A/N: Chapter Forty-Two!
I followed him inside, pausing as we entered his Parisian flat.
It was smaller than the one in Manhattan, but larger than mine by a long shot. From there, we fell into a comfortable silence, moving to his lounge. It was very modern, with contrasts between black and white, and neutral toned furniture. I'm sure it had cost him a fortune, but the best fixture in his flat, was the large, landscape window. I stood there, as he uncorked a bottle of wine and moved closer to me, watching the glistening, cobbled streets.
I knew I should have gone home, as I had work the next morning — not to mention a hearing that I had to attend — but I couldn't leave without demanding the truth.
I turned to him, startled as those eyes washed over me again and again.
It was a dangerous thing, being back with him, alone, in private.
There was a reason I had avoided such situations since he left for Manhattan. I did not and could not bring myself to call him out on his uncharacteristic behaviour. Part of me wondered if it was all a game, if this were a ruse. I'll admit, there was a small portion of my heart that was reserved for him — for the one who broke me without thinking twice about it, not to protect me but simply because he could. It was irrational and stupid to be there, but I couldn't leave.
"Is this the part when we have sex and never speak again?" I asked him, uncertain as to where those words had come from.
His composure deepened, without falter, as did the manner in which he stood near me, so close, so close. "I didn't bring you here to have sex."
"No," I reasoned. " — but you're thinking about it."
It was then, that something changed in his expression. His eyes narrowed, briefly, as though he were trying to understand the thoughts running through my mind, to no avail. It was a lose-lose situation, as not even I understood the thoughts running through my mind.
I swallowed hard, watching those eyes as they watched me; wondering what was hidden beneath; what he could possibly be thinking; if my instincts about him were correct and that he was undressing me with nothing but a look; ignoring the ache in me and replacing it with something else, something heated and unpredictable, as he leaned in, so close, so close.
"Dance with me," he whispered, lips hovering over my left ear.
Around then, the tangle of emotions that had been holding me back, unraveled, bit by bit, and I allowed him to take me, by both hands, keeping an even amount of space between us as he used wandless magic to find the right track.
It started soft and rhythmic, an even beat accompanied by the ambiance that snuck in through the uncovered windows.
I found myself with him, in the centre of the lounge, hands around his neck and his along my hips. It wasn't like the dance at Harry and Ginny's wedding. It wasn't a choreographed piece that I was forced to remember. It was imperfect and intimate and everything I had feared since that night, alone, in my flat.
For some reason, I could sense that he was using me as much as I was using him, and that he knew, going into this, that we had one thing in common.
I faded into the dance, into the sway.
I didn't shed a tear, as I was all cried out, but being close to another person felt too much like home, too good to abandon. But that didn't change my skepticism about him and about this situation. If sex was what he wanted, or what he needed — then I would have preferred that he told me, like this, face-to-face, instead of in a letter, instead of whisking me across the English Channel, instead of dressing me in posh evening wear and showing me what it would be like to have him — knowing, deep down that I would never let it go that far.
Still, I faded deeper and deeper, resting my head against his chest, sliding my arms to his shoulders, as his found the small of my back.
It went on long after the song ended.
I listened to the ambiance and the sound of his heartbeat. It was more human than I had expected, as were his long, even breaths, the ones that tickled my forehead and stirred another one of those long forgotten sensations within me — as I leaned back and caught the look in his eyes.
There was no future with him.
But there was the night.
There was Paris.
There would always be Paris.
The words found my lips before I had the chance to stop them. It was all I could do to combat the look in his eyes and the feeling that hammered in my chest. "Are you thinking about it now?" I asked.
"Are you?" he echoed, fading into me, swaying with me, so close, so close.
I breathed in and then out, closing my eyes, imagining him, his hair darker and his eyes bluer. "Yes," I voiced, shaping the word with my lips, feeling the weight of the world concentrate in and around my heart, as he kissed me.
A/N: Pay attention to the imagery in that last bit. Also, the song they were dancing to was "Fade Into You" by Mazzy Star.
Cheers
xo.