Page 47 of Heart Match

‘I like you there,’ he says, stepping back and away from me, sizing me up. His eyes take a trip over my body and send sparks through me.

‘It seems so.’ I wrap my legs around Luc’s sexy waist, where his jeans hang low, and pull him back closer to me. He responds with a gentle bite on my neck, making me groan.

‘If you intend to cook for me, then I believe a short trip to the supermarket is advisable. I’m afraid my fridge is empty,’ I say.

Now he’s slowly and patiently running his tongue up my throat, his stubbles tingling my skin. I feel a thrill on my spine, from my tailbone all the way up my nape.

‘Then we better hurry up …’ He speaks against my mouth, our lips barely touching. I’m impatiently expecting him to kiss me, instead, he places me on the floor again.

Despite being frustrated with hunger and need, I decide Luc’s worth the wait, especially when he’s the one cooking.

#

We’re in the produce section of the supermarket, picking cherry tomatoes and onions and spinach.

‘What are you making?’ I ask.

‘My grandma’s secret quiche recipe,’ he says as he picks some champignons, seeming to carefully choose the ideal ones.

‘Is it still a secret?’

Luc smirks.

‘Our secret. Mine and hers. It’s called Quiche Lamaire,’ he says.

I find this incredibly sweet, and my reaction is to wrap my arms around him from behind as he finally selects the best champignons. It’s a reaction that I wasn’t expecting to have until it happened. I might have a thing for men who cook, or maybe for men who share secrets with their grannies.

‘Are you serious?’ I’m suppressing a grin.

‘That’s what my grandma calls it.’

‘Seems like you two are close.’

‘Yeah, we are. She practically raised me.’ The way his face lights up is so sweet and warm I want to bite him. I manage to keep it together.

Once we have everything, we head to the automatic cashier. People are paying on either side of us we wait in line. One of the two guys on our left smiles childishly when he sees us, and whispers something to his partner, who then looks back to check us out. The woman on the right side keeps discreetly peeking at us, she looks as though she recognises us from somewhere. I ignore all this when my attention is called to the hands that are now filling the back pockets of my jeans. The gesture is so unexpected it makes me smile from ear to ear as I feel blushing all over.

‘Are you smiling, Olivia?’ he whispers in my ear, from behind me. I let my head fall onto his chest and he kisses the tip of my nose. Waiting in line has never been so entertaining.

Since he’s already cooking, I insisted on paying—more like pushed him away from the machine and paid at lightspeed before he could recover from the push. As vengeance against my violent act, he’s carrying the shopping bags.

#

To say I’m having fun cooking with Luc is an understatement. I’m having a blast, and I’m feeling like a child who’s getting all the attention from the most important person in the room. At the sound of Je ne sais pas by Joyce Jonathan—part of Luc’s playlist—I cut the cherry tomatoes in half and feed him some. On the kitchen island he’s kneading pastry—which he swears is where his grandmother’s secret lies—and decides to scrub his dirty hands on my bottom, leaving marks of his greasy palms on my jeans. I take advantage of the fact that his hands are dirty and busy pressing the pastry onto the quiche pan, and tickle him just under his ribcage just to discover that he’s immune to tickles. I’m delighted. I try a few more times with different tricks and different places: blowing his ear, sticking a finger under his arm, and slowly and softly running my index finger from his belly button down his pelvis, as low as I can get without having to open his jeans.

‘This way you’re going to achieve something else, Miss Charlton,’ he teases, chuckling and having fun at my expense, and still with his hands on the dough.

‘How can someone be immune to tickles?’

He kisses me, shutting me up, his buttery hands holding my face. Now I also have pastry on my face too.

‘I’m not feeding you tomatoes anymore,’ I say.

Luc presses his mouth against mine again, and I find myself chuckling against his lips. He responds with a low groan before breaking our kiss.

As he goes back to the pastry, I grab the bottle of champagne from the fridge and analyse the label.

Champagne Lamaire

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