by Anna Bloom
He motions with his hand at the waitress. “Allow me.”
“Oh no, I’ll pay my share.” His lips press into a line, but he doesn’t say anything, so I speak, “Okay, thank you.”
That pays me back in kind with a beautiful smile.
Payment is swift, maybe too swift. Smoothly, he tips the waitress for the gratuitous ogling she’s been participating in while I’ve nibbled my chips.
Outside, the wind blusters straight through us, sheets of icy rain smattering against my almost dry coat. I step back against his chest as another blast rockets down the street. It’s always colder down by the Thames, always makes me shiver.
Firm hands rub on my arms. “You’re freezing, ma petite.”
I don’t know if I’m shaking from the cold or because I don’t want to leave this place; this magical moment that’s been carved out of the dismal reality that surrounds me.
When I walk to the Tube, the magic will break. It will snap in two and this moment will never happen again. It will fall into the folklore of my history that’s soon to be complete.
I turn, patting his chest. “Thank you for di—” His lips catch mine. I stumble back, off kilter, off balance, until his arms stretch around my back, pressing me upright and into his chest, while his hands run up my spine creating a shivering tingle.
Kissing.
He’s kissing. Me.
Like nothing else could ever exist.
Shock makes my lips open. The tang of wine brushes from his mouth into mine, warm and delicate, Beaujolais grapes really are the best.
Instinctively, I flick my tongue gently, tasting for more. His hand cradles my jaw, strong fingers tilting my face to the angle he wants. And who am I to disagree?
Kissing.
It’s a kiss unlike any other. He dives, and I sweep. I shift forward, he edges back. It’s a game of chase that I don’t want to end. One of us will need to breathe soon, but a challenge rises between us, who can be the first to go without air.
I will. I’ll make the sacrifice just so this never ends.
I make little gasping noises as his chest presses against my damp, wool-covered body. There’s a tingle down in my toes that threatens to unleash a fire through dry and barren land. I’m the arid hard earth after a harsh winter and with each probe of his tongue a little flower blooms to life. A snowdrop pushing against the January ice, flourishing despite the winter chill.
His lips slow, one long press, then another, and then another. He’s going to come up for air and I will be left forever remembering this moment that a perfect kiss broke. And it stops. A deep aching pull tugs deep down in my stomach, my eyes sting—I’d say it’s from the bitch of a wind. He doesn’t let go of my face. “Mon dieu,” he breathes against my skin.
My God.
I fucking know.
My God.
I’ve been kissed to within the final inch of my life. The kiss of all kisses has made me almost forget that life itself is nearly over.
“Nightcap?” he growls low in my ear and I push back to look up at his shadowed face.
This is insane. I need to get off the crazy train, because it’s leading me to a place I shouldn’t be going. I’ve got my ticket for my final destination and it’s somewhere I can’t take anyone else.
Knowing all this doesn’t make ‘no’ any easier to say.
It teases on my tongue with the leftover tingle of his kiss.
“I should go.”
He tugs on my coat, this mystery man, with the eyebrows that talk and the hands that… Jesus Christ, what could those hands do. “You should stay. Another half an hour.”
I meet his gaze, wanting to steal another kiss before I run into the night. “Where?”
“My hotel is just across the road.” Otel. I want him to repeat every syllable. It’s like my new, favourite music.
“How many steps?” I grasp the lapels of his overcoat. If he gives me the steps I can work out if I can make it.
Without a beat, his eyes lift over the top of my head. Then he leans back to glance down at my legs, arching a brow. “For you, twenty-five.”
I snort a laugh. A magical sound on a day where laughter could have come to a final end.
“Not a step more.”
“I’ll carry you if it’s more.”
We count together. One. Two. Three. Un. Deux. Trois.
It’s a small boutique hotel: iron railings and a roaring fire in the lounge. It crackles and dances, throwing the room into orange and red. He takes my coat and puts it on the stand by the door. Then he turns back, catching my elbow and whispers in my ear. “Five steps to the sofa by the fire.”
