Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(31)

The very obvious thing is that the same goes for me.

But now, after seeing Pascal, I’m hyperaware of everything. My meeting goes smoothly enough, but as soon as it’s done, I race back to the hotel, hoping that Sadie listened to my instructions, hoping that I’m worrying for no reason.

I march right up to the front-desk girl from earlier. “Where is he? Is he gone? Pascal Dumont.”

I know you know who he is.

She gives me a pleading look. “Yes, he got in a limo shortly after you left. Mr. Dumont, I am so sorry, I didn’t know—”

I hold up my hand to silence her, grateful that someone else will be firing her for me. This is the kind of dirty work I try to avoid. “It doesn’t matter. As long as he’s gone.”

“He’s gone,” she says quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

But I’m not sure that’s true.

You can never be too careful with Pascal.

I’m starting to think you can never be too careful with anyone.





CHAPTER EIGHT

SADIE

“Mind if I join you?”

I twirl around in the shower to see Olivier outside the steamed-up glass of the shower. Even though his image is hazy, he’s naked and completely breathtaking.

He opens the door and grins at me, his eyes raking over my body.

I can’t help but smile, even though I automatically move to cover up my breasts. “Why is it that every time I’m in the shower, you end up coming in here?”

“I guess I just like to see you get clean after I get you very dirty.”

Very dirty, indeed. This morning we’ve done nothing but have sex in pretty much every position imaginable, in every place possible. I never thought I would turn into one of those sexually adventurous girls, but there’s something about Olivier that makes me put all my trust in him. Probably because the man makes me see freaking stars while I’m having an orgasm. I know whatever he wants to do to me is going to be worth it.

“Here, turn around,” he says, stepping inside and grabbing a loofah and body wash.

“Think I’m not clean enough?”

“Actually, I like you a little bit dirty,” he says, rubbing the soapy sponge down my back. I was pretty much done in the shower, but there’s no way I’m heading out now.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do back at home,” I tell him, even though the word home puts a sour taste in my mouth. “I won’t have anyone to give me a proper scrub. You’ve spoiled me.”

The loofah stops midway down my back, and a thick tension fills the steamy air.

“So don’t go,” he says, his voice soft.

“I wish,” I tell him, glancing at him over my shoulder. His eyes are on me, intense.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Don’t go.”

I slowly turn around to face him. “I have to go.”

He frowns at me, his hair already damp from the steam and sticking to his forehead. “Why?”

“You know why. I have school. I have my mother. I have a very empty bank account.”

“You know I’ll take care of you.”

“Olivier, we barely know each other.”

But even though it’s the truth, he flinches slightly, almost as if I’d slapped him.

He swallows, licking his lips as he studies the shower walls. “Maybe we don’t, but it feels like we do. I know you feel it too.”

He’s right. But it doesn’t change the reality.

He continues, eyes back on my face, curious and hopeful and all the things I need from him. “Come with me to Paris.”

It’s like a net full of butterflies has been released inside me, his words setting them free.

“What?” I whisper, feeling every part of my body dance with promises.

He takes one of my hands and raises it to his lips, kissing my fingers. “I want you to come back to Paris with me. Stay with me. If you still need to go back in three weeks, then I’ll make sure you get back home. But until then, I don’t want to be apart from you. I don’t want this to be our goodbye.”

I give him a wan smile. I’m thrilled that he wants to be with me, that he wants me enough to invite me to stay with him in Paris, luxuriating in all the romantic words and gestures, yet I’m deeply saddened. Because I know that I have to use my head to see myself through this time. That my heart and body have to take the back seat if I want to do the right thing.

I slowly shake my head, and it’s like the net comes back, taking all those butterflies away. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could. But I can’t run away from my responsibilities, my problems. These last few days here have been some of the best of my entire life, if not the best, but I can’t keep on pretending to be someone else.”

“You don’t have to. You just be Sadie. I’ll be Olivier. And we’ll be together.”

“Until I have to leave again.”

He closes his eyes, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath. “Until then.” Then he opens them and nods. “At least I tried. Couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t asked. But I respect your wishes, Sadie. I’ll always respect you.”

Little does he know that my actual wish would be for my brain and logic to take a hike.