Текст книги "Seven Nights to Surrender"
Автор книги: Jeanette Grey
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
Kate’s first sign that time had started flying on her was the angle the sun made with the horizon. She sketched it in behind the cathedral’s tower, then frowned to herself. Absently, she flipped to her first study, and yup. The sun had been a lot higher then. She went instinctively for her crappy little flip phone, but the thing had kept resetting itself to New York time, and she didn’t trust it.
Crap. How the hell did she ask a stranger for the time?
Frowning to herself, she turned to the person sitting on the other end of the bench. “Pardon?” she asked.
The man turned around, giving her a quick up and down before smiling and rattling something off in French.
She’d known this phrase, back a half dozen years ago. “Quelle . . .” What . . . Shit, what was the word for time again? In frustration, she tapped her empty wrist.
The man laughed. “Trois heures et demie. Three thirty.”
“Thank you.” She corrected herself. “Merci.”
He said something else, but she was too busy stuffing her things into her bag, a little pang of regret beating inside her chest. She’d needed just another fifteen minutes or so to play with that last sketch she’d been working on. Three times, she’d drawn the same basic view of Notre Dame, the first with an eye for accuracy, and the second with a quicker hand. That last one, though, she’d felt certain she was onto something. There’d been a different quality to her line work, a life to the planes of stone. It had felt better than the other drawings. Better than any of her work had felt since she’d graduated.
But she’d have to sort it out another time.
The Tuileries Gardens were only a handful of blocks away, but her sense of direction had never been good, and worse, Rylan hadn’t exactly given her a cross street. She might need the whole hour she had left to figure out where she was going and find the statue he’d told her to look for. What the hell had he even meant by that? Our statue?
She snagged a Wet-Nap from her purse and took a quick swipe at getting the charcoal dust off her fingers before she stood. With a little nod of her head toward the guy who’d given her the time and a wistful glance back at the cityscape, she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed off in the direction she was pretty sure she was supposed to go.
To her surprise, she even turned out to be right.
Feeling a little more confident, she slowed her pace as she entered the garden. She was smart enough to keep her eyes peeled and her bag clutched to her chest as she combed the pathways, but the bulk of her attention was on any hunk of granite or marble or bronze she happened to cast her sight on. They were all gorgeous, all epic in their scale and in their subject matter, but not a one of them screamed me and Rylan at her.
As she searched, despair coiled up tightly behind her sternum. Rylan had seemed so genuine, but if he’d really wanted to see her again, he could have given her something more specific than some twenty square blocks to scour. Or maybe a phone number. An email address. A last name. Anything that might help her out right now.
If he didn’t show, or if she couldn’t find him . . . well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been disappointed by a guy. Not even close. But that didn’t prevent it from stinging.
In the distance, the obelisk that marked the western end of the gardens loomed, and she slowed her pace. It had to be four thirty by now. How long would he wait? Was it even worth doubling back and looking for anything she might have missed? Dropping her arms in resignation by her sides, she turned in a circle, looking for anything that might give a clue.
When she spied something even better. Much better.
A single, choked peal of laughter caught in her throat as she spied him, all messy dark hair and clear blue eyes, dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans that fit him to a T. And held loosely in one hand, a rose the color of a garnet.
Rylan.
And behind him was a bronze. A Rodin—it had to be. A bigger-than-life-sized statue of a man and a woman in a passionate embrace.
It was cheesy. Tacky. Swiftly approaching tawdry, even. But as her feet drifted forward, leading her toward him, all the doubt squeezed out of her heart. He’d made her smile so many times in the day and a half since they’d met. He’d made her body come alive, and worse, he’d seduced her with art. If that wasn’t worth a shot . . . then she didn’t know what was.
chapter FIVE
According to Rylan’s usual game plan, his expression should have been a sultry smirk. But as Kate approached, a real smile stole over him instead, one that made his lips stretch and his cheeks tight.
Who the hell did he think he was fooling? If he’d been following his typical playbook, he would have taken the girl home last night, and there wouldn’t have been a second encounter. A second—oh, Christ, this was a date. Apparently, the rules had all gone out the window the second Kate had been completely underwhelmed by his charm.
