“Well, we’re just looking at it, right?” I said, polishing off the rosé.
“Yep.” He nodded, all dimples. “We’re just looking at it.”
It didn’t take long to trek back to the house and up to Hayes’s suite. It was, like everything else at Domaine La Dilecta, lavishly decorated: an eclectic mixture of furniture, various objets d’art, trompe l’oeil on the walls.
“So this is where the magic happens,” I said, tossing my bag on an armchair in the corner. There was a sunken alcove off the main room, bright with magnificent wraparound views.
Hayes laughed, setting down his wine. “Magic? No pressure or anything.”
“None at all. Goodness, it’s like Versailles in here.”
“I think they were going for athing.”
“Athing?” I approached him.
“Athing,” he repeated, reaching out for my waist and pulling me into him. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
“You said the f-word.”
“You started.”
“Maybe.” I flinched. His fingers had found their way beneath the hem of my blouse and were surprisingly cool against my skin.
“Are my hands cold? Sorry,” he said, but he did not remove them.
I stood there, breathing him in. Wondering at how effortlessly he managed to span my waist, making me feel fragile, breakable almost. His thumbs tracing over my bottom ribs, and alternately fondling the material of my shirt.
“I like this top,” he said.
The blouse was white, sleeveless, sheer in some places, ruffled in others, and altogether very feminine. I felt like a girl in it, which is admittedly why I’d bought it for this trip. So that I would not look like someone’s mother.
“Are you just going to stand there counting my ribs, or are you going to kiss me?”
He smiled at that, his eyes decidedly green. “You like me kissing you.”
“Well, I did come all this way…”
“I thought you came to return my watch.”
“You want it back?”
He shook his head. “I just want to look at you for a moment.”
“You’ve been looking at me for over an hour.”
“Yeah, but before I was trying not to be obvious about it. Come here.” He led me over to the daybed against the far wall and pulled me onto his lap.
I could feel him through his pants. Oh, the wonders of twenty.
“You want to be kissed, Solène?” His hands were in my hair, pushing it off my face, cradling my neck.
“Yes.” I nodded. “You think you can handle that?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
We had not been at it for five minutes when I was distracted by a series of calls coming in to my phone. I could hear it vibrating in my purse. Across the room, in the chair, while Hayes’s mouth was on my neck, his hands up the back of my blouse. I attempted to ignore it.
The calls then switched to the text signal, one after another. I pulled away from him for a moment, trying to do the math. What time was it in Los Angeles? Boston?
