Didn't Mean To Love You (Serendipitous Love Book 2) Read online

  “Can I have one?” he asked, finally breaking the silence between us.

  “Um… yeah.” I reached across the counter for the sealed container of irregular extras I’d intended to take Simone. He took one, then nodded his approval as he ate.

  “What are you getting ready to do now?” Carter turned to me with a smile, no trace of the awkwardness that had been there a moment before.

  “I have to pack these to be delivered in the morning,” I said, indicating the rows of sweets I’d deemed “perfect” enough to serve at the wedding. “And then clean up the kitchen before I can go. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Just curious… wondered if you wanted to grab something to eat.”

  Like… a date?

  “I’d like that, but I need about an hour to finish up here.”

  “You need some help?”

  I shook my head. “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I’ve got it.”

  “That’s not what I asked you.” He smiled again, and despite still feeling confused and annoyed about him backing away from me, I smiled back.

  “Sure. You can help.”

  With Carter’s assistance, it took less than half the time I’d quoted to get the chocolates put away, and the kitchen back in spotless condition for the next day. I swapped my chef’s coat for my leather jacket, replaced my non-slip kitchen shoes with boots, and used the “emergency” brush in my office to tame my hair into a neat bun. Fifteen minutes later, Carter and I were sharing messy food truck tacos in the park, with the street lamps lighting our path.

  We stopped at a trash can to throw away our food wrappers and the cardboard cups from our drinks. Then, Carter caught me around the waist, pulling me close as we headed back to our block. It was this, right here, that confused the hell out of me. I didn’t understand the push and pull, and heaven knows I really shouldn’t have entertained it, but I truly liked Carter, sexual attraction aside. He had, purposely or not, carved out a place for himself in my heart as a friend — a real friend, not just some guy positioning himself for sex, because frankly… he could have had that already. Instead, he was someone who wiped tears from my eyes, and teased me until I laughed, making my troubles the furthest thing from my mind.

  He pulled me closer, holding me a little tighter as we approached a group of young men on the sidewalk, a little too loud, a little too rowdy for a Wednesday night. It was second nature for me to tense up, gripping the back of Carter’s jacket as we got closer and they spotted us. Too many times, I’d been followed down streets, threatened for not stopping to talk, or scared into completely crossing the street to rid myself of an unwelcome suitor.

  “I got you,” he said, briefly lowering his mouth to my ear to calm my nerves. “Excuse us fellas,” he called. By his tone, there was no mistaking that his words were a directive, not a request. Briefly, I thought they would not move, but Carter kept his head high, his arm tight around my waist, and at the last moment, they stepped aside to create an opening for us on the sidewalk. I expected to feel terrified as we passed between them, but the unmistakable sense of authority that bubbled around Carter in that moment made his arms feel like sanctuary. Strangely — or maybe not — that turned me on.

  “So tell me what you do for fun, Carter,” I said, in an attempt to pull my mind away from the wetness that had suddenly pooled between my thighs.

  He shrugged. “Hell I don’t know. Play basketball, go to UG, kick it with my friends… kick it with you.”

  “So you don’t have any “me” time?”

  Carter glanced down at me, raising an eyebrow as we turned the corner onto our street. “I don’t think I’ve ever called it that, but yeah, I guess.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “What’s with the questions, nosy-ass?”

  “Are we not friends now? I’m trying to get to know you.”

  I stopped on the sidewalk to let him open the door to our building, then nudged him in the side when he still hadn’t answered by the time we started up the stairs. “Fine,” he said with an exasperated groan, even though he was smiling. “I watch TV, I build computer programs, I spend a little time on the Xbox… I write.”

  “You write?” I asked, jogging a few stairs ahead of him so I could turn around and block his path. “Like… what, books?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?” He rested his gaze on the ceiling, then shoved his hands in his pockets as he blew out a breath. “Hey… are you embarrassed?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not embarrassed, this is just… something I don’t really talk to people about.”