She wandered toward him with her hands folded in front of her and a flush to her cheeks that said she’d been running to try to find him. She was a couple of minutes late, and he had to admit he’d been starting to worry. All that concern was evaporating now, though. Her hair was loose today, the long waves of it framing her face and shining in the sun. She still wore tennis shoes, but she’d paired them with jeans that hugged her hips, and a shirt that dipped low in the neckline and that . . . was smeared with charcoal?
She stopped short a couple of feet away from him, raising a brow and pointing. “Is that for me?”
He’d nearly forgotten the flower he’d bought on his way to the park.
“What, this?” He twirled it back and forth between his fingers. “Nah. Random homeless person gave it to me while I was waiting. Think he thought I was getting stood up and wanted to soften the blow.”
“Sorry. I lost track of time.” She narrowed her eyes. “Though it didn’t help that somebody didn’t exactly give me the clearest of instructions.”
“Somebody miscalculates from time to time.” With that, he held out the rose and drew her in¸ tugging at her hand to pull her close. And hell, but he hadn’t been playing this up in his head. She felt as good against him as she had the day before—better, maybe.
Today, she hadn’t just gone along with his cajoling. Today, she’d decided to come to him. To seek him out.
Swallowing down the fierce, sudden burst of pride within his chest, he darted his gaze across her face. Raised his hand to her cheek and rubbed away a sooty smudge. He found it unaccountably endearing. “Let me guess. Busy day drawing?”
“Yeah. I got a lot done.”
“Good.” Did she even know how amazing that was? All his wasted days, and she spent her vacation making things. And then she had stopped—had probably run here if her breathing was anything to go by, because he’d asked her to. His heart gave a squeeze behind his ribs, and he cupped her jaw, taking pains not to grip it too firmly. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me, too.” But she averted her gaze as she said it, like she was embarrassed to admit it.
Dipping down, he brushed his nose against hers, leaving their lips just a whisper’s breath apart. She smelled sweeter than the flower he’d brought her, and her skin was softer than its petals. And nearly as red. Her embarrassment grated at something inside him. Here he was, reveling in her choice to meet him again. He didn’t like the idea that she was any less pleased by it. Or that she was having second thoughts.
Whatever doubts she might be having, he resolved to cast them off.
Pressing his brow to hers, he grazed his lips against the corner of her mouth. His chest swelled as she let him kiss her. “You look beautiful today.”
She relaxed a fraction in his arms, laughing as she curled her hand around his neck. “You’re one to talk.”
Pride surged within him again. “You like?”
“Yeah,” she said, voice uneven and dipping darker. She smoothed her hand down his chest, lighting fires beneath his skin. “I like a lot.”
“Good.” His looks weren’t worth much more than his bank account, but if they’d won him this chance, at least they were something he’d worked for. Something he’d chosen to invest his time in. Without another word, he captured her mouth with his, parting his lips and darting forward with his tongue. Her curves came flush against him as he reeled her in, perfect and soft and lush. Willing.
And that was the sweetest part of all. None of her hesitance from the night before clung to her today, and the way she pushed up into the kiss shot like lightning through his veins. Forget the rule book—the long game was worth playing sometimes, even with a tourist.
Surrounding her with his arms, he kissed her hot and hard enough to put the statue behind them to shame. Just when it hit the point of testing his control, he pulled away enough to free his lips. Stayed close enough to still share air as he let a growl creep into his voice. “I’m really, really glad you came.”
She looked a little glazed, her red lips full and wet. “Me, too.”
And it was so tempting to try to hurry his plan along, but no. Not this time, and not with this girl.
Yesterday, their trip to the museum had started out a ploy to make her trust him enough to invite him to her bed. But somehow, it had turned into the best day he’d had in this long and pointless year. It had been connection and seeing art through this beautiful woman’s searching eyes. Seeing himself through her eyes, too. Not the man who’d had all his choices stripped from him, only to be shown the ugly underbelly of the life he’d been told he had to lead. The man who had seen it, and then turned around and run.
He was just a guy to her. One she liked the look of. One she’d invited to take her home last night. One who could make her disheveled and glazed just from a kiss.
His pulse roared. He wanted her like this, naked and laid out for him, all right. But he wanted the rest of it, too. He wanted more.
