Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (34 page)

Lying
naked on top of a drop cloth, we stared at the ceiling, breathing hard. He was
having a harder time, as he was laughing. “That wasn’t good for my ego,
chérie!”

“All I said was that you did a
good job at keeping time with the jackhammer.” I rolled onto my side, facing
him, as I tried to keep a straight face.

“Merde, when will it end?”
Sébastien asked, rubbing his temples.

“Sorry, I was hoping to distract
you. Have I failed miserably?”

“No! You are very good at
distracting me. I hope you don’t think I’m horrible, but I’m glad it is your
mother and John who will be living here and not us.” There was a major
renovation taking place nearby and the
ta-ta ta-ta
of the jackhammer was
loud and annoying. We’d been assured that the project would be finished by the
end of June; we could only hope that, six weeks later, it would be any day now.

“On the bright side, everything is
painted, and all we have to do is make it presentable.” I dropped a kiss onto
his shoulder and coiled myself around him.

We lay there another thirty
seconds before he said, “We have a perfectly comfortable bed at home. Let’s get
this finished and then have a nice evening out. It will be one of our last for
several weeks.”

I had been trying to ignore the
pain in my hip, so I was more than happy to take him up on his suggestion. I
struggled to my feet and pulled him up while he gave me a lewd look. “I think
we should have a new rule. At home, we go naked. I like this.” He trailed his
fingers up my arm and along my collarbone before cupping my breast. His pained
grimace had been replaced by a lusty grin. “It is amazing to think of what life
was like a year ago, no?”

I smiled cheekily at him. “Yes. A
year ago my apartment needed painting, and now it is done.”

He handed me my clothes, one piece
at a time, while speaking one word at a time. “Admit it, that was your plan all
along.”

I looked around the space that had
become my studio. The warm white walls allowed for the best light to work in,
and the few personal items I had left behind made the space homey and
comfortable. I sighed in happiness.

As quickly as possible, we shoved
furniture into place, made the bed, put towels out, and stacked my canvases and
painting supplies in the second bedroom.

Standing under the spray of the
shower, he lathered himself up and proceeded to glide himself against me. “Let
me wash you.”

“Why, thank you.”

“My pleasure. I assure you.”

***

Over
dinner, he had asked me if I felt “moved in.” I had assured him that I did, but
said, “As much as I love living here, I think we might want to consider a
long-term solution, an apartment that reflects both of us.”

I had been surprised how open he
was to the idea. Truthfully, I had a bigger plan, hopefully one he would like.
Now, lying curled around each other in bed, seemed like the time to broach it.

“Are you asleep?”

“No.”

“About the future…” I took a deep
drink of water before launching into my idea. “I happen to know that the
apartment above us is going up for sale at some point this fall.”

Once his surprised expression wore
off, he was clearly intrigued. “
How
do you know this, chérie?”

“I ran into Madame Levi’s son,
Denis. Apparently, they’ve convinced her to sell her apartment and move into a
smaller place near them.”

“And…”

“We could buy it, hire an
architect, and connect the two. Have one very large apartment. Don’t worry! I’m
happy to hire the professionals, including your friend, the interior decorator
who did this place, and see what she comes up with. We could live in mine while
the work is being done.”

He ran his fingers across his lips
and organized his thoughts. “It appears there is quite a bit to be discussed.”

IN JARDIN VILLEMIN,
I spotted
Sébastien sitting on a bench with his head tilted
back, face turned upwards to the sun. He looked utterly relaxed. I myself was a
bundle of nerves. My mom and John were arriving tonight, and I still needed to
stop by a market and get a few staples for them. I’d been surprised when he’d
asked me here at the last minute, but there was time to get everything done.

I sat down beside him, and,
instead of receiving a kiss, I looked into worried eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He pecked my lips. “Mon coeur!” He
held my hand and rubbed his thumb across my knuckles.

“Just say it,” I said, far more
bravely than I felt.

He frowned. “First, I need to
apologize for waiting until the absolute last minute to talk to you, but I
wanted to be wrong, so I did everything I could think of until the last
minute.”

Frightened, really frightened, I
asked, “What?”

He handed me the laptop that sat
beside him on the bench, opening it for me. There was a picture of my mother,
John, and the two of us when we were in Seattle. I stared at the picture.

“What? What am I looking for?”

He drew his finger between John
and me. I didn’t see what he was trying to show me. “Have you seen John without
a beard?” he asked.

