by Caro LaFever
When he’d kissed her by the Eiffel Tower, she’d been totally in. His kiss had been soft and sweet, and her brain and body melted right into his mouth. She’d been sure, absolutely sure. When he’d finally lifted his head and took her shaking hand in his, she was in a daze of desire. She’d floated down the street with him, past Marcel, and right up the stairs in a fog of lust so strong she imagined seeing golden shimmering strings of passion binding her to Alex’s side. Even when he’d opened the front door and ushered her into his family’s gorgeous home, she hadn’t felt a frisson of doubt.
Not until he’d gently nudged her coat off of her and run his hands down her body did the slinking awful feeling, the familiar ache of knowing she wasn’t perfect, come over her.
Her hands tightened on the bedcovers.
Alex stopped. The muscles on his shoulders went taut and the big hands at his sides clenched. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
His gaze penetrated the shadowed room, piercing and intent. “Is it birth control?” He walked to the antique bedside table and pulled out a drawer. A shower of silver packets spilled onto the duvet.
“You keep condoms in your mother’s home?” She tried for outrage, but the confusing mix of emotions inside her made the sentence sound weak instead of accusing.
“Only when you’re around.” He slid the oak drawer shut.
“You were expecting to get lucky, huh?” She pulled humor around her like armor. Still, a pinprick of anger suddenly pulsed.
Of course, he thought he’d get lucky. He always got lucky.
“Hoping.” He looked at her again, the drift of his ponytail sliding across one shoulder. “Let’s get something straight right now. About Melanie.”
Her tongue cleaved to her mouth at the name. When Alex kissed her and touched her and smiled at her, she forgot. Her best friend seemed as far away as the moon, as far away as the North Star. Disquiet about having sex with Alex now turned into outright dread. How could she think of sleeping with this man when he’d been in her best friend’s bed only a few months—
“Melanie and I never slept together.” Leaning over, he swiped the pile of condoms off the bed and placed them on the table, near enough to grab for when needed. “Not once.”
A stunned silence fell between them.
“What?” she finally croaked. “She never told me that.”
“I told her to keep it between ourselves.” He brushed a hand through his curls, the action highlighting the breadth of his hands. “I wanted to wait. I thought it was the thing to do. The right thing to do.”
Sophie stared at him, wishing for once that a bedroom light was on when she was naked with a man. She needed to see his face and his eyes to know how to respond. But she couldn’t see enough to read him, so she didn’t say anything.
“Which tells you something, doesn’t it?” His voice went wry. “There’s no possible way I can wait with you. Not one more day.”
The lust in his voice made her flush with an answering response, yet along with it came a prick of pain. He’d wanted to wait with Melanie because it was the right thing to do. What did that mean about her?
“Sophie?” He now sounded bewildered. “Say something.”
Say something?
Like…I think this might be a mistake even though I really want you.
Something like that?
“You know I want you.” Alex didn’t move toward her. She felt his heat, though, his hot desire reaching for her. “Only you, krotída mou.”
The hoarse statement arrowed right into her jumbled heart, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the memory, the time when she hadn’t been wanted, she’d been laughed at. This wasn’t his issue, however; it wasn’t something she should be bringing into this room.
“I want you, too.” Her whispered words were the only thing she could think to say.
A sigh of relief came from him and he took a step toward the bed.
She pulled the covers closer with an instinctive tug.
He stopped cold.
She’d managed to hide her growing disquiet as he’d taken her hand and led her down the hall to his bedroom. Scooting into the adjoining bathroom, she’d undressed without looking at herself in the mirror. When she’d gathered her courage, along with a long, plush towel wrapped around her body, and opened the door, she’d found the room empty. By the time he’d come back with a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses, she’d been safely under wraps in the bed.
“Sophie?” His hands opened and closed, drawing her gaze to his hips and pelvis. Shadows concealed his masculinity, but she could sense the power and need.
“Are you having second thoughts?” he said, his voice raw.
“N-no.”
He cursed, a rough, foreign word that wasn’t his usual smooth French. “You don’t sound very convincing.” With an abrupt jerk, he turned, bent down, and grabbed his jeans.
Yanking herself into a sitting position, she scrambled for something to say. Nerves and fear turned her words into an accusation. “If you would just come here and kiss me, I’ll be fine.”
He straightened, his back still to her. Now she had to contend with all the perfection of his other side: the bunched tenseness of his triceps, the sleek line of his spine leading her down to the taut excellence of his butt.
She wanted him. So much.
Why wouldn’t he come over here and kiss her?
Sighing, his shoulders drooped. “I’m not going to hold you to a promise you don’t want to keep.”
“I do want to keep it.” She did, didn’t she? Frustration balled inside of her like a tight fist. “All you have to do is kiss me and I’ll be good.”
He glanced at her, his jaw tense. “I don’t want you to be fine. And I don’t want you to be good.”
“What do you want from me then?” She threw her hands in the air, forgetting about her naked body for a moment.
The duvet slid down.
Alex’s gaze zeroed in with intensity.
