Page 21 of Love Bites

He bit down on his lower lip. The lip still swollen from my sucking on it for hours. I stepped in to ease the discomfort he was feeling. “I think perhaps this was a regrettable incident. We were both in a vulnerable state. I’ll make sure that we are returned to being hated adversaries from here on out.” It cut deeply that he thought I would sink so low as to seduce him just to get his damned shop.

“Phillip, I never used the word hate…”

“Boss, someone left the confectioners’ sugar out and the cats have run through it!” Crocus bellowed up the stairwell.

“Holy shit what a mess,” Haider whimpered then stuffed his feet into a purple pair of beate-up Crocs. He pulled an old tee over his hair, curls erupting from the opening for his head as he peeked at me from within the shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“No sorrier than I. Please go, find your pets. I’m not going to steal anything.”

“Phillip…”

A clatter of biblical proportions occurred downstairs. “Go please,” I insisted curtly.

And off he went, like a shot, leaving me standing in his apartment with my ass bared to the world and my chest tight.

It took me a moment to find my clothes. When I was dressed and in possession of my emotions, I crept down the stairs, through the curtain and gasped at the chaos. Not only had the cats left white paw prints over every surface someone—me—had dumped a large jar of nonpareils. The floor was thick with candy. I could hear all manner of madness taking place in the kitchen, and not knowing if I should stay to clean up my mess or go to avoid making things worse, I opted to go.

It was plain that Haider was wound up in some deep guilt over our night together. And while I was used to people who didbusiness with me whispering I was cutthroat, I had never had a person insinuate I had slept with them to seal a deal. Probably because I had never before fallen into bed with someone I was negotiating with. Opa always said never to mix business with pleasure. Foolish me. I’d gone and done it and now here I was, back out on the street, alone with my stupid bruised hip and heart for company.

I refused to dawdle. I strode to the rental car with purpose, my head filled with a sour kind of pain akin to taking a shiv to the liver. I’d been an old, smitten fool. Is there any kind of fool worse than an old fool? No, there is not. I dug into my front pocket to find the key fob and pressed the unlock button. The loud beeps echoed down the still quiet street. Small towns truly did roll up the sidewalks. Dumping my sad sack self behind the wheel of the blue Subaru I stared at Main Street, at the traffic light casting the damp roadway—it must have sprinkled overnight and I’d not known but given I’d been tangled up with Haider all night a shower would go unnoticed—in green, then amber, and then red.

“Dummkopf,” I mumbled to myself as I cranked the engine over. The stereo was still set to a local station that pumped out silly classic pop songs. I snarled at the one playing now, a moronic tune about giving someone the best of your love. The Emotions, the DJ announced as the song ended. Stupid. Stupid name for a group. Emotions. What had being emotional, or giving someone your heart, ever done for anyone other than cause pain? Nothing. You would think at my age I would have been hardened against such nonsense.

I slammed the car into drive, the wet road solid under the four-wheel drive, and I left Caldwell Crossing and Haider Gray behind. At the red light—of course it was red—I changed to another channel searching for something more fitting of my mood. There were no listings for channels for men who hadmade fools of themselves over younger men. So I settled on a station that played old-time country music. Not one of my favorite genres but the songs seemed to lean to heartache and misery. A tune from Reba McEntire played as I pulled away from the light. “Consider Me Gone” the sleepy disc jockey had said before the song had started. It fit my mood perfectly. Perhaps I should give this kind of music another chance.

The inn appeared before I realized I’d even driven that far, a sure sign of how distracted I was. I parked in the guests slot, closed and locked the car, and made my way inside. There was no one at the desk but a cup of coffee with the inn’s logo sat beside the desktop. I climbed the carpeted stairs, not taking time to stop to admire the paintings on the wall, my steps taking me to the second floor where I found my factotum at his door. Edgar glanced up, saw me, and dropped his key card. I walked down the corridor, getting close enough to pick up the aroma of delicate French perfume. The kind that Capucine Aubert wore.

“Guten Morgen,” I said as my gaze took note of the dark plum lipstick smudge on his collar. That, also, was the same shade that Capucine wore. I may not be Hercule Poirot but I could put obvious clues together. “Ich denke, wir müssen uns unterhalten.” I needed to speak to him about this situation with Capucine.

“Ja, Phillip.” He bent to pick up his card then followed me into my suite. I tossed my corduroy coat to the bed, toed off my loafers, and turned to meet his stoic look. We fell into German as it was just the two of us here.

“Are you sleeping with Capucine Aubert?” I asked point-blank as I folded my arms over my chest. A chest coated with semen and spittle, a small point I needed to keep in mind.

“I am not,” he replied with candor. “She is a lady and I am a gentleman. We did exchange an embrace and a kiss. Or two.” His sharp gaze raked over me. “May I ask the same of you?”

“I am not sleeping with Capucine Aubert.” His left eyebrow dropped. “I did sleep with her grandson though.”

“The smell of sex and strawberry is strong on you.”

Oh lovely. Well, at least the strawberry lube helped hide the smell of less enjoyable scents that had dried on me.

“Do you have feelings for Ms. Aubert?” I enquired of my most trusted confidante.

“I do, yes. And you?”

I let out a long, sad breath then sat in a lovely old stuffed chair in the corner. “I am not sure what I am feeling right now. We should not be in this predicament, old friend.” I rubbed my face so hard my lashes were close to combusting. “I care about him more than I should but we are at odds still. And now I fear he thinks I am using sex to get him to sign over his shop.”

“Are you?” he asked. I bristled instantly. Edgar nodded. “I had to ask. I’d not think you capable of doing such a thing as I know you were raised properly.” Yes, he should know, he was one of the people on staff who had done most of my parenting. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, his hands coming to rest on his thighs. “It seems we are in a pickle, as the Bard says.”

“No, I do not think so. You and Capucine are free to date as you wish. I will protect you from anything Opa has to say. As for myself and Haider, there is no real future for us. He has said he wishes no repeat performances as he fears I am seducing him to get his signature on a bill of sale.” I would not say how that hurt me. I considered myself an honorable man. I may be ruthlessly competitive when it comes to closing deals but I always handled myself and my business dealings with respect for all involved. The thought of bedding a man to get him to accept a proposal was ludicrous. More than that even it was slanderous and painful.

“You care for him,” Edgar said softly.

“I thought I did, but it was lust speaking. Obviously he thinks poorly of me, and perhaps part of that is my doing. Coming over here to pressure him into giving me his shop may be considered high-handed. I can be controlling at times. I think I have handled this wrong. I need to take some time to clear my head.”

“Perhaps a jog would help?”

“Yes, it generally does.” I pushed to my feet as did Edgar. “Please, do not fret over your friendship with Capucine. I will stand between you and my grandfather’s ire.”

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