Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TAMSYN
By some miracle of the New York transit gods, traffic isn’t bad and we make good time back to Ackerley. Thank God. The air seems a lot pricklier between us than it did earlier, the car a lot smaller. My thoughts spin out the whole way, thoroughly unsettled by his use of the B-word and his insistence that our relationship exists—that we have a continued, committed existence to each other—whether we acknowledge it or not.
It’s not that I think he’s wrong. It’s just that I’m not ready to acknowledge that he’s right. Even to myself.
But…are the two of us less committed to each other because we refuse to take a clear-eyed look at our feelings? I mean, I could refuse to say aloud that my eyes are brown. I could stand on that principle if my conscience directed me to. But that doesn’t suddenly make my eyes blue.
So where does that leave me and my glitchy moral compass? I have no freaking idea.
The two of us get even quieter as Lucien turns the car down the private drive. Then we’re back, all too soon, with Ackerley and its attendant problems looming over us. Staring at its imposing fa?ade as Lucien parks in front of the cottage and I note the gardeners laying mulch, I get the wild thought that Ackerley is like some contemporary version of the Death Star from Star Wars . It’s got its own inescapable tractor beam that pulls you in and forces you to confront scary shit you’re not ready for.
“Home again,” Lucien says. I hear the strain in his voice.
“Yep,” I say, making no move to get out.
“You okay?”
What a pointless question under the circumstances. I try to smile. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to have a place to stay. And I’m really grateful to be here with you. Even though I feel guilty about it.”
“But…?”
“I kinda wish we could keep driving and pretend Ackerley doesn’t exist.”
Derisive snort from Lucien. “Is that all? I wish we’d stayed in Europe. Hell, I wish we’d gotten off the Mediterranean cruise and onto a world cruise.”
The idea has a fair amount of appeal. I’m not going to lie. “I’m also grateful for our morning together. Thanks for taking the time to come with me. Especially when you’re so busy and have so much going on.”
I should mention that he’s wearing the same Aviator sunglasses from when I met him at the departures lane at LaGuardia. They give him an aloof and forbidding air that I still find unsettling even though I know him better now. He’s very still, all harsh lines and rigid cheekbones. Tension, tension, tension. It doesn’t seem like the moment for any tender sentiments, but he surprises me.
“Nothing else that I have going on is as important as being with you. You believe that, don’t you?”
Much as I want to give a firm and enthusiastic yes , I hesitate too long. “I want to. But we can’t predict the future. Neither one of us knows what will happen when Ravenna gets home from the hospital.”
“Maybe not. But I know I plan to be with you no matter what.”
I try to smile. “If only it were that easy.”
He looks away, a muscle pulsing in the back of his jaw. “It’s not going to be easy. Nothing with Ravenna ever is. Plus, news of her reappearance will get out soon. So we’ll have the press to deal with.”
“Oh,” I say, my dread level cranking even higher. “The press. Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”
“We’ve got more than enough to think about right now,” he says grimly before hesitating. “I need you to trust me to take care of things so we can be together. I will get things straightened out. Whatever it takes.”
“You sound so serious.”
“Because I am,” he says, unsmiling. “Have faith in me. Even when it’s hard. Especially then. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say, but it’s a wobbly okay . Our relationship is fresh and new and still in the getting to know you phase of things. And then you throw a resurrected wife into the mix? Neither Lucien nor I know how to predict the future with all these moving parts flying around. We’d be fools to even try.
Of course he notices my ambivalence.
“ Tamsyn . Are you in or are you out?”
This is all so unlike him. Not the quiet intensity, but his sudden emphasis on trust and strength. As though this little summer fling of ours has the potential to go a much greater distance if we just put the work in. The prospect is daunting, but nowhere near as scary as the idea of letting him go and trying to resume life without him.
Anyway. When it comes to Lucien and anything he asks of me, I’m in. Of course I am. I only pray he never asks me to jump off a cliff with him, because God knows I’ll lace on my best sneakers and start doing warmup stretches if he does.
“I’m in,” I say, a little breathless now. “You know I am.”
