When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,121
the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. “Très bien, monsieur.” He hung up and fixed me with a tight smile. “He’ll be right down.”
I blew out a steadying breath and jammed my hands in my pockets, pacing a small circle over the perfectly polished floor. Elegant men and women came in and out; others sat at small tables over cocktails and coffee.
Ten minutes went by. Then twenty. Then forty-five. I was about to try again with the concierge when the elevator opened with a refined bing and Holden was there.
His hair was still silver and damp from a fresh shower. He wore impeccably tailored white slacks, white shirt, and—despite the warm spring day—a black vest and a black-and-white striped jacket. My breath caught, and my blood heated instantly.
The absence had only made him more fucking perfect, his body filling out his clothes better, his shoulders and chest broader. But his green eyes were shadowed and red-rimmed—the last year had been filled with alcohol, late nights, and parties.
And other men?
Holden approached slowly, strolling casually, though I watched his Adam’s apple bob in a hard swallow while his eyes drank me up.
“Hey,” I said, my throat dry.
He kept his face impassive. “I should ask what you’re doing here but I have a guess. My journals?”
“You sent them to me for a reason.”
“It was a mistake. I was drunk.”
“I don’t think so.”
“No?” he said, struggling for his usual flippancy. “You have a theory?”
I lost my voice. Without letting myself think, I rushed to Holden and wrapped my arms around him. He stiffened and then sagged against me. Tears threatened to squeeze out of my closed eyes as I inhaled him, relishing the feel of him in my arms and under my hands. Cloves, expensive cologne, and shower soap filled my nose, and beneath that—him. His body felt bigger in my arms. Stronger, even if his eyes told another story.
Slowly, Holden’s arms came up and he held me too. Tightly, his hands making fists in my jacket, his face buried in my shoulder. I felt his ragged breath gust over my neck, over the place where my bone had broken the night that tore us apart.
For long moments, we held each other, and I wanted to stay in that perfect, timeless limbo of just having him at long last. But too quickly, he pulled away and turned to wipe his eyes.
“Well…” He cleared the emotion out of his voice. “You never answered my question.”
“Why am I here? For you. Can we go somewhere and talk? Maybe your room?”
“My room is…occupied.”
The words whacked me in the chest and my heart cracked all over again.
“You have someone there,” I stated.
Holden didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
“It’s a nice day,” he said. “Let’s take a walk, have a drink.”
I nodded mutely and as we walked in silence into a perfect spring day in Paris, I wondered what would be left of my heart by the time this trip was over.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
He’s here. He came…
I couldn’t stop staring at River as we walked down the boulevard. River looked as ruggedly beautiful as ever in jeans, boots, and a worn leather jacket over a tight T-shirt. But his body was bigger, stronger. I’d felt the power in it when he held me. I could’ve lived in that embrace forever, wrapped in his safety. But River’s eyes were heavy with grief and exhaustion, his shoulders hunched as if he were carrying a heavy burden.
He is. His grief and that of his sister and father. I’d bet my worthless life on it.
But despite that, he was here because I’d cheated and selfishly undisappeared myself. A moment of weakness. I didn’t even remember sending him my journals, but when the morning came two weeks ago and the trunk was gone, I knew exactly what I’d done. And why. Those journals were me. He was so far away, so I hurled myself at him—sending him every word of my heart because I was too chickenshit to go back myself.
We walked in silence to one of my favorite cafés. As with almost all cafés in Paris, this one spilled its seating onto the sidewalk, with little tables for two and pairs of wicker chairs facing the street to watch the scene. Paris was too damn beautiful to not be looked at, and the city knew it.
We took a table at the end of the first row with unobstructed views. River pulled his chair away from mine to face me instead of sitting adjacent.