Chapter 23
23
A shiny black car is parked in front of the Beaumonts’ house when we return from a full day out on the water.
“Are you expecting someone?” Chloe asks Theo.
“Actually … Charles asked me for the address this morning.” Theo glances in the rearview mirror. At me. Everyone else is looking at me too. “I wasn’t sure if he was actually coming …”
I say nothing, staring at the car as I rein in the emotions ricocheting through me.
He changed his mind. He came. Mostly, I’m happy about it. But I’m also apprehensive. Not only because of the tense terms we parted on, but because those tense terms told me I was getting too attached.
“Is that a Bugatti ?” Jasper asks.
“Looks like the Divo,” Tripp responds.
Hugo whistles. “What are those? Three? Four?”
“Almost six,” Tripp says.
“Six what?” Fran questions. Without waiting for an answer, she bangs against the back of Jasper’s seat. “Can you get out, Jas?”
“Million,” Hugo breathes. “Do you think he’ll let me drive it?”
I climb out of the car, pulling the seat forward for Fran before continuing toward the front door. Everyone else seems to hang back.
The air-conditioning feels heavenly against my skin—coated with a combination of sweat, sunscreen, and salt water—as I walk through the entryway and toward the kitchen. The wall of glass doors shows off the dazzling view of the pool and the ocean past it.
Charlie is standing next to one of the loungers, scowling as he talks into the phone.
He runs a hand through his hair, then grips the back of his neck before turning around. I watch as my presence registers on his face. His attention stays on me as he continues talking on the phone.
A few seconds later, Charlie hangs up and heads toward me.
His attractiveness hits me all over again, like I’m seeing him for the first time.
The sound of the door sliding open and closed only amplifies the charged silence. No one else has come inside yet. They’re all drooling over his car or gossiping about us probably.
He speaks first. “Lili.”
“Charles.” I keep my tone cool.
He doesn’t leave a polite amount of distance between us, like I expected. He stops inches away, his hand reaching out and his fingers curling around my left wrist. Charlie lifts my arm to inspect my palm, then twists it to look at my shoulder.
The scabs have started to flake away, revealing the healed skin beneath.
“How’d you make time in your busy schedule for a trip to France?” I ask.
One corner of his mouth kicks up before he drops his hold on my wrist. Hopefully, he couldn’t feel how fast my pulse was fluttering. “I’m here for work.”
Wrong answer.
I cross my arms. “What kind of work are you doing here ?”
“None in this house. But since I was in Saint-Tropez, I thought I’d stop by.”
“Lucky us,” I drawl. “Getting a visit from a duke .”
A muscle in Charlie’s jaw jumps. I’m pleased—and a little nervous—about it. Poking bears comes with consequences.
“Cut the duke shit, Lili. I know I?—”
“Acted like an uppity arsehole?”
He shakes his head. Smiles faintly. “I didn’t mean it the way you thought I did. You have a job , a career that comes with vacation time. I have a role , duties that I can never separate from. That’s all I meant.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip, not missing the way Charlie’s gaze narrows on my mouth. Heat unfurls in my stomach like plumes of smoke, my body reregistering that he’s really here and all that could mean.
His explanation makes sense. More than that, it sounds genuine. Forcing me to face the fact that I was more disappointed he wasn’t coming than angry about how he declined.
“Do you want me to go? I’ll leave right now.”
Yes should come out of my mouth. Not because I want him to go, but because it’s alarming how easily my annoyance evaporated. How badly I want to kiss him. More than kiss him.
“Hello?” Chloe’s voice calls out. “Any intruders?”
I glance over one shoulder to watch them all approach. “Way to hurry in with the backup, guys. If someone were here to rob the place, I’d be dead by now.”
“I don’t know any criminals who drive Bugattis,” Hugo says. “Wicked car, Charles.”
Cal scoffs. “Do you know any criminals?”
“Glad you could make it,” Theo says, shaking Charlie’s hand.
