Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Shelby

In my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined being in love in Paris.

Clocks and calendars don’t exist. There is only day and night and Alistair.

When we arrived at the hotel, he practically had to carry me through the lobby because I kept stumbling into things in a daze, unable to believe what I was seeing. Everything shimmered and glowed. Chandeliers the size of cars, indoor fountains, people elegantly dressed. And our room was even better. Cream furniture, artwork on the walls, a furnished balcony overlooking the magical city, the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

It took us two days to leave the massive suite because every time I got dressed in one of the new outfits that had been waiting for me, Alistair felt the need to take it off. We’ve made love in every room of the suite several times. Not to mention on the balcony and once in the private elevator on the way upstairs after arrival.

True to his word, Alistair has spoiled me rotten and I’ve given up on trying to convince him I don’t need the fancy trappings. He enjoys giving me jewelry, silk lingerie and feeding me desserts—and I like seeing him happy.

Yes, happy. That’s what he is. Every hour that we’re in Paris, he grows more comfortable, smiling, laughing, being optimistic. I thought he was handsome before, but now that he constantly wears a grin, his hair tousled from sex, I lose my breath every time he walks into the room.

Okay, so maybe I’m partially responsible for us remaining in the suite so long.

But we’re outside now, evening has just fallen and we’re walking along the Seine. I’m wearing a pastel-pink dress with a corseted top and a flowing skirt that blows around my knees and makes me feel beautiful. Alistair never takes his right hand off me, resting it on my hip, then my shoulder, occasionally fisting my loose hair and forcing me to look him in the eye, as if reminding me who I belong to.

I don’t need a reminder.

Alistair already has my heart and he’s quickly capturing my soul. With every look, every touch, every night that he holds me. The only thing stopping me from handing over every part of myself completely…is the fact that I haven’t told him the truth about who I am and how we met.

In Paris, though, so far from reality, it becomes easier and easier to forget.

Especially now, when the sun sets and Paris lights up around us, romantic and beautiful and full of history, hope, music. We’ve just had an amazing dinner at a dark, candlelit restaurant and I’m delightfully full. Alistair pulls me to a stop in the middle of an elegant square, complete with a marble fountain, spilling with water and red flowers. Twinkling lights are strung overhead. I’m so far from my old life that when Alistair picks me up by the waist and settles me on the edge of the fountain—and pulls out a black velvet ring box—I think I’m dreaming.

“Alistair,” I breathe, hands flying to my mouth.

“Shelby.” His throat works with emotion.

But before he can say another word, a man appears to his right. An old, hunched-over man in tattered clothes and no shoes. He’s holding an ancient violin in his hands, the neck partially bent.

He says something in quick French.

Neither of us responds and when it becomes obvious that we didn’t understand him, the man repeats himself in English.

“Play music for you and the lady?”

A flash of annoyance crosses Alistair’s face. He starts to tell the man to leave us alone, but something in his expression shifts. And instead of shooing the man away, Alistair nods. “Yes. Thank you.”

That’s when I can no longer keep my soul from becoming Alistair’s. Because he doesn’t merely love me, desire me…he listens. He listened to me when I asked him to be more patient with people, cared enough to try.

His actions are rewarded a moment later when the old man begins to play… and it’s quite simply the most incredible sound I’ve ever heard. The swell of sound, the delicate romance of the strings being finessed by the bow, is poetry. The square is filled with even more life than before, passersby stopping to appreciate the music.

Alistair looks at me in wonder, the ring box still in his hand. “Shelby, you’ve made me a better man. Made me see the world as a beautiful place. A place to appreciate instead of conquer. And I just want to walk beside you through it forever.” He opens the ring box as the music drifts around us, the size of the diamond almost causing me to fall backwards into the fountain. “Be my wife, angel.”

“Yes,” I whisper, moisture crowding my vision. “Yes, Alistair.”

There is a sheen in his eyes as he slides the ring onto my finger and pulls me into his arms, spinning me in a circle in the middle of the square, laughing. My heart expands with hope and awe and affection. Our mouths lock together, as they’re wont to do, and I’m being kissed passionately. With such growing fervor that my thoughts begin to cloud, lust tightening and wetting my flesh.

Barely conscious of our audience, my legs cinch up around my future husband’s hips and the kiss changes tempo, growing more ravenous, Alistair’s shaft hardening against my mound, a groan emanating from his throat. His fingers plow into my hair and he attacks my lips, his tongue plunging deep inside my mouth, his hips tilting forward at the same time and I whine his name.

“Christ, I know what it means when you cry my name like that,” he says hoarsely against my lips. “Means you need a good, hard fucking.”

“Please, Daddy,” I whisper, my femininity clenching.

He glances around us in frustration, making note of the busy square, the people seated at the nearby café who watch us openly. “We’re a half a mile from the hotel,” he says, striding out of the light onto the sidewalk, before hooking left onto a lesser populated side street paved in cobblestones. My mouth races up and down his neck, his hands delving beneath my dress to palm my buttocks, his fingers tangling in my lacy thong, tugging, sliding it back and forth through the valley of my sex.

Alistair steps into a darkened doorway and props me against stone.

“Pull up your dress, baby,” he grits out. I do as I’m told, gathering the hem up to my waist—and a moment later, I hear his zipper being jerked down. “God, you look like a fucking princess in this dress. And you are, aren’t you?” He uses his steel erection to move aside the barrier of my panties, wedging himself inside me roughly, groaning, thrusting the remaining distance and making me whimper. “Daddy’s tight little princess.”

I can only nod as I’m bounced fastfastfast on Alistair’s thickness, his groans muffled by the side of my neck. I tighten and release the muscles of my womanhood, the way I’ve learned he loves, the friction sending ripples of pleasure through me. Our mouths find one another and mate frantically, the pace of his hips picking up even more until the slap of us joining echoes loudly in the streets, along with our moans.

