Frenched

by Harlow, Melanie

  He laughed a low, gravelly sound that made my body hum. “Good.”

  #

  It was a glorious day in Provence, warm and sunny with just a few perfect puffy clouds. Charming villages, wide open blue sky, verdant orchards, gorgeous fields of lavender—I’d never felt so ungrateful to Mother Nature as I did sitting in that rented Toyota SUV, watching it all fly by outside the windows.

  It was Lucas’s fault.

  As soon as we were out of the city and on the open road, he’d reached over and slipped his hand under the hem of my bright yellow skirt and ran it up my thigh.

  I’d widened my knees, desperate for him to touch me, nearly exploding the moment his fingers crept beneath my wet panties. “Lucas. That feels so good.”

  He steered with one hand and drove me crazy with the other, sometimes teasing with light, whispery brushes and sometimes pushing me right to the edge with a deep, plunging stroke. “Fuck, Mia. You’re soaking wet. I want to lick it off you.” His voice was gruff.

  I rocked and moaned in the seat, riding his hand without apology, hoping he was still planning to pull over and give me everything he’d promised.

  God, when had I gotten so greedy?

  I fucking loved it.

  “Lucas,” I murmured. “I want you. Can we—”

  Suddenly, he swerved off the highway onto an old dirt road cutting through a grove of trees. “Backseat. Now,” he ordered.

  With my heart pumping hard, I climbed over the seat as he brought the SUV to a stop in a hidden, shady spot well off the main road. He got out of the front and into the back, and the look in his eyes had me panting and reaching for his belt.

  “Not so fast, princess,” he said. “There’s something I want to do first.” With that he hooked his arms around my thighs and yanked me down on my back. Then he slid my panties down and off one leg, leaving them dangling from one ankle like a little white flag of surrender.

  Kneeling on the floor, he threw my legs over his shoulders and buried his head beneath my skirt.

  I cried out at the first upward sweep of his tongue, flattening one sweaty hand on the window and one on the back seat.

  “Fuck, you taste so good.” He licked me slow and sweet. “Like fucking candy. Like the center of those chocolate eggs at Easter time. Remember those?” He switched to fast little flicks and swirls over my clit and I pounded on the window.

  “Are you kidding me? I can’t fucking think when you’re doing this, Lucas, I can hardly breathe. Oh, God. Oh my God!” Thrashing my head from side to side, I felt my muscles contract as he shoved his tongue inside me, tilting my hips up with his hands.

  “I can’t take it, it’s too good,” I cried, feeling the heat bloom between my legs. “Lucas!”

  He reached around with one hand and rubbed my clit hard and fast, and I screamed his name again as I went plank-stiff beneath him, my orgasm beating a rhythm on his tongue.

  A second after it stopped, Lucas undid his jeans and shoved them down just enough to free his towering cock. He jerked my legs sideways on the seat, tore open a condom packet with his teeth and rolled it on.

  A flash of disappointment hit me—I wanted him skin to skin.

  What the fuck, Mia? Are you crazy?

  Yes!

  Two seconds later he was on me, driving into my wet, hot center with a fury that had me gasping for air, his shoulder smothering my mouth.

  I clutched at his shirt, wanting to tear it off him, pop the buttons, rip the seams. I wanted him urgently, desperately, violently.

  “Yes,” I moaned, loving the brutal way our bodies slapped together. “God, I love it like that.”

  “You like it rough?” He could barely speak he was pounding into me so hard. “You want me to fuck you harder?”

  I whimpered a little at the thought, wondering how it was even possible, but a second later, my eyes rolled back in my head as he lifted his chest off me, braced himself on the front and back seats and hammered into me with even more force. I bucked up beneath him, feeling the second orgasm coming.

  “I fucking love it when you move that way, like you can’t get enough of my cock,” he growled, the words broken up by his powerful thrusts.

  I can’t, I wanted to tell him. I can’t get enough. But I was too far gone to talk. My head fell to one side, my mouth open in the silent ecstasy and agony of teetering on the brink.

  He slowed down, killing me with a measured, steady rhythm. “Touch your tits for me. Let me watch.”

