CHAPTER 29
Leo
I cannot believe I made myself come in front of him. I cannot believe how much of a turn-on it was.
I feel hot as I attempt to do my make-up; my cheeks flush as I picture his face when he came, eyes shut, brow creased. His muscular forearm tensing as he slid his hand up and down his ridiculous length. I shiver as I imagine him pushing inside me.
He might have been telling me what to do, dictating the questions, but I felt so powerful seeing him come undone as he watched me.
I’ve never done anything like that before, but for some reason, I just trust George.
I felt entirely at ease baring myself to him not just physically, but in the vulnerability of letting go, making myself feel good.
He makes me feel sexy, and the way he reacts to me . . . I shiver again.
‘Snap out of it, Leo!’ I tell myself, still needing to get dressed when it’s nearly time to go.
Glowy make-up attempted and hair brushed out, I ponder the limited wardrobe I brought, not expecting to be dating a ‘World’s Sexiest Man’ contender.
I end up opting for a long silky cream skirt, soft cashmere knit and classic smart white trainers, my signature pearl studs glinting through my hair.
I tuck it behind my ears, out of the way, and grab my bag. It’s 6.29.
I’m about to open the door when I hear a knock.
George is standing just outside, arm against the doorframe.
‘Good evening, Leo.’ He offers an arm, his perfect smile popping against his navy linen shirt. ‘May I escort you to the car?’ His voice is charming, overly formal, and it makes me giggle, slightly from nerves but mainly because I really like him.
‘It’s been two days, Leo!’ a voice shouts into my brain.
But I ignore it. I’ve spent months with men who haven’t made me feel anywhere near as wonderful as George.
And this isn’t serious anyway, we’re just having fun.
We haven’t even slept together yet, just made each other come a bunch of times, just fun!
‘Yep, sure,’ that voice returns. ‘Keep telling yourself that.’
‘Leo?’ I snap back to reality.
He’s still there, arm out, and I link mine through, gripping lightly.
He’s rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing those tanned, strong forearms, veins running down to his elegant, albeit huge, hands.
His grey-brown eyes are smouldering, dark against his long lashes, his wavy hair slightly damp still at the nape, his skin gleaming. He smells incredible.
He’s edible.
‘So where are we going, Miss James?’ His voice is amused, deep and smooth. He’s having fun. He squeezes my arse as I walk out the door, pausing for a second to look down inquisitively. ‘Mmm, I like this skirt.’ He doesn’t remove his hand as we walk along the corridor.
‘It’s a surprise,’ I find myself grinning up at him. ‘Something that you can actually mention when you talk about how great I am.’
‘You mean your ability to make me instantly hard doesn’t count?’ He huffs in mock annoyance.
‘No,’ I bat him away as we get to the lift, ‘it doesn’t.’
‘Shame . . . it’s quite a skill, although somewhat inconvenient.’ He adjusts himself, grinning down at me now too.
‘Easy, cowboy. None of that where we’re going!’ I really hope he likes what I have planned. ‘I’ve pulled in a favour this time.’
——
We pull up to the grand house, the evening sun casting a soft glow against the creamy facade, the typical Parisian rooftops casting shadows across the main entrance.
‘We’re here.’ I’m suddenly shy, worry creeping in that this is all super lame. He’s a well-travelled, super famous athlete. And I bring him to a museum, a museum that I like.
‘Musée Rodin?’ He smiles. ‘You got us tickets?’
‘Actually,’ I ring the bell on the gate, the ticket office closed for the day, ‘I organized a private visit. It’s just for us.’ I feel my cheeks heat and curse inwardly for the thousandth time that I have no control over showing my emotion.
‘Leo, that’s incredible!’ His genuine excitement eases my nerves. ‘How cool.’ He’s peering through the gate as the assistant curator, Louis Alland, comes to let us in.
‘Bonsoir, Mademoiselle James, please, come in, come in!’ He’s the sweet man I spoke to earlier today, incredibly helpful and very ‘artistique’ in his smock, a pencil tucked behind his ear, keeping back the wispy grey curls.
