closer to the metal railing, facing the city.
His chest rose with a deep breath before he unexpectedly belted out a line of Alfredo from La Traviata by Verdi,“Libiamo, libiamo ne'lieti calici—”
“Tais-toi!”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Ta gueule!”
Immediately came in French and English from quite a few directions.
“See?” He spread his arms wide, grinning at me. “There are no music lovers in this building.”
I hid a chuckle behind my hand. “You know, the time of the night might be severely impairing their appreciation right now.”
Something about Zeph singing his heart out from a Parisian rooftop seemed exceptionally hilarious to me. Personally, though, he could sing anything to me anytime. As far as I was concerned, I’d listen to him day and night.
“You have an amazing voice, Zeph. I’m no expert, but your range is impressive. I mean, that was just one line, but opera singing is not an easy feat.”
“According to Lero, opera is the most acceptable way of singing.”
“Lero? But he owns a cabaret not an opera theatre.” I’d heard a wide variety of music performed at Le Loup Solitaire that night.
“That is probably the only reason why he suffers through my performing other music genres. Cabaret crowds love variety.”
“What genres do you prefer?”
“Honestly? All of them. Why limit yourself? People need all kinds of music. I like to sing what I feel like, depending on the mood I’m in.”
“Really?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Surely, someone who could execute an opera aria this well would have a word or two to say about popular music. “Any genre? Rap, techno, pop, Latin? Rock?”
“They all can be fun,” Zeph insisted. “All have their purpose.”
Tousling his hair in a sexy way, he yanked the collar of his shirt up. With a smoldering look for me, he suddenly broke into the male part of “Señorita.”
The sizzling hot lyrics of the song, combined with the sexy swagger he moved with in my direction and the sultry note he slipped into his voice, made my breath hitch.
Swallowing a mouthful of ice cream, I parted my lips, suddenly short on oxygen when he came to me and circled my waist with his arm.
“Ooh, la, la...” I mouthed the end of the last line along with him.
His eyes were of deep turquoise in the night, and I was losing myself in them.
The line died on his lips as he drew me closer, his gaze sliding down my face. Breathless, I watched his tongue dart out to lick his bottom lip. The sudden desire to taste it burned in my chest.
“Is this too close?” he murmured, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth away from mine.
“Not close enough,” I whispered.
The next moment, his mouth was on mine, tasting, taking, claiming. The strawberry flavor mixed with something hot and spicy—Zeph’s taste—an intoxicating combination. I couldn’t get enough of it, greedily kissing him back.
Haze swirled through my mind, as if a strong current was dragging me under. But I was unable and unwilling to fight it, hopelessly lost to Zeph’s kiss.
Moving my hand holding the ice cream out of the way, I pressed my chest to his then slid my free hand up into his hair. The strands caressed between my fingers, soft and silky. The sensation was even better than I’d anticipated.
The glass tilted in my weakened fingers, and I nearly dropped the ice cream. With a noise of surprise against his mouth, I broke the kiss, grabbing the glass firmer. Thankfully, the ice cream was still there.
Zeph didn’t release me from his arms, didn’t even allow any space between us. His chest rising and falling against mine, I felt his heart thunder under his shirt.
“Do you need my help with this?” he asked, pointing with his chin to the glass with my dessert.
“Yes, please.”
“What’s about that ‘no friends in ice cream’ statement?” he teased, with a chuckle into my hair.
“I admit I have overestimated my ice cream eating capacity.” I smiled into his shirt.
“It’s a good thing then that mine is limitless.”
Bringing the glass between us, I took a spoonful of my half-melted dessert and fed it to Zeph since both of his arms remained wrapped around my waist.
“Wow.” He blinked after tasting it. “This is some crazy combination of flavors.”
“Good crazy or bad crazy?”
He tilted his head, considering my question.
“Not sure. I need another taste to decide.”
I fed him another spoonful then another, realizing that everything about tonight was kind of crazy. In a good way. In an exceptionally crazy good way.
Our adventure didn’t turn out to be wild. By