Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
Paris
‘I S THERE A better time to be in Paris than in the spring?’ The woman beside Primo at the cocktail party gave a slightly annoying laugh. ‘I know it’s such a cliché, but isn’t Paris just so beautiful?’
Primo wasn’t and hadn’t ever been unaware of Paris’s beauty, but to his shame he’d always taken it for granted. Today, for the first time ever, he’d had a little time after a lunch meeting and had taken a walk back to the hotel along the Seine. And he had noticed the trees in blossom, the people strolling along with dogs or just eating lunch.
He’d noticed lovers too, locked in passionate embraces. And that had made him think of Faye. And how, since the other night in Manhattan, he hadn’t been able to get their passionate embraces out of his head.
In bed, she was everything that he’d thought she would be and more. Under that serene and elegant surface was an earthy, sensual woman whose appetites matched his. It was a little unexpected to find that he was married to the best lover he’d ever had. The most he’d hoped for was that they’d be compatible. What they actually were was combustible.
It would fade, Primo had told himself that afternoon, as he’d sat down for a few minutes and ordered an espresso from a riverside café. As if the coffee might help to burn away some of the anticipation he felt because he knew that Faye was coming to Paris to meet him.
Strange that it had felt like such a victory when she’d texted earlier.
I’ve managed to rearrange some of my meetings. I’ll see you at the event. F
He’d been in an early meeting in London and he’d felt like a teenager whose crush had just agreed to go out with him.
Ridiculous.
He only realised he was scowling now when the ‘Isn’t Paris just so beautiful?’ woman beside him looked a little alarmed.
He rearranged his facial expression and said, ‘You are right. It is absolutely the most beautiful city in the springtime. Now, if you’ll excuse me, please?’
He’d turned to walk away, and was just thinking to himself Where the hell is she? when the little hairs went up on the back of his neck.
He looked up the stairs that led down into the room where the party was being held. Faye was standing at the top in a flowing black knee-length cocktail dress. Sleeveless. So far so classic. But it had a deep vee that cut between her breasts, and when she moved the dress shone and sparkled from the intricately beaded lace overlay.
She wore vertiginous high heels, and Primo couldn’t take his eyes off her as she came down the stairs, her legs long and shapely. Deep within him he felt a very primal beat saying, Mine, mine, mine.
He walked to the bottom of the stairs to meet her. Standing on the bottom step, she was at a slightly higher level than him, and Primo gave in to temptation and kissed her. He felt her quickly indrawn breath and then, within a beat, her mouth had softened under his. If not for the crowded room behind him, he would have been hauling her closer and indulging in seeing how easy it would be to slide a hand under one side of her dress to cup a breast.
He drew back reluctantly. She blinked at him. Her hair was pulled back, sleek. In a low ponytail. She wore minimal jewellery, but he could see the engagement and wedding rings in his peripheral vision, and he was filled with such a strong sense of satisfaction that it was a little disconcerting.
He said, ‘Thank you for coming. You look stunning.’
She suddenly looked a little shy, with an expression he hadn’t noticed before because usually she was so confident. It made him think of how she could often appear a little shy before they started making love, but then she’d be all heat and fire and—
‘Thank you. You look...lovely too.’
Primo felt a burgeoning sense of something very light and expansive filling his chest. He tucked Faye’s arm into his and led her into the room. ‘So, can I take it that you decided to join me because you missed me?’
‘Not quite,’ was her dry response.
Primo let her go to take two glasses of sparkling wine from a waiter and handed her one. ‘Santé.’
She arched a brow. ‘You speak French?’
‘ Mais, bien s?r. I also speak Spanish, Italian, German and passable Mandarin.’
Faye looked a little smug. ‘Me too. I also speak Arabic and passable Farsi. I did a few months’ study of Persian Art in Iran a few years ago.’
Primo bowed his head. ‘I defer to your superior linguistic abilities. So, tell me, what on earth else could have tempted you to come to Paris if it wasn’t your insanely handsome and virile husband?’
Faye’s face went pink. Primo realised he enjoyed getting under her skin by teasing her.
