Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

“I was going to use the new budget to search for higher positions and save for a possible move to that place.”

“Where do you want to play?”

“Anywhere.”

“Do the job search while you’re with me. We’ll go anywhere you want to for auditions for your job search with the extension.”

This was perfect. It all made sense on paper. If anything, it was advantageous for me, more than him. I would earn more money, spend even more amazing moments with him, and search for a dream position at the same time. I should’ve immediately jumped to the idea with a yes.

But my heart tugged at the things I’d refused to think about in these past days. His absence brought the thoughts to the surface.

I really liked him.

With more delicious romantic weeks my feelings of like would shift to love. I would do my best to not drown in his passion. His heart. His desire and attention. I would put all my effort into rejecting the emotion inside of my chest that was spinning and spinning as he stood right in front of me.

You know you’re not going to say no. It’s stupid to pretend. You want to do it. You’re scared. You should be.

“Eden?”

“Sorry,” I blurted out. “I was talking to myself.”

His straight expression warmed. “Sometimes that’s the best way to make a decision. What were you telling yourself?”

“That I know that I’m going to say yes.”

His smile spread. “Then, I get my two months.”

“Jean-Pierre, you said one month.”

He laughed. “Then, one month.”

I let out a long breath. “Yes. . .and thanks for…everything. Even letting me search for a job…as I…work for you.”

That gaze heated. “Is it really hard work?”

“No. I enjoy it.” I swallowed and whispered the truth, “Pleasing you has become a new passion.”

A dark groan left his lips. He took my hand and walked me over to the large window where Paris shined for us. “How do you like my city?”

“It’s breathtaking.”

“Since we have more time, we can stay here. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“I want to show you how amazing Paris can be.”

Excitement bounced in me.

“My mother and I moved to Paris when I was ten. Every time we passed the river, she would whisper lines from a poem.” He pointed to the Seine River.

“Do you remember it?”

He looked at me. “Under the Mirabeau Bridge, there flows the Seine. And our loves recall how then, after each sorrow, joy came back again.”

“That’s beautiful. Who wrote that?”

“Guillaume Apollinaire. It’s called Le Pont Mirabeau.” He ran his hand along my bare shoulder, causing delightful shivers. “Le Pont Mirabeau talks about lost love by comparing it to the flow of the Seine under the Mirabeau bridge. There’s a plaque of the first part of the poem on Le Pont Mirabeau’s wall, overlooking the Louis Bleriot quay. I want to take you there tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.” I lifted his hand and kissed those fingers, wishing I could do it to the other hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to rest for a few days?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m fine.”

“I’m. . .just wondering, if you’re a bad patient.”

“I’ve been told that I was.”

“Are you supposed to rest in bed?”

“I am.”

“For how long?”

“The doctor begged me to at least rest for three days.”

Feeling bold, I raised my hands and ran my fingers through his silky hair. “I want to see Paris, but I also love the idea of staying in bed with you for three days.”

“You’re worried about me?”

“Is that okay?”

I wasn’t sure of prostitute protocol. Wouldn’t a girlfriend care? And if I was playing the part, shouldn’t I care? Not the mention the fact that anxiety hit me as soon as I confirmed he was injured. I wanted to know what happened, but if Jean-Pierre thought I needed to know, he would’ve told me.

What happened to you? And don’t do it again! I don’t want you to get hurt.

“Okay. I’ll stay in bed for three days.” He nodded. “But let me show you Paris tomorrow.”

“And then you’ll stay in bed?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I’ll try to figure out a way to keep you entertained.”

He grunted. “Maybe I should just have a bed brought up here after dinner. We don’t ever have to leave.”

I laughed and then stopped when I realized he wasn’t joking. Surely, he couldn’t just fuck me in the Eiffel Tower for days on end. France owned the structure. It was a huge world tourist attraction.

As if he heard me, he whispered, “Bed or not. I will fuck you here, right over my city. I’ve thought about it for so long.”

“You have my vote.” I swallowed.

“Then, let’s eat.” He gave me that wicked smile. “You’ll need your energy.”

“Deal. I’ll do all the work. You still need to heal.” I gestured to his sling and then walked off.

He grabbed me with the one free hand and gently pulled me back. “I am not an injured animal, Eden.” He molded me against him. “I will fuck you tonight.”