Chapter 22

“We need to talk about what happened last night,” Elijah started the following Monday, earning a sharp glare of consternation from me as I motioned roughly at the driver in front of us.

I was paranoid, but even beyond that memories of our second time (or third… or seventh—honestly it was hard to keep up) together threatened to break through the dam of rationalizations I’d put up, and going over the fine print of our extracurriculars did not seem like the best course of action.

Elijah looked from me to the back of the driver’s head. A faint smile touched his lips, as if my panic amused him, and he gave a carefree shrug.

“Don’t worry,” he assured, looking earnestly into my eyes. “Jacques is discreet.”

A few moments passed, and then I let myself relax, returning to the sheaf of papers I’d been leafing through before he spoke. My notes had been meticulous, and even though it wasn’t like we’d get tested four years of college had instilled in me the habit of going over them each morning to refresh my memory of everything that’d been talked about over the previous day.

“What happened?” I asked, swallowing when I felt the full weight of his attention turn on me, and in answer, Elijah placed an innocuous hand over my left thigh and automatically my legs clamped up.

His hands remained in their exact position for a few seconds longer, and then he pulled it away, but I could tell without even having to look at him that he wore an expression of smug delight.

“I don’t want it to be a one-time thing,” he continued, but I ignored him, saying nothing until our car stopped in front of Sanctuaire Caché.

Just as he’d predicted, the media frenzy around the conference had died down considerably as the event progressed, and I moved to open the door but stopped. Behind me, Elijah said nothing, but I could sense his anticipation at what he sensed I had to say. Gauging him had become somewhat easier since our visit to the museum. It made life feel a little less sucky.

“Too bad it was a one-time thing,” I answered, opening the door to step out of the vehicle.

Something told me that throwing up bait like that at him was not the best way to go around having him leave me alone, but I was far past caring. I’d thought that he was a scratch I needed to itch, but as it turned out, the more I had Elijah Wilder the more insatiable my need for him became.

My body had betrayed me, but my head (thank God) hadn’t, and as soon as my feet touched the curb, away from his close proximity standing smack-dab in the middle of a busy street, I felt my first clear thought of the day begin to filter in.

The ghost of a half-smile played over Elijah’s mouth as he came to stand beside me, but he said nothing, which alerted me to the fact that he had something diabolical planned out.

I gulped, and together we headed straight into the hotel.

•

It was not a one-time thing. As soon as Elijah let me in on the fact that he and Isla were in an open relationship (something I would’ve known as early as our meeting in his office if I’d just let him get a word in) all bets were off the table.

Even if we hadn’t discussed how long we were going to last, he’d cautiously mentioned over one of our pillow talk sessions that as soon as we touched down in New York he would have his lawyers draw up an NDA. I hadn’t known what to make of it at the time.

I didn’t still, though this did not stop us from having shower sex in his bathroom, in both our bedrooms; sex in the living room, and on top of the granite counter over which we had our meals (which proved to require a certain level of flexibility.) Once against the mahogany bookshelf in the work area, twice by the roof side pool and once in it, over the balcony, where he had me face away from him as he pounded into me from behind while I struggled to contain my moans so the whole of Paris wouldn’t know what we were up to.

I was sore in places I hadn’t even been aware that there were muscles, half scared that we would get caught as all my fears were still very valid, but now everywhere I went a warm light of contentment suffused me, and on our last video call my mom had even mentioned that I had a glow about me.

I’d bitten on my lower lip to stop myself from blurting out a raving review of Elijah Wilder and his cock/magic wand.

To quote Kurt Vonnegut: Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt. Or at least, nothing hurt in ways I didn’t want them to.

•

As soon as the elevator doors slid shut Elijah sent me a look. Next thing I knew, he was pushing me up against a hard surface as I ran my hands over his torso, kissing him desperately.

That morning we hadn’t had sex, and now in an elevator up our suite we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and amidst desperate pants I could feel the rough tickle of his stubble as it brushed against my face while the smell of his cologne pulled at me.

Elijah withdrew, dipping his head down to nibble on my collar bone and as the doors pinged open in silent consensus we stopped for long enough to pick up the folder I’d dropped, and as soon as we stepped out of the elevator and into our penthouse I let it fall to the floor again and I returned to kissing him, careful to not let my fingers anywhere near his head as he‘d told me that he didn’t like the feel of it.

It explained why he’d shoved me away that last time, and I wasn’t about to make the same mistake and put an end to things this time.

I helped him out of his jacket, loosening his tie, and for a few futile moments he tried to undo a couple of buttons on my blouse but when that didn’t work out he let out an angry huff and tore—literally tore—it apart and buttons went flying everywhere.

“I really liked that shirt,” I said, breaking away, and he laughed, saying he’d get me a new wardrobe if I wanted before dipping down to kiss me again.

After a moment he hoisted me up, and I gasped as the sensation of free fall swept through me, locking my arms over the back of his neck to combat it, and pressing my body flush against his in the process.

