Page 12 of Tangled With the Wrong Guy
‘Use your teeth,’ he said. There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he raised his chin, waiting.
She scowled. And yet … she was surprised to find her mouth heading towards his neck, her teeth biting down on the knot. As she tugged on an edge, feeling the material loosening, she was aware of the smell of him. Instead of the sweat and worse she might have expected, it was a heady, masculine scent, with notes of shaving gel and classy aftershave. It was a very agreeable scent, such as she hadn’t breathed in a long time.
It was a disconcertingly sexy scent.
She tugged again, and he chuckled. This close, she felt the laugh as a rumble, starting in his torso and working its way up his neck.
‘Anyone watching would think we were having weird vampire-themed sex in a cemetery,’ he said.
‘It happens, apparently.’ She tried to keep her tone neutral as the material came free … and she fought a sudden impulse to bite and suck.
‘If you’re thirsty, feel free to bite and suck,’ said Joel.
‘In your dreams,’ she snapped, stepping back. She yanked hard on the chain as she moved towards the backpack, as if bringing a dog to heel.
‘Down, boy,’ he said, grinning.
The necktie joined the beret and the plastic in the backpack. Chloe had to admit Joel’s remaining outfit suited him. The tight, stripy T-shirt accentuated his broad chest and tonedabs, and the jeans fitted snugly around his slim hips and long legs.
She looked away quickly, and noticed her bouquet, still lying on the ground, made with love by Aunt Daisy. Vomit was splattered on its yellow paper wrapping, and on the orange ribbon. ‘I guess Jim can have these,’ she said. ‘At least the vomit matches the floral colour palette.’
‘God, I’m so sorry,’ he said, his grin disappearing. ‘Were they from your boyfriend?’
‘Nope. Have no boyfriend, want no boyfriend. I’m so off men you wouldn’t believe. The flowers were from my godmother, who’s also my boss. I work in a flower shop.’
‘Here in Paris?’
‘Yes. Just across from the cemetery entrance. And today was the shittiest of shitty days, even before I bumped into you and your revolting friends, and she made me this to cheer me up. How ironic.’
Chloe carefully pulled off the ribbon and unwrapped the paper, wincing as the smell of sick reached her nostrils, then took a few colourful stems, held them under her nose as an antidote, and tossed them over the barrier onto Jim’s grave. ‘There you go, Jim. You loser.’
‘Chloe!’
‘Drug addict, alcoholic, hell raiser, couldn’t keep it in his pants.C’mon baby light my fire. Seriously?’
Joel snorted. ‘Harsh.’
Before she could stop herself, she turned to him and said, ‘Your eyes are just like his.’
The eyes in question widened. ‘They are?’ They locked on hers. ‘Oh, wait – you mean bloodshot and unfocused?’
‘Soulful,’ she said, looking over at Jim’s photo. ‘Why do people still come here to worship at his grave? I mean, he’s been dead for more than fifty years.’ She waved a hand at allthe flowers and candles. ‘Probably most of these visitors weren’t even born when he died.’
‘Same reason they visit Oscar Wilde,’ said Joel. ‘They wrote stuff that opened people’s eyes … opened doors, I guess, in their minds. They pushed boundaries, stuck two fingers up to convention.’
‘And died in sad circumstances before their time,’ she said, looking at the dates on Jim’s gravestone. ‘Only twenty-seven. How old was Oscar?’
‘In his forties. But … yes, very sad. He was wrecked by what he went through. Imagine, being thrown in jail because you loved a man … men. Having that love described as grossly indecent.’
‘Whereas Jim’s behaviour really was,’ said Chloe. ‘Didn’t he wave his willy at an audience?’
Joel grinned. ‘Just pushing the boundaries of artistic freedom.’
‘Imagine if they could’ve met,’ said Chloe. ‘I guess they were quite similar – both rebels, behaving in ways that caused shock and outrage.’
‘Both beautiful souls, misunderstood. Especially Oscar. Shall we go see him then?’ He eyed the remains of her bouquet. ‘You could save him a sunflower.’
Chloe took one from the bouquet and threw the rest of the flowers onto Jim’s grave.
