Page 79 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

Sweet freaking God, especially now. Beholding him here, with his gaze bright as the sun glinting on the clouds beyond the window. With his smile, potent and powerful and adoring. And oh hell, with his breathtaking body, seeming to dominate the whole cabin—let alone the whole bed.

A factor of which I’m achingly aware as he extends a hand out. Bidding—not asking—me to join him.

And I do.

Because I have no choice.

Because this is him. Maximillian. This beautiful, powerful, bold, brave man, who has decided to give so much of himself to me…

No. To give all of himself.

A concept so daunting, it’s painful to think about.

Because I have to admit I haven’t figured him out yet. Which should scare the crap out of me but doesn’t. Somewhere twenty thousand feet beneath us, there’s either a psych ward with a missing patient or a graveyard with an empty coffin. But right now, I don’t care about that answer. I only care about how good he feels, so strong and real and right, as he deepens our clinch into a fierce, mashing kiss. As he delves in and fully breaches my mouth. As I clutch him tighter in return and savor his unique essence. Wind, spices, desire, decadence… Holy crap, he even tastes like a powerful prince.

And I want more of the fiction.

So much more.

I open wider as he plunges his lips deeper. Letting him devour me. Command me. Take me.

When we finally part, I move my hands in, bracketing the corners of his eyes with my index fingers. A long breath flows out of him as I rub over his scar and then tangle my fingertips in his thick auburn waves.

“Max?” I finally whisper.

He hums softly, sending fiery vibrations through me. “Alessandra?”

“This…is crazy, right?”

“Perhaps.” He dips his head until his lips brush my nose. “Likely.”

“I don’t even care.” I lift my head, aligning my mouth beneath his. “My perfect birthday gift.”

His smile, in all its captivating glory, curls even higher. “My perfect miracle.”

It’s all the inspiration I need.

I lower my hands, gently pushing him to his back on the bed. “Lie back and enjoy the view, Hotness. My friends worked hard to make my birthday gift happen. It’s bad manners to let their efforts go unrewarded.”

At first he only responds with a dark and decadent groan. I’m not surprised, since I’m already unzipping his slacks. He helps me pull them down. His erect stalk surges free, lined with pulsing purple veins. I’m damn sure I’ve never been happier to greet a man’s erection.

“Well,” he husks. “Etiquette is important.”

“Oh, definitely.” I say it while whipping off the one-piece knit dress I changed into back at the château—nothing like being prepared without even knowing it—and crawl onto the mattress with him. I stretch out next to him and then press in to feel every inch of his radiating heat. But as hot as his muscled striations are, no part of him is more searing than his sun god stare. I lock my stare with those rich golds while murmuring, “I’ve been learning that lesson really well lately. You know what they say about spending time in all those French châteaus.”

At first, he replies with nothing but a strangled rasp. To be fair, if the man is capable of coherency while I fist him from balls to crown, I’m not doing something right. But the arch of his neck and the filthy French off his lips are as intoxicating as making the Met Gala’s “Best Of” list. I rejoice in the victory by palming the hot orbs at his base and then following the rise of his lifeblood back up his magnificent length. The entire time, I don’t drop my gaze from his stunning face. Damn. The man is as grand and glorious as a wildcat. A mixture of savagery, severity, beauty, nobility. If he were strutting along a catwalk in Bryant Park, every woman in the tent would want him between their legs. And in their mouths.

Sorry, everyone—but I volunteer as tribute.

The thought really is that smug—and I’m proud of it while trailing my lips down the etched ladders of his brick-hard abs.

“Alessandra.”

“Ssshhh.”

I whisper it into his skin, controlling the hitches of his hips with my reverent licks and kisses—at least until I dip the tip of my tongue into the hollow of his navel.

And then slide lower.