Thick, rich, heady lavender, so potent it winds around mylungs, muscles, and thoughts, melting the last bit of tension away. It’s the most beautiful scent I’ve ever known.
Luc’s arms tighten around me. “Open your eyes.”
I do, and my breath catches for a whole different reason.
The moon glows above us, giving off just enough light to make everything around us shimmer. Rows upon rows of lavender stretch out before me, pale purple under the stars.
I stare, wide-eyed, heart thudding, and I don’t even realize I’ve gasped until Luc tilts my chin toward him and kisses the sound right out of me. His lips are warm and steal the breath, the awe, and the ache in my chest, replacing them with something else entirely.
He pulls back just enough to rest the tip of his nose against mine, his lips brushing mine as he whispers, “That’s how I feel every timeI see you.”
Fuck, this man.
Luc lets go of me to grab the duffel from the back seat, then takes my good hand in his. Lavender rustles with each of our steps as he guides me through the moonlit rows. The scent is intoxicating, calming, and wraps around me like an embrace.
He pulls out a blanket and some pillows, setting up a cozy nest between the rows of lavender. The sight is surreal, like something out of a dream. His blue eyes reflect the starlight as he straightens and turns to me. “Wait here.”
I let my fingers glide over the soft petals before I lean down, inhaling deeply, and allowing the fragrance to fill my lungs once more.
“Come here,ma Petite.” I glance over to see Luc sprawled on the blanket, extending his hand toward me. I take it, and he pulls me down into the makeshift bed.
“I want to kiss you so badly.” He strokes my cheek, his touch sending shivers down my spine.
“Then why don’t you?”
His lips curve into a smirk, and then he closes the distance. The kiss starts slow, but it doesn’t stay that way. Luc tilts his head, deepening it, and my heart skips a beat when his hand finds the small of my back and pulls me into him.
I clutch at his shoulders, my fingers sliding up into his hair, gasping softly as he bites my bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue. He growls low in his throat, and I swear it vibrates straight through me.
His hands roam down my sides, over my waist, and mine do the same to him, until one settles at the hem of his shirt.
I tug it up slightly, breaking the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Too many clothes.”
He yanks my shirt over my head and tosses it aside, making me gasp as moonlight spills across my now-bare chest. His gaze drops to my revealed skin, and his lips part.
“That’s not what I meant, you sly dog!” I try to sound indignant, but the way my nipples tighten under his stare betrays me.
“Woof,” he growls with a wicked grin, then leans in to claim my mouth again.
This time, he kisses me like he’s starved, and it’s hungrier and hotter than before. Like he’s been waiting forever, and now he’s finally allowed to have a taste.
His rough palms skim over my waist to cup my breasts, and he circles my nipples with his thumbs until I moan into his mouth.
“Luc.” I arch into his touch. “Lose your shirt.”
“Of course,mademoiselle.” He leans back just enough to tug his shirt over his head, revealing smooth, golden skin and the chiseled lines of muscle that always make me want to bite him.
When his eyes meet mine again, there’s no teasing left, only something molten and soft.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur, breathless.
His smile is crooked and vulnerable all at once, and then he kisses me again, slower this time, reverent, like he’s thanking me for every inch of bare skin between us.
Finally.
That’s the only word that makes sense in my head.Finally.But he’s stealing thought, air, and every ounce of restraint I thought I had. We kiss, and kiss, and kiss, like we’ve been holding our breath for years and are finally coming up for air, only to give it to each other.
I kiss him harder, and he groans as he shifts his hips, letting me feel the press of his hard cock against my thigh. He presses into me and starts murmuring things in French, too fast and low for me even to pick up, but it doesn’t matter. It’shim.It’s his voice, soaked in need and heat.
