by Annie O'Neil
She wasn’t judging—just listening. She’d been that way when they’d met. He should have trusted her with this information back then.
The fog cleared in his head. How pointless it had all been! To disguise part of himself from her. Maggie’s affection for him wasn’t attached to wealth or status or—he looked round the dusty car park outside the motel—to Paris. Paris hadn’t been a factor. She’d simply cared for him.
“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
Raphael shook his head, no. They hadn’t been that bad. Most of the time. The odd cuff to the ear. An arm gripped too tightly. Impossible to fulfill their expectations because they simply weren’t happy people.
“They weren’t horrible—just poor. And not terribly motivated.” He shrugged again. It eased his heart to realize he’d let go of that anger long ago.
“So...how did you and Jean-Luc—?”
“Become friends?” Raphael finished for her. “We met at school. My parents had a small apartment—subsidized housing—in the same neighborhood where the Couttards lived, and at school we were seated in alphabetical order.”
“Bouchon and Couttard,” Maggie murmured, as if saying the names helped her picture the scene. “And they basically...what? Adopted you?”
Raphael gave a soft smile. The Couttards had opened their hearts and their home to him as if they were his own parents.
“Without the formalities, I suppose you could say they did. Jean-Luc didn’t have any brothers or sisters and, as you may remember, both his parents were lawyers so they worked a lot. It was one of the reasons Madame Couttard accepted foreign exchange students.”
“Someone for Jean-Luc to hang out with?”
“Yes—precisely. And they had always wanted a large family. The year you came, you had the fortune—or misfortune, depending upon how you look at it—of being lumped in with me. If you remember, that was the year Jean-Luc discovered girls?”
Maggie laughed at the memory. “It was impossible to keep track of them all.”
She gave Raphael’s hand a squeeze, then gave him a C’mon buddy, we’ve just pashed in front of a thousand cars look.
“I suppose you’ve figured out by now it was a real hardship being ‘lumped’ in with you.” Her eyes brightened with another thought. “So...when Madame Couttard asked you to do something—”
“If you mean something like not kiss the beautiful Australian girl even though it would have made me very happy? Yes. I obeyed. I owed them so much.”
“I get it now,” Maggie said, nodding as she connected the dots. “I would’ve done the same thing.” A twinkle hit her green eyes. “Even if it left a poor Aussie girl heartbroken that she’d gone all the way to France and hadn’t been kissed.”
Raphael made a noise to protest, but he could tell from her relaxed demeanor that she wasn’t chastising him. The past was in the past.
It was a powerfully healing thought—leaving the past where it was and doing everything he could for his future. And he wanted his future to be with Maggie.
“Well, you know...” His voice dropped an octave. “I didn’t fly halfway across the world to stand outside a neon lit motel and talk about the past.”
“Oh, no?” Maggie’s lips curled into a flirtatious smile as her lids dropped to half-mast over those green eyes of hers. “Why did you come?”
“I came for you.”
* * *
If someone had thrown a lightning bolt straight into her heart it would have had less of an effect.
“Me?”
Raphael nodded. “It’s taken me a while to figure it out.” He shot her a sheepish look. “Sorry for all the glowering and thunderous looks back in Sydney.”
She waved off his concerns, her insides still recovering from the glitter storm of emotion swirling in her chest. “You were fine. You were just really...”
“French?” he filled in for her, and they both laughed.
Raphael took a step closer towards her. The air grew taut with expectation. With promise.
Monster barked. He wanted his tea.
“What do you say we check in? Get this guy fed and then...bed?”
Yes, yes—yes, please. If I don’t die of anticipation first.
She nodded as nonchalantly as she could. “Good idea.”
A few minutes later they’d met the owners and reassessed their dodgy motel as a quirky work in progress. The owners were a young couple who offered them the “spa room” before showing them a fenced outdoor area complete with dog house where Monster could stay the night.
“Alors.” Raphael held up the large room key, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Shall we?”
“No time like the present!” Maggie chirped too loudly, and she grabbed her bag and smiled, just a little impressed that she could even walk. Her legs were wobbling like jelly.
The second the door to their room clicked shut behind them all Maggie’s nervous energy disappeared.
She barely saw the dated bedcover. The art that looked as though someone’s grandmother had won it in a tombola with poor pickings. The lampshades she was certain she’d seen at a car boot sale flanking either side of a queen-sized bed that already seemed too far away even though it couldn’t have been more than a few footsteps away.
Raphael clearly felt the same way. He backed her against the door, dropped their overnight bags where they stood and cupped her face with his hands, his lips descending to hers for the most beautifully intimate kiss she’d ever known.
Not five minutes later she realized her entire body had shape-shifted into molten lava.
They’d managed to kick their shoes off, but not much more. Her blouse seemed to have lost a couple of buttons. So had that chambray shirt of Raphael’s, she noted with a wicked grin as she gave the sweet spot at the base of his throat an entirely out of character lick.
