Inferno Anthology (11 page)

Taryn looked down. It was true…she wanted this just as much as he did.

Errol brought a finger to her chin to lift it up so her eyes were looking into his blue ones. “You do want this, don’t you?” His thumb played with the full flesh of her lower lips, making her want to take in his thumb and taste him. God, his mere touch was enough to make her want to climb all over him and ride him until they were both sweaty and exhausted from passionate lovemaking.

Errol’s voice was husky but soft against her ear. “You do want me, Taryn, don’t you? I can see the desire in your eyes…you want me now.” He replaced his thumb with his lips on her lip, and nibbled on her lower lip, sucking it until they were swollen. Then he moved his mouth over hers, plunging his tongue in to taste her tongue, while his fingers found her folds below, dipping in and out until she was writhing against him.

“Yes,” she cried. “Yes, God, yes! I want you, Errol. Now!”

He positioned himself against her, rubbing her clit with his shaft before plunging deep inside of her. He rocked against her back and forth, gyrating his hips, causing her to moan with intense pleasure. Soon they were making love in every part of the apartment, their passion for each other insatiable.

Errol was true to his word as the weeks passed. Taryn felt safe with him, in every way, and even became the instigator of their sexual games in many instances. In class, she deliberately toyed with him, running her fingers along a stiff rod of dough in a suggestive way, and licking cream off her fingers while she eyed him from across the room.

On more than one occasion she caught him heading to his desk to readjust his arousal. Today, he discreetly brushed that arousal along her back side as he helped her.

“You’re being too rough with the cream,” he said as he stood behind her and rearranged her hand on the whisk. “You have to…”

She didn’t hear a word of what he said. All she knew was the clear and unmistakable pressure of his hard-on against her back, that instantly made her wet.

That night they didn’t speak a word to one another, but quickly engaged in the animal dance that occupied so many of their nights. There were no formalities or niceties, just an endless hunger that kept them clamped to one another until they were too exhausted to go on anymore.

Every night following was filled with wild passionate lovemaking. She couldn’t get enough of him, and her body craved him like food.

“I can devour you all day,” Errol said, one lazy Sunday as they stayed in bed, making love from morning to night.

“Then devour me,” Taryn said, huskily.

Errol grinned wickedly. “You don’t have to ask. Your taste is a constant aphrodisiac for me, Taryn.”

Still glowing from the effects of their white hot sex, the next morning, Taryn rolled off the bed to get the phone that ringed with persistence. It’d rung twice during their love making, but they’d disregarded it.

“It’s for you,
Monsieur King
,” she said as she held the phone out to him. Standing nude before him, she already anticipated his next hard-on.

With a knowing grin, he ran his finger along the thin line of hair between her thighs then took the phone. “
Oui. Oui c’est bien ca
.” He fell silent and furrowed his brow as he listened. His eyes reddened as tears gathered. “
Comment? Mais, elle est… Oui.”

Hearing the emotion in his voice, Taryn sat beside him and waited. The husky, sexually charged man he’d been just seconds ago now sat lost in the middle of the bed, like a little boy.

“
Oui, je comprend
.” Keeping his eyes on the bed sheets in front of him, he absentmindedly played with the corner of his pillow. “
Tres bien. J’arrive.”

“What’s the matter?” Taryn asked, taking his hand. She had never seen him so down and sad as he was at that moment. “Please tell me, Errol.”

Errol stared straight ahead of him, his entire face broken.

“My nana,” he said. “She passed away last night.”

Though she always made sure she remained just one step behind him, Taryn accompanied Errol to his grandmother’s funeral. While he appeared strong and stoic to all those in attendance, Taryn knew just how fragile his mental state was. Since receiving the phone call he’d barely spoken a word to her. He’d barely spoken at all.

He’d found himself with the regrettable task of arranging his Nana’s service; nothing less than the Notre Dame Cathedral for his beloved grandmother. “If there’s anything I can do,” Taryn had offered.

Pressing his lips together, he’d shaken his head. “It’s my responsibility. Besides, it’s all in French. There’s little you can do.”