It took an exercise of will, but he managed to take a step back. His breath was still coming too fast, and he had to will his body to calm down as he forced some distance between them. Dinner. They were going to have dinner. And then they could have the rest.
“Come on.” Entwining their hands, he reached down to grab his pack off the ground.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Condoms and a fresh change of clothes, mostly.
“Nothing.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and tipped his head toward the exit of the park. Changed the subject before he could talk himself out of his own plan to not rush this along. “How do you feel about Ethiopian food?”
“It’s not French.” Her voice quirked upward with uncertainty at the end.
“Astute. But do you like it?”
“Never tried it.”
Perfect. “Feeling adventurous?”
She chuckled and squeezed his hand, letting herself be dragged along as he maneuvered them down the path. “I think that’s pretty obvious.”
And he liked that—the idea that this was an adventure. One that he was leading her into, but that she was taking him along on, too. In a year of conquests, he hadn’t tried it this way, not with dates and dinners and kisses in a park. Not even once.
Had he ever, really? With all the fucked-up examples of relationships he’d had to look to, with the games the people in his life liked to play . . .
Here, with this girl who didn’t know who he was, though, who would be on this continent for only so long. It somehow seemed worth a chance.
The restaurant, when they got there, wasn’t quite as shabby chic as grabbing food to go from a literal hole in the wall, but it wasn’t precisely fine dining, either. Tucked into an alcove on a little side road, the place was below street level, the lighting dim but the colors loud, all the walls painted in orange and red and gold. Keeping Kate close, Rylan glanced around the space, past all the woven baskets on the tables and the tapestries on the walls. He frowned. Lucille always worked on Saturdays.
Ah, there she was, slipping out from behind the beaded curtain near the kitchen. They made eye contact across the room, and she smiled as she took him in. She raised an eyebrow as she sashayed her way to the front, dark skin gleaming in the lamplight. “Deux?” Two?
It was unusual, he could concede. He typically showed up alone.
“Deux,” he confirmed, guiding Kate over to a cozy table near the wall. As he pulled out a chair for her, he checked, “This okay?”
“Sure?” She didn’t sound so certain about that, so he leaned down, cupping her shoulders in his hands and kissing her cheek.
“It’ll be fine. Trust me.”
She made a little humming noise as she settled her purse in her lap. She was pretty protective of the thing today. Maybe to the point of verging on paranoia, but he couldn’t exactly blame her, considering.
Projecting confidence, he sat down opposite her and swung his own bag over the back of an empty seat. Turning to face the table again, he caught Kate eyeing the pack with as much curiosity as she’d had before.
Good. Let her keep thinking about it.
Lucille dropped a couple of menus on the table in front of them. “You need a minute to look?”
It was odd. He’d never heard her speak English before. “Yes, please.”
She nodded and slinked away, but not without running her fingertips over the back of his neck. Troublemaker. He shot her a restrained glare, partly in warning and partly to show Kate he wasn’t amused.
As for Kate, she didn’t seem to know what to think of any of it. She gestured vaguely at Lucille’s retreating figure. “You’re a regular, I presume?”
“You could say that.”
He liked to find little eateries with their own flavors—ones with owners who doubled as waitstaff, and where everyone was family. Walking in a world of strangers, it was nice, having places like that. Places where they knew only one of his names.
Like Kate did.
“So.” He flipped open his menu. “Anything you don’t eat?”
“Not really.” When she reached for the other menu, he put his hand over hers to stop her.
From the look on her face, that might have been a douche move. He shifted, curling his fingers around her palm instead of preventing her from doing her own perusing. “You can take a look if you want, of course. But . . . if it’s not too scary, maybe let me?”
“I’m not scared.” She could have fooled him.
He shook his head, trying to allay whatever concerns she might have. “The idea here is you order a few different things. They all come out on a big tray lined with bread. Everybody tries a little bit of everything.”
“Uh-huh.”
Letting his lips slant upward, he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “I don’t pretend to know your mind, but I have a few favorites I’d like you to try. What do you say?”
And there was that look again, like she was peering straight through him. It should have felt invasive, but it never did. Instead, it left him wondering what on earth it was she saw.
