Chapter 9

NINE

W ithout talking, we made our way out of the park and across the street to the Plaza entrance. He didn’t ask if I’d ever been here before. He didn’t have to. Xavier knew I’d grown up in a distinctly different part of the city, one without golden towers and gilded lobbies. I was accustomed to Nonna’s stained crochet work, not satin upholstery, grubby bannisters instead of marble columns.

“You’re in the penthouse?” I asked after Xavier pressed the button marked PH in the elevator.

The doors closed. “It’s the best. Or so my assistant says.”

“Do you always have to have the best?”

He looked me over, a slow, lazy progression that seemed to touch every inch of my body before his mouth pressed together in mild anticipation. “I do now.”

Robbed of my words, I couldn’t help staring at his mouth. At the hint of a smirk playing over its soft fullness.

He leaned down. I sucked in a breath. Big mistake. That sweet scent of his was absolutely overpowering in such a small space. I mean, it made my bosoms heave. Like heave , like an actual eighteenth-century heroine begging for her chemise to be torn apart. Screw Jane Austen and give me Julia Quinn. Right now I was smack in the middle of a bodice ripper, which made me the lustful virgin.

Well, not quite a virgin.

But before he could do what we were both clearly dying for, we were interrupted yet again when the elevator doors opened into the biggest hotel room I’d ever seen. A short, portly gentleman decked in pin-striped trousers, a gray waistcoat, and a jacket that reached his knees stood just inside carrying a gold tray that matched the nameplate affixed to his lapel.

“Your—” greeted the man with an awkward sort of half-bow as we walked in.

“Mr. Parker’s fine,” Xavier barked before he could finish. Then he sighed, almost apologetically. “Thank you, Martin.”

The butler only nodded, unperturbed by his outburst. Xavier accepted one of the cloths on the tray and walked inside, wiping his hands as he went. Nervously, I followed suit. The cloth was damp and warm, scented lightly with lavender. A rich man’s way of washing his hands when he came home from the day.

“Miss?”

I turned to find Martin waiting with his tray outstretched. Xavier’s cloth was already crumpled on one side.

“Oh, um, all right.” I dropped the cloth back on the tray, then turned to Xavier, who was removing his coat.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” asked Martin as I took the moment to walk around the room and examine the gilt rococo designs and velvet curtains. It reminded me a bit of the Met. Some of the fancy picture frames had similar looks to them.

“A bottle of champagne,” Xavier was saying. “What’s the top shelf downstairs?”

“The Palm Court offers the NV Ruinart Blanc de Blancs, sir, at two fifty-five a bottle.”

“Which vintage?”

“I believe they are serving the 2015, sir. If that doesn’t serve, perhaps the sommelier at Daniel’s can provide something adequate.”

Xavier wrinkled his long nose. “Better get a bottle from Daniel’s then. And a filet mignon, while you’re there. Done rare.”

Apparently, the ramen hadn’t been enough either.

I turned and looked out the window toward the vast, dark expanse of the park, not wanting to listen anymore to their conversation. Hearing a man sniff at a bottle of champagne that cost more than two hundred dollars was surreal. To say the least. I was back in that space again. The one where I distinctly felt like I didn’t belong.

Xavier had always been particular, of course. As a chef, he had very specific tastes. But five years ago, they were tastes that could be met just as easily at a hot dog stand in the park as in a five-star restaurant. For the weeks we had seen each other, most of the places we’d eaten had been five dollars a plate. Two-dollar slices. Four-dollar falafel. Cheap, food fit for students, but oh-so-good.

That denim-clad hustler who had sunk his teeth into a gyro had been replaced by this stranger in a three-piece suit. It was clear the world he’d once inhabited wasn’t good enough for him anymore.

The world I lived in. The world our daughter lived in.

I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even notice the pair of hands slipping around my waist until I was pulled against Xavier’s broad body.

“He’s gone,” he informed me as his fingers brushed over the silk and he pressed his nose into my hair. “What are you so absorbed with over here?”

I shuddered as the tip of his nose touched my neck. “I—it’s a different world up here, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

His big hands pushed my coat off my shoulders, and I let it slip away, then allowed myself to lean back into him, accepting the simple contact of bodies through a few thin layers. I wasn’t sure what I was doing here. But his touch felt good. Too good.

“This isn’t really where I’d have expected you to be,” I said quietly, waving my hand around the vast suite. “Before…”

“Before, when I was a pauper, you mean? I suppose a bit’s changed since then.”

