Page 13 of Heart Match

‘I only just learned your name, not to read your thoughts …’ I say it as a joke, but I know that he would, I’m not that naive. I’m back at staring at his mouth at this point, this time running the tip of my tongue on my lower lip.

A laugh brightens up his face and he says, ‘Fair enough.’ He goes back to eating his pasta, leaving me staring at his soft profile.

We talk. A lot. I don’t remember the last time I talked so much with a guy without having physical contact in between. He tells me he’s from Reims, France, where they make champagne. His grandfather owns a family champagne house. He also tells me he grew up between the grape fields of Reims and the busy Paris life.

He mentions that he rented the penthouse on Airbnb. I figured. Mr. Sorensen, the penthouse owner, uses it for short term rent, so I’ve seen my fair share of people staying there. None of them looked like Luc, by the way.

I tell him about my day at work yesterday and explain how I ended up wasted.

‘What do you design, exactly?’

‘Right, I forgot to mention that detail,’ I say as we both are cleaning the kitchen island once we’re done eating. ‘Lingerie.’

‘Oh,’ he says as if he weren’t expecting it.

When I look at him his shiny blue eyes are checking me out, as if he was actually seeing me in my underwear—well, I guess he already did, last night. ‘That sounds fun.’

‘I like it,’ I say, trying to ignore how charged the air has become. ‘I also like the fact that I work mostly from home.’

I lead him to my office, so he can get an idea of what I’m talking about.

‘Wow,’ he says once I open the door.

‘Meet my creative space.’ I’m glad I had time to tidy it up a bit, it’s always messy otherwise.

I’m not sure what he thinks about the big wall completely covered with mood boards of hand designed sexy lingerie, with photos and fabrics pinned to it.

In the middle of the room there’s a long table, which I use to draw and put fabrics next to each other, then a desk with my computer screen and laptop on the corner. I also have a cabinet where I keep my materials, books and magazines. And there’s also the lingerie stand at the corner near the big window where I hang what I’ve been working on.

He checks out my designs pinned to the big wall first.

‘These are amazing,’ he says.

His words steal a smile from me because I know he’s saying it from a man’s point of view.

‘Thanks,’ I gnaw on my lower lip, pleased with myself.

‘Which company do you work for again?’

‘Secretive,’ I say.

‘What? Are you serious?’ he turns to face me, surprised, recognising the brand. It’s hard not to.

‘Yes. Why? Familiar with my work, are you?’ I tease.

‘I might have seen some of it before, yes,’ he lets out an innocent shy smile.

I didn’t expect him to be honest about it.

Secretive is a luxury brand, famous worldwide. Some pieces are so exclusive that only a few units are made. Well, I normally make those. And, you know, Gisele Bündchen, Keira Knightly and Cara Delavigne might have worn them before. Just saying. I’m the head of their Private Collection, and Caleb is my right hand. All the pieces I work on are unique and exclusive, some are even custom made.

He moves to the lingerie stand where there are some pieces of the previous private collection, and some ideas for the new one. He doesn’t touch them, he’s analysing them with curiosity, hands in his pockets. The air in the room suddenly becomes hot and heavy. I don’t usually show my work to the guys I hang out with, unless I’m wearing it.

He keeps on looking around and I keep on watching his ass when I can. When he’s not looking, of course. It’s hard not to. His hands in his pockets make the fabric stretch perfectly tight around his ass—it’s impossible not to stare.

‘Do you get to wear them too?’ he asks to my surprise. I mean, not that I haven’t been asked this question before. It’s just that for some reason I can’t explain why coming from him it’s different. It makes me blush.

I watch him staring at me, playing with his wristbands, waiting for my response. A smile on the corner of his eyes.

---