Page 69 of The Magic of Provence

He must have, because one of his hands slid onto the skin of her neck, softly rubbing each bump of her spine down to her shoulders. He was still kissing her but his tongue hadn’t come to meet hers. He wasn’t going to go any faster than she wanted him to. Or do anything that would scare her.

And, suddenly, that made her brave.

She knew she wanted this.

And now she wantedmore.

Her tongue found his and it took this kiss into a realm that was completely new to Fi. How was it that she could feel the slide of his tongue against hers echoing in the most secret part of her body? The place that she’d thought she would never want any man to touch again.

Amazingly, she wanted that now too, and it was an ache of need that she’d never felt before. Strong enough to break a kiss that was more than capable of drugging her senseless.

‘Touch me,’ she murmured. ‘Please…’

With a soft groan, he moved his mouth so that his lips were against her neck and she knew he could feel that pulse beating against his lips. He traced his fingers along her collarbone and then flicked open a couple of buttons on her shirt, and he was touching the soft skin of her breast and finding the hard pebble of her nipple to send a streak of sensation fanning out like flames erupting.

It was her turn to make a sound – one of astonished pleasure – and his hand stilled instantly. He pulled his head back and Fi stared up at him.

‘Don’t stop,’ she begged, her words urgent. ‘I want you.Allof you…’

* * *

Christophe hadn’t intended to rush this in any way.

He’d been waiting for this moment and he wanted it to be the best it could possibly be.

This was the lesson in lovemaking he had imagined more than once – the one that would show Fiona how beautiful it could be to communicate by touch. To stroke and kiss and taste the body of someone you could absolutely trust not to hurt you. This was exactly the gift he’d hoped to give her. A healing experience that could quite possibly change the rest of her life.

He hadn’t expected it to be the best sex of his own life.

He could feel her responses as sharply as his own when they had helped each other undress and were skin to skin on this wonderful old couch. He soothed goosebumps on her skin with his tongue and lips. He guided her tentative hand to show her how he liked to be touched but he let her decide if, when and how she wanted him inside her. It felt as if she knew she was in control and she was safe – right until the moment the ripples of her climax made her fall apart in his arms with a cry of ecstasy that was somehow in the shape of his name, and it only took one more thrust for him to join her in falling over the edge of bliss.

Christophe wasn’t at all surprised that Fiona was crying in his arms afterwards. He had no words to tell her that he understood how big this had been for her. Or what a privilege it had been to be the one who had led her past such a barrier in her life. He knew he didn’t actually need to say anything.

He just needed to hold her.

And let her cry.

22

So…

This was what being in love wasreallylike.

When it was hard to think about anything else. Anyoneelse.

When just a glance could melt something deep inside your body and create sparkles that filled the air. It made colours brighter and the scent of flowers – like the rose-smothered archway outside the front door of La Maisonette, and the lavender hedge that lined the path leading to the gate – smell so amazing. It made food taste so much more delicious, especially when Christophe took over the small kitchen and created something mouth-wateringly Italian.

Fi knew that, for the rest of her life, she would never be able to breathe in the aroma from a sprig of lavender or a slice of pizza without thinking of Christophe Brabant.

And feeling this…yearningfor more.

Because, as perfect as it was, it was never quite enough.

She also knew that showing her how good sex could actually be had only been intended as a one-off. For both of them, despite it lifting their bond to a level Fi hadn’t even known two people could share in real life and not in the pages of a fairy tale where everyone got to live happily ever after. That intention had lasted all of two days, as Bouton continued to thrive and could now drink enough milk to last for three hours between the night feeds.

Fi had been at the kitchen sink, sterilising the bottle with boiling water, but she could feel Christophe’s stare on her back as strongly as if it were a physical touch. When she’d turned and locked eyes with him, they were both completely lost – along with any good intentions they might have had.

They made love in the old brass bed upstairs in the cottage that night and, this time, Fi found her fear was far enough in the distance to not be able to see it clearly. There was a lightness in the touching and kissing. A playfulness was dancing amongst the swirls of intensity and expressed in soft ripples of laughter and whispered words in languages Fi didn’t need any translation for because the intensity of passion needed nothing more than touch to be understood perfectly well.

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