“Tell me you want my come,” he growls into my ear, his fingers biting into the cheeks of my bottom, one of his palms cracking down onto my backside, sending a delicious rippling sting to my core. “Tell me you need it to live.”

“I’ll die without your come,” I gasp, my legs beginning to tremble, all my nerve endings racing around and buzzing, pulling taut. I seem to reach this point sooner and sooner every time we make love, because I know what to do now. I know how to tilt my hips just right so Alistair’s sex will drag up and back against my sensitive nub and oh, oh God. “I’m g-going to…I’m going to…”

“Ahhhh. Fuck, baby. Me too.”

“I love you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

We fall apart together there, in the shadows of Paris, kissing in between gasps, love thick in the air around us. And I never imagine for a second that we can be torn apart…

* * *

It’swhen we land at the airport that dread begins to build in my belly.

Paris was a fairytale, but reality is intruding fast.

Alistair carries me off the plane and keeps me on his lap in the back of the limousine. I cling to him, inhaling the masculine scent from his neck like a lifeline. I’ve allowed too much time to pass without telling Alistair the truth. But I have to believe he’ll understand. I have to believe that the man he’s become will be compassionate and patient. He’s not the devil anymore, right?

I close my eyes and snuggle closer, praying with all my might that our love is strong enough to survive the truth about who I am. Why I was on that road in the first place the day he picked me up.

“You haven’t talked to your family since we left,” he says, kissing my neck, licking it in the shape of a heart. “If you want to invite them over for dinner tomorrow, I can start preparing myself to be irritated now.”

Despite my worry, I have to giggle. “You’re so sure you’ll be annoyed?”

“Yes. That’s an hour I could be spending inside you.” He stokes my bottom beneath my skirt. “We have to swing by a couple of my buildings on the way home,” he murmurs into my ear, unaware that his words set a bomb off inside of me. “There are a couple of changes I need to make in day-to-day operations.”

My hand curls into a fist on his shoulder. “Changes?”

“Yes.” He hesitates briefly. “I think I’ve been a little harsh with my tenants. I’m going to institute a grace period for paying rent.” There’s a smile in his voice now. “I’m going to call it the Shelby Clause.”

Tears swarm my eyes. “That’s lovely.” I ignore the sense of foreboding in my belly and gather my courage. “I knew you would change the rule on your own. I knew you would do the right thing.”

Alistair’s muscles tighten beneath me. “What do you mean by that?”

Finally, I lift my head and whatever he sees on my face causes him to go pale.

“Alistair, I have to tell you something.”

He visibly braces himself. “What is it, angel?”

“I…I…” My heart is going to break free of my chest. “Will you promise to listen start to finish and try to be calm?”

His eyes take on a sharper quality. A hint of panic. “Out with it, Shelby.”

Oh, God. I haven’t even told him yet and he’s pulling away from me emotionally. As if he expected this blow to come sooner or later. “I live in one of your buildings.”

“What?” Dark eyebrows slash together. “Why…why didn’t you tell me that?”

I’m going to hyperventilate. “After my father lost his job, my family couldn’t pay the rent this month. You sent them an eviction notice and…and…” I press a hand to my chest to stop the fearful rapping of my heart. “We were desperate and my mother, she thought I could…she thought you might be lenient if I offer m-myself in exchange for the money we owe. My virginity.”

Alistair might as well be made of marble, like so many of the statues we saw in Paris this week. A crank behind his eyes is the only thing that moves, rapidly processing the information, his carefree expression reverting back to bitter, like it was when we met on the road, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Well. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Mission accomplished.”

“What?” I shake my head. “No. I gave up on the mission as soon as you brought me home. There was only us. And when you postponed the eviction, I knew…I knew you were going to give my family more time without me having to convince you. Because you’re a good man.”

“Just stop,” he says raggedly, plucking me off his lap and setting me beside him on the seat, leaving me completely bereft. His chest heaves up and down and it burns me alive, knowing I’m hurting him. “You’re a con. An opportunist. This is why I stay away from everyone. This is fucking why. You all turn out to be selfish, self-serving liars eventually. Quite a show you put on, though, Shelby. Bravo.”

“It wasn’t a show,” I sob, a fissure forming in my middle. “I love you.”

My words go in one ear and out the other. “You had every chance to tell me the truth, but you waited until I put a ring on your finger, didn’t you? A free month of rent wasn’t enough, I guess.”

I’ve been struck in the stomach by a fastball. “Stop talking like this. What we have is real, Alistair. I—”

“God,” he pushes through his teeth. “I’m a fucking fool, aren’t I?” He gives me a mean once over. “Amazing what a man will do for hot pussy.”

I slap him across the face on reflex because the splitting of my heart is so intense, so painful, that my hand flies on its own. Alistair goes deadly still, his eyes closing briefly. When they open again, they are teeming with regret. But it’s too late. My heart is shattered into a thousand pieces and all I want to do, all I can think about, is getting as far away from him as possible. This man told me he loved me, asked me to be his wife, and our love has been stripped down to something ugly in a matter of seconds. Our trust is gone.

I’m partially to blame—I know that—which only makes it worse.

The limousine stops at a red light and with a sob lodged in my throat, I turn and throw myself out of the vehicle, hitting the sidewalk running.

“Shelby! Come back.”

Alistair’s strangled roar hangs in the air behind me, but I keep sprinting without looking back. The movie theater up ahead is familiar. This is only a mile from my house, meaning I know the lay of the land better than Alistair.

Disappearing into the scenery while my ex-fiancé shouts my name gets easier and easier as the numbness steals over me.

It’s over.