Chapter 19 #2
Bastien cocked his head to the side. “So…” he mused, “Jacques’s not a good lover?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re not a good lover then?”
Celine lifted a shoulder innocently, causing the sleeve of her dress to slip and reveal the curve of her collarbone. “You will have to find out.”
She waited for his retort.
Nothing. He made no move towards her.
Celine bit down on her molars, trying to keep her expression levelled as she huffed internally.
The most cloistered and devoted monk would have surrendered with a reaction.
It irritated her to no end that Bastien could not be breached, that he could easily find effective ways to taunt her and she could find none.
Perhaps she had misjudged his ability to act the celibate when it suited his interest.
“Unless you’re too scared to risk it,” Celine mumbled indifferently. Come on. Come on. Come on.
“Mind games are not your forte, baby vamp.”
Ugh!
Still, Bastien had a few wounds she knew would hurt—or at the very least, prickle him if she pressed on them. So she decided to try her luck with each, hoping one would be tender enough to make him bend.
Placing her palms on the table behind her, she leaned back. “You are not denying it.”
At long last, Bastien pitched himself forward. He approached her with a nonchalance that made Celine’s skin crawl with ire. Looking down at his hands, he chuckled. “And what exactly would I be scared of?”
Celine only lifted a brow.
“Jacques?” he scoffed. “It’s adorable how you think that makes a difference. If I wanted to have you—”
“What is stopping you, then?” Men were so easy to bait. Celine wanted to laugh. “Since you think I don’t love him, it should be elementary for you to have me.”
Her elation died down when Bastien pushed her knee to the side with his and settled himself in front of her.
Celine swallowed the gasp that rose in the back of her throat.
She didn’t expect his hands to drop on her thighs next, slyly pushing the dress up even higher, until it revealed the little lace detailing on her stocking.
But his eyes were fastened on hers, not looking down, and they had turned a serious shade of grey.
“You don’t think I can have you?” he asked calmly.
“You don’t,” Celine said flippantly, tugging a piece of thread off her dress, pretending not to notice his fingers moving up, along the soft curve of her waist. “Jacques has me.”
Bastien rolled his eyes.
“You always say how you’re better than him—”
“Oh, I am,” he insisted, splaying his hand firmly on the small of her back, tugging her closer.
A flash of anxiety clutched around her heart as she said, “Then show me.” What if he thought she was being serious? What would happen then? She didn’t actually want him to do anything.
But Celine refused to let her nonchalance break. She was the one who had initiated this—if Bastien was playing along, he was the fool. “Show me what you were going to do at the masquerade.”
As if in answer, he leaned forward. She felt his breath on the crook of her neck, a shiver running down her spine.
“And what do I get in return?” Bastien asked, running the back of his hand deliberately between her shoulder bones, stopping where the dress was already buttoned and undoing just one. Then another.
“Count it as your apology for the party. And the challenge we almost lost.”
His fingers halted on the third button. “I have already delivered something to your house as an apology for that,” he said quietly.
“Your secret deliveries were the start to all this. I don’t care for it.”
“What do you want then?”
Hoisting herself up, Celine got close enough to touch the tip of his nose with hers. “A kiss,” she whispered.
When Bastien tilted his head to the side, she saw the slightest hint of hesitation flit across his features. Then a lock of hair slipped from the gel, obscuring it. Instinctively, Celine reached her fingers to smooth it back.
His eyes were roaming her face intently. “Are you sure?”
Celine could only nod as his lips parted, enough that she could feel the breath of a kiss on the corner of her mouth.
And then, he laughed.
Celine blinked.
“I’ll admit, you had me there for a moment, baby vamp,” Bastien mocked, holding her chin between his fingers. “Those magazines aren’t half wrong with the vamp allegations. But you cannot cheat me at my game.” He disentangled himself from her. “Good effort, though.”
The poker face she had fastened on dropped.
Bastien stalked towards the window, his back to her.
An arrogant grin reflected on the glass pane.
Outside, the city had already come to life.
The lights had flared up in concession and the traffic had thickened since Celine had arrived at the old house.
The sound of honks mixed with that of chatter outside cafés as the sun vanished beyond the glistening rooftops.
The Eiffel Tower had sparked up in a dazzling glimmer.
