Page 28 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
Our wine and first course arrived, and I forced myself not to think about anything other than the present moment and just enjoy the meal. Lucas was right—the food was delicious. Each course was better than the last, and the service was leisurely, allowing us plenty of time to enjoy each other, too. When I finally tasted my veal Marsala, I could not contain the words of ecstasy bubbling from my lips. “Oh my God. Oh my God, it’s so good.”
Lucas grinned. “You say that a lot.”
“I can’t help it—it’s all the food and wine here. Good thing I don’t live in Paris, I’d be big as a house.”
“It’s nice to see you happy. I was worried last night that your first trip to Paris would be your last.”
I swallowed the divine bite in my mouth. “I think I’d come back for the veal alone.”
“It’s good, isn’t it? Here, try this.” He cut a piece of his steak and lifted it to my lips across the table.
I moaned at the velvet texture, the hint of rosemary and garlic, and especially at the intimate act of taking it off Lucas’s fork. His mouth was on it right before mine, I thought, chewing rapturously. We practically kissed already.
Of course, it wasn’t true, but each time he offered me a bite—and I him—I couldn’t help but think we were one step closer. And I really wanted to kiss him. It shocked me how much I wanted to kiss him. Quit staring at his mouth. You’re totally obvious!
Over coffee, we talked about music and his research and how his father had influenced him. We discovered a mutual love for old jazz standards—no surprise there—and he said he had quite a large collection of vintage records at his Paris and New York apartments.
“You can’t beat the sound of vinyl,” he said, setting his empty cup down. “It’s so much better than digital.”
“I’ve never noticed. Maybe you’ll show me the difference sometime.” Like when we’re listening to records and making out.
Across the candle-lit table, he smiled at me, turning my insides into hot wax. “I’d like that.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, during which my desire for him went from Butterflies in the Belly to Wet in the Panties. I no longer cared what my motivation was for wanting him. I just knew that I did—and I wanted more than kissing too. My nipples grew stiff and tingly and I imagined his perfect mouth on them. Holy shit. My underwear was totally damp with desire, and the seam of my jeans was pressing against my clit in just the right way. When my mind strayed to his hands reaching under the table, I excused myself.
“I’ll be right back.” I smiled as he stood up too. Such a gentleman. What the hell was I going to do about that?
I used the bathroom inside the restaurant—yes, the panties were soaked. In fact, I nearly ditched them, they were so wet—and by the time I got out, Lucas had paid for dinner, including the wine.
“Don’t be mad.” He held up his hands. “I promise you can pay for the next one.”
I punched him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m totally mad. You promised before, too.”
“So what would you like to do?” We left the restaurant patio and began walking slowly down the street. “It’s pretty early, and there are a few clubs in this area we could check out, maybe see some live music.”
I took a deep breath. You only live once. “Actually, I thought maybe you could show me your apartment. We could listen to some of your records or something? I mean, if you want to.”
He stopped walking and turned to face me, and his expression was an interesting mix of yes, please and holy shit, did she just say that? “Um, sure. We could do that. Of course I want to. It’s just that…” He struggled to finish the thought. It was obvious he was nervous about taking me back to his place, and I understood why.
But at this point I could bear the wait no longer.
I took a step closer to him, angling my head so that my lips were just beneath his. All he had to do was lower his lips two inches, and they’d be on mine. Suspense had me rising on tiptoe.
Please, Lucas. Kiss me.
Finally he lowered his mouth onto mine, and the warmth of his lips sent bolts of lightning straight to my core.
Tentatively, I put a hand to the back of his neck and opened my lips further, and he began to move his mouth over mine in a way that was both tender and suggestive. He kissed each of my lips, taking them gently between his own. Then he slanted his mouth more fully over mine, tilting his head so that the fit out our lips was tighter, the intensity of the kiss deeper. His hand moved to my hip, and my entire body shivered from the powerful pull of longing within me. God, how long had it been since I’d felt that?
So, so long.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered we were standing on the street, but I couldn’t resist bringing my other hand to Lucas’s jaw, desire rippling anew at the feel of his stubble on my palm. I even liked the way it felt on my lips and face—a little scratchy and rough, but new and different and exotic.
Lucas broke off the kiss and looked at me with concern in his eyes.
“Mia. I don’t want you to think I—”
“Shhh.” I put a finger on his lips. “I’m not thinking anything right now except that I want you to kiss me again.”
