Thanks for the reviews guys, I really appreciate it. Anyways here's a new chapter.
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Thankfully, making an escape hadn't been a problem since Christophe surprisingly gave up the chase after a while. It made me somewhat suspicious for a few moments before I dismissed it. There was no need to be paranoid. The man wasn't insane, he wouldn't be caught dead running desperately after some guy for two blocks.
My knuckles still stung from their encounter with Christophe's steal hard jaw, felt like I'd rammed into a brick wall. I gingerly flexed my fingers and felt sharp pricks of pain shooting up my arm.
"Fuck."
Standing two blocks away, it was obviously worthless trying to get back into the club knowing Christophe was prowling inside no doubt waiting for another go at me so I decided to call it a night and headed home.
As I entered my apartment loft, I didn't bother switching on the lights and headed for the bedroom. In the living room, an antique brass lamp by the coffee table provided a dim illumination enough for me to find my way. Months back, Christophe had gotten the lamp at some flea market. In spite of the fact that he was independently wealthy now, he still loved the challenge of a good bargain.
It was difficult enough seeing him at the club without having reminders of him in my own apartment. Although I'd left a message for him to retrieve his belongings, he stubbornly refused to pick them up, no doubt clinging to the idea that I'd give in and take him back, therefore saving him the problem of packing. When I'd kicked him out, he had only taken an overnight bag. No doubt he was wealthy enough to replenish his whole wardrobe if he wanted to.
So my wardrobe still had his designer clothes in them, the sleek Italian combat boots he gotten in Milan, the lingering scent of his spicy cologne. According to Breakup Rule 101, it would have been prudent to have gotten rid of everything and it was always at the back of my mind to donate his clothes to the nearest shelter but I found I couldn't. An experiment at removing some of his belonging left a gaping hole in my wardrobe, and left me with such a keening sense of loss that I found myself stunned. When had I turned into some wimpy, co-dependent loser?
Looking up into the built in mirror, I barely stifled a smile. Tight tee ala international male definitely wasn't my look. Sure, I had the build to look okay in them but it wasn't me. Shaking my head in disgust, I shrugged off the shirt and tossed it into the laundry bin, seconds later it was joined by my stonewashed jeans.
"Looking good, Gregory."
At the sound of the appreciative comment, I froze in front of the mirror, my heart suddenly turning cartwheels in my chest. Phantom voices in the night would have had me reaching out for the baseball bat by my bedside but I knew that voice well enough. Cautiously I turned my gaze in the direction of the voice towards the relative gloom of my bedroom where a pair of cool green eyes watched from the dark.
"Shit, Christophe you scared the shit out of me."
Like a dangerous jungle cat stalking its prey, he watched me silently without speaking. God was in an exceptionally generous mood when Christophe was made, that was for sure. Sinfully good looking in spades, dark heavily lashes green eyes matched with a full lipped sensual mouth, a strong jaw line now peppered with day old stubble and classically high cheekbones. I noticed that he shrugged on the sleek, tailored knee length black coat I'd gotten him for Christmas and damned he looked good. The seconds ticked by before he slowly slid out from his perch on the bay window seat and came toward me. Those sexy lips curled into a wicked little smile and his perfect white teeth flashed brightly like a warning in the dark. "From zat tight ass, highly unlikely."
Christophe had obviously killed off all my instincts of self-preservation. When faced with an ex-boyfriend with a killer instinct, I didn't do the obvious, and get the hell out. Like one of those moronic blonde in slasher flicks, I walked inexorably towards my doom. Instead I faced him, a man who could kill with his bare hands, dressed in only my briefs. Faced with such a decision, I headed for the laundry to retrieve my shirt. "Christophe, what the hell…"
The French man never let me finish my sentence. It was getting to be quite a habit. From the slow, menacing prowler in my bedroom, he suddenly kicked up the tempo, swept across to me and had me pinned on the wardrobe door in seconds. Before I could even make a comment on the amazing tricks he'd picked up, he'd inexplicably changed his tactics and had his sexy lips crushed against mine to shut me up.
