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I didn’t say no.
Adrien hesitated a moment more, his eyes searching. Then he closed them, brows furrowed, and then touched his lips to mine. My eyes closed too, and a small sound escaped me, a soft little cry that turned into a breathy gasp as he deepened the kiss. My lips parted and his tongue slipped inside, softly. I gasped, utterly unprepared for how the taste of him, the feel of him touching me like this, turned my bones to sand and stole my breath. I moaned softly into his mouth and felt him react to my obvious want; I couldn’t hide it. I couldn’t pull away. My entire body vibrated with electricity, and Adrien felt every bit of it.
He angled his head to kiss me harder, thoroughly, his tongue no longer hesitant, but sliding against mine. God, he tasted so good. I tasted the kir he’d drunk: the sweetness of the black currant liqueur, and the sharper bite of wine.
All these thoughts flashed through me in the space of a heartbeat, as the La Cloche, our friends, the pulsing music…it all faded away, leaving me with Adrien’s m
outh on mine and nothing else.
I don’t know how long we’d been kissing when Adrien finally pulled away, gasping for breath. Our bodies were pressed tightly together, his arms wrapped around me, and I was dimly aware of a hard, hot pressure through his jeans straining against me.
“Janey…” he whispered.
I slid my gaze to the group; they were all snickering and whispering; grinning at us with knowing looks I didn’t like. I’d agreed to come to France to try to avoid being the silly girl who wrote about men, and men’s games, and men’s victories and triumphs, and here I was, falling under the charm of just one of those athletes who saw women as nothing more than another opportunity to score.
It’s not true; he’s different…
But if I continued with him, I wouldn’t know if that were true until it was too late to protect myself. My heart, normally so guarded, was falling for him fast. Too fast.
Tears burned my eyes, and I pulled back from Adrien, from the strong, warm feel of his arms. “I’m not going to be one of your women.”
His brows furrowed. “What? No…?”
Confusion flashed over his deep blue eyes, and then something I hadn’t been prepared to see: pain. Not the pain of lust unfulfilled, but something stronger. My pulling away left a wound. Maybe a small one, but a wound nonetheless.
His ego is bruised. What woman turns down Adrien Rousseau?
“I have to go,” I said stiffly. I left the dance floor and returned to the table.
“Janey…?” Brigitte’s voice was soft with concern.
“That’s what I call in-depth reporting,” Olivier said. “Next, she goes under the covers to get at Adrien’s big story.”
“Shut up, crétin!” Brigitte hissed.
My cheeks burned but I managed a tight smile for Brigitte. “I have to go. Lots of studying to do.”
I hurried out of La Cloche, not looking back, half-hoping Adrien would follow me. A man’s voice called out for me to stop. My heart jolted but then sank when I realized it was Robert.
“Yes?” I said tightly. “It’s late. I want to get home…”
“I’m going to be perfectly blunt: I want you to stay away from Adrien,” Robert said, his dark eyes hard under the street lamp. “At least until the season is over.”
“What? Why…?” My words burnt up in anger. “Actually, it’s none of your business—”
“It is my business. Adrien is the leading scorer on our team. A striker. The best striker in the league, if not all of football. He’s been different since you showed up. In his head a lot.” Robert rubbed his hand over his mouth. “You’re not like the other girls he’s brought around.”
I felt my body go stiff all over. “Exactly. I’m not one of his girls. I’m writing an article—”
“You were doing more than writing an article just now on the dance floor.”
Humiliation inflamed my skin and I stared, unable to find a retort.
“We need him to keep playing his best,” Robert said, simply. “Stay out of his head.”
He turned and stepped back inside the club, leaving me alone in the dark.
Adrien
