Forget (18 page)

“Jesse shagged Professor Archer, more than once mind you. He was shameless. Screwed her brains out pretty much anywhere—her office, after class in the lecture hall, behind the stacks in the library. The list was endless. One day Jesse let his sort of girlfriend, Susan Briggs, convince him to meet her parents. No big deal, right?”

Brooke nods, eyes riveted.

“Well, it was quite the scandal when he walked into her parent’s home and came face-to-face with her mum . . .
Elizabeth Archer.
”

Her jaw drops. “What?”

“Yeah, apparently Elizabeth Archer was hell bent on keeping her name when she married Mr. Briggs. And Susan never bothered to mention that her mum was a professor.”

“Holy shit!” Brooke laughs in shock.

“The funny part is that Jesse was so hell bent on shagging our professor that he didn’t pay attention to the neon signs flashing in his face. Susan had loads of pics in her digs; most of them included her mum. And Elizabeth had mentioned quite a few times that he was young enough to be her son and that her daughter was the same age as him.”

“That’s hilarious. He really is an arse.”

“Quite the careless cockup.”

“I thought there were four guys in your band?”

I nod, taking a drink of Guinness. “There are. Zach is in London this week. Alex is actually flying out in the morning to meet him. Jesse and I would be there, too, but my father needed us here.”

Her eyes go wide. “Shit, I almost forgot about that,” she mumbles.

“Forgot about what?”

“It wasn’t purely coincidental that I showed up here when Jesse was working. Au Fait was on the list.”

“The bucket list from your grandmother?”

She nods. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

Of course, I remember that, Little Wing. I can’t seem to forget anything about you.

“Drinking an Au Fait Bloody Mary is on the list—they’re delicious, by the way—but it wasn’t the whole reason I was here. Meeting a man named Alexandre is also on the list. Apparently, he has something for me.”

“You’re supposed to meet my father?” I question, taken aback by this.

“Apparently, my grandmother knew him. She lived here years and years ago when she was about my age. Fell in love with a man named Christophe.”

My jaw hits the floor. “I had a great uncle named Christophe.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. He died a few years back.”

“The Christophe that Millie fell in love was French. No English roots that she spoke of.”

“Christophe was my mother’s uncle. He had no English in his blood.” What are the odds that her grandmother knew my great uncle? If that isn’t a sign, then I think I might be losing my mind. Two days in her presence, and I’m already contemplating fate. Jesse would probably revoke my man card if he knew.

“Wow . . . uh . . . this is so weird.” Eyes cast downward. She fiddles with a napkin on the table. Little by little she tears it into tiny pieces. Reserved, contemplative Brooke is starting to make a reappearance.

I want to play with carefree Brooke tonight. My hand grabs her seat, pulling her closer to me. Her restless movements still, as her bar stool rumbles across the wood floor. She situates her crossed legs between mine.

“It’s a little weird.” I slide my hand underneath her chin, lifting her eyes to mine. “But more cool than weird I think.”

A secret smile crosses her lips. “More cool than weird?”

“Definitely.” I hand Brooke her beer, encouraging her with my eyes to take a drink. “Don’t leave me hanging, Little Wing.”

She hesitates, looking into my gaze for a second until she finally does as she’s told. “This is good. Packs quite the kick for ale, but it’s good. What is it?”

“Fuller’s London Pride. Probably the most popular ale in London.”

She takes another hearty drink. “What are the odds I’d meet you of all people in Paris? A man who’s related to the one person who stole my grandmother’s heart. Did you know him very well?”

I shrug. “Not really. He lived in France most of my life, running the vineyard. My father always said he was very passionate when he was young, but once he settled into married life with Laura, that passion kind of disappeared.” After his marriage had ended with my great aunt, he became a dysfunctional alcoholic and was sometimes too volatile and miserable to want around. I leave that part out though, deciding it might cause more harm than good. I’m wondering if the misery he carried around for all those years had something to do with Brooke’s grandmother.

