Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel (19 page)

He looked so tired.

"Hey." He barely had the strength to push out a smile.

"Long day?"

"You have no idea. I'm so jet lagged and I haven't been off of my feet since 4am. How was your day?"

"Heath...it was amazing. Seriously, everything. Thank you so much. But I do have to say that I think they used a cheese grater on me at the hammam."

Heath keeled over and laughed. "I wondered how you would feel about that, but it's something you must do while you're here. Tell me you went topless. I was fantasizing about that all day." He touched my arm. "Ooh, you're
soooft
."

"That's why you sent me there, so you could imagine me topless with Celeste?" I snarked playfully.

"How'd you like her?"

"She was really nice. She told me how nice you have always been to her. It was shocking." I said, cocking an eyebrow.

"I paid her to tell you that," he winked.

"Of course. So...she's like a sister to you or something?"

"Are you trying to ask me if she and I have ever known each other biblically?"
Am I that transparent?

"Your words."

"No, Sadie. We have not. Contrary to popular belief I don't just stick my dick in random orifices. Besides, she likes
poisson
if you know what I mean...huhuhuh!" He did that last part in a stereotypical Frenchmen's accent. "I bet she looooved your tatas!"

"She's a lesbian?"

"One hundred percent. Completely hates the dick. Kind of makes the idea of you two topless together about 300% hotter."
Well, there went my worries about them ever having hooked up.

"Oh so when she said she was meeting her girlfriend..."

"They weren't going to paint each other's toenails...at least I hope!"

I swatted Heath's arm and he pulled me in, kissing me softly, but passionately. He paused and leaned back to look into my eyes, and he just stood there for a moment, taking me in with the warmest smile. It was almost too much, and I broke the intimacy by speaking.

"I was just making us a little picnic here out on the balcony. I thought you might be too tired to go out."

"It's like you read my mind." He plopped face-first onto the bed. "Can you peel me off? I have to wash off all this crap they put on my face and body."

I looked at his arms. "You're golden."

"Yeah, I tried to get as much crap off as I could on the set. It was an editorial spread where I was an ancient Greek statue."

"Bwahaha!" I barked out a laugh. Heath sneered at me playfully. "I knew it! Your life really is like America's Next Top Model. Let me finish cutting the cheese and I'll come get you when I'm done. That should give you some time to wash up if you want. Though, I kind of like the gold," I said as I walked out the room.

"You said cut the cheese!" he called out, his voice obstructed by his face being smooshed into the mattress.

I took a few minutes to meticulously arrange the fruit and cheese and create a beautiful spread for us against the backdrop of Paris at dusk.

"Heath dinner's rea--" He was completely unconscious on the very spot where he had thrown himself on the bed.
So fucking adorable.
I grabbed an extra blanket from a closet and covered him. Then I was going to turn and leave, but I couldn't stop myself. My heart was so full watching him sleep there. I reached down and gently ran my fingers through his soft, golden tendrils, then I kissed him on the cheek, turned off the light and let him get a good night's rest.

***

It was about 3am when I felt Heath's tall silhouette standing over me. He had fallen asleep smack dab in the middle of the bed and I didn't have the heart wake him, so I slept on the loveseat in the adjoining room.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, rubbing his eyes, his thick hair every which way, his boxers sitting low on his hips.

"You passed out and I didn't want to move you. You were so tired."

"Just shove me the the side next time. You can even use your feet if you have to. I'm pretty much a corpse in my sleep." He reached out his hand for me and helped me up. "Come back to bed with me."

I followed him and watched his back as slivers of outside light flickered over his still-golden body. Was this really happening? There was something about him I don't think I allowed myself to see before, or maybe he never allowed himself to show it.

He spooned me, caressing my hair and sliding his fingertips over the outer part of my arm. Nothing had ever felt so right before.
Tread lightly.

"You're so beautiful." Sometimes when he said it, I found it hard to believe. I thought of it more as a throwaway line guys say to women when they want to bed them. He was constantly surrounded by beautiful women, what would make me so special in his eyes? But during this trip, I felt it. I felt it in the way he rubbed my cheek when he didn't know I was awake, in the way he left me the note after taking time to plan the perfect day in Paris for me, the way he felt my absence in the middle of the night. And now, I began to feel a new ache, this time in my heart. It wasn't just the ache of longing, it was the ache of longing and fear of loss. What if this wasn't real? What if this weekend was just a fragment in time, where the stars aligned perfectly, just like his seemingly unfortunate accident forced us to spend more time alone together than we had ever planned? What if we went back to the US and this became a hazy memory, only as real and as tangible as the dreams I had had of him?

