My thoughts turned to Callen and the memory of him riding unsteadily on a bike that had looked both too small for him and too large as he wobbled and careened toward me on the garden path. And then the expression on his face when he’d finally gotten the hang of it: cautious joy, the same expression he seemed to adopt when anything brought him happiness. As if he wanted to embrace the elation of the moment, but was too afraid to fully do so. I wondered if he even realized that he always held a part of himself back. And I wondered what it would take to finally see him surrender completely to the happiness of any one moment. Or whether he even could. I imagined that if he found a way, the resulting music would be stunning.
I glanced at the tiny bed, my body flushing with warmth at the thought of lying there with Callen, our bodies pressed against each other’s, his heat surrounding me throughout the night. If the girl whose writings I was translating was teaching me anything, it was that our stories were so fleeting, left rarely on paper for others to read and learn from, and more often only in the hearts of those we were brave enough to love. We had one chance, one life, and then it was gone. Live fiercely and without regret. I had no assurances from Callen about anything except the temporary nature of…us. But what would happen if I didn’t put limits on what occurred between Callen and me this weekend? What would happen if I simply let my body and heart lead the way, without overthinking, without letting fear guide me? Not because I wasn’t scared of the consequences, but because life was short and moments were small windows of opportunity that might never, ever come again.
I had the strange sense that fate had been leading us to this attic room on a rain-swept day in France. I knew it didn’t make sense, that it might even be my imaginative mind creating fantasies, yet the feeling persisted.
The truth was, Callen had always been my prince, and I realized now that no one since had ever measured up. Perhaps it wasn’t as I told him after all. It wasn’t that I hadn’t found anyone who tempted me to get that involved. Perhaps I simply hadn’t allowed anyone into my heart—or body—because my prince already resided there.
And for tonight at least, he was mine.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Callen
The door opened on a quiet creak, and I paused as I caught sight of Jessie curled up in the chair by the window, the light of the lowering sun soft and muted through the gauzy curtain. She raised her head, and our eyes met. I pushed the door closed behind me, the sight of her tugging at my insides in some way I wasn’t sure how to define.
I set the brown paper bags on the table by the door. “Sandwiches,” I said, my voice sounding strained, as if there were something caught in my throat. “Madame Leclaire said we could order food to our room next time if we want.”
She smiled. “Sounds perfect.” She continued to study me, an expression on her face I was unfamiliar with, and I wanted to ask her what she was thinking. But for some reason, I also wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
My eyes moved down her body, and I realized that what I had first assumed was a blanket was really a nightgown. A really long nightgown with lots and lots of fabric. There wasn’t one inch of skin showing anywhere. I’d never seen anything quite like it. “That looks”—I raised one brow—“warm.”
She laughed, biting her lip and glancing down at herself. When she looked back at me, her smile was sweetly demure, and it made my heart speed up in my chest. God, she’s beautiful. She pulled her feet out from under her, balancing her heels on the edge of the chair, and for a moment the only thing showing were her ten pink toes. I’d never once, in all my life, noticed a woman’s toes, and suddenly the sight of Jessie’s peeking out from beneath her nightgown seemed incredibly intimate. I swallowed as she placed her feet on the floor and rose slowly. As she stood before the window that way, the pale golden light behind her, I could see the outline of her naked body beneath the white fabric, the shadow of her areolas and the V between her legs. My breath hitched. I had teased her a moment before, but I suddenly realized how overrated lingerie was. I’d never seen anything as erotic as Jessie standing in a white cotton nightgown with the last glimmer of daylight behind her, unknowingly revealing all her secrets. I swelled and hardened, feeling achy and full, my mouth suddenly dry.
