He gave a slight nod then carried her bag to her bedroom upstairs.
I turned back to the office. “I have shit to do.”
She looked around the foyer, the gold sconces, the floral wallpaper and the portraits on the wall—like she’d never seen it before. “Can we have dinner together?” She looked at the floor, expecting a no before she heard it leave my lips.
I stared at her fair cheek, the blush that highlighted her prominent cheekbones, that gave her a deeper level of beauty. The answer that came to mind stayed there and never left my lips. “Yes.”
The anger was impossible to release.
Not when I was this enraged.
But it was a necessary sacrifice to have the one thing more profound than my hate.
My chérie.
I stepped into her bedroom and found her at the dining table near the window in her living quarters. Her makeup had been refreshed, and she was in the designer clothes I provided.
Gilbert had her tray set up in front of her, and then he did the same to mine.
I approached, my bare feet moving across the hardwood floor and then the thick rug. My mind was more focused now that the scotch had been siphoned out of my diet. Didn’t need it as a form of pain management.
There was nothing to do for the anger, unfortunately.
I sat in the chair across from her, feeling so much rage for what she’d done, but that slowly tapered off the longer I looked at her.
Her beauty dulled the fury.
Gilbert removed the silver lids to our platters then left us to enjoy our dinner.
Melanie stared at me without touching her silverware, her eyes slightly soft, as if she couldn’t believe I was actually there with her. Gratitude. Joy. A lot of different emotions moved across the surface of her eyes.
It was real.
Raven was always the wedge between us, but now that she had been permanently removed from the situation, she shouldn’t cause any more problems. I wasn’t sure what made me hate her more—destroying the camp, or taking Melanie away.
Melanie grabbed her silverware and started to eat.
I dropped the linen napkin in my lap, sliced into the tender meat, and ate in silence. My arms rested on the table as I chewed, looking across the table at the woman in front of me, the living portrait that could entertain me for hours.
“So…how was work?”
I chewed my food slowly, recalling the remains of the camp, a pile of burned ash. Smoke had lingered in the sky for weeks, making it hard for the men to breathe as they worked to rebuild from scratch. The entire organization had been compromised for months because everything went to shit. “It was fine.”
Her eyes darkened slightly, like she knew that work would always be a touchy subject. “How long will you be here?”
“No idea.” I cut into my food again and took another bite. Even if I knew when I was leaving, I wouldn’t tell her. She might reduce my anger with her appearance, and she might soften my heart with the words she said to me, but there was nothing she could do to earn back the trust she’d pissed away.
She stopped asking questions and ate in silence.
Silence. My preferred form of communication.
I stared at her as I ate my meat, her appearance matching the one I’d stored in my memory while she was gone. The whores I’d bedded didn’t compare to her. They did whatever I paid them to do—and I still couldn’t get off the way I had before. Once I pictured Melanie instead of them, the sex became good, but it still fell short.
“I got a job at a café.” She pushed her potatoes around with her fork.
I stared as I chewed.
“I wasn’t very good at it.” She released a chuckle that came out like a rushed breath. “The manager was a nice guy and didn’t fire me, even though I was slow and most of my drinks were wrong.”
“He wasn’t a nice guy. Just wanted to fuck you.” I’d tried to think of her as little as possible after she left. When the dark thoughts broke through the barrier of my scotch, when I’d wondered where she slept at night, if another guy got to fuck her while I lay there in the dark alone, then I would drink more.
She kept her eyes on her plate and continued to push her potatoes around.
I didn’t ask because her answer didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything. If I didn’t get the answer I wanted, it would just make me angry, and I was already angry enough.
She took a few bites of her food, her eyes downcast.
I kept eating, still wanting to reach for a scotch that wasn’t there.
With her eyes still down, she spoke. “I wasn’t with anyone…” Even though that was a huge relief, I continued to eat with the same stony expression.
“Were you with—”
“Yes.” I didn’t tell her it was unsatisfying. I didn’t tell her I pretended she was the woman underneath me. I wanted to hurt her—and I hoped it did.
She went back to pushing her food around, like she didn’t have an appetite.
Good.
When dinner was finished, I rose from the chair and turned to depart. There was tea and desserts, but I didn’t enjoy either of those things.
“Wait.”
I stilled by her bed but didn’t turn around. Her black bag was still there, sitting on top of the duvet cover.
She came up behind me, her hand touching my arm. Her fingertips weren’t as soft as they used to be, like her working at the café had callused her rose-petal skin. When I didn’t turn away, she came closer, resting her forehead against my bare back.
I stood there and felt her hands grip my triceps, her forehead against my back.
She straightened then turned me slightly, getting me to turn around the rest of the way and face her.
With my arms by my sides, I stared down at her, unsure what she wanted from me. I wasn’t in the mood to take her to bed.
Her hands gently slid down my arms as she looked at my chest and stomach, admiring my appearance like another woman hadn’t gotten to enjoy it in her absence. She moved farther into me, her hands slid to my biceps, her eyes lifting to mine. Her lips parted as she breathed quietly, her eyes now on my mouth.
She rose on her tiptoes and kissed my jawline, her soft lips like pillows against the hard bones in my chin. She moved to my mouth, kissing the corner, giving me a gentle swipe of her tongue.
My exterior was impenetrable. If she wanted more from me, she’d have to try harder than that.
She brought her face close to mine and stared at my lips, her eyelashes moving down her cheeks, her plumps lips ready for a kiss. Her nails dug into me slightly before she leaned in and pressed her soft mouth against mine, closing her eyes, feeling our lips touch.
My eyes remained open, my lips still.
She rested them together for a long time before she pulled away slightly. But she tried again, tucking her bottom lip between mine, exhaling a quiet breath filled with longing. Her nails dug into me deeper, just the way they did against my back.
My mouth remained lifeless.
She lifted her eyes and looked at me, her lips just a hair away from mine. “Je t’aime…”
Against my will, I inhaled a deep breath.
She moved into me once more, her hand cupping my neck, and she pressed a harder kiss to my mouth.
My eyes closed, and my mouth moved with hers, fire between our lips. My mouth took hers slowly, tasting the rain off her rose petals, inhaling her scent for the first time. My tongue reached for hers, and they met in a beautiful dance we’d shared a thousand times. It felt the same as it always had. Passion. Desire. Heat.