In Your Atmosphere (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 43 - La Douleur Exquise

He looked up at the ceiling as if conjuring the memory. "That was a good night, as I recall."

She gave him an answering smile. "It had a happy ending."

"Like a good love song."

He slid a hand beneath her damp hair and rubbed her neck, and the jet lag seemed to evaporate. "You want some dinner...or anything?"

"If your girlfriend doesn't mind," she said, looking back and forth between his beautiful down-sloping eyes.

"I don't have a girlfriend right now," he said, a slow smile curving his lips. "But that's likely to change after tonight."

Oh my god. She wrapped both of her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. Was this really happening? "I'll have to see if Angela can watch Melody."

"Already asked her."

"I'll just be a minute," she said. She stepped out of his arms, cinched the robe around her waist, and sauntered out of the kitchen. As soon as she turned the corner, she practically ran into the back bedroom.

"Oh my god," she said, leaning against the door and catching her breath.

Angela looked up from the bed where she was feeding Melody. "Girl, you have it bad."

"It's been a million years since I've had sex, and I think it's gonna happen tonight."

"Are you happy about that or petrified?"

"Yes."

Angela laughed. "Just close your eyes and think of England. That's what all good British mothers tell their daughters to do on their wedding night when they speak of the horrors to come."

"Too late. When I close my eyes I think of Paul McCartney."

"There's no hope for you."

"Are you sure you don't mind watching her tonight?"

"For a dear friend who hasn't had a proper shag in a million years, and who's about to get it from her top shag, I think I can manage to watch this baby for a bit."

"I'll call you every two hours."

"No, Mar, We'll be fine. I can take care of a baby. I'll ring my mum if I have questions. Now go. Enjoy yourself."

They dined at the Top of the Tower, a brand new restaurant on the 34th floor of the Post Office Tower, the new tallest building in Britain. The restaurant slowly revolved, with an unmatched view of London. The manager had met them at a private entrance and ushered them up in the lift and into a private booth where two waiters were stationed nearby to fanproof their visit.

They talked about the new music they were listening to, the films they'd seen, the books they'd read. Paul listened with a big smile to every anecdote she told him about Melody. That was the fun thing about dating your baby's daddy, she realized. He wanted to hear about the main thing she wanted to talk about.

They had finished dinner and were sipping their wine, smiling across the table at each other, when a middle-aged man in a dark suit approached. Paul stood up and shook hands, calling the man by his name. Marisol sat back against the leather booth, a stab of desire rushing through her as she looked at Paul standing in front of their table. She was finally able to study him without his dreamboat eyes staring back at her, distracting her. He looked better than should be humanly possible. He reached back to their table for his glass of wine and her eyes lifted automatically to where his shirt clung to his shoulders and dipped in at his waist, and down to his trousers where his hip bones...

He cleared his throat and her eyes snapped up. His hazel eyes were clearly amused at having caught her ogling him. He took his time doing his own inspection of her, a smile tugging at his lips. Then he sat down on her side of the booth, and she resisted the impulse to move over and make more room for him. She wanted their thighs touching, their hands brushing, their lips close enough to kiss.