I had almost put the parcel down in preparation for my quick escape when I heard a click and the door opened slightly. I heard a voice.
“Come on in. It’s open.”
“Dammit.” I hissed a silent curse. It felt like the trap was closing down on me. I had no option but to go into the apartment and close the heavy door behind me. I found myself in a dimly lit hallway. My attention was drawn towards a light that was coming from a bigger room that lay beyond the hall. But I stayed where I was; I didn’t know what to do.
“Are you there?” I heard Shore’s voice. Suddenly I realised it was not me he was expecting. I found this strange as I was convinced that Dame would have told him I was the one bringing the perfume.
Slowly I walked towards the room. My steps were silenced by the thick rug on the hallway floor.
When I reached the room, it was lit by the western sun. The entire front wall was made of glass and the view was truly stunning. I quickly checked to see if there was anyone in the tastefully decorated room, but it was empty.
I just couldn’t resist. I needed to see that stunning view. The city lay beneath my feet. To the left the Palace could be seen and on the right was Saint Nicholas Cathedral, built from white stone. Beneath me, the stunning blue of the Azure Sea.
A noise made me turn around and I found myself hypnotised by Lorcan Shore’s silver eyes. They were sparkling, or perhaps it was just the sun shining on his face that gave me that impression. We were both silent. Somehow I had the feeling he was just as surprised as I was.
I stood there, silent and still as a statue. For a moment or two we stood there looking at one another. Finally he spoke.
“I can’t believe it. Hello … and welcome.” It was a poor attempt at breaking the silence, but he had, at least, tried to break it. I was staring at him, but there was a mischievous look on his face.
I found it impossible to move. Shore was dressed in jeans and had his white shirt open. I could see his bare chest with its touch of dark hair. His hair was wet and drops of water were falling down onto his shirt, revealing even more than I needed to see.
I clenched a fist and fought hard not to speak my mind. That was the only sane thing to do as I was not sure what I would say. I wanted to say something smart but was not able to think of anything. I decided to maintain cold approach.
“Good afternoon. I came to bring you what you wanted. I just need your signature…” I started to hand the parcel to him, but he ignored my gesture and went to the kitchen area, opening the bar. Crystal bottles sparkled in the sun just as his eyes had done a few moments ago.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked me over his shoulder. I was wondering what his plan was. What was he doing? Playing with me? That much was obvious.
“Nothing. Thank you,” I answered shortly. “Where can I put the parcel? I only need your signature…” He turned only halfway, but I could see the surprise on his face. I dragged my eyes from his gorgeous body on the pretence of searching my bag for a pen. I needed a distraction. I searched furiously for the pen but it was nowhere to be found.
He seemed to sense my nervousness.
“Put it on the coffee table,” he said and closed the cabinet. When he turned around he had two crystal glasses of orange juice in his hands.
“Here you are.” He came closer and I was trying to move as far away from him as possible. His shirt was still unbuttoned and my eyes were slipping to his athletic chest and narrow waist. I was trapped between him and the coffee table; nowhere to escape. He was still offering me one of the glasses.
As I didn’t want to seem impolite, I took it from him, careful not to touch him, not even slightly with my fingertips.
He showed me to the beige leather sofa. He sat on the opposite side of the coffee table on a matching leather couch.
Slowly I sat down and was surprised by the softness of the leather and, at the same time, its warmth. I put the glass down on the table, carefully crossed my legs and checked if my light yellow skirt was as it was supposed to be. Rummaging through my handbag once more in search of a pen, I managed to find one immediately.
“All I need is your signature,” I said and handed the pen to Lorcan whose eyes were traveling from me to the parcel on the coffee table and back to me. He leaned forward and took the pen from my hand.
“I promise I won’t sell it as an autograph,” I smiled.
He smiled too, looking at the note on the parcel.
“I didn’t think you would.” He tore the note from the parcel and began to sign it. I was surprised to see him signing with his left hand. In all of the television footage I had seen of him, he’d always signed autographs with his right hand. I cursed myself for knowing such a detail.
Lorcan looked at me and simply smiled.
“I’m ambidextrous but usually I use my right hand out there, although the strong one is my left.” He pushed the note and pen to me. I took them from the table and put them back into my handbag.
“Your secret it safe with me,” I said and I meant it. I had no wish to reveal anything to anyone. I loved my privacy so I understood that others loved theirs too.
My hair was slipping out of the knot the base of my neck, so I started to push it back into place. The more I pushed the stray hair back, the more it slipped out. It was time to go.
“Congratulations on your Silverstone victory. Home ground, I suppose I could say. I’m sorry for the bad luck in Nürburgring,”
Where the hell was that coming from?
He was silent. He looked surprised and a little dazed.
“Thank you. And it happens;” he answered. It looked like his mind was elsewhere. He seemed deep in thought. It was really time for me to go. Before I managed to get up from the sofa, he asked me,
“How long have you been watching Formula 1 racing?”
I looked into his grey eyes.
“A long time,” I said quickly.
“And how long is that?” He was persistent.
“Well, I saw Ayrton Senna in his last season. I had a role model who gave me my enthusiasm.”
His eyes widened. I was sure he didn’t expect this kind of answer.
“You were…”
“I was a little girl at the time,” I finished for him.
“And who is your favourite?”
I looked at him and blurted out without thinking.
“The legend himself. Ayrton Senna.”
There was a short silence.
“Agree. He is…was great.”
