Chapter 11
Fleur
Electric.
There was no denying our connection, the powerful draw that exploited an uncontrollable passion. Montgomery whisked me into his arms, determined to remain some primal image of the very type of alpha man I’d desired.
I’d always thought getting to know a man before sex was wise.
Job. Family. Hobbies. Likes and dislikes.
Now all my beliefs were easily tossed out the window.
All I needed to know was that he was sexy as hell, a damn good kisser, that his mouth and tongue were lethal weapons, and his cock was huge. I mean gargantuan huge.
I might be shorter than him by several inches, but I was by no means a tiny woman.
Which was why as he carried me up a winding set of stairs, I not only felt self-conscious, but also concerned about his injury.
There was no change in expression, the lust in his eyes lingering, the clench of his jaw continually capturing my attention.
His hold tender yet firm. Possessive. The word continued to ravage my mind.
Which was exactly what it seemed he was eager to do.
Once inside the bedroom and after flipping on a single light, he stood at the end of the bed.
Just as soon as a sly smile slipped across his face, he tossed me in the middle.
I could tell he wasn’t expecting me to scramble to my knees, offering an even more heated version of the same expression he’d worn for the past few minutes.
Determined.
There was something entirely different about his eyes, especially when he shifted them in my direction.
Undressing me.
Searching my very soul.
Prepared to devour every inch, tasting and taking like the dangerous man he truly was.
Thoughts of attempting an escape tickled the back of my mind. All the soul searching he’d done had created a mental connection because he obviously knew what I was thinking. He pointed his finger at me, lowering it to the bed, a silent command to remain right where I was.
Still tempted, I shifted on the comforter, and he reached for his belt.
As my eyes fell to his large hands and how they were unbuckling, instead of trepidation I was pushed to another wave of desire.
As with every woman, we were complicated creatures.
Even the best girls often enjoyed being bad.
I resisted and was immediately rewarded with him switching to his shirt.
His eyes never left mine as he unbuttoned, shucking it off as soon as the task was completed. When the material slowly fell to the floor, he barely acknowledged it, kicking it aside.
I too barely acknowledged it because I was further rewarded with an incredible gift of seeing his gorgeous chest once again. Whereas I’d tried very hard not to gawk when delivering muffins, tonight I had a right to do so.
With a slow and steady breath, I enjoyed the view perhaps a little too much.
Every inch of him was carved, a sinful recreation of a Greek god.
My eyes trailed down from his six-pack abdomen to the deep V falling ever so perfectly to his cock, the most amazing creation of beauty I’d ever seen.
Including the thick veins pulsing on both sides.
He chuckled from seeing the way I was studying him. Little did he know I was doing measurements in my mind. What a silly thing to do, but I couldn’t believe how insanely attractive he was.
“You like what you see?” he asked, with more gruffness to his voice.
“What’s not to like.”
“My turn. Remove your dress.”
Blinking, I lifted my gaze, seriously surprised I was having difficulty thinking clearly. “No fair. You claimed one half of my clothes already.”
He chuckled, finishing unfastening his belt. “Then I guess you should have worn more clothes.”
With every word out of his mouth dripping innuendoes, I was surprised I could think clearly. “Jeans first.”
“That’s not the way it works, my French flower. This is my house. My rules. You obey or you’re punished.”
Another promise. Another shiver of every inch.
But I didn’t fight him as I’d normally do, reaching for the hem of my dress.
There was nothing overtly sexy about ripping it over my head, or that it wrapped itself around my arm.
But my sensual inadequacies didn’t seem to bother Montgomery in the least. I was completely vindicated by the change in his demeanor.
His eyes narrowed.
His lips thinned.
And his eyes were mere slits as his chest rose and fell. “Une fleur parfaite.”
His French was flawless, his accent more pronounced than before. And I felt like a beautiful flower, at least under his watchful eyes. “You’re French.”
My summation caught him off guard but thankfully didn’t stop him from removing the rest of his clothes. “French Cajun.”
“Wow.” I momentarily looked away until I caught the sound of his zipper. “Beau, élégant et impitoyable. Une combinaison parfaitement dangereuse.”
He was even more surprised. “You’re French.”
