She turns, dish towel in hand, studying me with those honey-brown eyes. “That seems like a difficult way to live your life.”
I cock an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at my mouth. “Most people would think, considering all our wealth and prestige, quite the opposite.”
She shakes her head, drying her hands on the towel. “If you can’t beyou…then what’s the point of all that wealth and prestige?”
Her words are close to the ones I tell Simone when she tries to control our son’s life, but I never associated them with myself. It never crossed my mind. My life, as was my father’s and his father’s, is about upholding the de Valois family name.
“I have more than most.”
“Youarefortunate on that account.” She hangs the towel over the oven handle to dry and sits across from me. “Would you like some coffee?”
I lean forward, take her hand in mine.
We both freeze, caught in the spark of it.
Her eyes lift to mine, wide and unguarded. I feel that dangerous pull, that certainty that one night with her was not enough.
“Tara….”
“Yes,” she whispers.
The air between us thickens. The room seems to shrink until it’s only her and me. Desire crashes through me like an avalanche.
I curl my fingers over hers. “The attraction is still here.” My confession is a surrender.
“I know,” she agrees gently.
God help me, I want to kiss her, to lift her onto my lap, to lose myself in her warmth.
But I can already see the headlines, the photographs, the ruin. My father’s voice in my ear, Simone’s triumph if she caught even a whiff of this. Aubert…if I dragged him into another scandal.
I squeeze her hand once, then let it go. “It’s too risky.”
Her gaze holds mine, searching. She nods slowly, though I see the hurt flicker across her face.
I don’t like that at all.
I reach out and brush a strand of hair back from her cheek.
Her breath hitches, her lips part.
For a heartbeat, we lean toward each other, magnetized, inevitable.
My hand lingers at her jaw, then falls away.
We sit like that for a while, looking at one another.
When I finally rise to leave, she walks me to the door.
“Tara,” I whisper roughly. I should leave it there. But the truth claws its way out. “That night,” I tell her, “was the best of my life. The best sex I’ve ever had.The best…comfort. And I wish”—I pause to quell the knot in my gut—“I wish I could have more of you. But I can’t.”
Her eyes lift to mine, shining with sadness and something visceral that mirrors the hunger I’ve denied myself.
We drift toward each other, drawn like gravity.
Our lips brush—so softly that I barely taste the wine on her breath—before we step back at the same time, as if some unspoken force has yanked us apart.
Two people bound by something they can’t name and can’t afford.
