Chapter 26 New York City, 1928—Bastien #2
“A kid strung out on drugs killed our parents on the streets of Chicago. It obliterated Marcelle’s illusion of control over her circumstances.
She lives in a well-constructed bubble and would never step outside it.
When I got injured and almost died, she built protective walls higher and stronger.
She doesn’t cope well in dangerous situations. ”
“She’s your sister, Bastien, and I bet she’s stronger than you think.”
“Maybe,” he said, not believing it.
A waiter presented menus, and they placed their dinner orders. When the band started playing “This is Romance,” he took Kaitlyn’s hand. “Dance with me.”
Her eyebrows went up, and her chin went down. “Dance?”
“I can’t dance as smoothly right now because the battery is drained, but if you have patience, I can sweep you off your feet.”
Kaitlyn glided onto the dance floor, a swift blur as he whirled her around, but his leg betrayed him. The sudden imbalance sent him plummeting forward, his hand seizing the railing in a last-ditch effort to stay upright.
“Fuck!”
Several couples turned to stare.
“War injury,” Kaitlyn said, drawing him close with obvious respect.
To lose his balance so unexpectedly in public was bad enough. The resulting humiliation was on a whole new level of agony. “Now they’ll look at me with pity instead of thinking I’m drunk.”
“Which would you prefer?” she asked softly.
“Neither.” After the stumble, he found his equilibrium, but the racing in his chest lingered. Her closeness, however, offered a calming effect. “I promise I will not leave here without you.”
Her shoulders and arms relaxed. “Do what’s best for Marcelle.”
“I’ll do what’s best for all of us. And when the time comes, I think that’ll be clear.”
The song ended, and they returned to their table. Moments later, the first course arrived, and the aroma caught his attention immediately. He realized he was much hungrier than he had thought.
A stocky man with slicked-back hair interrupted them just as Bastien was enjoying the last of his French-influenced gourmet dishes.
“Kaitlyn. How lovely to see you!” The man raised her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Then to Bastien, he said, “I hope you didn’t get hurt on the dance floor.”
“Only my pride,” Bastien said.
“But it didn’t keep you from dancing,” he said with a soft smile.
“Join us,” Kaitlyn said, extending her hand toward an empty chair. “This is my friend, Bastien LeBlanc. He’s the most talented saxophonist I’ve ever heard.”
“Is that so?” Connie asked, taking a seat. “Are you looking for a job?”
“No, I’m looking for my sister, Marcelle LeBlanc. She’s an exceptional trumpeter.”
“I already have a trumpet player, but I could use a phenomenal saxophonist, although I don’t hire white musicians.”
“I know,” Bastien said, choosing his words carefully, “but I hope that if Marcelle shows up here looking for a job—or for me—you’ll pass along the information to Kaitlyn.”
Connie studied him for a moment. “Why don’t you know where your sister is?”
Bastien exhaled through his nose. “We didn’t plan well. We just said we’d meet in New York City.” A faint, rueful smile crossed his mouth. “Now I’m looking for her, and she’s looking for me.”
Connie nodded once. “If a white female trumpeter shows up, I’ll give her Kaitlyn’s phone number.”
Relief eased Bastien’s shoulders. “I’d appreciate it.”
Connie reached inside his jacket and produced an envelope. “These are the contracts I want you to review.” He tapped the paper lightly. “Get back to me tomorrow?”
“Is one o’clock good for you?”
“I’ll see you here then.” Connie extended his hand. “And I’ll keep an eye out for your sister.”
Bastien shook his hand. “Appreciate it.”
As Connie walked away, Bastien turned back. “That was a productive evening. I’ll take care of the check.”
Kaitlyn waved it off. “Connie never charges me.”
Bastien raised a brow. “Doesn’t that make you more beholden to him?”
“Maybe. But Connie knows my limits.”
Bastien pulled out her chair, then ushered her from the restaurant to the Chevrolet, where he opened the car door for her. “I’m sorry if things got off to a rough start.”
Ensconced in the driver’s seat, she searched his face with a penetrating gaze. “I’ll always be sensitive about you, Bastien. It’s like I caught a falling star, and it’s burning up in my hand. I have a limited time to appreciate it before it’s gone forever.”
In the hushed silence broken only by the occasional horn, his lips moved over the chestnut arch of her eyebrows, the smooth skin at her temples, and the soft hollow beneath her cheekbone, kissing her as delicately as a breath.
Trembling, he leaned even closer to her, his male hunger restrained.
He lifted her chin and kissed her, hot and wet and needy.
His tongue slashed across hers. He had enough adrenaline surging through him to kill an elephant.
Bastien lost himself in her, and when he drew away, a coldness slapped its frosty fingers across his skin.
He wanted her—needed her—even felt the slight, crinkling presence of the two condoms in his pocket—thin shields against an oncoming storm. He still couldn’t act on his own desires.
He retreated a few steps, closed the door with a firm click, and then slid into the seat. “I should go to Tony’s tonight. I don’t trust myself with you.”
“Funny, but I trust myself with you.”
“Does that mean you expect me to act responsibly?”
“Can you?”
Responsibly? Hell no.
The thought of Kaitlyn, the scent of her skin, made his vision swim.
He wouldn’t let her out of his bed for a full twenty-four hours, a marathon of touch and taste that would exhaust them both.
A raw heat flushed his cheeks. He scrubbed his face.
The rough motion, a small, futile attempt to cool the burn of anticipation.
