Page 51 of All Mixed Up

No more hiding.

Ever again.

I tossed aside the pillow. Climbed over and pressed against him. Dug a hand into the thick luxury of his hair and then hauled him close for a ferocious, delicious kiss.

When I finally let him go, I kept him locked to me with the pure purpose in my stare. “But Monsieur Paget…I like setting your cock on fire.”

I proved it by lowering his head to my chest. A throaty laugh escaped as his warm breath vibrated between my breasts. If I was in luck, that heavy breathing would soon become a long growl. Then some teasing suckles. Then all the goodness that would come after that…

But the man was damned and determined to twist my expectations like taffy this morning.

And then snap them like candy sticks.

Which was definitely the case as he shoved violently back. Lurched off the bed. Paced across the room with obvious anger. “Tu ne comprend—” He hissed more profanities before snarling hard and deep. “No. You still do not understand, damn it.”

I exhaled through my nose. Folded my arms. “Okay.” I extended the vowel, damn near turning it into a question. “I guess I don’t.”

He turned with a newly demonic scowl. “I do not want you to set my cock on fire!”

In lieu of an incredulous laugh, I cocked a pointed look to the erection between his braced thighs. “Probably should’ve copied your whole body on that memo, ace.”

He didn’t hear a word I drawled. He was too busy trying to shatter the windows with his extended roar. When I let the reverberations simply sit on the air—pauses were sometimes the most effective parts of an effective mix—he finally spat out, “Mon dieu, woman. Are you listening to me?”

“Listening?” More stark shock—enough to make me launch to my feet, as well. Once planted on the floor, I refolded my arms. “Okay, slow your roll, Paget. I’m right here; see? And I am listening.” And, thanks to the shaft that bobbed more prominently between his hewn thighs, also gawking. And fighting like hell to avoid an embarrassing drool too.

“‘Slowing my roll’ is not an option for me, Juliette.” He spewed it while stalking to the windows and back and then again, clearly not worried about treating the outside world to the masterpiece of his erection. “Slowing anything is not an option. Slow is not a fucking word I’ve understood since laying eyes on you!”

Well…shit.

I plunked back onto the bed as that stupefaction pinged every inch of my brain. Clearly, Lucien had more to say—a huge hell of a lot more—but gritted himself into silence, waiting for me to react. But I was dumbstruck. Speechless. Frozen. And in a lot of ways, hoping my icicle act would inspire his too.

That he wouldn’t do exactly what he did.

That he wouldn’t stride with such bold beauty back to the bed. Lunge back onto it with such unfaltering force. Sweep me back beneath him with such awestriking arrogance—before stealing my breath all over again with his deep, brutal slam of a kiss.

But worst of all, that he wouldn’t pull back from that kiss and gaze at me like this. Adoring me with every speck of starlight in his mesmerizing midnight eyes. Caressing my cheek with the magic of an angel’s wing.

And then whispering to me with the same spectral intensity.

Piercing me with the power of his raw, husky confession.

“Je tombe pour tu, Juliette Darienne,” he whispered. “I am falling for you.”

The edges of my vision clouded. My chest was a roller coaster park again. “Lucien—”

“Do not go.”

“Wh-What?”

“I said do not go. I want you to stay here, Juliet.”

“Where?”

“In Paris. With me.”

Ohhh…God.

The words I’d dreamed of.