Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (8 page)

At his chuckle, she whispered, “I’m not like this. I don’t
do
things like this. I made Sebastien a promise and I never break my promises.” She blew out a breath. “Damn the pair of you for doing this to me.”

“I’m sorry, Devvy.”

“No, you’re not.”

He grimaced. “No, I’m not sorry you feel this way. You’re not wrong. But I am sorry it’s hurting you.”

“Think of this. You have these feelings for me, not because you know me, but because you know what I’ve done. What I’ve achieved and accomplished in my career. You’re attracted to me because of that. You don’t really know me, just like I didn’t know you when I saw you in that magazine. But deep down, I
did
know you. Just like you can sense something about me—something that connects us. Binds us together.”

“We’re scientists,” she groaned. “We can’t be talking this way. About some ethereal connection between us. Soul mates don’t exist.”

“Why can’t I talk like this? It’s the truth. Soul mates don’t exist for everyone…but maybe we’re different. We’ve always been different, haven’t we, Devvy? From the day we were born right until now.” His eyes caught and held hers. They burned a hole in her soul. One so deep she knew he’d scar her for life.

“It’s a weird kind of truth,” she retorted, choosing to bypass his other comment both verbally and physically—she lowered her head to break the clash of their gazes. Their close proximity meant her forehead inadvertently brushed his chest. She froze at the contact, and on the cusp of jerking back, she sucked in a shaky breath and relaxed against him. His hand came up to cup the back of her neck, and the touch of his fingers to her nape made her pussy clench down. How could such a simple touch be the catalyst for such a complicated reaction?

“You’re at ease with me, Devvy, and I think that’s rare for you.”

He was right. It had taken a good month or so after her wedding for Devvy to stop wringing her hands and sweating whenever Bastien was in the vicinity and wanted to talk to her. She’d been so certain he’d realize he’d made a mistake and demand a divorce on the grounds of
non compos mentis
!

After four weeks, she’d stopped second-guessing and ceased to worry about whether he thought he’d made a mistake. The weird thing was that he’d done nothing to make her feel that way. Christ, on their honeymoon, if they’d left the bedroom for more than an hour at a time, it had been a miracle! She’d seen close to nothing of any of the major cities they’d visited. And afterward, back home, he’d showered her with attention.

After two months of being married to him and of living in France—thousands of miles away from her mother—she’d begun to change. She wasn’t sure if Bastien empowered her or if her mother had always been the one to drag her down, and finally being a continent away from her had made all the difference. Either way, she’d settled into her marriage happily.

That is, until her mother called and reminded her Bastien was far too good for her.

Something she did on a regular basis.

Inwardly, she snorted at last month’s fortnightly call from her darling mom. The soirée both she and Sebastien had attended—the last time they’d had sex—a picture had made it into the press over in the US. Apparently, her ass was too big for the dress she’d picked, and her arms had looked like Popeye’s post-spinach.

The fact that Sebastien had thoroughly fucked that ass after that particular party had made her grin as her mother condemned her poor fashion sense.

Then, after the lull in the bedroom, she’d started to wonder if her mother had been correct. If she was too fat for him…

And so recommenced the vicious cycle.

With Alexei, there was awkwardness, just no discomfort. And that made a huge difference.

She knew she’d batted a home run and scored way above her league the day Bastien had married her—she had eyes in her head and there was no point in lying to herself. Yesterday, she’d had doubts, because he’d been distant for a while, but at heart, she knew he found her attractive. Whatever her mother said. Now, this man thought she was hot, too.

That alone should have made her start stammering. Instead, she lifted her head and looked up at him. Two pairs of jewel-like eyes, one diamond-blue, the other amethyst, clashed. Tension arced between them, pulsating with power.

“I can’t do this if Bastien isn’t here,” she croaked out, knowing she was agreeing to something that only last night she’d refused and classified as insane and perverse.

Today was a different day. Her feelings were different.

Devvy
was different.

Why, she didn’t know and couldn’t say. But the emotion ping-ponging back and forth between them meant something. Whether it was the ethereal connection Alex insisted upon, or if it was base lust…Devvy wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it set her heart to pounding like she’d just run a marathon. To act on this strange emotion, she needed Bastien. Somehow, by having him there, it would justify her behavior. Otherwise, she’d just feel like a cheating slut.

He tucked her against him, pressing her length to his, and the instant their torsos connected, her nipples budded and poked through the camisole. He grunted as they pressed into his chest, the noise slight but all the more powerful for it. His hand reached down and suddenly, there was a cellphone tucked against his palm. He tapped the screen, Bastien’s number popped up, and he connected the call.

His voice was strained when Sebastien answered, “I’m busy, Alex.” She could hear him down the line.

“You’re not too busy for this. Devvy’s here.”

“I know. I was there when you made the arrangements. How’s it going? She’s okay, right?”

Sebastien’s sudden concern for the reason behind the phone call literally powered down the line, and it made tears burn at the back of her eyes.

He cared. She knew he did. He’d even told her he loved her and, until recently, he’d shown her. But hearing it spoken to someone else made it all the more powerful somehow. He really meant it.
She
meant something to him.

“She’s ready. But only if you’re here, too.”

The pause on the other end of the line was long. She hadn’t realized silence could say so much. “
Je comprends pas.
” I don’t understand.

“What’s to understand? She’s here and she wants us.”

There was a long pause, almost as though Bastien were registering Alexei’s words, then came a low sigh followed by a quickly sucked in breath. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m leaving now. If the traffic isn’t too bad, I’ll be there in twenty or so minutes.”

A second later, when Bastien had disconnected the call, she whispered, “I can’t believe I want to do this.”

