When in Paris... (Language of Love) (28 page)

“
So what are you doing tomorrow?”

Her question jolts me back to the present. “Sleeping.”

Her smile falters for a second before bouncing back. “Yeah, I guess we’ll be pretty jet-lagged for a day or two.”

“
The way I feel right now, I could probably sleep for a week. But chock that up to getting almost no sleep last night.” My gaze drifts down to her soft lips as memories of last night bombard me like heavy artillery fire. Discomfort begins to grow behind my jeans' button-fly.

Her eyes go all soft and dreamy-like, her mind clearly traversing the same track as mine. My breath constricts in my chest as more blood rushes from my head to my crotch.

I angle my head so my mouth is dangerously close to her ear. “Not that I’m complaining.” My voice is low, my words for her ears only.

A flush of pink stains her cheeks. Her fingers shake ever so slightly as they trail over the ridges of my knuckles until they’re weaved between mine, her grip comforting and arousing at the same time.

I want to kiss her more than I want my next breath but given the way I’m feeling right now, how uncomfortably hard I'm getting, there’s no way I can trust myself to keep the kiss PG-rated. Not when my body is aching to drag her astride my lap and get down to the serious business of sexual gratification. Instead, with our hands still entwined, I bring the back of hers to my lips and brush a kiss over the smooth, pale skin before lowering both to rest on my thigh.

At her sharp indrawn breath and the way her pretty hazel eyes dilate with arousal, I’m somewhat gratified to know I won’t be the only one suffering this particular ailment the duration of the flight.

~*~*~

I’m bone tired after spending the hour it takes to get through customs, the forty-five minutes we wait for our luggage and the hour and a half it takes to drive from Buffalo to the school campus.

Judging by the slump of Olivia’s shoulders when we arrive at my truck after leaving Mike to walk Rebecca to her car, she’ll probably be asleep the minute her head hits the pillow.

Conversation is limited on the short drive to her dorm. There, I grab her luggage from the back seat and wordlessly follow her up to her room, my need for sleep being nudged aside with the sway of her hips.

The place is a ghost town. If anyone’s in residence, they’re either out—and it’s still early for a Friday night—or in their rooms. I’m not sure I feel comfortable leaving her here alone.

After she unlocks her door, I follow her into her room and place both pieces of luggage in front of her closet. She turns and looks up at me and desire coils in my gut. I feel myself getting hard again.

“
Come back to my apartment tonight,” I say, cupping her cheek in my palm.

Her lids flutter down, her lashes brushing the crests of her cheekbones. “What about Troy?”

When her eyes open, I feel like a bastard. I know she’s exhausted but I selfishly want her in my bed, lying beside me, under me, her body mine to caress and make love to at will. I should be ashamed of myself but still I persist.

“
Troy won’t be back until tomorrow night or Sunday morning. We’ll have the place to ourselves.” I stroke her cheek with the flat of my thumb, my other hand rests possessively on her ass as I pull her tight against me so she can’t help but feel how much I want her.

We’d had sex almost every night while we were in Paris but back at home, she appears uncertain about spending an entire night with me. Undeterred, I continue to cajole. As I said before, I’m a selfish bastard. But I want her. “I don’t want to leave you alone. There’s practically no one here.”

The look of weariness she’d been wearing since we got off the plane in Buffalo is replaced by glittering awareness. I waste no time taking my cue from that, bringing my mouth down to hers. Her lips part immediately for the hungry sweep of my tongue as I kiss her like I haven’t had sex in three months. Like I can’t get enough of her sweet mouth and the wet demand of her response.

Restless hands push under her sweater and stroke over the rounded curve of her ass, the length of her naked back, and skim the sides of her bra-encased breasts until I can’t see straight. In the back of my mind I know I can’t allow it to go any further because I want to make love to her in the comfort of my much bigger bed. And I certainly don’t want to have to get up afterward, get dressed and head out into the cold again.

Reluctantly, I break the kiss and order my hands away from her breasts. My head swims with the effort it costs. A voice I barely recognize says, “Come on, grab some clothes and let’s get out of here.”

She looks dazed for a few seconds, her lips still moist and swollen from my kisses before clarity returns to her eyes. “Um, right,” she mumbles, running the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “Give me a minute.”

I have to grit my teeth to stop from reaching out and plastering her against me again.

***

OLIVIA

How is it possible that a person can go eighteen years without sex, have it the total of seven times in the span of six days, and now can’t get enough?

I’m living proof that it is—possible that is. I’m proof you can go from virgin to insatiable in the blink of an eye. But I’m not so naïve as to believe that for me it’s just the sex.

It’s sex with Zach.

Sex with Zach that has me wrestling with the stubborn buttons on his jeans the second we hit the door to his bedroom fifteen minutes after we leave my dorm.

My overnight bag was discarded somewhere in the hall, along with my boots and our respective coats. His gold-and-brown turtleneck lies on the carpeted floor just beyond the entrance to his bedroom.

We exchange a sizzling-hot kiss before we have no choice but to break apart to rid ourselves of the rest of our clothes. My fingers, too clumsy in their haste, can only manage one of his buttons. Zach urges my hands up to strip my sweater from me. Cool air can’t chill the warmth of my skin and it certainly can’t cool my ardor.

I stare up into the burning fire of his eyes and a flood of heat and moisture collects between my thighs. With a deep groan, he’s kissing and nuzzling the sensitive skin behind my ear and length of my neck as he divests me of my bra. My breath hitches at the scratch of his bristled jaw against my skin, which I find more arousing than painful. But I know I’ll bear the visible effects of it tomorrow.

