Whatever it was, her body responded.
Hard.
Her lips parted and her mouth was suddenly dry. She wet her lips, and Luca’s searing gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering there. “Should I be ashamed of watching people make love?” His nostrils flared, as if he was a predator, scenting her. His gaze narrowed as it returned to hers, and the quirk of his lips was on the cynical side.
“No.” Jasmine shook her head, unable to break eye contact. “I don’t think so.”
He nodded and drank. When his stare focused elsewhere, Jasmine was able to take a sip of wine herself.
God, it was good. Smooth, like silk slipping down her throat...
“What kind of an American are you, Jasmine Sweet?”
“Huh?”
“There are stereotypes, you know. About Americans.”
“I’m sure there are.” Americans had plenty of stereotypes about the French, too.
It went both ways.
“So,” she said, raising a brow. “Are you going to tell me what they are?”
His nod was almost imperceptible. “There is the puritan American. Someone who thinks the body and bodily functions are dirty.”
Jasmine bit her lip.
“Is that you, Ms. Sweet?” He leaned forward.
She held her breath.
“Or...” He backed up and cocked his head to the side. “Are you the kind who enjoys being a woman, physically and sexually, but who pretends she doesn’t like sex because she’s ashamed of her pleasure?”
The breath that Jasmine finally dragged into her lungs was ragged. When Luca didn’t continue, Jasmine asked in a breathy voice, “Are those the only stereotypes you have for American women?”
Luca shrugged.
“What about...” Jasmine began. “The American woman who enjoys sex and isn’t afraid to admit it?”
“Does such a woman exist?”
“Oh, yes.” Jasmine set her glass down beside the computer and scooted closer to Luca. “What about the American who likes to try new things?” She reached for his face, wanting—no, needing—to know what his beard felt like against the tips of her fingers. Against her cheek. Her mouth.
As much as Jasmine was willing herself to be this bold, confident sex-venturer, her fingers still shook when she touched him. But she didn’t care. And he didn’t stop her.
Or turn away.
Or capture her hand and place it firmly in her lap.
No. He simply sat there and let her explore.
His eyes assessed her from beneath lazy lids while she brushed the contours of his face. His beard was both wiry and soft, and under that she felt the strength of his jaw.
In fact, his jaw suddenly hardened as if he was gritting his teeth.
Wasn’t that an interesting response?
“What about the American who isn’t afraid to ask for what she wants?” Jasmine whispered, her fingers sliding from beard to mouth, tracing the seam and then the top and the bottom lips. Oh, Jasmine was lying her face off right now, but it felt good.
The subtle parting of Luca’s lips was an invitation, she was sure of it, and two of her fingers slipped in, just to his teeth and then past. Good lord, his mouth was wet.
And incredibly hot.
Why was he letting her do this? Why was he encouraging her?
Jasmine had no clue; all she knew was that his mouth was completely and utterly seductive, and when he closed his lips around her fingers and gently sucked, Jasmine realized that the simple sensation of suction on fingertips was more erotic than anything she’d experienced.
She pulled her hand from his mouth and without thinking, sucked her fingers into her own mouth, never breaking his heavy-lidded gaze.
“Are you saying you are this kind of woman who is not afraid to ask for what she wants?”
With fingers resting against her mouth, Jasmine nodded.
“Tell me, Jasmine. What is it that you want?”
Was there anything more sexy than hearing that question—deep and guttural—from a hot guy with a French accent?
No. There wasn’t. Not that Jasmine could think of, anyway.
She dragged her fingers down her bottom lip, past her chin, to her throat. She’d never felt more seductive, more wanton, more womanly. God. If she had only one night to spend with this man who had turned her into a sex fiend with a simple stare and a question, then dammit she was going to make the most of it.
Jasmine wanted to know what it was like to have something this irrational.
Something that would rock her world.
Not only that, she was going to ask for it.
“I want you to fuck me.”
* * *
The only reason Luca had been playing along was because he was angry. It was that stupid video—the comments in particular. No one knew the context of that video and he was so tired of being judged for it.
He’d almost longed for her disapproval so that he could unleash some of his angst on her. But she didn’t judge. Oh, no. She’d flirted. And then she’d touched him, with a mixture of sensuality and innocence that was so disconcerting Luca found himself caught up in a new game that too closely mimicked his earlier fantasy.
When she’d asked him to fuck her, he nearly lost it.
All of his control was on the cusp of melting away and Luca had to use everything in his power to fight the urge to pull his own too-big T-shirt up over her head and then tug the shorts from her hips. He ground his teeth as an image of him burying his face in her hair and sucking on that tender spot at the base of her neck flashed across his vision.
And that was just to start.
Get a grip, Luca. “I don’t think—”
She reached out, took his wine glass from his hand and set it down on the table on the other side of the computer. Then she framed his face with her hands. They were so small and gentle, and they still trembled, which turned him on more than if she was truly this sexual goddess she claimed to be. Her gaze was on his mouth, like she had zeroed in and locked on her target.