Quick as a flash, his hot lips tracked their way up my jaw line to breathe warmly into my ear. "Eet has been a long time, mon amour." One hard, thigh eased itself between mine and I let out a soft moan. It was difficult not to think of his third leg when the hard, thick length was pulsing against my thigh.
As his magical fingers threaded their way down my back, sliding down across my naked skin, I struggled in his embrace. Always a smart man, he knew that he would lose his advantage once I started thinking with my head, and not my dick. Just as he reached for me again, I twisted my head aside and mouthed out softly. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Shutting you up."
He never needed any tricks up his sleeve for that when he had that amazingly talented mouth of his. Easy enough to conjure up images of Christophe backing me up against the door, kissing me voraciously like a starving man since he'd done it in a similar variations so many times before. What ever problems we had together, our sex life had always been stellar. Even as a flood of x-rated memories filled my brain, I stubbornly pushed him away. "How did you get in here? I changed my locks."
Stunned at my comment, he allowed me to shove him away, raising his dark brows. "Es zat some kinds of cheep insult?"
Okay, I might have forgotten his uncanny ability to magically phase through bolted doors. It was all part and parcel of Christophe DeLorn, the French Mercenary. "Get out, I'm calling the police."
"Try eet. I could 'ave you tied up and naked in ze time you took to dial ze number." He said simply.
It wasn't an idle threat since I'd actually seen him do so a few months back at an unsightly bar brawl; the three men were dispatched as easily as if batting away an annoying fly. The hard, sculpted muscles in his arms weren't only for show. Afterward, he only turned back to his beer without second glance as if nothing had happened. As I moved away and reached for a towel, he laughed a low almost tone. "Are you shy, mon amour?"
"Shut up," I mumbled in annoyance as I tied the towel around my waist. Not only did I feel miserably vulnerable, I was also half naked in my briefs which certainly wasn't the way I was hoping we'd have our confrontation. So I was a prude, I was proud of it unlike Christophe who dropped his pants at the least provocation.
Instead of moving on to the next subject, he saw fit to remind me. "I 'ave seen your bare ass before."
"Not recently." I slashed out meanly.
He smiled again. "So you want me to rectify the situation?"
Every comfortable with partial nudity, Christophe reached down to tug on his tight black tee and I yelled. "No!" It was difficult enough talking to him without the distraction of his naked body. Perfectly sane, logical women were know to go wild like a band of obsessive, sex crazed Maenads at the sight of his naked, well muscled, perfectly proportioned body. Not exactly the picture of sanity, I was tempted to run along with them.
He let out a deep sign. "You are not going to make zis easy, are you?"
"Why should I?" I turned back to the closet and peeled out a white t-shirt and shorts to slip on.
With a quiet nod, he acknowledged the truth of what I said. "Fine, what do you want me to say zen?"
"There's nothing that you haven't said, Christophe." It was the truth after all. When I'd walked in on Kyle and him, I'd done the mature thing stupid honorable me, made a polite request for them to leave and then stalked out of the apartment. In retrospect, I wish I'd been able to shed my conservative middle class sensibilities and just go crazy, throwing vases around, breaking the antique table and wrecking Kyle's thousand dollar nose job. It was what Christophe himself would have done. Thinking of what he would have done if I'd been the one caught cheating on him left me with a shudder. Though wild rumors abounded about his past, he rarely spoke of what he did then, but the little I learned from him left me hoping that I'd always remain on his good side if at all possible.
Ever the optimist, he'd tried to corner me when he came for some of his clothes but I'd skillfully managed to avoid him, albeit by skulking down the back stairs like a common thief. With the wealth he'd accumulated, he could certainly afford a suitably large, well appointed penthouse if that was what he wanted but according to the grapevine, he'd gotten himself checked in at a nearby hotel.
If he was thinking of a warm welcome back, he had another thing coming.
"Come on, Gregory I made a god dammed mistake. 'ow much longer do you want me to pay?" Christophe didn't make any move to get closer to me but stood at the entrance to my bedroom, looming dangerously. Although his words were conciliatory, his vividly green eyes flashed in growing annoyance.
For what it was worth, it was the closest he'd ever come to a plea and it surprised me. The Christophe I knew didn't plead; he bellowed out commands and shot out orders to be followed. "You made it clear you didn't want anything permanent between us. Called it soppy, domesticated hetero shit. What has changed?"