“You feel the pull, I feel it, and so does Sebastien. It was inevitable.”

“I didn’t exactly put up much of a fight.”

“You’re far too rational for infighting,” he teased, and trailed his hand down her spine.

“We haven’t even had coffee. Or any of that lunch your assistant picked up.” Somehow, that shamed her more than anything. She pulled away, and lifted her hands to cover her hot cheeks. “How can I swing from thinking you were both perverts to wanting in on the action? This is your fault,” she groaned. “Why did you have to be Alexei Ivanov? Anyone else I could have handled. I’ve had a crush on you since I was in high school chemistry and I had to write a paper on you.”

“I’m very glad I’m Alexei Ivanov if it has broken the ice between us. Although, please don’t mention your being at school and studying me. It makes me feel very old.”

Despite herself, she snorted at that. A chuckle bubbled up and burst free. “If you feel old, then how must Bastien feel?”

“Like he’s robbing the cradle, I imagine.”

She shook her head. “There’s only nineteen years between us.”

“At nineteen, most people are considered adults. The age gap is rather large, but”—he shrugged and it oozed with his Gallic sensibilities—“the heart wants what the heart wants, and the body knows what the body needs. And you need each other just as I need you, and as we’ll come to need each other.”

“How can you be okay with this? I don’t even understand it. I’m working on instinct here, and tomorrow I might very well regret all this.”

He sighed. “I met Sebastien when I was eighteen and in college. He was twenty-seven. I lied to him about my age and he believed me, because I’d been at
l’université
for three years already. He didn’t know I’d been fast tracked.”

Devvy grimaced. “Fast tracking sucks.”

“Ah yes, I remember reading that we’d shared that particular nightmare. How many years for you?”

She blushed. “Four. I was studying my Masters when most kids would have just started their undergraduate studies.”

“Then you understand. The need to fit in with people in your year but never being able to do so, because you’re still a child in comparison to them.”

Devvy nodded. “I understand completely. It’s why I’m so damned shy.” She sighed. “The feeling of being accepted is so important at that age, and when no one can, it does a real number on your confidence. College was one of the worst times of my life but one of the most exciting too.”

“Yes, you know you are on the brink of breaking free into your own world. Where that acceptance you crave is no longer of any importance. We’ll always be outcasts, Devvy. We’re older than our years and because of it, younger. More naïve.”

He was right. There were times when she felt very old, and at the other end of the spectrum, very, very young. Last night, when she’d confronted her husband, she’d felt the latter. And all throughout those tense hours with Alex, that feeling hadn’t dissipated.

In the face of their experience, of their knowledge of each other, once more, she’d felt like an outsider. Being confronted with the fact Alex could understand how displaced she felt at times was remarkably freeing. Instead of being a round peg forcibly pushed into a square hole, here, in this luxurious penthouse, she finally slotted into place. Even if it was only temporarily.

“Did you meet Bastien
at
college?” she asked, rather than tell him any of that. He was already so certain of her, when she was anything but.

“No. I worked in a café at the train station, and he used to come in every morning after his train came in and every evening, before.”

“Love at first sight over a coffee cup, eh?”

He chuckled. “No. Anything but a
coup de foudre
. The age difference between us was a huge problem for him when he learned I was nearly nine years younger than him.” Alex grabbed her hand and started to tug her forward. “Come on, I don’t fancy having this conversation in the hallway.”

He half-dragged her through the first door in the hall, which led to a rather stunning lounge. From the top floor, the windows overlooked a short breadth of Paris. Not enough to see some of the great sights and monuments, just enough to see the lifeblood of the city in the distance.

But the sight of trees and other buildings, a glimpse of the Seine, wasn’t the impressive part. The lounge was practically empty. There was a large L-shaped sofa in a bright, almost tomato-red linen. It sat squarely—or as squarely as an L-shaped piece of furniture can—on a cream woolen rug. Tucked into the naturally occurring corner was a coffee table.

That was it.

The huge, cream lounge only contained those three items, and they were bang in the middle of the room. That is, unless you failed to count the enormous, ivory grand piano in the corner, positioned in front of a window so that it looked out onto the world. It was a stunning piece. Something that made even more of a statement due to the sheer emptiness of the space.

“You don’t have a TV,” she murmured.

He laughed at her observation. “I have one in my bedroom.”

He guided her to the sofa and when she sat down, almost primly—knees tucked together, one ankle angled behind the other like her grandmother had taught her—he bent a leg and fell back into the corner seat so he was sitting on his foot. In comparison to her, he looked completely at ease. “Feel free to play mum if you want something to drink. Or eat,” he told her, pointing at the coffee set on the table in front of her.

The tray was laden down with a cafétiere and cups, a carafe of water and glasses, as well as a plate of triangle-cut sandwiches, some croissants with extra pats of butter and slices of Brie and ham. She ignored everything, but picked up a slice of ham and nibbled on that, then poured herself a glass of water. “Do you want anything?” she asked and sat back when he shook his head.

“Are you nervous, Devvy?”

“Yes. Do I look it?”

“It was the ham that gave you away,” he teased. “Most women don’t nibble on ham when they’re talking to a soon-to-be lover.”

“That’s your mistake, Alex,” she murmured, her words husky. “I’m not most women. Although, you’re almost right. I’m very nervous. In fact, I feel sick. I thought it might settle my stomach.”

“You don’t need to be nervous, Devvy. We won’t pressure you into anything.”

“But Sebastien is coming here. He’s left work for this.” It was only as she said it she realized how much pressure she’d placed herself under by insisting he was here with them.