‘You’re lucky I call for you in the afternoon.’ His words end in a playful curl, and there’s a certain light in his eyes.
‘Hmm. I’m not sure if it makes me lucky or unlucky.’ I bite back my grin, the book and Amélie forgotten for the moment.
‘I couldn’t stop thinking about your lips, ma Rose.’ He kisses me again, this kiss full of intent. ‘And where I wanted them.’
‘Could it be you wanted them here?’ I turn his face, pressing my mouth to his stubble-brushed cheek.
His eyes linger on my lips as he replies, ‘I was thinking about a place a little lower.’
I laugh softly as I kiss his chin. ‘How about that?’
‘Also very charming, but I promise you that wasn’t the place I was thinking of when I considered faking a headache during this afternoon’s board meeting.’
‘How did that go?’ I ask, wrinkling my nose at this mention of it. This is the first board meeting since he broke up with Amélie. Though the official story is she broke up with him, her father must know this isn’t true.
‘Well, Monsieur Pastor, her dear devoted father, made a few barbed comments, but no one cares for his opinion these days. I’m making us all far too much money. You started dinner without me,’ he murmurs, indicating my plate.
‘I couldn’t wait. But when you’re ready, you can eat.’
‘I love a woman with an appetite.’ My heart gives a little twist, almost as though squeezed. ‘Only, what I want to eat isn’t in the oven.’ His green eyes gleam as he pops a wedge of my cheese into his mouth. ‘Though I’m sure ,’ he says, leisurely rubbing my thigh, ‘we could put it on the stovetop if it needs warming up.’
‘Remy Durrand.’ I take his angular cheeks in one hand and squeeze. ‘Are you suggesting my derriere should be hotter than it is already?’
‘You speak of the impossible.’ He takes the back of the high stool in his hand, swinging it around until my whole body is facing him. Unfortunately, the motion skims my elbow against the book, knocking both it and the napkin to the floor.
‘Let me get that.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I answer , but he sweeps both items up from the floor. As he rights the cover in his hand, he frowns down at it.
‘French women don’t eat cake. Perhaps someone should tell my mother.’
‘She’s a little round, is she?’ I curse my hopeful tone, but Remy answers without an ounce of concern.
‘She’s like a coat hanger.’
‘Angular? Like, slim?’ Urgh! I could cut out my own tongue right now.
‘I suppose.’ Confusion flickers in his expression, or maybe it’s something else. It’s probably the kind of dick-shrinking unhealthy to quiz a man how his mother looks in her underwear. ‘But I meant she’s a fan of padded shoulders. It’s like the nineties never left.’ Both his tone and smile are wry. Then he asks, ‘Why have you got this book?’
‘Me? I, erm. Well, I suppose it’s not really my book.’ Because there’s no way I’m admitting where I found it or who I think it’s from because I may as well go and tell him that his ex thinks I’m fat—hell, I may as well point it out to him myself!
‘It looks like a stupid book anyway.’ He skims it carelessly onto the island when it lands with a thunk. ‘Everything in moderation.’
‘Except burgers,’ I counter, recalling that day in his office and his disgust of that particular foodstuff. Weirdo. Who doesn’t love a burger?
‘Everything in moderation.’ His mouth lifts in a slow grin. ‘With the exception of sex.’ His hands grasp the back of my chair, caging me in. ‘How do you feel about christening the kitchen?’
‘Something tells me you’re not talking about drinking champagne,’ I reply, lifting my arms to circle his neck.
‘We could drink champagne, then fuck. Or we could fuck, then drink champagne.’
‘Those are my choices?’
‘There is a third choice,’ he whispers, pressing his stubbled cheek to my mine.
‘My guess is it still involves fucking.’
‘Ma Rose,’ he says, pulling back a little, his expression thoroughly scandalised. ‘You have such a dirty mouth.’
I laugh a little. ‘We can’t all sound seven kinds of sexy when we say fuck.’ No hard fricative, no base kind of tone. He draws the word out, making it all length and temptation.
‘I say fuck different to everyone else? Don’t answer that. Just let me fuck you right now.’
‘Did someone feed you red meat this afternoon?’ We’d had sex this morning and even fooled around a little in his office over lunch, though nothing more than a little petting because, despite the newly installed lock on his door I’m still a paranoid Rhett will walk in. And this time I’d be forced to kill him. He’s annoying enough as it is without giving him something else to taunt me with.