R Is for Richer Read online

  R is for Richer

  by Tara Hart

  R is for Richer

  Copyright © 2018

  by Tara Hart

  Cover design by OtherSide Design

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, downloaded, distributed or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without prior written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 1

  We traveled in style. Skirts, scarves and berets. There was nothing more that we needed. We were free to spend a Summer in the most romantic city in the world.

  Savannah loved the culture. Coffee, croissants and rosé. In that order too. For me it was different. I was searching for something that I couldn’t find at home. As soon as I stepped off the plane, I knew two things. One was that I never wanted to fly economy again and the second was that France felt…different.

  The air felt different. Cleaner, fresher, until I inhaled the secondhand cigarette smoke of the lady standing in front of me. Savannah coughed not so subtly, but I enjoyed the smell.

  And the men. Let me tell you about the men. All tall and slender, narrow faces with pointed noses. Comfortable enough in their own skin to wear clothes that weren’t from a major chain store. They were so confident—so self-assured. I liked that because, for the most part, that’s how I was.

  I’ll never forget the first moment I saw him. It was dusk and the sky looked angry. Pink and orange hues cast over the buildings as the grey threatened to take over. It was the perfect evening to take photos, but I had never been one to chase pictures. I lived in the moment. So, while Savannah went in search of the best photo vantage points, I sat in a bar because, in France, even at eighteen, we could drink wine without being carded.

  He caught my gaze before he even knew I existed. He sat alone, scribbling something in a brown leather-bound journal, occasionally breaking to take a sip of rosé or ash his cigarette.

  He had dark brown hair and a short-trimmed beard. His pale blue shirt was gaping open and his hair, which was longer on top, was disheveled as if he’d combed his fingers through it one too many times. But that’s what attracted me the most. He had this air about him as if he didn’t care about his surroundings, he was so caught up in his own mind. I liked that. He was dark and brooding. He seemed deep.

  He drained his wine and then searched the room for a waitress. That’s when he noticed me. I was staring, but I couldn’t look away. My eyes were drawn to him with such a magnetic pull that it was too late to turn back. He eyed me, intimidating and approachable at the same moment.

  A slight smile touched his lips as he stood and walked towards me, his eyes never leaving mine. He had this confidence and swagger without coming across as a total douche bag.

  He sat down at the table without asking for permission. He didn’t need my permission. He knew that much.

  His olive skin glowed in the dim lighting of the bar, making his grey eyes pop. His fingers ran along the overgrown hair on his chin, making me want to do the same. I hadn’t seen perfection before, I didn’t know what it looked like until I saw him up close.

  “Bonsoir.”

  I smirked. “Hello.”

  “We have met before, no?”

  Oh, that accent. It fell off his tongue smoothly. His low, seductive tone twisted its way through each letter.

  “Nice try,” I said because I was too arrogant for my own good.

  “American?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

  I nodded, taking my wine glass from the table and swirling the remnants around the bottom of the glass. I drained its contents and pushed it across the table until it touched his fingertips.

  “Buy me another and we can talk more.”

  He smiled, shaking his head as he did so.

  “Not today my American girl.”

  He stood as he smiled, a dimple appearing in each chiseled cheek. My mouth would have dropped open at the sight of his dimples if he weren’t about to reject me.

  “Some other time,” he said with a wink. I loved the way his voice sounded, coated by tar and flirtation. He wasn’t real. He was like a character jumping off the pages of a romance novel. Masculine. Suave. Sexy.

  I opened my mouth to speak again, to tell him he wasn’t going anywhere until he bought me a drink, but he turned around too quickly. I watched as he walked out of the bar and out of my life.

  I rehashed the encounter over and over again in my mind. What could I have done? What could I have said to keep him interested?

  The French man walking out of that bar was the first rejection I’d ever experienced, and it stung.

  I went back to that same bar every night for a week. I’m not sure what I was going to do if I saw him. I guess I would figure that out when the time came. I just sat there, waiting for him to waltz back into my life. Every person who walked through the open archway had my attention, my eyebrows rose as I watched on hopefully, waiting for his gorgeous face to greet me, but he never came.

  It felt as though I’d lost something that I never had. I was grieving a relationship that never existed.

  I sat in the same seat and ordered the same rosé, drinking myself into an intoxicated state. It was a nice feeling. The alcohol mellowed me out.

  I didn’t tell Savannah the real reason I visited the same bar every night, even when she begged me to try somewhere new.

  How could I explain to her that I’d met the most delectable and intriguing man and we barely said two words to one another? She wouldn’t understand. We were eighteen and Savannah hadn’t loved before. Not even close. For me it was different. I was so in tune with my feelings. I always followed my heart.

