Page 103 of Valentine Nook
“But nothing will happen if you don’t tell Marcy what you want?—”
Both of us turn as the privacy curtain parts, and the purser appears.
“Your Grace, we’ll be landing in ten minutes. The car is waiting for you.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
Holiday jumps off my lap and marches down to the bathroom, grabbing a small bag on her way. “Time for me to get my game face on.”
The driver transports us through the Paris traffic, pulling up to the George V—where I upgraded the suite she’d been booked to the penthouse with its panoramic city views—by which point Holiday looks tense enough that she might explode.
“Monsieur le duc, bienvenue. Quel plaisir de vous accueillir à nouveau parmi nous. And a warm welcome to you Madame, welcome,welcome back,” greets Charles, the head concierge, who’s waiting for us when we step out of the car. “We’re so delighted to have you stay with us again.”
“Charles, toujours à votre poste,” I reply, shaking his hand.
“Et comment se porte Madame votre mère?” he asks, always respectful when he’s talking about my mother.
“C’est très aimable à vous. Ma mère se porte bien, elle garde un excellent souvenir de son dernier séjour ici.”
It’s been a while since I’ve stayed here, but my mother comes so regularly that the proverbial red carpet is always rolled out.
Holiday’s head whips around from where she’s watching our bags get loaded onto the trolley. “You speak French?”
“Bien sûr.” I wink, and behind her dark glasses, I know I receive an eye roll in return. Taking her hand, I plant a kiss on her knuckles. “Come on,monpetite fromage. Let’s go and see our suite.”
Holiday doesn’t say a word. Not as we walk across the ornate lobby’s marble floor or the plush carpets of the hallways until we reach our home for the next three days. Nothing.
Our bags are placed in the bedroom, and I hand the bellman a couple of neatly folded twenty-euro bills while Holiday drifts over to the balcony doors overlooking the city.
Flipping the Do Not Disturb sign onto the door, I roll up my cuffs, kick off my shoes, and quietly pad toward her.
My arms snake around her belly. “You know, I think it’sagainst French law to be in a bad mood while you’re staring at the Eiffel Tower.”
A small puff of amusement pushes up from her chest.
Running my nose along her jaw, I inhale her citrusy scent, and my dick jumps to attention. “You might end up in a French jail.”
Her tense shoulders drop a little, and she leans against me. The bulge in my jeans gets tighter. I know she can feel it.
“We wouldn’t want that,” she replies, turning to look up at me. There’s fatigue in her eyes that I haven’t seen since the week she arrived in Valentine Nook, but there’s also heat behind them.
“What time is your meeting?”
Her watch slips around her wrist when she spins to look. “At three o’clock.”
“Which gives us exactly one hundred and forty-three minutes to relieve some of that tension you’re carrying. You’ll have to get your game face on again, Hollywood, because I’m about to mess it all up.”
A perfectly shaped brow shoots up. “How are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to fuck it out of you.” If she’s shocked, she doesn’t show it. Blue eyes fall to my mouth. Her tongue swipes against her lips. “Do you think the French usefuck? Or is everything aboutmaking love?”
She shrugs like she doesn’t care, which would work if her eyes weren’t already glassy.
“Is that what you want? Gentle lovemaking?” A slow roll of my hips forces her back into the glass doors, pressing into her so she can feel exactly whatIwant. “Or a good, hard fucking?”
My hands push under her T-shirt. Palms smoothing over her soft, warm skin and into her bra, where I tweak a nipple so hard it could cut glass.
Her breath sucks in sharply, and her head flops against thedoor, inviting me into her neck. It’s a silent demand for my touch, but I’m not falling for it.
