Page 24 of Madam Alana

Christophe grabbed his plate and assessed its girth. “I loveAmericans and their extravagance with portions. You always finish a meal herefull as can be.”

“This is true. There is quite a bit of excess,” I retortedwhile following him around the dining table and deeper into the living space.

He set his plate on the low glass table. “Get comfortable.I’m going to get drinks from the bar. Would you like, beer, soda, wine, orchampagne?”

I shrugged. “Technically I’m not old enough to drink.”

He jolted to a stop. “Non?”

“The drinking age in America is apparently 21.”

“This is stupid,” he murmured, heading to the barin the corner. “They can fight wars at eighteen but not drinkalcohol?Who made up this rule?” he called out as if I knewthe answer.

“No clue.” I bit into a warm French fry. “Probably thegovernment,” I surmised.

He made a blustering sound as he approached with two beerspoured into pint glasses and set two more unopened bottles between us, which Ifigured were for refills.

I munched on fries while he got settled and turned on theTV. “Oh, do you want to watch romance or dinosaurs?”

“Dinosaurs?” I practically choked on a fry, not at allexpecting that suggestion.

“This movie claims to be one of the bestselling of the year.It’s calledJurassic Park. There is also something calledSleeplessin Seattlethat has a high ranking.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m intrigued to see what kindof movie people can make using dinosaurs,” I confided, even though I felt alittle silly admitting it.

“Jurassic Parkit is!” he said with glee andpressed play.

Chapter 9

HisGoddess

I woke to my hair being played with while my cheek waspressed to Christophe’s heated bare chest. Sleeping with another person wasn’tfamiliar to me. Waking with my entire body pressed to a man who was attractiveand technically my husband was mind-melting.

Christophe’s fingers ran through the full length of my hairfrom root to end. He had a methodical, gentle, and mesmerizing touch. I sighedagainst his chest, allowing his warmth to seep into my veins.

“Bonjour, wife.” His voice was a throaty, sexypurr.

I swallowed and nudged my face up to see his pretty eyes onme. He continued touching my hair lightly.

“Your hair is the softest thing I have ever felt.So beautiful.”

“Merci. How are you this morning, husband?” Iasked.

He smiled, and my heart pounded happily. I could get used towaking up like this.

“I am wonderful. I slept well. My wife is sprawled across meand looking at me with serenity in her gaze. What could be better?”

I chuckled. “Perhaps coffee?”

He scrunched up his nose, wrapped his arm around my waist,and tugged me fully on top of his body so that I was straddling him.

“Coffee is not better than my stunning wife. I imagine veryfew things could ever be,cheri. I’m afraidI adore you so completely that nothing compares.” He nuzzled my neck and pushedmy hair fully to the side where he placed a mouthy, slightly wet kiss.

I sighed and finally relaxed against him. I was feelingbolder and shockingly a little turned on. If I nudged myself down just a bit, Iwas certain I wouldcome into contact withanotherdelectable part of my husband. A part I was starting tocrave. Thiswas a surprising yet exciting response indeed. But I’d promised myself afterwhat I shared with him last night and after all that we’d experienced togetheron our first and second dates that I’d give him a chance, including giving himthe benefit of any doubts I’d brought into our relationship. He deserved achance to prove he was the type of man he claimed to be.

Good. Kind. Decent. Passionate. Driven. Loving.

So far, he’d beenall ofthosethings, but people could change with a snap of their fingers. I’d beconservatively cautious but more willing to let him in emotionally and physically.

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