I took the glass from the table and drank half of the orange juice: I never knew how to sip my drinks. It was refreshing as my throat was dry.
“Interesting.” I put down the glass.
“What?”
“That you agree with me.” We were staring at each other.
“Many of us do, you know? After his death some of us managed to win more Championships, but nevertheless the cars we are driving now are so different to the car he had then. I won’t lie … not all of us share this opinion, but we all strive to be as great as he was…”
I was surprised by his answer. I’d had similar conversations with racing enthusiasts who had tried to diminish Senna’s role in Formula 1.
It was definitely time for me to go. I stood up abruptly.
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
He quickly stood up too.
“Where are you going? What’s the rush?”
I was halfway to the hallway, which was now even darker as the sun had nearly set. I heard his footsteps behind me.
The anger that rose within me was too strong for me to hold back, and actually I didn’t want to hold back anymore. I turned around and the words flew out of my mouth.
“Look … I have brought you the perfume you wanted. Now you have it. And please, arrange for the billboard to be removed. I just hope … I hope that whoever gets the gift will know how to appreciate it and your effort to get it. This is the last bottle I’ve made. I will not make another one…”
I turned to leave.
“Wait! For heavens’ sake!”
I turned back in surprise.
“The perfume is meant for you. Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I don’t know why you didn’t want to sell it to me? I know it was you on the Grand Corniche. Yes, your disguise is fantastic, but you cannot fool a nose.”
I stared at him in shock. I was not sure what surprised me more: the way he talked to me or the fact that he knew very well who he was pursuing.
“Yes, it took me a day or two to realise it, but … no two women smell the same. It doesn’t matter if they use the same perfume. You are the one person who should know that.”
I looked in his eyes again, taking my glasses off. Although grey, they were strangely calm. We were standing only a few steps away from each other, yet I felt like the English Channel was between us—literally. I was just a simple shop assistant to him, and he was a big star in the world’s fastest sport.
He spoke more gently.
“Who are you afraid of? Me or yourself?”
The last question almost prevented me from breathing properly.
Christ, what was he talking about?
The memory of his embrace became vivid. I longed to be in his arms again. It didn’t matter if it was only for a minute; I was drawn to him like a moth to a candle.
My strong desire to get out of there started to melt like an ice cream in the heat of the summer sun here on the C
ô
te d’Azur.
“Who are you afraid of?”
“Just don’t say. It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. I know too well, it’s not true.” I tried to turn around but I couldn’t. I was truly trapped, mesmerised by those eyes. I sensed his determination that he would do anything to keep me there. He didn’t know I’d already made the decision that I never wanted to leave.
He reached his hand out to me.
“I can’t,” I said in a whisper. It was my last attempt to get away but, at the same time, I knew I didn’t want to. Suddenly I dropped everything. My handbag fell from my left hand and my glasses from my right. Not only did I take his hand, I threw myself into his embrace. I threw myself on his mercy.
Only for a moment, he stood frozen. I knew my sudden change in action had surprised him. He hadn’t expected it, yet he managed to regain his composure and, not a second later, his lips were seeking mine. Although his kiss was hard at first, it softened when he realised I was not pushing him away.
Suddenly, the realisation of what I was doing hit me hard. What exactly was I doing? I tried to move away from him, but his embrace closed around me. I had nowhere to go from that point on. I was his, yet I was not sure if he was mine. After he deepened his kiss, I pushed away all thoughts of escape and decided to enjoy the moment.
I was ecstatic. His kisses didn’t stop and I didn’t want them to stop. They were full of passion. I’d longed for his kisses since that first one in the perfumery.
Somehow I managed to run my hands through his hair. It was soft and silky although still slightly wet.
For a moment I stood still and when his grip loosened a little, I leaned away from him, just enough to reach for my hair pins and take them out. My thick, long, red hair fell down from my neck over my back.
He watched me shake my hair out then moved his hands slowly through it. The feeling was incredible. It’d been a long time since anyone had done that. He took my face in his hands again and I kissed him back with a force of passion I had forgotten I had in me.
I felt his hands moving down the length of my body and soon they were on my hips. I was unable to think of anything else but how good it felt to have his hands on me. But he didn’t stop there. Every inch of my skin was ready to be touched by those hands and wherever his hands touched me, my skin burned as though on fire. His fingertips scorched my skin.
I clenched his upper arms. The muscles were tense and hard. As a race driver, he needed to be fit and I could now feel now with my own hands just how fit he actually was. As far as I could see, he was perfect.
It had been such a long time since I’d felt desired that I was unable to think.
Eager to touch him, my hands slipped under his half-buttoned tight shirt. He shuddered with desire. The unexpected shudder did what I was unable to do … Three buttons that held his shirt together opened. At that precise moment I felt the heat of his body.
I pushed the shirt from his shoulders and for only a moment his lips stopped kissing me. He stepped away from me and let the shirt fall on the floor. He looked magnificent. His torso was slightly covered with curly chest hair and, without thinking, I touched him. Touching him was a remarkable feeling.
We were watching each other. We couldn’t take our eyes off one another. I knew I must have looked hungry, and I was hungry for his touch. Hungry for love. His love. The expression on his face matched my own. I had never known that I could raise so much passion in anyone.
He held my hands in his. They were warm. Enchanted, I watched him as he lifted them, gently turning them around and kissing the inner part of my wrists. All I could do was close my eyes and give in to the feelings that threatened to engulf me.