Each moment in Raphael’s arms—touching him, being held by him, caressed by him—was lifting her to another level of sexual revelation. Her body responded to his every touch as if she had never known a man before. And, in his arms, she knew there would never be another.
His fingers slid along her sides as he dropped heated kiss after heated kiss onto her neck. The tips of his fingers dipped in at her waist, eliciting a shiver of response along her belly. Her hands sought his, weaving their fingers together, and as one they turned toward the bed.
“Es-tu sûr?” he murmured, his thumb skimming along one of her cheekbones and shifting a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
And she meant it. It was as if her whole life had been leading to this point. To Raphael.
When they had checked in to the motel they had giggled like the teenagers they had once been.
All that giddy effervescence was gone now.
In its place was electricity. Fire. The building blocks of desire that had begun to form so long ago leading them to this one erotically charged night of discovery.
Before she could sit on the bed Raphael held her at arm’s length, looking at her as a man who’d not drunk water in a hundred days might view a clear running mountain brook.
He wanted her. Knowing that in her heart emboldened Maggie.
Where she had once felt timorous and incredibly body-shy with the two or three other boyfriends she’d had, with Raphael she felt...beautiful. Powerful, even. Sensual.
It was surprising, considering just how filthy she must be from the day’s hard work.
Which gave her an idea...
“Would you like to take a shower?”
A gleam of heated expectation hit Raphael’s eyes. It was a look that said, Yes. And, Why aren’t we there already?
Again he took her hand, and they practically raced to the next room.
Much to their surprise, the bathroom wasn’t a relic of the
previous century. It had been updated into a large wet room, with beautiful earth-tone tiles on one wall, thick slabs of hardwood on the controls wall, a gorgeous cobalt-blue-tiled floor and a huge waterfall shower head. A long olive tree plank held an invitingly pristine pile of thick bath towels.
It was perfect.
“Why wait?” Raphael asked, reaching across to the controls, and then pulling her close to him, still completely clothed, he turned on the water.
Maggie lifted her head to the cascade of water, closed her eyes and let it pour down over her. When she opened her eyes she met Raphael’s blue gaze, and in that moment she gave her heart to him completely.
Slowly, assuredly, he undid the remaining buttons of Maggie’s blouse, dropping kisses on her bare salty skin as he peeled the cotton away first from her shoulders, then her breasts. Her fingers flew to his hair, clutching thick handfuls of the rich chestnut curls as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, slowly swirling his tongue round and round before sucking and caressing her breast as if time were no factor.
And it wasn’t. Not anymore.
All that existed was Raphael.
Her second nipple tightened in anticipation of his kiss. A soft moan vibrated the length of her throat when his lips gained purchase. Her entire body responded—lifting, swelling and aching in feverish suspense, waiting for his touch.
Her knee-length skirt suddenly felt too tight. Her knickers too constricting. Every thread of cotton on Raphael’s body was in the way of what she really wanted. Skin to skin contact.
She surprised herself by pushing him back against the wooden wall of the wet room, water still pouring over them, taking each side of his shirt in her hands and tearing it in two.
Raphael laughed.
Shock? Surprise, maybe?
Their eyes met and meshed.
No.
Desire.
Up until this point their movements had been slow, sensuous. Each touch, kiss and caress had carried with it a note of precaution, speaking of a wish to ensure they were pleasing the other.
But now a switch had been flicked.
Now their movements became assured, laden with sexual intent. Down went his jeans. One of them kicked them in a heap to one side. Who knew where his boxers went? Not Maggie. Her skirt hit the far wall. A blink of an eye later her lace-just-in-case knickers were history. And her brassiere...? What brassiere?
Raphael pulled her against him and as one they groaned with the pleasure of skin-on-skin connection. Hot. Wet. Insatiable.
They soaped one another with beautifully aromatic body wash, teasing, playing as they did so. Her hands swirled through chest hair. His fingers teased along the soft curves of breasts.
When Raphael parted Maggie’s legs with one of his own and trailed his hand up and along Maggie’s inner thigh she thought she’d scream with pent-up frustration. When his fingers slipped inside her she did scream. Her thighs instinctively clamped tight onto his hand as she begged him to stop. She wanted to reach her peak with him inside her. She wanted to share the exaltation of that ultimate intimacy as one united soul.
A moment later he took her hand in his and filled it with shower gel, lifting his eyebrows, taunting her to have as wicked a way with him as she could imagine.
Maggie didn’t have to imagine. Having the real Raphael here and now was all the inspiration she needed.
Bathed in soft light, warm water and the gentle gaze of the man she loved, Maggie enjoyed the slick sensation of shifting a soapy hip along one of Raphael’s solid thighs, her soft belly against his well-defined stomach, then moving lower...to the hard, taut, evidence of his desire.
The temptation to wrap her hands round his neck, lift her legs to his hips and lower herself onto the solid, velvety thickness of his erection nearly blinded her to any other option.
The scenario played itself out as they moved from the drenched wall behind them to the beautiful rich blue tiles beneath their feet. The need for protection shifted the immediacy of her desire into the tantalizing prospect of toweling him off and starting all over again on the bed.