  I lifted my shirt and brought my hands to my breasts, pinching my hard, tingling nipples through my lacey bra.

  “Yeah, just like that.” He moaned and increased his pace again, taking me dangerously close to the edge. “Fuck, you’re so perfect. I love watching you, it makes me want to come so hard… oh my God…”

  “Yes,” I breathed. “Oh, God, yes. Right there. Right there.” Push me over, Lucas. Come with me.

  Words abandoned, he took us both over, each of us crying out with every wave of pleasure pounding through us.

  Lucas collapsed on top of me, and I brought my hands to his head, my fingers weaving through the hair I now adored. We breathed heavily, our chests straining at our clothing.

  When I found my voice, it was weak and scratchy.

  “Car sex. Crossed. Off. The list.”

  I felt Lucas’s chuckle. “How about villa sex? That on the list?”

  “It is now.”

  We drove the rest of the way to the villa with the windows rolled down, music blaring. Lucas and I had discovered a mutual affinity for vintage Michael Jackson, and though it may have been a bit incongruous to zip through the Provençale countryside with the scent of sunflowers and lavender rushing into the car and the sound of Off the Wall blasting out, it didn’t bother us.

  Nothing bothered me.

  “God, Lucas, I’m so happy right now.” I stuck my hand out the window and let the warm air push against it. “Thank you so much for inviting me to come with you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you came.”

  I looked over at him.

  “What?”

  “I’m waiting for the dirty joke after ‘glad you came.’”

  He wore a grin that matched mine. “No jokes. I’m serious.”

  I leaned over to kiss his cheek before tilting my head on the window frame, closing my eyes and feeling the wind on my face. God, I really am happy. I could get used to this.

  No. You can’t. It’s temporary.

  My inner voice was beginning to bug me almost as much as my mother. It was as if they didn’t want me to relax and enjoy myself. I’d finally called my mom just before leaving Paris, and she’d pecked at me for several minutes straight but did manage at the end of the diatribe to inquire how I actually was. I told her I was fine, much better than I’d been in a long time, and reassured her that I was perfectly safe and happy.

  She almost sounded disappointed. “Well, don’t let your guard down. People see a foreign woman traveling alone and figure she’s an easy target.”

  “Got it, Mom.” I clenched and unclenched my free hand.

  “All right, then, dear. Call again before you leave, OK? What day do you return?”

  My body wilted. I didn’t want to think about leaving. “Uh, Tuesday.”

  “And Coco is picking you up at the airport?”

  “Erin, I think.” Should I tell her about leaving Paris for Provence? I didn’t want to, but what if she called the hotel and they told her I hadn’t been seen for a couple days? I’d spoken with Erin, giving her all the juicy details, and I’d mentioned going to Vaucluse until Saturday. Maybe that was good enough. She was excited for me, although it was tempered with a bit of worry.

  “God, that sounds amazing, Mia. But…but are you sure you should go out of town with him? I mean, I know you guys are setting Paris on fire, but …”

  “I’m totally fine, Erin. Trust me.”

  “You’re sure you’re safe?”

  “Positive.”


  And I was. I did feel safe with Lucas.

  At least physically.

  Emotionally, I was a little less sure.

  I glanced over at him again, and my stomach flipped at random things—his hand on the wheel, the V of his thighs on the seat, the hair tousling his face in the wind. Then there was everything that couldn’t be seen—the easy laughter, the sharp memory, the musical talent, the sound of his voice telling me about cathedrals, medieval love stories, Rodin’s sculpture.

  And whispering things. Dirty things that set me on fire.

  I felt a bolt of arousal between my legs and fidgeted in my seat. Whoa. You’ve had enough for a while, so just relax. Bad enough you had to turn your skirt around to dry off the wet spot on the back.

  I brought a hand to my mouth.

  Lucas glanced at me. “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing. Everything. I’ve come a long way is all.”

  He took my hand and kissed the back of it. “Yes, you have.”

