Her chest tightened.
Maurice must have been deeply in love with his fiancée to be still grieving her after so many years.
She must have been special.
Amelie realized she wanted to know more about her. She’d been such a big part of Maurice’s life. Their time together had helped shape him into the man he was today.
With a sigh, she went to work on her hair, easing out the tangles so that she could pull it back in the requisite ponytail that kept it out of her way and out of the food. Too tired to worry about makeup, she splashed cool water on her face, brushed her teeth, pulled on the sundress she’d chosen to wear for the day and slipped her feet into strappy sandals. She allowed herself a brief glance in the full-length mirror, knowing full well she’d dressed nicer than usual because of him.
They would be friends with benefits until one or the other decided the benefits were no longer necessary.
Still, it didn’t hurt to show him a little of what he’d be missing should he decide the benefits were no longer a thing.
As for Amelie, she didn’t want the friends-with-benefits perks to end anytime soon. After a number of dry years with no more sex than what she provided herself with her battery-powered boyfriend, she found that a living, breathing, full-bodied man was so much better.
And if he made her feel safe and protected and was fun to be with, even when they weren’t banging the headboard—bonus. Her battery-powered boyfriend couldn’t hold up his end of a conversation. All he did was hum.
Amelie touched the red beard burn on her neck and sighed. She’d have to be satisfied with whatever time they had together. Once the danger was past, Maurice would have no reason to hang out with her. They might see each other passing on the street. It was a small town.
He might eventually move past his grief and find a woman who made him happy.
Then Amelie could wave at the couple shopping for engagement rings or baby furniture. She’d be all right with that, wouldn’t she?
A stab of something that felt like jealousy jabbed her in the gut.
Oh, hell no.
In their short time in close quarters, he’d gotten under her skin. Though she’d assured him it was just sex, it wasn’t. Not to her, anyway.
That thought shook her to the core. She froze with her hand on the doorknob, afraid to open the bathroom door. Afraid he’d be awake and see what she was feeling reflected in her eyes or the way she moved around him.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Amelie? Are you all right in there?”
“Yes,” she squeaked, cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m fine.” She dragged in a steadying breath, let it out, pasted a smile on her face and flung open the door.
He stood there, bare-chested, wearing his jeans, though he hadn’t bothered to button them.
With every intention of ducking past him, she stepped forward.
Maurice took her hands and pulled her into his arms, tipped her chin up and brushed his lips across hers. “Got time for a quickie?” he murmured against her ear.
She laughed shakily, her body instantly humming with desire. “We used the last condom,” she reminded him.
“Don’t need a condom to get you there,” he whispered in her ear and nibbled on her lobe.
Lost in a haze of lust, she closed her eyes. Her head fell back automatically, giving him full access to her neck. He accepted the invitation, trailing his lips downward to the junction of her neck and shoulder. “What’s this? A dress? Mmm.” He slid his fingers beneath the spaghetti strap and pushed it off her shoulder. Then he worked the other one until it fell around her elbow.
“I should get down to the kitch—” Amelie’s breath snagged in her lungs as he tugged the front of her dress down below her breasts and captured one in his palm.
He bent to tease the nipple until it puckered into a tight little button.
Her hands rose automatically to weave into the hair at the back of his head, pressing him closer.
Maurice bent, caught the backs of her thighs and lifted.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her sex riding the mound beneath his denim fly as he carried her back into the bathroom and sat her on the edge of the counter.