She gasped and grabbed, covering herself once more.
“Wait a minute.” Swiveling around, he dropped his jeans and paced to the edge of the bed to kneel on the mattress. His hands came down right beside her hips. “This is all about the tragic story, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.” She closed her eyes, concealing herself from his sharp gaze. “Kiss me.”
Silence fell between them, filled only by his breathing. She felt its warmth on her skin and the heat of his body surrounding her. Pursing her lips, she eased forward, only wanting his kiss and then the sex.
He didn’t take the hint. “Tell me.”
Irritation and something more, something hot and hard landed inside her. Her eyes popped open. “Any other guy would have been all over me by now.”
“Yeah?” He propped himself back on his heels and crossed his arms. “I’m not like other guys, I guess.”
He guessed? She knew. The thought shook her and irritation went right into anger. “Okay. If you don’t want sex, I’ll leave.”
“Be my guest.” He eased off the bed and ambled to the door. The glass chandelier overhead burst into light.
Alex leaned on the silk-covered wall, his arms at his sides, covering nothing. His mouth wasn’t sultry with need or grim with judgment or quirking with amusement. His gaze wasn't filled with animosity or laughter or sexual desire.
He gave her nothing. Nothing to go on.
“Turn off the light,” she demanded. How could the magic between them change to ugly so fast? Only an hour ago, she would have done anything with this man. Now all she wanted to do was hit him.
“Come on, Sophie.” His words were silky with challenge. “Get out of the bed. Come over here and either kiss me or walk out the door. Your choice.”
He wanted everything from her. He’d told her before. Why hadn’t she listened? “No.”
“I was right.” He kept staring at her. “The tragic story.”
She scowled at him. He stared back, nothing
in his eyes but a question.
“There isn’t any tragic story,” she finally said.
“Then we’re going to have a long night staring at each other in this bright light.”
Sophie dropped her gaze to her clenched hands and white knuckles. “Go into the bathroom and I’ll be out of here in a flash.”
“Nope. Not going to happen.”
A wash of emotions rose inside her, fury and fear mixed with an awful sense of being crushed. They filled her with a rage she hadn’t wrestled with in years, in more than a decade. “You are so stupid.”
All he gave her was a passive grunt.
She felt like a child, wanting to throw a temper tantrum, wanting to throw things at him until he’d go away. “It’s nothing.” She lifted her gaze to his perfection, giving it and him her best glare.
His expression was completely calm. “If the story is nothing, come over here and kiss me.”
Her breathing now filled the silence. Harsh and distraught. Dammit. Distraught. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m your friend. Before anything else, I’m your friend.”
His words were so simple, so solid. They slid right into her soul and the tight ball of rage loosened. Shocked, tears came to her eyes.
“Sophie.” He straightened. “Don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it.” Keeping one hand clutched on the sheet, she swept the other across her cheeks.
Pacing to the bed, he slipped beneath the covers and slid right to her side. “Hey,” he murmured.
“Hey, yourself.” She found herself nestled in the curve of his body, her wet cheek resting on his warm skin. A brute hand stroked a gentle touch along her arm as a surprisingly comforting silence filled the bedroom. She closed her eyes, blocking out the revealing light.
“Okay. We won’t talk about the tragic story. For now.”
Sophie tensed, and then his hand smoothed to her shoulder and massaged the tension away. His breath lifted his chest up, and she felt his heart beating on her cheek. The heat pouring from him warmed more than her skin.
His mouth whispered across her hairline. “You smell like cookies.”
A watery chuckle. “That’s the best compliment you can come up with, Stravoudas? You’re slipping.”
His chest rumbled in a chuckle and before she thought it through, her hand stroked across him, taking in the heat and feel of him.
His arm tightened around her and the big hand landed on her naked hip. “You feel good.”
“You, too.” Tucking her face into the crease of his neck and shoulder, she took in a deep breath. “You smell like Paris.”
He chortled again. “I smell like cigarettes and car exhaust? I don’t think I’m the one who has to work on my compliments.”
“No.” She popped her head up to meet two twinkling blue eyes. “You smell like…”
A caramel eyebrow rose.
“Like the best pastry in the world.” Oh, crud. What a stupid thing to say. Immediate, intense embarrassment filled her and she knew a blush stained her cheeks.
“Coming from you, Sophie, that’s a high compliment.” The smile he gave her was grave and one she’d never seen before. A sincere smile. A smile only for her.
A Sophie smile.
A joy-filled zing of happiness fluttered inside her heart and she gave him a special smile of her own. One she’d never given another soul.
“Krotída mou.” He shook his head, the blond curls around his ears swaying. “I can’t believe what you do to me.”
“You do it to me, too,” she admitted, not knowing exactly what the words meant, but instinctively understanding the message.
“Do I?” His other hand lifted to cup her head. She felt the tug at the top of her ponytail and then the release of her hair. Something went free inside her as well as out, and she bent down without any lingering fear and kissed him.
Her hair fell in a curtain around them, keeping out the world. He met her kiss, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue strong and sure. Sophie felt everything fall away until the only thing she knew was here and him.
