Page 22 of Sinful Escape

Pierre murmured words I couldn’t decipher as he ran his hand over my hair and down my back. The ninjas continued their attack. Dying on the inside. Visa expired. Leaving Europe. Getting old. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Round and round, cruel reality spun until I couldn’t cry anymore. I eased back, thumbed tears from my eyes, and wiped my nose again.

He offered me a napkin from the table behind. “You are beautiful, Daisy.”

I dabbed my eyes. “Yeah, right. I’m a mess.”

He placed his hands onto my cheeks, capturing my eyes with his. “You are one of the most beautiful women to grace my café.”

“Pfft. Please, you don’t have to?—”

“Shhh, let me finish.”

I frowned at his assertion.

“I see many beautiful women, but they hide under a veneer of makeup and fancy clothes. It is impossible to see their real self. When they shed their façade, they are no longer beautiful. You . . . you have natural beauty that you don’t hide. This is what I love.”

I raised my eyebrows. Blinked. Blinked some more. I had no idea how to respond.

Pierre leaned forward and paused. His gaze flicked from my eyes to my lips. He smelled divine, an intoxicating aroma of expensive cologne and hot-blooded man.

My senses hit party mode.

My breath caught in my throat.

My heart rate shot to a breathtaking tempo.

Lured in by his lust-fueled gaze, I leaned forward too. I wanted him to kiss me. To take all my worries away and whisk me to another world. The look in his eyes told me he wanted it too. A delicious throb pulsed in my pussy. It was a sensation I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Way too long.

Pierre’s intense gaze captured me. I could hardly breathe.

His warm hand touched my knee, and my breath hitched.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I snapped my gaze that way. A man and woman with a giant fluffy dog walked past the window.

Oh shit. I pulled back. What the fuck am I doing? I’ve totally lost my mind.

I cleared my throat. “Pierre, you are very kind. Thank you. I am fine now.”

His expression melted, and I was certain he too understood that we nearly went a little overboard.

He stood and relief washed over me.

Then he offered his hand. “Come. We will talk while I cook for you. Yes?”

“Oh, umm.” In a nanosecond, a debate crisscrossed through my brain. Only moments ago, I admitted that there were still so many things in Europe I wanted to see. Pierre cooking for me was one of them. I reached for my bag and slipped it over my shoulder. “Okay.”

His smile was intoxicating as our palms met. His hand was as warm as freshly made pudding.

In the kitchen, he led me to a barstool overlooking an enormous chopping block centered in the middle of the room. I slipped my bag from my shoulder and hooked it over the back of the stool. Within seconds a fresh glass of champagne was in my hand.

Pierre held a glass tumbler filled with golden liquid I knew would be cognac, forward in a toast. I waited, curious as to what he’d say. “To embracing passion.”

“Oh.” My heart skipped a beat. “To embracing passion.”

With his eyes locked on mine, he sipped his drink. His eyes undressed me. . . revealing my flesh, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to get naked in front of a man.

No, not just any man—Pierre.

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