“Jasmine—”
Suddenly one of her hands slipped down between them to cover his hand. Jesus. When had he planted his left hand on her bare thigh, trailing his fingers on her supple skin? Luca couldn’t remember, but when Jasmine pushed his hand higher up her bare leg, inching beneath the leg of the shorts, he didn’t stop her.
In fact, when she got up on one knee, suddenly giving his hand easy access to the silky skin that stretched up her inner thigh, Luca completely forgot about stopping.
How could skin be so fucking soft?
His hand inched higher and he knew—just knew—her pussy would be bare. The damp heat that was only centimeters from the tips of his fingers teased him, like a wet whisper, asking him to touch. When Jasmine swung her leg over his in order to straddle him, his fingers found the taut cord that marked the juncture of her thigh and pelvis.
God. Her body was so close. So alluring.
He wanted her.
But somehow he refrained from taking what he wanted, from playing with the soft skin of her labia before plunging his fingers deep inside.
She finally settled herself in his lap and Luca groaned because the heat of her body was scorching, even through the cotton of her shorts and his jeans.
“Please...” she whispered against his lips.
It was his fucking fantasy come to life, and yet Luca needed to stop it.
Her mouth was on his, pressed against his, kissing softly as she made little sounds at the back of her throat.
If you don’t stop now, you won’t.
“Jasmine,” he whispered in between kisses. “We can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because, why?”
Oh, Jesus.
Luca gave up. He thre
aded his fingers through Jasmine’s lush hair and held her hard so he could kiss her properly. Her mouth tasted of wine and honey, and he sucked her sweet nectar both voraciously and with care, like he was a ravenous bear and she an unpredictable beehive. She reacted to his kiss by digging her fingernails into his shoulders, all the while rubbing herself against the fly of his jeans. All he’d have to do was pop his fly and slide the legs of the shorts to the side, and he’d be able to bury himself inside of her.
She’d be wet.
And hot.
And probably fucking tight.
God, he wanted her tight little pussy. His cock ached with need, and as she ground down into him, he held her hips and thrust his toward her.
Non!
This could not happen, no matter how much her sweet little pants and gyrating hips made his cock feel like it was going to explode. It was exactly these thoughtless encounters that got him into trouble. He had to stop. Now. Before it was too late.
“Jasmine.” He held her hips still and turned his face away. “We can’t do this.”
She blinked. “Why? I’m single. You’re single.” Her breath was coming fast from arousal. “There’s no reason to stop.”
“Yes. There is.” Luca searched her face, and when he saw the bruise on her temple he realized he had his excuse. “You should not be exerting yourself, physically.”
She touched her head and frowned.
“Hugo made me promise. Believe me, I would like nothing more than to continue this—” He indicated the space between them. “But I am worried about your well-being.”
Her lower lip trembled and then hardened. “I see.” She sat for a moment, her face turned away, though he saw how she wiped her cheek.
Oh, God. She wasn’t crying, was she? He hadn’t meant to make her cry. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, still turned away. “I should probably go to bed.”
“Yes.”
She drew in a long, shaky breath before climbing off his lap. She still hadn’t looked at him. “Good night, Luca.”
“Jasmine?”
She stopped and slowly turned. There were no tears on her cheeks, they were simply red. From embarrassment? Luca didn’t know which was worse, making her cry or embarrassing her. “Sleep well.”
She nodded and then walked quietly back down the hall. The sound of the door closing only made his balls ache more than they already did. A beautiful woman who had no idea who he was, who was willing to go to bed with him? And he’d refused?
Was he out of his mind?
Or was he really changing for the better?
CHAPTER SEVEN
JASMINE WOKE THE next morning with a headache and a sense of remorse. The headache was explainable, but the remorse was confusing, because last night she’d experienced the best kiss of her life.
And then Luca had pushed her away, and all her feelings of inadequacy around sex resurfaced. Even when he’d woken her up in the middle of the night, he had been clinical. Making sure she knew where she was before leaving her alone again.
She sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes and gingerly touched her temple. There was still a tender lump on the side of her head.
Lovely.
Flipping back the covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. On a chair next to the wall was a pile of clothes. Her clothes. All laundered and folded.
Seriously?
Not only was Luca a good caretaker, a good cook and super-D-duper hot, he did laundry? And folded it? The man was a catch.
She picked up the clothes and made her way out to the hallway. Just as she was about to turn the knob on the bathroom door, it opened and Luca stood there surrounded by clouds of steam, the masculine scent of expensive aftershave wafting about him while he wore nothing but a towel around his waist.
Low on his waist.
She stared as she hugged the clothes to her chest lest she give into her base urges and reach out to touch him.
His chest—lickably bare—was ripped. Hard pecs covered in lovely dark hair that only added to his masculinity. His abdomen was mostly hairless, which allowed her to count the ridges. An eight pack? Was that even possible? Apparently. And from his navel a line of hair drew a dark course leading down to what promised to be dark pleasures.
