I cleared my throat. “No dessert for me.”
Not the kind on this menu anyway.
“Just coffee,” I added. “Decaf,” I added when the waiter came by. Lord knew I didn’t need any additional stimulation.
Dessert and drinks took an eternity, but eventually, we finished our meal and headed to our rooms.
“I’ll be at breakfast at six a.m. sharp,” I ordered.
Marius snorted before disappearing into his room with Mina. “We’ll be there at seven.”
Bene chuckled. “Sorry, boss.”
I shook my head. “This is my new strategy — calling a meeting an hour before I actually intend it.”
Bene laughed. “You’re smarter than you look.”
I headed for the stairs. “Bon soir,Bene.Bon soir, Geneviève.”
“Bon soir,” she fake-yawned, proving herself better at lying than her sister.
Upstairs in my room — well, Henrik’s, but mine for the night — I brushed my teeth in record time, ran my hands through my hair, and straightened the bed.
Outside, the stairs creaked, and my pulse spiked. A soft knock sounded at the door. When I opened it, Gen slipped past me, sliding her hand along my torso.
I closed the door as quietly as I could. Then I turned, facing her in a small room charged with enough energy for a power plant.
When Gen opened her mouth, I stuck up a hand and closed the distance between us.
“Any more teasing and you’ll kill me.” My voice came out all husky.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and drew me closer. “I’ll make you a deal.” She brushed her lips over mine. “I won’t tease if you don’t hold back.”
She waited, lips poised over mine, heart beating hard against my chest.
“Deal,” I said, diving into a deep, smothering kiss.
Chapter Twenty-One
GENEVIÈVE
I pressed my body against Roux’s, mumbling between kisses.
“Please believe me when I say I’m not usually this forward.”
“All good, Geneviève,” Roux replied just as breathlessly.
He slid his hands around my waist, then down my rear, while I traced the hard contours of his shoulders. In tiger form, his most prominent features were the stripes decorating his back. Now, the lines of his ribs were most obvious, along with the muscles slabbed around them.
“Speaking of which…” I pulled up his shirt.
“Speaking of what?” he asked, helping me work it over his head.
Muscles rippled along his torso, accentuating every move.
“Ribs,” I said, splaying my fingers over those etched, parallel lines.
“You speak in riddles, woman.” Then he flashed a mischievous smile. “Or did you mean these?” He slid his hands under my shirt, touching me the same way.
