“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” I said as I practically tiptoed into the room.
He took a sip from his glass, the ice clanking together as he did. “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Beau stood up, draining the last of his drink before setting his glass down. He sauntered up to me, stopping a foot away. His head bent toward my neck, where he took a long inhale that gave me goose bumps.
“You break my fuckin’ heart, Geneviève,” he said against my sensitive flesh there. His lips lightly touched my cheek. “I can smell some asshole’s cologne on you,” he murmured, the scent of whiskey strong on his breath.
Then he strode around me and disappeared up the stairs.
“Oui, combien?”I asked Carson after he’d politely asked if he could have some of the pancakes I was cooking. He gazed at me in wonderment, trying so hard to figure out what I had asked.
I held up my fingers as counted. “Un? Deux? Trois?”
When he’d figured it out, an enormous smile formed on his face. “Oh, trois s’il vous plait!”
I grinned at him and nodded, then he ran away, counting up to three repeatedly.
Beau walked into the kitchen, looking a bit ragged. If I wasn’t mistaken, he had dark circles under his eyes. “Morning,” I said, hoping he’d be in a better mood today than he’d been in last night when I’d gotten home.
“Morning,” he grumbled out, walking toward the coffee maker.
I’d rarely seen Beau drink coffee.
When we first lived together, he ate and drank everything I made, with no complaint.
Well, other than commenting on how there was healthy shit in my pancakes.
While the coffee did it’s thing, Beau took a seat on the other side of the island and watched me cook. I asked him a few things, trying to smooth out things between us.
All I got in return were a few grunts.
Finally, I ran out of patience. “What is your problem?” I asked him in French. The boys were busy playing with a racetrack as they listened to a new CD I’d ordered for them.
“Did you fuck someone last night?” he asked bluntly, and it hit me like a brick.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me.” His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked—pissed.
“No! Not that it’s any of your business,” I said, flipping the current batch of pancakes onto a plate.
His voice lowered. “Have you fucked anyone? Since you left me?” Those dark eyes of his held mine captive, looking ready to pounce at my next words.
“No,” was all I said, then poured the next batch of pancakes onto the griddle. The batter snapped and popped on the pan, much like my brain was currently doing.
Beau’s shoulders sagged and he leaned onto the island, his head in his hand.
I know I shouldn’t poke the bear.
I knew better than that.
Still, I was going to do it anyway.
Because, darnit, if he could ask, then so could I.
I just wasn’t sure I could handle his answer.