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
Neither of them spoke much as they returned to Kaitlyn’s apartment, the silence thick with unspoken thoughts.
Bastien’s mind was in turmoil, a storm of indecision and conflicting desires.
He wrestled with the sensible part of himself, the part that knew he should take the train to the saloon.
Spending the night in her apartment felt like an act of madness.
At three thirty in the morning…
They stepped inside her apartment, and the air crackled with nervous energy. “I’m going to take a quick bath.” He slowly collected his things—baggy gym shorts and shaving kit—and strode toward the bathroom. Before he closed the door, he asked, “Will you wait up for me?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He struggled and stumbled in the cramped bathroom, his movements stiff and awkward until, finally, he emerged, clad only in a pair of white gym shorts, the fabric soft against his skin.
The living room lay empty and quiet as he passed through, and he made a direct line for his bedroom, where several candles flickered, filling the air with the sensual aroma of jasmine.
Kaitlyn was there, lying on her side, propped on one elbow, her gaze intently focused on his semi-naked state, while her own seemed a mere afterthought. Her breasts, previously concealed by layers of clothing, now rested against the delicate, lacy cups of her gown.
He cleared his throat. “God, you’re gorgeous. I could stand here all night and look at you.” And he could.
Her eyes trailed down from his face, across his broad chest, down his belly to his shorts, and further down his legs to his prosthesis. Her voice was raspy when she said, “I’ve only seen one naked man before, and he looked nothing like you.”
“You mean he had two legs?”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re not just muscular. You’re tanned, sculpted, and only have a smattering of chest hair.” She tossed the covers back and patted the bed. “I’ve been keeping it warm for you.”
“It’s probably none of my business, but was the other naked man your lover?”
He removed his prosthesis, rolled under the covers, then scooted onto his side and propped himself on one elbow.
“If I tell you about my lover, will you tell me about yours?”
His heart smashed against the wall of his chest. Did he want to know about other men who’ve held her in their arms? “You can tell me anything and ask whatever you want to know.”
She pinched her bottom lip between her teeth. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Watching her delicate features in the candlelight, Bastien found the intensity in her expression captivating. And the impulse to redirect that nervous energy consumed him.
“I met Declan in law school. We were together for two years. After we graduated, he moved to Washington, D.C., for a job. I didn’t want to leave New York, so we ended our relationship. I heard recently that he got married.”
Bastien’s eyes dropped to her lips, almost as if she’d beckoned him to look there, or at least that’s what he wanted to believe. “Did you love him?”
“I thought I did,” she said slowly, staring at the ceiling.
“But I barely missed Declan when he left.” Her mouth tightened.
“Papa still grieves for Mama. That was love.” She swallowed.
“What Declan and I had wasn’t that at all.
” She turned her head, gaze sliding away as if bracing herself.
“What about you? Do you have a girlfriend at home?”
“No.”
Her eyes flicked back to him. “Did you?” She hesitated. “I mean—before your war injury?”
“I had a few.” He shrugged, but it didn’t quite land. “Nothing serious. After I got wounded…” He paused. “Only one-night stands.”
“No one you wanted to see again?”
He shook his head.
Her voice softened. “Is this a one-night stand?”
He rolled onto his back, chest rising too fast. After a moment, he dragged his forearm over his eyes, as if hiding might help him think. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Kaitlyn—never felt this exposed by it.
“I can’t have sex with you.”
“Can’t—or won’t?”
He rolled back onto his side, brushed his thumb along her cheek, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I do.” His voice dropped. “But Tony would see it as a betrayal.”
“If you don’t tell him,” she said quietly, “how will he know?”
“He’ll see it in my eyes.”
She studied him for a long second. “That’s crazy.”
“No, it’s guilt. I couldn’t look Tony in the eye, knowing I violated the trust he had in me. I’ll sleep here with you and hold you through the night, but as much as I want you, I can’t do anything about it.”
“Will you kiss me?”
“I’ve had enough of these chaste kisses. I want a real one, but if I do that, there’s no turning back.”
“What would Remy do?”
Bastien was almost certain of the answer. But it pissed him off to be compared to his best friend. “Remy would try his utmost to be honorable.”
“And that’s what you’re doing? Trying to be honorable?”
“If I’d met you at the restaurant tonight and you brought me home with you, we’d be having sex. Is that honorable? Probably not.”
Her lips parted, a silent gasp of awe, as she stared back at him, utterly rapt. Then, a touch as light as a whisper—another chaste kiss. She nestled her head against his chest and closed her eyes, her breathing settling into soft, steady sighs.
He knew the precise moment sleep claimed her.
While that meant the immediate pressure had passed, it did nothing to quiet the clamor in his body, which roared with a raw need.
He’d spent countless nights wide awake, the hours stretching, letting his mind wander through the cherished moments of his life.
Tonight, he recognized with a pang of certainty, was another of those moments he would recall for years to come.
And in all honesty, he knew he’d later kick himself for not making love to Kaitlyn.
Was he stupid, or simply honorable? A little of both.
But the goodwill that wove through his life was a gift, a reflection of the kindness of others, and he couldn’t bring himself to tarnish that trust.
The vivid images of Kaitlyn—a carefree swirl of dancing, the fiery spark of her arguing, the sheer brilliance of her smiling—played on a restless loop behind his eyelids.
This private film reel held sleep at bay.
The wakefulness continued until the first gray light of dawn bled through the blinds.
Finally yielding, Bastien pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Kaitlyn’s head and drifted, at last, into a well-earned slumber.