herself like Venus might have after an amorous rendezvous. He scooted closer until their bodies touched. She reached for the remaining part of the baguette he’d placed on the bedside stand.
Once again, she tore off a hunk of the bread she’d made and fed it to him. His chest grew tight again, tasting all the love, intention, and dreams she’d kneaded into the dough. Tasting it was no different than tasting Margie’s skin, he realized, and he leaned over to kiss the top of her shoulder.
They ate in bed after he fetched the champagne, and then they made love again. This time, he slid over her, slid into her, and didn’t stop until she cried out his name. Only then did he let his release pour forth.
He watched the alarm clock march on, ticking off the minutes until their time together ended, until she had to go to the bakery to make more bread. She would draw him back with kisses or a gentle caress, and he would fall back into the space where time didn’t seem to exist.
Even when they weren’t making love to each other, everything they did was a prelude to it. He learned every rise and curve of her body, the sweetness of the sweat on her skin, and the unbearably erotic scent of cinnamon between her legs. She, in turn, laid him bare with her slow, gentle caresses and her soft, slumberous green eyes as she traced the planes of his chest and thighs and the desire he felt for her.
When they could ignore the time no longer, he stood beside the bed and reached for her hand. She rose with a soft smile and then gasped as he swept her into his arms and carried her into the shower. As the water rained down on them, he slid down her body like the drops, inviting her to take more pleasure, as much as she was willing to receive. Then she slid herself around him, and together, they discovered even more ecstasy.
She dressed in the bakery-appropriate clothes she’d brought in her overnight bag: white cotton pants, a white shirt, and some black Crocs. Even now, she didn’t speak, only raised her hands and shoulders in an adorable shrug as if to say, do you like my outfit?
He pulled on his earlier clothes, holding her gaze.
“You don’t have to walk me to the bakery,” she finally said.
“Try and stop me,” he only responded.
Fortunately, she didn’t fight him, only took his hand as he led her out of the quiet hotel and into the soft glow of St. Germain’s streets. Due to the lateness of the hour, they encountered only two other people on their walk.
When they reached the bakery, he pulled her into his arms. His heart hurt suddenly, and it took him a moment to realize why.
“I’m missing you already,” he whispered against her neck.
“Me too.” She squeezed him tight. “I’ll text you the minute I finish if you’re free.”
“I’ve rearranged my schedule so I’ll be free whenever you are,” he told her.
Her eyes were dark as she edged back, but he could still see the single beam of light emanating from them, almost like he was seeing into her soul.
“Tonight was one of the best nights of my life, Evan.”
His throat grew thick with emotion. “Mine too.”
She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him again. “See you soon,” she said and turned to rap on the door.
He stepped back as a bald man’s bulky shape appeared in the doorway, realizing he was about to meet her boss. He’d been too caught up in the throes of their evening to let reality intrude.
When the door opened, the soft light from the bakery’s interior painted the man’s face. “Bonjour, ma petite. Are you ready to make more magic?”
“Bonjour, Andre,” Margie said brightly, reaching for Evan’s hand. “Andre, I’d like you to meet Evan.”
Stepping into the shadows wasn’t an option, so Evan extended his hand in greeting. “Bonjour, Andre. It’s good to meet you.”
“You as well, Evan,” the baker said.
“I will let you two get to work,” he said, stepping back now. “Have a wonderful time, Margie.”
When she
Once again, she tore off a hunk of the bread she’d made and fed it to him. His chest grew tight again, tasting all the love, intention, and dreams she’d kneaded into the dough. Tasting it was no different than tasting Margie’s skin, he realized, and he leaned over to kiss the top of her shoulder.
They ate in bed after he fetched the champagne, and then they made love again. This time, he slid over her, slid into her, and didn’t stop until she cried out his name. Only then did he let his release pour forth.
He watched the alarm clock march on, ticking off the minutes until their time together ended, until she had to go to the bakery to make more bread. She would draw him back with kisses or a gentle caress, and he would fall back into the space where time didn’t seem to exist.
Even when they weren’t making love to each other, everything they did was a prelude to it. He learned every rise and curve of her body, the sweetness of the sweat on her skin, and the unbearably erotic scent of cinnamon between her legs. She, in turn, laid him bare with her slow, gentle caresses and her soft, slumberous green eyes as she traced the planes of his chest and thighs and the desire he felt for her.
When they could ignore the time no longer, he stood beside the bed and reached for her hand. She rose with a soft smile and then gasped as he swept her into his arms and carried her into the shower. As the water rained down on them, he slid down her body like the drops, inviting her to take more pleasure, as much as she was willing to receive. Then she slid herself around him, and together, they discovered even more ecstasy.
She dressed in the bakery-appropriate clothes she’d brought in her overnight bag: white cotton pants, a white shirt, and some black Crocs. Even now, she didn’t speak, only raised her hands and shoulders in an adorable shrug as if to say, do you like my outfit?
He pulled on his earlier clothes, holding her gaze.
“You don’t have to walk me to the bakery,” she finally said.
“Try and stop me,” he only responded.
Fortunately, she didn’t fight him, only took his hand as he led her out of the quiet hotel and into the soft glow of St. Germain’s streets. Due to the lateness of the hour, they encountered only two other people on their walk.
When they reached the bakery, he pulled her into his arms. His heart hurt suddenly, and it took him a moment to realize why.
“I’m missing you already,” he whispered against her neck.
“Me too.” She squeezed him tight. “I’ll text you the minute I finish if you’re free.”
“I’ve rearranged my schedule so I’ll be free whenever you are,” he told her.
Her eyes were dark as she edged back, but he could still see the single beam of light emanating from them, almost like he was seeing into her soul.
“Tonight was one of the best nights of my life, Evan.”
His throat grew thick with emotion. “Mine too.”
She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him again. “See you soon,” she said and turned to rap on the door.
He stepped back as a bald man’s bulky shape appeared in the doorway, realizing he was about to meet her boss. He’d been too caught up in the throes of their evening to let reality intrude.
When the door opened, the soft light from the bakery’s interior painted the man’s face. “Bonjour, ma petite. Are you ready to make more magic?”
“Bonjour, Andre,” Margie said brightly, reaching for Evan’s hand. “Andre, I’d like you to meet Evan.”
Stepping into the shadows wasn’t an option, so Evan extended his hand in greeting. “Bonjour, Andre. It’s good to meet you.”
“You as well, Evan,” the baker said.
“I will let you two get to work,” he said, stepping back now. “Have a wonderful time, Margie.”
When she
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