Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Elise
M y entire body liquified.
Honestly, it was miraculous that I didn’t launch myself at him and kiss him right then and there. But the gentleness couching his words stopped me. Yes, it was sexy as all get out of him to say such a thing in the first place, but it was… thoughtful. The polar opposite of what his grandfather had accused him of being.
“Okay,” I managed, holding his gaze and summoning all the courage I knew existed in me. The planes of his face were stunning, and at this range I could see, not nearly as perfect as I’d thought. Somehow, the small scar in his left eyebrow and the freckle inside his right iris made him even more appealing.
His head dipped ever so slightly, and I exhaled slowly as he backed away, moving all the way into the living room and taking a seat on the couch.
“Do you want popcorn?” Because we had to fill the space with something other than the sheer wanting still coursing through me.
“ Bien s?r , thank you,” he said, and even though I wasn’t certain of the meaning, his inflection told me he meant yes.
But also, maybe he wasn’t gentle and thoughtful? Because if he were, he wouldn’t have spoken French just now. He wouldn’t have held up a lighter to the already singed parts of me.
In a few minutes, I settled in next to him, our elbows brushing and highlighting just how small my couch—realistically more of a love seat—was. I didn’t often host here because the space was cramped, and almost everyone else lived in houses with larger living rooms. Lately, the most time I’d spent with friends had been in the All Booked Up reading room, and I was just fine with that because it was delightful.
I’d left him to make a selection, and, to my surprise, he’d chosen The Proposal , a movie about a fake engagement destined for a marriage of convenience.
A bit on the nose there, sir.
I didn’t make the point because we weren’t getting married. In a matter of weeks, once his family had come and gone, this would all be over.
This thought settled like a thorn in my chest, but I pushed it away. I’d anticipated an action film or maybe something dramatic and sweeping, but here we were watching Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds fall in love in the gorgeous setting of a small Alaskan town.
After their kiss in front of his family, which went from fake to real in a delicious moment of unexpected tension, my stomach flipped at the thought of kissing Luc.
“Perhaps we should try something,” he suggested, resting his large hand palm-up on his thigh.
My heart thudded in my chest, but it wasn’t dread or anxiety. It was desire pumping through me, and I let myself enjoy it. Not that it was so rare with him, but in the reality of my life, I hadn’t wanted to touch a man in a long time. I simply hadn’t. And every time I felt pleasure or anticipation at contact with Luc, it felt a little like magic. Like a small miracle.
I slipped my hand into his, my entire being lighting up at the contact of our fingers lacing, my palm resting against his large, warm one.
A simple touch, yet so much more.
He hummed softly. “This is nice.”
I laughed, and if Dove had been in the room, she would’ve heard the low-key delirium lining the sound, but thank goodness she wasn’t here. Hopefully, Luc couldn’t hear the edge of hysteria as every nerve ending in my body played the maracas.
“It is,” I said, as though I was hardly moved by the contact.
We stayed like this for a while until his thumb arced over my skin in a soothing and yet deeply unsettling movement. The pad of his finger was slightly calloused, and every swipe felt like he was plucking at an ever-tightening string.
My mind played tricks on me. It imagined his hands slowly but surely exploring my wrist first, then the dip of my elbow and up the soft curve of my biceps. It imagined him dropping his mouth to touch his lips to my neck, behind my ear, and?—
“Elise, mon c?ur .”
His voice came in a raspy whisper, but then I was shaken awake—a hand on my face startled me enough to open my eyes.
Endless gray-green eyes with that little fleck of a dark freckle to one side waited for me, staring back as I oriented myself to reality and not the dream I’d apparently crafted in a movie-induced sleep.
“I’m so sorry I fell asleep,” I said, then realized my whole body was leaning against him, and my head had likely been on his shoulder.
“Don’t apologize. The movie is over, and I should go.”
The moment hung and some insane part of me thought about saying no, he shouldn’t. Some other more confident woman—a version of me who knew what she wanted and understood what she had to give—that woman would’ve told him to stay.
But this person, the one who’d climbed out of the totaled car that was my relationship with Callum, she was still finding her way. No longer did she suffer from whiplash or aching knees or a bruised heart. It was simply that she didn’t know if she could get in another car—if she’d ever drive again.
She was enjoying riding in a car, though. Not being behind the wheel, perhaps, but taking the ride—and that was why this setup with Luc was perfect. That was why there would be no asking him to stay, but also no brutal emotional fallout when the wheels fell off. I could take the drive as a passenger, let him do the driving of this fake… car? Okay, so the illustration got a bit murky, but the point remained. Wanting Luc wasn’t the hard part. Liking him wasn’t either.
And knowing those feelings would stay tucked away while we took this drive together was what would help me avoid the hard part.
I sat up and brushed my hair from my face. “Alright.” I didn’t want to sound too enthusiastic about it. I wouldn’t have minded dozing here next to him until morning, but that would’ve been confusing, too.
I walked him to the door, wondering if I should apologize again. He slipped his hand into mine and towed me along with him, which made it feel like maybe he wanted me close, and I took that as an answer.
“Thank you for dinner and for the movie,” he said, his voice a little rougher than normal with the late hour. “And for holding my hand.”
He raised our joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of mine.
My heart swooped low.
“Thank you for coming. And for being patient—for moving slowly.” I hoped he’d understand, and when he nodded, I knew he did.
I’d shared about my mother and he knew about Callum—he’d witnessed it. But somehow, this moment made me feel more vulnerable than I’d ever felt with him. Had I stripped down in the living room and decided to walk him to the door naked?
I might as well have, for all the layers I had to hide behind now.
“I’ll text you in the morning,” he said, turning to go and releasing my hand, but I scrambled to get it back, clutching at his wrist as I said, “Could I hug you?”
Already emotionally bare in a way I hadn’t expected, why not throw myself at his feet? And yet it was all for practice, all couched within the context of fakeness, so the risk felt more bearable than I would’ve guessed. Testing the waters without getting soaked, in a way. Remembering the feel of his hand on mine, on my thigh, it made me wonder what full-body contact with him would be like… And rather than drive this anticipation into levels of crazy restlessness and fuel for my overactive imagination, maybe getting on with it would quell the desire to some degree.
The half-smile tugging at his lips would’ve slayed me, but before I had time to fully register it, he’d slipped his arms around me and pressed me close. Instantly, I wrapped mine around him and stepped even closer, relishing his warmth and the firm planes of his body. He was so muscular and big and safe.
It clicked then.
I didn’t know Luc all that well yet, but I knew he was safe. In ways Callum, despite how well I thought I’d known him, had never been.
What would it be like to be with someone who could be gentle and considerate like this? And why was that such a dreamy proposition instead of a given? I hadn’t lowered my standards in theory, but in reality, my time with Callum had proved what I’d been willing to give up, and that truth burned through me.
If I ever did try with someone again—and I really didn’t anticipate doing that—I’d want it to feel like this. Buzzy with possibility and a little longing, but warm, gentle, and safe.
I pulled away, fully aware my thoughts were taking me places I couldn’t afford for them to go.
“Talk to you tomorrow,” I said, and grinned when he sent me a wink.
He shuffled down half a flight of stairs while I watched, then turned and notched his chin up. “Lock the door.”
I nodded, confirming I’d do it, but had planned to watch him until he disappeared all the way down the stairs.
He planted his feet, hand on the railing, then squinted.
I waited.
“Go ahead. Do it now.”
I started to argue, then thought better of it, chuckling softly and closing the door as I did. I clicked the lock so loudly it had to have been audible for him.
Bossy, he could be.
But also safe.