I don’t know Chloe’s husband that well since they live so far away. But it’s cute how he acts around Charlie, like a younger brother looking up to an older one.
They talk back and forth for a bit; Charlie’s attention divided the whole time. He’s waiting for my decision, I realize.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I announce. “Charlie’s going to stay. He also loves it when other people drive his cars, if you guys want to try out the Bugatti.”
I sashay out of the kitchen before anyone can say anything.
Washing off the day’s stickiness is a relief. I empty both suitcases in my quest to find a cute outfit, settling on a Dior sundress. It’s strapless, so it doesn’t rub any healing scrapes. The scabs are itchy, just like Charlie said. I have been dabbing ointment on them, but I won’t be telling him that.
Blow-drying my hair and applying a full face of makeup takes another thirty minutes. The plan is to stay here for dinner tonight since we’ve eaten out the past few evenings.
I’m overdressed for eating on the patio and then lounging on the couch, but it feels nice to dress up. A shot of confidence I need to face Charlie.
He’s here for me.
He might be in Saint-Tropez on business, but Charlie’s here—in Chloe’s family’s house—because of me.
Because he feels bad about how our last conversation ended?
Because it happened to be a convenient stop?
Because he wanted to see me?
I shake my head as I spritz on some perfume. I don’t know why I’m obsessing over this.
Everything I told Bridget earlier is still true.
Geographically, we’re incompatible. There’s long-distance, and then there’s different continents. I’m happy for Chloe, but I’ve never understood how she was able to leave behind everything she knew to stay in London. She loved living in New York. And Charlie is tied to England in ways Theo isn’t. The way people talk, he’s practically part of the royal family. I can’t picture him walking in Central Park or standing on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. He fit on the manicured grounds of Carys Park and at the edge of the cliff he brought me to.
Then, there’s the other more important consideration—he’s a heartbreaker. Chloe warned me, and he told me the same thing himself. Charlie doesn’t have any interest in pursuing a relationship. A commitment I’m not sure I want either. We can’t both have a foot out the door, or it’ll go nowhere.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call from my mom while I’m slipping on shoes. I’ve sent her photos from the trip, but we haven’t spoken since I left Grandfather and Gigi’s house early on July 5.
I flop down on the bed to answer.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, honey. How’s the trip?”
“It’s great. Saint-Tropez is beautiful. You and Dad should get a place here.”
Mom laughs. “We don’t have time to visit all the homes we already have, honey.”
“Where are you? It’s loud.”
“JFK. I’m supposed to speak at a Future CEO conference in Miami tomorrow morning. They just delayed the flight by an hour.”
“How long are you staying in Miami for?” I ask.
“Hang on one second. Crew!”
A few seconds later, I hear my dad’s muffled voice.
“That was a prime spot by the windows,” he says.
“We’re about to sit for the next three hours,” Mom replies. “I wanted to walk around. I’m talking to Lili.”
“Hi, sweetheart!” Dad’s voice is louder now, like he’s right by the speaker.
“Hi, Dad,” I respond, smiling even though he can’t see.
“Did you seriously buy a copy of Haute ?” Mom asks, sounding amused.
“Of course. How else am I supposed to find out summer’s top swimsuit styles, Red?”
“Go read it by the windows,” she tells him. “I’ll be over in a little bit.”
“Okay,” he says cheerfully. “Bye, Lili!”
“Bye, Dad.”
“Sorry, sweetie. What were you—oh, right. We’re only staying for two nights. I have the conference in the morning, and your dad is attending some meetings. Then, we’re going to a fundraiser for the children’s hospital.”
“That sounds nice. Have you guys decided when you’re heading back to LA yet?”
“Not yet. I’ll keep you posted. I’ve been helping Hannah with the planning for the Kensington Consolidated gala, so we won’t be missing that this year.”
“Good. It was strange without you and Dad last year.”
Neither of my parents works at Kensington Consolidated, but they’re who most people associate the company with. The king and queen of New York society, even though they’ve primarily resided in Los Angeles for the past twenty-three years.
