Celine plopped on top of him quite gracelessly, her arms flailing awkwardly until she pressed her palms on his shoulders, and straightened up. Her dress clung to every single curve of her body in a deliciously torturous way and Bastien—Bastien was trying not to breathe, for the fear that the slightest movement would press their bodies closer.
“This is all your fault,” she muttered.
“I beg your pardon!”A self-entitled brat indeed. “I’ve been breaking my neck here, carrying you around and listening to your whims. If anything, it’s your fault.”
“You could have just helped me with the dress,” she went on, as if none of his words had made it through to her. They probably hadn’t, because the moment Bastien relaxed his spine thinking she was finally done, she started unbuttoning her dress again.
“Celine,” he hissed, pinning her hands down.
“Wow, you’ve gotten awfully serious tonight.” Her expression was unreadable. “A few weeks ago you wouldn’t have minded me getting naked. What happened?”
“You’re drunk,” he pointed matter-of-factly. “And I am not in the habit of leering at drunk girls. If you don’t mind now—”
As he made to get up, Celine pushed him back down with unexpected precision.
“I’m not that drunk,” she murmured, shifting on top of him. “I think you stole a kiss from me earlier.” A pink flush gleamed on her cheeks. Bastien wasn’t sure whether it was caused by the alcohol or their current predicament. His questions evaporated and his breath hitched when Celine placed the tip of her nail under his chin, lifting it. “I want it back.”
“Not tonight,” he said roughly.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You made it very clear that you don’t love me.” Celine’s hands roamed his chest in painfully gentle movements. “And I happen to hate you. So what’s one more kiss?”
Her palms pressed hotly to his shirt—still wet, still clinging to his skin—that it felt as though there was no barrier between them. Celine undid one of his buttons, exposing the hollow of his collarbone. A thick fog settled over his thoughts as she shifted on his lap again, drawing out a sigh from his lips.
Bastien squeezed his eyes shut.Karma is real, I get it. Lesson learned. It can stop now.
Sneaking his arm beneath her legs, Bastien lifted Celine from his lap and plopped her into the cushions.
“I remember telling you once, you make too many assumptions.” He pushed his hair back and got up. “Hate me all you want, but I still have morals. I won’t kiss you like this. Lay down. I’ll make a telephone call and be right back.”
• • •
When Bastien returned, a candle in hand, he nearly tripped over Celine’s discarded heels by the threshold. Looking up, he found her dress a few steps away—a sad mass of soggy sequins—forming a puddle on the floor. Her chemise was crumpled right next to it. Celine herself was lying like Snow White on the divan, wrapped warmly in Bastien’s jacket (to his relief), the only article of clothing that had remained dry.
“Preparing for Prince Charming to come find you?” Bastien asked as he entered the room proper.
Celine cracked an eye open, looking miffed. “Well,youdon’t want me. A girl has to keep trying.”
He kneeled in front of the divan, settling the candle down, and produced a silky handkerchief, dabbing it gently around her face.
Celine whacked his hand away. “Let me be!”
“If you want Prince Charming to give you a kiss you can’t look like a goblin.” To his distress, she kept fussing about. Sighing, Bastien rose, got on the divan, and caged her body between his knees, pinning both of her wrists above her head. “Will yousitstill?”
“I thought you had morals,” Celine pointed out vacantly. “But I suppose it is fine whenyouget on top of me,” she added bitterly. “Isn’t it?”
“This is for your own good,” he said. “Now shush. I need to concentrate.”
Celine looked like she was about to spew something back, but she relaxed when his warm hand touched her cheek, and briefly closed her eyes.
Bastien focused on his task, meticulously running the handkerchief with care underneath her eyes. Really, at this point he was cleaning her eyelashes one by one. But the longer he spent ministering over her, the faster he was beginning to realise that he wouldn’t really be here, sopping wet and cleaningcosmetics from her face, if it was only desire he felt for Celine. Sure, he’d driven inebriated girls home, careful that they got there safe, or disposed them to their friends before finding entertainment elsewhere, but to go to such lengths?
Bastien sighed. Was this what they called yearning? Washeyearning?!
Ridiculous.
“Lá. J’ai fini,” he said, getting up. Celine’s eyes fluttered open the moment the warmth of his body left hers. “I should go check on the car. Sleep. I’ll be right back.”
Before he could scuttle too far, her fingers closed on the hem of his shirt, halting him.
