Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

A knock came at the door.

“Comme dans,” he called out, and then he looked at me. “I ordered breakfast for us. I have a lot of free time today. I wanted to spend it with you. Bien?”

“Yes. That sounds good.” I rose from the bed and pulled up the sheet over my bare breasts.

Jean-Pierre’s gaze hit that spot as the door opened, and two women pushed a cart inside. Stanley entered next. Jean-Pierre and him exchanged several words in French. Nodding, Jean-Pierre gestured to the balcony. The women pushed the cart out there. Stanley followed. The staff whispered to themselves. Dishes clanked.

And then all three rushed away from the balcony and left.

Jean-Pierre rose and walked over to a small desk. I couldn’t help but drool over that naked muscled ass as it flexed with each step.

He’s gorgeous.

Two bathrobes lay over a chair by the table.

He put one on, walked over, and handed me another. “I thought that it would be nice to have breakfast outside. The sun has just come up.”

“That’s perfect.” I took the robe.

The whole time he watched me with a wicked look in his eyes. “I’m enjoying having you here.”

“I’m having fun being here. It feels more like a vacation, instead of. . .”

“Work?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Always the gentleman, Jean-Pierre pulled my chair back for me. “Do you like tea or coffee?”

“Tea.”

He picked up a porcelain pitcher and poured hot water into a tea pot. Steam rose from the stream. I scanned the table. Everything I could imagine rested on the surface—large slabs of sizzling bacon, sausage links, crusty croissants, roasted potatoes covered in herbs, scrambled eggs, pancakes topped in strawberries and whipped cream.

“Wow,” I muttered.

“Did I go too far?”

“No way. I love it.”

“What do you usually eat for breakfast?”

“Nothing as sexy as this. Oatmeal and raisins. Cereal and bananas. Every now and then, I grab a bagel and stuff it with layers of cream cheese.”

“Do you like to cook?”

I was a bit embarrassed to admit it. “No. I suck pretty bad at it.”

“Thankfully, you don’t suck at other things.” He poured me a cup of tea.

“Merci.”

Jean-Pierre served up two plates.

I thought I would be the one serving him food these days.

We ate on the balcony, relishing in the early morning’s airy sunlight, and the view of upscale Belladonna sprawled out beneath us. Our conversation was the most pleasant discussion I’d had in a long time. We yapped about classical music, argued over whether Mozart deserved so much glory, and ended with respectfully disagreeing with who was the better composer—Chopin or Schubert.

He laughed.

Jesus.

It was amazing to witness. He was like a happy beast. Someone dark and powerful, secretly lifting the curtain and pulling away armor to show the true person inside.

Of course, it was stupid to think too deeply about the moment.

Such a sweet moment.

My heart warmed with his words. My brain buzzed with lust. I nibbled my food and watched him in pure adoration.

When he made a point, he actually extended his finger to dot the end of the sentence. It was such a subtle habit that it made me melt. When he disagreed with one of my points, he held an amused expression and gave me this intense gaze. I didn’t know if it was a good sign or not, but I continued to add my evidence to whatever claims I made.

In summary, breakfast was amazing. Something from a fairytale. Beautiful scenery. Succulent food. And a thrilling, gorgeous man.

“Do you swim?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“There’s rooftop pool. We should take a dip.”

“Sign me up.”

He chuckled at my response. “I’m almost done, then we’ll go.”

“Okay.” I finished my last bite of eggs with a pleased sigh.

Personally, I could do this for free. . .for a year.

I loved this alone time with him. Naked under the robes. Enjoying the food and each other in the silence. I watched him munch on croissants that he’d lathered in thick pads of butter. He savored every single bite, eating with a worship I didn’t often see.

He sipped champagne in between bites, and his gaze went dreamy.

Sunlight dusted his lashes.

That angelic face made the moment feel spiritual. I imagined black wings stretching and spreading out from his back. Rising. Those silky feathers glistened in the light. Wind rustled them. To witness him so relaxed, was divine damnation.

What a beautiful fallen angel.

Fallen from the sky.

Fallen to the ground.

Angel of dark dreams.

Angel of violent hope.

This moment would forever stay in my mind.

As soft sounds of the city rose from below, on the balcony, he stole my soul.

He whispered, “Are you ready, mon amour?”

“Oui.” I rose.

He held an amused expression. “We never finished our discussion in my office. Do you have more questions?”

Feeling bolder and more relaxed with him, I stepped in front of him, leaving around three feet between us. “What makes you come?”

A wicked laugh left him.

I folded my arms. “That’s not an answer.”