“What have you been doing in Saint-Tropez?” Mom asks.
I fill her in on the past few days—boating and swimming and eating, basically. She laughs when I tell her about the group dance we finally got to perform for Chloe and Theo last night. We say our goodbyes a few minutes later.
I hang up, check my appearance one last time in the mirror, then head down the hallway.
An open doorway makes me pause. Charlie’s bag—the one he had at Chloe’s wedding—is sitting on the floor just inside one of the empty guest rooms. Chloe or Theo must have shown him where to stay when I was in the shower.
His bag is unzipped, a familiar cover snagging my gaze.
After a furtive glance around, I tiptoe inside for a closer peek.
My breathing stalls as I focus on the letters on the cover, trying not to lose patience with myself as I squint at them, ascertaining if they say what I think they say.
They do.
It’s Middlemarch .
My next inhale is a little unsteady. I continue staring for a few more seconds, and then head back into the hallway.
I was expecting lots of activity downstairs, but it’s completely quiet.
When I walk into the living room area, Chloe, Fran, and Bridget are all lounging around, sipping from wineglasses.
“Where are the boys?” I ask.
Fran smirks. “You mean, where’s Charlie?”
Heat in my cheeks tells me I’m blushing. That’s exactly what I meant.
Bridget winks, then nods toward the glass windows that look out at the pool. I walk over and glance outside.
Theo, Hugo, Jasper, Cal, and Tripp are all seated on the line of lounge chairs, sipping on beers. Charlie is standing, leaning against the large teak table, talking to a rapt audience.
I still can’t believe he’s here. I’d convinced myself I’d never see Charlie again.
He points toward something past the pool. The guys all glance that way.
Me? I’m focused on the flex of his muscular forearm, on full display thanks to his rolled-up sleeves. The warmth in my face spreads, sliding down my spine and settling in my lower stomach.
It’s strange, seeing him casually chatting with my closest friends. Looking like part of my world.
I continue into the kitchen, where appetizers have been spread out.
Louise, one of two maids the Beaumonts employ here, offers me a glass of Chevalier-Montrachet Chardonnay, which I gratefully accept. André, the chef, is busy preparing dinner—what looks like bouillabaisse. The scents of saffron and garlic swirl in the air as I sip on the crisp wine, then nibble on a slice of cheese from the plate.
Everyone else migrates to the kitchen gradually, including Charlie. I avoid looking at him as I chat with Chloe about the play she’s auditioning for once she and Theo are back in London. Overcompensating for the acute awareness buzzing in my bloodstream. His presence lingers like an unsolved mystery I can’t forget about.
André serves the bouillabaisse out by the pool. We’re a couple of miles from the coast of the French Riviera, but the nearness of the ocean is evident in the salty breeze. Leaves sway on the trellis that shades part of the table.
I don’t sit by Charlie. I feel … shy around him. He’s here for me, but we’re not together. Outside of the bedroom, I’m unsure how to act. What the boundaries are. What the expectations are. My friends aren’t subtle about glancing between us as we all take seats, which only adds to my uncertainty. If I didn’t like him, if all I admired about Charlie was the size of his dick, I wouldn’t care. I’d be relaxed, joking and laughing and looking forward to a night of incredible sex.
But I do like him. And I do care.
I end up next to Jasper, then try to eavesdrop on Charlie’s conversation with Theo at the other end of the table between bites of savory stew.
We play cards after dinner. First euchre, then Texas Hold’em.
When Bridget starts yawning, I check the time on my phone, shocked to see it’s nearly midnight.
Fran is first to stumble upstairs. The rest of us follow, the slow treads and shutting doors the same soundtrack as the past few nights.
I step into my room, releasing a long exhale once the door is closed.
It’s a relief to no longer feel on display.