I felt as stripped as this small, plain room. There was nothing fancy here. I hadn’t been able to give Jessie the biggest or the best. Without the cover of my wealth, of the things I could provide with the money I’d earned, the finery, the luxuries, I was just…me, standing before her without any pretense—or at least none that I could manage in that moment. Right then I was just the same kid she’d come upon in the boxcar that day so long ago. Since then I’d hidden behind so many things, gotten lost in the lifestyle I’d chosen, felt like I was all smoke and mirrors for so, so long. Looking at Jessie in front of me now, the beautiful woman staring at me with such honesty in her eyes, I felt overwhelmed with possibility, with the hope that she saw me and liked what she saw. Maybe—God, maybe—she’d even find a way to accept the things I was so terrified to let anyone know. “Jessie,” I breathed, the word a plea, a question, a prayer.
We both moved toward each other at the same time, meeting at the foot of the bed, our bodies colliding gently. I took her face in my hands and realized I was trembling. Am I scared? I wasn’t sure what I felt other than an all-consuming need for her. “Jessie,” I repeated, her name anchoring me somehow, as if I had fallen somewhere deep and unfamiliar and she was the only thing holding me steady. Rescuing me.
For several heartbeats, we quietly studied each other up close in the pale yellow light of the room. I’d made promises to myself, set boundaries, and yet suddenly it felt as if none of them mattered. They felt far away, unimportant, made in a place where all the rules were different and where I was not free to follow my heart. We’d have to return to all that later. But here…here…
My breath hitched as my gaze moved over Jessie’s arched brows, to those sensitive hazel eyes, across the light dusting of freckles that made my heart careen wildly in my chest, down to that beautifully pouty top lip. My own lips parted, a question floating in the air that I didn’t know how to voice.
Jessie’s eyes met mine, and she seemed to know what I was thinking because she answered the question I’d been too afraid to ask. “Yes, I want you, too.”
I let out a harsh exhale, bringing my mouth to hers, first running my tongue across that delectable upper lip. Mine. I delved my tongue into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of her as she moaned and pressed her softness against me. I broke from her lips to trail mine down the silky skin of her throat. “Are you sure, Jessie?” I murmured. I wanted this. I wanted it so much I thought I’d die if she changed her mind, but I had to give her the opportunity to do just that. I had to know she wouldn’t regret this, that she wouldn’t hate me for taking something so precious. Her.
And yet the harsh pounding of my heart was as much fear as it was desire. The fear was an aphrodisiac, too, the knowledge that this mattered in some way sex had never mattered before. My blood hummed with the thrill, my senses utterly and completely aware of every gentle brush of her fingertips, every soft inhale of breath, the smell of this room—orange-scented furniture polish and old wood—and Jessie, bathed in the subtle fragrance of roses. “You smell different,” I murmured. “Like the garden at the winery. Did you bring the roses back with us?”
I felt her lips move into a smile. “I think so, yes.”
Her fingers threaded through my hair, the scratch of her nails on my scalp delicious bliss, and I moaned, hardening even more and pressing my aching groin against her. Jessie met my moan with one of her own and dropped her hands from my hair, stepping back. She gripped the material of her nightgown at her hips and pulled it up slowly, her gaze remaining locked on mine until she pulled the fabric over her head. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders and over her breasts as she tossed the garment aside.
My blood thrummed hotter as I allowed my gaze to move down her naked body. She was a m
asterpiece. I used my finger to brush one side of her hair back, exposing a perfect breast, pale pink areolas, and her already hardened nipples. I leaned in and took one in my mouth, running my tongue around it slowly as Jessie let out a groan, bringing her hands back to my head and pressing her breast more firmly into my mouth. I sucked gently, and Jessie let out another sweet moan. “Oh, Callen, yes.”
Leaning back, I moved her hair off the other breast and licked and sucked at that one as well, until I felt her hips lift slightly, seeking relief. The heavy buzz of electricity pumped furiously between my legs to the same rhythm as my heart.
Jessie’s hands pulled at my T-shirt and I leaned back, yanking it over my head quickly and taking her hand, leading her to the side of the bed. Reaching around her, I pulled the heavy comforter back, exposing crisp white sheets. She sat down, gazing at me with so much trust that my heart nearly beat out of my chest.
