Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(84)

“Of course I’ll go with you,” I whisper to him, my voice choked, standing on my toes to give him a soft kiss. “And I’m honored to be part of any life you choose, but . . . aren’t you still worried about the life you’re leaving behind?”

He nods. “I am. There was a lot that happened before I left, more than you know.”

“So what happened with Seraphine? Did you hear what she had to say about her theory?”

“Oui,” he says slowly. “I did.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“Yeah, well, I talked to Pascal about it.”

He cocks a brow. “You talked?”

“A lot of things were said. But honestly, as horrible as he is, I’m not sure he did it.”

“I don’t think so either. Which leaves my uncle . . . and I know to never put anything past him.”

“So what are you going to do? You can’t investigate when you’re over here.”

“I can’t investigate anything. I’m not the police. And, well, let’s just say I’m not sure the police are on our side. I think they’re on their side.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he says smoothly, which of course makes me suspicious. I’m sure whatever it is, is something for me to worry about. But I know that I’ll take baby steps with Olivier now. After all, we have all the time in the world.

But still . . .

“So when you said that Blaise told you everything, what exactly did he say?” I ask.

“Just that Pascal might have interfered with you. Oh, and that I was set up.”

“By Marine and Pascal?”

His jaw clenches and he looks away. “Yeah. What bothers me the most about all of that is I should have seen it coming. I should have known this was all set up from the start. I was just so young. Just a young, stupid fuck.”

“And you were in love. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“No,” he says, his hands trailing through my hair, gripping me by the neck. Possessive. The way I’ve needed him. “No, I wasn’t in love. I know what love is now, Sadie, and it lives in you. It’s why I’m here. Because you’re here. Because you’re mine as much as I’m yours.”

I can’t help but grin. “Look at you, being all romantic.”

“I’m always romantic,” he says, kissing my neck. “Because it’s impossible to be anything but a lovestruck slave around you.” He rests his forehead against mine, breathing in deep. “Tell me I did the right thing in coming here. Tell me you want this. That you want me.”

Oh God. Doesn’t he know by now?

“I only left because I had to,” I tell him. “Maybe Pascal is full of empty threats, but maybe he’s not. I don’t know. There was no time to decide.”

“I know. You had to protect what you love. And that’s why I followed. Because I love you. And I will always follow you.”

“And I will follow you. To Cannes. To Paris. To California. Every step of the way. I love you.”

We kiss. Long, deep, sweet, brimming with all the emotions of the past few days, spilling out with lust, with love, with longing.

We kiss and kiss until I feel the cat twining around our legs.

“Whose cat is that?” Olivier asks when he breaks away, watching as Kismet winds around us, purring contently.

“My mother’s. Who I guess you’re going to meet later today.”

“I can’t wait.”

“She’s working a double shift and will be home late, but, boy, is she going to be surprised to see you.”

“What did you tell her about me?”

“Well, I only said nice things, of course.”

“Even though you came back early?”

“Yes, well, I know she wanted things to work out between us. I think moms have an instinct for young love, or at least they like to give you advice and pretend they do,” I say with a chuckle. “In the meantime . . . pizza?”

“Pizza? For breakfast?” He shrugs. “I guess I am in America.”

I hit him across the chest. “Hey! It’s leftovers, and I’m going to assume you’re on Paris time, and you look like you haven’t eaten a thing. So, pizza?”

“Lead the way.”

I take him over to the kitchen, and he eyes the broken coffee cup on the floor.

“Were you practicing your Hitchcock this morning?”

“Something like that,” I tell him, opening the fridge and pulling out the pizza, then heading straight for my bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he asks, following me. “Don’t you want to heat that up?”

“Cold pizza is the American way,” I tell him, and once we’re both inside, I close the door and gesture for him to get on the bed. “Take off your shoes, get on the bed.”

“This is very bizarre,” he says as he slips off his shoes. “Is this how you all eat breakfast?”

“No,” I tell him, climbing on the bed with him. “I just knew I’d ravage you after I had a few bites, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

He grins at me. So damn beautiful. “Ravage me?” he asks, brows raised. He takes the pizza box out of my hands and tosses it across the room. “The food can fucking wait.”