And just like that night he had slipped into my room and held me as I exploded into millions of stars, I knew there was only one way to make the ache go away. I turned to face him and kiss him on his soft lips. He moved on top of me, his hardness had developed long before the kiss and now he seductively snaked his hips against me. He moved softly, tenderly, but he was so hard. His firmness was reassuring, it meant he wanted me in this way, just as badly as he had wanted me in the closet, and in the limo, and on the balcony. All I wanted was for him to be close to me, but close wasn't enough, he had to be inside of me, and even then I knew that wouldn't be enough. Each slow, deep thrust was an attempt to be that much closer. But I couldn't get enough of him. I wrapped my legs around his hips, and we kissed so passionately, so longingly, that the ache rose to my chest and it began to form in the back of my throat.

I ran my fingers along the firm ridges of the muscles in his arms and back. I had never wanted anyone so badly in my entire life. My yearning for Kenneth wasn't even close to this. Over time I had come to realize my feelings for Kenneth were wrapped in fantasy, an idealization of a boy I had carried with me from my teenage years. My feelings were more about finally getting him, proving something to myself, than they were about the man himself. Kenneth was a challenge I thought I had won, and then the victory was snatched from my grasp. But with Heath, all I did was fight, resist with every ounce of emotional fortitude I could gather. I didn't want to care, I didn't want to feel anything about him, but there was something undeniable there, something true.

And if Kenneth turned me into the bitter man hater I had become, what would Heath do?

Heath could destroy me.

"Sadie, come for me gorgeous," he moaned in my ear. I recognized the tenor of that moan, it meant he was near too. I hadn't closed the shades the night before, and the twilight sky cut through the window sheers and illuminated the patches of gold still on his skin. In that moment, looking into his glowing eyes, feeling the ache fighting to escape from my body in the only way it could, I knew. I knew.

"Heath!" I called out, my insides clenching around his girth. I drug my fingers into the smooth skin of his back. His forehead pressed against mine and his warm breath blew on my lips as he moaned my name over and over again.

I hoped the darkness would hide the tears welling from my eyes, but he knew right away. He didn't beg to find out what was wrong, or make me talk. He was just there.
I've got you.
He brushed my hair away and kissed one of the tears on my cheekbone and gently wiped the other one away with his thumb.

I think he knew too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"
I can't sleep," Heath murmured into my hair.

"Me neither."

"This is nice, lying here without you kicking me out or running away like you just stole something."

"It is." He finally got me to admit it.

"I hope this because you want to be with me and not because this is your only option while sharing a room with me in a foreign country."

"It is."

"Good, because I wasn't looking forward to tying you up," he jested.

"God, I am so weird, aren't I? I gave you a hand job and proceeded to clean you up like nothing had just happened."

Heath silently laughed to himself. Although I couldn't see him, I could feel his cheeks rise against the back of my neck and feel the vibrations of his laughter against my scalp . "Yeah, I didn't think anyone could surprise me until you did that. That entire night I was completely confused, replaying what happened in my head. I was sure you were going to walk in at any minute and tell me you quit again, then you just strolled on in like nothing happened. You are such a mindfucker."

"You mindfucked me the first week in the house. You kept having these stupid parties and I was about two MC Hammer songs away from committing mass murder."

"I guess I can see why you had a certain impression of me."

"Ya think?"

"Here's my theory: I think we're alike in many ways." I huffed out a sarcastic laugh and turned to face him to gauge if he's serious or if he's bullshitting me. "No, really. We both fear getting attached. Except, I just go from person to person and you put up the Great Wall of China of relationships. For some reason though, I feel like myself around you more than I ever could with anyone else. Like the Heath everyone else knows is some sort of act or role I am trying to fill. I didn't realize it until you came along though. I feel like I have a home when you're around. I'm not always searching, wandering, trying to find a place where I belong. A binge-watch marathon with you is so much more fun than a night of clubbing."

"Heath..." I didn't know what I was going to say, but I felt like I needed to stop him, because the things he was saying could not be unsaid. But he knew what I was trying to do and in his usual fashion, he persisted.

"I know it's scary, investing your feelings into someone who could hurt you, but then what's the point? I take risks. I am a risk taker and I want to take a risk on us because there is a chance we could be something amazing. But if you walk away and don't even place a bet, that's a guaranteed loss."

"I don't know if I can take that again Heath. And you're a risky gamble. I've seen your behavior. That's what all this has been...my avoidance, it's that I am prepared to have nothing at all rather than lose something important to me. I can't take any more loss. I just can't."

"Listen, you know if there is anyone who understands loss, it's me. I maybe carefree, but I am not careless. I don't ever want to hurt you. I know I've been an immature jackass. It's just when we met, there was something about you and I went into overdrive. It's what's worked for me in the past. I don't know how else to explain it other than that you turned me into a 16-year-old all over again. You made me nervous."

