We gazed at each other, understanding the gravity of our admissions. Then his mouth descended and covered mine. His lips were soft and demanding.

My hand on his belly gripped tight as if I could tangle myself into his skin.

His tongue dipped into my mouth and I groaned, arching into him. The low banked fire that endlessly burned for him, blazed up.

“I had dreams of you,” he whispered between kisses. “Like that night you came up here in your miniscule pajamas.” Kiss. “I sat in this chair.” Kiss. “And I fantasized that you came over and took your clothes off and crawled on top of me.” Kiss. “And made me forget the pain in my heart.”

I shifted toward him, and then slipping my leg over his, I sat up and straddled him. “And in French you told me you wanted to fuck me. But I didn’t understand.” My bare thighs squeezed his waist, and the bed covers slipped down my back. I still wore his linen shirt, and now I unbuttoned the two places holding it together. “But I would have. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you with your daughter in the train station. Every cell of my body wants yours. And I cursed the fact that we were meeting under the circumstances of me working for you.”

His eyes were heavy-lidded, his mouth slightly parted as his hands joined mine and he spread the material and bared me to his gaze. Beneath me, his hips bucked up and pressed against my naked center, drawing a moan of aching need from my throat. He whispered something in French.

“Why do you switch to French when I can’t understand?”

He gazed up at me, his voice thickening. “I said, you are an angel under the moonlight.”

My shaking hands made quick work of his shorts, flicking open the button and zipper and drawing him out, hot, hard, and heavy in my hand. “I need you.” I gasped, lifting up enough to slick him through my wetness once, twice, and then sinking down slowly, taking him into my body.

His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me down and driving himself up until I was full to the hilt and utterly breathless.

His gaze pinned me, the look feral, hungry, haunted and pleading. Pleading for something he said he didn’t want me to offer. My heart.

Two days was just not fucking enough with this man. It was going to kill me when it was over. I squeezed my eyes closed. It was killing me now, my heart willingly running to its own doom in my chest.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I awoke to the sound of seagulls screeching and cartwheeling overhead. I realized I was alone, wrapped up on the chaises where we’d fallen asleep in the wee hours.