The Awakening of Nina Fontaine Page 16

  “I hope you don’t have to go to the bathroom or anything,” he said.

  “Why?”

  His arms tightened around her. “Because I’m not letting you go, Nina Fontaine."

  31

  They didn’t sleep. Not really. The night was a haze of conversation and confession, of slow and sensual sex that made her feel like a blossoming rosebud in his gentle and passionate hands.

  He told her he’d been engaged once, that it was his career that had ended it, the kind of life that didn’t lend itself to white picket fences and Saturday morning Little League games.

  In the end it was a blessing, he’d said. He couldn’t change. He didn’t want to change. And he didn’t want to ask anyone else to change for him either.

  He asked about Peter and she tried to be honest, refusing to lay all the blame at Peter’s feet. She told him how devastated she’d been to learn she couldn’t have children, how she’d felt her heart wither in her chest as she watched other women pushing strollers and holding crying babies. How she’d envied them even their exhausted smiles, their lost tempers in the aisles of the grocery store.

  She’d realized that she’d quit trying with Peter after that. She’d forgotten there was a point beyond building a family with children, and while he hadn’t been perfect, she could have done more. She could have found other reasons to sustain their marriage.

  She could have dressed nicer. She could have worked harder to maintain their sex life. She could have shown more interest in him, in his work.

  Liam had stroked her hair as she watched the candlelight flicker on the walls. “Not everything is meant to last forever.”

  There was a time when she would have rebelled against the idea. She had loved Peter. It was a distant memory now, but she knew it was true, could see it in the way she looked at them in their wedding photos. She’d vowed to stick with him for better or worse, until death do they part.

  But Liam’s words resonated with a ring of truth. How could anyone make that promise? How did you know what would happen in the future, what you both would become?

  Was it worth sacrificing your happiness on the alter of institution?

  And it wasn’t all selfishness either. Peter hadn’t been happy with her in the end. She’d seen it in the slope of his shoulders, the weariness in his eyes when he came home, the way he avoided touching her.

  Didn’t he deserve to be happy too?

  They made love again and Liam made her come with his mouth before flipping her on her stomach, torturing her with a slow massage that had awakened another orgasm in her body, that had her lifting her ass off the bed in her eagerness to have him fill her again.

  He pulled her up onto all fours and drove into her with a ferocity that took her by surprise after their initial slow lovemaking. She’d come hard and fast, her channel so tight as it clamped down on his shaft that it was almost painful to feel him drag out of her.

  After they recovered, they raided the kitchen for leftover garlic bread and ice cream, a combination that would have felt strange in any other circumstance but seemed just right in the context of the long and timeless night.

  She sat naked on the counter while he fed her spoonfuls of ice cream, then sat back when he spread her thighs to lick her again. After she came, she got on her knees, oblivious to the hard tile, and took him in her mouth, holding the base of his shaft in her hands while she licked and sucked until he pulled her to her feet and lifted her into his arms. She locked her legs around his waist while he carried her back to the bedroom, laying her out on the bed and fucking her all over again.

  The sun was just lightening the sky, the light faintly blue as it leaked into the room, the candles burning low when she finally drifted off in his arms. His breath had become slow and steady, his heartbeat under her ear.

  The last thing she remembered thinking before she fell asleep was that it sounded familiar, like a lullaby long forgotten.

  32

  A week later she was at Trader Joe’s, taking her time as she wandered the aisles even though she’d been there a hundred times before. It was something she’d noticed since sleeping with Liam — a mindfulness in her movements, a kind of peace.

  She wasn’t sure it was him as much as it was her — the fact that she’d taken two lovers in as many weeks, that she’d finally freed herself from feeling guilty about it, and probably more importantly, that she’d freed herself from the guilt about her marriage to Peter.

  Maybe Liam was right: maybe some things weren’t meant to last forever.

  Since that night, she’d been able to think kindly about Peter for the first time in a long time. She saw him with a new wife, one who could give him children, who could fill the house in Larchmont with noisy footsteps and sticky fingers and laughter that had been too rarely heard there in recent years.

  Thinking about it didn’t hurt as much as it used to.

  She was still confused about Jack and Liam, but she was content in a way she hadn’t been in a long time, maybe ever.

  Jack had sent her more roses with a card explaining that he was out of the country for a few days but wanted her to know he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She had the sense that it was an unusually heartfelt confession for him, a realization that made her think of him with unexpected tenderness.

  She knew all about the challenges of being vulnerable with someone, and those challenges had to be greater for someone like Jack who was under so much scrutiny.

  She’d spent most of Sunday with Liam after their first night together and had only gone home over his objections. It was tempting to stay — and not just because he’d promised her pizza and a quiet night on the sofa — but her mind and body were clamoring for space.

  Passion aside, her night with Jack had been cool, almost distant. She’d left him wanting more — more sex, more closeness, more conversation.