‘I’ve arranged to visit the newly reopened Conti Art Gallery.’
‘That’s Modern Art, right?’
Faye nodded. ‘Very good.’
‘When are you going?’
‘Tomorrow—early, before they open. A client has done me a favour in organising a private tour.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
Faye looked a little surprised. ‘Are you interested in Modern Art?’
‘Not especially, but I’m sure you can make it interesting.’
Faye cocked her head to one side. ‘Do you know how much I charge for a personal appointment?’
Primo smiled. He really enjoyed this woman and her determination to cling on to her independence. She surprised him—and it had been a long time since he’d been surprised. He had no doubt that once she’d made her point about retaining her independence inevitably their lives would dovetail more. But for now he was enjoying the novelty.
He said, ‘I’m sure I can make it up to you in kind.’
She went a little pink again. She opened her mouth, but before she could say something that he already knew would be tart they were interrupted by the host of the party.
‘Primo, this must be your beautiful new bride! Please introduce us.’
Primo bit back a smile at Faye’s thwarted expression and took her hand in his as he faced their host.
Faye didn’t like how nice it felt to have Primo touch her back or take her hand. It was as if when they were in close proximity he couldn’t not touch her, and she had to admit she felt the same. But she’d never have the nerve to claim him physically the way he did her.
It brought back painful memories of her first marriage. She was naturally a tactile person and, believing that she and her husband were both on the same page emotionally, she’d felt comfortable enough to touch him in public. Just little gestures...a hand on his back or, when sitting down, on his thigh...
But invariably he would tense and move away a little, and say to her, sotto voce , ‘Not here, Faye.’
She’d learnt to curb her natural impulses, and since then no lover had enticed her to experiment again. But Primo did. And yet the thought of reaching for his hand and having him turn to look at her as if she was doing something wrong kept her impulse in check.
Dusk was falling over Paris, and outside the Eiffel Tower was twinkling in the distance. Faye was coming back from the bathroom and saw Primo was deep in conversation with a man. For a moment she was arrested by his sheer good looks and formidable build. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and a light blue shirt, open at the neck. Impossibly suave.
She hadn’t really been breathing properly since she’d arrived and caught his eye, and he’d come to the stairs to meet her. She saw the open French doors and diverted to an outdoor terrace, relishing the thought of a moment to get some air and try and sort through all the tangled things Primo made her feel.
Chief of which was the ever-present humming desire.
She came within ten feet of the guy and it was as if an electrical switch had been turned on.
She was tingling all over at the thought of what the night would hold. Her assistant had told her that Primo had a suite booked here, at the hotel where the party was taking place, so she’d booked a room too.
She knew Primo would expect her to share with him, but there was a part of her that still resisted giving herself over completely to this arrangement.
Because you know it won’t last.
She reassured herself that it wasn’t as if Primo had been under any illusions that she’d married him with unabated enthusiasm. They both knew it was an ancillary deal alongside a much bigger one.
And he knew that she might decide to leave after six months. There was no guarantee she would stay. And if she kept her boundaries during that time then he couldn’t say she’d deceived him.
Simple. And yet...not.
It felt as if every time she was with him he had a stronger pull on her.
She shouldn’t have come to Paris. They had a function to attend together in Boston at the end of the following week. That would have been time enough for them to meet again. But Faye had given in to an impulse too strong to ignore...
‘Here you are.’
A shiver of longing went down Faye’s spine and directly into her gut at the sound of Primo’s voice. She closed her eyes for a second, and then opened them as he came to stand beside her, facing her, one elbow resting on the wall of the terrace. Like this, his mouth was on the same level as hers, and all Faye would have to do would be to lean forward and—
He reached out and touched her jaw with a finger. ‘You look very stern.’
Faye relaxed her facial expression, felt her skin tingle where Primo had touched her. ‘I was admiring the view.’
Liar.
She found herself divulging, ‘I spent a summer here as an au pair, between school and college.’
Primo looked at her. ‘That’s impressive. Why weren’t you swanning around the Mediterranean on a yacht, presumably like the rest of your peers? You could have had an easier summer.’
