Page 77 of The Stranger

“That was a statement.” My answer sounds unsteady. My voice, anyway.

“And that wasn’t a denial.” His eyes burn like twin coals.

“I mean, I like cake.” With a tiny twist, I dig my fork into the confection again. His smile is slow, almost reluctant.

He catches my wrist, bringing my fork to his mouth. “I like to eat cake too.” My mouth waters as he chews, as his neck works with a swallow. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.” His gaze tracks to my wrist, where his thumb presses over my pulse. It’s probably hammering like a drum.

Am I imagining this? Imagining what he’s offering?

“You said that you haven’t had sex in a year. Is that why you were at Ardeo?”

A year is underplaying it. And while chance led me to the door, it was curiosity that took me over the threshold. Instead, I say, “Why were you there?”

“Are you asking if it was my first time?” His gaze lifts but not his head as he stares at me from under impossibly sooty lashes. It should look ridiculous, not unholy levels of scorching. It also shouldn’t make me feel this hot and bothered or make me wish my pjs would turn to dust.

He pushed you out of the door. He kept your underwear. He hasn’t even offered you an explanation.

“It wasn’t on my bingo card for the night.” Then again, neither was this. “It was a surprise. Or a shock,” I say in answer to his frown. And what happened in the basement was probably a fluke. I’m sure we couldn’t replicate the experience because I’m no good at that kind of stuff.

“Because of the experts,” he says softly.

I wonder if I ought to be offended, given his amused expression.

“It’s what you said in my office in Paris.”

Sexperts, he means. I hate that he remembers.

My gaze slides away only to come back sharply again. “How many questions are we up to now?”

Another smile, this one borderline sinful. “You can ask me anything.”

“Really?” I say in the tone of, yeah, right. Come into the parlor said the spider to the fly.

So I can eat you again.

“To use your analogy, I’m not sure if sex was on my own bingo card.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “But then a girl, a woman, stumbled across my path muttering something about sausages.”

“You were nothing but rude.”

“I was trying not to reveal my attraction because the woman looked lost.” He slides a lock of hair from my face, curling it around my ear before cupping the nape of my neck. His breath smells of liquor, and his eyes speak of want. My heart misses a beat as he angles his head, and our lips almost touch. But then his shiver-inducing whisper coasts my ear instead. “I wanted to protect her from the wolves. I didn’t mean to kiss her, and I shouldn’t want to kiss her again. But I find I do.”

My fingers grasp his T-shirt as he pulls back. “What if the problem isn’t that I like women or men?”

“Me,” he says solemnly. “You like me.”

“Liking you isn’t the problem. The problem is me.”

20

LUC

L’Appel du Vide. The call of the void. It’s that feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff filled with a sense of utter precariousness.

“What if the problem isn’t that I like women or men?” Her eyes are so dark, her fingers tight on my T-shirt—there’s no way she isn’t into this.

“Me. You like me.” My words whisper over her lips, desire making her body plaint.

The sweet abyss below beckons as it whispers jump, and I am ready to commit. Until a quiet voice pulls me back.