I chuckled, then considered his story about his father. Even then, he hadn’t been a poor student, but had already started his business. “But you weren’t really a pauper back then, were you?”

There was a brief pause in his ministrations. “Not quite, no.”

He didn’t elaborate anymore, instead taking the opportunity to nuzzle into my neck. I couldn’t help but arch into it. His lips were soft, and the way his large form arched around me, I wanted more. So much more.

“What is that you’re wearing?” Xavier wondered after a long inhale just below my ear.

“It’s called C-covet.” I could barely get the word out.

“Of course it is,” he purred as his teeth ran over my pulse. “How fitting.”

I shuddered as fear and desire warred with every heartbeat under his lips. Only one of them won.

“Xavier, wait.”

He sighed, but stopped, as good as his word. “Whatever you say, Ces.”

He didn’t move but stood straight and pulled me back against him while we both focused on the city. Or tried to.

I looked down to where his arms now encircled my ribs completely. My fingers drifted over one of his knuckles, stroking the edge gently.

“We really hardly know each other at all, do we?” I asked quietly.

There was a long silence. For a moment, I thought he might have had enough of all my doubts.

But then he gently rotated me in his arms so that I was facing him, back to the window, trapped against the glass. But I didn’t feel trapped. I felt precious.

“What do you want to know, then?” he asked gently.

I couldn’t quite meet that deep blue gaze. “I don’t know. Anything. Everything.”

“Come on, Ces. Don’t be shy.”

I sighed. “Fine. What’s…your favorite color?”

I looked back to find him staring directly at my mouth.

“The kind that’s almost dark pink. Like a lip that’s been bitten.”

Gently, he tugged at the bottom lip I didn’t know I’d been biting.

“Xavi,” I murmured.

One side of his mouth curved into a delicious half-smile. “I like it when you call me that.”

I tipped my face up without even realizing it, and delicately, he clasped it between his hands. His thumb again drifted over my bottom lip. He bent down.

And the damn elevator door opened again.

Xavier growled, face suddenly full of thunder. “Fucking hell.” Then, as he released me to sag backward against the glass, he called with slightly less vitriol, “Come in, Martin.”

I took several beats to catch my breath while Xavier left to direct the butler where to put our drinks and two steaks that had been rushed over from the nearby restaurant.

“That’ll be fine, Martin,” Xavier was saying as he passed the man a tip.

The butler gave another funny bow-nod, then left. Then Xavier poured us both flutes of champagne before taking a seat on the sofa, food on the coffee table in front of him.

“Are you coming?” he asked when he realized I hadn’t moved from the window.

It was only because I still couldn’t quite feel my legs.

“Um. Yes.” I made my way to the sofa and eyed the meat there. “I didn’t order that, though.”

“No, I did. You don’t have to have it now. Steak is actually better at room temperature anyway. Most people don’t know that.”

I murmured something along the lines of “Nor did I” while I watched, fascinated, as he took a bite of his own filet. For such a large man, he was almost dainty with his fork. He sliced his bite off perfectly, then examined it for a few seconds, smelled it, then placed it in his mouth, where he held it still and then, at last, started to chew. Only after he had swallowed did he realize I was staring.

“Something interesting?”

I took a sip of the champagne. It was admittedly the best drink I’d probably ever had. “I, um, just haven’t ever seen anyone eat like that before.”

“This is a Wagyu filet, dry-aged a hundred and twenty days. The finest cut you can get.” He eyed me carefully, as if he were measuring me up the same way. “I take my time with things worth savoring.” He cocked his head, causing a spare black lock to fall over his forehead. “Or don’t you remember?”

I shivered and sat back farther into the couch as he cut another piece. And another. The way his eyes closed and mouth moved over each bite was almost erotic. Actually, no. It was erotic.

“All right,” he said once he had finished. He reached over to refill my champagne glass, which was empty. “I’ve answered some questions. And you’ve just watched me eat the rest of my dinner—quite uncomfortable being stared at. So now it’s my turn to ask a few more things.”

My stomach clenched, and I could feel my cheeks redden. “What, um, do you want to know?”

“Let’s see…” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “Something interesting. Something no one else knows.”

I swallowed. How about that I have a daughter? Oh, and that’s she’s yours.

“My favorite fruit is kiwi,” I offered lamely.

