Page 15 of Falling for Paris
“How about your hand?” she asked, looking down at the fingers lain over the armchair, breast level with her because she was kneeling. “You wanted to know about my mom, right? When I was scared of flying, she would do this thing with my hand and it always helped me.”
He didn’t pull away so she ran a finger over the back of his hand, following the crevices of muscles and veins. Tori wrapped his long fingers between her two chilly hands, feeling the roughness of old cuts and a large callus at the base of his forefinger. He moaned. She looked up to check if it was a sound of relief or discomfort.
“Does it feel good? May I continue, Rafael?”
His voice was low and coarse. “You cannot ask me that while you’re on your knees, Tori.”
She rolled her eyes. “I just did. Now stop distracting me. Does it hurt when I do this?” She began a gentle massage over his hand, finding knots in his palm and tension between his fingers.
“No, it doesn’t hurt.”
“Anyway, when I used to be nervous about flying—and we flewa lot—my mom would do this to my hand and just focusing on it took my mind away from other things. Close your eyes and focus.”
He grumbled while reluctantly following her directions. Soon his breathing evened out and she could feel the moment his hand softened to near normal. She looked at him, that gorgeous cleft at the center of a masculine jawline, the rosy color of his lips returning so they looked full and lush and—
“Thank you, Victoria,” he said softly. His face had softened as well and she realized he had caught her staring at his mouth. “It feels very good. Your hands, I mean. And the medicine is beginning to work so I must ask you to stop.”
“But if it’s helping you…”
“Tori,stop,” His strained voice had a distinct quality to it. Her eyes landed on his face before dropping. To his lap.
“Oh, um,” she stammered at the sight of his tented pants.
“I suppose I should apologize for my body’s reaction to your touch.”
“It would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” she answered breathlessly.
“Except if I apologize every time you make me hard, I’d spend all day doing it. It seems I could lose control at the touch of a breeze when I’m around you.” The words were gruff, spoken through tight lips and a cement jaw.
If she was initially taken aback, something about his crassness bristled Tori. It was a version of his petulance, meant to intimidate or repel her. Too bad she had no intention of being intimidated. She wouldn’t back down from this man, even when—perhaps especially when—she was on her knees and touching him.
“Yeah, well, I get that all the time,” she snarked.
His chuckle made her light-headed. Rafael turned his hand over and gripped both of hers in the hot, large palm. “The problem is you’re not a breeze. You’re a fucking storm.”
Rafael was clearly better now. She should stand up and leave. Instead, Tori couldn’t help but lean in. She moaned at the whiff of his enticingly decadent scent.
“That’s not my problem now is it, Chef?”she muttered instead.
“You’re right.” He spoke with an affectionate smile, drawing her attention to his pillowy lips and that damn sexy cleft on his chin. “Watching you beside a pot of melted chocolate will be the end of me and you wouldn’t even know you were to blame.”
She didn’t have a snarky comeback becausechocolate!Tori abruptly ran out of the room, calling behind her. “I left the ganache in there too long. Oh, no, I hope it isn’t ruined?!”
Her head was deep in the chiller when she heard him follow into the kitchen lab.
“As long as there’s no freezer burn at the top, it should be fine.” His voice was steady once again, no trace of the man in pain.
“It’s fine, then. I think.” Relieved, she looked at her surroundings and realized she had left a mess. “I came looking for you so I didn’t quite finish cleaning. I’ll do that and get out of your way. If you think you’re alright.”
“Thank you, I’m more than fine. No need to clean up. If you have plans for the rest of the day, you should go.”
“I don’t. I mean, I don’t have any plans.”
His smile was knowing. “Surely some of the afternoon will entail consuming your creation. It looks quite lovely. Well done, Victoria.”
That was the first compliment she received about her cooking from him. Maybe he was just being nice because she’d helped him. Still, she had to ask.
“Would you, well, would you like to try it? Just a small piece?”
