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Fabien only nods.
Thayer shakes his head. "You know we would. And no, Fabien, nothing that can't wait for a few hours.” He seems the responsible type, so I can pretty much conclude that Fabien is the bottom line. Why does that not surprise me?
“Come,” his mother says, gesturing to the stairway. “I’ll show you to your room. Fabien, you have two hours before everyone will arrive for the rehearsal.”
“She’ll be staying with me, Maman,” Fabien says. He leans in and kisses her cheek. “She won’t need the guest room.” When she gives him a pained look, he shakes his head. “Just don’t tell Grandmére, and it will be fine, okay?”
“It’s not that easy,” she says, shaking her head. “You know how she is.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fabien, what happened on the way here?” Thayer asks. He hangs behind his mother, hands in his pockets.
Fabien quickly fills him in as we walk.
Thayer frowns. Behind him, uniformed staff scurry from room to room, their arms laden with flower arrangements. Outside the window, not one but two gardeners tend the lawn while another crew tends to the flowers. They have staff for everything.
Thayer speaks in a low voice but not so quietly I can’t hear him. “Do you think it was a deliberate sabotage?”
Avril looks sharply at Thayer. Here, underneath the overhead lighting where she isn’t in shadow, I can better see the signs of aging. Hair graying at the temples, and a subtle weariness around her eyes, though the wrinkles tell me she likes to smile. “That’s a conversation you should have later, when you catch up.” In other words, not in front of me.
We reach a closed door. “We will definitely catch you up later. We’ll see you at the rehearsal.” Fabien’s just dismissed both of them but neither protest. I wonder if the family dynamics are as formal as the house. With his father gone, is he the head of his house? Though parts of Paris are progressive, I’m not sure the Gerard family has quite adapted.
“Thayer, let’s check on your cousin. For all we know, he’ll show up at the rehearsal in casual clothes.” Avril winces before she turns and gives me a parting smile. “See you soon.”
Her heels click on the hardwood floor as they walk away.
Fabien presses his thumb against a small panel to the left of the door. There’s an audible click before he opens the door.
Wait, what? Why would he have a security measure like this within his family home? I can’t shake the feeling there’s something about this family I should fear, but they all seem so pleasant.
He guides me in and shuts the door behind us.
We’re alone.
Before I can open my mouth to speak, his hands are in my hair and his mouth closes over mine. I melt against him and anchor myself by winding my arms over the broad expanse of his shoulders.
Oh, God, does this man know how to kiss.
What was I worrying about a second ago? Right now, my entire world is alight with color and heat and an insistent throbbing between my legs that makes me moan into his mouth.
His tongue strokes against mine. I lean into him, kissing him back. I love the rough feel of his hands in my hair, on my shoulders, down the length of my body. He hikes me up with his hands under my ass. My legs wrap around his body. He walks backward toward the bed that flanks the very center of the room. Unlike his room in Corsica, this is a smaller bedroom with little more than a huge bed and a small sitting room behind it.
“Clothes off,” he growls. “You’re mine for the weekend, and I’m not going to waste one single goddamn minute.”
Glad we cleared that up.
I have questions and fears and I can’t shut my mind off, but when he meets my frantic hands to help me undress, I come pretty damn close. I want to taste him. I want to feel him. I want to make him moan with pleasure just like he made me.
“They’ll hear us,” I protest, which earns me a surprising smack to the ass. My pulse spikes as heat flares along my skin.
“Stop protesting. I told you you’ll be in trouble if you disobey me.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, leaning into it. I’ve role-played so many times I know what it is I like and what I need to fake. There’s no faking how much I enjoy being overpowered by him.
“You sure?” I press.
The pressure of his hand at my throat makes me freeze. A gentle squeeze, and I’m gasping for breath. My pulse races. Is this it, then? The real Fabien will threaten and hurt me?
But the next second, his lips are at my ear, and he releases me. “Don’t push me, woman,” he growls. The sudden fear and power make a delicious warmth spread throughout my entire body until I’m squirming and eager. Is this how he plays?