As if reading her mind, Raphael turned off the water and reached for the pile of thick bath towels. He unfurled one of the towels, wrapped her in it, and swiftly secured one around his own trim hips.
Just two seconds of being hidden from him and already Maggie felt deprived of all six foot two inches of Raphael’s beautifully toned body.
Depraved, more like.
But not indecently so. More as if she’d found the key to a special door—une porte magique. A portal that gave her access to the richness of carnal desire with someone who was safe, someone who cared, someone who loved her as much as she loved him.
A few long-strided steps later and Raphael was ripping the covers off the bed. He was right. They didn’t need anything to hide from each other.
She ran towards the bed and launched herself at it, laughing with sheer delight.
Raphael turned back from his overnight bag and held up an easily recognizable foil packet.
“You came prepared?” She feigned shock.
“I came with hope,” he parried, a naughty choirboy expression playing across his features.
“Good answer.” She crooked her finger and beckoned for him to join her.
Once he’d stretched out to his full length on the bed and begun reaching for her she shook that finger—no.
Plucking the packet from his hand, she straddled him, saying, “Now it’s my turn to drive you wild.”
* * *
Raphael was astonished at Maggie’s transformation.
Temptress. Tactician. Femme fatale. All wrapped into one flame-haired package of feminine beauty.
She smiled above him, her feline eyes weighted with desire as she lowered herself just enough to give him luxurious kiss after luxurious kiss. Then, slowly, she began to work her way down.
Her lips grazed his nipples, her tongue darting out for hot, quick licks as she ran her fingers along his chest as if it were clay she was about to mold into a thing of beauty.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” She lifted herself so that her lips shifted across his own as she spoke.
“Je t’aime.”
Maggie’s eyes glassed over and a single tear dropped onto his cheek.
“Je t’aime aussi.”
He loved her.
At long last he’d found her, and he would never let her go.
Maggie shifted so that she was straddling one of his legs.
She looked like a goddess. Her damp hair tumbled down in waves and curls along her shoulders. Little drips of water were wending their careless way along the curves and dips of her breasts. When he tried to reach out and touch them she tsked at him and wagged a finger—no.
She lifted up the condom and smiled.
It was time.
Mieux vaut tard que jamais.
He might be thirteen years too late for the kiss he should’ve given her as a teen, but something told him the timing was exactly right for making love to this woman he’d always held in his heart.
Maggie’s hands shook as she unwrapped the small packet. When she touched him, he met her hands with his own, helping her guide the protection along the length of his erection.
And then he couldn’t wait anymore.
“Maintenant.”
“Now?” She smiled, lifting herself up from his leg as she did.
“Oui. Mais doucement.”
Taunt me. That was what he was saying. Fast. Slow. She could do what she wanted, but he needed to be inside her. Now.
Teasingly at first, hinting at the warm depths that would surround him, she lowered herself in excruciatingly slow increments, occasionally raising herself up again so that the cool night air hit him, until he couldn’t bea
r it anymore.
He placed his hands on her hips and teased her down the length of him until she covered him completely. Together they moaned as she began to rock her hips back and forth, back and forth, until he thought he would go mad. Pressing his fingertips onto her hips, he encouraged her to set herself free. To abandon herself to the desire they felt for each other.
He lifted his hips, pressed them towards her with a drive and desire he’d never known before. Again and again their bodies met and sparked, sending waves of pleasure through him in such heated blasts that he couldn’t restrain his longing for her anymore.
“Be with me!” he cried, his eyes connecting with hers more powerfully than they had ever done before.
It was impossible to tell if she’d heard him or not. Maggie glowed with exertion and desire.
He lifted himself up, wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her over so that he was on top.
Her smile spoke volumes. Take me, it said. I’m all yours.
He thrust into her with renewed vigor. Hips meeting hips. Maggie’s legs wrapping around him and pulling him in closer. Her thighs, breasts, belly—every touch was hypnotic and energizing. When her fingernails dug into his shoulders and scored the length of his back he knew he couldn’t hold back any longer.
He met her green eyes and as if by mutual agreement they allowed themselves the luxury of the ultimate mutual release.
The detonation of pleasure was initially so powerful that he couldn’t even see.
Pulling her close to him, he rolled to one side, still inside her, feeling their breath intermingling as they each floated back to earth.
“Well, that was nice,” Maggie said eventually, her full grin making it obvious she had just made the understatement of the year.
“Comme-ci, comme-ca.”
He played along, tipping his hand back and forth between them, letting it come to a rest atop her rapidly beating heart. He placed her free hand on his own chest, proof that his heart was pounding in time with hers.
They both knew there was nothing so-so about what had just happened between them.
They lay together in silence, wrapped in one another’s arms. Gathering their breath, their thoughts, enjoying the simple pleasure of gazing into each other’s eyes until eventually Maggie asked, “Do you fancy room service?” before dissolving into another fit of giggles.