Celine was fuming. The space Bastien had occupied around her was replaced by humiliation, and it was even harder to dispel than silence had been. “Let it be known that Bastien Ménard is a coward,” she rebuked.
“You didn’t seriously think I would believe your sudden obsession with me, did you?” Bastien pivoted slowly. Opening his cigarette case, he pulled one out with his teeth. “You’re not stupid, Celine. You wouldn’t throw away a year of pretending to be in love with Jacques just for a kiss.”
“Ugh, again with the Jacques thing! Don’t you have anything else to pick at?”
Determined to win this round, Celine hopped off the table and strode towards him.
“If you’re going to slap me again—”
Taking the cigarette from his lips, she kissed him.
Bastien’s body went rigid against hers. He only moved when Celine reached up on her tiptoes and sank her fingers into his hair, pulling him down to her height. His lips parted with a soft moan.
Once she released him, Bastien jerked back, bringing a hand to his mouth.
“What’s one Ménard for another?” Celine spat the words at him angrily. Her breath was coming fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly with exasperation. “It doesn’t feel good when someone plays with you for a change, does it?”
To her chagrin, he had the audacity to tear his gaze away.
“Look at me,” she demanded, chucking the cigarette at his feet. “No wonder you make it into those scandal columns day and night. You have no respect for anyone. Being belittled is what you deserve.”
His expression shuttered. He removed his hand from his lips, slowly, as though he was wiping off her kiss. Celine scowled.
“That’s not fair,” he rasped.
“Not fair?” she bellowed, unable to fathom why he couldn’t just admit he was wrong, that he’d made a mistake, that he was sorry.
No, Bastien Ménard had the pride of Napoleon.
“You don’t care about anyone but your temporary amusement.
And you like to mock me about Jacques but”—her voice caught—“I doubt you have ever loved anyone before.”
A muscle feathered along his jaw—the only sign of annoyance that told her she had truly hit a nerve now.
“Don’t push it,” he warned. “I apologise for what I did at the party—now leave it at that.”
“Oh,” Celine chuckled. She couldn’t stop. She had wanted to make him pay—hurt him even—and the words simply spilled out of her like a cracked dam. “You’re not even a coward. You’re scared.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You're afraid to see what will happen if you take your games too far. Especially this time. But hey, count us even.”
Bastien shook his head. “Oh, Celine. We’re not nearly even.”
“What are you—”
She was cut off.
Because in a flash, Bastien took her face in his hands and slanted his mouth over hers.
Celine stilled, too stunned to do anything but grab onto his shirt for balance as he walked them back towards the table, lifting her onto it.
“You are wrong,” he said against her lips. “I know plenty about love. I can still show you, if you want.”
Right—that was how this whole conversation had started, although they had both spiralled from it, attacking each other instead.
But his eyes had turned a menacing grey and Celine wasn’t so sure she had the upper hand anymore.
She had taken him by surprise with that kiss—which he hadn’t wanted, but now, he seemed to.
Responsively, her eyes trailed to his lips.
That was answer enough for him. Bastien brought his mouth to hers again.
Celine’s hand slipped underneath his shirt.
His skin was aflame where her hands touched it, and she assumed his fingers were leaving burn marks down her back where the buttons of her dress had come undone earlier.
He was thoroughly lost in desire and Celine, unexpectedly, found herself lost with him.
His lips moved down her throat, his teeth grazing and biting greedily, like he had been wanting this—her—for a while and was finally offered something to soothe that longing.
“What are you doing?” Celine gasped as she felt her dress ride up to her waist, exposing her legs entirely.
A sharp, frustrated sigh drew out of him. “Showing you a couple of things to do when you are with Jacques.”
“Jacques is a gentleman,” she exclaimed, feeling his palms move up her waist, hovering just below the slope of her breasts. “He wouldn’t kiss me like this.”
“I’m only trying to be thorough, baby vamp,” Bastien retorted.
Celine didn’t protest further; she didn’t think she could.
Because the moment Bastien grazed his teeth across her jawline, biting her skin ever so softly, a pleasant fog settled over her mind, rendering her mute.
She couldn’t muster up any other thought except for how irreligiously delightful his fingers felt as he dragged them lower down her spine, hooking them around the fabric of her dress.