After he smooths the bra straps from my shoulders, his hands move down to cup my breasts. My nipples pebble against his palms as desire has me in knots. I inhale deeply and exhale on a moan that feels torn from my throat.

When he lifts his mouth from my neck, I capture his lips with mine. From then on I pretty much forget everything else. The next thing I know we’re both naked and he’s above me, his forearms on either side of my head propping him up. His kisses are slow, deep and languid, not the hurried, desperate pace of not so long ago.

He may want to take it slow, but I’m still writhing under him, my legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer, completely abandoned.

“Zach, now,” I whimper, my hands pressing down hard on his butt.

He lets out a sound that’s half groan, half chuckle. “And I thought I was impatient.”

I can’t say I find any of this funny. My body feels like it’s on fire. He’s completely corrupted me.

Lowering his head, he takes my nipple into his mouth. At the wet suction on my breast, my back bows like I’ve been shocked.

After tormenting me to needy mindlessness, he dons a condom and thrusts into me. The peak finds me soon after. Strokes after that, it finds Zach too.

~*~*~

I’m not sure what pulls me out of my sated and dreamless sleep until I feel the bed shift beneath me. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust to the darkness and then I see Zach climbing naked out of bed.

“Look, this is not a good time to talk,” I hear him say, impatience lacing his biting tone.

“Zach,” I say in a sleepy voice. “What’s wrong?”

When his head whips around, I can see he’s on his cell.

“Hold on,” he says to the person on the other end then he hits a button on the phone before he replies, “It’s nothing, Liv. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

“What time is it?” I’m becoming more awake by the second and I want to know who he’s talking to.

“After eleven.”

“Who are you talking to?”

A flash of annoyance crosses his face and I wonder if it’s directed at me or the person on the phone.

“No one. Go back to sleep, Liv.” With his cell phone still in hand, he yanks on a pair of boxer briefs and leaves the room.

What the hell was that?

My heart is pounding, my teeth clenching. Who the hell is calling him at eleven o’clock at night? Someone he doesn’t want me to know about. Nothing about this situation sits well with me. I’m confused, pissed and hurt. I scoot up into a sitting position, jerk the comforter up around me, turn on the lamp on the night table and wait.

I can’t hear even the murmur of his deep voice so he’s either in the bathroom or he’s out in the living room speaking in a voice hardly above a whisper. This pisses me off even more.

By the time he returns, I’ve worked myself into such a state, I have to take several deep breaths before I can bring myself to speak calmly.

“Who was that?”

At my hard tone, he stops at the side of the bed and stares down at me. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Just some shit I’m dealing with. Don’t make a big deal of it, ’kay?”

Huh? Seriously? Now I’m not sure what to say. He sounds so weary that my first inclination is to let the subject drop. But I’m just not the type to sit idly by while my boyfriend takes a phone call from another girl—and my gut tells me it was a female—a call he can’t take in front of me.

“So you think I should be okay with girls calling you close to midnight? That I should be okay when you run off to another room to take her call?”

If Zach knows anything about women, he knows there’s only one possible answer.

His stance shifts and I’m momentarily distracted by what he looks like wearing only his navy briefs.

“It was Ashley, okay? You satisfied?”

Ashley, his ex?

He. Cannot. Be. Serious.

Satisfied? Um, that would be a big no.

“I thought you guys weren’t seeing each other anymore.”

“We’re not.”

“Then why is she calling you?”

Zach’s jaw tightens and he gets a little squinty-eyed and I can tell I’m testing his patience. But he doesn’t say anything, simply pulls back the covers and climbs into bed.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters as he settles in beside me, the muscular length of his hair-roughened leg pressed against mine.

What? And that’s supposed to be it? He says conversation over and we’re done? I don’t think so.

“Well I want to talk about it.”

Contrary to the tick of his jaw, he closes his eyes and laces his hands behind his head in a feigned state of repose. Belatedly, I shimmy over until not a single inch of our skin is touching.

In response, Zach lazily opens one eye and regards me as if to ask,
What’s your problem?

“Well I don’t.” With that he closes his eye. “Olivia, let’s just go to sleep. It’s been a long day. I’m tired, I’m aggravated and I don’t want to fight.”

He sure hadn’t been too tired to have sex.

“I want to settle this tonight,” I say calmly. I don’t want to fight either.

“Liv—”

“I think I have a right to know what’s going on between my boyfriend and his ex.” A perfectly reasonable assumption for me to make.

At this, both his eyes fly open and his brows meet over the bridge of his nose. From the expression on his face, I get the sense I’m not going to like what he has to say.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

ZACH

My boyfriend.

The sinking feeling I have in the pit of my stomach intensifies. I had hoped I’d be able to turn the rest of the evening around after I got off the phone with Ashley. Maybe I’m delusional, but I actually thought Olivia and I would be able to go on as if my pain-in-the-ass ex had never called. But Olivia is your typical girl and her possessive and jealous streak came out as it inevitably would.

I could even have dealt with that had she not said the b-word. Now we’re going to have the conversation I don’t want to have. I love the way things are between us. I don’t want to change a single thing. That serious “couple crap” usually changes everything.

“
Look, Olivia.”

Her body visibly stiffens at the tone of my voice, her eyes alert as she clutches the comforter tighter around her. Slowly, she straightens, her spine rigid and long. The distance between us is like a living and breathing thing, it’s that palpable, like she already knows what I’m about to say.

I clear my throat but it doesn’t rid me of the constriction or my growing discomfort. “I really like you. More than I’ve liked a girl in a long,
long
time.” Ever really, but I’m not going to tell her that. “And I like what we have right now.”