Page 53 of The Last Kiss

His face is earnest, a mask of brooding sincerity. “Non, never you. You are worshipped.”

I begin to flow from the inside out. My skin painted gold as I bask under his words of praise. To be worshipped is a wonderful thing. Even if it’s by someone whose name I will never know.

“So… breakfast…” I can do breakfast with him, even with unbrushed hair and tightless legs in February. It would be worth the goosebumps to bask under his golden glow for a couple more hours.

He snatches me forward, pressing my tits against his chest. Warmth licks along my skin. “Breakfast later,” he murmurs against my mouth. I ignore the rumbling of my stomach and decide kisses should be made a national food source; very low in calories and great for the hips.

A phone rings, shattering the building heat and he curses in French, dropping his face into the crook of my neck. I run my fingers through his silky, dark waves.

“Shouldn’t you get that?” I ask as he does a steadfast job of ignoring the piercing ring and recommences the torture of my nipple with his tongue. I say torture in a loose context kind of way.

Torture because nipple play is definitely one of his strengths and it makes me ache in other deeper places.

“I really, really don’t want to.”

I stare at the ceiling over the top of his head as the phone rings off and then starts again. It’s extinguishing little fires all over the place.

“Damn it to hell.” He pushes away from my pliant body and I snatch up the sheet as cool air brushes along my sensitive skin. Grabbing his phone, he swipes the screen and then launches into a barrage of ferocious French, every word the angry strike on an old-fashioned typewriter.

He stands, butt naked. Arse like a fucking peach. Long legs flexing, he has muscles in his back I want to photograph and frame on my wall.

Really wish I’d paid more attention in French because I don’t understand a word he is saying, apart from the fact he is rather cross about something.

Hanging up, even my limited French telling me he didn’t say goodbye, he throws the phone onto the chair we sat on last night and then sits down on the end of the bed, clutching his head in his hands and dropping over his knees.

“What’s wrong?” I have a yearning ache to know his real name so I can provide some comfort from the torrent of anger he has coursing through him. As it is I lift onto my knees, dragging the sheet with me as an elaborate robe. I put my hands on his curved shoulders and plant a kiss to the warm spot where neck meets shoulder.

I wait, the flicker of strong muscles running under my touch until he turns, an enigmatic smile drifting across his face.

“Nothing, ma petite. Unfortunately, I have to cancel breakfast.”

“Oh.” It hits like a punch in the gut.

Stupid Julianna.

“Sure, not a problem at all.” I smile, gathering the sheet around me further, covering my exposed skin.

His smile falters, that beautiful seriousness taking its place. “I am truly sorry.”

“It’s fine, we don’t owe one another anything. Not an issue. I have plans this evening anyway.” I clamber across the mattress on my knees in the opposite direction to his naked perfection and struggle off the bed in my self-created wedding dress of bed sheets.

“Juliette,” he snaps.

Oooh, no. No one snaps at me… well apart from Liv.

Using my hand as a shield between us I edge away. “I’ll get dressed quickly and be out of your way.”

“Juliette.” He pounces up from the bed, crowding into my space. I’m not sure if he realises he is still naked. His dick is just swinging out there, brazen as you like. I, on the other hand, am slowly morphing myself into an ancient mummy with a hundred thread count Egyptian cotton. With his large hands he grasps my shoulders, holding me back from edging towards the safety of the en suite. The midnight gaze watches me, waiting for something.

“I am so glad I saw you yesterday.” A smile flits across his mouth. “At first I thought you were a mirage because I’d thought of you so often.”

I nod. “You always turn up just when I need it.” My words feel empty though and I hate the space in them.

“You’re cross?” He crouches down and I can’t help but do a swift dick sweep with my gaze.

“No.” I sigh because I’m really not. How can I be cross when this isn’t meant to be anyway? “I guess I’m just disappointed.”

He smiles, fingers squeezing my knees. “I can feel your rules crumbling, ma Juliette.”