  “Oh,” I said, my shoulders drooping as I turned to continue up the stairs, my mood deflated over him pushing me away again. “I did not mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

  “Wait a minute, Frenchy.” I felt a tug at my waist, and looked down to see that Carter had hooked a finger in one of my belt loops, halting my ascent to my apartment. “I didn’t mean it like that, like you were bothering me.”

  “Your body language said otherwise,” I countered, avoiding his eyes as he stood in front of me. He cupped my chin, turning my face up toward his.

  “Poetry. I write… poetry.”

  An involuntary smile spread across my face. “Really?”

  “Don’t do that,” he said, grinning as he pulled back.

  “Do what?” I asked. “Do you think that I am going to tease you?”

  “I would tease you about it.”

  “But you are not me. What do you write about?” I asked as we made it to our floor. We stopped in front of our apartments as I dug my keys from my purse.

  “Experiences, life… people.”

  I smiled as I pushed my key into the door. “People? Am I people? Did you write something about me?”

  “... Maybe.” Carter took a step closer to me, then lowered his head, pressing his lips against the new bandage that covered the laceration on my forehead. “How’s your head. Is this healing okay?”

  “It’s healing fine. But back to this poem you wrote about me, I would like to… read… it… sometime,” I said, my words punctuated by kisses as Carter finally lowered his mouth to mine. He held my face in his hands as I gave up trying to speak, focusing instead on the pleasure derived from his tongue massaging mine, the way he gently dragged my bottom lip between his teeth, then dove in to kiss me again. I moaned against his lips, savoring the cool, sweet flavor of him, courtesy of the handful of mints we’d shared after dinner. This would be bliss, my hands buried in his locs, body pressed against my door while he explored my mouth, if only there weren’t so many damned clothes between us.

  “Goddamnit, Frenchy,” he said under his breath when he finally pulled away. My heart was racing as he shoved his hands in his pockets, giving the distinct impression it was the only way he was keeping his hands off me.

  “What is it?” I ran a thumb over my lips, which were still pleasantly tingling from the kiss. “Why… what am I doing wrong here?”

  A pained expression crossed his face before he shook his head, then pulled me into an embrace. “You’re not doing anything wrong, Viv. I just…” — he gave a weary, heavy sigh — “we should call it a night, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, even though I could feel the beginnings of tears pricking at my eyes. “Good night.” Without waiting for a response, I went into my apartment, locking the door behind me. I bit the inside of my cheek, denying myself the emotional outlet of tears.

  Not now.

  I shook my head as I shrugged my jacket off my shoulders and onto the couch, then unzipped my boots and placed them beside the door. In the bathroom, I surveyed myself in the mirror. Cheeks and nose slightly red from the cold. Lips swollen and slightly red from being kissed. Eyes slightly red from holding back tears. I took a deep breath, then brought my gaze to the mirror again, looking myself directly in the eyes.

  “He doesn’t want you like that, Vivienne. Friends. Nothing more.”

  Now… if only I could make myself believe that. />
  — & —

  The first thing I heard when I hit the second-floor landing was Carter, laughing. I rolled my eyes. The second thing I heard was a female voice, responding in kind. I rolled my eyes harder. It wasn’t like I was jealous of whoever was falling victim to his charm this time. I was more annoyed that I had to witness it. I’d carefully avoided him for the last week, and now I was going to have to see him while he grinned in another woman’s face.

  Ugh.

  I went up the last flight of stairs slowly, pausing halfway when I realized that his female companion sounded familiar… and had an accent. I took the remaining stairs two at a time, freezing in surprise at the sight that greeted me in front of my apartment.

  First, there was Carter, looking… dear God, gorgeous, in a deep blue button-up and jeans, freshly twisted locs, and his black-framed glasses, which he only wore when his contacts were giving him a headache. I tamped down my involuntary thoughts of concern, reminding myself that I was mad at him for the insane mixed signals he was giving me.