Her hair spread out around her as she lay back, and for a moment my eyes drank in the sensual beauty of her: the shape of her curves against the white background of the sheet, the peachy tone of her skin, the roundness of her breasts, capped with pretty, pink nipples, down to the patch of brown hair between her legs.
Her breath shuddered, and I kicked off my shoes, removing my pants and boxers and kicking them aside before I slid into bed. The feel of our naked skin pressed together was almost too much, and I wondered if I would even be able to hold out long enough to bring her pleasure. I felt like an overeager boy, so filled with lust my body vibrated with it.
What are you doing to me, Jessie?
Music pulsed inside me, not a melody but a harmony, a deep, slow-moving, primal tempo that played in time to the blood pumping through my veins. I held on to it, though loosely, somehow knowing I only had to recall this moment, the dreamy, blissful expression on Jessie’s face, the scent of this day—roses and rain—for the refrain to return.
Struggling to rein in my pulsing desire, I ran my hands down her body, learning her intimately, the velvety texture of her skin, the way her belly clenched when I touched it lightly, the firm smoothness of her thigh, the birthmark on her hip, the things that made her her and no one else. Possessiveness coiled inside me, and I brought my lips to hers, kissing her slowly—marking her maybe—as I brought my hand between her legs. I groaned when my finger slid into the already slick wetness of her tight opening. “Jessie,” I moaned. She pressed her hips upward, silently asking for more, so I breathed in a deep, steadying breath, bringing the silky liquid up and over the tiny swollen bud at the apex of her thighs, circling it slowly. She let out a strangled moan, pressing herself toward my hand as I attempted to cool my own raging desire.
Her moans became loud gasps when I brought my mouth back to her breasts and licked at her nipples in time with the circling of my finger.
I wanted her to lose her mind with arousal, to go halfway insane with lust, to feel heaven and earth colliding as she came on my hand. I didn’t have to wait long. Several seconds later, she arched her back, screaming my name as she climaxed.
A short sob came from her throat as she came down, her body relaxing all the while her legs circled my hips, bringing me closer to her.
“Now,” she breathed, a desperate note to her voice, moving her pelvis to line up with mine. I laughed shortly, a strangled sound of humor that turned into a hiss when she succeeded in bringing the tip of my penis to the wetness of her opening.
“Wait, Jessie. A condom.”
I reached blindly for my pants, locating them and fumbling for my wallet with one hand, holding myself off Jessie with the other. I finally managed to extricate my wallet from the pocket of my jeans and removed the condom. Leaning back, I ripped it open and slid it over my length, the brush of my fingers causing me to suck in a breath. I was so hard I felt like I was going to explode with the merest touch.
Jessie watched me with lazy eyes, reaching toward me in a silent request to move back into her arms. I did, bringing my lips to hers, leaning one elbow on the bed next to her to hold my weight and using my other hand to bring my erection to the soft, sweet warmth between her legs. I held myself there for a moment, suddenly afraid, worried not only that I was going to hurt her, but that this somehow was going to hurt me as well. “Jessie—” I started, intending to ask her again if she was sure, if she was certain she wanted to give this to me.
“Callen, yes,” she said before I could form the question. And then she lifted herself, bringing me deeper into her. I groaned out in bliss at the tight squeeze of her around the throbbing head of my arousal. She tensed up. I’d never been with a virgin before, but I figured the best way to do this was quickly. I pressed inside her, feeling the tearing of the delicate membrane. She cried out, her thighs clamping more tightly around my hips.
“I’m sorry, Jessie. I’m sorry,” I said, kissing her face even as my hips demanded that I move. It felt so fucking good to be inside her; I felt half-crazy, the need to thrust and pound so overwhelming that I could barely hold myself back. But I didn’t want to hurt her any more than I already had, and so I waited.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay now.” She brought her lips to mine and kissed me sweetly, tenderly, her fingernails running down my back and over my ass, causing my whole body to shudder. “You can move,” she said, obviously feeling the effort I was exerting in remaining still. “Let me feel you. All of you.”