Whatever it was, it must have met with her satisfaction. As if just to check, she asked, “Nothing too spicy?”
“I can do mild.”
“All right, then.” She nodded decisively. “I’m game.”
Good. He squeezed her hand and turned around to catch Lucille’s eye. Once she’d made her way back over, he paged through the menu, picking out a variety of flavors for Kate to sample, mixing up the choices of featured vegetables and meats.
“Will that be all?” Lucille asked when he was done.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He passed the menus over to her, never letting go of Kate as he did.
Apparently, his message was received. While Lucille smiled at him fondly, she didn’t try to touch him this time.
He’d have to thank her for that later. For now, he had more pressing things to think about.
“So tell me,” he said, focusing all of his attention on the woman before him. He picked up her hand in his, spinning it around and uncurling her fingers from her palm. Rubbing at the hints of pigment ground into her skin, he grinned. “Whatever have you been up to today that’s gotten you so filthy?”
It probably shouldn’t have been quite so appealing, the way Rylan could make something sound seductive and serious and ridiculous all at once. Kate laughed, letting him turn over her hand and inspect her fingernails. The warmth of his touch felt nice, and he was just the right combination of delicate and firm.
And no matter what she felt, she refused to flinch or yank her hand away. How many times had she been nervous about the condition of her hands? Wouldn’t a guy prefer the girls with the smooth, soft skin and perfect manicures over the one covered in little cuts and ink and glue? If he cared, he didn’t give any sign of it. He loosely grasped her knuckles and tugged at her arm, getting her close enough that he could press his lips to the back of her palm.
“So?” he asked, returning their hands to the table.
“N-nothing all that interesting.” Her voice came out raspy in a way she hadn’t expected, for all that it matched the jumpy, keyed-up feeling in her chest. The tingling in her breasts. “Just some sketching.”
His face lit up at that. “Can I see?”
“It’s nothing fancy.” The temptation to pull her hand from his grew, but for entirely different reasons.
She didn’t like showing anyone her stuff—not if it wasn’t finished. Hell, she was kind of squirrelly about it even when a piece was done. It wasn’t just insecurity, either. She knew she was reasonably good at this.
But letting someone see your work was like showing them a whole other part of you. And when you didn’t even know what your drawings stood for, it was worse. It was showing the other person an unfinished version of yourself. Fragmented and dissolute. The messy insides that hadn’t quite formed themselves into the shape of a person yet.
“Come on,” he pressed. “I mean, if you don’t want to, I understand, but I bet they’re great.” He tilted his head, looking at her through dark lashes with the most beautiful, clear blue eyes.
“They’re not.”
“I won’t judge.”
And he seemed so interested. As she wavered, considering letting him have this glimpse inside her head, his eyes shone.
She’d been made to feel self-conscious about what she did so many times and by so many people—her dad, Aaron. Hell, even her mom, sometimes, though she tried to be supportive.
Kate was probably a sucker for letting his eagerness get to her, but it did.
And besides, it was like she’d told herself the day before when she’d given into his entreaties. She didn’t know this man from Adam, and he didn’t know her. So why not?
Oh, hell. “Fine.” Her heart rose up in her throat, her nerves making her fingers twitch. But as she slipped her hand from his, she opened her purse.
She flipped past the vast majority of the pages, not ready to show him quite that much yet. When she got to her first sketch of the day, she frowned. It didn’t look any better now than it had while she’d been working on it. But Rylan was peering at her with such keen interest, like he really cared about what she was about to show him, and it was too late to withdraw the offer now.
Fighting for composure, even as her face went warm and the back of her neck cold, she folded the book in half and passed it over.
His gaze dropped to the page immediately as he took it from her. “Notre Dame?”
A little of her unease slipped away. “At least it’s recognizable.” With its iconic windows, she’d figured it would be. But it was nice to hear all the same.
“Easily.” He didn’t make any other comment on the quality of the work, and it wasn’t until that lack of praise that she realized how much she’d been waiting for some kind of affirmation. Even just the normal, polite sort of approval your average stranger felt obligated to confer. He started to turn the page, then paused. “May I?”
They’d already gotten this far. She nodded, holding her breath.