I’m warm and liquid on the inside and it has nothing to do with the crackling spit of the hearth fire.
He counts us over, settling me down, tucking me in like a little dolly with a tartan wool blanket. Never have I been tucked with such care. It’s like he knows I’m spectacularly broken without me having to say it.
I’ve always strived for independence. I’m a strong, independent woman and all that jazz.
But right now, I want to be wrapped like a burrito by mystery man.
He turns back and strides with impressively long legs for the bar and I watch him leave, eyes trained on his tight arse encased in navy.
What would the end of days be like with someone like him at my side? I mean, Barney is okay, apart from the farting, but he’s never going to roll me up in a blanket, fingers skimming my cheek.
What have I missed out on being a strong and independent woman?
Why didn’t I realise that maybe the two things didn’t need to be mutually separate from one another?
Twelve months to go and no family to leave behind, no husband to cry real tears.
That’s a good thing, right? I mean this way I’m not hurting anyone. Not breaking anyone’s heart, only my own. Olivia will survive. She’s got those two gorgeous kids to keep her going. She’ll miss me, sure, but her focus will always be on them, as it should be.
No, this way is definitely for the best.
Definitely.
“You’re lost in thoughts?” He comes back and offers me a small glass. It’s his concoction again. Oh crumbs.
“Just mulling over life.”
I expect him to sit on the other sofa opposite the fire, but instead he settles next to me. Sliding an arm around my shoulder.
“Life… no small subject to contemplate.” He takes a sip of his drink and I watch for him to wince. He doesn’t.
“I’m thirty next year.”
“A babe in arms.”
I shoot him a side eye. “How old are you?”
“Forty-two.”
“Wow. You’re old.”
He chuckles and it rocks me against his chest. “And so, you’re thirty next year? And what?” He turns slightly, beautiful pouty lips near my face.
Chewing on my lip I consider this. “I’m thinking of all the things I thought I would have done by now but haven’t.” This is halfway to the truth and I nod, pleased with my efforts of honest conversation.
“Like?”
I tease a smile, sipping delicately at the liquid fire, just wetting my lips and then running my tongue along them. “Well until ten minutes ago I’d never kissed a mysterious Frenchman in the street.”
“Ah, well that’s a must before you are thirty.” The twinkle in his eye makes my stomach tighten, makes me feel brave where normally I would hide.
“And you know, funny fact.” I look up at him through my lashes, the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the dark stubble on his jaw. My words want to catch and stop on the way out. They hesitate with a gasp of air, but I push them through. “I’ve never had a one-night stand.”
Who am I? Where is Julianna Brown?
All I know is that I want this. Whatever this is. I know in my gut this is my antidote to my really bad day. He’s the antidote to heartbreak, no not even heartbreak, life break.
He turns, gaze on my face, dropping to my mouth, making the
taste of his kiss flood back onto my tastebuds. Taking my glass, he leans across and places it on the occasional table by the side of the sofa. Shifting his weight, he slowly moves back, nose skimming my cheek. I breathe in the scent of icy air, wood smoke, and brandy.
“So sad, ma petite.” His lips glance mine. A brief sweep, challenging me to back out, asking me if I want to retract my statement, take back my unspoken question.
I don’t.
I push my lips against his, the warmth of them, the perfect pressure making me shiver.
“No names,” I whisper into his mouth.
“No names.” Every time he speaks, turning every vowel and consonant into something exotic, I could disintegrate into a thousand pieces.
“One night.” I pull back, holding my gaze firm on his face.
No one can blame this girl. I’m in shock. Just lived through bad news. No one would judge me for this.
I’m a good girl really. Ask Barney, he’s my living proof.
All I know is I don’t want to go home.
My hands grip the white cotton of his shirt sleeves, sliding over all the things he has hidden beneath. I know it’s going to break me apart.
“One night,” he confirms, nodding. The deal is done.
