Page 51 of The Last Kiss

“I told you at dinner, I’m a chivalrous man.”

“Where you had your tongue earlier isn’t thought of as chivalrous in numerous countries.”

He laughs, bellowing it at the ceiling and shakes his head. “Where have you come from, amant croisé étoile.”

I shift under his gaze. “What did you call me?”

Using his strong hands, he grasps me under my arms and lifts me, so we are nose to nose, my short legs knocking somewhere around his naked knees. “My star-crossed lover.”

In response my stomach sinks. I’m a doomed lover.

Which is why it’s perfect I’ve found someone like him to have sex with, twice. Okay, twice tonight. I won’t have to worry about hurting anyone when this ends.

Maybe we did meet in that bar for a reason after all.

“So, no girlfriend.” I settle back down, stroking my fingers along the valleys and hills of his chest and stomach. The man is built.

“Non, I’d go home and check on Maman.”

“Maman?”

“My mother.”

A Mummy’s boy. How endearing.

“My father passed away eight months ago. She gets lonely.”

I reach up again so I can see him. “I’m so sorry, for you and for her. Was it sudden?”

He nods. “A heart attack. I thought at the time it would be better, no? No lingering goodbyes to break her heart. But it broke anyway.” He offers me a fleeting smile and then leans down to kiss me on the lips.

“That’s awful.” A tight band weaves its way around my chest.

“So now I take over.” He sighs, staring at the ceiling.

“And you don’t want to?”

A shrug. Which I’m learning can mean anything, everything, and nothing all at once. “It is what it is.”

It is what it is. That sounds like a motto for life if you ask me.

His smile grows, that dimple coming back out to play. “And you? I don’t need to worry some jealous boyfriend will track me down?”

“Nah. I doubt he will go all the way to the Pyrenees to find you.” I manage to stay serious for a whole two seconds before he grabs me, fingers wedging in my ribs and rolls me over, his knee pressing between my thighs and making me all warm—again.

“So funny, ma petite?”

“I try.”

“Let me show you how incredibly serious I can be.” His gaze intensifies, the glow from the bedside lamp casting half of his face into shadow.

“How do you plan to do that?”

I squeal as he rolls me again, catching one of my nipples in between his lips. Okay. I can take Romeo’s serious any day of the week.

Dawn is starting to filter through the edges of the thick brocade curtains, I’m still spiralled across my Two-Night One-Night Stand like a cheap sweater on the floor of Primark.

My stomach has been rumbling for at least an hour, waking me up from my light sleep. I’ve been dreaming of the Tube ride home in my work clothes sans tights.