Xavier gave me a look that told me he thought it was an idiotic answer. “Come on. You can do better than that.”

You have no idea.

“I know. How about your number?”

“My phone number?”

He chuckled. “No, I already have that, thanks. I meant your number . You know. How many suitors has Francesca Zola had to chase out of her bed since last we met?”

I nearly choked. “You don’t think that’s kind of personal?”

Xavier snorted. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m just curious, is all. Isn’t that the point of this little game we started? To really get to know each other?”

“Maybe. But asking me about my sexual history isn’t really the same as you telling me your favorite color.”

This time, he laughed outright. It was more of a bark than a laugh, but it was still there.

“It’s not funny!” I screeched.

“Yes, it is.” But he stopped laughing anyway. I was almost willing to be the butt of a joke again if he would keep doing it. “Fine. You can go again. Something equally intrusive. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. No more favorite fruits.”

I tapped my lips for a moment, enjoying the way his eyes dilated slightly at the gesture. At least I wasn’t the only one feeling things. “All right. You want sex? I want love. Who is the greatest love of your life?”

Xavier shrugged. “That’s easy. No one.”

Immediately, I deflated. No one ? “Come—come on. I thought we were being honest.”

“I am being honest. I’ve never been in love.”

I balked. “Never?”

“Never. And since we’re telling the truth, I don’t even know if I’m capable of it. Love, I mean.”

“What about Lucy?” I pressed. “You were willing to marry her, after all. Didn’t you love her at least a little?”

But again, he just shrugged. “I cared for her. I wanted to do right by her. But love? No, I don’t think so.”

I mulled for a long moment. It didn’t make sense. He was willing to throw his life away for a woman, but he didn’t love her? Not even as a friend?

There it was. The memory I’d always tried to forget, all those years ago. Clearly, he had forgotten the way the early morning light had flowed into his hotel room when we had lain together in the bed, tossed in the white sheets, red-faced from sex and heartsickness.

“You said you loved me,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

But Xavier heard me anyway. He tipped back the rest of his champagne, then set the glass next to his empty plate with a clink. “I guess I did. I’m sorry for that.”

I reared back as if stung. “You’re sorry ?”

His eyes were so dark a blue, they almost seemed black. “Yes. I am sorry.”

“Because, what?” I asked. “Because you didn’t mean it? Because you were just trying to get me into bed?”

“Well, I’d already gotten you into bed, Ces,” he pointed out.

My palm twitched where it lay on my thigh, and I pressed my knuckles into my leg, forcing myself not to slap him. I almost left right then and there. But he kept talking.

“We were young, if you remember. And I liked you, Ces, I really did. Maybe even thought I did love you at the time. But now that I’m older, I know that you can’t feel that after just a few weeks. If you ever feel it at all.”

I remained silent, just stared at him, daring him to say more.

Really, though, I was gobsmacked. Because honestly, he wasn’t wrong. How did we know that we actually loved anyone? Sofia? I loved her without a doubt. Mattie? Kate? The rest of my sisters, my grandmother. Sure. But that was family.

This was something different.

“See, I think we’re all lying when we say it,” Xavier broke through my thoughts.

“Lying.” I repeated it deadpan, hating the taste of it in my mouth. And the way it echoed through my belly. “You think everyone in the world who has ever said ‘I love you’ is lying? All, I don’t know, six billion of us?”

He just shrugged in that carefree way I was starting to loathe. “Maybe not lying, per se. But I don’t know, maybe fooling themselves a bit. Saying what they want to feel instead of what they actually feel?”

I grimaced. “Maybe. Some people do, certainly. But?—”

“Most,” he interrupted. “Because real love…it’s supposed to be unconditional, yeah? And whether we want to admit it or not, there’s always something another person can do to ruin things. Even parents will walk away from their children if they fuck up enough.”

I opened my mouth to argue that not all parents were like that. But then, what did I know?

Wasn’t that the same thing my mother had done to me?

“And so,” Xavier concluded, “if that love can be broken, I don’t really think it was love in the first place. Infatuation, maybe. But not love. I’ve only ever known one person I loved that way. My mum. And now she’s dead, so…”

As he trailed off, a shadow swept across his hardened face. I didn’t press, lost as I was in my own thoughts.

It was good to hear him say it. Some mothers left their children, but not all. It was my deepest fear that I’d end up like mine, careless and hurtful to my own blood and soul.