These are my best friends. They knew me in elementary school, when I first discovered crushes. They’ve met every guy I ever dated—with the exception of Lawrence because everything with Cal felt too fresh—and they teased me about breaking hearts long before any of us knew what that really felt like.
And it feels like they’ve all already realized that I like Charlie.
I thought we were done after he turned down Theo’s invitation to come here and—unintentionally?—insulted me in the process. No part of me expected him to show up in France. He’s constantly showing up when I least expect. Even when I think I’m prepared to see him, I’m not.
Charlie’s like one of those jack-in-the-box toys. I think it’s closed, tightly contained, and then he suddenly reappears. And instead of a disturbing clown, I’m faced with a gorgeous man.
I run through my evening skin care routine, change into a silk nightgown, then slip between sheets that smell like lavender. Stare at the strip of moonlight beaming across the hardwood floor.
It’s completely silent in the house.
It’d be peaceful, if not for my erratic pulse and racing thoughts.
My fingers fiddle with smooth fabric, deliberating my next move. Do I sneak into his room? Do I wait until?—
My bedroom door creaks slightly as it opens.
I rise up onto my elbows, squinting in the darkness at the shadowed figure approaching my bed. Swallow—hard—when he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. The mattress lowers a little bit with the added weight.
“Do you want me to leave?”
The same question he asked earlier.
The low rumble of his baritone raises bumps on my skin. My heart is trying to beat out of my chest, and my breathing is uneven, and my skin is suddenly extra sensitive. When I lie back down, the rasp of the sheets is enough to make my nipples hard.
I recognize the feeling from the last time we were in a bedroom together.
The Charles Marlborough effect.
I tell him the same answer. The truth. “No.”
He didn’t turn on any lights this time. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, but I can’t see well enough to tell exactly what he’s doing.
I hear the rustle of fabric. The crinkle of foil.
My thighs clench together, trying to alleviate the ache that’s appeared. My body is already conditioned to anticipate pleasure from his.
The mattress dips again, lower, and then there’s a warm body lying beside mine.
I think the rustling meant he’s naked, but I don’t reach out to confirm.
This feels … deliberate. Not the frantic rush of our first night together. We didn’t just happen to end up at the same wedding this time. He chased me. Maybe not to Saint-Tropez, since he said he had business here, but to this house. To this bed.
“We did the group dance for Chloe last night,” I tell him, for some random reason.
Charlie tucks an arm behind his head, bicep bulging. “Yeah?”
My thighs are squeezed so tight I’m concerned I could be cutting off circulation down there.
“Yeah. She loved it.”
“Not surprised. Wish I’d gotten to see it.”
“Our dance was better,” I say, then bite my bottom lip. Reminiscing about a romantic waltz in the wilderness isn’t typical pillow talk with a fling. “How’s Blythe?”
Bringing up his sister isn’t much better, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head.
“I hadn’t heard from her in three days, then she texted me ten times after dinner because she blew a fuse at the flat. So … her normal self.”
“That’s good.”
“Mmhmm.” He rolls toward me, left hand landing on my hip.
I pull in a quick breath, his touch spreading across my skin like ripples on the surface of a pond.
“You’re good at cards,” Charlie tells me.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
He chuckles, skilled fingers finding the hem of my silk slip and sneaking under it. Teasing strokes brush back and forth across my leg, slowly moving higher.
I relax my thighs and spread my knees, battling the urge to grab his hand and shift it up to where I really want it.
Charlie makes a husky sound in the back of his throat. Then he’s hovering over me, tossing the condom packet in his right hand onto the pillow beside mine before gathering most of my hair into his fist. His hips drop into mine, the firm ridge of his erection rubbing that needy spot.
“You’re fucking soaked, Lili.”
“I’ve been wet since you got here,” I admit.
He growls, grabbing my right knee and hooking it over his hip as he grinds his erection against my clit. “You know what I think about all the time now?”
“Work?” I pant.
I catch the ghost of a smile before his mouth lands on my breast. He sucks the raised point of my nipple, then bites gently.