He examined the next drawing with a look of concentration on his face. “Same basic scene.”
“Yeah. I—” Was it worth describing her process to him, when she scarcely understood it herself these days? “It takes a couple looks to figure out where I want to go with it.”
Another glance at her for assent before he flipped to the third and final piece. She sucked in a breath as he held the page out at arm’s length and pulled it back in, gaze moving over it.
When her resolve cracked, she forced an exhalation and wet her lips with her tongue. “I didn’t quite get to finish that one.” With weak humor, she explained, “Had to go and meet someone.”
His only response was a twitching at the corner of his mouth. Finally, after what felt like forever, his eyes darted up. “I like it.”
“You do?”
“Very much.” He checked the surface of the table before setting the sketchpad down with the drawing facing up. He tapped the corner of the paper. “This one especially.”
And just like that, she was glad he hadn’t jumped to say he liked them right away—that he had taken his time and considered each one. It made the compliment more meaningful, made it seem like he actually meant it as opposed to saying so just to be polite.
“Yeah.” She let out a sigh, the shaky anticipation of opening herself up to him melting away. Her tongue, tied up in knots this entire time, suddenly loosened, and she leaned across the table, angling herself closer to him. “I felt like I was kind of getting somewhere with that one. Wish I’d had a little more time to finish it.”
“You’ll go back.”
“If I have a chance.”
“You’ll go back,” he insisted. He thumbed the corner of the page. “You know what sets this one apart?”
She wanted to laugh. “That it doesn’t suck?”
“No. The others aren’t bad. Only there’s not as much . . . there there. You were drawing what you saw. But in this one, you were drawing it the way you wanted us to see it. Through your eyes. It’s subtle.” He slid the sketchbook over to her. “But it makes a difference.”
Humming to herself, she turned the page around so she could see it right-side up, and he had a point. It wasn’t just a famous church staring back at her as if from a postcard. The big, round window at the center connected to the pointed arches and the tops of the towers, which connected to the sky and to the ground, coming together to give a sense of warmth. Of wholeness. She’d been starting to interpret. To pull it all together and make an image you could feel.
Notre Dame. Our lady. A woman standing free and on an island all her own.
Rylan smiled and pointed at the picture. “It’s paying off. You can’t love what you don’t know, and you can’t draw like that unless you love.”
He wasn’t wrong, but she’d never heard it put that way.
How would it be to draw him? She’d never been the best at portraiture, but she could imagine it now. Spreading him out and having him pose for her. Naked, perhaps. He’d be beautiful, and with enough sketches . . . It would be dangerous.
It was the road to falling in love.
She closed the cover of the book and returned it to her bag. “How do you know so much about art?”
A shadow crossed his eyes, but it was there and gone in an instant. “I’ve always appreciated it. Never was much good at it myself, though.”
Before she could inquire any further about that, the woman who had taken their orders appeared beside the table again. Kate refused to shrink at her presence, opting instead to look up at her and smile. But she couldn’t help glancing at Rylan when the lady put her hand on his shoulder as she set a basket on the table in front of them. “Your food is almost ready.”
“Merci,” Rylan said, not reacting to the proximity.
So Kate wouldn’t react to it, either. She’d known what kind of person she was getting involved with. His easy intimacy with beautiful waitresses wasn’t anything she shouldn’t have expected. It was a good reminder, even.
The nervous patter of her pulse settled down into a low simmer as the woman walked away, leaving them alone again. Looking only at Kate, he lifted the top of the basket, releasing a thin cloud of steam and revealing tightly rolled rows of little towels. He picked one up, tossing it from hand to hand as he cleaned himself up. Setting it aside, he reached for another and looked to her. “May I?”
Oh. “Okay.” She held her hands out, only for him to take one gingerly into his palm. The cloth was damp and hot as he swiped it across her fingers with practiced ease.
She swallowed hard. She’d known what kind of man he was, and yes, it came with flirty waitresses. But it also came with this—a relaxed air and a skill with his hands. Deep in her belly, a coiling heat burned and flared.
He’d know what he was doing with her body, if she let him have his way with her. And maybe that was worth the insecurity and the casualness of the encounter. The whole idea was frightening and exciting and new.