Faye shrugged again. She felt pricklingly self-conscious under Primo’s blue gaze. ‘I was never into that kind of vacuous social life. And I didn’t mind working.’
‘Your independence means a lot to you,’ he observed.
‘I was an only child. I think I learnt from a young age to be comfortable on my own.’
Until she’d lost herself in her first marriage, believing herself to be in love.
Primo looked at her. ‘You’re not on your own now. I’m here.’
Faye’s heart thumped unsteadily at the gleam in his eyes. ‘I guess so.’
He arched a brow and moved closer, until there was no space between their bodies. ‘Do you doubt it? Should I show you how real I am?’
In her head Faye said, Please... But all she could manage was a kind of pleading sound. No words.
Primo stood up straight and cupped her jaw and face with both hands. Something inside Faye melted. Relaxed. She spent so much time in her head that she was fast becoming addicted to the way Primo could silence everything with his touch.
His mouth covered hers, stealing her breath, and she was lost. The party just feet away was forgotten. The kiss started out chaste enough—as if Primo had intended it to be just a perfunctory thing—but neither broke contact, and then it became something far more incendiary and explicit.
His hands had moved down to her waist and he was pulling her closer, so she could feel the evidence of his arousal through their clothes. Faye moved her hips enticingly.
Primo pulled back and said in a rough voice, ‘Witch.’
He lifted a hand and cupped her jaw again. Faye wanted to lean into his hand and purr like a cat.
‘I think I’ve had enough of this party. You?’ he asked.
Faye nodded.
Primo took her hand and led her back into the thronged room. They went to the host and said goodbye.
Outside the party, Primo still had Faye’s hand in his. He lifted it and pressed a kiss to it, causing Faye to suck in a sharp breath. His easy tactility and affection were fast becoming addictive.
‘Fancy a nightcap in my room? I presume you’ve booked your own room in the hotel?’
Faye nodded, almost feeling guilty now. But Primo said nothing. He just led them to an elevator.
It ascended to the very top level of the hotel. Naturally he had a penthouse suite that appeared to Faye to run across the entirety of the top floor, with views even more impressive than those a few floors below.
‘What would you like?’ Primo asked.
Faye looked across the room. He’d taken off his jacket, and his back and shoulders looked very broad.
Faye took off her shoes and sank down into a plush chair. ‘A small white wine, please.’
Primo poured the drinks and came back over. He handed Faye hers and sat down at right angles to her chair. Faye tucked her legs under her. Primo’s gaze dropped to her chest, and Faye looked down and realised the dress was gaping open slightly over one breast. Her skin prickled with awareness. She could have pulled it back over, to cover herself, but she left it.
Primo looked back up at her face. The air between them sizzled, but she tried to feign nonchalance. ‘You don’t have an apartment in Paris?’
Primo shook his head. ‘My father does, but I don’t use it. We had a lot more properties, but I sold most of them off...just keeping a few strategic ones.’
‘My apartment in Manhattan is the only property I own. We had more, but Father sold them off after Mother died. He didn’t see the point in travelling much after she was gone.’
‘He really loved her?’
Faye nodded, feeling a little emotional. She took a sip of wine to disguise it.
Primo was shaking his head. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like to have two parents who aren’t permanently at each other’s throats. My parents’ marriage was one of two states: either ice-cold, with tension thick enough to cut with a knife, or dramatic histrionics. The morning our mother left,’ Primo went on, ‘Quin was clinging to her, crying and begging her not to go. But I was numb. I had to peel him off her. To this day I can’t stand dramatics.’
Feeling a little less exposed after hearing this, Faye said, ‘That’s a form of self-protection. Your brother acted out his anguish, but you pushed yours down.’
Primo arched a brow. ‘Was psychology part of your art degree?’
But his words held no edge or defensiveness. Faye wondered what it would take to really ruffle the surface of this very self-contained man.
At that moment his gaze dropped again to her chest. His jaw tightened.
Feeling emboldened, Faye asked, ‘Is something bothering you?’
His gaze came back up. His eyes were glittering. ‘You know exactly what you’re doing.’