"Nervous?"
I laughed at the absurdity of the male model telling
me
that
I
made him nervous.

"Yeah and damn you for that, no one has ever made me nervous. You were just so indifferent and unimpressed, and that doesn't happen."

"You're
so
modest."

"Oh come on."

"No, no, you're right. I've seen how panties disintegrate in your presence. That's why I struggle with this. I worked with an NBA superstar for years before you. Women throw themselves at him too. I know what that does to guys. I know what happens in relationships."

"Please don't compare me to those NBA guys."

"You know what I mean."

"I wish you wouldn't use other people as a way to measure me."

"Fair request, I suppose."

"And yes, you made me nervous. You're fucking gorgeous, and I know you try to pretend you don't know it, but you do. You knew what you were doing when you got dressed up for the interview, and the party before the accident. But when it all settled, when we could just talk, you're funny and intelligent and talented too. I spoke to Mindy about you, you know?"

"That backstabbing bitch! She didn't tell me anything," I said with a smile.

"She thinks you should write your own books and have your own show. You have so much fucking potential and with Mindy, you have the connections."

"I know, I just felt like I needed more experience before I did that."

"Fuck it, fuck being cautious. You are great
now
. Sometimes you just have to jump in and then learn how to swim."

"Also known as drowning."

"You're a pain in the ass." He brushed my hair away from my face. I admired his golden sparkling skin, his smooth flaxen tendrils, his incredibly deep blue eyes, all of which reflected the small amount of street light that filtered through the windows.

"I know."

"Those nights when you and I would just talk, don't tell me you didn't feel what I felt."

I looked down. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Come on, let's put all of our chips on the table. Go big or go home."

"O-m-g, did you just take this terrible gambling metaphor to the next level?"

"Yes I did. I am a regular fucking Walt Whitman, except I love pussy."

I gasped and then laughed into his chest. "You are so crude!" I said in a faux-prissy voice.

"You love it. '
Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage.'"

"Methinks you are smart under that pretty face of yours," I say, surprised by his Whitman quote.

"Methinks you are sweet underneath that magnificent scowl of yours."

***

We couldn't have asked for better weather during our last day in Paris. The sky was clear, but there was a gentle, warm breeze in the air; perfect for walking around and taking in sights without melting into a pool of sweat. I wore my plunder from Colette: a navy blue and white striped pointe sleeveless shift mini dress with blood-red flats and that gorgeous scarf over my shoulders, although try as I might I could not re-create Celeste's perfect knot.
I felt very Parisienne.
Heath looked flawless as usual, with a low v-neck heather-gray t-shirt (the type only a model could pull off), under a cream linen blazer, and a pair of slim jeans with a pair of navy slip-on Vans. His hair looked like he had raked his fingers through it, pushing it all back and relying on its thickness to stay in place versus layering on product.

"I kind of miss the gold skin," I said to him as he loaded his wallet into his back pocket.

"We should have a body-painting party. Just you and me."

"That sounds messy."

"And fun."

I give him a suspicious look as I could see the wheels turning in his head, but he quickly changed the subject.

"Alright, are you hungry? I am fucking starving, I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon."

"You poor thing," I pouted at him, with half genuine sympathy, half sarcasm. "There's a ton of cheese and fruit left over."

"We'll snack on that later in bed," Heath winked at me.
That horny rascal.

As we were about to exit the lobby Heath stopped. "Wait right here." I watched from a distance as he walked up to the concierge's counter and engaged her in conversation. I could tell by the way she played with her hair and leaned forward as she giggled that she was already bitten by the Hillabrand bug. I resisted the urge to follow him and see what they were talking about; I didn't want to appear jealous or nosey. After a few minutes, Heath returned with a smile on his face and slapped my ass. I jumped and quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed, but everyone was buzzing around in the lobby minding their own business.

"Heath!" I scolded.

"Couldn't help myself," he smirked.

We arrived at Cafe Constant, a well-known restaurant close to the Eiffel Tower. Just as the hostess informed us that the wait would be about thirty minutes, a couple of giggling Americans walked up and asked for a photo and autograph from Heath. The hostess's eyes lit up when she recognized who he was.

Heath graciously posed with the girls, who were probably no older than 19, and the hostess, now realizing he was "important," offered to seat us immediately.

He quickly eyed the other people hanging around who had arrived before us. "That's okay, we'll wait. Are you okay with that?" he asked me as he tenderly rested his hand on the small of my back. I knew he was famished, and his graciousness in waiting with everyone else made me smile inside.