And it struck her. If he pressed—and he would—she could take him to the hostel with her. There was nothing stopping her but her own inhibitions. The reservations she’d earned over the past couple of years about sex and intimacy and love. Who cared about her roommates, with their quiet groans and creaking bedsprings? Or about how sex had always gone for her before.
Who cared if you could trust a man when you were only going to sleep with him once?
A partner like him—it was something she’d never had, never been sure she even wanted. But maybe it was something she deserved the chance to try.
At that very moment, he looked up at her, and it was like the room shifted. He had no idea that her whole conception of how things might progress between them had changed. He must have sensed that something was different, though. His lips parted and he gave her a lopsided smile. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Shaking his head, he rubbed the cloth over the creases of her knuckles one more time before balling it up and putting it aside. “There we go. All clean.”
“They weren’t all that dirty before.”
“But now they’re cleaner.” He kissed the back of her hand before letting her go.
And just in time. Their waitress cleared the towels and the basket from their table, exchanging them for a circular platter big enough to hold a pizza. As promised, it was lined with some sort of bread, with more rolls of the stuff laid out along the edges. Topping it were servings of things she couldn’t begin to identify. They were colorful and different, and filled the air around their table with a hundred scents she’d never encountered in her life.
A dark hand appeared above the tray, pointing at each little area in turn. “Chicken, beef, potatoes, vegetables, lentils, greens.” The waitress looked between them for approval.
Rylan nodded, grinning at her, and said something too quickly in French. Her reply was equally incomprehensible, and he laughed, shaking his head.
As the waitress walked away, Kate looked at him with curiosity. “What were you two talking about?”
He unrolled a napkin and placed it over his lap. “I told her it looked wonderful, and she told me to let her know if you chickened out and wanted a sandwich.”
“Hmm.” Kate grabbed her own napkin, then glanced toward the waitress. “She forgot our silverware.”
“No, she didn’t.” He chose a piece of bread and tore a section off, using it to pick up some of what looked to be the chicken. “See?”
Oh. Suddenly, cleaning their hands made a lot more sense. It was awkward, but she ripped a bit of the bread and tried to follow his example. It wasn’t as messy as it looked, but it wasn’t particularly neat, either. “You know,” she said, “my mother always told me never to order French onion soup on a date because you’d make too much of a mess. Turn the guy off.”
Rylan looked as dapper licking lentils from his fingers as he ever could have in a fancy restaurant sipping champagne from crystal. He laughed. “Well, you officially have my permission to order whatever kind of soup you want to in the future. No need to impress me.” He popped his handful into his mouth, then swabbed the corner of his lips with his napkin. Shrugging, he said, “I like a girl who has an appetite. I like things that taste good. I don’t think enjoying things is a turn-off. Much the opposite.”
He looked at her expectantly. The whole time he’d been talking, she’d still been sitting there, gripping her sauce-soaked bread between her fingers and her thumb. Oh, well. Nothing for it. She took a bite and widened her eyes. The bread was spongy and just a little bit sour, the meat tender and flavorful. It was like nothing she’d ever had before, rich and sweet and delicately spiced.
“So?”
“It’s good,” she said, and it shouldn’t have been such a surprise.
“Here.” His smile had deepened into something unaffected as he tore off more bread and scooped up some of the vegetables. He brought it up to her mouth in offering. “Try this.”
It was so like what he’d done with the crepe the night before. Except instead of in the open air of the city, they were in a cozy little restaurant, no prying eyes but for the other patrons and the waitress, and Kate had nothing to hide. Not from any of them. She dipped her head and took the morsel from his hand. His eyes flashed dark, and a little thrill ran through her as he let his fingertips linger, stroking a slow curve along the bottom of her lip.
She swallowed, holding his gaze.
“I like that, too.” The way he touched her and looked at her and gave her exotic, foreign delicacies to taste.
His throat bobbed as she licked her lips. “Aren’t you glad you trusted me?”
And wasn’t that the question of the evening? Of the trip, even?
She hesitated. But she couldn’t deny the truth. “Yeah. I am.”
“Well, then.” He prepared another bite for her and brought it to her mouth. “Here’s to trying something new.”