She didn’t, actually, but it felt heady to finally see some evidence that she could ruffle Primo’s feathers—even a little bit. She looked down and could see the curve of her breast. She pulled her dress apart a little bit more, exposing herself, and then very deliberately tipped her glass of wine so that the cold liquid fell on her breast, running in a rivulet around and over her nipple.
‘Oops.’
‘Faye...’
She looked up. Primo’s face was stark. He’d put his drink down and his hands were on the arms of the chair, knuckles white.
‘Come here,’ he ordered softly.
Faye felt like saying, You come here , because she wasn’t sure her legs would work when she stood up. But she found herself untucking her legs and obeying his order, until she was standing in front of him, her glass in her hand.
‘Give me your glass.’
She handed it over and he put it on a side table. Then he looked at her and leaned forward, putting his hands on her waist and drawing her to him, so that she had to put her knees on the chair either side of his thighs.
Her hands went to his chest and she could feel the strong thud of his heart. Faye’s own heart was palpitating.
Primo reached up and slid his hands under the wide straps of the dress. ‘May I?’ he said.
She was sitting on the man’s lap, legs spread wide. She nodded, and bit her lip as he pushed the material down her arms, making the dress fall to her waist, exposing her bare breasts.
Faye lifted her arms from the straps.
Primo lifted the wine glass from the table and held it to Faye’s hot skin, making her nipples pebble into tight buds of need. Then he slowly and deliberately poured more wine, first over one breast and then the other, before putting the glass back down. Then he cupped her breasts in his hands and proceeded to very thoroughly lick them clean of all traces of wine, lingering on her nipples, sucking and tugging on the sensitised flesh, until Faye was unconsciously moving her hips against him to assuage the ache.
As if reading her mind, Primo kept his mouth on her as one hand delved under the skirt of her dress and found her lace underwear, pushing it aside so that he could explore her flesh, finding where she was hot and moist, delving deep inside with first one and then two fingers.
Faye was feverish now as, with his tongue and mouth and wicked fingers, he brought her to a shuddering orgasm. She looked down at him, stunned, as her body shuddered with voluptuous aftershocks. But she was still hungry. And she could feel every muscle in his body was taut.
She lifted herself up and stood on shaky legs. She pulled her underwear off completely and then positioned herself over Primo again. She undid his shirt and pushed it open, spreading her hands and fingers across his chest. And then she reached down and undid his belt buckle and button.
He said with half a smile in his voice, ‘We could go somewhere more comfortable...’
Faye shook her head. ‘No, here. Now...’
While she was undoing him, finding his length and putting her hand around him, he was reaching for her hair and unpinning it so that it fell around her shoulders.
She came up on her knees, either side of his thighs, and he put his hands on her buttocks, squeezing the flesh as she slowly and carefully moved down onto his hard length.
They both sucked in a breath as her body took him in and sensitised muscles moulded around his flesh. For a moment Faye didn’t move, too full of something that felt almost...emotional as she looked into his eyes.
And then, terrified of what that meant, she started to move, up and down, making Primo’s jaw clench. Their skin grew slick with perspiration and his hands squeezed harder, urging her on, allowing her to move but then holding her still so that he could surge up and into her. And all she could do was cling to his shoulders and bite back a low moan of pleasure.
This orgasm came less quickly than the last one, but it was no less devastating—like a massive body of water that kept surging and surging until it broke against her, her body clamping down on Primo’s until he too found release, holding her still as he thrust up, touching her so deeply that she couldn’t breathe for a long moment, and then fell, limp against him, her face buried in his neck.
Faye wasn’t sure how or when they were able to move, but somehow, at some point, Primo was lifting her to his chest and walking them through the suite into a bedroom.
He put her down on the end of the bed and said, ‘Wait there.’
Faye didn’t have the strength to tell him she wasn’t even sure if she could speak, never mind move. She was vaguely aware of her deshabille. Dress bunched up to her waist. Underwear gone. Breasts completely exposed. Hair down. Make-up...? Smeared into oblivion. But somehow she couldn’t care less. She’d never felt so relaxed with a lover. When she was with Primo like this, boundaries dissolved and melted into nothing.
