Page 62 of The Christmas Wife

I glance down to find her sticking out her tongue to catch a flake.

"It’s polluted water," I warn her.

She scowls, "No one can accuse you of being a romantic."

"No one can accuse you of being practical."

"If I were, I never would have left home at eighteen to go to culinary school, against my parents’ wishes."

"Where did you study?"

"At Le Cordon Bleu, Paris."

"Funny, I can’t see you at a snooty French course like that."

She frowns up at me. "You’re right," she replies, "I hated it. The course taught me a lot, gave me the basics, but... I couldn’t wait to get out of there and into the real world."

"You don’t like rules, huh?"

"I like to be free."

"Do you?" I allow my lips to twist.

"Of course." She scowls, "Why do you ask?"

"I think you’d like to be tied down. In fact, I am positive you'd love to test your limits; to find out how much you could take before you break down and beg for your release."

She gulps; her pupils dilate.

"You… You’re wrong." She whispers.

"Are you sure?"

16

Amelie

"Of course, I am." I squeeze my thighs together. Damn it, stop imagining the scene he’s laid out.

He doesn’t know me or my needs or my likes. He has no idea how close he came to hitting on a certain forbidden dream I’ve harbored… One that I won’t give in to, no matter that it is being laid out by the meanest, sexiest toad-in-the-hole ever. And that would be an insult to toad-in-the-hole’s everywhere. I blow out a breath. I totally have to stop with these weird food-related metaphors that I seem to come up with when I am around him.

"How do you know if you haven’t tried it?" He lowers his voice and studies me, "Have you tried it?"

I bite down on my lower lip.Damn it, why can’t I lie to him? Say it; do it. "Uh... Not really," I venture.

His eyes gleam, "I think you might be surprised."

"The only surprise would be if there isn’t an intruder in the cabin," I mutter.

He walks up the patio, past the now-silent hot tub. He stops at the entrance. "I need to go in and check the place first," he grumbles.

"I’m coming with you."

"It’s safer here."

"It’s colder." The snowflakes intensify, more of the white, powdery stuff sticking to my lips. I lick them off. His nostrils flare. Did that turn him on? Why is he so attuned to me? Is that why he’d laid out that stupid condition that I can't sleep with him if I want the money? Maybe it was to give me a way out of having sex with him... Except damn it, now I want to shag him. OMG!

Do I want the money so badly that I’ll do everything but allow him to fuck me? Okay, don’t answer that. It isn’t fair, putting this big ol’ hunk of chocolate slab on one side and my future on the other.Would you give up his spotted dick for the chance at realizing your dreams?Not that his dick is spotted…but it has a certain rhyme to it, know what I mean?

---