‘Merci, Louis, especially at such short notice!’
As we step through into the main hall, I look up at George; his eyes are wide, taking everything in. He grasps my hand without thinking, pressing it to his mouth for a light kiss. Louis’s gaze follows.
‘Et Monsieur Hampden, welcome to our sanctuary.’ He bows slightly. ‘You can see, we are surrounded by many masterpieces here, but, alors, I must say, you are a beautiful pair.’
I laugh nervously, ‘Oh!’
‘Merci, Louis. C’est très gentil de nous avoir organisé cette soirée.’ His accent is perfect, so sexy. ‘And you’re correct, she is a masterpiece.’ He winks at me and Louis looks delighted.
‘Ah oui, so wonderful.’ He claps his hands together. ‘I shall leave you to enjoy, the museum is yours. Please call me if you need anything at all.’ He bows again before leaving the two of us in the cavernous hall.
I feel like I need to whisper. ‘I hope this is OK?’
‘Leo.’ His hands fall to my waist as he looks down at me. ‘This is the coolest thing anyone has done for me.’ Lacing his fingers through mine, he tugs me to the nearest sculpture. ‘Can you take me around?’
‘Of course, although I’m no expert.’ I shrug. ‘I just like what I like.’
‘Perfect. Art is all subjective anyway.’ He grins. ‘And these are one hundred per cent better than a line on a page.’
We start in the exquisite gardens, hoping to catch everything before the light disappears. We take our time, moving from piece to piece. He’s much more interested than I expected him to be, leaning in to observe the way the marble is magically transformed, how emotions are conveyed, the sensuality.
I take him to see The Kiss, one of the most famous pieces but also one of my favourites, pointing out the light shining through the two figures, the marble so impossibly thin.
It glows in the warmth of the oncoming sunset, adding to the dreamy eroticism of the moment.
I show him the male’s hands digging into her hip, the indents in her flesh.
He comes up behind me to see, his arms wrapping around my waist as he kisses my neck softly, murmuring, ‘I love hearing you speak about this, your face is glowing, it’s so beautiful.’
We stand there for a while, soaking it up. Content in each other’s silence.
I take his hand and lead him into the next room. I want to show him a tiny sculpture by Rodin’s pupil turned mistress, Camille Claudel, The Waltz. The couple are locked in an intimate dance, his lips close to her bare neck, her body firm, powerful. Scandalous for the time.
He walks around the piece slowly, bending to see different angles, leaning in for the small details.
‘I like this one,’ he declares. ‘Reminds me of us, last night.’
He takes his phone out, looking around. ‘Are you sure we’re alone?’
‘Yes, the cameras will be on, but I’m sure Louis has better things to do than watch us.’ I hope anyway.
He smirks. ‘I’m not sure about that, we are a beautiful pair.’ He scrolls on his phone, placing it softly on a table to the side before beckoning me over.
I hear the intro to a familiar song. It makes me smile as I take his hand.
‘More Chris Stapleton?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘Yep. I was trying to impress a pretty girl and now I’m hooked.’ He twirls me around, singing along softly.
He’s so unexpected. This whole thing, a whirlwind. I block out my inner voice and surrender myself to the moment. It’s probably the most romantic thing I’ll ever experience in my life.
We sway along, the song slow and soft, the connection between us building almost tangibly.
I thought he was magnetic when I’d only seen his public persona.
He’s so much more than I thought, than I’ve ever hoped for with anyone.
Knowing the real him is dangerous, especially when I can see myself falling hard.
The song finishes and we part, but he doesn’t let go of my hand, his fingers firmly laced through mine.
‘Thank you, Leo. This is honestly . . .’ he trails off, his voice gravelly. ‘I’ve enjoyed the past few days. So much. I can’t remember the last time I actually had fun.’
‘You’re welcome.’ This exact moment is so perfect, but I know what’s ahead.
‘My responsibilities will ramp up tomorrow with the pre-tournament press, more intense practice.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘I’ll actually have to spend time with Gordon.’