He came back and she realised he’d taken off his rumpled clothes. He pulled her up and led her into the bathroom, which was already steaming up from the shower. He pulled her dress down and then brought her into the shower, where he proceeded to wash her with thorough efficiency.
Even though she could barely move, she could already feel the flickers of a resurgence of desire as his hands moved over her backside and around to the front, dipping down briefly to that tender spot between her legs.
Sleepily she protested, ‘I can wash myself...’
‘Done.’
He turned the water off and wrapped her in a big soft towel. He’d pulled her hair up, twisting it into a knot to keep it dry. He let it down now. He briskly dried himself and then led her into the bedroom, to the bed.
Faye crawled into it and landed on her back. Primo lay beside her. She turned her head to look at him and saw he was watching her. She opened her mouth to say something... But she was asleep before she could articulate anything, her last image of Primo’s bright blue eyes on her.
When Faye woke she felt so utterly heavy and at peace that she relished the feeling for a few moments—before snippets of the previous night came back to her. She was in Paris. As if to remind her of that, the very distinctive sound of a French police siren came faintly from the street far down below.
She opened her eyes. The bed beside her was rumpled, but empty. She breathed out. There were no sounds coming from the bathroom. Faye sat up and realised she was still in the towel from taking that shower. After the most torrid and urgent sex she could remember having.
She groaned. She was pretty sure Primo wasn’t used to waking up with lovers still wearing a towel and with their hair all over the place.
She went into the bathroom and pulled on a voluminous robe. She found copious lavish beauty products. And a new toothbrush still in its packaging. Faye freshened up and pulled her hair back, and steeled herself to see Primo.
On bare feet—because of course she had nothing of her own with her in his suite—she padded through the generous rooms until she came to the main reception room. The French doors were open onto the terrace and curtains moved softly in the spring breeze. Faye heard deep voices and then a man appeared in a hotel uniform.
He bowed towards her. ‘Good morning, Mrs Holt. Breakfast is served on the terrace.’
Faye mumbled something in return and went out to find Primo sitting at a laid table, dressed and shaved and not looking as if he’d unravelled her completely last night. She felt exposed.
He looked at her, an expression of something close to amusement on his face which didn’t help her mood.
‘Good morning. Don’t worry—it’s still early. You won’t have missed your appointment.’
The appointment!
She’d forgotten. Not like her at all. The man was scrambling her brain. She felt on edge and prickly.
She sat down on the opposite side of the table. Coffee. She needed coffee.
As if reading her mind—because why not? He could read her body better than she could—Primo picked up the pot.
‘Coffee?’
Faye held out her cup. She knew she was being ridiculous, but this was exactly why she’d pushed so hard to have boundaries between her and Primo—to avoid this kind of cosy domestic scene. For her it brought back too many painful memories of breakfasting on her own once her previous husband had decided she was no longer a viable wife.
‘Thank you,’ she said, as graciously as she could, and took a sip of the strong hot drink.
‘Not a morning person?’
She looked at him and felt her irritation sapping away. She was being ridiculous. ‘I guess I’m just used to my own space.’
‘You don’t like to hang out with lovers the morning after?’
Faye shuddered lightly. ‘Not generally, no.’ She looked at him over the rim of her cup. ‘You?’
His mouth firmed a little. ‘I’ve tended to avoid it, as it can signify a desire for an intimacy that I’m not interested in.’
He looked at her again.
‘But this is different...we’re married.’ Primo gestured to the table full of fruit and tempting pastries. ‘Look at us, having our first breakfast together. Cute.’
There was only the slightest hint of mockery in Primo’s voice.
Faye desisted from making a face, or saying, Don’t get used to it. But she wanted to turn the spotlight on him and asked, as she picked up a pain au chocolat , ‘Based on what you told me about your thoughts on marriage and romance, I’m assuming you’ve never been in love?’
Primo took a sip of his own coffee. He shook his head. ‘No. I don’t believe in it. I think people form attachments...have things in common. They like to call it love as a justification for staying together, for choosing one person.’
He looked at her.
‘ You have been in love.’