Feeling shut out, Taryn busied herself around the apartment. She prepared meals that went uneaten by Errol and picked up after him. In the brief week between learning of his Nana’s death and the finality of the service, he’d visibly lost weight. The day of the service, he was gaunt and pale.

“
Notre Pere qui es aux cieux
,” the priest said from the pulpit.

Dressed in somber black, Taryn sat in the row behind Errol. “Our Father who art in heaven…” She murmured the Father’s Prayer in English as everyone around her prayed in French. “… Give us this day our daily bread…”

“…
mais deliver-nous du mal.”

“Amen,” everyone murmured in unison. Many associates from the Institute had come, as well as a few elderly and distant family members, friends of his grandmother’s and some acquaintances.

At the end of the service, Taryn put her hand to Errol’s shoulder. He looked back at her, an appreciative, but tight smile on his face.

For an interminable hour he stood at the doors of the cathedral, receiving words of condolences, praise of his Nana’s life and encouragement to move on. He nodded, smiled and even offered a few words of solace and comfort to a few friends overwrought with emotion.

“Want me to drive you home?” Taryn asked Errol when the last mourner walked away.

Not looking straight at her, he nodded. “I just have to go back in to get the urn.”

Taryn brought the car around and looked at the urn as Errol got in. “What are you going to do with her?”

“A long time ago she said she wanted to have her ashes thrown into the wind on the Mediterranean. When I have the chance…” With his hands wrapped securely around the urn, he sat in silence as Taryn drove off.

Though she’d never driven through the streets of Paris, she managed to bring them home with only two wrong turns. She helped Errol out of the car, escorted him to the elevator and pushed the button of his floor.

Once in his apartment, she brought him to the bedroom, undressed him and settled him into bed. He’d put the urn on the bedside table and simply stared at it, saying nothing.

“Do you want me to bring you anything?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

She put her hand over his, wondering how long it would take him to come out of his stupor.

“
Laisse moi
,” he murmured. Pulling his hand away from hers, he turned away from her and pulled the blankets over his shoulder.

Her meager French, along with his unmistakable body language told her everything; leave me alone.

The following morning she took a taxi to school. After three unanswered knocks at his door, she’d cracked it opened and had received a firm, “Leave me alone.”

“What’s with Chef King?” Henri asked when she arrived in the class normally given by Errol.

Taryn shrugged. “I don’t know. I heard someone in his family died, or something.”

Yveline Desperreault, the pursed-lip, middle-aged woman who had taken on the task of teaching Errol’s class, looked at Taryn and snapped, “It was his cherished Nana. Of course the boy is distraught.” With a cluck of her tongue, she turned to face the class.

The lesson, a review of culinary plating techniques, was long and tedious. Though Madame Desperreault was reputed to have talent as a chef, her talent for teaching was sorely lacking. She had a droning and draining voice that could turn the most vibrant topic into something bland and blasé.

Taryn was happy to finally be out of the class, out of the school and into her taxi for the ride home. Eager to see how Errol had managed during the day, she put the key in the lock and opened the door.

The apartment was as it had been when she’d left that morning. It was impossible to believe he’d spent the entire day in bed. Worried about the depression he seemed to be in, she tiptoed to his door and pushed it open.

His bed was empty. She glanced toward the closet door. Things had been pulled out and discarded.

“Errol,” she called out into the empty apartment. Knowing what she’d find, she went into the bathroom. There were vague signs he’d taken a shower, and some of his toiletries were gone. “Errol.”

Hurrying back to his room, she looked for his grandmother’s urn. It, too, was gone.

“Damn it, Errol. Where did you go?” she muttered into the room.

The answer, simple and vague, came by way of a hastily scribbled note on the refrigerator door.

Gone for a few days.

Taryn spent the next four days alone, wondering and worried. Other than the simple note, she had absolutely no idea where he was, what he was doing, or when he’d come home. At school many speculated on his absence: He’s mourning in private. He went to the Mediterranean to dispose of his Nana’s ashes. He’s off partying somewhere to ease the pain.

