Primrose #2
“Thanks,” I say, not quite able to hold his gaze for the moment.
“No problem,” he says simply. When I chance look up, I find him looking at me expectantly. “What else?” he asks.
“So I was thinking that, while you’re deleting the curious incident of a gecko in the night, you can also delete this.
” My heart hammers as I tip onto my toes and curl my hand against the nape of his neck.
He’s much taller than me, and I’m standing still on a lower step, but it doesn’t seem to matter one bit as his surprise gives way almost immediately and his arms fold around my waist.
Our lips meet and he allows me to lead in a kiss that’s soft and coaxing, a lazy exchange of lips and wine-scented tongues. A kiss that turns the blood in my veins to champagne bubbles.
“You don’t seem so surprised,” I say, pulling back a little. We’re still so close, I can’t see his expression properly.
“Kiss me again,” he demands, tightening his hold. “I’m worried I might be dreaming.”
The bubbles inside me pop, and when our lips meet again, it’s no less sweet. Until something changes: lips meet with a little more force, tongues sliding a little deeper, breath becoming hotter, and when he moans into my mouth, the sound echoes though my core.
I whisper his name as I tip back my head, allowing his lips to slide down my neck.
“I’ve been staring at your mouth all evening,” he whispers, “wondering if I’d ever get another taste” His voice breaks over my name as he steps closer.
“Your shoes.” The towel still clamped in my fist at my back, I glance down at the water swimming around his ankles.
“I don’t give a fuck.” His tongue is bold as his mouth slides over mine, the touch and taste of him nothing short of wonderful. “You’re sure?” he demands as he anchors my body against his, my hips in his big, capable hands, twisting in the towel.
“No. I just know I want you.” I curl into him and hiss him again. Everything becomes frantic for a moment, lips clashing, tongues thrusting, fingers gripping tighter as we fight to get closer.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, turning to French.
“English,” I demand, tightening my hand in his hair.
“I’ve missed you. Is that crazy? Have you missed me?”
“Yes, we’re both crazy.” For giving in. For choosing pleasure after all I’ve told myself.
But I don’t care anymore because, every time I see him, I feel like he steals a little more of my sanity.
I’ll be back in London in two weeks, back to rounds and charts and grumbling because I can’t find anywhere to park my car.
Back to salads for one and wine from a box and self-administered orgasms that won’t ever be enough. But I won’t think about that now.
His lips still on mine, he lifts me from the pool, setting me on the step above. He takes my face in his hands, his expression suddenly serious. My nerves begin to jangle like keys on a keychain.
“One question,” he says, his voice low and careful. “Alejandro.”
“That’s not a question, it’s a name,” I say slowly, trying to work out exactly what he means.
“You know what I’m asking.”
The fact that he is asking says he’d taken me seriously.
Second, it says that he’s jealous. Jealous of a man I’ve only had one conversation with.
Has he been worrying about this the whole time?
A deeply unevolved part of me unfurls at the realization.
I should tell him it’s none of his business.
It’s wrong, but I want to make him suffer a little longer.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know. I need to know. Did you?”
Did I have sex with him. “Would it bother you?”
“Deeply.” His answer comes much too quickly, and my brow furrows.
“Because you’re mine now, Primrose, and I don’t like to share.”
I shake my head and his lips immediately capture mine in something that seems more possessive than just a kiss. His for a minute or a day. For the time we have left.
When he finally pulls back, he drops his forehead to mine. His breathing is as ragged as my own, each warm exhale brushing my lips. M. LDH, so controlled, composed, and infuriatingly certain of himself is as every bit as shaken as I am right now.
His eyes open, dark and fathomless. “Primevère.”
“I know.”
“Was it just a kiss or…”
My heart gives a little flutter. “Two weeks.”
Something changes in his face but before he can kiss me again, I put my hand to his chest.
“Meet you in the kitchen later for cake?” he says.
I give a little laugh at his words, at his expression. “I don’t know how this is going to work, but we can’t risk anyone knowing.”
He nods, suddenly serious.
“Not the children, not Zoe, not Jacques or anyone else. And never Emmy.”
“Understood.”
“Which means no more cake.”
“I don’t want cake. I want the whole banquet.”
“So what happens now?”
His mouth brushes mine again, maddeningly brief. “We go to bed. Alone, sadly.”
“And tomorrow?”
He considers me for a moment. “Sylvie has been bugging me to spend the night with Maria and her family, sleeping under the stars. I’ll arrange it for tomorrow.”
My eyebrows lift a little. “Camping? Your children?”
“Not quite.”
“But convenient.”
“Sometimes fate hands you the keys to paradise.” Luc catches my hand, his thumb moving once across my knuckles.
My pulse skips. “So paradise tomorrow?”
His smile is slow and devastating. “Heaven between your legs.”
I can hardly wait.