Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(53)
“Let’s just be sure of that,” he said, low and dirty, as he pulled down her panties, hooked her leg around his hip, and slid inside her.
He was tender, touching her with a sort of adoration that she longed for. But he was also willing and ready to manhandle her in a way she’d hadn’t experienced before. It seemed to awaken her, to remind her that her body was designed to feel good, and sometimes good meant sore and bruised and used. She let go for one last time with him as he took her against the wall, and they came together.
They straightened up, adjusting hair and clothes. She checked her watch. Ten more minutes. She couldn’t wait.
She blurted out, “Why did you hide from me that you know French? It’s driving me crazy. I want to know.”
He scoffed and looked away as he grabbed the handle of her suitcase. “I hardly know it.”
“But you spoke French to me last night.” He was quiet as he rolled her bag to the door. She followed him, shouldering her purse. “You always told me you wanted to learn it. You told me you wanted to be able to speak to me in French.”
“I don’t really know it well.”
But he looked away from her as he reached for the door handle, his cool blue eyes glancing anywhere but her face.
That was her answer, but she wanted the confirmation. She stopped him from opening the door. She placed her hand on his arm, then ran her fingers up to his hair. She turned him to face her. Pressed her forehead to his. And spoke to him in French, rapid-fire. “You’re amazing, and I adore you. I want to see you over and over. I want you to do everything to me, and with me, and on me. You make me feel happy again, and when you come to Paris I will show you everything, and you can have me in alleys and staircases, and we can f*ck in museums and in restaurant bathrooms, and then you can make love to me in bed. You can talk dirty to me and tell me how much you want me, and I will tell you the same because I do. So much I ache for you now.”
He trembled and bit his lip like he was holding in all the things he wanted to say.
Determination spurred her on. “And you make me feel again. I feel things for you I haven’t felt in years. Or for anyone. Do you know how terrifying that is for me?” she said, laying her heart bare. She was heading to the airport in ten minutes, jetting away from him once again. What did she have to lose? She’d already lost once, so rolling the dice on this truth of her heart was a chance she should take.
His eyes squeezed shut, his expression pained. Then he opened them and met her gaze.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I know. And I want all that, too.”
She inhaled deeply and cupped his cheeks. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
She was dying to know the answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Because it revealed everything, that was why. Because it showed all his cards. It told her his full and true heart, as pathetic as it was.
Slumping against the door, he dragged a hand through his hair.
And stopped.
Stopped keeping it all inside.
Stopped biting his tongue.
“Why didn’t I tell you I learned French for you?” He tossed out the question like an attorney cross-examining. “Why didn’t I admit I spent six years studying a language because I was in love with you?”
He’d wanted to hide it, to keep it from her. It wasn’t hard to pretend you didn’t understand. But those words, those things she said…he was only human. How could he hide his reaction?
She pressed her hand to her chest. “You learned French for me? Even though I know English?”
“You make it sound foolish.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m just processing. It’s big. That’s a big thing. How did you do it?”
“I started freshman year of college. It was my father’s idea. He even wrote me a note about it,” he said, softly, so his voice wouldn’t break. “He knew me better than anyone. He knew you were all I wanted. He wanted me to be with you. I still have the note,” he said, reaching into his back pocket, opening his wallet and taking out the worn, threadbare sheet of lined paper with the last words.
Annalise covered her mouth. Her bright eyes glistened with the threat of tears. “Your father wanted you to learn a language?”
He nodded and swallowed thickly. “He was practical, and he was romantic. He knew I wanted to be with you. He wanted me to have the means to, including the ability to speak the language and get a job. So I could live and work and be in France with you.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I took classes in college. I used to think I was doing it for him. And maybe in some ways, that was how it started. A way to feel connected to the man who was gone. But I didn’t let myself believe that for too long.”
“It wasn’t for him?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “No. His note might have been the reason I started, but you were the reason I never stopped. I wanted to be with you.”
“I wanted it just as much. You have to know that,” she said, her bright green eyes wide open and honest, not shying away.
He glanced at his watch, trying to avoid this deeper dive. “Your car is here in five minutes.”
“I know, but this is important.”
“So is not missing your flight.” He grabbed her suitcase, let the door fall closed behind them, and headed with her to the elevator banks. He pushed the button and then met her curious gaze. God, this was hard. Putting himself out there. He waited for her to go next.