“I thought of you, after that night,” he said, quietly, his hand moving from her chin to her cheek, his knuckles running over it softly before curving over her ear and into her hair. “That’s not normal for me.”
“It’s not?”
“No. Nothing about that night was normal. I don’t know why, but you got under my skin, Elodie Finch, and I’m starting to think I don’t hate it.”
This time, it was Raf who kissed Elodie, Raf who claimed her mouth, who made Elodie realise that the reason her body had refused to move was because she’d been hoping and praying for this with every single part of her. That no matter what she’d said earlier that day,thiswas what she needed. She didn’t know if itwas because of the baby inside of her, or the explosive sex they’d shared, but kissing Raf felt like everything she’d been designed for. It felt like heaven.
It wasa waiter dropping a knife to the tiled ground that broke through the sensual fog. The noise was loud and unwelcome, an intrusion into a moment that Raf had been wanting all day. Holding Elodie in his arms beneath the starlit sky felt like a thousand shades of wrong even when it felt so beautifully right. It was everything he usually ran from—intimate, meaningful, important in some way he couldn’t explain—but it was also imperative and necessary, so he just wanted to sink into it and revel in the perfection of this moment.
Obviously, the fact she was pregnant with his baby had a powerful effect on Raf. That was what was doing something strange to him, making him question so many of his thoughts and wishes.
But Elodie had been so clear that morning. She didn’t want this. It would complicate everything. Though it was hard for Raf to see any downside to what they were doing, at the moment, Elodie had been very specific. He had to respect that. What the hell was he thinking, to be kissing her like this? And why wasn’t he stopping? Why wasn’t she?
With a groan and a sense of breathlessness, as though he’d run a marathon, he pulled away from her, his eyes glittering when they met hers. “I’m sorry,” he said, with a small shake of his head. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
Elodie’s lips were parted and bruised, her eyes widened, and when she lifted a hand to tuck some hair behind her ear, he saw her fingertips were trembling.
“Come,” he forced himself to act naturally, as though that kiss hadn’t been a big deal, when it had started the beating of a drum inside of him that he couldn’t stop hearing. “Let’s eat.”
“Right,” she said, but the word was off-kilter, uneasy and her eyes stayed locked to him, a frown on her face as though she were trying to work something out. He moved to one of the chairs at the table and pulled it back for Elodie, narrowly resisting the temptation to curl his hands over her shoulders.
“Can I ask you something?” she said, unsteadily, as he came to his own seat and sat down. A waiter appeared and poured two glasses of mineral water.
“Anything,” he said, surprised that he thought he actually meant it.
“You said you thought of me, after that night.” She reached for her mineral water and took a sip; his eyes followed the gesture then landed on her lips, remembering their soft responsiveness, the urgency of their kiss. His gut rolled and beneath the table, his arousal hardened to the point of pain.
He had said that, and it had been the truth—just as he’d promised. But admitting it now seemed so foolish. As though he was showing more of himself than he’d meant.
“Did you intend to come and see me again?”
“No.” The answer was an immediate rebuttal, drawn from deep, deep in his gut.
Her surprise was evident. “That idea disgusts you.”
He reached out, putting a hand on hers. “I don’t do follow up,” he said with a grimace, recognizing how tawdry that made it sound. “It’s too close to a relationship, and that’s something I carefully avoid.”
“But you wanted to see me again?” she pushed, so he was already starting to regret his pledge that they be honest with each other.
“Yes,” he said, after a beat, glad for the flurry of activity behind her, as three waiters began to approach with plates and serving implements. “Enough that I knew I should avoid you at all costs.”
The first course was a chicken and saffron risotto with a rocket and pear salad. They sat in silence as the staff plated up their meal and then, when they left, Raf racked his brain for something to say that would herald a conversation change. Elodie, however, beat him to it.
“Why avoid me?”
Exasperation shifted inside of him. “I already told you?—,”
“You don’t do follow up,” she mimicked, a hint of a smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. “Okay, I have another question.”
“I’m starting to regret this.”
She lifted her fork and speared a little of the risotto.
“Go on,” he said, with a sigh.
“How many women have you slept with?”
“I don’t know. I don’t keep a score sheet,cara.” Frustration was evident in his tone, but it was a frustration more with himself, and his lifestyle choices. Something was worrying at his insides, an irritation that at first he didn’t comprehend. Then, as he sifted through his feelings, he started to see the problem. Elodie was asking how many women like her he’d slept with, and the problem was, what he’d shared with Elodie was somehow different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there’d been something in the way they were that night that had rocked him to the foundation.
