Page 21 of The French Kiss

With each word, we’ve moved closer and closer. Our breaths mingle despite our lips not touching yet because her mouth has dropped open into a tiny O of desire.

I’m about to kiss her when we’re interrupted by a group of young women breaking into the VIP section and running toward me. There’s a flurry of French squeals, cellphone flashes, and napkins thrust my way. In the melee, Autumn pulls back from me and a woman sits down in the tiny space between us, wiggling in an attempt to push Autumn further away.

“Simon, Simon... can you sign this, please?”

“Will you take our picture?”

“J’adore vous.”

The mob of women seems to be some sort of girls’ night out affair because they have matching dresses on. I would love to tell them off for their rudeness, but even now, I’m keenly aware that I am a representative of House Corbin, as well as a product in and of myself. Rudeness is not marketable.

Still, Autumn is watching the whole scene unfold like her words conjured the very thing she mentioned—fans who want nothing more than a kiss or a fuck from me as a story to brag about.

“One minute, please,” I tell the women. “Autumn,” I say, sensing her urge to run, which is the last thing I want.

She looks into my eyes, and I can see her fire building. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes alight, and her lips are pressed into a straight line. “It’s fine, Mr. Corbin. You’re a popular man.”

At that moment, another woman rushes up to the loveseat from behind us, bumping Autumn in the head with her purse. “Oof,” Autumn grunts, looking up to glare at the newcomer, who doesn’t apologize or even seem to have noticed what she’s done.

“Mon Dieu, Simon!Have my babies!” she drunkenly yells into my ear.

Autumn doesn’t speak French, but she apparently knows enough to understand the woman said something about babies. She gets up, politely saying pardon even though these women have been anything but polite.

“Autumn, wait. Shewantsto have my babies. We don’t have babies together. I’ve never seen her before.” I’m trying to explain as if that would be enough to make her sit back down, but she’s running for the velvet rope that marks the VIP area.

“Pardon. I need to go,” I tell the fawning women, who haven’t noticed or cared that they’ve pushed out my guest. All they want is a piece of me. None of them move. If anything, they scoot closer, attempting to keep me there. “Get off,” I snarl, and they jump in shock.

That may have been a mistake, but right now, all I care about is apologizing to Autumn for our moment being interrupted.

I follow her footsteps out the roped area and look across the dance floor, assuming she will have returned to the other contestants. But I see them on the dance floor having a great time, and Autumn isn’t with them.

“MonsieurCorbin,” the waitress calls, and when I look her way, she points toward the back hall.

“Merci.”

I track her down to the women’s restroom. Taking a small delight in returning her earlier favor, I burst through the door.

Autumn is standing at the sink, staring at herself in the mirror, but when I enter, she jerks and looks my way. “This is the ladies’ room,” she snaps.

“Found you,” I reply, ignoring her argument about a sign on the door. Something so trivial doesn’t matter. What does matter? “We were in the middle of something.”

She snorts out a sad laugh. “You were in the middle of it, that’s for sure.” She makes a move to step around me and I block her way.

“Non.”

“I’ve had enough for one day. I need to get back to the others and get to bed so I’m ready for tomorrow,” she begs. But there’s a thread of something in her tone. She thinks those women are what I’m looking for.

She couldn’t be more wrong.

I step into her, saying her name firmly. She lifts her eyes to mine, and the fire burning in their depths could singe the world to ashes. Jealousy, anger, lust, and self-confidence swirl into the dark centers, telling me what I need to know.

She is attracted to me. Not nearly as much as I am to her, but I’m not sure that’s possible given the hunger I feel. I cup her jaw with both hands, and she whispers something that sounds like, “So tall.”

I bend down to reach her, lowering my head and kissing her. As promised, I start gently and slowly, sipping at her. She tastes sweet, like the champagne she barely drank. But it’s like giving a thirsty man a single drop of water. One sampling of her and I desperately need more, craving to know her fully. I tease at the seam of her lips, demanding entry, and when she surrenders and opens for me, I want to roar with pride.Of all the goals I’ve attained in my life, Autumn’s welcoming of me into her beautiful mouth amidst the gaudiness of a nightclub ladies' room, somehow feels like the most important.

I steal her breath, and she presses into me. Or maybe she’s stolen mine? She’s certainly claimed all my attention and focus with ease. Our tongues meet, passion igniting into an inferno, and she moans. I feel the vibration of it against my fingers, which glance over her neck as I still hold her jaw, and lightning shoots through me, going straight to my cock.

I dance her backward, toward the tile wall, wanting to pin her so she can’t get away again because I want this kiss to go on forever. Or whatever is longer than that. Infinity? Yes, I could kiss Autumn infinitely. But when we tumble into the wall, the cold tile must be shocking because it takes her out of the moment.

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