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“They may not be crazy about my pedigree,” she continued his train of thought. “But they definitely want you to procreate.”
“My parents are snobs.”
“You think?”
He chuckled at the tone of her voice, turning to brush a few stray hairs from her soft cheek.
Her skin was flushed, her smile wide, and the sunshine off the Atlantic highlighted her green eyes. “Can we talk some more about sweating and moaning?”
Arousal instantly hit him in the solar plexus. “Not here we can’t.”
“Back at the chateau? In one of our ten bedrooms?”
“I noticed the master bed was a four-poster,” he pointed out, suddenly anxious to get her back there.
Her smile widened even further.
“And we have these new silk scarves.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“I hope you’re hinting that I should wear them.”
He moved closer to rasp in her ear. “Among other, more interesting things.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“Why?” Lovemaking should be playful and fun.
With the heel of her hand, she playfully hit him in the shoulder. “You seriously want to tie me to the bed and have your way with me?”
“Absolutely.” A sensual, compelling picture rose in his mind.
She coughed out an unintelligible protest.
“Trust me,” he told her.
“Reed.”
“Trust me.” He pulled away and grasped her hand, urging her back along the walkway toward the chateau.
Seven
At the chateau, Jean-Louis was clearly delighted to see them. And when Elizabeth saw the beautiful table he’d prepared, and inhaled the luscious scents wafting from the kitchen, she knew making love would have to be postponed. She excused herself to change, finding her clothes freshened and hanging in the closet of the master bedroom.
She changed into a black cocktail dress then met Reed at the bottom of the formal staircase.
He gallantly held out an arm. “Would you care to accompany me to the wine cellar?”
She grinned to herself, feeling sexy and playful for the first time in months. “Can I trust you in the wine cellar?”
He grin broadened. “Come on down and find out.”
She pretended to hesitate, but he turned them both into a short hallway that ended with a wood-plank door.
The stone staircase beyond it was narrow, and the light was dim. Reed kept a firm hold on her waist as they made their way to the bottom. There, he switched on an overhead light, and she drew in a surprised breath at the rows and rows of dusty wine bottles.
“We’re looking for row eight.” Reed led her down to the third rack.
“What are we looking for?” she asked.
“This,” he announced, and his hands closed over her hips, lifting her to sit on a ancient, hewn-beam table in the middle of the aisle.
“What—”
He silenced her with a kiss, moving between her knees and wrapping his arms tightly around her.
His lips were cool and soft, moist and parted. His tongue gently explored the recesses of her mouth, and she felt shards of arousal work their way out from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes.
His hands moved to her bare knees. His kisses explored her neck, her ears, her shoulders, while she gripped his upper arms for support.
His fingertips circled higher on her thighs, leaving a burning trail of want behind them.
“I had a feeling I couldn’t trust you down here,” she breathed.
“You can trust me completely.” But his fingers hooked around her panties, tugging them down.
She gasped and grasped his forearms. “Not here.” She glanced around at the cold, dusty room.
He chuckled. “No. Not here.” But he pulled her panties to her ankles, peeling them off over her heels. Then he tucked them firmly into his inside pocket.
He gazed hotly into her eyes. “Later.”
“But—”
He silenced her with a finger across her lips. “We’re on vacation, Elizabeth. We can play.”
He lifted her down from the table, smoothing her skirt back into place. Arm still around her, he guided her toward the narrow staircase.
“Reed?”
“Yes?”
She tipped her head to look back at him. “The wine?”
“Right.”
Elizabeth leaned back against the solid table, content to let Reed choose the year and the winery. If there was anything her well-bred husband knew, it was good wine.
She watched the play of his muscles as he reached into the bins, considering and returning bottles. She shifted down the table to bring his profile into view. There was no doubt he was a gorgeous man, and a slow pulse of sexual arousal remained steady in her bloodstream while the cool air circulated around her bare legs.
She couldn’t help but picture the big, four-poster bed. The silk scarves also tickled their way into her imagination, making her shiver. She and Reed had more complex problems than a long night of pleasure could solve, but reconnecting sexually wouldn’t hurt. It might even help. And it could definitely be satisfying.
“After you,” he said, gesturing to the staircase with one of the bottles he’d chosen.
They made their way back to the second floor, where a young French woman assisted Jean-Louis in serving them an artichoke and baby greens salad. It was followed by pumpkin soup, bay shrimps, salmon, a cheese tray, and finally the most heavenly torte she’d ever tasted.
By the time the final dishes were cleared away, Elizabeth had kicked off her shoes and curled up in the rich, velvet upholstery of the big, Louis XV chair.
“Come here,” Reed rumbled, a half smile on his face and heat smoldering deep in his midnight-blue eyes.