  Then… there was Morgan, my mother, who was practically swooning at Carter’s feet. She had her back to me, but Carter was facing my direction, and when he saw me there on the stairs, he cut his eyes toward my mother with a subtle tip of his head. I narrowed my eyes, then followed his gaze to the magazine tucked under my mother’s arm. My lips parted in a quiet gasp, and he gave a sympathetic shake of his head.

  My mother had seen my photo shoot.

  “Maman,” I said, deciding not to prolong the inevitable. My mother turned, beautiful as always, with flawless mahogany skin, and thick black hair falling in soft waves against her shoulders. She reached for me, kissing both of my cheeks before she pulled me into a hug. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Well, this was supposed to be a pleasant little surprise visit,” she paused, then pulled the magazine from her arm and held it up, “Mais j'ai vu ces photos provacative… so, we have other things to talk about. Your father is not happy.”

  No surprise there.

  “Young man,” my mother continued, turning to Carter. “Have you seen the pictures of my daughter in this magazine?”

  Carter swallowed hard, then wet his lips as he scratched absently at his eyebrow. “I… um… yes. Yes ma’am, I have.” He looked at me like he wanted me to help, but I shrugged. What was I supposed to say?

  She glanced between us, smirking before she directed her attention to him once again. “Very seductive, no? Vivienne is a very beautiful girl… but I’m sure a virile young man like yourself has taken notice of that already.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  My mother’s eyes lit up in delight as she beamed at Carter. “Such a polite boy. Vous avez de relations sexuelles avec lui?” she asked, turning back to me.

  “Mère! Non!” I exclaimed, glad that he seemed oblivious to the fact that she’d just asked me — in front of him— if I was sleeping with him.

  “Why not?” She smiled at him, cupping his face in her hands before sliding them down to his collar, which she straightened. “Il est… magnifique. You should.” Carter shot me the “rescue me please” look again as she ran her hands over his chest, to his arms, groping his biceps before she finally let him go. “It was very nice to meet you, Carter.”

  He cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you too Mrs. Lambert.”

  “No,” she said, with a coy smile. “Call me Morgan, please.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said, then practically sprinted down the stairs to get away.

  “Did you have to do that?” I asked my mother, as soon as we were in my apartment, the door closed behind us. “I mean, the whole French femme fatale and all?”

  She laughed, shaking her head as she removed her coat. “I was just playing with him, Vivi.”

  “Yeah, and he thinks you want to screw him.”

  “And if I do?”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Mère, please, I—”

  “Relax mon trésor, I’m joking. Come and sit with me.”

  I sighed, took off my coat, then joined her on the couch, where she had the latest issue of Sugar&Spice magazine open to the page with my feature. Despite knowing I was about to be scolded, I couldn’t help smiling at the pictures. They were tastefully done, with all of the important parts covered by hands or arms in each image. Still, they were overtly sexy, and not the way any parent would probably ever want to see their child. That made me cringe.

  I had not considered my parents at all when I accepted the magazine’s offer for a feature story on my little chocolate shop. Sure, it had been great advertisement for my business, but I’d operated under the patently false illusion that it only affected me, forgetting that the Lambert name was tied to a much, much bigger business than Guilty Pleasures. That was not on my mind when I was vamping for the camera, having thick paint — not chocolate — poured onto me. I could not, however, deny that it was incredibly fun.

  “Your father is not at all pleased. Very, very upset. You see, when you told us that you were being featured in a magazine, your father became very excited. He bragged to anyone who would listen, and ordered many copies of the magazine, to distribute throughout the corporate office, to give to his business associates… you see where I’m going with this, no?”

  Of course I saw where she was going. My father had proudly gifted copy after copy of risqué images of his only child’s naked body for mass consumption. “Not pleased” was an understatement.

  “He was so upset that he could not come to see me?”