  Savannah knew I was depressed. As twins, we felt one another’s triumphs as well as one another’s heartaches. We were connected and without me saying a word, Savannah knew. She knew something happened to me. In the space of a two-minute conversation, I’d changed.

  I was no longer a girl.

  From then on, I was a woman.

  Chapter 2

  It was our second to last day in Paris. I woke feeling numb. I didn’t want to l leave, and yet, I couldn’t wait to get back to Seattle—back to reality.

  Savannah decided to visit one last gallery, while I walked around the city, stopping every now and then for a coffee and a pastry. I’d never consumed so many calories, and never would again.

  On my way back to our hotel, I took a detour over the lovelock bridge. I watched on as each couple added their locks to the metal gates, hoping it would bring their relationship some kind of invincible bond. I watched as they added their initials with black markers that they bought from vendors who cashed in on the promise of eternal love. As I strolled across the bridge, my shoulders slu
mped, it filled me with a sense of emptiness. Love was alive and I was alone.

  When my feet could take it no longer, I sat on a bench, watching the boats full of tourist’s cruise along the river. The sky was overcast and threatened rain at any moment. People walked by at a brisk pace, trying to get to their destination before the rain bucketed over the city, and yet, I made no effort to move. I wanted it to rain on me, to make sure I felt human once again.

  The first drops fell, and I looked up at the deep grey sky. Another drop fell, hitting me between the eyes.

  That was the only warning before the heavens opened up and the rain pelted down upon me. I couldn’t spot anywhere close to take cover and yet, I wasn’t seeking shelter. I wanted to feel the rain.

  People rushed past, some with umbrellas, others using their bags to cover their heads. Those who noticed me shot me looks of confusion as if I was a crazy person. I smiled at them because I was in Paris, in the rain.

  I stood from my seat, tilting my head up at the sky as I twirled on the spot. I felt the water pool in my boots and I laughed hysterically.

  “What are you doing?” I heard him shout over the sound of the rain.

  I thought I imagined it at first. I’d dreamed of this moment and I couldn’t tell if this was reality or if I’d well and truly lost the plot.

  I looked at his face and my smile turned into a full-blown grin.

  “Crazy American girl,” he said. “You will catch a cold. Come.” He grabbed my hand without asking for permission and tugged on my arm for me to follow.

  We ran through the rain, our shoes soaking through as we stepped in puddles that couldn’t be avoided. He held my hand and I would have followed him anywhere at that moment. We crossed the road in front of cars that were driving too fast, but I followed, I trusted him with my life.

  We took shelter under the awning of a souvenir shop. The owner shouted something at us in French as she shielded a rack of I love Paris t-shirts from the rain, but neither of us paid attention to her. She might as well have been invisible. Everyone was invisible to me at that moment, except him.

  I looked up at his face, the rain dripping down his forehead, to his slightly crooked nose and then to his lips. I stared at his lips for what felt like an eternity. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

  I stood on my tippy-toes, wrapping my hand around his neck and drawing him close.

  I pressed my lips against his, tasting him for the first time. He tasted like a man, not like the boys I’d kissed at home. His tongue dove into my mouth, massaging mine as his hands wrapped around my waist, drawing me tight against his body. I’d never been kissed in such a way. This was how a girl was supposed to be kissed.

  Breaking away from me, he ran his fingers through his overgrown hair, slicking it away from his face. He looked down at me, shaking his head. “Crazy American,” he said in a soft, sweet tone that reminded me this was real—he was real.

  I could see into the depths of his grey eyes for the first time. We’d never been this close before and it caused my heart to thump in my chest. His eyes were wild and his lips pursed. He wanted me, all of me, and I wanted him to have me.

  I smiled wide. “I’m not crazy. This is crazy.” I gestured at the streets around us. The downpour had turned the streets of Paris into chaos.

  “You’re soaked through,” he said softly.

  “There’s no one else I’d rather be stranded and wet with.” I giggled.

  “Wet?” His eyebrows rose high up his forehead.

  I slapped his shoulder playfully and then giggled again.

  “Why are you laughing, American girl?”

  “Because…” I paused to brush the hair away from my face. “Because for the first time in years, I feel alive.”

  He brushed his thumb against my cheek as he looked down at me, shaking his head.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  I wanted to tell him that he was beautiful too, but I couldn’t find the words. Thunder sounded, causing my whole body to jolt. He chuckled before pulling me against his chest.

  “I’ll protect you,” he said as he pressed a kiss to the crown of my head.

  I wrapped my arms around him and rested my cheek against his chest as I watched the rain fall violently against the paved walkway. I could feel the warmth radiating off of his body as he held me tight. Nothing could harm me at that moment. I felt the safest I ever had in the arms of a complete stranger.

