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She falls silent, and I crack one eye open, needing to see why. Her hands clench in her lap, and her gaze is distant. Clad in a dark blue dress with a narrow belt cinching her tiny waist, with her dark hair curling around her heart-shaped face and those large, dark eyes she looks like a movie star from the forties. There’s something so delicate about her face I’m afraid I might crush it if I cup her jaw.
Not that it matters. I won?
??t be touching her. She’s not free.
“So… Madeline Amelie Torres,” I drawl. “Ça va?”
Her gaze snaps up, and her eyes widen. I grin at her startled expression. “You speak French?”
“Nope. That’s it. And Je t’aime.”
Her cheeks redden. “Used this last one a lot?”
I shrug, and my shoulder stops me, shooting a sliver of pain up my neck. “Told Shane once. He didn’t appreciate it.”
She giggles, then claps a hand over her mouth. “This is ridiculous,” she whispers. “Me sitting here, telling you about myself. I don’t talk about myself to anyone.” But before I ask why not, she sighs. “I like blue. Anything that’s blue.”
Great. I bet this Fred she’s dating has baby blues, unlike me. “Gotcha.”
Hey, I asked for it, didn’t I? Somehow.
“Last book I read was… In Search of Lost Time.” At my confused look, she explains, “A book by Marcel Proust. Talks about himself mostly. Very French.”
“That explains it,” I mumble. My stomach twists, and man, I really fucking hope I won’t throw up again.
“My mom wanted me to read more French literature while I was staying with her, and I tried.”
“D’you like it?”
“It was okay.” She smooths the fine fabric of her dress over her thighs, and I’m caught in a spell, staring at her small, white hands on the black cloth. “Suited the mood while I was there.”
“Not fun?” I guess.
“Not really. I was there for the last year of high school. I had been looking forward to it, you know? I hadn’t seen her in years. I’d missed her. I thought we’d have fun together, but…” She leans back, bracing her hands on the mattress, and my gaze dips to her breasts, high and pert, stretching the bust of her dress. Like clockwork. Can’t help myself.
“Sorry,” I say automatically, trying in vain to look away.
“Yeah, me too. And then this happened, with the dance school, and I am…” She bites her lip, and the catch in her voice finally does the trick. I look up, at her face.
“Hey. You okay?”
She nods, but she’s not okay. This is obviously crushing her, this rejection from the school, the loss of her dream. And yet here she is, taking care of me.
“Forget about this,” I say. “This talking shit. It was stupid. I got another idea. Why don’t you lie down with me?”
“Lie down with you?” Her voice rises to a horrified pitch.
“To catch a few Zs. You know.” I blink at her, my lids heavy. “It’s late.”
She doesn’t move, and it occurs to me belatedly that maybe I’ve offended her. She barely knows me, and I’m telling her to get into bed with me. A narrow bed, at that. Why would she?
“Hey, I’m not coming on to you,” I mutter. “I promise. I’d just feel better knowing you’re getting some rest, too.”
Fuck, I’m an idiot. She’s probably considering her exit strategy right now. Not sure how to fix this, I rack my mind for something to say to smooth things over before she runs.
Which is why I jerk in surprise when she toes off her shoes and climbs onto the mattress, lying down beside me. She’s on top of the covers, I’m below, but even through the quilt I feel her curves, and despite the queasiness, I harden and have to shift to accommodate my swelling dick.
Shit. Didn’t count on that. Thought I was too zonked out, but my dick has other ideas.
