Page 31 of A Fortunes of Texas Christmas (Fortunes of Texas)

There was that word again. The one he’d used to describe being around her. “It’s a shame you’re leaving soon.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, and suddenly the mood between them became intensely intimate. “You could come back with me...stay for a while...tick Paris off that list of yours.”

Robin’s jaw dropped. “Huh?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Paris is a city like no other, and at Christmas it really does come alive. There are more lights than usual on the Champs-Élysées and Saint-Germain. Street vendors at their carts sell roasted chestnuts, and the scent seems to stay in the air for weeks. And there are stalls and markets that pop up like mini villages, for the locals and the tourists alike, offering glacé fruit and cheeses and wine from every province in the country. You might find a brass band on a street corner, playing festive music. And on Christmas Eve, as the daylight fades, the Eiffel Tower comes alive with thousands of glittering lights that seem to cast a warm glow across the entire city.”

Robin’s bones liquefied. She could listen to Amersen’s sexy voice for hour upon hour and never grow tired of the way his accent made every word sound like a seduction. And he made Paris sound so inviting she was almost tempted to accept his offer.

“It sounds...wonderful.”

“It is my home. Where my heart is, tu vois?” His gaze burned into hers. “Do you see?”

“Like my heart is here.” She felt the heat of the awareness between them, like flames licking at her.

“Then we are...condamnés,” he said, taking the glass from her hand before he translated. “Doomed.”

Robin had never felt more aware of a man in her entire life. And they’d barely touched. Barely kissed. But she was so drawn to him it was terrifying. And thrilling. She managed a soft laugh. “You might be doomed after you sample my cooking.”

“No risk,” he said and placed his glass on the counter. “No reward.”

Then he curled a hand around her nape and gently urged her closer, closing the space between them. And then he kissed her. Softly. Slowly. Sensually. Like he had all the time in the world. Like they weren’t doomed. Robin closed her eyes and pressed closer and kissed him back, accepting his tongue into her mouth as though it was all she needed to exist. She couldn’t remember ever being kissed with such gentle finesse and yet such gut-wrenching passion. That was the difference between him and any other man she’d kissed. Amersen Beaudin wasn’t kissing her to seduce her into bed. He was kissing her because it felt damned good. His hands didn’t roam, didn’t grope, didn’t do anything except steady her. And his warm, seductive mouth had a power she couldn’t believe.

When he lifted his head and pulled back a little, she was breathing hard, her eyes now open, the blood in her veins on fire. “That is not so much against the rules, no?”

“No,” she muttered, smiling at the way he mixed up the words. “Yes.”

He smiled and stepped back. “Then you should probably feed me some of your bad cooking.”

Robin took a steadying breath, forced some guts into her knees and quickly finished the meal preparations. The table was already set, the salad was in the refrigerator and the bread cut up and in a basket on the counter. Within minutes she had the spaghetti, salad, Parmesan and bread on the table and invited him to take a seat. He grabbed the wine and refilled their barely touched glasses before he sat down.

His eyes kept steady with hers. “Tell me about the purple.”

So he’d noticed. “I always wear something purple,” she said and shrugged. “I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. No real reason... I just love purple.”

He ate some pasta and then rested his fork on the plate. “You weren’t wearing purple the first time I met you...remember, in the gazebo. You had on that white dress.”

“Purple thong.”

He almost choked on his meal. “Oh...I see.” He groaned softly. “Now I have that image fixed in my brain...merci.”

“The dress?” she queried. “Or the thong?”

“Both,” he replied. “You know, I haven’t seen you in a dress since. Not a fan?”

She shrugged. “I’m always digging in the dirt—that’s more of a jeans and T-shirt kind of job. I’m not much of a fashionista, anyway. And I don’t go out much these days, so no real need for playing dress up. I’m on the short, curvy side of the spectrum, so not exactly made for fancy gowns. Not like those skinny European models you date, I guess.”

“Actually, the last woman I dated was five foot three and works as a viticulturist,” he said quietly. “That’s someone who—”

“I know what they do,” Robin cut him off irritably. “It’s someone who decides what grape varieties to plant and handles pest management, irrigation and deciding the best time to harvest the grapes.”

“Yes, exactly.”

She speared some spaghetti. “So, you broke up. Why?”

He shrugged lightly. “We dated for a while. She wanted...more.”

Robin looked up and met his gaze. “Oh...commitment. How frightening for you.”

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