Juice: The O'Malleys Book 1, contemporary Adult Romance (16 page)

“Jesus Cass, Jesus.”

She had all the power, as she rode him he clasped his hands roughly on either side of her hips. He tried to kiss her and she moved her head away, preferring instead to gaze into his eyes as she brought them both to the edge.

“No kissing, I want to see you. I want to watch your face.”

He rose suddenly, and held onto her thighs as he brought her to the wall inside the kitchen. Her back banged against it as he lifted and pounded into her again and again. Cass fisted his hair and dragged his head back; she bit down hard on his shoulder. It thrilled her to see him clench his teeth and hiss through his lips. She came just before him; her thighs shook as he held her there nestling in her hair. He whispered promises and endearments until his breath became ragged and he clenched around her.

He lowered her gently to the floor, as she moved away he caught her chin in his right hand and lifted her face until her eyes met his.

“I am yours as long as you want me. There will be no one else while I share your bed. Is it the same for you Cass? Tell me now if it’s the same for you.”

“It is,” Cass said. And meant every word of it. Only his, always his.

He nodded at her and took her mouth, roughly probing his tongue against her teeth.

(
Rory)

T’is a lonely washing,

That has no man’s shirt in it.

Irish proverb

T
he Eiffel tower shone like a beacon through the hotel room window. Cass stood with her back to Rory and stared at the autumn scene in front of her a look of wonder and contentment on her face. Rory pretended to read the financial times, while really he was using it as a shield to take sneaky looks at Cass. She looked beautiful and really happy. He felt a warm glow in his heart as he watched her. The last five days in Paris had been fantastic, only two nights left in the city and already he was feeling anxious about going home. Everything here felt so right, so perfect and so easy. Cass was effortlessly sweet and clever, funny and kind. He found himself enjoying her company more than he ever expected to.  And the sex, Christ it was electric. He tried to pretend it was because he hadn’t had sex in so long, but he knew he was lying to himself. He had never felt like this, so hard and hot for someone. She only had to look at him with her wide green eyes and he was carefree and giddy. The little things seemed to make her happy. She hadn’t wanted to go shopping at any of the stores, instead she had grabbed his hand and dragged him through the Louvre gallery oohhing and ahhing at the paintings she had seen many, many times before. They took photos beside paintings and made funny faces behind the security guards. He now knew more about Velazquez and Botticelli than he had ever thought possible. He knew her favourite painting was the ‘Infanta Margarita Theresa.’ And he loved it. He loved learning more and more about her every day. He loved watching her open up to him like a flower. She shared her knowledge with him so generously and he admired her intelligence and her passion. She was so interested in each brushstroke each thought that the artist might have felt while painting. They had gone for coffee and pastries in Montmartre and she had fallen in love with an amber necklace in an antique shop window.

“Wouldn’t you prefer something newer?” he had asked. Cass had looked at him and frowned shaking her head.

“No. No, the fact that someone has worn it and loved it before, only adds to its value to me. It’s beautiful.”

She had held back her hair as he tied the clasp around her neck. It was beautiful and made just for her, little orbs of amber encased in filigree silver. She had looked in the mirror and touched it longingly.

“Let me buy it for you,” Rory had said. Not even giving a passing glance to the €2,000 price tag.

“Absolutely NOT. But, thanks very much for the offer. You are really sweet, Rory. I like to buy my own things. I wouldn’t like to feel indebted to you.”

He had her pushed a bit but dropped the subject when she put her foot down and refused to accept it as a gift.

It burned a hole in Rory’s pocket, as he dipped his hand inside to feel it between his fingers. He would give it to her when it felt right. Admiring her principles, he was reminded again just how different she was from other women he had spent time with. They would have sneered at the price tag and moved along to a more expensive collection. Not Cass. She was fiercely independent and seemed to have little interest in gaining anything from him. He tapped his hand against his pocket. She would love it, he was sure.

“Cass.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Do you want to go out for dinner or stay in?”

“Oh go out, please. I mean how often do you get to Paris? Let's find somewhere small and intimate, out of the tourist zone and have a chat about the galleries we need to visit tomorrow.”

Rory rose up from his seat and wandered over to her. Holding her hair back from her face he kissed her cheek softly. She turned and moved her mouth over his making a little satisfied noise.

“Thank you so much for bringing me here Rory, I love it.”

“Hey. Hey you are doing me a favour here. I need your expertise and your artist’s eye to invest in some really spectacular art. What we have bought so far is just perfect for the Irish resorts. I have friends here, Marcel Du Pont and his partner Phillippe. I have to meet him tomorrow night. Apparently he wants to show off some new piece he is buying from a dealer in Lyon. They have invited us for dinner. Are you okay to come with me?”