  #

  Lucas hadn’t told me much about the villa itself, but even if he had, words wouldn’t have done it justice. We turned off the main highway and onto a country road that looped through fields and orchards, and I hadn’t seen a farmhouse in a while when Lucas slowed the car in front of a set of iron gates. On either side, a low stone wall rimmed the edge of the property.

  I sat up taller in my seat. “Is this the vineyard?”

  “No, the vineyard is on the other side of the house. These are just gardens.”

  “Gardens? My grandma has a garden, Lucas. This is a fairy tale. It’s unbelievable!”

  Lucas smiled at me before punching a code into the entry system keypad on the driver’s side of the wall, and the gates spread.

  I craned my neck out the window as we drove up a narrow gravel road flanked on each side by tall skinny bushes that came to a point at the top. They were planted so close together it was hard to see through them, and the house wasn’t visible at the end of the drive. My insides trembled with nerves and excitement as we rounded a bend and the villa came into view.

  I gasped. “Oh my God!”

  I’d never seen anything like it in real life. Ivy climbed light-colored stone walls, and it stood two and a half stories tall, light blue shutters framing the windows and faded orange tiles on the roof. I could tell it had been expanded, but even the new parts had been carefully constructed to match the original. “How old is it?”

  “Eighteenth century, the oldest part, anyway.” Lucas pulled the Toyota around a circular drive, which was lined with boxy shrubs and huge terra cotta flowerpots. “Henri added the newer parts over the last thirty years, I’d say, plus put in a swimming pool and tennis court. His partner, Jean-Paul, is a gardening fanatic, so he’s added some additional gardens and restored some of the old fountains on the property.”

  Opening the door, I climbed halfway out of the car and stood on the passenger side running board, looking over the roof at the grounds, which seemed to go on forever. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with a verdant scent that defied description. “God, Lucas. The air here!” I pounded the roof of the car. “I can’t get over it.”

  “It’s the lavender fields. And Jean-Paul has a pretty big herb garden too.” He opened the back of the Toyota and pulled out our bags. “After we get settled, I’ll take you on a tour of the property.”

  I hopped off the car and shut the door. “Maybe you shouldn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.”

  Lucas smiled at me. “You’d miss the hustle of Detroit sooner or later.”

  I lifted my brows. “Um, have you been to Detroit?”

  He shook his head.

  “I didn’t think so. I love it for its heart and resilience, but it doesn’t look like this.” I swept a hand through the lush air. “And it sure as hell doesn’t smell like this.”

  “Lucas!”

  At the sound of someone calling his name, Lucas slammed the back door and turned toward the house. My stomach immediately knotted itself as a silver-haired man with tan skin and eyes so icy blue I could see them from where I stood strode across the gravel drive. He smiled at me before embracing Lucas, kissing him three times on the cheeks.

  “Jean-Paul, this is my friend Mia, the American I told you about on the phone.”

  Jean-Paul took my hand. “Bonjour, Mia. Bienvenue.” He kissed each of my cheeks once and smiled with perfect white teeth. He was really very handsome for his age, which I guessed was somewhere in his sixties.

  I smiled back. “Thank you.”

  “Everyone here already?” Lucas asked.

  “Yes, your family arrived yesterday. We weren’t sure what time your train would arrive, so lunch was sort of here and there, but we’ll all have dinner together tonight at nine.” Jean-Paul spoke very good English, almost without an accent.

  “Is Henri cooking?” Lucas asked, slinging his bag over one shoulder and picking up my suitcase.

  “Bite your tongue. As if I’d let him in my kitchen.”

  “Jean-Paul does all the cooking here,” Lucas explained to me. “He’s amazing, worked for years at gourmet restaurants in Paris.”

  “And New York for a while too.” Jean-Paul looked at me. “Are you from New York, Mia? Lucas didn’t say where you met.”

  “No, Detroit, actually. We…we met in Paris.” I followed them up the steps to the house and through the blue-painted door, realizing it might be weird to admit I’d just met Lucas this week and was happily gallivanting about France with him. Sometimes sans panties.