I try to contain the desperate whimper, I really do, but it bursts out anyway. If anyone else is still awake, they likely have an exact idea of what’s happening in my room.
“I think about this tight cunt.” He pushes two fingers into my pussy. “And I think about this sinful mouth.” He kisses me, tugging my lower lip between his teeth. “And I think about these perky tits.” He lets go of my hair to tweak my stinging nipple, the fingers of his other hand curling, making my inner muscles spasm. It’s not his cock, which is what I really want, what I can feel—hot and hard—against my thigh. But it still feels so good—another hit of an addictive drug.
I’m soaking his hand. Probably soaking the sheets too.
I wiggle against him, trying to stimulate more friction. I love the way he touches me urgently, but doesn’t rush, yet I hate it too. I want this to last forever, and I need it to happen now.
“I’m close.”
“I know.” He sounds deservedly smug. “Your cunt is squeezing the shit out of my fingers.”
His hand shifts, hitting a different angle, and the burst of spectacular sensation almost sends me over the edge. My moan is loud. Desperate.
He’s way too good at this.
His thumb rubs torturous circles around my clit. I bite my tongue so hard that I taste blood, trying to keep from shouting as pressure continues to build in my pelvis. As he coaxes me to the edge and keeps me there. My fingernails sink into his shoulders, scratching and scoring. Silently begging.
I beg out loud too.
I’m feverish with desire by the time he reaches for the condom.
I cry out in response to the sudden stretch.
My inner muscles contract around his erection, finally alleviating the empty ache.
It’s better than I remember. I don’t know how that’s possible.
Charlie’s hand slides down to my hip so he can adjust me exactly where he wants. His mouth moves to my neck. He bites gently enough not to break the skin. Hard enough to leave a mark.
I lift a hand and shove my fingers into his hair. His lips press against my collarbone, sucking, bruising more skin.
It’s hot, him branding me almost. I shouldn’t like it, but it’s about to send me over the edge.
“I’m going to wear a bathing suit tomorrow,” I say as his lips move to a new spot.
I’m not sure why that comes out. Some reminder, I guess, that we’ll see each other in the morning, when these marks will be visible. He agreed to go sailing when Theo was talking about the boat earlier, so I know he’s not intending to take off first thing.
There’s a pause. Followed by a gruff “I don’t give a fuck.”
He’s still pumping into me, but the pace is slow. And no matter how much I whine or wriggle or attack his back, he doesn’t thrust any faster.
Finally, I lose patience. I maneuver away until his dick slips all the way out, then roll over to face him.
“Sit up,” I tell Charlie, stripping the sheets down the bed and crawling toward him.
His abs bunch as he complies, leaning back on his palms with his thighs spread. His thick cock almost stretches to his belly button, the latex covering it glossy in the moonlight spilling through the curtains.
A midnight fantasy come to life.
I climb onto him, squeaking when he flicks one of my nipples with his tongue. I rub over his erection a couple of times, then reach down to guide him inside. My toes curl as I sink down slowly. He feels bigger from this angle. Hits deeper.
My entire being buzzes with impatience, but he’s huge. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I don’t give my body time to adjust.
Charlie doesn’t touch me. He lounges like a god on a throne, watching me straddle him. But I can feel the tension humming through him. The muscles of his thighs are bunched, the V between his hips flexed so sharply that it looks like an edge you could cut yourself on. And it feels like he’s swelling inside of me, somehow becoming harder and thicker.
I finally manage to take him all, my ass brushing against his balls, so full that stuffed gains a fresh meaning.
He still doesn’t touch me, watching me work myself up and down, fucking myself on his cock like it’s my personal sex toy.
But the way he’s watching me, like it’s taking all of his restraint to cede control—to not flip me over and rut into me like an animal—makes me feel like the sexiest woman in the world.
That devilish gleam—that burning desire—is what sends me over the edge.
I can’t think.
Can’t talk.
Can’t see.
I just feel .
And then I fall.