CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LAURA
Ishift to sit more comfortably and turn to Antoine. “Why are you keen on finding that music box?”
“Because I’m a competitive player,” he says. “Competitive and dogged.”
“Ah. Now I understand.”
My final sip of wine goes down smoothly, perhaps too smoothly. I sit back again and set my empty glass on the bedside table. Antoine is holding his glass loosely in his hand, like he’s forgotten it’s there. He seems lost in thought.
I tilt my head. “You OK over there?”
“Just thinking.”
“About the music box again?” I tease. “Because unless Pedro left us a map, I’m officially out of ideas.”
“You mentioned earlier that your family possesses no antiques or heirlooms. Why’s that?”
“We’re practically inclined, I guess. To my parents and aunt, if something doesn’t serve a purpose, it’s just clutter.”
Antoine’s gaze stays on me, steady. “And you? Is that how you see things, too?”
“My parents came to France with a hundred euros each in their pockets,” I explain. “Growing up, I never had anything fancy, just what I needed. And I turned out OK, didn’t I?”
“More than OK!”
The sincerity in his tone makes me pause.
“It must’ve been difficult growing up with the bare minimum,” he says in a quieter voice.
“Not really. It’s just how it was. I mean, my parents dote on me, which causes a whole other set of problems.”
“Ha!” He smirks. “Tell me about it.”
Are his parents as heavy-handed as mine?Hoping he’ll open up about his relationship with them, I reach for my glass. When I realize it’s empty, I try to play it off by fiddling with the stem. My hand slips, and the glass wobbles precariously toward the edge of the table.
“Oh, shit—” I move to catch it.
But Antoine is faster. His hand wraps around mine, steadying the glass before it can fall off. As he does so, his arm presses against my tummy, and his shoulder against my breasts. His body is deliciously firm and warm. He smells like heaven.
And he doesn’t draw back right away.
The more he lingers, the faster my heart beats. My breath catches in my throat. My thoughts are a tangled mess.
I want more of this.
Does he feel the same way?
“Thanks,” I mumble.
Shut up, Laura!
Instinctively, I know that silence is my best friend if I want one thing to lead to another. But I’m too nervous. And that makes me chatty.
“You’re really determined to save me from myself, aren’t you?” I say.
“Well, someone has to.” He steadies the glass and pulls away.
