“Sort of,” she answered, trying to realign her thoughts when her body was dying to get this man naked and horizontal. For an instant she wondered what he would do if she told him that and a little smile curled her lips.
“Sort of?” he asked.
When he lifted a brow, she pulled her mind from the gutter. At least enough to hold a conversation. “I’ve been cooking for years, but I’m starting culinary school in a month. When I graduate I’ll—officially—be a chef.”
“Do you just love to cook? Is that how you got started?”
“I’ve been cooking since I was a kid. My dad had me in the kitchen as soon as I could stand. It was a hobby we shared. When I first moved overseas after high school, I cooked American food in hostels and sold it to visitors. Word got out and soon I was selling to Americans living in whatever country or town I was in at the time. Along the way, I learned about local customs and cuisine.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t the least bit glamorous back then, and most of the time, it still isn’t, but it’s taken me on a lot of amazing adventures.”
“That sounds fascinating. I hope I’ll get a chance to hear about it while you’re here.”
She smiled. “If you’re just saying that to get me into bed, everything you’ve said after “Hi, I’m Tate” has been wasted.”
It took him a few seconds, but the smile that finally broke out across his face rocked Olivia’s world. Brooding he was handsome as sin, but smiling, flashing a mouthful of straight, white teeth, his dark eyes sparkling, a damn dimple in his left cheek, the man was heart-stopping. His laugh was rich and smooth and when he combed his fingers into her hair, Olivia was so blown away by the man, she was absolutely certain she’d never been so charmed in her life.
His laughter faded, but he was still smiling when he said, “You had me at “a little French anything cures jetlag”.”
Smiling, she stroked the backs of her fingers over his stubble and found it softer than she’d expected. “Then why the hell are we still sitting here?”
His expression sobered, his fingers flexed and clenched in her hair, and his gaze turned hot and serious. The array of emotion he showed on his face made her eager to find out if it transferred to the bedroom. She hadn’t had a multi-dimensional lover in…way too long.
“Want me to shave?” His question brought her gaze up. Such a simple question. And so direct. Yet so incredibly intimate it tightened her throat.
“Would you?”
“Hell yes.”
“No.” Her smile deepened. She shook her head, licked her lip, then dragged it between her teeth. She met his gaze and lowered her voice. “There’s good reason for the phrase ‘Bearded for her pleasure.’ I want to feel it between my legs.”
His jaw loosened and his eyes glazed over. But in the next second, he went all warrior with chiseled features, black eyes and a voice from Braveheart. “Tell me you don’t have a boyfriend back in Paris.”
Damn, this guy just kept serving up curve balls. She didn’t know one man in all of Europe who would give a shit at this point. A little laugh escaped her and she feathered her fingers through the hair at his temple. “I don’t—”
His hand slid all the way around her head and pulled her in, pressing his mouth to hers and turning her words into a hum of pleasure. “Mmm…”
The kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun, but cool air barely had time to whisper over her lips before he tilted his head and returned with more pressure, more demand, and the warm stroke of his tongue over her lips.
A thrill raced down Olivia’s spine. She opened to him, and on the next hot, hungry sweep of his tongue, her mouth erupted with sensation. Her chest inflated with the excitement of tasting a new man. Her sex tingled with the promise of pleasure. He was a luscious mix of heat and need and man—exactly what Olivia needed.
She sighed and dropped her head back. Tate wasted no time taking over. He may not have been in the game for a while, but he certainly still knew how to play. His strong arms pulled her close, until her breasts rubbed his chest. One big hand cupped her head, holding her still for the pressure of his mouth. The other slid down her body, over her hip, to her ass and pulled her against the swell between his legs. His immediate, hot, aggressive show of passion surprised her—yet again. And damn, this man could kiss.
He was hungry and insistent. Serious and intent. A little dark. A little edgy.
Tate was starved.
And Olivia wanted to be the woman who fed him all night and left him completely satisfied and sleeping like a baby.
But she wasn’t near as patient as he seemed to be. She pulled out of the kiss and drew quick, shallow breaths. Tate lowered his lips to her neck and groaned, then kissed a path to her shoulder.
“I don’t want to be too forward,” she said, trying to catch her breath, “but to tell you the truth, I just don’t know how else to be.”
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. His were heavy lidded and hot. “Just be you.”
Thank God. She licked her lips. “How close do you live?”
A split second smile fluttered over his lips. “Ten minutes. Did you drive here?”
“Took Metro.” She scraped her lower lip between her teeth. “Told my mom I was going to visit a friend, not to wait up.”