Which it is. Done. Signed. Posted in an envelope to my treacherous desire.
Leaning forward, he licks the seam of my mouth and I gasp sharply. “How many steps to your room?” I ask against his lips.
Pulling back, he glances over my shoulder, gaze narrowing. “Non. I’ll carry you, ma petite fleur.”
Unlocking me from where I’ve almost crawled into his lap, he lunges forward, lifting me with him, long powerful arms catching me up with ease. Laughing, I clasp my little legs around his tall frame.
A midnight gaze flashes over me with dirty promises of how he’s going to end me and then start me all over again and my laughter dies on my lips as I stare back.
A small whimper escapes me as he strides through the lounge area and to the lift, jabbing his finger on the call button.
Maybe now’s the time to point out I’ve never had sex in a lift either.
5
Things that go Bump
My legs cinch around his waist, tongue teasing into his mouth, hands in the dark strands of his hair. I think there’s a mirror behind me with my arse in a skirt pressed against it. Don’t care.
I sigh a little, daring him to kiss me harder, push into me further. His fingers squeeze my thighs hard and my sigh morphs into a groan. This man, with the hands.
The elevator door pings, and he steps us through, our kiss still a spun dream far from breaking. My fingers work the buttons on his shirt.
No idea who this wanton woman is but I’m loving her style.
He breaks the kiss and I’m close to crying, but his mouth falls to my neck, sucking gently on the skin at the hollow of my collarbone as he balances me against the wall and fishes a key card out of the back of suit trousers.
Those trousers are going to be seeing the floor any moment now.
Any. Bloody. Moment.
The door beeps but not before he’s cursed French obscenities into my mouth and jangled the door handle so hard it might fall off. Wouldn’t want to admit that to reception.
That would kill the mood.
The door kicks open and we are through. I don’t know what I want more of, more lips on my neck or more hard squeezes of my ass and thighs.
More.
Just more.
The door clicks closed, quiet against the loud carnival I’ve got clattering in my head. Every touch he places on me sets off another loud round of crashing music and applause.
Who knew kissing could be like this? So all… all… all encompassing. I lose my train of thought as he detaches my legs from his waist and gently lowers me to the ground. I’m unsteady and he chuckles as he holds me upright. I meet his gaze. This should be so awkward. I’m about to get naked with a total stranger.
Nothing about this is awkward. It seems so right it’s almost on the point of alarming.
No, I don’t believe in insta-connection. I don’t even believe in fate, but there is something in that dark-blue gaze that sings in my soul.
And it’s just one night. I’ll never have to see him again.
“That shirt, it smells of wine. I think you should take it off.”
With a boyish grin he silently agrees, unbuttoning the remaining fastenings much quicker than my lame fumble.
I pretend to sniff the air—Okay, I’m not practiced at this stuff, I have to work with what I have here. “I can still smell wine.”
He laughs. It booms around the four corners of the room and around my faulty heart. Picking me up, he stalks two steps to the bed and launches me on it.
I bounce. Actually bounce. He clutches my leg to stop me from ricocheting against the ceiling, pinning me down. Laughter bubbles in my chest; insane, uncontrollable laughter.
It builds. Builds. Like a whistling kettle on a stove.
“Something funny, ma petite?”
“Nope.” I smash my lips together, but my chest is tight with holding it in.
“Let me give you something to sober you up.” He leans forward, catching my face in a delicate touch from such massive hands. I’m breathless as he stares at me. Truly stares at me, holding my gaze, searching for something, though I’m not sure what. I struggle and squirm, hating that he could still be searching for the sadness he thought he could see in me earlier. He holds me still, continuing to stare deep into my eyes. When I finally lay tranquil, meeting him stare to stare, he smiles. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“I thought you did that already?” My breath hitches.
A slow smile spreads across his mouth. “Not yet, ma petite.”
Oh crumbs. What was that in the lift, because it sure felt like he was kissing the fuck out of me?
