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She stared back at me…beautiful…innocent.
The flowers in the vase were dead.
Magnus grabbed the book sitting at the edge of the desk…my copy of the Count of Monte Cristo. He stared at it for several heartbeats before he lowered it and looked at me, like he could really feel what I felt, understand how overwhelming this was…because it was written all over my face.
“Thank you…” When I blinked, more tears fell. I never thought I’d see this city again, be in this apartment again, and it was given to me, like I was back in time.
The longer he stared at me, the more his eyes softened, turning warm like a cup of coffee.
“Thank you.” I moved into him and wrapped my arms around him, embracing him like a friend. I held him close and let my tears absorb into his shirt.
This time, he hugged me back. His arms wrapped around me, his chin resting on my head, his breathing escalating…like my emotion permeated his soul. He held me with his strong arms, holding me in front of the window that showed the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
When I pulled away, his hands slid over my body as he let me go, but his fingertips stayed on my hips.
I looked into his eyes, thinking about that picture of Melanie looking at me, smiling in her usual beautiful way. It would haunt me forever, knowing she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, that I was drinking coffee and working on an essay, while she was…god knows where. “Please help me…”
His eyes didn’t harden into anger this time. They remained soft, remained warm, remained…beautiful. His hands stayed on my body, and he studied my face, his eyes shifting slightly back and forth, like that request moved past his brain…and into his heart.
“I need my sister back, and you’re the only one who can help me.” Tears poured down my cheeks, in both happiness and despair. My life had been returned to me, but it would never be the same without her. “She’s all I have…the only family I have.”
His eyes dropped for just an instant, a subtle reaction. They flicked back up just as quickly, like he wanted to hide the movement, like he didn’t want me to know those words hit him exactly where I wanted them to. “Okay.”
The rain started to fall harder, pelting the window with large drops of water. It blurred the lights from the city, from the Eiffel Tower that was lit up in the distance. My arms remained around his neck and shoulders, and my eyes were still, looking into the sexiest brown eyes I’d ever seen.
I couldn’t believe he said that, said what I wanted to hear.
He didn’t blink as he looked at me, studying my reaction, like he knew how I felt without needing me to describe it in words. He knew me through my worst, knew me in the coldest winter, with my back lashed and blood dripping onto my sheets, so he knew every expression I made, even when I was happy, even if he’d never seen it before.
My heart beat frantically, and my surroundings felt like the background of a vivid dream. This was real, even if it didn’t feel that way. He gave me what I wanted and didn’t deny me again. My life was given back to me, one piece at a time, because this man wanted to give it to me. My breathing grew labored and deep, my eyes wetter than they were before. My hands slowly glided down to the crooks of his arms.
He stared down at me, giving me a look I recognized instantly. It had happened once before, alone together in a cabin in the snow, and he’d said the bluntest words a man had ever said to me.
Now it was my turn to say them. “I want you.” My eyes moved to his lips just a moment before he kissed me, watching them come toward me and press against my mouth. His hand slid into my hair at the same time, and instead of starting out slow, he gave me a passionate embrace, like we were picking up exactly where we’d left off. He already knew my mouth, knew my body, knew the way I reacted to specific touches everywhere.
His hands gripped me aggressively, squeezing my arms, my ass, the back of my neck, his mouth kissing me the way men kissed the women in movies…the way I’d never been kissed. Whenever his hands moved to my back, he was always gentle, always aware of the scars he’d given me, like the wounds were still fresh and bleeding.
I was still in the baggy clothes I took from the chateau, but he kissed me like I was in a mini dress and heels. My hands moved underneath his shirt that had drops of rain on the cotton and pulled it over his head, revealing the rock-hard chest that had been on top of me before. I was already familiar with his physique, so I touched the places I already knew, the hard muscles of his chest, the powerful abs of his stomach, his searing-hot skin, like he’d just run a mile in the summer heat.