  She shook her head. “You know how the man is, taking things as a personal slight. I did explain to him that you are no longer a little girl. He will get over it, and learn a valuable lesson about bragging in the meantime. You’re a grown woman, Vivi. An intelligent, vibrant, beautiful woman, and your body is yours, to do with as you please. Would I be correct in assuming that this was the point of such a provocative look?”

  I blushed, but did not answer. Instead, I picked up the magazine, flipping through the pictures. “It’s not like I’m showing anything that would not be seen at the beach.”

  “Exactly. Vivi, you do not have to explain to me, I think the pictures are beautiful.” She reached forward, patting my hand in a comforting gesture. “Now… back to this neighbor of yours. I asked you a serious question. Why aren’t you sleeping with that tall, gorgeous man?”

  “So now you encourage a sexual relationship for me.”

  My mother pursed her lips, tipping her head to the side in censure. “This, Vivi, is not the same thing as a naive young woman being coaxed into an affair by a man twenty years her senior. A married man, with kids the same age as she.”

  I remained silent as she continued. “I know you will tell me that nothing is wrong, but that is not true. You are feeling unsettled… sexually frustrated, I dare say. It is all over your face.”

  I wanted to deny it, but I had no doubt in my mind that she actually could see sexual frustration, as she claimed. I was one of a very select few people who knew she wrote erotic novels under a pen name. “Mom…” I said, settling on a generic plea to leave me alone.

  “Vivi,” she whined, grinning as she teased me. She reached forward, brushing my hair away from my face. “He likes you, you know? When I asked him if he knew you, the look on his face… that was the look of a man who is smitten.”

  “Who?” I looked away, feigning ignorance even though I very well knew she was referring to Carter. I wasn’t looking at her, but I could feel her skeptical stare, boring into me until I finally returned my gaze to her face. “He does not like me in that way,” I said, dropping the pretense. “He is a friend, that is all.”

  Her expression softened, and she scooted closer to me, speaking in a soothing tone. “He is a friend… but you wish that he was more?”

  “No,” I shrugged, but my eyes must have told a different story, because she gave me a sad smile, reaching up to gently stroke my face.

  “Ah, my sweet, benevolent Vivi. Always giving y
our heart to someone who has not asked for it.” She gripped my chin, forcing me to hold her gaze as tears sprang to my eyes. “Sweetheart… you must learn the art of being guarded. You think I don’t know about this last breakup a few months ago? Even on video call, you wear it all over you. I don’t know the details, but Vivienne… you must stop giving so much of yourself to men who don’t deserve it. I mean, sex is one thing, but this,” she said, covering my heart with her hand. “Keep it to yourself until you are sure… okay?”

  I nodded, but as my tears broke free I shifted into shaking my head. “That’s so much easier said than done.” My mother pulled me into her arms as I sobbed, rocking me the same way she had after each of my teenage breakups, on into my very early twenties.

  Even following the fiasco with Thierry, after she’d verbally ripped me to shreds about being so naive, she embraced me, allowing me to drain my emotions on her shoulder. I cried until I was tired, and she had to leave, in order to catch her flight. She had taken a detour to see me, but her trip across the pond was more business than personal, so I bid her goodbye after a few more tears, and many more kisses and hugs.

  It wasn’t until hours later, when I was just about to leave to see Roman and Simone sing at Urban Grind, that Carter knocked on my door. I was expecting it, but the sight of him at my door tugged on my heart in a way I didn’t understand, and didn’t want to.

  “What is it, Carter?” I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed. He masked it quickly, but I caught the sudden stiffening of his posture, and the subtle intake of breath. He was actually surprised by my cold reception.

  His forehead wrinkled as he spoke. “Um… I was stopping by to see if you were going to UG tonight, but it looks like you are. You look great,” he added, with a tentative smile.

  “Thanks,” I said, glancing down at my clothes as if I’d forgotten what I had on. Dark jeans, knee length boots, and a thick, oversized coral pink sweater. Nothing special. “I guess I’ll see you there.” I stepped back, intending to close the door, but he caught it, easily overpowering me to keep it open.