Page 15 of Sinful Temptations

By the time I arrived at his restaurant, my heart was galloping and my insides were dancing. With my breathtrapped in my throat, I stepped across the threshold and despite the subtle music, a tinkling bell rang somewhere in the back.

The restaurant was empty of patrons. But the dirty plates and lipstick-stained wine glasses on one long table confirmed that hadn’t been the case all night.

Pierre stepped out of the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on his apron. His gaze landed on me, and his expression morphed from pleasant to incredible.

Just seeing his eyes light up was enough to have me tearing my clothes from my body. I reined that thought in with mental images of that poor couple who’d endured my impromptu strip show last time.

One of the lessons I’d learned last month, besides checking my surroundings before I stripped, was restraint. Pierre had shown me the glory of foreplay.

I was willing to explore a hell of a lot more of that magic.

Pierre stepped toward me, arms open, smile wide, and sporting a look of desire that had my insides pirouetting.

“Daisy. You look ravishing tonight.”

He said all the right things.

Clutching hands, we kissed each other’s cheeks. I inhaled his glorious cologne.

When had I become so aware of men’s scents?

William had spent a fortune on cologne, but he never smelled as good as the European men I’d met.

“Allow me to cook for you, please.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to my table.

Cook?I wasn’t here to eat.

I wanted to decline. To say we had much more fun things to do.

But this was his restaurant, his livelihood. It was wrong of me to expect him to sacrifice that.

He tugged out a chair and fussed over me, ensuring I wascomfortable, and draping a napkin over my lap in a way that was inexplicably both sexy and efficient.

He dashed off to get me a champagne and all I could think of was downing that drink as quickly as possible so I could get into his pants.

Oh, God. Did I really just think that?

Bloody hell, what was wrong with my unforgiving brain? As Zali kept reminding me, I was a single woman with a healthy libido who’d been deprived of nourishment for way too long. I was just catching up.

Yet the niggling thoughts that I was just like my mother persisted.

Mother slept with any man she could get into bed—young, old, ugly, really ugly, single, married. It didn’t matter.

At least I had morals. I could never have sex with someone who was married. Roman’s ex-girlfriend had done that too and look how much he was hurting because of her.

So wrong.

Pierre returned with a glass of Louis Roederer champagne along with a crystal tumbler with cognac for him. We clinked glasses and I sipped the delicious champagne, hoping the drink would settle my racing mind.

“I am so pleased you are here, Daisy. We will make love, yes?”

The bubbles in my mouth shot right out my nose.

I coughed and spluttered and blurted an apology.

Pierre rubbed my back. “I am sorry. That was impatient of me. You do that to me, Daisy. You drive me crazy.” He wriggled his brows and lowered his eyes to his groin.

Dabbing the napkin to my chin, I followed his gaze to the bulge in his pants.

---