  By contrast, her night with Liam had been a kind of emotional and physical gluttony. They’d made love until she was sore, had touched and kissed and probed until she felt like she knew his glorious body better than she knew her own, had talked until she began to shut down, surprising herself with the confessions he pulled from her. She’d felt treasured, understood.

  But it had also overwhelmed her in a way she didn’t quite understand.

  She’d retreated gratefully to her little apartment where she’d holed up with old movies and takeout, leaving only to go to the gallery, and once, to dinner with Liam before he left for a prearranged trip to London for a magazine article.

  He’d seemed reluctant to say goodbye and had promised to take her with him next time as he kissed her outside her apartment.

  She missed him in a way that was different from the way she felt about Jack — that was a craving, an addiction — but she was happy to have a few more days to process everything that was happening.

  She paid for her groceries at Trader Joe’s and carried her bags to the subway, marveling at how familiar everything seemed. She could get to Karen’s apartment on the Upper West Side and Robin’s Soho studio without thinking, could walk to Amy’s brownstone if she had the time and inclination.

  She knew where to get the best Thai food and which pizza places were open late, knew which grocery store carried the freshest Indian spices for the Chicken Masala she’d started cooking and which local bar made the best martini.

  She exited the subway at her station and headed straight for the exit. The bags were a little heavy, but she’d learned exactly how much she could carry without tempting her to dump a bag of groceries in the nearest trashcan before she made it home.

  She was halfway down her block when she spotted the black car next to the curb outside her apartment. She picked up her pace, hating the way her heart raced, the way her body flushed, as the back door opened.

  And then he was there, staring at her with an expression she’d never seen before as she made her way up the block.

  “The prodigal son returns,” she said. “Have you been waiting l
ong?”

  “Irrelevant.” He reached for one of the bags, a gesture that seemed too mundane for a man in such an expensive suit standing outside a car driven by his chauffeur.

  “Why is it irrelevant?” she asked.

  “Because I would wait a long time for you, Nina. Have already waited a long time for you.”

  She smiled. “Does that mean you’re happy to see me?”

  “It means I’m happy to see you.” He looked pained as he said it, as if it was difficult to admit.

  She wanted to kiss him. To wrap her arms around him. The fact that it wouldn’t be welcome only made her want him more.

  I’ll tell you when you can touch me…

  What was wrong with her?

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. It was an easier question than the one she was asking herself.

  “I’m taking you to the airport,” he said.

  “The airport?”

  “Yes. We’re going to Paris.”

  “Now?”

  He didn’t blink. “Now.”

  “I… I can’t go to Paris. Not at the last minute like this,” she said.

  A quizzical expression crossed his features. “Why?”

  “Because… because I can’t.”

  “Do you have work?” he asked.

  “Actually, no. I’m off until Thursday.” She’d been euphoric over the convergence of events that would have given her two days alone to process everything that had happened with Liam.

  Now all she wanted was for Jack to take possession of her, drive out all the deliberation and overthinking that had occupied the last few days.

  “It’s settled then,” he said. “You can pack a few things if you like, but anything you need we can purchase in Paris.”

  She laughed. “This is crazy.”

  He took a step toward her and lowered his head. His cheek nearly brushed hers as he bent toward her ear. She caught the scent of his cologne and her body sparked to life like an addict within sight of a fix.

  “Sometimes crazy is good,” he murmured. “I thought you discovered that the last time we were together.”

  She closed her eyes as he lingered near her ear and asked herself the only question that mattered: what do you want, Nina?

  She stepped away from him and started for the door. “Help me carry these up the stairs and give me ten minutes.”

  33

  Twenty-four hours later she was sitting in the back of a limo with Jack, dressed in a Versace dress, the Eiffel tower glittering in an inky sky.

  She should have been tired. She’d been caught in a whirlwind of excitement and luxury since she’d stepped into the car with Jack outside her apartment. She’d tried to sleep on the plane — it would have been easy given the bedroom at the back of Jack’s private jet — but she’d been too excited both by the reality of what she was doing and by the nearness of Jack.

  By the knowledge that she would soon be naked and under his power — under his body — once again.

  She’d dozed and read while he attended to business, making calls and reviewing reports, occasionally turning to her, looking almost — was she imagining it? — pleased to see her there.

  They’d landed eight hours after leaving New York and had been whisked to the Plaza Athenee where Jack had led her to a suite on the top floor and ordered her to take a bath. She’d sent a quick text to Karen explaining her whereabouts and had emerged to find an assortment of clothing suitable for traversing the city — suitable in Jack’s eyes anyway.

  She might have been more comfortable in jeans and sneakers, but she couldn’t deny the thrill of stepping out of the limo in a dress and strappy heels, of being led by Jack into the most expensive boutiques in Paris, of being led to the best tables at the best restaurants in town.

  “Champagne?”

  She turned to Jack, holding a bottle of champagne from the ice bucket in the limo.

  “I might fall asleep if I drink champagne,” she said. He hadn’t slept at all since they’d arrived, and she’d only dozed.

