Undone, Volume 2 (20 page)

Ash sat up, clearly not
enjoying Lola’s entry into our scene, either. “Work it today!”
Lola called out from his phone. “Get some shots in front of the
Eifel Tower.”

He ended her call, then
looked up at me sheepish. “She’s fun.” He made light of it. But
there it was, the undeniable reminder of what this was between us. A
month of fake romance, for public consumption.

I smiled at him weakly,
suddenly wishing I had on some clothes. I already felt vulnerable
enough without also lying there stark naked.

“I should have gone
with my first instinct and thrown the fucking phone out the window.”
He looked pissed off and miserable.

“Come on.” I tossed
a small pillow at him. “Let’s go out and explore. We’re in
Paris.”

I got up and headed to
the shower, telling myself to shake it off. Lola didn’t get to
decide for us what this was. But her voice stayed with me as I soaped
up my hair, letting the warm shower spray massage my aching body.
“Work it today!” she’d said. She really knew how to make a girl
feel like dirt.

§

I soaked up Paris like
a dry, hungry sponge. I’d never been anywhere more beautiful. New
York would always be my favorite city. It was the city I’d grown up
near, the one I’d cut my teeth on, gritty and bustling and loud.
Paris was like New York’s sophisticated, older cousin. All of the
hustle without any of the crass brassiness of New Yorkers.

The women were so slim
and chic, but it was the small touches that really blew me away. The
drape of a woman’s scarf and how perfectly it matched the color of
an accent on her boots. The little jacket on a dog and the way it
complimented her owner’s outfit. Nothing seemed slapped together in
the kind of rushing tornado my roommates and I enacted on a daily
basis, barely managing enough time to dry our hair before braving the
freezing cold outside. Every detail seemed deliberate and planned. I
could people-watch in Paris for days on end.

Ash and I walked
through the Luxembourg gardens with its statues and fountains, then
stopped in a café to warm up. It was the one night a week that the
Louvre stayed open late, and Ash suggested we head to it at night,
taking advantage of the after hours.

I felt more eyes on us
today, more people watching our movements and a couple of times I’d
started at a camera flash. But it was hard to know if I was just
being paranoid or if we were, indeed, getting followed around. Tons
of people had cameras in Paris. Tourists walked every block wearing
their big cameras across their winter coats. Maybe I was making some
of it up?

At a small café, I
sank my teeth into the most divine cheese I’d ever tasted. I didn’t
know what the French did to make every single piece of food in their
country taste divine, but I did know I was enjoying the hell out of
it. Every sip, every bite I’d tried in Paris had melted in my
mouth.

“You have to try
this.” I spread some of the soft cheese onto a piece of toasted
bread and handed it to Ash. “It’s straight from Heaven.”

“I’m sorry about
Lola’s call.” Ash surprised me by saying.

“Don’t worry about
it.”

“I can tell you’re
still upset.” He was right. I had been tense ever since her call
earlier that day. But I hadn’t realized I’d been showing it, or
that he would notice.

“Ana, I mean it.”
He reached across the table and took my hand. I looked up and met his
serious gaze. “I know I live in a circus. I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s not
your fault.” I waved him off, not wanting to discuss it. I felt too
raw. Having to explain why it hurt to be reminded that this romance
was fake would lead us onto tricky ground. It hurt because to me, it
didn’t feel fake, not at all. But that wasn’t a conversation I
was ready to have with him.

“Ana.” He brought
his other hand to mine. “Don’t let Lola spoil this.” Then he
leaned over and kissed me, soft and full on my mouth. He felt so good
and I couldn’t help it, my whole body responded. I craved him,
inhaling his scent. He ran his thumb over my bottom lip, looking like
he wanted to take me right then and there across the café table. I
wanted him to do it, too.

“Let’s enjoy our
time here together,” he murmured, kissing my hair.

“Yeah,” I agreed,
feeling the tension slip from my body. He was right. We didn’t have
much time left in Paris. We flew out tomorrow night. Our time
together was too precious to let it get spoiled.

At the Louvre that
night, we couldn’t stop touching each other. We kept it PG, holding
hands, caressing each other’s backs, stealing a few brief kisses in
shadowy passageways. But he lit me up, his nearness, his touches,
keeping me at a steady simmer the entire time.