With her permission, the last thread of control broke, and I began to thrust into her, my breath coming out in small bursts of sound. She was so deliciously tight, so wet, her body gripping me snugly in a silken clasp. She clung to me, trusting, and in that moment I did feel like a prince. Her prince. My heart beat to the music that began to rise inside me once again. Pulsing. Sultry. Both dark and beautiful, speaking of this thing between us: her leg sliding up my hip to allow me deeper, my muscles tensed with pleasure, our bodies dewy with sweat as we slid together, the scent created by our mingled pheromones driving me higher…higher. I dropped my face into her neck, letting out a short yell that ended on a shuddery groan as I came, the pleasure tightening my abdomen and shooting all the way down to my toes. “Ohhh, Jessie, Jessie.” I slowed, one final shiver moving through me before I stilled, the stars diminishing before my eyes as I turned my head and breathed in the scent of her skin.
The light outside the window was all but gone and the rain had started again, a soft pitter-patter on the roof right above us that seemed to be the perfect end music to the slowing of my heart, the loosening of muscles, the dreamy afterglow of lovemaking. I turned, pulling Jessie so she was facing me, and for a moment we just looked at each other. Her smile was soft and her eyes held no regret. “Jessie,” I whispered, trailing a finger down the side of her cheek, her skin so smooth, so soft. She turned into the touch, closing her eyes on a sigh. “Was it okay?”
Her eyes opened, and she nodded. “It was the most wonderful thing I ever experienced.”
You’re the most wonderful person I ever met.
But she had that wrong. She was the most wonderful person I’d ever met. Smart, beautiful, gentle, fierce, joyful, and kind.
I leaned in and kissed her, then remembered there might be blood. At the very least, I should take care of her in the aftermath of her very first time. Her very first time. It belonged to me. No matter what happened, that could never change. The thought filled me with a possessive happiness that I didn’t let myself look at too closely, at least not now.
Pulling away and stepping out of bed, I said, “Let me get something to clean you with. I’ll be right back.”
I walked quickly to the bathroom, where I flushed the condom and wet a washcloth with warm water. Back in the room, I sat on the edge of the bed and gently washed the trace of blood from between Jessie’s legs and then brought the washcloth back to the bathroom, rinsing it out.
I pulled the sheet and comforter over us as I slipped back into bed beside her, gathering her close. For a few minutes, we simply watched the rain on the window
pane, Jessie’s fingers running lazily up and down my arm, our legs twisted together, my body heavy with satisfaction. “It feels like we’re in a different world,” I said.
I felt her smile against my shoulder. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
After a moment she tilted her head back so she could look at me. The pad of her index finger moved up my arm and circled slowly around my nipple. “Did you know you hum when you’re relaxed or happy?”
I chuckled, realizing I’d been doing just that. “I do?” I paused, considering. “Yeah, maybe I do.”
She nodded, her smile increasing.
“No one’s ever noticed that.”
“Maybe you’re not relaxed and happy often enough.” She kissed my shoulder, biting softly at my flesh.
“Ouch.”
She laughed, snuggling down into the blankets. She was right, though. It had been a long time since I’d felt happy and relaxed.
I felt her limbs grow heavier and her lashes flutter against my skin. “Do you think we’ll be able to take any part of this back with us, Callen?” she whispered, a note of hope lacing her soft, sleepy voice.
I hesitated. I knew what she meant because I’d thought it myself. Here there was no baggage, no worries, no barriers or regrets. Here there was only us and nothing else, just feeling and honesty. But that wouldn’t be the case when we got back to the château where she was working. There—in that world—I would have to pull on the cloak of lies I wore and once again become the mess I’d arrived as. Only…that wasn’t totally true, was it? She’d changed me, saved me, at least as far as the music went. I was hearing it again, not just bits and pieces, but long strings of melody that shook me, moved me, and compelled me to get them down on paper. But what happened when I left? Would the music die again? Would I revert to the life I’d been leading—the life of meaningless vices—in order to quiet my own mind long enough to hear the notes?