“No. Never.”

“Try to imagine him without one,”
he suggested.

I stared at his eyes, his nose,
his mouth, his face shape, looking for something that would help. My eyes
skipped back and forth between his eyes and mouth. Then the penny dropped. “Oh,
my god. Do you think he’s my father?”

He nodded. “I do. I saw the
resemblance in Seattle but thought perhaps it was just my imagination. I kept
looking at the photos, the two of you side by side. The beard hides quite a
bit, so I did some research and stumbled upon one thing that leaves me with no
doubt.” He took the laptop and said, “May I?”

I relinquished it from my clutch.
With a few taps on the keyboard, a new window appeared, one with smiling faces.
He handed it back. It was a picture of John and his co-workers in the art
store, some kind of promotional article, dated last month. He was clean-shaven.
Our similarities were striking. He had to be my father.

I stared at the photo for quite
some time before Sébastien asked me what I wanted to do. Thousands of questions
ran through my head. Had they had an affair? Had he known all along I was his
daughter? Had Sarah, his late wife, known? Why hadn’t they told me when we were
in Seattle? It would have been uncomfortable, but it was always going to be
uncomfortable.

His squeeze on my hand brought me
back to the present. “What do you want to do?”

“Talk to them. What else is
there?”

***

Our reunion was challenging. It took
my stilted hug for my mother to ask, “What’s wrong, Kathy?” Her eyes darted
between
Sébastien and me.

I noted John’s beard then smiled
to reassure her that he and I were fine. “Let’s get you to the apartment, and
then, if you’re hungry, we can go to our place for some food,” I suggested.

The time between dropping off
their luggage and walking to our apartment felt interminable. When they didn’t
bother with small talk or looking around the apartment, it was clear they knew
something serious was happening.

Sébastien poured us all wine,
while I set out food on the counter. As I went to cut the bread into slices, my
mother stilled my hand. “It’s time to talk, Kathy.”

I followed her into the living
room, where I chose to sit beside Sébastien, leaving her to sit on her own,
while John hovered in the background, uncertain of his place in this.

“Out with it.”

Without hesitation, I leapt in and
told them what I suspected. I turned my attention to John. “Are you my father?”

He rested his hands on my mother’s
shoulders and said, “Yes.”

I drew in a sharp breath. There it
was. The truth. “Did Sarah know?”

My mother took over. “Kathy, what
I told you is true. John and I met in a bar, but it was before he and Sarah married.
Yes, she knew you were John’s daughter, and, before you ask, the decision not
to tell you was mine, not because John and Sarah didn’t want you to know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I
teetered between relief they hadn’t had an affair and confusion over why they
had all agreed not to tell me.

My mother stroked her brow with a
trembling hand as she stared at the carpet. I looked at John for explanation.
He gave none, just looked down at my mother, clearly following her lead.

Finally, she said, “Kathy, I have
wondered every day of my life since John and Sarah showed up at my door, asking
me if John could be your father, if there aren’t bigger forces in the universe.
They had seen us at the grocery store, and John remembered me, did the math,
and bravely told his wife that you could be his daughter.”

When she broke down in tears, John
continued the story. “At the time, Sarah and I were still hopeful we would have
our own children. Your mom thought it would complicate things if we told you,
that somehow you might find it too confusing—wonder if I loved you as much, if
you lived with her while my kids with Sarah lived with me. I’m not looking for
a lame excuse. The simple truth is things were different then. Every decision
made, whether right in the long run or not, was made with your best interests
at heart.”

“So your solution was for me to
take art classes from you and have Sarah babysit me after school?” I could not
hold back the hurt I felt. “What about when I was older? What about then? What
about when we were in Seattle in February?”

My mother answered, “You’re right, Kathy. Not telling you
was wrong. We should have told you, but we didn’t. So how do we move forward?”

I drew in a deep breath, startled by her admission but lack
of explanation. “Is that all? Nothing else?”

“What can I say? I was worried that, when I told you, you
might think less of me. John and Sarah had a hard time keeping their marriage
together when they found out she couldn’t have kids, and I didn’t want you to
be a part of that problem. I, we, all of us were trying to protect you.”

