Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (14 page)

I was freakishly
nervous. He had invited me up, and I had said yes. I was pretty confident as to
what I’d said yes to, but now I felt ridiculously shy. I wanted to throw myself
at him and take it slow, at the same time. God, the nerves.

As he slid my coat off my
shoulders, he calmly (much more calmly than I could have spoken) said, “I need
to check on something. You can give yourself a tour while you wait.”

I nodded after he gave me a gentle
kiss while I stared into his expressive brown eyes. Right now, they were
blessedly serene, but I knew they could bounce between lover and diplomat in
less than the blink of an eye.

As he wandered down the hallway, I
blew out a nervous breath and shook
off my nerves. I glanced around. His
apartment wasn't at all what I had expected. First of all, it was massive in
comparison to mine. Sheer elegance stretched from one wall to the next. A bank
of windows along the main road was dressed in off-white heavy fabric; the walls
in the living room were painted dove gray; and the furniture was modern and
boxy. A large, dark, peacock-blue sofa dominated the room. Two black leather
side chairs faced each other across a blond wood coffee table. Large, retro,
metal floor lamps with gold fabric lampshades flanked the sofa. The large,
charcoal-gray area rug anchored the room, while a large abstract painting
dominated the wall opposite the windows.

Bluesy jazz music wafted through the air just before he
reappeared. “You’ve got style,” I complimented him.

“Are you disappointed?”

“Why would I be disappointed?”

“
Je ne sais pas.
Perhaps you wanted to ‘fix’ me.”

“I’ve no desire to ‘fix’ anyone. I am my own work in progress.”

His brows briefly lifted at the comment and then he caressed
my cheek. “I believe we all are. May I say, you complement my home.”

This could be a standard pickup line from anyone but him. He
was the real deal. Nonetheless, I was utterly sucked in. “Thank you!”

A tiny dimple in his cheek came and went when he smiled. He
asked, “Would you like to see
la cuisine
?”

Not a pick-up line.
“Absolutely. Maybe I’ll find
inspiration.”

The kitchen was spacious, neat, and well-fitted, with a
large stainless steel island in the middle of the room, white cabinets against
walls painted the same deep peacock-blue as the sofa, black granite countertop,
and stainless steel fixtures. It would have been a dark space but for the fact
that the kitchen was located on the corner, so there were two walls of large,
mullioned windows.

While I looked around, he had poured us each a glass of
wine. After passing me mine, he leaned against the counter, relaxing, while I endeavored
to appear as calm. I felt hot. As in warm, not sexy. I was excited to be alone
with him again and felt like a giddy teenaged girl who didn’t know what to do
with her hands. Part of me wanted to play it cool and another part of me wanted
to pounce on him. Looking at him, he was so calm and collected that I felt even
more awkward. His confidence was charming and intimidating.

I stretched over the counter to look out the window, knowing
my bottom was barely concealed by my short skirt. I had hoped he’d leap at me
or something. Instead, he raised his glass. “
Salut!
”

The glass in my hand was as elegant as everything else. I
took a sip, and the tapered rim delivered the wine across the length of my
palette. It tasted exceptional. I took a bigger sip, hoping it would help me
loosen up.

“Would you like to continue the tour?”

“I’d love to.”
Smooth.
My blood sizzled. There were
only bedrooms left to see.

He motioned for me to lead, adding, “As long as you don’t
peek into any cupboards. One of my secrets, I hate organizing.”

With a solemn promise that all cupboard and closet doors
would remain closed, I wandered about, my heart thundering, leaving me wondering
if he could hear it pounding. I walked toward the four doors. He pushed the
first one wide open—his study.

The bathroom was next.
Good to know where this is.
My
nerves were stretched thin, and I was going to have to use the facilities soon.
The very modern, double-headed, glass-encased shower set my fantasies in
motion.
Simmer down.

The next room was dark. He leaned in and pressed the light
switch. Inside, I was surprised by the very feminine space. I couldn’t imagine
that this room had been decorated for a college-aged art student. It was far
too formal and impersonal. An ornately framed mirror on the wall above the bed
drew my eye. It was mercury glass, a material I’d long found fascinating. My
eyes settled on the sumptuous raw silk bedding, and my heartrate picked up
again. I turned to find him watching me. There was one room left.