  “Well, glad you could visit us here.” Jean-Paul shut the door behind us as I took in the gorgeous interior with open-mouthed awe. Beyond the entrance, a huge gray stone fireplace dominated a large room, and the stone floors made the room feel cool and airy, but the sumptuous fabrics and tapestries hanging on the walls gave the space warmth and color. “Lucas, your brother and Lisette are using the guest house for all their friends, so I have you and Mia upstairs here. Is that OK?”

  “Of course. Which room?”

  “Very end of the hall in the west wing.”

  “Perfect, Jean-Paul. Thanks. I’ll show Mia the house and then I was going to take her on a little tour of the grounds. Would you like to join us?”

  The older man put up his hands and shook his head. “No, no. It’s a beautiful day, but I’ve got things to do here to prepare for the party tomorrow night.” He rolled his eyes. “The caterer is driving me mad.”

  “Speaking of things that drive you mad, where is my mother?”

  Jean-Paul grinned. “She’s out by the pool, I believe. Everyone is out there somewhere.” He shooed us toward a large stone staircase. “Go on. Unpack so you can enjoy the day.”

  #

  The view from our room was a feast of color, texture, and light. Twisting olive trees. Bright purple and emerald fields of lavender. The turquoise glow of a long rectangular pool surrounded by multi-leveled stone patios. Lush gardens full of pink and yellow blossoms surrounding an old fountain. Over to the right, a tennis court with two male players on it, and off to the left, beyond the pool, the guest house and other buildings, some new, some old and crumbling.

  All breathtaking.

  In the distance, I could see row after row of vines, striping the land with vibrant green and earthy gold.

  “God, I’m in love.”

  “With the view or with me?”

  Omigod! What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

  Heart hammering, I kept looking out the window, but I was dying to turn around and see his face—was he teasing me? Was he serious? How should I handle this? FUCK! I was totally caught off guard. My eyeballs roved from side to side while I racked my brain for a response that wouldn’t terrify or offend him.

  Flirty. Flirty could work.

  Tossing a coy look over my shoulder, I said, “What do you think?”

  The corners of his mouth rose slightly as he lifted his bag onto a chair and focused on unzipping it. “I’m only teasing. I know yo
u meant the view.” He took out a pair of pants, a pale blue shirt, and a dark blue blazer. Then he cleared his throat. “Do you have anything that needs to be hung up?”

  God, how could he just blow by that moment like it was nothing? My pulse was roaring inside my head. I couldn’t breathe right. And something about his response seemed off to me—it was the way he didn’t meet my eyes. Had he really only been teasing? Or was he wondering about the way I felt?

  Damn it, Lucas. If you want to know what I’m feeling, just ask me!

  Not that I was sure of how I felt. My emotions were all tangled up inside me, and I was scared to examine them more closely.

  “Mia?” Lucas looked at me quizzically, and I remembered he’d asked me a question about hanging up clothes.

  “Oh. Yes, thanks for reminding me.” I’d packed my little carry-on suitcase with just a few outfits—including the strapless dress I’d worn my first night in Paris and something dressier for tomorrow night’s party. I hung those in the closet next to Lucas’s pants, shirt, and coat, and experienced a strange hitch in my chest at the sight of our clothes hanging side by side. This was so intimate, visiting his family’s country home, attending a family engagement party, sharing a bedroom, a bathroom… It felt like we were a couple. A real couple.

  I had to steady myself on the closet door.

  It was time to face it—I felt something more than physical for Lucas.

  Something that warmed my belly and wobbled my knees and made me smile just thinking about him. Did he feel anything like that for me? Or was he totally able to keep his emotions from running away with him? Maybe it was different for guys, or maybe if you were used to mind-blowing sex, it was easier to keep your feelings out of it. Was I mistaking amazement for affection? Biting my lip, I watched him take a few things out of his bag and toss them on the bed.

  Oh, did I mention the bed?

  It was queen-size, covered in crisp white linen, and topped by a tall headboard made out of a set of iron gates like the ones at the foot of the driveway. When we first entered the room, Lucas came up behind me and said low in my ear, “That headboard is giving me some ideas involving you and a tie I brought. I think I’ve got a better use for it.”