I opened my eyes for long enough to see over the back of his shoulder, and the sight of a stunningly beautiful blonde staring at us, aghast, startled me from my desire for long enough that I let out a scream so loud it made Elijah almost drop me.

Somehow, my heels had remained on throughout, and for a moment after he set me down on my feet, whirling around to take a look at the intruder, my legs wobbled dangerously, and I held on to his arm to steady myself.

A second of pin drop silence passed as we all took ourselves in—Elijah and I disheveled from kissing (in my case I had a torn blouse), her standing on imperiously with not a hair out of place.

It took a moment before I recognized her as Isla Davenport, sister to Tristan and soon to be wife of Elijah.

As soon as the realization sank in, I took a step away from him, face burning, and when she turned her glacier blue gaze on me, a look of faint distain on her face, I felt just about ready to fling myself off the balcony if it meant escaping from the awkwardness that had started to ensue.

“Isla,” Elijah said, straightening as he took up a tone of voice that I hadn’t heard in the solitude of our hotel room in the past couple of days.

“Elijah,” Isla replied, looking away from me as a bright smile made its way over her face. She started to approach, and Elijah positioned himself slightly in front of me even as I backed away further in anticipation of the feel of her acrylics running down my face in retribution.

But petty jealousies were beneath a person like Isla Davenport, and she proved it by ignoring me all together as she leaned over to place a dainty peck on Elijah’s cheek even with his hair in disarray and his shirt collar stained all over with another woman’s lipstick.

Vaguely I noticed that in her heels they stood almost at the same height, the perfect couple if ever there was any, and I swallowed down a thick wad of bile as it rose up in my throat, sure that I had never in my life felt so small.

“I was in Paris to visit Annette and I thought I’d drop by to surprise you,” she explained smoothly, pulling away from him and ignoring me altogether. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

Elijah made a noncommittal sound as he reached down for his jacket on the floor and passed it to me without even turning. I couldn’t see my face, but I didn’t need to know that it certainly turned even redder when I gratefully accepted it.

After a moment Isla turned to look at me and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly even as her sweet smile remained fixed on her face.

I all but quailed under her cold stare, stuttering out a greeting which she ignored, and when it was clear that the time had come for me to excuse myself I walked past them, picking up the folder I’d dropped and making a beeline straight for my room.

The door was open, and as soon as I walked in I saw that everything had been cleared out, cleaned like I hadn’t spent little over a week living in it. To be sure, I did a quick sweep of the room, looking through its closets and drawers and coming up with nothing.

I dreaded having to intrude on Elijah and Isla, who I could hear speaking in low mutters, but after a moment of gathering up my courage I walked back into the room, face downturned.

“You had no right to—” Elijah stopped; face going carefully blank at my entrance, and Isla whirled around gracefully so we faced each other.

I’d donned on Elijah’s jacket, but even in it I felt like she could see through me, down to my ripped blouse and bra.

“I was just telling Elijah that I took the liberty of checking you out of the suite and into another room,” she said, pausing to flick a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Standing beside him in what months of living with Paula told me was a Chanel suit; I could only shake my head in mute assent. I tried to meet Elijah’s eyes, but he didn’t even spare me a glance and I felt the bitter sting of mortification begin to rise up in me.

“Good,” she chirped, turning away in a show of obvious dismissal. “The concierge should be here to see you out any second now.”

Like clockwork, as soon as she was done speaking the doors to the elevator chimed open and in walked the same woman who had greeted us on my first day at the Du Pont. She gave a slightly deferent bow of her head at Isla, who smiled in answer, before turning to look at me.

Her eyes did a quick flick up and down, and an expression of faint irritation crossed her face.

“I’m here to show you to your new room, Mademoiselle.”

The words spoken may have been courteous enough, but the tone of it was more along the lines of: I have been given the unbearable task of spending the next couple of minutes with you, and I intend to punish you for it. By the way, I can read the room and I know what I just walked into.

It was passive aggressiveness done right, and worst still was the fact that I could only nod, take it as I waited stupidly for Elijah to intervene and do something. I don’t know what, but anything would’ve been better than how he completely avoided my eyes, acting like we hadn’t been all about ravishing me just ten minutes ago.

After a moment of tense silence, he quietly excused himself, walking past me in unhurried, powerful strides that didn’t falter when his shoulders brushed mine. Against my better judgment, I craned my neck to see if he would look back, and when he didn’t I turned to see a look of faint triumph cross Isla’s face, which she smothered down quickly.

“Well,” she said with an innocent, “I’m sure you can find your way out.”

Her drawl was pronounced, and having said all that needed to be said, she glided past me after Elijah.

By now I was a living embodiment of humiliation, and as I followed meekly after the smug concierge the feeling only grew, getting into the elevator as I blinked rapidly to fight back tears.

Something in how Isla had looked told me that despite Elijah’s assurances, it was just the beginning of the end.