French Wanker - Victoria Pinder Page 0,19
mine now.”
And he hung up.
His lips claimed mine, and I wrapped my arms around him and let my fingers sink into his thick, dark hair. His kiss was hard, delicious, and exactly what I wanted.
As the kiss ended, my eyes were still closed, but a flash of light jarred me back into my body, fast. I knew the sound and grabbed my phone from him. “What did you just do?”
He handed me a glass of wine. “I texted him a photo. He sounded jealous, which is very immature, so the picture will help.”
Immature didn’t begin to describe Marlon. Not that I’d have admitted that two weeks ago, but then his callous breakup changed my perspective. My face was hot, and I lowered my gaze. “I… thanks.”
His arm wrapped around me, and he nuzzled my neck. “Let’s get back to more interesting…”
My lips quivered. Since when did I quiver for anything? I maneuvered to gently kiss him as his lips were more delicious than wine, but then I patted his chest. Before anything got too heavy, I wanted to speak now before I lost my nerve. “Can I ask why you were so silent on our drive here?”
His brown eyes were so intense, and I wrung my hands together. “I’d like to talk a little bit.”
He poured the wine for us and handed me a glass. “That’s fine. I’ve been a Fils de pute to you, and I have wanted to apologize.”
Now that sounded interesting. “A what?”
He clinked my glass. “An asshole, as you say in English.”
I bit away a smile. “Only a little bit, to be honest. No one has tried to kiss me at all in a while, Mr. Wanker, not that I wished for anyone else like I fancy you now.”
He traced my face. “But you’re beautiful.”
Damn. I yearned for him. I hungered to forget how I spent all that time at work, how I directed my team and was accused of losing that account.
I craved to be flat on my back, in his arms. I don’t know if I’d ever wanted anyone this badly, ever. But I sipped my wine and then admitted more to my glass than to him, “I’m… bossy, to be honest.”
He winked at me and put his glass down. “To be honest, I didn’t know I’d be dating an American at this point in my life.”
“Wait. Dating?” The words flew out of my mouth. Dating meant relationship and commitment, and I’m on vacation. I wasn’t ready for anything serious.
The idea of being possessed by him turned me on in a way I hadn’t expected. I sucked on my bottom lip and decided a week-long relationship might be fun. It would be nice to know I was the only woman in his world while I was here.
He pressed against my shoulder and made me all twisted up with desire. “We kissed more than once, so you’re my girlfriend. It took me a while to wrap my head around why I liked you.”
Wow. I honestly wondered what went through his mind, as I thought something bad happened to him in Paris. Maybe I was wrong on that one… or heard wrong. But I pressed my hand on his knee and asked, “You were deciding why you liked me? We hardly know each other.”
He shrugged. I never saw body movement as its own language before, and it was nice to just understand him as he said, “This went fast for both of us, but I’m warming up to it. I’m open to you when I swore to myself I’d never be serious with another woman.”
He’d been burned, too.
We needed each other. I wanted to rip my clothes off and get naked with him, but I stared down at our covered knees and said, “My honeymoon ends in a week, and in America, we talk about being exclusive.”
He took off my heel, placed it on the floor, and his light touch tickled. “Talk? In France if we continue kissing and carrying on as we are then we’re dating.”
His lips were burned onto mine, and his was the only kiss I craved more than food. I straightened my collar. “But you’re going to Monte Carlo? I didn’t think we’d last beyond a train ride.”
He played with my fingers. “Look, stay with me while you’re in Europe. My friends are in Monte Carlo. I’ll introduce you when we arrive, and then we’ll take it from there.”
As our palms touched, my body was already his for the taking. “My honeymoon