‘That’s OK. It’s why you’re here.’ I try to sound nonchalant, encouraging even. ‘You don’t need to explain yourself.’
He takes both hands now. ‘No. You don’t understand. I don’t want this to stop. I like you, Leo, a lot.’ His eyes are earnest, making my stomach flutter. ‘I just need to let you know. If I had it my way, this would be every night, but I have obligations.’
‘And a tournament to win,’ I add with a smile, lightening the mood, trying to erase his concerns. I know what the life of a pro athlete entails. I’m not about to stop him.
‘And a tournament to win,’ he grins back. ‘You’ll come to my matches, right?’
‘Of course!’ I lean in and feign concern, ‘Unless Rainez is playing at the same time. Then it will be tricky to decide.’
He barks out something between a laugh and a growl. ‘You’ll regret that,’ he says playfully. ‘Are we done here?’
‘Yes, I’ve shown you pretty much everything.’ I look around, my body tingling at the predatory look in his eyes.
‘Good.’ He lifts me up over his shoulder with ease, placing a slap on my behind.
‘George!’ I squeal softly, not wanting to bring Louis running.
‘I couldn’t drag you back to my cave at the party, but I can now.’ He’s laughing, strolling away as if I’m nothing. I reach down and hit his arse, cursing as it hurts my hand.
‘Is any part of you not rock hard?!’
He laughs again. ‘One part isn’t, not yet anyway.’
He puts me down as we reach the exit, smoothing down my hair and placing a kiss to my forehead.
‘That was fun, Leo. Fucking great.’ His eyes land on the guestbook. He writes something, shielding it from me.
‘What are you doing?’ I try to peek around him, but he keeps me at arm’s length easily.
‘We’ll have to come back another time for you to see.’ He snaps it shut. ‘Come on, Louis is outside by the car.’
——
We arrive back, deciding on room service again.
George has tapes to watch over supper and I join him; as a tennis fan, seeing him note the intricate details that will help him beat his opponent is incredibly interesting. I enjoy it, even pointing some things out myself as I understand what he’s looking for.
I feel a yawn coming and glance at my phone, seeing it’s just past 10 p.m.
‘I’m exhausted, so god knows how you feel!’ I yawn again loudly, my eyes drowsy. Time has flown by easily.
‘I have to be up at five tomorrow, early gym session before practice and a media afternoon,’ he groans. His first match is the day after tomorrow.
‘Let’s call it a night; you need your sleep, Mr Hampden.’ I rise up, stretching slowly. ‘I really can’t wait to see you play.’
He looks at me intently. ‘Will you sleep with me tonight?’
My brows raise sharply.
‘I don’t mean to do anything but sleep, I just don’t want the day to end.’
I’m getting myself in deep here, but I can’t resist. The thought of cuddling up to George is too tempting.
‘Of course. Let me get changed.’ How could I say no? ‘My room or yours?’
‘Mine’s bigger.’ He looks at me suggestively. ‘But I don’t want to wake you getting ready, so yours?’
‘OK,’ I smile. ‘See you in five then.’
Minutes later, I’m in my silk pyjamas, teeth brushed, skincare done, when I hear a knock again.
‘Come in!’
I turn and he’s there, standing in just his boxers. He looks like a god, miles of golden skin, ripped abs, perfect pecs, but his face is the most beautiful part of him. He runs a hand through his dark waves, that one disobedient strand falling across his sleepy eyes.
I don’t know how we’re going to just sleep, but he comes over and slips into bed, murmuring, ‘Mmm, it smells like you,’ before reaching over to pull me into his arms, one long leg locking around me, firm arms around my waist, head tucked into the back of my neck.
He brushes my hair out of the way with his nose and places a soft kiss to my back.
‘Goodnight, Leo.’
‘Goodnight, George.’
I have no idea how I’m going to sleep like this; his body is basically a radiator, but soon I hear his gentle, even breathing and the rhythm soothes me.
I don’t fidget like I have with previous men, extracting myself as soon as I could.
I’m at peace, and soon I drift off myself, my final thoughts echoing around my head.
You’ve got it bad, girl.