I wanted to go to him. I wanted his arms around me, so I could focus on what was real and not what was in my head. My mouth opened, spilling an unauthorized question. “Why couldn’t we have stayed on Volière? Even if you don’t want to get married, surely it was a good place to spend time together?”

Q didn’t turn around. It took a moment for him to reply, as if sorting through the words to make sure he said nothing wrong. “I want the impersonality of somewhere we’ve never been. I want somewhere on neutral ground.” He kept staring out the window, brooding. His hands curled on his thighs, saturating the atmosphere in the car with energy and frustration.

I ignored the splinters in my heart. “For what?” He wants somewhere where no memories exist for either of us. It made sense—I supposed.

“I don’t know yet,” Q muttered.

I couldn’t help the quick intake of breath or the tickle of tears. Why the fuck was I so weak? I hated being weak. I wanted to be strong again—to understand why Q had done what he did. I wanted to have the strength to allow life to guide me without being terrified of what was around the corner.

Anger filled me; I smashed my stinging eyes. Twisting my body, I tried to see through the swimming tears, focusing on the passing view.

Rustling sounded as Q shifted. “I’m making this up as I go along, esclave. I’d forgotten how overgrown that hovel of an island is. Someone needs to go in with a chainsaw.” His accented voice that normally radiated with honesty dulled with the lie.

I looked over. He smiled, softening the brutality of such a fib. “Please, Tess, let me do what I need to do.”

The anger hadn’t left my veins. I wanted to argue. I wanted to fight. I wanted to prove I still had the guts to stand up for something I desperately wanted. And I desperately wanted to be married to Q. If I hadn’t let the memories take me hostage, I could’ve been Mrs. Mercer in a few short hours. Now, I might never wear his name.

“You said you liked it wild. You deliberately left it untouched.” A thought came to me, I asked, “Why did you buy it in the first place? There must’ve been a reason.” Images of him sending women to heal and recoup there filled my mind. Maybe he hadn’t bought it for himself but for another.

As much as I wished I could read his secrets and unravel his past, I couldn’t. Q was still an enigma. I wanted to pledge my life to his even while we fumbled in the dark.

I didn’t think he’d answer, but quietly he replied, “I had a crazy notion I would retire there.”

I sat taller, twisting my hands in my lap. “You wanted to retire on Volière?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to picture him bumbling around on an island as an old man all on his own. But he wouldn’t be alone. He would’ve found someone worthy if I hadn’t been sold to him. He would’ve fallen in love—eventually. A man like Q deserved to be loved unconditionally.

Still not looking at me, Q admitted, “A few years ago, I was dealing with a lot of shit. I had more slaves being rehabilitated than I could keep count of. The pressure of dealing half in the light and half in the fucking dark messed me up inside. All I wanted was peace. Serenity. Somewhere no one could find me. It seemed the perfect place.”

I understood his need for a bolt-hole. Somewhere he wouldn’t be judged or be a stranger in his own home. Keeping my voice low, so as not to shatter the gathering softness between us, I said, “That’s a good reason.”

Q looked over, his pale eyes delving into mine. “A good reason but no longer valid. I’ll never retire there. Not now.”

My heart beat harder at the thought of the future. I loved that I had the privilege of watching him age. I’d love every year as his dark hair turned to salt and pepper and the faint frown lines by his eyes became laugh lines instead. I didn’t picture him hidden away on an island though—it just didn’t fit.

I murmured, “No matter how hard I try I can’t visualize you sequestered on some wild oasis. You have too many people relying on you. You love your birds too much. Your…vocation. You’d miss France.”

Q’s forehead furrowed. He gave the impression I’d guessed right on every account. He may be well travelled and crave silence and space occasionally, but he was a French man to the last drop of blood. He would miss the local cuisine, the language. He would miss the seasons, and the satisfaction of his unique charity.

I would miss all of that, too. His life was now mine, and it couldn’t be more perfect. I couldn’t wait to help others, or be by his side while playing a real life game of monopoly. My university degree would be put to use, and I’d finally earn my place.

He chuckled, shedding some of the stress in his eyes. “Stupid idea, right?” He picked a non-existent piece of lint off his trousers. “I thought it was the only place I would find what I was looking for. That I could stop lying to myself and running from a past I can’t forget.” He suddenly looked up, his gaze blazing with jade fire. “I’ve grown up since then. There is no running, only accepting. I found what I needed the moment you entered my life. And as much as I dislike that the chateau belonged to my father, I finally have the inclination to turn it from his to ours.”

Ours.

Ours.

My lungs stuck together. “Ours?” I breathed.

Q twisted his body to face me. “Yes. Ours. Yours. Mine. Ours.” He gently took my hand, squeezing hard. “I no longer need Volière. Next time I speak to Frederick, I’ll get him to draw up the papers to sell it.”

I managed to suck in a reedy breath even as my eyes popped wide. “Just because you won’t retire there doesn’t mean you have to sell it.” I looked to where our hands were joined and couldn’t contain the sharp spasm of lust and love. “Keep it. I hate to think of that perfect wilderness being ruined.”

Q chuckled. “You were there for a moment. You can’t have grown attached.” His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, turning the faint awareness into something tangible and throbbing.

I licked my bottom lip, quickly becoming drunk on the thought of kissing him.

Q stiffened; his fingers clamped fiercely around mine. His eyes remained on my mouth. “If you want me to keep it, I will.”

“Just like that.”

“Juste comme ça.” Just like that. His gaze flickered up, drawing fire and the beautiful wonderful feeling of want. I’d missed the flush; worried I’d be destined to be cold and lifeless inside. Q ran the pad of his thumb over my knuckles, sending shivers arching over my skin.

My entire body grew heavy, lethargic, spreading with warm, scrumptious anticipation. What were we talking about? Ah, yes, Volière. “I’ll never get used to your wealth.”

Q unwound my fingers from his, moving his palm to my hip. I jolted at the fierce shock of him touching me. Every second that passed the car fogged with whatever built between us. It dewed on my eyelashes, spreading lazy fronds through my heart.

Q’s hand drifted down my side where the seat-belt fastened. With his eyes locked on mine, he pressed the button and released me. The car continued to drift forward through traffic, shuttling us to who knew where in our own private world.

Tugging me forward, Q murmured, “Well, you better get used to it because it’s all yours. No pre-nups, no stupid documents or lawyers. As far as I’m concerned, every euro is yours.”

He didn’t stop pulling until I slid into his lap. Every inch I travelled over his rock hard thighs, I struggled to catch my breath. I existed purely on the lust-filled cognizance budding between us. “I can’t take it.”

I couldn’t take a penny from this man. Not after he’d given me so much. Even now he gave me so much in the form of remembrance—bringing my body back to life, filling me with liquid heat and joy.

Q’s right. Getting married with the clouds hanging over our heads was a mistake. The clouds were building, thickening, filling with threatening thunder and lightning. The storm would ruin our fragile happiness in one strike. I didn’t want to risk losing this. Losing him.