"Sure," I said. We walked out to the sidewalk to wait. "That was nice of you, not to use your celebrity."

"I'm no saint, but you know already know that," he grinned as he nudged me. "I just try not to use it when I don't need to. I can wait a half hour, it's gorgeous out here anyway."

Karma must have been on our side because we were called within 20 minutes. We were seated at a small outdoor table. A cute French girl named Yvette introduced herself as our server.

"Bonjoor madem-wa-selle!" Heath said in the most pathetic, over-the-top French accent I had ever heard. I shook my head, looking down in embarrassment.

She giggled and her cheeks turned a fuchsia color. "Bonjour. Would you like to start with something to drink? An appetizer?"

"French fries?" Heath joked as he cocked his eyebrows. Again, she giggled. I watched the interaction feeling humored and embarrassed all at the same time. "I'm just kidding, Yvette. Do you know what you would like Sadie?"

"Actually, I think I need a few minutes."

Yvette nodded and gave us some time to think.

"What?" he asked innocently when he noticed the look on my face.

"You are such a flirt."

"Me?"

I almost spit out my water laughing at his 100%, pure, grade-A bullshit response. "Yes, you!" I wasn't upset, in fact I held a strange admiration for how he could just make nearly any straight (or even not straight) woman blush.

"I promise you I wasn't flirting. I just like to make people feel comfortable. Is that so wrong?"

"When you look like that," I gestured to him, "going out of your way to make women feel comfortable is automatically flirting."

"We balance each other out. You're a bit more reserved around new people."

"I guess."

"Does it bother you? That I'm friendly?"

"No...I wouldn't want to change you. As long as it's just you being friendly."
What am I saying? Is he asking for my permission?
The conversation started to enter that murky territory again that I know we would inevitably have to settle:
What is this thing? What are we doing? How can we be both employee/employer AND maintain or grow whatever this budding new thing is that we have?
I didn't feel like I was in any position to tell him to act in any way. At that point, all we were officially were colleagues fucking on vacation.

Yvette returned just in time to halt any further conversation.

"Do you have any questions?"

We hadn't even looked at the menu yet. "You know what? I am going to let my lady-friend here chose for us. Isn't she beautiful?"
That mofo could be so charming when he wanted to be.

Yvette smirked, "
Oui
, she is very pretty." She turned to me, "You have beautiful skin."

"Thank you," I said quietly, feeling a little overwhelmed by the compliments coming from all directions. This moment was typical with Heath, when he saw me getting uncomfortable, he would often choose to lay himself on thicker. Resistance was futile.

"She's a chef. A chef to the stars."
There he goes, laying it on me.

"That is amazing. Who have you worked with?" Yvette asked.

"I have done work for some actors and actresses, Sarah Jessica Parker, the Timberlakes, Robert DeNiro. My main client was a basketball player in New York City. Right now however, this fella over here is who I work for."
Perfect way to get the attention off of me.

"Oh," she eyed him to see if she could recognize his face.

"He's a model. Can't you tell?" I asked playfully.

"Well..." she clearly didn't want to say anything out of line.

"I'm just messing with you! Anyway, I know it's busy in here, I don't want to keep you for long. I think we'll go with the foie gras terrine and the soft boiled egg to start. We'll each have a glass of Chateau d'Yquem." I looked over at Heath for his approval and he gestured back to remind me I was the boss here.

The appetizers arrived shortly after and we quickly both spread the foie gras onto crostini. It was dense and decadent and melted in my mouth like butter. We each let out an audible moan with the first bite.

"I've never had foie gras before."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You know I'll try anything, but usually, I stick to what I know when I eat out."

"Do you know what it's made of?"

"No..." he said fearfully as he swallowed the contents of his last bite.

"Fatty goose liver. And you don't even want to know how they make it happen. It's literally a guilty pleasure."

"You're right. I don't want to know."

We dipped into the egg, which was covered in breadcrumbs and
atop a bed of ratatouille, bacon, and a parmesan cream foam.
It was superb. Shortly after, the chef stopped at our table, after being told by Yvette that I was a celebrity chef. We had a pleasant conversation and he insisted in making us a special duck entree. By the time we left the restaurant, we were both as stuffed as a pre-foie gras-ed goose.

Our next stop was the Eiffel Tower, and we really needed the walking. We climbed all available staircases by foot, only taking the lift to the open air observation deck at the top. After looking out at the stunning views of Paris for a few minutes, Heath declared: "We should take a picture." He took out his phone and asked an older woman if she would snap some. He whispered in my ear as we posed, "you ask the mature people so if they try to run off with your phone you can tackle them much easier." I let out a loud laugh as she snapped the first pic.