth. “Was it worth it?”
I wriggle closer to him. “Yes, it was worth it.”