morning?
Jasmine shrugged. “Maybe. Which would explain my missing bag. And shoes.” Her frown deepened. “Shit. What am I going to do?”
“You will have to go to the embassy. Apply for an emergency passport.”
“How can I do that when I don’t have any identification?”
“What about in your hotel room? Is there anything there? A copy of your passport? Other ID?”
The woman narrowed her eyes as she thought and then slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe. But...” She laughed awkwardly. “I don’t even know where my hotel is.”
Luca stood. This conversation wasn’t helping. “You said you didn’t sleep much.”
She nodded.
“You should get some rest. Sleep is important.”
“Let me help clean up, first.”
“Non, merci.” He indicated the hall. “There is a new toothbrush in the drawer in the bathroom. Please.”
“Okay.” Jasmine stood and Luca could see that her balance was off because she grabbed the countertop. After a pause and a couple of breaths she made her way down the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door this time.
Damn.
No, not damn. What was he thinking?
When he heard the door open a few minutes later, Luca called, “Jasmine?”
“Yes?”
“I will be waking you up throughout the night. To check on you. Please, don’t be alarmed.”
I WILL BE waking you up...to check on you.
There was nothing sexual about that comment. Absolutely nothing. In fact, it was the opposite of sexual; it was merely a statement made by a man who had been forced to take care of a strange American woman he’d found passed out on the street.
So why did she feel turned on?
She stood in the bedroom doorway, staring at the kitchen. Luca stopped working at the sink to glance down the hall, and even from a distance, Jasmine was immobilized by his gaze. After an indeterminate amount of time, he looked away and the spell was broken. Jasmine hurried into the bedroom, pulled the covers back and crawled between the sheets. The cotton was cool and welcoming to her overheated body. The bed was soft, and for the first time in days, Jasmine relaxed.
Even the throbbing pain in her temple had mellowed to a dull ache.
She turned her head and breathed in. The subtle fragrance of Luca’s aftershave clung to his pillow. Spicy. Masculine. Delicious. Lying on her side, she stole the other pillow and hugged it, burrowing her nose into the faint scent. God. What would it be like to have sex with him? To feel the scruff of his unshaven jaw against her sensitive skin? His hands—those strong hands—touching her body? Exploring. Squeezing. Penetrating.
His mouth—oh, yes, she’d sneaked glances at his mouth during dinner. Full lips. Expressive. The kind of lips that were made for kissing.
French kissing.
And maybe more.
Weren’t French men known for enjoying kissing a woman...everywhere?
Jasmine rubbed her knees together.
She’d never experienced that.
Apart from some serious groping in high school with a shy cowboy, Parker had been her first and only. He had wooed her with romantic dinners and expensive gifts. He’d complimented her all the time, but with words, never touch. When he’d told her he wanted to wait until marriage to have sex, Jasmine had put her foot down and nixed that idea. She’d read an article in one of Parker’s men’s magazines about the importance of being compatible in bed and had even shared it with him.
The following night they’d had wine with dinner—lots and lots of wine, now that she thought about it—and that had been their first time. Her first time, period, so she hadn’t had anything to compare it to.
Well, except her imagination.
But she’d been too uncertain to ask for what she wanted, at first, and later Parker had been so busy with work they could never find the time. And he was so generous about everything else, she didn’t want to pressure him.
But doubts had crept in and she’d started to wonder if she was somehow inadequate.
She rolled onto her back, the pillow lying un-hugged on top of her. How had she not seen what was going on with her ex-fiancé?
Jasmine had found there were only two ways to alleviate her unsatisfied arousal. Masturbation and fantasy.
Highly detailed sexual fantasies.
They had been her form of counting sheep every night after Parker had nodded off.
She wrapped her arms around the pillow on top of her, letting her mind drift, calling up her latest fantasy involving a sexy space crime fighter, an outlaw in an intergalactic universe.
In this reoccurring fantasy, her hero rescues her from an evil alien’s harem and whisks her away to a secluded tropical planet on the outskirts of the galaxy. Her outlaw takes it upon himself to teach her to enjoy sex again. He starts slowly, touching her—only touching—every fucking inch of her body until she is moaning with desire. Then he leaves her wanting on a bed made of some super-awesome alien material that heightens a person’s sexual desire when they simply lie on top of it. He returns the next day, this time kissing and licking her entire body.
In her mind, everything was crystal clear...
He’s lying between her spread legs, his strong hands pushing her thighs wider, his dark hair—almost black—brushing her belly. A firm tongue nudging her clit one way and then the other. When her hips buck, he holds them down, pressing her into the mattress that sends blasts of arousal across the surface of her skin and into the very depths of her body. When next she raises her hips, he lowers his mouth until he’s sucking on her most vulnerable parts, her ass in his hands, kissing, licking, sucking until she can’t stand it...
Jasmine’s hand roved down beneath the sheets. She wasn’t even aware of untying the string at the waistband of the shorts until her fingers delved into her wet heat, mimicking the tongue of her fantasy lover.
God.
You like that?
“Yes, oh, yes,” Jasmine murmured against the pillow.
You want this?
“Yes.” The word was said on a gasp as she rubbed her clit with the pads of her fingers.
Oh, baby...another lick, another suck, You’ve got the sweetest pussy. I can’t get enough...
