Beautifully Broken (The Broken Series Book 2) (21 page)

Michael
crawled into bed with his clothes on. He leaned back against the heavy mahogany
headboard and pulled me on top of him so I was reclining against his chest and
nestled between his legs. He tucked my head under his chin and wrapped his arms
around me. I sighed contentedly, then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I
woke a few hours later. I heard a noise at the door and flinched against Michael’s
chest. I watched nervously as Rafael showed an older gentleman into the room.
He had salt and pepper hair, kind brown eyes, and a slightly weathered face. He
was dressed in a nice gray suit, and he carried a small black bag. I watched
him approach the bed. Then I began to shake.

“It’s
okay,
ma chérie.
This is my physician. He won’t hurt you. He is here to
help,” Michael whispered soothingly. He kept me tucked against his chest and
used hushed tones as he spoke to the physician in French.

The
man studied me while Michael spoke. His brows furrowed, then his eyes softened
as he gently shook his head. The physician continued to watch only me as he
spoke to Michael. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I could only watch him
watching me.

Finally,
Michael spoke to me. “The physician needs to take your blood pressure and
measure your heart rate. Is it okay if he does that,
ma chérie
?”

I
slowly nodded.

Michael
kissed the top of my head. “You don’t have to move. I will be right here
holding you the whole time.”

The
physician spoke softly in French as he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my
arm and felt for a pulse on my wrist. He flashed a small pen light across my
eyes before he stood. He spoke to Michael, again in French. He wrote out two
prescriptions on a small notepad and handed them to Rafael as he walked toward
the door.

Michael
tightened his arms around me and explained. “Rafael will send someone to get
the medicine,
mon coeur
. The physician said you are in shock. He is
concerned that what happened yesterday may have triggered some fear and
anxieties that are tied to your past. He wrote prescriptions for anti-anxiety
medication and antidepressants. They should help you feel better.”

I
nodded, too tired to speak. I eventually drifted back to sleep.

Michael
woke me when the medications arrived. He insisted I take the medicine with
food, so I joined him at the window for a late lunch. I picked at the cheese,
grapes, and bread and stared unseeingly at the brilliant blue sea. Once Michael
gave up trying to coax me to eat, I took the medicine and returned to bed.

* * * * * *

I
stayed in bed for two more days. I would have remained for a third, but Michael
forced me to take a bath. I watched numbly as he ran the water, stripped us
both down, and helped me into the tub. He cradled me against his chest as he slowly
washed and rinsed my hair. He trailed a soapy sea sponge gently down my back, arms,
chest, and legs. When he finished washing me, he handed me the sea sponge and
smiled encouragingly.

I
stared at the sea sponge for the longest time. Then I began washing his body, just
as he had mine. When I finished, I pulled his back against my chest so I could massage
shampoo into his hair. I watched from the opposite side of the tub as he sank
into the water to rinse the suds away. He sat back up, and my breath caught.
The water glistened on his shoulders, chest, and face.  

Concern
flitted across his face. “
Mon coeur?
”

My
eyes traveled his beautifully carved face, the shadowed jaw line, the curls in his
hair, broad shoulders and chest as a desperate need unfurled somewhere deep inside
my soul. I slowly eased onto my knees. My voice was barely a whisper by the
time our eyes met. “I need you, Michael. I need you to make love to me.”

A
flicker of surprise, then relief washed over his handsome face. “Here?” he asked
softly.

I
crawled toward him. “Yes. Here. Now, Michael.
Please
.”

Michael’s
eyes softened as he pulled me onto his lap. He cupped my face in his hands and
kissed me so tenderly, I wanted to weep.

I
closed my eyes and breathed him in. His tongue swept through my mouth. I grasped
his hair and kissed him hungrily. He eased inside of me, burying himself as
deep as my body would allow. My head fell back as he licked, kissed, and nipped
all down my neck and breasts. He set a slow, methodical pace as his body rocked
against mine.

The
water lapped teasingly between us. He continued ravishing me with his lips. A sweet
tension built between us until we both hovered just on the edge of release.
Michael kept me teetering on that bittersweet edge for an eternity before he
lifted me from his hips and drove inside of me… once… twice… three times. We
clung together as the room fell away. Then we both fell blissfully apart.

We
lie intertwined in the bathtub until the water turned cold. Michael lifted me
from the tub, before stepping out and snatching a thick towel from a nearby towel
warmer. He wrapped me in the warm towel before briefly drying himself. He tied
his towel around his waist, grabbed a third towel, and steered me toward the
bedroom.

Michael
sat me on the edge of the bed. He stood in front of me and towel dried my hair.
When he was satisfied my hair was sufficiently dry, he threw the towel aside and
braced his arms on either side of me. He nibbled at my bottom lip. Then his
tongue teased mine in a slow, seductive kiss.

I
slipped the towel from around his waist, locked my arms around his back, and pulled
him on top of me as I collapsed back onto the bed. I wiggled beneath him until
his body was perfectly aligned with mine. “
More,
” I whispered hoarsely.

A
storm rolled over the house. Michael captured my lips and hands as he pushed
inside of me. Thunder rolled off in the distance, rain pelted the windows, and
lightening ripped through the darkened sky. That storm was nothing compared to
the way he made me feel inside.

Michael
and I remained holed up in the bedroom for three days straight. We did nothing
but eat, sleep, and make love. By the time we had our fill of one another, Michael
had chased every last demon away. There were no more thoughts of Tom, Justin, terrorists,
or even Rafael. The only thing I could think about was how Michael felt both in
and outside of me.