But the theory that most disturbed Taryn was that he’d returned to a long ago lover; a woman who’d loved Errol dearly and who’d been greatly appreciated by his Nana.

At night she dwelled on that notion, envisioning him wrapped in that woman’s arms, his body pressed against hers, and her cries of ecstasy sounding in his ears.

In that endless week, she’d gone through hours of worry, a day of near panic and now two sleepless nights that left her pained and increasingly angry.

Why hadn’t he brought her with him? Why hadn’t he even bothered to call since leaving? Why had he chosen to go off with this other woman?

Sitting in front of a dinner she didn’t have the appetite to eat, Taryn finally allowed the release of a few tears.

She’d been naïve and stupid enough to think she could actually mean something to him. Like so many women before her, she’d misinterpreted all those little kisses, every tender touch, every hushed word in her ear. She’d allowed herself to think they’d meant something.

And in return, she had allowed him to mean something to her. Frustrated with herself and angry at him, she put her hands over her face and let out a pain-filled cry. With her elbows propped up on the table, she sat behind the darkness of her hands, reviewing all that had happened and wondering how she’d let herself get in so deep.

As his playful, flirtatious, wicked ways came back to haunt her, rage slowly simmered up to the top. She opened her eyes and looked around the apartment that was his playpen; the place he brought women to do with as he pleases all while toying carelessly with their hearts.

“Shit!” She grabbed her fork and threw it across the room.

“Is your food really that bad?”

A jolt of relief brought her to her feet. She turned to face Errol and was touched by the loss still visible in his eyes, but his playful grin brought her rage back to consume her.

“I didn’t think you’d miss my cooking that much,” he said as he set down his bags.

“You really think you can just waltz in and start making cute jokes, Errol?” She heard the venom in her voice. Though surprised, she was happy to discover she was finally ready to stand up for herself.

His eyes immediately hardened as did his tone. “It’s my place. I can waltz in and do whatever the hell I want.”

She stared at him, angry, hurt, frustrated and lost. “Why didn’t you call? Why couldn’t you just let me know…?”

“Because it was none of your business.”

Her jaw hurt from the pressure of biting down so hard. “Bastard.”

He shrugged.

She didn’t want to cry… not in front of him. She couldn’t let him see… “To hell with you.”

“Ah, the little New Yorker finally comes out.” He came to stand at the end of the dining table, his gaze condescending and belittling. “I was beginning to wonder if you had any of that New York fight in you.”

“If you think I’m going to pick a fight with you, you’re wrong. I’ve had enough of this.” She hurried to the sofa, grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

“What, and you’re not bringing your things? Old tactic, darling. Every woman who leaves my apartment leaves something behind. Oh, sometimes it’s just a memento, something to remember her by, but it’s usually an excuse to come back… back to see if they can’t get me to change my mind.”

She rushed back to her room, shoved a few things in a bag and returned. “I’ll come back for the rest when you’re not here.” Without looking back, she hurried to the door.

“Don’t.” The condescension had left his voice that’d suddenly reverted to that of the lost little boy.

Her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated and hated herself for it. When he said nothing more, she opened the door.

“Taryn, don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”

Staring at the carpet in the hall, she murmured, “These past days, all you’ve been telling me, in every way possible, is to leave you alone.”

She heard his steps behind her and knew the tears would flow the moment he touched her.

“I’ve had plenty of time to be alone.” He grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her back into his chest.

Her head fell until her chin rested on her chest. Tears burned their way down her cheeks and dripped off to splash on the floor.

“Please put up with me a little while longer.”

“You don’t deserve it,” she muttered.

“I know, but I’m asking you to all the same.” He tugged on her shoulders, urging her to return.

For a moment, she held her ground. “Why should I, Errol? You’ve done nothing but use me when you want and toss me aside when you don’t.”

“Come.” His voice was gentle as he guided her inside and closed the door. “How about some wine?”

She sat on the sofa and nodded as she wiped the tears off her face.