“Love to.”

The following night Cass and Rory walked along the seine, admiring the cafes and the beautiful architecture of the city. Autumn leaves swirled along the road beside them, and the evening air was crisp and light.

“It’s just up here on Rue de Anglos.” Rory pointed to a quiet side street.

Cass smiled up at him and he started swinging their hands back and forth. “Such a beautiful area.”

Rory nodded at her. “I love Paris, everything about it is magical. Sharing it with you has made it look even more beautiful.”

Cass stopped suddenly and turned to him. “Rory O’Malley, you are such a romantic when you want to be.”

“Shhh. Tell no one,” he replied pulling her tightly into his embrace. They continued walking along the street wrapped in each other’s arms until Rory opened a little black railed gate and dragged her up some steps to a big oak door.

Rory rang the doorbell and kissed Cass softly on the lips.

The door flung open and Cass smiled as the small petite Frenchman embraced Rory. Only coming up to Rory’s chest he matched Cass in height. He looked around Rory’s body and waved at Cass.

“And who is this Rory?”

Cass put out her hand, which was ignored and instead she was quickly pulled into a warm hug. He smelled of lavender oil and felt tiny in Cass’ embrace.

“Marcel, meet Cassidy Evans. Cass is the artist I was telling you about on the phone.”

“Of course, the very talented Cassidy Evans. Very beautiful heh?”

Marcel was spinning Cass around and lifting her hair up and down.

“Green eyes and those boobies! Wow! Tres belle, Cass. Come, come. We will go inside and eat and talk.”

Rory wrapped his arm around Cass’ waist and walked in behind Marcel, she mouthed. “I love him.”

Rory whispered, “I thought you might and hey, I love your boobies too.”

He put his hand on her right breast and mouthed, “This is my favourite one.”

Cass slapped his hand away and mouthed, “fiend” laughing silently.

They turned to Marcel and found him staring at them, a small smile across his face.

“So, tell me Rory, how is business? You mentioned looking for some paintings and so you came to Paris. Where else would you find art worth buying, eh? Let’s have a drink. Cass will you share a kir royale with me?”

“I’d love to Marcel.”

Cass hadn’t a clue what a kir royale was but didn’t want to look like an idiot. She was delighted when it turned out to be a combination of champagne and crème de cassis, a blackcurrant liqueur. She took the cool refreshing drink and sipped it eagerly.

“Rory, for you too?” Marcel held up another kir royale and Rory nodded.

“The same, thanks Marcel. So, this new acquisition of yours? Tell me about it.”

“I have it here. I had an expert look it over today and will sign the papers tomorrow. I will have Philippe show you later. He is in town buying some crab from the evening market. He should be here in a minute.”

Marcel moved over to Cass and sat beside her.

“Cass, are you familiar with the artist Henry Muller.”

“Why yes Marcel, German painter from the high renaissance period. I’m an admirer. Great brushstroke work, heavily influenced by Albrecht Durer.”

“Excellent, I shall enjoy showing it to you later.”

He patted Cass’ hand. She smiled at him, touched by his warmth towards her.

“This woman is beautiful, intelligent and educated Rory. Wherever did you find her?”

“He nearly ran over my kitten Marcel. The brute. So I had to try and keep him in line.” Cass pouted playfully. Marcel burst out laughing.

“I love you already, Cass. We will be great friends. Oh, here’s Philippe back. In here Cherie!”

Cass looked up as a grey hair man trundled in with a bicycle and wicker basket.

Dressed in a cream linen suit that was well wrinkled and a size too big, Philippe was the exact opposite of Marcel’s suave elegance. He walked toward Marcel and kissed him softly on each cheek. Turning to Rory, he opened his arms and hugged him warmly.

“Rory, so happy to have you here. It’s been too long, no?”

Rory ended the embrace and kept hold of Philippe’s arms.

“It has been an age my friend. Too, too long. You must come back to the resort soon. Come meet my Cass.”

Cass swung her head in his direction.
Did he just call me his Cass?

Philippe opened his arms and snuggled Cass into him and kissed her twice on each Cheek. He grabbed himself a drink and sat down beside her.

“Cass, we are honoured to have you in our home. And an artistic consultant too?  Did Marcel show you the Muller?”

“Not yet, but I am so looking forward to seeing it.” Marcel interrupted.

“But first we eat, eh?”

Rory leaned into Cass.

“Marcel is a wonderful chef; he is the star of a very popular cookery programme here in Paris.”

Cass shook her head at Rory.

“How do you not suffer from gout with all the great food you get cooked for you?”

“Because I work it off. I run and swim seven days a week. However since I met you, I’ve found more pleasurable ways to exercise.”