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The tension was almost unbearable. She glanced at him, wondering if he felt the same way and he drew her against him.
“Grace.” He murmured her name against her hair, holding her tightly. “Grace, Grace.” His body was lean and hard and desire rushed through her. She hadn’t been hugged by a man for—how long? Too long. She’d been starved of affection. His attention broke her emotional fast. It was like a flash flood soaking a parched riverbed.
She breathed him in, clung. For the past six months she’d been numb. She hadn’t felt anything much except pain and panic. And now she was feeling everything.
Was it because she was needy and desperate, or because she and Philippe had always had an intense connection?
She rested her cheek against his and then he turned his head and took her mouth with his.
Right there on the street under the soft spill of light from the windows, he kissed her, and she drowned in it, submerged by sensation, rocked by raw passion.
She slid her arms around his neck and he gave a ragged groan and deepened the kiss, caging her head in his hands as he plundered her mouth. His kiss was skilled, sensual and shockingly explicit. The passion of it, as if he was determined to drink every drop of pleasure.
When he finally lifted his head, she was dizzy and disorientated.
Her phone pinged, shattering the moment.
“Leave it.” His voice was unsteady and he found his keys and unlocked the door. “Whoever it is can wait.” He looked into her eyes then, and she was so giddy by what she saw in his that she almost did ignore the phone but her maternal instinct was too powerfully developed to be overridden that easily.
“It might be important.”
She dug around in her purse and found her phone. She read the message and felt her heart race. Desire was replaced by anxiety. “I have to go. I’m so sorry.” A moment before she’d been able to think of nothing but having sex in his apartment. Now she could think of nothing except how quickly she could get a cab.
Philippe leaned against the doorway, studying her from beneath those lush, dark lashes. “Leaving me again, Grace?”
She felt a flash of frustration that life could be so unfair, but the feeling was immediately eclipsed by anxiety.
“It’s Audrey,” she said. “My friend. The girl I told you about, who works in the bookshop with me. She’s in trouble.”
Audrey
The evening had started well.
For the whole of her last year at home, she’d dreamed of this. Of having the freedom to come and go as she pleased. To date. To laugh. To dance. To not feel responsibility for anyone but herself. To not have to watch what she said and pretend because people here didn’t know her.
To be young.
For the most part she’d stopped living a lie and started living the truth.
And here she was at a party in Paris. Not some nameless nightclub, but a real party in a real house with real French people.
They’d traveled by cab, she and Etienne pressed close together in the back seat. He’d flung his arm around her and the slow stroke of his fingers on her bare arm had felt good.
He chatted about his friends, his sisters, about Paris.
He’d stopped talking about books, which was a relief.
When he kissed her, she kissed him back and when they finally pulled away from each other, the taxi had come to a stop outside a tall house in a narrow road.
S
he could hear the sound of pounding rock music and the shriek of laughter coming through the open windows. The air smelled sweet, although she had no idea what the scent was. Roses and honeysuckle, maybe. It was the kind of thing Grace would have known.
Audrey felt grown-up and sophisticated. She wanted to message Meena but didn’t want to look uncool. There’d be time for that later.
The door opened, and they were drawn inside into the crush of people. Too many people for the size of the house. They were squeezed together, temperatures rising in the unforgiving summer heat.
Audrey had wondered if her outfit might be too casual, but people were wearing everything. And nothing. She saw a girl, breasts bare, racing up the stairs with a man chasing after her.