“Good.” He eases down, his shoulders losing some of their stiffness. There’s a flash of triumph as he starts to reach for me, but then he catches himself, holds his hands up and pulls back. Much to my chagrin. “See? Good behavior.”
“Yay.”
The new glimmer of amusement in his face tells me he’s noticed my lack of enthusiasm. But his expression quickly turns serious. “I have to go.”
“I know.” He’s headed back to the hospital to meet with the doctors and possibly—probably—bring Ravenna back home this evening. I’m not ready, but I suppose I’d better start pretending that I am. “Good luck.”
“What will you do this afternoon?”
“I don’t know. Maybe read out by the gazebo for a while. That’ll keep me busy and out of everyone’s hair.”
A flicker of a smile from Lucien. “Maybe I should start reading historical romance novels to help me decompress.”
“You really should.”
We grin at each other for a moment. Until his smile fades away. I can’t see his eyes, but I get the feeling they’re zeroing in on my lips. “I’ll see you later?”
“See you later.”
But neither of us moves.
“I’m going to eat you alive the first chance I get,” he says in his sexiest, most velvety voice. The one that makes all the fine hairs on my body stand at attention. “I’m going to suck your nipples and lick your pussy. See how wet I can get you when I finger-fuck you like I did yesterday. Then I’m going to fuck you until you sob. I want you scratching my back until it bleeds. Screaming my name. Begging for my dick over and over again. You know that, don’t you?”
Oh, God .
Just the description is enough to make all the tiny muscles inside me clench and weep for him. With that, a little of my sex kitten slips out of her cage. She’s got magical skills when Lucien speaks to me like that—he keeps me on a razor’s edge between arousal and satisfaction at all times—and I can only hold her back for so long. “ Know it ? I’m living for it.”
Lucien’s breath hisses. “Get out. Now. Or I’m not responsible for what happens next. I don’t care who’s watching. And don’t forget I’ve still got blue balls from yesterday.”
“But—”
“That’s the only warning you’re going to get.”
He looks like he means it. And I know I’m throwing him a lot of mixed signals here, but I don’t think that us fucking each other senseless in his car in broad daylight is the answer to any of our problems. So I grab my purse without another word and hop out while I still have my clothes and my wits about me.
He shoots me a final lingering look as I shut the door, then takes off, all screeching tires and spewing gravel.
I stand there for a moment relishing my feminine power over him. As someone who held on to her virgin card until only a few weeks ago, I feel as though I’m making up for lost time. It’s a thrilling feeling. Until I remember that his unrequited lust is also my unrequited lust.
I shake my head at myself, determined to get a grip. I need to figure out a way to manage my emotions without making everything into a soaring high or crashing low twenty times a day. It’s like I’m suddenly living in one of my beloved historical romance novels.
And speaking of…
I have a nice stack of romance books to keep me busy, don’t I? Better get going. The troop of gardeners stop working and nod at me as I head for the cottage. I wave and smile, gestures they don’t return. I get the feeling that they’re watching me. Judging me.
Or maybe I’m judging myself enough for all of us.
I force my attention away from their prickling gazes on my back and focus instead on the absurdity of calling this spacious and rustic four-bedroom house a cottage . It’s a nice little spot, low ceilinged with exposed beams and the kind of effortless blue French country chic décor that probably required a hundred thousand dollars and several antique-buying trips to Paris by some overworked interior designer. I’m lucky to have it, even if it is a bit gloomy in the shadows cast by all the imposing shade trees. Even if it is a bit lonely without Lucien.
I’m also lucky to have such a great selection of books. What to read? I’m thinking of one of the Bridgerton books or, better yet, turbulent times like these call for a serious comfort read from the OG romance author herself—Jane Austen. And there’s nothing like Pride and Prejudice to?—
I’m so deep in thought that a movement out of the corner of my eye scares me shitless. I stiffen and stop dead when I realize that a woman is already here. She’s facing me as she sits behind the desk in front of the window in the far corner of the living room, an open box of pictures within easy reach and her head bent low as she works her way through a stack. She’s got a bandaged forehead and gleaming black hair.
My stomach drops as I realize. It’s Ravenna.