Elizabeth’s sexual arousal returned in a rush. She set down her coffee cup, uncurled her legs and padded the length of the table to Reed’s chair.
He took her hand, drawing her down into his lap. Pulling back her loose hair, he feathered soft kisses into the crook of her neck.
Footsteps sounded in the doorway, and she stiffened at the sight of Jean-Louis.
Reed’s hand closed around Elizabeth’s wrist, keeping her from jumping off his lap.
“We won’t require anything further tonight,” he told the chef.
“Bonne nuit, monsieur,” intoned Jean-Louis with a respectful nod.
“Oh, it will be,” Reed whispered to Elizabeth as the door closed behind the chef.
“That was embarrassing,” said Elizabeth.
“Exhibitionism not one of your fantasies?”
She drew back in astonishment. Sexual fantasies were definitely not a subject of discussion in their marriage. “No.”
He chuckled and resumed kissing, his spread fingers delving into her hair. “Noted.”
“Seriously, Reed. I’m not—”
“Noted,” he repeated. “I’m not going to forget.”
“But—”
He anchored her head and kissed her deeply on the mouth. His other hand stroked behind her knee, teasing its way up her thigh, reminding her she was naked under the little black dress.
Her arms snaked around his neck, and she breathed his name, leaning into another deep kiss, reveling in the play of his lips and tongue on her swollen mouth.
Her breasts rubbed against his broad chest, nipples coming erect, growing sensitized against the fabric of her clothes. Her skin began to tingle, itching, aching to be touched.
His hand cupped her bare bottom, sliding toward the small of her back, bringing the hem of her dress up to her hips. He began an intimate exploration, and perspiration soon slicked her skin.
She went for the buttons of his dress shirt, popping them from their holes, splaying her hands over his chest, starting an exploration of her own.
“I’ve missed you,” he groaned.
She nodded, but words were beyond her capability right now. His skin was taut, his muscles firm, the fire in his veins transmitting itself to her very core.
His palm slipped back down her leg, covering her thigh, caressing her knee, exploring the curve of her calf, then teasing the arch of her foot. Her head dropped back, and his kisses found her neck. He made his way down her chest, while her hands moved to grip his shoulders, stabilizing her position.
He nudged her neckline, moving the fabric out of the way, kissing her nipples through the thin silk of her bra, leaving wet circles that cooled and puckered her skin unbearably.
A groan made its way up from her core, and his hand convulsed against her waistline.
“I love you,” he whispered against her breast. “I am madly and passionately and completely in love with you.”
“Oh, Reed.”
“No matter what happens—” He pulled back, straightening, scooping her into his arms while her body throbbed with need. He carried her the length of the hallway, pushed open the master bedroom door, then closed it firmly behind them.
The lights were out, but the shine from the town and the glimmer of the lighthouse gave the room a luminous glow. Reed sat her on the edge of the bed. Then he stripped off his jacket and tie, his shirt still hanging open. He came down on one knee in front of her, parting her legs and easing between.
He hooked his fingertips into the top of her bra and tugged her forward. She came easily, kissing his mouth, running her fingers through his neat hair, shifting forward so that her dress bunched up and she came in contact with the bare skin of his abdomen.
He rolled her dress up over her head, unclipped her bra so that it fell between them. Then, his eyes boring into her body, he laid her back on the bed. He stroked his hand up the center of her belly, over her navel, between her breasts and across her shoulder.
His mouth followed the trail, leaving hot, moist spots along the way. Finally, he slid up beside her, lips coming down on hers, arms wrapping around her, pulling her solidly against the strength of his body.
His cotton shirt trailed over her skin, further sensitizing her belly, her breasts, her nipples. His hand circled down, touching her downy curls, lower still, until she gasped and arched off the bed.
His kiss deepened, and she convulsively dug her fingernails into his back. Her eyes closed. Her toes curled. Her thighs began to quiver, and her lungs struggled to keep up with her need for oxygen.
Then something brushed softly over her face.
She opened her eyes to see a yellow haze.
Reed stretched out her right arm, then trailed the scarf along it, wrapping the soft fabric loosely around her wrist.
He was joking.
He had to be joking.
But what an odd time to decide to be funny.
He moved her other arm, and she felt the same sensation along it. Something shivered deep down in her core.
“Reed?”
“Trust me,” he whispered.
Then he rose, stripping off his shirt, his slacks and everything else.
She lay still, not moving her arms, not moving a thing, taking in every inch of his magnificent body as diffuse light played off the planes and angles of his muscles. His chest was broad, shoulders strong, arms toned, hands capable.
He leaned over her, and she swallowed.
