moon cradled in a wisp of clouds. She was relaxed and happy, now that she’d scratched all his emotional allergies.
“Did anyone ever tell you,” he said, “that maybe it’s easier to give advice when you’ve never had to walk in their shoes?”
“Oh, yes. Lots of times. I’ve ticked off reams of people with my nosiness and my opinions. Zillions. Hordes. Trust me, I’ve just irritated you this time. If I really got going, I could probably tick you off enough to throw me out forever—”
There seemed only one way to shut this down.
He moved her against the old brick, in the shadow of the doorway. When her head shot up—mouth still open, of course—she stilled, just for a second, when she saw his eyes.
Then he bent down and took her mouth. Feasted on it, more like. For a kiss that was clearly intended to communicate some annoyance and impatience and maybe even a little temper, it somehow turned out wrong.
It turned out tender.
Damnably tender.
She looped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes and sank into him on a sigh.
He couldn’t understand it. One minute he was ticked off at her. The next, she was his whole world. Times ten. He couldn’t kiss enough, taste enough, touch enough.
He fumbled with the key, groped to turn it, not severing the connection to her mouth for even a second. The door finally creaked open, then crashed against the far wall. He kissed her in, kicked the door shut, kissed her down the hall, kissed her into the velvet shadows of the bedroom, kissed her as he started peeling off layers of clothes. His. Hers.
The clothes fell in a matching heap.
And so did they.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE STIRRED the next morning before Will. Half-awake, she slowly became conscious of the pale sun filtering through the screen, the first horn on the street, a tufty breeze, the sounds of a sleepy Paris coming to life. She stayed cuddled up to Will, not wanting to move, not wanting to think, just wanting to absorb the feel of her lover…until she felt his gaze on her face.
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