15. Kim
Zoe was asleep on Xavier's shoulder before we made it halfway back to the villa.
Her small body was limp against him, one arm dangling, her face pressed into the curve of his neck. He carried her like it was nothing, like he'd been doing it for years, adjusting his grip when she stirred and murmuring something soft until she settled again.
I walked beside them, watching the moonlight play across the path, trying to organize the chaos in my head.
We'd had sex.
Xavier and I had sex. In an unfinished hotel room. On a plastic-wrapped bed. And then we'd shown up to dinner looking like exactly what we were, and his entire family had seen it written all over our faces.
And I still hadn't processed any of it.
The villa was quiet when we entered, the only sound the distant rush of waves against the shore. Xavier carried Zoe straight to the master bedroom, laying her gently on the enormous bed. She didn't wake, just curled onto her side, one hand reaching for the pillow.
He pulled the covers up to her chin. Brushed the hair from her forehead. Pressed a kiss to her temple so gentle it made something ache in my chest.
I stood in the doorway, frozen between wanting to run and wanting to stay.
My brain was still short-circuiting, thoughts colliding and scattering before I could hold onto them.
I hadn't even had time to think about Cole.
About what he'd tried to do at dinner, the way he'd looked at Zoe, the calculation in his eyes.
All I could think about was the man crouched beside my daughter's bed.
And what we'd done.
It was good. No—it was amazing. The kind of amazing that rewired your nervous system, that made you forget your own name, that left you boneless and breathless and desperate for more.
The kind of amazing that terrified me.
I wanted to do it again.
Even now, watching him tuck my daughter in, I was contemplating pulling him into the next room and doing things to him. Things that would make dinner look tame by comparison. Things that involved significantly fewer clothes and significantly more of that thing he'd done with his tongue.
But I couldn't. Shouldn't. This was moving too fast, spiraling out of control. What would I do if it didn't work out? If I let myself fall and he turned out to be another Cole, another disappointment, another lesson in why trusting people was a mistake?
Right. Nothing. I would do nothing.
I was going to stay in this room with Zoe like a sensible person. Keep the door closed. Keep my hands to myself. Stay far, far away from Xavier Dubois for the rest of the night.
That was the plan. A good plan. A responsible plan.
Xavier looked up at me.
"Hey," he said softly. "Come here."
"Okay."
The word left my mouth before my brain could stop it. My feet carried me across the room without permission, and then I was in his arms, my face pressed against his chest, his hands warm and solid on my back.
He held me for a long moment. Just held me, his chin resting on top of my head, his breath slow and steady. I felt him inhale deeply, like he was memorizing my scent, committing this moment to memory.
Then his hand found mine, and he led me out of the room.
The smaller bedroom was dark, the only light spilling in from the windows. Xavier closed the door behind us, and before I could speak, before I could think, he was pushing me against the wall.
His mouth found mine.
This kiss was different from before. Deeper.
More demanding. His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place, and his tongue traced the seam of my lips until I opened for him.
I gasped into his mouth, my fingers clutching at his shoulders, trying to anchor myself against the wave of sensation threatening to pull me under.
Oh God. I was losing my mind.
He was doing that thing again. That thing with his tongue that made my knees weak, that made heat pool low in my belly, that made me forget every rational thought I'd ever had.
Where did he learn that? He must be so experienced. He must have kissed dozens of women, hundreds maybe, practiced this exact move until it was devastating.
The thought landed like a stone in still water.
He'd done this before. With other women. Dozens of them, probably. Hundreds. Used these same hands, this same mouth, whispered the same words. I was just the latest in a long line of conquests, another body in his bed, another name he'd forget by morning—
I pulled back.
Xavier blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "What's wrong?"
"You've used those lips a lot, haven't you?"
The words came out sharper than I intended. Xavier stared at me, his brow furrowed.
"I... what?"
"Those lips." I gestured vaguely at his face. "They've been places. Done things. With other women."
"Kim, I don't—"
"You're experienced." I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling exposed. "You've done this. What you're doing to me. You've done it to a lot of people. Haven't you?"
Understanding dawned in his eyes. He laughed—actually laughed—and pulled me back into his arms before I could protest.