Jasmine’s mouth watered and her fingers twitched with need.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” She couldn’t tear her gaze away.
“Jasmine?”
“Hmm?”
He snapped his fingers in front of her face.
Jasmine gave her head a shake and glanced up. “Yes?”
If she thought his eyes had said “I want to fuck you” last night, she read a whole new message this morning. They shone with such an immoral light it was as if they were now saying, “Here’s what I’m going to do to you. I’m going to tie you up, have my way with you and only after you’ve come five times will I fuck you.”
Of course, that could have been her imagination.
Was there time for her to have five orgasms before she had to leave? Hell, she’d settle for one...
“I phoned my friend an hour ago. He will be here to pick you up at 9:00 a.m.”
“Huh?”
“My friend François. He’ll take you to the embassy so you can apply for an emergency passport. I’m sure they’ll help you contact your family so they can wire money and you can continue your vacation.”
“Oh.”
It was as if he’d poked her with a pin, deflating her.
He motioned her into the bathroom and then went into the bedroom and closed the door. The sound of the door locking was not the same as the high-pitched wheezing of a deflating balloon, but it may as well have been because that was how it made her feel.
“Well, there goes my chance for good sex,” she said beneath her breath as she closed the bathroom door.
She showered slowly, letting the scent of Luca’s shampoo and soap encompass her. “I’ll never wash again,” she said to herself as she brought a handful of suds to her face to sniff. Wanting to remember this scent forever.
You know how pathetic you sound? Her inner critic asked.
“Yes.”
Her ride to the embassy was going to be here in an hour, which gave her no time to enact any sort of seduction plan. But the worst part was, once she arrived at the embassy, she would have to suck it up and call Parker. He was the one who had all of her documentation. Copies of her passport, her birth certificate and driver’s license—all of it was in the desk drawer in the living room.
She turned and let the strong spray hit her directly in the face.
Fuck that. There was no way in hell her first conversation with him since their breakup would be one where she had to ask Parker for help. She needed to find a way around that.
Jasmine turned off the shower and dried herself. Getting ready didn’t take long when she didn’t have any toiletries besides a toothbrush and a men’s comb that didn’t even make it through her hair. Without foundation, she was unable to cover up the discoloration at the side of her face.
At least her clothes were clean.
And her panties—which were folded very nicely.
Luca folded my panties. And my bra.
It seemed like such an intimate thing to do.
“Enough,” she said to herself. “You have got to get this fantasy under control. It’s not happening, Jazz. So just stop.”
After running her fingers through her damp hair, Jasmine finished dressing and padded barefoot down the hall to find Luca in the kitchen making breakfast.
The first thing she noticed was the wonderfully rich smell of coffee that had a hint of melted dark chocolate. So decadent. On a plate was a baguette cut in half along with a pot of butter and preserves. There was also a plate of eggs a
nd two glasses of orange juice.
“Thank you,” Jasmine said, as she stood in the kitchen entry.
Luca nodded and then glanced at her bare feet. “You need shoes.”
Jasmine glanced down at her ruby-red toenail polish. “Yes, I suppose I do.” She must’ve lost them along with her purse.
“I’ll tell François to take you to a shop first.”
“I don’t have money.”
“He’ll buy you a pair.”
Jasmine went around to the breakfast bar and sat. “François must be a very good friend.”
Luca made a face. She couldn’t tell if it had a positive or negative expression. “I’ve known him all my life.”
Jasmine had hoped that Luca would at least join her for breakfast, but he’d obviously already eaten because he was in the process of washing his plate. Once it was set in the rack over the sink to dry, he refilled his espresso cup and took it down the hall to his bedroom.
This really was it. Her sex-venture was over before it had even begun. Such a shame. Watching the clock over the stove like she was an inmate on death row eating her final meal as she awaited the appointed hour, Jasmine decided she would call her parents first, once she got to the embassy. They could contact Parker if need be. Once she had travel documents, she’d change her flight and go home.
What had she been thinking, coming here by herself? She wasn’t an adventurer, and certainly not a sex-venturer. This whole thing had been one big mistake. Running away from a situation she didn’t want to face was never a good decision.
Just as she finished the last bite of baguette, a telephone rang. Luca strode back down the hall to retrieve it. He checked the screen and said, “It’s François.”
Her stomach sank. If she looked down, Jasmine was sure she’d find it flopping around on the hardwood floor. With a sigh, she carried her dishes to the sink to wash. However, before she’d finished wiping her plate, she noticed the volume and tone of Luca’s voice, and she stopped what she was doing to listen.
Something was wrong.
While she didn’t understand the French language, she understood body language and Luca’s said one thing. He was angry. He paced the room while gesturing wildly with his free hand. His voice was deep and guttural and he spoke so rapidly his words sounded like machine-gun fire.
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