“Do you think he was with Laura when he met my grandmother?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Brooke has the same questions I do. I’m doubly glad I left the alcoholic part out. “When my father gets back from London, I’m sure he’d be more than willing to enlighten you on all of the details. He knew Christophe pretty well. They ran the family vineyard together for years until my father opened Au Fait.”

Brooke stares off for a moment.

“Did Millie tell you a lot about what happened between them?” I ask, desperate to pull her back to the present.

“I didn’t find out about Christophe until after she passed. She revealed the few details I know in a letter. Apparently, they had quite the love affair.” Her fingers grip the necklace hidden beneath her shirt. She lifts it out from under the cotton material. “See this? He gave this to Millie.”

I lean forward, reading the inscription. “Ne m’oubliez pas.”
Do not forget me.
I can relate. I’d do just about anything to brand myself into Brooke’s brain.

“He gave this to her right before she left him to move back home to the States.”

My thumb rubs across the silver charm decorated with tiny blue flowers.

“Forget-me-nots,” she says.

Curious, I glance up, leaving my face mere inches from hers. The movement causes the knuckles of my hand to rest gently against the soft skin above her breasts. I stifle the urge to let my fingers wander.

“The blue flowers, they’re called forget-me-nots,” she explains, voice a little breathy.

“Beautiful.” I’m not talking about the necklace.

She clears her throat. “They symbolize how Millie and Christophe met.”

“How’d they meet?”

She giggles a little. I want to press my lips to hers and swallow them up. “It kind of reminds me of how we met . . . Only there were less bright flashes and more blood.”

“More blood?”

“It involved a rogue umbrella, lots of rain, and a garden full of forget-me-nots. The umbrella flew straight out of Millie’s hands, across a bed of forget-me-nots, and smacked Christophe right in the face. It left a gash big enough to need stitches. He made her go with him to the hospital. They were attached at the hip after that . . . until she left, that is.”

“I’m a huge fan of the way we met.”

“Millie would have called it a meet-cute, but I’m not convinced you would’ve noticed me had I not blinded you with my camera.” Her smile is self-deprecating. I hate it on principle alone. Brooke should never doubt herself, or the power I’m learning she holds over me.

I release the charm, hand moving up to her cheek. My thumb slides across her lips, swiping that self-doubt clear off her face. My shoulders move forward, swallowing up more of her space. I watch her gaze trail down from my eyes to my mouth. Long lashes swipe over golden, chocolate eyes. Their depths, melting like honey as the mood changes, to something reminiscent of our first kiss at the record store. “Quite the contrary, Little Wing. I noticed you the second I stepped onto the métro . Those long legs of yours were hard to miss.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“How do you think I knew you were taking a picture of me? And it wasn’t just those sexy as hell legs that got my attention. I noticed everything about you. I was half-tempted to put you in my backpack and carry you home.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not that short!”

“Not short per se, just petite. I would’ve never guessed a tiny thing like you could possess such a powerful voice. I thought you were beautiful on the métro, but Christ woman, you damn near gave me a heart attack the first time I heard you sing.”

Her mouth forms a perfect little ‘O’ in response.

Now’s the time to
go big or go home . . .

“Brooke, I want you. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want you right now.”

“I bet you’ve said to other women before,” she interrupts. Her voice drips with skepticism.

I shake my head, cupping her cheeks in both of my hands.

“
Dylan,
” she says my name like a teacher reprimanding a student. It’s a tone I’d enjoy if we were naked and she was playing the role of naughty teacher hell-bent on driving me wild with her mouth. But that’s not the kind of moment we’re having right now. She’s questioning my intent. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve known each other for all of two days. You barely know me. I barely know you. And besides, I find it hard to believe all of this after the parade of willing women that flocked you at Pop In.”

“Brooke.” I sigh, dropping my hands from her face and running a frustrated hand through my hair. I hate that we’re back to this point. I’ve never relished the idea of getting a woman drunk on purpose, but in this scenario, alcohol seems to be the one thing that gets Brooke out of her reticent head. Christ, someone get reserved Brooke another beer.

She leans against the bar, guard back up, and eyes curtained with uncertainty.