Pulling the door shut behind me, I walked to the last door,
which had to be his bedroom. Stepping inside, what I found was unique. Enough
so, that my clickety-clacking heart slowed down so that I could somewhat
appreciate the exquisite setting. The bed was positioned low to the ground in
the middle of the space in front of a wall of glossy, varnished wood that
offset a brown leather headboard and two dark, wood bedside tables. The two
opposing walls were painted a wheat color with three large, green, glass panels
etched with bamboo images. The wall beyond the bed was pea green, while the
facing wall was a paler shade of green with built-in wooden dressers. The
dresser tops were empty, except for two large lamps. Above it, painted in soft
colors as if obscured by mist were undulating lines, reminiscent of a
landscape. A very calming space.

I walked behind the wooden panels to find closets that
created an organized dressing area. Everything was neatly laid out; no casually-thrown
bathrobes or day-old clothes.

“What do you think?” His voice was low and husky, barely
above a whisper.

I focused hard and managed to say, “Whoever
designed your home did a fabulous job.” My chest rose and fell quickly, and, in
my increasingly labored breathing, I inhaled the scent of him and his desire.

“
I must admit, I have fantasized
about you being in my bedroom.”

His comment caused warmth to surge
through me, making me weak in the knees. I found my eyes riveted on his bed,
fantasies flitting through my imagination.

He set my glass of wine on the nearby
nightstand. “I will be certain to pass along your compliments to Clodagh.”

“You mean
the
Clodagh, the
Irish designer? The one who gets written up in all the magazines, who lives in
New York City?” I asked excitedly. While it was extraordinary that she had something
to do with it, it was his closing the distance between us that really excited
me.

I walked
self-assuredly into his embrace. His arms snaked around me hungrily. It was
powerful and provocative to confidently wrap mine around him and melt into him.
I
inhaled his faded cologne, the faint scent of
citrus and spice lingering upon the warm and tender flesh of his neck. The
aroma of the wine on his breath beckoned me, and I found myself wandering
kisses from his neck to his mouth. My thoughts flitted between what was more
tantalizing: his scent, the taste of him, or the feel of him. He released a
deep growl as he nipped at my neck and gave in to pent-up desire.

I was eager to surrender every part
of myself to him. The passion of our kisses rose and fell, at times inquisitively
tender, at others, demanding, and for every ebb and flow, I felt the perfect
syncopation of our touch, our breath. When he pulled back to look down at me, I
didn’t retreat; I wanted to see the need I knew he felt in his eyes, to show
him mine.

Silently, we
searched each other’s gaze. He kept our bodies pressed
firmly together, one hand pushing our hips together as it rested on my lower
back, the other gently and hypnotically trailed down my arm, wandering from my
waist to the lower curve of my breast. When his thumb traced the swell, etching
patterns through the fabric onto my tender flesh, I held perfectly still, not
wanting to break his quest, just wanting him to continue this journey forever.

In response to his wandering hand,
my breath hitched, my body ached, and the intense desire I felt for him seeped
into every cell of me until all I wanted was to pull him inside of me, to feel
all that he was. His hand slipped to the belt that cinched my jacket shut. His fingers,
running back and forth along it, hypnotized and tantalized me. The knowledge
that he wanted to undo the belt while he kissed me was exquisitely painful. My
hands, itching to feel him—the him beneath the fabric—wandered restlessly over the
planes of his chest, the angles of his shoulder blades, the taut muscles of his
belly, finally resting on his hips, hooking into his belt loops. A moan escaped
our kiss. I’m not sure who made the sound, but I felt it. I felt the desire and
drought of physical and emotional deprivation behind it.

With a few shuffled steps, the
back of my legs made contact with his bed. His voice broke as he spoke against
my lips, “Kathleen?”

“What?” I breathlessly wondered. I
waited only briefly, because, as he pulled the pins out of my hair, freeing it,
he murmured enrapturing words of longing and desire. His eyes, when they held
mine again, left me speechless. In those beautiful brown eyes was an intensity
I had never seen.