"Xavier, I'm serious—"
He kissed me. Soft. Brief. Just enough to make me lose my train of thought.
"I know, baby." His voice was warm, amused. "And that's why I like you so much."
He kissed me again. Longer this time.
"Xavier—"
"Listen to me." He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. The amusement was gone, replaced by something intense. Serious. "This is a very rare occasion, so pay attention. I'm being completely serious with you right now."
I held my breath.
"This thing between us?" He touched my face, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. "It's real. I want you. Not just tonight, not just for the arrangement. I want you. And I have every intention of taking care of you and being true to you." His eyes held mine, unwavering. "Got that?"
My heart was going to burst. I could feel it swelling in my chest, pressing against my ribs, too full of everything he was offering. Words failed me. All I could do was nod.
"Good."
He kissed me again. And this time, I let myself sink into it.
His hands started to wander. Down my back, over my hips, finding the hem of my dress. I shivered as his fingers brushed bare skin.
"Xavier..." I whispered against his mouth. "Zoe is in the next room."
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. Something dark flickered there. Something that made my stomach clench with anticipation.
"Then you'll have to be quiet," he said. "This is for you."
His hand slipped under my dress.
I inhaled sharply as his fingers traced up my thigh, slow and deliberate. He watched my face the whole time, gauging my reaction, adjusting his touch based on every gasp and shiver. When he reached the edge of my underwear, he paused.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Yes."
He shifted the fabric aside.
The first touch made me gasp out loud. Xavier's free hand came up to cover my mouth, muffling the sound. His eyes never left mine as he stroked, explored, and found the rhythm that made my legs shake.
"Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "Quiet, remember?"
I bit down on his palm, using it to stifle the sounds I couldn't control. My back arched against the wall, my hips moving of their own accord, chasing his touch. He was relentless, building me higher and higher until I was trembling on the edge.
"Let go," he whispered. "I've got you."
I shattered.
The release crashed through me in waves, and I cried out against his hand, my teeth sinking into his flesh. He held me through it, his body pressed against mine, keeping me upright when my knees tried to give out.
When I finally came back to myself, I was sagging against the wall, breathing hard. Xavier's hand was still over my mouth, and when he pulled it away, I could see the indentations my teeth had left.
"Sorry," I managed.
He grinned. "Don't be. I liked it."
My legs were still unsteady as he led me to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, testing the temperature until steam began to curl through the air, then helped me out of my dress with careful hands.
We stepped under the water together.
Xavier washed me. Actually washed me—working shampoo through my hair, massaging my scalp with gentle fingers, rinsing the suds away. He soaped a washcloth and ran it over my shoulders, my back, my arms. Nothing rushed, nothing demanding. Just... care.
When was the last time someone had taken care of me?
I couldn't remember. Couldn't remember anyone ever treating me like something precious, something worth time and attention. I'd spent so long being the caretaker—for Zoe, for myself—that I'd forgotten what it felt like to be on the receiving end.
My throat tightened.
"Hey." Xavier's voice was soft. "You okay?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
He kissed my forehead, water streaming down both our faces, and I let myself lean into him. Let myself be held. Let myself, just for a moment, not be the strong one.
After the shower, he wrapped me in a towel and handed me one of his shirts. The cotton was soft and worn, falling to mid-thigh, carrying his scent. I slipped it on and breathed him in.
The small bedroom had a small bed. Barely big enough for two people, definitely not designed for comfortable sleep.
But when we climbed under the covers, it didn't matter.
Xavier pulled me close, arranging us until we fit together—my back to his chest, his arms wrapped around my waist, our legs tangled beneath the sheets.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his breath warm against my hair.
"More than okay."
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. I laced my fingers through his, holding on.
Outside, the ocean whispered against the shore. Inside, everything was warm and safe and quiet. I was wrapped in Xavier's arms, wearing his shirt, still tingling from his touch. My daughter was sleeping peacefully in the next room.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn't worried about tomorrow. Wasn't calculating expenses or juggling schedules or bracing myself for the next disaster. I was just... here. Present. Content.
Everything was perfect.
I closed my eyes and let myself believe it could last.
That should have been my first warning.