Page 52 of The Last Kiss
Another walk of shame.
If I left now, I wouldn’t have to face the morning rush.
I haven’t even got a hairbrush, let alone a toothbrush.
Oh God. I’m going to have morning breath.
I should leave.
Definitely leave now.
“I know what you are thinking.” His finger trails down my spine.
“You do?”
“You’re planning an escape.”
“Wasn’t. I was considering my lack of toothbrush.”
“Easily rectified. Reception will send one.”
Well, I suppose… “My tights are in tatters on the floor.”
“Your skin is beautiful and shouldn’t be hidden from view.”
I peek up through my mess of dark hair and catch a sleepy smile flit across his face.
“My…” Goddamn it. Where have all my reasons gone?
“It’s Valentine’s. I need to book another train; we could have breakfast.”
“I need to feed my cat.”
He cranks an eye open. “I need to meet this cat.”
My cheeks flush. “I think that would be in breach of the no name rule.”
He inclines his head and I tighten my embrace of his chest, inhaling the warmth of his skin. “This hotel is beautiful. Do you always stay here?” The room is a classy old-fashioned affair: heavy dark-stained furniture, opulent furnishings. On the opposite wall is a large gilt-framed mirror on which I will always see, captured in a snapshot in my memories, the sight of our limbs entwined, fingers clawing skin.
“Oui, my father did too. Maman and he came here as part of their honeymoon.”
“Ah, that’s romantic.”
And he was lying with me in one of their beds… shut the thought down, Julia, it won’t get you anywhere.
“I thought the French hated the English.”
His sleepy smile quirks into a grin and on a whim I press my lips to the dimple on the left curve of his mouth. “Only for rugby.”
“That’s not too bad.”
“And football.” He presses a lazy kiss onto my forehead. “And Hundred Year wars.”
“Anything else?”
“Oil, maybe fishing rights across the channel.” He chuckles, wrapping me in strong warm arms. “Weekenders who never learn the language.”
“Okay, let’s stop now. I’m beginning to feel vilified.”
