“So...what is your thing?”
His gaze searches mine before pulling back. He gets up from the sofa. “I need to make a call.”
Wandering into the bedroom, he dials a number on his cellphone and begins talking in French. I dig into the scallops and watch him close the door.
I don’t understand him at all. Half the time I wonder if I repulse him somehow. But I don’t get the sense that’s truly the case, even though I can’t point to anything tangible as evidence.
He’s on the phone for a while, so I decide to turn on the television. I flip through the channels, briefly pausing on a cooking show, a home makeover, and the news, but nothing keeps my interest. I pick at the crème brûlée. An hour passes, and I wonder if Tony is taking a nap. I don’t hear him on the phone anymore.
I get off the sofa and walk to the double doors that lead to the bedroom. I put my ear to the door but hear nothing. Gently, I turn the handle and crack open the door. I glimpse the bed, and it’s empty. Opening the door farther, I see that the balcony doors are open. Tony sits outside overlooking the bustle of people below.
I walk up to the balcony doors. “I saved some of the food for you.”
He spares me a brief sideways glance. “You can finish it. I’m not hungry.”
“Mind if I join you?”
He doesn’t say no, so I take the other chair on the balcony. We sit in silence. Why is this so hard? If doing it with a virgin is such a big deal that men would shell out big bucks for, why isn’t Tony jumping at the chance? Is some kind of old-fashioned chivalry holding him back?
“Have you changed your mind?” he asks softly.
“No,” I reply, staring at him. “I’m ready to do it now. But...it seems like you’ve changed your mind.”
“I’m no good for you, and you’re no good for me.”
“I get that I’m not your first choice, but if you give me a few pointers, I’ll do my best to make it good for you.”
With a groan, he gets up and walks back inside. I follow. He stands with his back to me.
“You’re a nice girl, Virginia Mayhew Porter. You should just take the money and focus on going to Berkeley.”
“I’m not a girl.”
“Pardon. Woman.”
“Is it really the age? Is that what bothers you?”
He lets out a breath and runs his hand through his hair. “Yes, that’s part of it.”
I step closer to him. “You’re lying.”
The next thing I know, I’m slammed up against the wall, and he’s invading every inch of my space, his arms caging me in. If he leaned down any farther, our foreheads would touch. A vein near his temple throbs.
“Why do you want this so much?” he snarls.
My breath is still lodged in my chest, but I manage to respond, “I don’t know...I just want it to be you.”
His pupils lose some of their constriction, and his body relaxes. I think he’s about to release me, and I start to breathe at the prospect of freedom. But I’m wrong.
His mouth crushes mine, hard and unrelenting. The surprising force of it would have given me whiplash if not for the wall behind my head. I feel like I’m drowning, only I don’t want to come up for air. The kiss hurts, but my body has caught on fire. Only more, not less, will do.
His hand cups the back of my neck, drawing me closer into him as his mouth smothers me. He parts my lips, making my head spin when his tongue dips into my mouth.
When he finally parts from me, my lips continue to burn. They continue to ache.
His pupils dilate, making his eyes darker even though they shine with emotion. He seems to appraise my reaction. I’m nervous, but I know what I want. I want more of him.
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