“The cologne.”
“Yes,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Some things never change. You still order instead of ask.”
“Tell me.” I grinned.
“The cologne is the creepiest of all.” She laughed again. “I’dsprayitonmypillowatnightbecauseImissedyoursmell.”
“Repeat that, but this time with a breath in between words.” I poked her neck with a finger and she shrugged up to stop me.
“Vous m'avez beaucoup manqué,” she said, her tongue a slow caress of the words, ending on a breath of fluidity. “I missed you so much, Brando. So I’d spray your cologne on my pillow at night to be closer to you, to feel like you were close to me. The house on Snow—”
“Our house.”
“Our house. It smelled like us. I’d smell you on the pillows. Or sometimes when the air would settle the right way. Then I’d get a hint of roses and I knew it was from me. All I could think was, heaven, this is heaven on earth. I felt the peace in my soul. I haven’t found that sort of peace since I left.”
“Say those words again.” My fingers stilled. The grin faded from my face. “The French words.”
“Oh,vous m'avez beaucoup manqué.”
She turned her head once, twice, and on the second turn caught the look on my face.
“Oh,” she said again, holding my eye.
“Our house,” I said, my hands trembling against her skin, my voice firm, “still smells like you, like roses. It’s the only reason I go home, to be closer to you.”
“She didn’t…she didn’t get in our bed, did she?”
“No.” I traced the shape of her lips.
“Très bien,” she breathed out, before she closed her eyes and her lips parted for me.
Even with my limited to nonexistent French, I knew the meaning of the words from living in a French-cultured town all my life.Verygood,it meant.
Leaning in closer, I placed my mouth against hers, our lips barely moving, my tongue flicking out to taste hers. Her tongue was sweet from the candy, but a hint of anise lingered. Licorice. She plunged in, taking my entire mouth for her own.
With deft movements, I undressed the rest of her—lace bra, matching underwear, and the black stockings that covered her legs. She went to touch me, but I slid my hands up her arms, bringing them above her head, pinning her wrists, not allowing her to move. I traced a trail over her skin with my tongue, taking her nipple in my mouth.
“I need to…” Her back arched and she squirmed, attempting to push against me. She lost her breath before it came back in erratic gasps. “I need to touch you.”
“Look at me,” I commanded.
Her eyes fluttered open, almost drunkenly. “You’re punishing me,” she panted, struggling even harder against my hold. “Oh God…”
Releasing one hand from the hold, I used the other to keep her wrists pinioned over her head, my free hand going to the slick warmth between her legs.
The sounds that escaped her lips were sensual, a light breath here, a softmmmthere, until she started to tremble and I knew she was near release.
My mouth claimed hers as her body surrendered; her cry rattled me to the bone.
Chapter Fourteen
Brando
Scarlett had fallen back asleep, and not wanting to disturb her, I decided to take a walk to the café where Colette worked to bring back coffee and whatever else I could find to eat.
Judging by the dreary light and the chill that still lingered inside the apartment, I grabbed Scarlett’s (my) old leather jacket that hung from the peg beside the door. After slipping it on, the distance that had come between us over the years made me hesitate before leaving. Common sense reminded me that I was coming back, but the uncontrolled side ordered me to get back into bed with her.
She had changed into warm pajamas, and the mattress swallowed up her slight frame. The covers were pulled up to her neck, reminding me of a soft creature burrowed in for warmth. Her thick hair fanned out behind her, wild from the insane night we had had. The look on her face was peaceful; it was the first time I had seen contentment, even a touch of it, on her face since I had arrived.
