Chapter Fourteen
Chantel
The backyard was quiet, but it sure as hell wasn’t peaceful. This silence was weighted with all the things we hadn’t said.
Dylan was stretched out on the blanket beside me, eyes on the stars, beer in hand, looking every bit the man who’d rather be alone.
Which, honestly, pissed me off a little.
I’d spent half the drive here telling myself I wasn’t coming to save him, and the other half knowing I absolutely was.
And now here I was, and my presence didn’t seem to make a bit of difference. He was worse than I’d hoped. More withdrawn. More tangled up in Jamie than I’d wanted to believe.
Did he still love her? Probably. I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise just to make myself feel better.
But I was the one on his blanket tonight, so I’d work with what I had.
“Was it a nice wedding?” He finally broke the silence.
“It was.” I turned my gaze from the spectacle of the heavens above us, to the spectacular man at my side. “But you don’t really want to talk about that, do you?”
“No, not really. I just figure I’ll hear about it eventually. This town is full of people who know practically everything about everyone, and they all love to talk about it. I’d rather hear about it from someone I respect and trust.”
Respect and trust.
God, this man. A lump formed in my throat as I rolled onto my side and propped my head on my hand, studying him in the moonlight.
Three months had passed since that day in Jamie’s kitchen, and I’d thought about him more than I wanted to admit. Nearly every damn day.
Which was so far out of the ordinary, I’d started worrying something was wrong with me.
I didn’t fixate on people. On work, yes. But random encounters with men? Never. Especially not when the man was as emotionally unavailable as Dylan.
I’d tried brushing it off as novelty. The intensity of the experience. The way he’d handled me like no one before, anticipating my needs before I even knew them.
But it was more than that, and I’d known it even before the first orgasm had faded.
Heat coiled through me now just thinking about it. “You realize the only thing you really know about me is how divine my pussy tastes.”
“That’s not true.” His gaze didn’t stray from the stars, but his mouth twitched at the corner, a smile breaking through his guarded expression.
“I know you live in Montreal. I know that you’re really dedicated to your job.
And I know that you make a sexy little moaning sound right before you come.
It sounds like you’re begging for it. It’s hot as fuck. ”
“Mon dieu.” I laughed, not the least bit embarrassed. “That’s all you’ve got? But you say you trust me?”
“I’d trust you with my life.” The quiet way he said it almost knocked the breath out of me. “You don’t trust me?”
“I do. Probably more than I should.” God, why had I admitted that? If I gave him any more of myself, it might just ruin me.
But lying in his backyard with my heels kicked off and his big, solid body next to mine, it was harder than usual to hold things back. “I’m an inherently skeptical person. When I’m told I can’t or shouldn’t do something, I want to prove that I can.”
“Don’t you get tired of it, though?” His warm brown eyes finally met mine. “I’m sick of trying to prove myself all the time.”
A pain bloomed in my chest, and that fucking lump was back in my throat. “So stop.”
“That’s a hell of a lot easier said than done,” he huffed.
“True.” I shifted closer and pressed my palm flat against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under my hand.
“But you can’t change the way the world sees you,” I murmured. “You can try, but people will only ever see the things they want. The only opinion you control is your own, and the only person you can make happy is you. So stop doing something that makes you so fucking miserable.”
“Are you a psychiatrist? Or just listening to your uncle? Because what you just said was some pretty smart shit.”
I dropped my forehead to his chest and laughed. “Well, I’m not a psychiatrist. But I am a doctor. At least, I will be soon.”
My whole adult life had been moving toward the singular goal of claiming the title. Years of studying. Loads spent on tuition. Endless hospital shifts. Thankless hours at the beck and call of an attending.
And still, I’d been too afraid to say it out loud.
Until this moment.
Until Dylan.
I propped my chin on my hand and looked back up at him. “I’m almost done with my residency, and then it’ll be official. I’ve been waiting forever to call myself a doctor.”
“I knew you were too fucking smart.” His fingers found their way into my hair, and he began picking out the pins, one by one. “Doctor Chantel Cotê.”
The way that word and my name rolled off his tongue was pure seduction. Wonderful, ruthless seduction. A shiver skated down my spine as the pins continued falling.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” he murmured as my hair fell from the sleek updo I’d spent a fortune on.
But let’s be real—I’d let him undo me a million times over. Any way he liked.
“Actually...” I cuddled closer, enjoying the heat radiating off him. “I’m a little chilly. Maybe we should crawl into the tent?”
His stomach tensed. “No, not the tent.”
I raised a brow at him, but his hand smoothed down my back, and he relaxed again.
“Let’s go inside.” His fingers traced circles at the base of my spine. “It’s been a long day. I’m ready for bed. You can stay over if you’d like.”
If you’d like.
As if I’d driven over in a cocktail dress and hijacked his night because I was thinking about staying anywhere else. I almost rolled my eyes.
Instead, I leaned into his touch and kept my voice casual. “I’m not here to force myself on you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t alone. I can leave if you want.”
God, I was such a liar. I just hoped he couldn’t see through me.
“Chantel, I want you to stay.” His voice dropped, tipping into something almost obscene. “Don’t make me regret having asked you so nicely. I don’t have the energy to spank you tonight.”
Oh. Oh.
Heat sliced through me. My core pulsed at just the memory of what he’d done to me in that kitchen.
I jumped to my feet before I did something undignified, like lifting my dress and begging him to do it again.
“Come on, then,” I said through a forced laugh, sticking my hand out to him. “Let’s go.”
He took my hand, but instead of getting up, he pulled me back down and wrapped me in his arms. “Just because I’m tired and being nice doesn’t mean you’re in charge,” he murmured in my ear.
“Oh, fuck d’ostie,” I moaned, having given up trying to contain my reactions.
His mouth found mine. His hand cradled my jaw, his thumb resting against the corner of my lips, holding me exactly where he wanted me. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth once before dipping inside, tasting me like he was memorizing something. My whole body went soft against him.
When he pulled back, he slapped my ass lightly and stood.
“I got you, enchanté. Don’t worry.” And then he picked me up like I weighed nothing at all and carried me into the house.
Finally.
I closed my eyes and let my head rest against his shoulder. Three months of pretending I wasn’t thinking about him, a whole day spent telling myself this was a bad idea, and none of it mattered now. I was exactly where I’d wanted to be.