"I 'ave changed. I 'ate being alone without you. I 'ate coming home and not 'ave you waiting for me. I 'ate standing in the bar without you by my side."
"Where did this all come from?"
Christophe looked at me with those beautiful green eyes for a moment before replying. "Eet took me at least six minutes after you left before I realized what a stupid fool I 'ave been. I was letting go of ze man I want to spend the rest of my life with for a stupid, meaningless fuck."
To say I was astonished at his revelation would be the understatement of the year as it would have been easier for him to slam a solid brick wall into my face. It was if someone else had taken possession of his sinfully sexy, body. Not only had he single mindedly thrown all his previous anti-monogamy doctrines out the window, he'd come just that close to making a commitment, something that had always seemed to be an anathema to him. Being in a committed relationship seemed like a cruel and pointless punishment for him or at least for the Christophe I knew before. Closing my eyes, I backed away from the dark, handsome Frenchman. "What are you trying to do? Are you trying to drive me insane? I can't have you barging in at two in the morning wanting to get back together."
"You wouldn't listen otherwise, you don't return my calls, you change your mail address, you run when you see me coming." Never one to concede defeat, he pointed that out as he followed me doggedly into our bedroom. I mean, my bedroom, really. Instinct told me to kick him our immediately but I knew that short of developing super strength, I wouldn't be able to oust Christophe from the room willingly. It set my mind to thinking even as I absently picked up the coat he'd carelessly dropped on the floor.
Seeing the habitual me I made, he couldn't help making his point. "And damn eet, you 'aven't change."
"That's what you'd like, wouldn't you?" The coat fell from my hands as if I'd been burnt and I turned swiftly with a heated glare. "That I'd be a dependable old Gregory, the guy you could depend on to get dinner ready while you play hide the salami with the neighbor and his seventeen year old son."
"There es no neighbor and there es no…" The anger in my voice only sparked off a similar reaction in Christophe as he marched straight up to me, gritting his teeth tightly as he spoke. "Fuck zat. After you, there was only Kyle. Eet was the one time."
"Says you, look it's not entirely your fault, I knew what I was getting into. Christophe. The man who's been there. Done it, fucked them all."
"Shut eet." His eyes darkened in aggression as he narrowed his gaze at me, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he fought to maintain his burgeoning temper. If I were anyone else, I'm sure I'd be smashed to a pulp on the wall right about now. "I know my word means sheet to you now but eet es ze truth. We had zat stupid fight, I don't even remember what eet was about, I stormed off for a drink and zen Kyle came along. Eet was meaningless. Eet was stupid. Look, for what eet es worth, I'm…"
"Don't apologize, it's not you. Just get the hell out." I said quietly.
Christophe was never a man to give up without a fight. "You're going to listen as I say zis and I'll be damned if I'm going to grovel. I never could say eet to you before because I never believe zat eet could 'appen to me but eet has. Je t'aime, Gregory." He said it coolly and firmly, his strong legs spread wide apart ready to take on any comers. Despite his cool, calm, kick ass demeanor, I could see there was a shit load of nerves written all over his dark green eyes.
It wasn't the first time those words had come between us. Foolishly blinded by a first love, I'd said it to him hoping beyond hope for an affirmation but he'd never said it in return. The words didn't seem to matter that much to him at the time. Only words he'd said, only words and nothing matter as much as action. Then he'd put those lips on mine and I'd forget all about it. Those simple words meant the world to me however, even now after all we'd been through, and my knees trembled like a giddy schoolboy's to my utter amazement. "You're only saying that."
"You know I wouldn't lie about zis." Keeping his gaze intent on mine he continued earnestly. "Are you going to let one stupid mistake like zis destroy what we had together? If you really theenk zat you can never forgive me, zat you could never learn to love me again, zat everything zat 'appened between us means absolutely nothing, just say the word and I'll leave."
I was silent. What more could I say?
"Gregory. Please."
Finding myself unable to look him in the face, I turned away and whispered softly, "Get out, Christophe."
This time he didn't make another move, as always the man moved like the wind. And like the wind, his passing left me in the cold.