  The signature Jack Morgan smile — as if he were privy to all the world’s most coveted secrets — lifted his mouth. “I can promise you won’t fall asleep.”

  “Champagne it is.”

  She had no idea where they were going. Jack had ordered her to wear the Versace dress with no underclothes. He’d taken her for a dinner so good she’d almost had an orgasm in the restaurant, then said he had a surprise for her.

  He handed her a glass filled with effervescent bubbles and touched it with his own. “To honesty.”

  It took her a few seconds to place the reference. Then she remembered: their conversation in his apartment about her not knowing how to date anymore, about her seeing someone else.

  “To honesty.”

  She felt guilty as she said it. She hadn’t yet told Liam about Jack. She tried to make herself believe the time had never been right — they’d been so intimate, but Liam had never expressly said he wanted to be monogamous — and that she hadn’t had a chance before he left for London.

  But deep down she knew she was a liar.

  Jack Morgan might take his competition in stride, but she had a feeling Liam wouldn’t feel the same way. He’d texted her every day he’d been gone, and she made a point of texting him when they landed in Paris to tell him she’d had to leave town suddenly and would check in when she returned.

  It wasn’t fair to Jack to spend their time in Paris texting Liam.

  The situation wasn’t sustainable. That much was obvious. She couldn’t jet off with Jack and expect it not to come up with Liam, couldn’t live forever with the conflict between the meaningful passion she felt with Liam and the boundary-pushing excitement she felt with Jack.

  She took a drink of her champagne and looked out the window, her eyes on the Eiffel Tower and a city that was even more beautiful in person than in all the pictures in the world.

  She was in Paris with Jack Morgan, a man who set her on fire, who made her wet simply by sitting next to her in the car, who gave her glimpses of a life she’d never seen.

  She was going to enjoy it. She owed herself that much.

  They pulled up outside a granite facade so grand it looked like a museum. There was another limo in front of them and their Paris driver — Reggie must still have been in New York — idled as he waited to pull forward.

  “No warnings about paparazzi?” she asked Jack.

  “There won’t be any paparazzi here.” There was a dark undercurrent in his voice, one she recognized from the bedroom.

  Her stomach twisted into a knot, anticipation and fear mingling until they were one and the same.

  The car inched forward and the driver got out to open the door.

  Jack helped her from the car and they made their way up wide granite steps to a set of carved wooden doors. When they got closer, she saw that they were decorated with gargoyles and twisted vines, invisible from afar, darkness obstructed by beauty.

  No one was there to greet them. Instead Jack turned to an electronic panel and keyed in a code that opened the door with a soft click.

  They stepped into a marble entry where two large men in suits stood on either side of the doors. Jack removed his phone and tipped the display toward one of the men. When he leaned in to look, Nina caught sight of a gun holstered to his side under the expensive jacket.

  He nodded and Jack handed over his phone, then turned to Nina. “Give them your phone.”

  “My phone?”

  Jack held out his hand and she reached into her bag and gave him the phone. He slipped it inside a velvet bag held by the man who’d checked Jack’s phone.

  The guard — and that’s almost certainly what he was — zipped the bag and reached into his pocket for a book of numbered tags. He tagged the bag and ripped the tag in half, handing Jack the other half as if the whole procedure was nothing more than a coat check.

  Jack tucked her hand in his arm. “Let’s go.”

  He led her up a wide
marble staircase, an intricate runner leading to a landing that split off in either direction, which in turn led to a shorter staircase up either side. Closed doors lined the second floor landing, a handful of people standing around, mingling in hushed tones.

  Nina watched them as they climbed the second set of stairs, taking in the expensive clothes — men in tuxedos like Jack’s, women in slinky dresses. Almost everyone held a drink, and Nina caught the scent of cigar smoke as they stepped onto the second floor.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “A private club of sorts,” Jack said.

  “What kind of club?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She was getting some serious Eyes Wide Shut vibes. The possibility was more exciting than it should have been.

  No one looked at them as they passed on their way to the end of the landing. Nina got the feeling it was one of the rules, even if an implicit one, and she followed suit, keeping her eyes focused on the doors that seemed to be their destination.

  She heard the music first — felt it vibrating under her feet.

  Jack opened the doors and they stepped into a lavish room with soaring ceilings, the electronic music emanating from hidden speakers strangely out of place among the elaborate chandelier hanging from a domed ceiling, the chesterfield sofas and period furniture that Nina doubted were reproductions.

  An assortment of people — all as expensively dressed as the ones on the landing, as she and Jack — lounged in various states of conversation: women with women and women with men and men with more than one woman and men with men.

  No one was doing anything more than talking, but there was a palpable undercurrent of sex in the air. Nina saw it in the slow stroke of fingers on forearms, the meaningful sidelong glances exchanged as Jack led her to the bar at one end of the room.

  He ordered them both martinis and led her down a hall off the room.

  She drank deeply from her glass. She had no idea what Jack had in mind — someone watching while they had sex? watching Nina with a woman? group sex? — and she had no idea what she would do when the time came to agree or to leave.