He flirted shamelessly,
relentlessly, each blush he coaxed from me encouraging him more. We
stood in front of the
Mona Lisa
,
all boxed up in heavy glass, and he pronounced me far more beautiful
than any masterpiece. At the sculpture of the half-naked Aphrodite,
he declared me more tempting than any goddess. The light kisses he
feathered at the nape of my neck, the way he ran his fingers along
the inside of my wrist, it felt as if he were making love to me room
by room, building my desire. By the time we got to an early 1800s
French portrait of a nude woman reclining, one foot sensuously
grazing up the side of her calf, her eyes turned over her shoulder to
beckon the viewer into bed with her, I was nearly panting.

“Let’s get back to
the hotel,” Ash murmured in my ear as we stood in front of it, one
hand on my stomach, his groin pressed into my back. I could feel him
through our clothing, the full length of him, all male and hard,
ready to drive into me again. I trembled, already wet for him. I
couldn’t wait.

Outside, he pulled me
into the shadowy recess of an overhang.

“Ana,” he breathed
into me, his hands at my waist, his mouth on me. I pulled at his
hair, clasped his neck, pushed my hips against his. I’d never felt
so wanton, so hot, so consumed with need. I felt so sensitive to his
every touch, so aware of every brush of his fingers.

His hand at my hip, he
slipped his fingers just inside the waist of my jeans. The hot feel
of his fingers under my shirt, against my skin, so close to the
forbidden as we stood outside, had me wild. I panted, licking the
hollow of his neck.

“Are you wet for me,
my Ana?” he asked, low and husky in my ear. His fingers trailed
across my skin, slowly, teasing me.

“Yes,” I murmured
back, wanting him to know. Wanting to show him. I wanted him to feel
me, sink his finger down into my sex, have the satisfaction of
knowing what he did to me.

“Have you been
thinking about me fucking you?” He pressed his huge, hard bulge
against my stomach. I sighed in response, grasping his hip, hating
the clothes between us.

“Yes,” I admitted,
remembering the feel of him, velvet steel plunging into my wet heat.
He filled me so completely, stretched me so wide it almost hurt, but
the pain burned so good. I wanted him to take me rough again, fuck me
hard and long all night. “I want you to fuck me again, Ash,” I
panted, licking his earlobe.

He groaned into me,
thrusting against my hip. I could almost feel him thrusting inside me
and I moaned.

“How do you want it,
Ana?” He wound his fingers down, shielding me with his large body,
keeping our moment private in the dark corner. His hand found my sex,
tight in my jeans, and he drew his fingers along the seam. I wondered
if he could feel my heat, my growing wetness through the denim. I
hoped he could, hoped he knew how nasty he made me feel, how much I
wanted him.

“Do you want it soft
and slow?” He began stroking me through my jeans, somehow finding
exactly where to touch me, pressing against the nub of my clit. I
whimpered at his touch, my hand clutching at his t-shirt, pulling it
up so I could press my hand against his hot, lean stomach.

“I worked you hard
last night,” he continued, sounding so satisfied. “You must be
sore today.”

“I am sore,” I
admitted, pushing my throbbing sex against his hand. “I love it,”
I whispered, almost not able to believe I was saying it, so dirty.
But I meant it, every word, and I wanted him to know.

“You’re sore
because I fucked you so hard,” he whispered. The ownership in his
words, the way he strummed me with his fingers, I whined and
swallowed, hard, closing my eyes. He pressed against my clit in a
rhythm, like the rhythm of him fucking me, thrusting deep inside of
me.

“You want it hard
again, Ana?” he asked, his fingers drawing along the length of my
pussy through my jeans.

My hand fisted in his
t-shirt, quivers starting to tremor up through my body. “Yes, Ash.”

“Tell me how you want
it,” he ordered me, taking me so close.

“I want you to fuck
me hard, Ash,” I begged him, bucking against his hand. “Please.”

“Yes,” he growled,
taking my mouth in his, feasting on me. He pushed his hand full onto
my pussy, cupping me hard through my jeans.

And then the bright
flash of a camera went off.

“Fuck,” Ash swore,
bringing his arms up on either side of me, his head down over my
face. “Get the fuck away!” he barked out over his shoulder.

