When Valentines Collide by Adrianne Byrd Page A

candles, crushed roses on the bed, champagne on ice by a small alcove and a lamp that projected stars across the ceiling.
    â€œYou’ve been busy.”
    â€œI hope that means you like it.”
    â€œI more than like it,” she said, catching his dark gaze. “I love it.”
    Neither spoke as Matthew carried her to the small alcove and lowered her onto a bed made of plush, black velvet pillows. Next, he brought over a large basin of warm water.
    â€œWould you like some champagne while I bathe your feet?” he asked.
    â€œI would love some.”
    As attentive as a maître d’at a posh restaurant, Matthew popped the cork to the champagne and then poured the overflowing bubbly into a thin flute. “For you, my beloved.”
    She tingled again and accepted the champagne.
    Matthew returned his attention to bathing her delicate feet. The feel of his strong hands cupping and massaging the soles had Chanté squirming against the pillows. “If you like, I’ve also prepared a bath for you.”
    â€œThis night keeps getting better and better.”
    â€œThat’s the whole idea.”
    Her smile widened. “In that case, I would love a bath.”
    Once again, Chanté found herself swept up into Matthew’s arms and this time carried into the adjoining bathroom. There, another army of scented candles awaited her and on top of the foam of white bubbles were more crushed rose petals.
    Suddenly overwhelmed, Chanté felt tears burn the back of her eyes. It wasn’t that her husband had never staged a romantic evening, it had just been so long since he had done so. Between their hectic schedules—his working during the day at the studio, her working at night at the radio station and their writing—such grand romantic gestures were lost in the shuffle.
    â€œNone of those,” Matthew said, catching her errant tear with the tips of his fingers. “I only want you to feel beautiful…and loved.”
    â€œMission accomplished.”
    â€œBut we’ve hardly gotten started. I have a whole evening plan dedicated to pleasuring you.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “May I unzip your dress?”
    Unable to help herself, she leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss against his lips. “Yes, you may.”

Chapter 13
    C hanté was in heaven.
    Sinking deeper into the tub, she was certain every muscle in her body had turned into mush at the feel of Matthew’s hands roaming her body as he took his time bathing her.
    â€œMore champagne?” he asked.
    His rich baritone seemed deeper than usual and when she opened her eyes, she noticed his onyx gaze was polished with passion. Was he getting as hot as she was?
    â€œI would love another glass.”
    Like a skilled magician, Matthew produced the champagne bottle, without having left her side, and poured her another glass.
    â€œThere is one last place I have yet to clean, my beloved,” he whispered. “May I have permission to enter your secret garden?”
    Chanté choked on her champagne. “My what?”
    Her husband looked as though he was having a hard time keeping a straight face as well. “According to the worksheet we are to use a different vocabulary for body parts.”
    â€œAnd you came up with ‘secret garden’?”
    â€œIt’s not without a certain charm,” he said, stroking the small vee of curls between her legs. “Of course, if you don’t want me to…” He slowly drifted his hand away.
    â€œNo.” She grabbed his arm with her free hand. “I didn’t say that.”
    â€œSo that’s a yes?”
    Suddenly shy, she bit her lower lip and nodded.
    Their gazes locked as his hands glided languidly up her inner thigh. Though she was expecting the probe of his fingers, she nevertheless sucked in a small gasp as he slid one inside of her.
    Matthew set a slow, lazy rhythm that made it difficult for Chanté to