He was kissing me. Finally.

God, was he kissing me.

His lips were heavenly—soft in touch, hard with intent—the stubble of his chin sending shots of flames cascading over my skin and into my belly—burning me from the inside out. His lips nipped and tasted. They pulled, and then opened. His tongue slipped against mine.

Oh God.

A moan filled my ears. Mine. Then his.

I opened to him. Tasting him. My body flooded with heat. My tongue pressed forward, needing more, and he took. Deeply. His hands held my head, they tipped my jaw, his thumb opened my mouth farther like he couldn’t get enough, and his tongue delved in. Caressing. Drinking. I was being devoured and I loved it.

This was what kissing was supposed to be. I’d never be able to kiss ever again and not compare. I felt it throughout every cell of my body as it burned its way through, leaving ashes in its wake.

Jesus. It was heady. Addictive. I was ravenous. I didn’t think I could get enough of this. Of him. Of his mouth. I never wanted to stop. My breathing was so erratic I was getting lightheaded. But I didn’t care if I passed out kissing him.

I shouldn’t be doing this, I thought from the dark recesses of my mind. We shouldn’t. But I could only press forward, wanting more.

My fingertips slipped up his neck and into his hair. My nails raked across his scalp and a tremor rolled down through his entire body. The body that was now against mine, hard for me, pressing against my belly.

Please never let it stop.

His mouth slowed, and I whimpered my disappointment. His lips slid to my jaw, the heavy sound of his breathing brushing the lobe of my ear and down my neck, reminding me I actually had skin, and a body, and I was standing on something solid and not floating like a mess of inflamed and combustible atoms somewhere.

“Mon dieu,” he said, then went on in French.

I wanted to know the meaning of his words, but just the music of them, breathy and desperate, sliding over my skin was enough.

He inhaled, sliding his nose up the side of my neck, making my entire body shudder.

And suddenly a throat cleared next to us. We both leapt apart, Xavier turning to face the railing and me to face the visitor, my breath laboring in my lungs.

Andrea stood there, her eyes wide, cheeks bright pink and trying to bite down on a gleeful smile.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I covered my mouth with my fingertips. With Xavier turned away and facing out to sea, Andrea and I shared a moment. Her mouth dropped open in exaggerated surprise. Then mouthed, “Oh my God!”

My expression, I hope, communicated, “I know! Crazy right?”