* * * * * *

Michael
eased me out of the bedroom and back into the world. He began with a tour of
the house. This house was nothing like the one in Paris. It was lighter,
brighter, and more airy. While the villa was every bit as elegant as the
mansion, the elegance was less old world, more understated and casual. Aside
from the kitchen, bathrooms, and servant quarters, which were tucked in the
back, most rooms boasted a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean Sea. The
house was clearly designed to entice people outside.

In
Paris, Michael preferred to eat in our room by the fire. Here, in Saint-Tropez,
Michael preferred to eat outside by the pool. The pool and patio were lit at
night, so we spent as much time there in the evenings as we did during the day.
There were three sitting areas on the patio. One sitting area was located near
a beautiful water fountain that ran into a basin on the side of the house. Because
it was shaded during a good part of the day, this quickly became my favorite
place to read. A central sitting area was arranged around a large rectangular
fire pit. This was where we ate dinner most nights as we gazed out over the darkening
sea.

The
third sitting area framed an outdoor kitchen and bar. Rafael and some of the
other security staff often hung out in this area, listening to music and
playing cards. I learned quickly that whenever Michael dismissed them, it was
so he could ravish me in the pool. Michael would wait until I noticed him
staring intently at me. He would pin me with his smoldering gaze while he
clipped out, “
Laissez-nous
s'il
vous plaît,
” without once breaking eye contact with
me. The security staff would exchange knowing smiles or wink at me before
clearing out. Then Michael would slowly rise from his chair and stalk me like a
panther in the night. I inevitably found myself screaming and running for the
pool.

Michael
grew bored of the house by the end of the second week. He took me into
Saint-Tropez, and we began spending our days wandering through small galleries
and designer boutiques or eating and drinking coffee at trendy little cafés. On
our third outing, Michael dragged me into a Louis Vuitton store and insisted on
buying me a small black evening bag with a long gold chain for a shoulder
strap. He also purchased a floral summer bag. Then he proceeded to drag me
through a number of other shops so he could fill the floral bag with designer
sunglasses, a wallet, a small jeweled mirror, a cell phone, and sunscreen. When
we returned home that evening, Michael stuffed the wallet with money and
programmed phone numbers and music into my phone. He explained that the phone
would only work in Europe, and while he didn’t think I would need it, he wanted
me to keep the phone and the money with me in case we were ever separated
during one of our outings.

The
next morning, Michael indulged me in some time by the pool. My skin was already
turning a nice honey color, despite Michael’s repeated attempts to slather me
with SPF 50 sunscreen. We had only been sitting by the pool for an hour when Michael
threw my sundress at me and hauled me back into town, claiming I needed to
protect my face from the sun. He pulled me into a quaint little boutique where
he insisted I model a number of sun hats. He purchased eight of them. He took
me to lunch at an outdoor café. Then he decided he was bored of shopping.

That
was when Michael took me out on his sailboat. I boarded the boat fully
expecting someone else to sail, while Michael and I sat back and enjoyed the view.
Instead, I sat slack-jawed while Michael sailed the boat. I hadn’t a clue the
man could sail.

We
spent a number of afternoons sailing the Mediterranean, always returning to the
villa before nightfall. Late one afternoon, Michael lowered the sails so we
could relax in a fairly private expanse of water. We had just finished eating
the lunch the cook had sent with us, and I was curled between Michael’s legs
with my head resting on his chest as he played with my hair. We lie there in
silence enjoying the tranquility and the gentle rocking of the boat.

Michael
eventually broke the silence. “I’m glad we came here.”

I
smiled as I ran my hand through the hair on his chest. “Me too. It’s so
peaceful.”

Michael
hummed his agreement. “Do you think you might be ready to return to Paris?”

My
hand stilled on Michael’s chest as I sorted through my feelings.

Michael
quickly continued. “I’ve upgraded the security system and increased our
security staff. Rafael has been back twice over the past month to make sure
everything is as it should be. I need to go back to tend to some business. If
you prefer, you can stay here with Rafael and the staff, and I will return in
three days. Otherwise, we can fly back home together. We can return here, to
the villa, anytime you like.”

“Home,”
I murmured thoughtfully. I wasn’t entirely sure I knew where home was for me. I
sat up so I could look into Michael’s eyes. “I don’t want to be separated from
you,
mon
chérie,
not even for a day. If you’re going back, then I’m
going with you.”

Michael
smiled, his relief evident. “And, because you are
mon coeur
, I do not
wish to be parted from you, not even for a minute. We’ll return together.”

With
our decision made, I relaxed against his chest so we could savor our last
remaining hours in the Mediterranean Sea.

Cenia,
Kadyn, Mason, and Roger sat in the rental car and stared at the massive stone
house. They exchanged glances with wide eyes.

“She’s
been holed up here?” Mason asked as his jaw fell slack.

“We
don’t know that for sure,” Roger reminded him. “Let’s find a parking space and
walk around. Cenia, you bring the camera. Maybe, if you snap off some pictures
of the houses, you’ll pass as a tourist.”

Cenia
waved a hand over her bright floral dress. “I did not dress like this to play the
tourist. Mason should be the tourist.”

“I’m
wearing a white dress shirt with khaki pants for crying out loud. What more do
you want?” Mason huffed out a breath. “Fine. Give me the damn camera. I’ll be
the tourist.”

Kadyn
rubbed his temples. “Would you two stop bickering? You’re making it difficult
to think.” Kadyn pulled away from the curb and parked the car around the corner,
one block over. They stood outside the car and debated their approach. “I think
we should split up. Cenia and Roger, why don’t you two walk around the block
from the back side, so you end up on the same side of the street as the house.
Act like you like each other. You know, two people out for a romantic stroll.”

“We
do like each other,” Cenia objected, only half insulted.

Roger
laughed as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close.