Page 65 of Pleasure Games

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LUCACOULDN’TREMEMBERenjoying a day so much. After the cellar, they took the opened wine bottles to the kitchen and cooked a meal together while finishing off a couple of the vintages. During dinner, he’d inquired about any other fantasies she might have hidden deep inside of that deceivingly innocent exterior.

“Well, there is this one where we’re in a public place...a museum or something.”

“Really?” He leaned close to kiss her neck. “You never cease to surprise.”

Now they sat in the living room, a fire crackling in the fireplace to foil the dampness of the evening. There was no television, at least not a working one, and they cuddled on the couch while Luca read out loud from a book of short stories. The one he’d chosen was called, La Vénus d’Ille. He would read a passage in French—Jasmine had insisted, said his reading in French was turning her on—and then would translate it for her.

It was an old story about a bronze statue of Venus that was cursed, came to life and eventually killed a young man who was about to be wed by taking his wife’s place in the marital bed. It ended with the statue being melted down into a bell, which then cursed the village with poor crops.

Jasmine sat up at the end of the story, a frown marring her features. “What kind of story is that?”

“A classic French tale.”

“But it’s so tragic.”

“Not all stories have happy endings.” Luca closed the book and put it down on the table.

Jasmine took his hand and threaded her fingers though his. “They should.” She turned her head to him.

“Don’t tell me you believe in happy endings.”

“Of course I do.”

He was about to say something about the fact that her engagement had not had a happy ending, but decided not to. Instead, he cupped her chin and kissed her. There was something so endearing about her optimism. Even if it was misguided.

“Luca,” she said, after they broke apart. Her eyes were large and full of something that wasn’t lust. For once. What was it? Curiosity? Concern?

Shit.

“I’ve told you all about me. I’ve even told you some of my darkest fantasies...” She rubbed his fingers. “But I still don’t know anything about you.”

She was right. He’d barely told her anything. Not about who he really was, not about why he was hiding out. He hadn’t even come clean about how he’d met her. Why? Because he was still afraid she would expose him?

He wasn’t afraid anymore.

“What do you want to know?”

Jasmine chewed on her bottom lip. “How about we start with this place. Who’s is it, really?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know where everything is. You know all about the wine stored in the cellar. You know about the boats and the old cars in the garage and—”

“You’re right,” he interrupted. “This house belonged to my mother. When she and my father married, she kept this as our summer house. Every summer, I came here with her while my father worked.”

“Where are your parents now?”

“Dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She squeezed his hand. “When did they die?”

“My father died about a year ago.” He glanced around at the walls of his mother’s house as if they were listening, too. “My mother died when I was sixteen. It was a car accident.” He turned his gaze back to Jasmine. “I was driving.”

He’d never told anyone before. It was strange how easily it came out.

“Oh, Luca. I’m so sorry.”

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