Page 100 of Prelude To You

“You mean the one you gave me?”

“The way I remember it, I offered it to you in jest, and you took it.”

She laughed that soft, infectious laugh of hers that lit every nerve of mine on fire. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I do actually,” I insisted. “I really do.”

“Well, I folded it up and put it in my underwear drawer.”

And if those words didn’t invite themselves into my chest. “You put my handkerchief in your underwear drawer.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous.”

If only she knew I had the camera footage from last night locked away in my safe. “It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. Not even one little bit.”

A poignant smile haunted her lips. There was so much to say, and so little time left to say it. Her fingers twined through mine. “I should read you Daphne and Pierre’s letters before it gets too late.”

And so we delved into the world of the young married couple during World War II, our problems suddenly becoming insignificant compared with theirs. Torn apart by a war, with constant danger lurking and death one stray bullet away, and the only communication through longhand letters that might take months to reach their destination. More than once I had to kiss Isabel’s tears away.

When we got to the last letter, the ending was so abrupt that we were both a little shocked. Isabel frantically paged through the letters to see if she’d missed anything, but it seemed Daphne and Pierre’s fate would remain unknown.

She neatly stacked the letters back in the envelopes and placed them on the nightstand. With a soft sob she curled into me, and I held her, soothing her.

“Now we’ll never know what happened to them,” she said.

“I’ll look into it,” I said. “But I’m sure it all worked out fine.”

Her hand stroked my cheek as she coiled and uncoiled against me, her husky voice breaking. “You don’t know that, but thanks for making me feel better. You should try to find their family and send the letters to them.”

“That’s an excellent idea. I’ll do that.”

My hand found its way to the dip in her waist, and I ran a finger over her ass, goosebumps chasing my touch. She hiked her thigh high over my leg, pressing herself against my pulsing cock. “I need you inside me,” she whispered, and once again we were ensconced in the same primal need that saturated the air.

My mouth took possession of hers and I kissed her like she was the only woman I’d ever want, the only woman I’d ever need. Which wasn’t far from the truth. Her submission to my control was gentle and immediate. She wanted to be mine.

I rolled her over onto her back, her legs opened for me and I sank into her from above, inch by inch, until her every flutter, every shudder clenched around my cock.

“Roman,” she sighed, and my heart swelled at the sound of my name on her lips. I held her to me, so close that I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.

I gently stroked in and out of her, and she met my thrusts with soft, needy moans, her fingers curling into my back.

A thought flitted through my mind.

This wasn’t fucking anymore. This was something else. This was desperately memorizing every inch of her skin, her smell, her taste, mapping every curve, every mound, and most beguiling, her sound. The way she breathed her words, the way flames shimmered in her laugh, the way she moved like smokein a light breeze, the way she dissed the French pastries of one of the world’s most famous hotels. The way her little toe cracked, and how tiny drops of perspiration gathered in the hollow of her throat.

I felt her inner walls tremble around my cock, and a tsunami of sensations flooded through us both, sweeping us along in a current of bliss and damnation. This was it, this was the curtain call of an unforgettable night. Neither one of us wanting to let go.

She folded into me, spent, sated, her breathing soft. “Don’t let me fall asleep now. I have to get home. New job tomorrow.”

I kissed her temple, my lips lingering on her silky skin.

“Sleep, my sweet. I’ll set an alarm. It will be fine,” I said, desperate for none of this to be over.

“Roman, I love how you call me your sweet,” she whispered before I felt her body sink against me as she fell asleep. I held her, my mind at war over what to do next. But a lifetime of discipline and duty wiped away the improbable ideas I’d toyed with. All I had left was, for a little while, pretending that this could be my life.

And that I didn’t have to let Isabel go.

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