Page 42 of All Mixed Up

From: Juliette Darienne

Look up.

He did.

I lifted a hand. Waved shyly.

His jaw plummeted toward the road. Before he damn near sprinted across it.

The butterflies began a full-on dub step routine.

“Errrr…hi again,” I greeted.

He let the edges of his lips tug up. The expression was part gawking boy, part stunned man…one-hundred percent sexy.

“Lucien? Are you okay?”

His gaze sliced up and down my form like a starving man eyeing a steak. “I…I am…” He shook his head. Unfurled a low growl. “Fuck.”

I bit my lower lip. Ohhh yeah, just like a dumb-ass schoolgirl.

“Okaaay. Is that a good fuck or a bad fuck?” Like that helped my effort to be a sexy surprise here.

He stepped up onto the curb, all traces of his elegant strength gone. His moves were stiff jerks, his arms bent as if tethered back. “Chéri, there is no such thing as a bad fuck with you.”

I laughed. It couldn’t be helped—and it felt really, really good. Fortunately, he joined in as we rushed at each other, hugging like it had been years instead of days since we’d last done it. “Well, that’s damn good to hear.” My forced levity went to a good cause. I gained back some needed sass. Now I was able to hitch a hand to my waist and cock him a flirty smile. “Because I’m your lunch date.”

He rocked his head back so hard, the wind loosened his thick waves from their product, fanning them on the air. “Pardon?”

“Your lunch appointment,” I clarified. “With Cycling Escapes International, right?”

As the man impaled me with a nonplussed stare, I scooped one of his hands into mine. With a shockingly smooth step back, I swept my other arm back, motioning toward a pair of shiny vintage-style bicycles that I’d leaned against a low stone wall. Both machines were outfitted with paniers that hung off the back racks. A long baguette peeked out from one, a wine bottle from the other. “Bonjour. Nice to meet you. I’m here to take you on your ‘international cycling escape.’ But first, you’re hereby ordered to put that away.” I gestured to his phone. “Yvette has helped me out.” My mention of his assistant turned his scrutiny into a full-fledged gape. I basked in his delighted shock for a second before finishing with, “Your schedule is clear for the next two hours.”

As I said that, he started back in with the luscious lip quirks. But at last, he gave in to a smile as bright as the sun dappling his face. “Remind me to give Yvette a big fucking raise.”

Before the words were done, he’d yanked off his tie. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and then shucked that too. I took the whole garment out of his hands, then stowed it in the free panier on my bike. As I rose from the task, Lucien waited with his stunning grin—and his consuming kiss.

Oh, God.

Finally.

I returned his passion in full, clutching my arms around his neck. I moaned as he took me in steak-devouring mode, his teeth knocking mine, his tongue invading with searing lust. It was fire and fury and pain and perfection. Oh, how I missed this. How I missed the fullness of him. Less than ten days without this, and I was like a junkie going cold turkey.

How the hell was I going to board a plane in two weeks, and give this up forever?

No.

Today wasn’t for the hell to come. It was for the heaven of now. The onyx perfection of his eyes as he finally dragged his mouth free. The insane intensity of his face as he cupped the side of mine, delving into my hair with his long, powerful fingers.

The feeling, giddy and shaky, that surged back into me as if it had never taken a nine-day hiatus. The lust that slammed me like a train at full throttle.

Of course, that made words an interesting challenge. “You—ummm—you want to get going to lunch?”

“Oui.” He dipped a little nod, exploiting the chance to cloak me again in the lush black velvet of his stare. “I am…famished.”

“Awesome to hear.” I tugged up a little smile. “I brought bread and cheese and meat, and there’s macarons for—”

His lips stopped mine again. He sucked in, pulling my tongue against his, until I mewled and quivered. “I said I was famished,” he husked. “Not hungry.”