Remembering how much she begged for my touch this afternoon, I place a hand on her knee, rubbing soft circles across her skin. I’m nothing if not determined and decide to jump back into the battle that is otherwise known as “knocking down Brooke’s walls” headfirst. They could give the Great Wall of China a run for its money.

“Listen . . .” I start to choose my words with careful precision but stop, thinking better about my approach. Hands down, Brooke has the most infectious laugh. And that’s my first step in getting her to soften that reserved exterior. “Hey, I just met you. And this is crazy. But . . .”

“For the love of God, don’t finish that,” she cuts me off through a fit of laughter.

“What?” I feign innocence. “I’m pouring my heart out here, Brooke.”

“Yeah, you and Carly Rae Jepsen.”

“Carly Rae who?” I ask, biting my cheek to hide a grin.

She stares at me deadpanned.

“All right, you caught me.” I hold up both hands, grinning wide. “Sometimes, when it’s difficult to find the right words, I look to the great lyricists of our time.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Is it too presumptuous of me to ask if I can give you my number?”

Brooke cocks her head to the side, looking confused. “I have your number.” She holds up her hand—a hint of black ink still evident on her palm. “Remember? You practically tattooed it on my hand. And we’ve texted . . . a lot.”

“Well, then will you
. . . call me
. . .
maybe?
”

Loud laughs escape her throat. They vibrate her entire body—starting at her lips and reaching her toes. She shoves my shoulder. “You . . . Are . . . An . . . Idiot,” she wheezes.

Like I said, Brooke’s laughs are infectious, which explains why I’ve joined her, and people are glancing at us in amusement.

I slide a loose blonde lock out of her eyes. Her laughs subside, and she leans into my touch. Those honey-colored eyes of hers hold my steady gaze. No longer guarded, no longer holding back from showing me how she really feels.

I cup her chin, thumb running across her bottom lip. “I want you, Little Wing . . .” She starts to interrupt, but I press two fingers over her lips, stopping her. “I’ve never lied to you, nor have I ever lied to any woman, just to get a leg over. I’m honest to a fault. And I’m telling you right now that this isn’t some ploy to get in your knickers. This is
me,
telling
you,
that
I want you.
Since the moment I met you, I’ve been distracted by thoughts of you. I don’t know where all this is coming from, but I know you’re feeling it too.”

I place her hand on my chest, cupping my palm over her fingers. “Believe me, I know it’s overwhelming, but I also know that I can’t deny it. I can’t
not
try to find out what this is between us. I’m certain that whatever it is, Brooke, whatever is pulling us together, is something worth exploring.” I’m immediately scared that my rambling just pushed her over the edge. That any second, she’ll run straight out of this pub.

Between one anxious breath and the next, she’s on her feet, standing between my legs. Her hands slide across my shoulders and grip the hair near my neck. “You’re right, Dylan. This whole thing scares the shit out of me. I barely know you, yet I feel like I’ve known you forever. And the way we can play together on stage, well, it
is
overwhelming, but it’s also beautiful. And good Lord, it’s the biggest rush I’ve ever felt.” Her voice is soft as a whisper yet strong in its intentions.

My beautiful contradiction.

Her lips part, and it’s all the invitation I need. My mouth presses gently against hers. Her tongue tentatively dances with mine. I start to deepen the kiss, but her movements still. “Stay with me, Brooke,” I murmur against her lips. “Don’t get lost inside your head. Don’t worry about anything else except how good this feels.”

Her body relaxes. And she loses herself in this moment with me. Her sweet breath mingles with mine as she moans into my mouth. “Fuck, I love that sound,” I say between breaths and drugging kisses.

We’re lips and tongues and groping hands. And I’m about ten seconds away from losing myself completely until voices within the bar bring me back to my senses. We’re far too intimate for our current location.

A tender press against her lips ends the kiss.

My arms hug her tightly as I whisper into her ear, “I only stopped because your buddy Jim-bo was watching us like we’re his favorite porno.”

She presses her face into my chest. Her lungs let out a deep exhale.

“How about we get another beer?” I ask, leaning back to look at her. “I think I need something to help cool off.”

“It’s like you read my mind,” she agrees. “Ladies room?”

I point towards the back hallway.