Lilly & Leclerc ~ [CL 16]

4. Lying to Ourselves

"Do you think about me too? Tell me if you do." - You, Majid Jordan

You would never know that Charles grabbed me and kissed me until I could barely breathe this morning.

If it weren't for the way I'd feel his arm occasionally brush against mine as he led the way to the beach - I'd think I imagined it. If it weren't for the way I caught his eyes lingering a moment too long on my bikini clad body before I sank into the crystal water - I'd think I imagined it. If it weren't for his fingers brushing against my thigh as we sit at the table for dinner - I'd think I imagined it.

Each time his fingertips skirt a little higher on my leg my fingers tighten on the stem of my wine glass. My breath gets a little caught in my throat when his fingers sink a little firmer into my skin. I've had to hide my squeaks of surprise with coughs or quiet laughs more than twice. Charles is pushing his luck and I'm not sure what to do about it, so each time I just take another sip of my red wine or fake a laugh as if I'm following the conversation around the table. Truly, I haven't been able to follow a thing.

I'm not sure what this is, where it's going, or what it means. It feels like something that shouldn't be happening, something that should be going nowhere and mean nothing. I'm not interested in a relationship, period. Neither is Charles. He made that very clear this morning over breakfast.

So why over dinner is he telling me something completely different with his teasing smirk and flirting touches? Why do I find myself shifting further into his touch? Adjusting my position on the comfortable chair to give Charles more access to the exposed skin of my thigh? I don't understand it; I'm not sure I want to understand it. I doubt Charles understands it. I just know I want him on my skin in some way shape or form. It goes against everything I know too.

When Amber and I offered to cook for the two 'ferrari boys' (as she kept referring to them) I didn't expect it would result in this. That I'd be sat with my heart in my throat, trying not to think about the warm touch from the Monegasque who's home I'm staying in. But here I am, one spaghetti dish and three glasses of wine later trying to keep my thoughts unscrambled as Charles swirls his gentle fingers around my kneecap. It's like he's scrambling my very being with the movement.

The alcohol swirls in me, burning, and I know I have to get out of this situation before I let it get to a point I regret. The quicker the better. The touch has me thinking about Charles in ways that, despite our actions earlier, I shouldn't be. I can't. I won't let myself. I shake my head to myself, with it shaking the image of Charles breathing heavily against me, his lips on my skin kissing and pressing in places other than my lips from my mind.

We're not doing that. Not today. Not this week.

"Thanks Carlos for clearing up." I say graciously between another sip of wine. Of course Charles had a wine fridge which kept all of his fancy bottles at just the perfect temperature. It makes the liquid taste the best it ever has. Amber and I had both groaned at the perfect taste of the alcohol on first sip. The sentence is the only one I can feasibly string together in the circumstances.

"Yes! Gracias hermano." Amber echoes with a smile on her face and a wink in Carlos's direction. They've known eachother for years, since he was Lando's teammate at least. The playful energy between them is easy. Amber's head is lazily pressed into her hand as she grins looking slightly dazed to Carlos. The wine has gone to her head, I'd recognise the look anywhere. I only wish it could relax me to the same degree.

"No problem." The Spaniard dismisses with a small wave of his hand. "Anyone want anything?" He offers grabbing the last bowl on the table. Amber asks for more wine, Charles another beer (on the condition that Carlos was having one too). When Carlos's brown eyes to me I just shake my head with a polite smile.