But no, I’d never do that to Sofia. I loved my daughter beyond measure. And I’d protect her at all costs.

“You might be right,” I admitted as I swirled the champagne around in my glass. “There’s nothing like a mother’s love. Maybe nothing more we can ever expect.”

Xavier nodded, like he completely understood.

But he didn’t. I knew he didn’t.

And at that moment, I knew I’d made the right decision all those years ago.

It took him a few moments as I rose from the couch to realize I wasn’t using the bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

I retrieved my coat from where he had laid it over a dining chair, then turned as I put it on. “Home.”

Xavier frowned. “What? Why? I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“We were.” I pulled my hair over my collar, then located my clutch, which had been placed on the sideboard near the elevator. It wasn’t until I pressed the call button that Xavier finally sprang up from the couch.

“Francesca. Don’t do this.”

I sighed and pushed the button again. “Xavi, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Can’t what? Talk? Get to know each other again? I don’t understand.”

I didn’t respond, just stared at the doors of the elevator, willing them to open before I changed my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to pull my daughter’s face before me. It was for her I was walking away. Because this cold, brooding creature had no place in our life.

Sofia was bright, affectionate. Mercurial and stubborn, yes, but incredibly loving. She was open with her heart and wanted nothing more than for others to do the same with her. So how, in good faith, could I offer her a father who had just admitted he could never love her?

I turned around to tell him exactly that.

But before I could, he kissed me.

His mouth was softer than I remembered. Warm and demanding, with the taste of steak and good champagne swirled through a flavor that was uniquely his. His hands were back around my waist, pulling me flush against his broad body before they slipped down, down to take a firm hold of my backside and lift me up so we were face-to-face.

The second he touched me, some current of energy deep inside me sprang to life. My fingers entwined through his silky black hair. As his hands slipped under the hem of my dress to take lush handfuls of flesh, I groaned into his mouth. He sucked my lower lip between his teeth and growled again before devouring me once more. And I opened like a parched flower to a rainstorm, soaking up every bit of it.

Something crashed to the marble floors of the suite. I had no clue what it was. The lights flickered on and off. I didn’t know if it was because I was backed against a light switch or if it was the pure energy flowing between this man and me.

It didn’t matter that he had changed so thoroughly from a lonely, if brooding young man to this jaded, ice-cold stranger. Some things apparently never change. Like the wanting—oh, God , the wanting—a deep chord of yearning that cut straight to the quick.

Five years ago, I’d been a naive virgin with no qualms about giving myself to someone I’d thought loved me. Now I knew exactly what he could offer, the heights of pleasure he would provide.

And I knew the price of falling after he brought me there.

“Stop,” I muttered, hoarse and out of breath.

My fingers stayed where they were, my legs wrapped completely around his waist, dress hiked up around my hips while he kneaded my thighs mercilessly.

“Fuck, Francesca,” he muttered before kissing me again. “ Fuck . This mouth. I’ve been dreaming of this mouth for five fucking years .”

“You—I—we?—”

I could barely get words out between kisses. So much for savoring. He was eating me whole.

But I was giving as good as I got. I wanted nothing more than to tear his shirt off, rip the tie from his neck, and feel every inch of hard muscle under this finery. Feel its heat pulse under my fingers.

Except.

Sofia.

“Xavi— oomph —STOP!”

It was halfway between a shriek and a moan, but his lips paused, teeth poised over my collarbone. He leaned back to examine me as if I were a wild animal he’d caught in a trap. Like he knew if he made a wrong move, I’d chew my own leg off trying to escape.

“What is it?” he purred. “Tell me. I’ll fix it.”

Behind him, the elevator door opened. I seized my chance, wriggling out of his arms and hurtling toward the carriage.

“Francesca, wait—fucking hell—where are you going?”

I pressed the button for the lobby, not caring about the wrinkles in my dress, the state of my hair, streaked makeup, or my undoubtedly swollen lips.

“I’m sorry,” I said as the doors began to close. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“Ces—stop—just?—”

He was clearly flustered trying simultaneously to put his clothes back into order, calm the obvious evidence of his arousal, and somehow stop the elevator doors from closing too.

He failed.

I should have been relieved. I know I should have.

But when the doors had finally shut on his shocked, disoriented face, the pit that had opened in my stomach earlier that evening widened even more. I pressed my face into my hands and, for no reason I could fathom, began to cry.