  When the rain slowed into a miserable drizzle, I pried my cheek away from his chest only to look at his face.

  “What now?” I asked because I knew I couldn’t be without him.

  He shrugged, looking out to the street. The roads were flooded by water that couldn’t drain away fast enough.

  When he didn’t say anything, I started to panic. The last thing I wanted to do was let him walk out of my life. I’d waited for what felt like an eternity to find him again.

  “Come home with me.” My tone turned high-pitched, that’s how nervous I was.

  “Where is home?” He furrowed his brow.

  I never had to make the first move. I was always the one being chased, but with him it was different. He was too cool to make the first move and too polite to imply that we needed to take this to the next level. So, it was left up to me, and I was going to do everything in my power to convince him that I was a good thing worth chasing.

  “My hotel room,” I said breathlessly. “It’s two blocks away.”

  I bit the corner of my lip as I waited for him to say yes, but I was left waiting.

  “Or we can go to a cafe.” I made a last ditch effort to save some semblance of pride. “Either way.”

  His thumb traveled to my mouth, untucking my lip from the hold of my teeth before tracing a line along the bow.

  He dipped his head and kissed my lips once more. “Lead the way, meu amor.”

  My heartbeat intensified. This was really happening. This wasn’t a dream. This was real life and this time, I wasn’t leaving without him.

  I grasped his hand in mine, squeezing tight, afraid that if I let go, I’d lose him again.

  We made it to the hotel in under five minutes. I don’t know what caused me to run faster, the rain or my own desperation, but he kept up with my pace, his hand never leaving mine.

  I fumbled with the key card before letting him inside our hotel. The room was dark, the curtain still drawn from the night before. Our beds had been made, but a trail of clothes that led from my bed to the bathroom caused my cheeks to burn. I guess the housekeeper wasn’t paid enough to put the clothes back on their respective hangers.

  The room wasn’t much. Two single beds pushed back against a wall, a small television sat on the other side of the room on top of the minibar, which had the world’s smallest wardrobe next to it. I turned to look at him, my cheeks glowing red.

  “It’s not much,” my tone was apologetic, but he didn’t notice. He had not taken his eyes off of me and it made me feel wanted—desired.

  It’s true. I didn’t know this man. He was little more than a stranger, but I knew that I wanted him. I knew he was in every waking thought since I set eyes on him. I knew I had to have him.

  The palms of my hands met his chest as I pushed him back against the door. I pressed onto my toes and kissed his lips, this time more passionately than before. The kiss took his breath away. He pulled back gasping for air, before meeting my lips once again. He cupped his hands to the sides of my face, his fingers felt hot against my porcelain skin, which was still ice cold from the rain.

  “We need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

  I smiled because I’d missed hearing the sound of his voice, his accent coating every letter as it left his mouth.

  I bit the corner of my lip. “You first.”

  My fingers were shaking as I reached for the top button of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons the whole way down. It took longer than it needed to, but it only added to the anticipation. I watched as his shirt fe
ll off his shoulders and to the floor.

  I inhaled sharply as I took in the sight of him. Dark hairs were peppered over his chest and around his nipples. I toyed with the silver crucifix he wore around his neck as my gaze followed the thin line of hair lead down his torso, past his naval and beneath his jeans. His body was muscular, but not like a man that was obsessed with the bench-press and protein shakes. He looked muscular in a natural kind of way. It’s as if he was born that. He was utter perfection.

  My fingers trailed across his skin cautiously. It’s as if I was afraid to touch him like it was forbidden or something, but once I felt his skin beneath my fingertips, I couldn’t hold myself back any longer.

  I pinned him against the door, my lips moving violently against his as my fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt. When I unbuckled his jeans, I reached inside his pants, feeling him against the palm of my hand for the first time. My eyes shot open as I felt his hardness, greeting me like a ten-inch corn dog at the fair.

  He looked down upon me, a crooked grin settling upon his lips.

  “Pants on or off?”

  Like he had to ask. I yanked at the waistband, pulling them from his body until they fell to the floor, the jingle of his belt clanking against the floor within seconds.

  He tugged on the bottom of my t-shirt as if asking for my permission to remove it. He didn’t have to ask twice. I locked my eyes with his and nodded my head once.

  He lifted my shirt above my head in one swift movement. His eyes dancing from my breasts to my face and back to my breasts.

  “Beauty,” he whispered as he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to my shoulder. “American beauty.”

  His hands felt behind my back, unclasping my bra with one hand. His fingers were experienced—far more experienced than mine, yet I felt as though I could trust him.

  I brought my hands between us, undoing the buttons of my pants, but his hands came to stop me.

  He shook his head as his mouth made a clicking sound.