Page 76 of The Carver

We arrived at his home ten minutes later and took the elevator to the top floor so we wouldn’t have to endure the insufferable walk up the three flights of stairs. The second he walked inside, he changed out of his street clothes, always wanting to be in his sweats or naked whenever he was home.

I was the same way, so we had that in common.

But the pajamas I used at his place were his t-shirts and sometimes his socks if I was really cold. I helped myself to his drawer like it was mine, pulled out a black t-shirt that smelled like it had just been laundered.

He was on the couch in his sweatpants and his ink was his t-shirt. He had the game on. It was the second half, and the score seemed to be tied. He’d already made himself a drink and lit up a cigar like he’d been itching to do that all night but would never do it in front of his mother.

He was too focused on the TV to notice me.

To notice the way I stared at the side of his face…and wanted to stare at it forever. The way my heart had slipped past my ribs and attached to my sleeve like a flag that blew in the wind. The way I missed him even when he was just feet away.

But he didn’t notice any of that—and I was glad he didn’t.

Chapter 13

Bastien

It was the shortest week of my life.

Fleur never felt like a visitor in my home. Habits and routines were formed almost immediately. She set an alarm every morning and let it snooze three times before she finally got out of bed. She never had breakfast, just had Gerard make her a coffee to go in one of the thermoses I’d never used in my life. He made her lunch too, and she told me she looked forward to lunch every day because she knew she had a gourmet meal waiting for her in the fridge.

When she came home and I wasn’t there, she took a bath and soaked in the tub, enjoying chocolate-covered strawberries and a glass of champagne. As much as I wanted to stay home with her, I had too much to do, and I couldn’t get distracted just because a fine piece of ass was now with me full-time.

I’d been living alone for fifteen years, didn’t even have a roommate when I moved out, so I thought sharing my space with someone would irritate me at some point—but not with her.

I actually looked forward to seeing her every time I came home. Sometimes she was already asleep in bed, but I didn’t hesitate to roll her over, fold her legs to her chest, and wake her up in the best and most savage way possible.

We had dinner together most nights. Watched TV on the couch together. Fucked in the shower, on the bathroom vanity, on the couch, and even once on the terrace in the fucking rain. If she just moved in and never said a word about it, I wouldn’t say a word either. It would be an unspoken agreement between us.

But I knew she would leave—and I dreaded that.

The moment finally arrived when we were having dinner at Chez Georges. Sandwiched between two other tables and a room full of people talking about their day, we enjoyed our wine and bread as we waited for our entrees.

“I’ve been feeling a lot better,” she said. “I think I’ll go home tomorrow.” She traced the edge of her wineglass with her finger, a mark from her lipstick visible along the glass. She followed the movement with her eyes just to avoid looking at me.

I didn’t protest. Let her steer the ship—or, at least, think she was steering it. “There’s no rush if you need more time.”

“The nightmares have stopped. I don’t really think about it anymore.”

Would I be an asshole if I said I wished those nightmares haunted her every night? Just so I could be the one to chase them away. “Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

Her eyes lifted to look at mine, her dark hair tucked behind her ear, the low cut of her dress showing the cleavage line where my dick belonged. “Do you mean that?”

“Which part?”

“That there’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m the one they want, not you.”

“And I’m not the best way to get to you…?”

“That’s not how men like me do business. We leave wives and kids out of it. It’s the code.”

“Yes, that’syourcode. But that doesn’t mean it’stheircode.”

“Sweetheart, it’s a universal understanding. No one is gonna do business with a wife-killer or a kid-killer. Because if you cross that line, then you aren’t a respectable man. And regardless of the industry, you need to be respectable for anyone to work with you. Because everyone on this planet has someone they care about.”

Her eyes stayed on me for a while, and then slowly, her shoulders dropped and she shifted her weight in the seat to get more comfortable, like she’d been on pins and needles just a second ago. “I really enjoyed staying with you. Thank you for letting me do that.”

---