She knew that the fault lay with her because why else would she be so blighted? Embarrassed, she lifted her face to Dustin’s, expecting to see contempt and derision. Because after all, a woman who couldn’t reach a climax like this was only half a woman.
Instead, his face was aglow, as if he was mesmerized by her, and the fact that she had allowed him this much access. As if touching her had been a great privilege.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
“I’m…”I’m what?She wondered. “Good.”
“Great.” His smile reached all the way to his eyes, where they creased. “I guess now we know something more about each other.”
She had to admit he was right.
He allowed her to ease herself off his lap and slide into the passenger seat. Not ashamed as she had expected to be, but exhilarated. She wondered if he could see the glow that she felt.
“Chantelle?” He called, before buckling up and easing back onto the road.
“Yeah?”
“I’m going back home in a couple of days.”
She gasped. “What?”
He glanced at her sideways. “Convention is over, remember? That was our deal.”
“Oh. Right.” Why did it suddenly seem as if she’d negotiated a rare deal that didn’t go her way?
“Before I go.” Another look in her direction, and then his eyes were back on the road. “If you want more,” he paused to clear his throat. “If you want me and you to fully experience our pleasure—no strings attached—you know where my bedroom is.”
She had no idea what to think or what to say. He was putting it all on her, making the decision hers. Did that make him a good guy or an asshole?
He didn’t ask again. She noticed that the light in the sky was beginning to dim. As the car moved swiftly towards her mansion, she said nothing.
But she was thinking.
Chapter 16
“What the hell are you doing?”
From his position on his knees, surrounded by tools, screws and other debris, Dustin looked up. Chantelle was standing over him, arms folded, like an irritated schoolmarm who’d left her charges for just a few minutes, only to come back and find them scribbling on the walls.
“Fixing the door,” he said mildly, although he thought it was obvious, given that the glass sliding door that led to her rear balcony, which looked out over her small, well-tended herb garden, was lying flat down, and he was tinkering with the screws that held the runners in place. “It’s been making a hell of a racket, grating as it moves. Didn’t you notice?”
“I’ve got staff for that,” she reminded him. At her ankles, the cat stared, as if equally outraged that he was messing with her mistress’ stuff.
“Eh.” He shrugged. “I can have this back up and sliding smoothly faster than you can call your guy over.” But to tell the truth, he’d just wanted to do something nice for her. A final gesture before he left. Never let it be said that Dustin Spencer took unfair advantage of anyone’s hospitality.
She pursed her lips a little, but still hung around, watching him work with open curiosity. When he’d finally hauled it back onto the tracks and ensured that it was moving soundlessly once again, he began to pack away the tools into the box he’d found in her laundry room. He got to his feet.What next,he wondered.
“Thank you.” She reached past him and gave the door an experimental shove. It slid like it was mounted on ball bearings. “You did a good job.”
It was the least he could do, he thought. It had been almost two weeks since the convention had ended, and yet he was still here. His win at the event had brought him a flood of commissions for custom tattoos, which at first he’d been inclined to turn down, but after mentioning it to Chantelle, she’d suggested he stay a little longer and take advantage of the small bump to his career. He’d graciously thanked her, rented a chair in a small tattoo parlor in Aix, and begun seeing customers.
It was weird doing work for people with such different tastes than those back in the States, and he was glad that so far all his customers spoke at least a little English. Miscommunications can be tragic.
Even stranger was the fact that Chantelle had taken to eating dinner with him and showed no sign that his presence was unwanted or a burden. Instead, she had slowly begun to open up, starting with the history of the house, which was a gift from the love of her life. The love of Chantelle’s mother’s life hadn’t been her first husband, Chantelle’s father, and that made him curious. He wondered how Chantelle’s father could live in a house bought by another man for his wife. He shrugged. He was learning so much about her, and the more he learned, the more he wanted to be around her.
Minerva, too, seemed content to have him at their table, as she always curled up on one of the chairs while they ate. Once or twice the cat would even leap onto his lap, deciding he was way more comfy than an antique chair cushion, and looking up at him from under the tablecloth with eyes that said,Wanna do something about it, Big Boy?
Chantelle turned her attention to the door he’d been fixing. “My dad was a handy guy, you know. He didn’t just fix furniture and stuff. He made them. It was his hobby; he even had a little workroom in the basement.” She pointed to the floor beneath their feet.