Alex.
Her hands smoothed across his shoulders and into his hair. As he had done to her, she released him, and his golden hair spilled onto the pillow beneath him, a riot of treasured curls.
She pulled away, so she could look. So she could admire. “You’re beautiful.”
He laughed and flicked a long finger on her chin. “Look who’s talking.”
Emotion clutched inside. Staring at him, she saw only genuine belief in his eyes. Alex thought she was beautiful. The tears welled once more, this time in stunned surprise and gratitude.
“Come on now.” He slid a big hand along her neck, under her hair. A blunt thumb brushed over her cheek and caught a tear. “Come on.”
Her heart had been right.
This wasn’t about sex.
A shudder went through her and another tear fell on his finger.
Sophie tried to hold onto her flying heart, but it had already winged its way straight into love.
Chapter 17
“You’re killing me here.” Alex’s heart and head fought with the erection burning along Sophie’s soft belly. He wanted to strip the covers from her body and come inside her, reveling in the curves and valleys he’d lusted about for weeks.
Her tears made the cocoa eyes staring at him sparkle and gleam. He wanted to lean in and lick them off her cheeks and eyelashes until she cried out in passion, not pain.
But this wasn’t the time.
His lust roared its disagreement.
Closing his eyes to her tears, he struggled to get a grip on himself. First, she needed to tell him her tragic story. Then he could fix it and make it all better for her. And finally, hopefully, he’d be able to take everything she wanted to give him.
“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Alex opened his eyes to her misery and took in a deep breath.
Not the time, Stravoudas. Not now.
His cock howled.
“We aren’t going any further. Not when you’re like this.” He hated every word coming from his mouth, yet he had no choice. This time, perhaps for the very first time in their relationship, he was going to act like the gentleman his mother had raised him to be.
“Oh, no.” Her bowed lips opened in a big O. “That’s not what I want at all.”
Bringing meaning to her words, she pressed her body along his side and buried her wet face in his neck. Before he could catch another breath, her little tongue danced on his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone.
“Sophie. No.” His hand shot out and cupped her head, but he couldn’t wrench her away. His fingers got distracted by the velvet smoothness of her hair. The locks swirled around him, like warm strands of seduction.
Her tongue moved to his nipple.
“Stop.” He forced himself to tug her hair until she quit her assault on his senses.
She wasn’t crying anymore. The gleam in her brown gaze had turned from a sadness that wrenched his heart into a sexual desire that yanked at his cock.
The change threatened to give him a whiplash. “This isn’t right,” he sputtered out. “I’ll sleep in—”
“You’ll sleep right here with me.” Two small hands pushed his shoulders down on the bed. Before he could object, she slid on top of him. Her abundant breasts pressed to his chest, her legs twined around his, so short he felt her toenails scraping his skin, right below his knees.
Yet far worse, far better, was the feel of her mons and curls brushing along his aching erection.
“Soph—”
She cut him off by pressing her lips to his and sticking her sassy tongue right into his mouth. He tried to think, tried to control himself and her. Still, the sweet taste of her, so rich and strong and hungry, caught him and wouldn’t cut him loose.
Her mouth had always defeated him in one way or another.
She wiggled, God help him. In self-def
ense, he grabbed her butt, trying to stop the agony. Her flesh filled his hands, warm and soft, like round creme puffs begging to be explored. The memory of his erotic imaginations in the past, of him staring at her naked, heart-shaped rear, spreading her legs, surging inside—
Sophie squeaked as he rolled her underneath him, his hands still tight on her butt cheeks. His erection, so hot and hard he knew he had only seconds before making a fool of himself, slid right over her clit.
Gasping, his krotída mou threw her head back, the cream of her throat drawing his mouth down to taste. Taste the sugar of her skin, the salt of her heat, the fire of her.
Only her.
He sucked in a deep breath of her scent and fought his cock for control.
“Are you sure?” His voice strangled with need. “Because I won’t be able to stop if we go any further.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She moaned. “Just…just go and turn off the light.”
He wanted to yell out his objection, he needed to see every inch of her as he touched her. This was about that damn tragic story of hers, but he couldn’t bring it up now. Not if he wanted to have her tonight.
His body roared with need.
This isn’t right, the gentleman inside him snapped. This isn’t the time.
Lifting himself off her, he sucked in a hot breath at the ache of agonized craving burning under his skin. Her body, in the shining light of the chandelier, was a landscape of rolling hills and deep valleys. All cream and sugar and woman.
How could she take this sight away from him?
Her eyes popped open and caught his gaze. Not for long, though. He couldn’t help but look again at her beauty, at her bounty. Her delicate shoulders were rounded with a smattering of tiny brown freckles dusting the cream of the skin. They made him want to come close and kiss each one. Her breasts were lush and big, fulfilling every one of his lustful imaginings. Her nipples were dusky red, reminding him of the pinot noir grapes his grand-pere had carefully cultivated.
“Go turn off the light,” she yelped.
You shouldn’t do this now, the gentleman urged. She’s not ready.
