My breathing shallowed as his arms snaked around my waist and he gathered my stiff body close. He molded his frame to mine, and I tried not to breathe him in.

“I leave early for a meeting tomorrow. I will not be able to say goodbye to you, Josephine.”

Oh, okay, so this was a hug goodbye.

My throat constricted as I tried to swallow and not breathe. Seconds stretched. It was okay to hug him goodbye. I should, I was being childish by resisting. I mentally counted to three and forcibly softened every muscle I could. But my will against him softened too and suddenly the feel of him holding me close broke through, sent a rush of sadness and longing head to toe. Our bodies melted together, and my pulse pounded.

His face turned into my neck and air stirred my skin. “Joséphine,” he whispered in that musical French accent of his, turning me inside out.

My shallow breaths grew rapid for want of more oxygen and a clear head.

Then Xavier pulled back, his need-filled eyes meeting mine for a searing moment, and taking my hand, he pulled.

I stumbled to follow as he headed down into the darkness of the garden. We followed stone steps down past the terraced level of the pool to a stone gardener’s hut that glowed, barely visible in the shadows, but with enough light from the landscaping above so we didn’t walk right into it.

The wine I’d had with dinner was a bad idea I thought somewhere at the outer reaches of my mind as desire suddenly burned through me like a lit fuse. Because there was no other reason for him to be hauling me off into the darkness. I offered no resistance as Xavier turned, reaching for me, and pinned me against the stone-cold wall of the hut. His kiss when it came was feral, his lips sealed over mine, his tongue demanding.

I gave.

Hands skimmed up my body, shoving my t-shirt up over my breasts and slipping the cups of my bra down impatiently. I couldn’t catch my breath as I clutched his head, my hands gripping his soft brown hair. His hungry mouth left mine and closed over a nipple, sucking so hard, I cried out. His lips gentled, coaxing, teeth scraping, suckling so softly then that I arched and thrust toward him, offering and needing more.

I gave.

And I took. I wanted one more memory.

He gave a groan and straightened. He rested his forehead against mine. Night air swept over my damp, exposed skin, and inside my veins was liquid fire. “Tell me to stop,” he said.

I said nothing.

Suddenly he was unbuttoning my jean shorts and shoving them down my legs. He tilted my head back to look up at him. “Open your eyes, Josephine,” he whispered.

I hadn’t realized I’d squeezed them closed.

“Should I stop?” he asked.