More flashes. “What
you up to, Ash?” a male voice called out, taunting, knowing.

“Show us who you got
there, Ash!” another voice called out.

Oh God, this was a
nightmare. What had they seen? What had they caught on camera? On
video?

“Come with me,” Ash
said to me, quiet, quick and urgent. He grabbed my hand hard and
pulled me with him, holding me to his side. Shielding me with his
coat, he propelled us forward. I could hear voices calling out, see
more flashes, feel the push of foreign hands

“Stay the fuck away
from her!” Ash thundered out as he rushed us forward, somehow
breaking through the throng and getting us curbside where we ducked
into a waiting taxi. They followed us right up to the car and I
almost thought a few might try to get in with us, but Ash slammed the
door shut and barked out the name of our hotel to the driver. He sped
away into the night.

I shook as Ash held me
to his chest. “Fuck!” he exploded. “I’m so sorry, Ana.”

“What do you think
they saw?” I hated how scared my voice sounded, but damn did I feel
it. What would come out from that on video? What would everyone see,
my boss at the library, my piano students, my younger cousins? My
parents? Hot tears sprang to my eyes and I sank my head into my
hands.

“Ana, I’m so sorry.
Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“No, no.” I shook
my head. No to both questions. No, they hadn’t hurt me, but no, I
wasn’t all right.

“Damn it!” Ash
pounded his fist against the door of the taxi and the driver turned
his head around in concern.

“Tout va bien,” Ash
reassured him, then added some more stuff in French. He spoke French
on top of it all. Add that to his list of lady-killing attributes.
The list was long and it had made a complete fool out of me. So much
so that I’d let him finger me nearly to orgasm on a public street,
begging for him to fuck me. Oh my God, did they have microphones good
enough to pick that up? Would there be audio to go along with it all?

By the time we got to
the hotel, cold panic had set in. A lone photographer waited for us
by the entryway. So they’d figured out where we were staying, too.
Ash glowered at him and swept me in underneath his coat.

Up in the hotel room,
the two of us paced the living room like wind-up dolls set in
opposite directions.

“I can’t believe
this!” I cried out, feeling sick to my stomach.

“I’m going to kill
them,” Ash spat out, fists by his sides, seething with rage.

“What do you think
they got?” I asked, wincing at the memory of everything I’d said.
All that dirty talk. Had I told him I loved feeling sore because he’d
fucked me so hard? Dear God.

“Nothing.” He
fisted his hand in his hair as he paced. “They got nothing. I think
they got nothing.” He stopped in front of an armchair and roared
out, “Fuck!” He gave the leg of the chair a violent kick. It shot
right out, the leg detaching from the furniture and launching into
the air where it hit the wall and left a small dent. The chair
toppled over to its side.

“Ana.” He came over
to me, urgent, grasping my shoulders hard. “I’ll make this right.
I swear I will.”

“I can’t do this,
Ash.” I shook my head. “I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“All the cameras, all
the time.” I was shaking and crying, a sick pit in my stomach. “I
can’t do this anymore.”

“Fuck!” he yelled.
He spun around and smacked his palm into the wall so hard a painting
fell to the floor. A gorgeous ancient-looking painting in an ornate,
gilded frame.

“What are you doing,
Ash? Are you trashing the hotel room?”

“Yes, I’m trashing
the goddamned hotel room!” he yelled as if it were his God-given
right.

“What are you, a
toddler throwing a tantrum?” I yelled right back at him, all my
fury now unleashing on him. He was the one who’d put me in this
position. He should have known better. He’d been in the celebrity
spotlight for years now. He shouldn’t have exposed me like that.

“How could you do
this to me?” I screamed, seething with anger. “How could you let
them catch us like that?”

“I’m sorry, Ana!”
He tore his hand through his hair looking tortured, frenzied.

“That doesn’t
change anything!” His apology wouldn’t rewind time and take video
down off the Internet.

“Fuck!” he roared
again, kicking a baseboard.

“Kicking things won’t
help!” I yelled at him.

We stood there,
panting, looking in separate directions. Only minutes ago we’d been
pressed up against each other, panting for entirely different
reasons. That seemed a lifetime away.