“Oh, goodness. No. Just the language I learned in school.” He tossed everything aside, running his hands down his chest. At least now, my mouth was watering.
“Handsome, debonair, and ruthless. A perfectly dangerous combination. I don’t believe I’ve had such an incredible compliment my entire life.”
“Then wherever you live the women are…” My words dropped off as he climbed onto the bed.
There’d been a rush of need before, an intensity that couldn’t be bothered by location or potential voyeurs.
Now it seemed this man was eager to take his time.
When he was on his knees in front of me, brushing the tips of his fingers up my arms to my shoulders, I shuddered visibly.
“Finish what you were going to say,” he commanded. He was doing nothing than whispering as he shifted his hands to my collarbone then to my neck.
“The women are… blind. Stupid. Crazy.” The scar on his thigh drew my attention. It was ugly and vicious. I knew enough about the human anatomy to realize why the limp was so pronounced and why he was in so much pain. Near the femoral artery, he was lucky to be alive.
With the scar still raw and red, it was an indication the shooting had been in the recent past. I don’t know what possessed me, but the moment I reached out to trace the scar, he snapped his hand around my wrist painfully.
“Don’t.” His snarl was a powerful enough reason not to continue, but I wasn’t the kind of woman to be daunted by subtle threats of any kind.
“The scar is beautiful like the rest of you.” Since he’d captured my right arm, I took my left, purposely tracing the art on the forearm of the hand gripping me. He was shocked, maybe even a little perturbed, but he didn’t try to stop me.
“There’s nothing beautiful about it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. A battle wound. You survived.” As I continued fingering the designs, he finally stopped squeezing, now simply holding my hand in an attempt to keep me from touching it. “I’m sorry you’re in pain.”
“You didn’t do it.”
“No, I didn’t. Whoever did is a monster.”
His sigh was followed by a slight snort, a sound creating wild and filthy thoughts. How crazy was that? “My French flower. You want to believe in the best in everyone.”
“Trust me, Montgomery. Not everyone. I’ve worked long and hard not to wish terrible things on people. Maybe that’s the healing you need to do.”
He cupped my face, his hands slightly callused in comparison to the smoothness of my skin. He forced me to look him in the eye, uncertain how to take me. That made two of us.
With another subtle yet powerful laugh, he rubbed his thumbs back and forth across my jaw. Once again I was thrown by the sensations coursing through me as well as the fog flickering across my vision.
“Another compliment. And coming from a wild, unpredictable gypsy.” With his lips mere centimeters from mine, I could barely keep my eyes open. I pressed my hands against his chest, allowing my fingers to knead his skin.
“Gypsy. I don’t know about that.”
He tilted his head until his heated breath was skipping across the side of my neck. When he darted his tongue into the shell of my ear, my body rocked involuntarily, a single breathless moan escaping. “Then we’ll call you a free spirit. Un bel oiseau chanteur.”
A beautiful songbird.
“You’re not bad with compliments yourself.” Why was every inch of me shaking?
He nipped my earlobe and I shifted my hands to his arms, wrapping my fingers around them.
Even on my knees, I was fearful I would lose my grip.
Or perhaps my sanity. This wasn’t supposed to be romantic, merely a way of satisfying intense hunger.
He was completely different than I’d originally believed.
That was the only reason I’d feel any guilt about tonight.
When I moved my head slightly, his lips finally touched mine. That was all either one of us could take, the desire immediately exploding. With more questions than answers regarding everything about him, I rolled my hands over his shoulders, pulling him more tightly against me.
As before, the kiss was a heated moment of magic, a telling statement about the sheer electricity we shared. He swept his tongue inside, immediately dominating mine. He was so powerful in everything he did, commanding by nature, but I didn’t mind being led down a path of utter filth.
If this was what was meant by getting dirty, I was all for it.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, savoring every moment. There was no way of knowing how long the kiss lasted, but when he pulled our lips free, I reacted, biting his bottom lip as he’d done with me before.
Rapture.
The word spun in my mind, exactly what I was feeling at that very moment. Every touch of Montgomery’s hand, the way he’d kissed was powerful and tantalizing, pushing the limits. True perfection.