Leaning forward, he skims his lips up my throat. His hand palms the length of my calf, running up the black, thick tights made for January weather and not sexy times.
I quiver as his hand trails firmly up my thigh, over the cover of my hip, waist, side-boob until his fingers arrive at my chin. The slow smile curving at the edges of his lip makes my heart flip like a pancake. I drag in air. With a delicate clasp on my face, he presses his lips to mine: one, two, three. Tilting my head, he steals inside, unchallenged to explore the dark recesses of wanton kisses while I want more of his tongue inside, hot and slow, sliding against mine. I open my mouth more, dirtying the kiss, relishing every flick and dive.
This kiss is everything. It burns in my stomach. Slow, leisurely, it has me clawing for more, fingers finding purchase on his smooth skin. And oh, what skin. I want to open my eyes to look, to gaze at the fine surface, but I don’t want to break The Kiss.
I’ve never been kissed before.
I mean, I have.
But never like this.
Languorous, it stretches time; spinning the moment until it glitters with stars, or maybe that’s just the lights in my vision from lack of oxygen.
Oxygen is for losers. Fact.
His fingers drop their hold on my face, but I understand the unspoken demand. Don’t move. Don’t break the kiss. That’s the rule of the moment.
Don’t break a thing.
No sudden movements.
His hand lands on my hip, soft yet firm, his thumb pressing into the soft spot in front of my hip bone where underneath I’m sure my ovaries is having a little party.
Angling me closer, he presses tight into my body.
Oh.
Ooooh.
More, ooooh.
My toes curl up as the hard outline of what he’s packing under that navy suit presses into my belly.
He breaks the kiss. Rule breaker. Dipping his mouth to my throat, my collarbone, he slips the black of my staid office wear blouse to the side like I’m encased in the sexiest negligee ever made. Every inch of space his lips travel along tingles in his wake, like a riptide after the roll of s
and on the ocean floor. I churn into a vortex of desire.
“So beautiful,” he whispers against my shoulder, the slow descent of my blouse taking a hundred years. One cup of my bra is exposed, and my nipple pulsates with the need to be touched. It doesn’t come though.
No.
Torment is in the waiting. A fact I realise he knows.
My fingers find his hair, tugging at the strands. Soft and silky, the tousled waves slip through my touch. It’s how I imagined it would feel, smooth, running like liquid.
“Clothes off, now.” I breathe.
My mystery man lifts his head. “Impatient, ma petite?”
“Yes.” Pushing him away, I sit up, yanking at the buttons he’s been taking an age to undo. Discarding the blouse, I reach around to undo the button on my skirt, and he tuts low, growling almost under his breath. “Stand.”
Okay, no please. I can take that though.
I scramble off the mattress, legs heavy, strangely hot. It’s these bloody tights. Ghastly things. I’m never wearing them again.
He sits, hands on my hips, squaring me between his knees. His toned flat stomach scrunches and I push my knees together making him smirk. I’ll let him have that smirk. I’m on fire down there, raging fire.
“Please don’t think this is what I normally do,” I gasp as he lifts a hand, palming my stomach, running his thumb under the edge of my plain t-shirt bra.
“Does it matter what I think?” He pulls me forward, eyes closed, hands anchored, kissing along the bones of my chest just under my collarbone. I have never been kissed there. Intimate, every delicate bone that creates my form quivers with anticipation.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I feel his smile against my skin.
I think my skirt should come off now. And the tights. Definitely the tights.
Possibly the shoes.
He reaches around me, the side of his face pressed against my belly in the most intimate of holds as he unfastens my bra, freeing my aching breasts. They fall around his face with delight. Glancing up, he meets my gaze and the burn in his gaze dries my tongue so much I close my eyes. Dropping my head back, I give myself over to the stranger I almost didn’t meet, gasping as he slips my nipple into his mouth, pulling and sucking deeply, while his hands drop to my ass and give a firm squeeze.