Sébastien kissed my temple then
got up and poured everyone a glass of water. When he returned, I gulped mine
down. It took a while, but I absorbed all they’d said. When I focused on them,
they sat side by side, looking nervous, like worried parents. “I feel bad that
I never went back and saw Sarah after I left for school. Not once. I would
have, had I known. I would have said goodbye to her when she got sick.” To my
mom, I added, “To me, they were just two really kind people, a part of my
childhood. She deserved to have been more.”

“You’re right, they should have
been more. You should have been able to say goodbye.”

***

After we
managed to swallow down some food, we walked them back to my old apartment and
struggled through a strained goodbye. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

As Sébastien and I lay in bed
later, my mind reeled at the night’s revelations.

“Can I help?”

“No, not really. I understand. I
just need to absorb it all. This might sound crazy, but I was just lying here,
wondering if this is the reason I was so secretive. Maybe on some level I felt
something. Or maybe I just want to find an excuse.”

“Children can be very intuitive.
Maybe you saw or heard things that confused you.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged my shoulders.
“I’m never going to fall asleep. I think I’ll get up and do something.”

Before I could move, he pinned me
down. “I have an idea.” Tender passion smoldered in his expression.

Surprised how quickly I responded
to him, I asked, “Is it better than this?” Nuzzling my lips into the crook of
his neck, I nibbled him while I slid my hand up to his nape and caressed
strands of his hair, curling them around my fingers. His skin grew warmer, and
his scent became more intoxicating. I gently pulled him so that his lips met
mine.

“You’re right, mon coeur. Your
plan is better than mine.”

Wanting to feel all of him, I
tugged at his loose cotton pants; he withdrew just enough to give my hands room
to wander. I lifted the waistband and pushed them down, using my foot to work them
off his legs to tangle at his feet. While he made quick work of removing them,
I ran my hands across his chest, kneading his soft, springy curls. Beneath their
silkiness, I slid my hands over his shoulders and down his back, memorizing the
feel of his muscles as he forged his own exploration of my body.

He pulled up my nightie and
pressed his forehead against my naked belly. I watched his passion climb as he
stared at my erect nipples then darted his eyes to the small triangular patch
of silk at the juncture of my thighs. When I went to remove my panties, he
said, “Not yet, chérie. Without them, I will lose any control I have left, and
I
need
to taste and feel every inch of you.”

When he lowered himself back down beside
me, he laid a leg over mine, weighing me down. His chest hair taunted me,
causing my nipples to ache painfully, wanting his caress. I undulated when he
finally took as much of my breast into his mouth as he could. I arched upwards,
wanting him to take every fiber of my being into him.

Gentle kisses turned into a tangle of writhing limbs and
questing hands. Soon, we burrowed into the bedding. When he lifted himself off
me, I protested, wanting more of him. Still, he abandoned my tender lips and
arching body in order to straighten the pillows. “You were getting lost,” he
said.

He dove back down on me and wrapped one arm around me while
sliding his leg between mine. I could feel his thighs tighten when he came in
contact with my throbbing body. Acknowledging my blatant desires with a gentle
graze of his knee, he said, “I love being the one who does this to you.”

I surprised him when I rolled us over so that I was on top. I
hooked my feet under his and lowered myself intimately onto him. “Now we can
have our cake and eat it, too!”

His voice sounded husky
with desire. “Oui, chérie, we can…” He contemplated me with such intensity, it
felt nearly impossible to bear the weight of his love. I suddenly realized my
eyes must mirror his.

I reached out to him,
trembling with desire. When his mouth anchored demandingly onto mine, it was
with a passion I hadn’t known existed. I continued to strain against him, to be
closer still. I had a deep need to take us both to a place of complete and
utter abandon. Was this part of love or utter lust? When our mouths separated
momentarily, I drew in a deep breath and felt his chest rise and fall against
mine.

He pulled me back, and left me
panting as he pressed scorching kisses from the tender hollow where my pulse
throbbed in my neck, across my collar bone and nipped my shoulder. I cried out
for more. Between suckling each breast, he gasped for breath while I rocked my hips,
encouraging him. His erotic touch became more demanding, and when my control
had all but disintegrated, he stroked the tenderest place, and our mutual
surrender was imminent. I urged him on, begged for release. He held me coiled
tightly in his arms, and then, at the peak of my madness, I released all my
energy, pushing us both to absolute surrender.

I returned to earth. When he felt
me tremble in his arms, he whispered hoarsely, “What is it?”

“Sex is incredible, isn’t it?”

He wore a self-satisfied grin. “Oui.”