I wondered how long it had been
since he had been vulnerable to someone else, and it was the length of this
thought that confused him, led him to say, “Please don’t say no. Want me. Want
what I have to give.”

He’s asking me if I’m sure.

I gave him the only answer I
could. I hungrily kissed him while I fumbled with the belt at my waist and
kicked off my shoes. When I stood before him, wearing my bra and my skirt, he
dropped to his knees and pressed kisses upon the skin at my waistline. His
restless hands slid up and down the zipper along my thigh. Never lowering it, just
stroking it. Unthreading my fingers from his hair, I tugged the zipper down as
his hands moved upwards to cup me through the lace covering my breasts. His
hands trailed their way back to the zipper. He inhaled deeply as he tugged my
skirt to the floor.

“My god, you’re beautiful.”

His words thrilled me, calmed me,
excited me, and captivated me. I pressed my belly against his cheek, enjoying
the feeling of his stubble against my stomach, luxuriating in the intimacy of
the gesture. He sprinkled kisses wherever his lips landed as he rose to his
feet. I quickly worked at the buttons of his shirt, wanting the fabric gone.
When he was shirtless, I pressed the length of myself to him, my breath
catching as our flesh met. With the flick of his fingers, the catch of my bra
was released, and the delicate material fell to the floor.

When he went to push me back on
the bed, I shook my head but didn’t say a word. Instead of lying back, I pulled
at his belt buckle, freeing him. I watched my shaking hands work the enclosure
of his trousers. I felt nervous and excited as I pushed them to a puddle at his
feet. Only when we were equally naked did I lie back, drawing him with me,
enjoying the exquisite pleasure of him against me.

What I saw in his expression was
raw, demanding lust. Somewhat gently, his lips sought mine. There was just
enough friction to leave mine burning. I met his passion equally, out of need
and the desire to leave him in no doubt as to what I felt and wanted.

When all but the final garment
remained between us, I took a deep breath and felt tears form in my eyes.

“Chérie?”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m
fine. It’s just that it has been a very, very long time since I’ve done this.”

Softly, he asked, “Should we talk
about ‘this’?” He rested his weight on his forearms, bringing us nose to nose.

I shook my head. “No, I’m not sure
why I mentioned it.”

“I believe in ghosts, that, if we
let them, they will haunt us. I wonder, does your ghost still haunt you?” I
shook my head slightly but definitively. He dropped a kiss just below my eye
before continuing, “Then, if I were going to do something I hadn’t done for a
very long time, I would want to know that I am special and the risk I am taking
is worthwhile.”

His words spoke clearly of his past
and his sorrows. And mine. “Yes, that and the fact that I’m worried I might
have forgotten what to do.” I gave him a flirty, albeit watery, grin that made
him gently laugh.

He rolled onto his side and stared
at me a moment, his hand resting on my cheek. “You, your endless list of
abilities, your beautiful eyes, your body—you are extraordinary. You are the
most naturally sensual woman I know. That you are here with me amazes me.” I
felt surprised at his words. His hand wandered at will. “You do not know this
about yourself? You are so sexy.” I blushed while he continued speaking. “I
hope it doesn’t make me sound arrogant, but that I am here with you makes me
feel… significant.”

Tears burned in my eyes as I
reached up to kiss him. He captured my lips, gnawing gently on the tender
flesh. “Chérie, you are a natural at ‘this.’” He spoke as he nibbled the shell
of my ear and then began a languid exploration of my body, marking his way with
kisses and gentle bites.

When he had greater access to me, I
arched against him, unwilling to let the thinnest whisper of space come between
us. He released a deep groan as he rolled on top of me and pressed me down into
the mattress, his legs nestling between mine. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs
around his, holding him where I wanted him, enjoying the blatant symbol of his
passion as it pressed hot against me. His moan told me he enjoyed the sensation.
My reward was the shivers that covered my flesh as he swirled his tongue around
my nipple.

Whatever else may have been
happening in Paris, I didn’t care. This room, this bed, this man—this was my
world.