Page 23 of All Mixed Up

I laughed softly. “Well, you do taste like coffee.” I licked along his bottom lip. “Tell me there’s more, and I might be more than amenable.”

And here I was, playing with fire again.

But this time, it was a calculated risk. The spark was likely bound for a fizzle. Though the depths of Luciens’ eyes rose to the challenge, thickening with lusty smoke, there was no denying the sounds of Paris, bustling seven floors below. He must have a busy day ahead, one that wouldn’t wait on another three hours for his Mount Olympus libido. So why not some harmless flirting?

Lucien’s silky smile said he agreed. I longed to snap a picture of him just like this, wrapped in the white sheet and my legs, tousled hair teasing at his face and morning sun playing in his dimples. “Then I am glad I made a whole pot.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “You can spend the whole day finishing it off.”

“Mmmm. Good idea.” I nibbled the stubble on his chin in return. This is your final taste, girlfriend. Remember it. Harmless flirting was one thing. Putting my lips all over him again was another.

“A selfish idea too.”

I didn’t hide my new frown. “Why?”

He traced a finger along the pink length of hair that had snuck down, against my chest. “Well, an alert dinner date is always nice.”

A strange breath rushed out of me—sort of like the internal flogger I bared, beating myself for not seeing that coming. No. Not true. I’d felt the words hovering in him from the moment we’d kissed again, and had simply told myself he’d accept my truth, instead. Mine was so much easier. Didn’t he see that? Didn’t he see it was so much easier to part on the high note here? That even disregarding our polar opposite social circles, utterly different lifestyles, and thousands of miles between home addresses, a fire as hot as ours wasn’t meant to last beyond one night of mind-altering sex. And that was not an exaggeration. I’d been altered.

But a follow-up to it all? Tonight?

“I can’t have dinner with you tonight, Lucien.”

He was unfazed. Also not a surprise. The emperor never wanted to be told he had no clothes. Okay, so naked worked with this emperor—which still didn’t make dinner doable or logical.

“Of course you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“I can’t. I’m working. Did you forget that part?”

“Not until ten.” He pushed up and loomed more directly over me. Damn it if that didn’t make the striations in his chest and arms stand out even more. “Tomorrow,” he damn near demanded. “I only have meetings until five-thirty, but they are out in La Defense. I shall return for you between six-thirty and seven, and—”

“No.” I pushed him back—only able to do so because he didn’t expect it—and rolled from the bed. I turned and dug into my suitcase for clothes. I should’ve unpacked by now, but was so used to living out of the thing, it felt more like home than the dresser. “Look; I don’t regret a second of what happened last night…”

“I know.” One black brow edged up. So damn smug. So hellishly sexy.

I fought back by jabbing a finger toward the window. “See that? It’s daylight, mister.”

“I am aware of what time it is, chere.”

“Then be aware of everything here too. Reality. Grown-up life. Responsibility.”

His Lucifer-thick brows collided. “You do not think I am responsible?”

“For most things, probably,” I countered. “Certainly. But you have to look at this”—I tick-tocked a finger between him and I—“with clearer eyes.”

Lucien abandoned his bunched brows. There was a more dangerous look on his face now, because it took over his whole face. From between compressed lips, he uttered, “All right then. Illuminate me.”

Translation? Present your argument so I can scissor it to shreds. Well, the man hadn’t seen my scissor-proof side yet. “Come on, Lucien. Let’s just face this now, okay?” After yanking on a Pikachu tee and shorts, I turned with hands on my hips. “You plus me, beyond what we did in that bed, simply equals disaster in the end. You have to know that as well as I do.”

He slipped off of the mattress like his limbs were formed of satin. Of course. Now approaching with all that nude, tanned sinew, I knew he was going to pull out the silken voice to go with it.

“I know that from the moment our eyes first locked, I have not stopped thinking about you.” Okay, not silk. Verbal velvet now, as he slid a hand to the side of my neck. His fingers were warm and steady, instantly casting a new spell over me. “And I know you have been haunted by thoughts of me too.” He kept going, until he cupped my nape. “And yes, Juliette, it frightens me too. Neither of us asked for it. Neither of us even wanted it. But now, I can think of wanting nothing more.” His body visibly tightened. “During those hours last night, when we didn’t know where you were…”

I told myself his equally stressed swallow didn’t mean anything. That it didn’t make my palms clammy in all the good ways, wiping along my shorts, as I lowered my arms. “Well, I want a production studio of my own, a loft off Fifth, and at least five pairs of boots I saw in St. Germain with Leese and Greer the other day.” I forced a shrug. Really forced. “We don’t always get what we want, okay?”

“So you do not want me?”