Grinning, I increased my pace. I caught him, and we raced along the winding road, laughing as we took turns in the lead. Wind whipped at our faces and tugged at our clothes. Caleb smiled at me, his blue eyes the same shade as the sky above us.
“I win,” he called out.
I shook my head. “I did.”
I’d spoken softly, but he heard me. And judging from the flush that touched his cheekbones, he knew I wasn’t talking about the race.
After about an hour, I slowed and dismounted. When Caleb followed suit, I nodded toward the small dirt path that branched from the road.
“It’s easier to go on foot from here,” I said.
We picked our way along the path, avoiding rocks and patches of tall grass until we arrived at a lake with a tiny island in the center. A replica of a Roman temple stood in the middle, its white columns reflected in the water.
“Wow,” Caleb said, leaning his bike against a tree. “It’s like something from a painting.”
I unstrapped the tote from my bike. “The locals say the nobility used to row out there for trysts. An excellent way to spread syphilis.”
Caleb let out a startled laugh. “You are the worst French tour guide ever. I’m leaving a one-star review on Tripadvisor.”
“History is riddled with syphilis,” I said, pulling a blanket from the bag.
“Jesse.”
Chuckling, I shook out the blanket. “Sorry. Come over here and eat your brunch.”
He cast me a wary look as he moved closer. “You’ve ruined my appetite.”
I tossed him a bottle of French beer, which he caught one-handed. “I brought those little pickles you like.”
His eyes went soft. “Cornichons.”
“Breaded and deep-fried,” I added.
“Yes, Daddy.” He plopped down on the blanket. “You just got bumped to four stars.”
We ate next to the lake, the sun warming our shoulders as we worked our way through baguettes, cured ham, and a block of cheese. Afterward, I handed him a pastry and a cup of hot chocolate from a thermos.
When we finished, he leaned back on his elbows, his long legs stretched in front of him. He tipped his face toward the sun and closed his eyes, looking like a god who’d decided to spend an afternoon among mortals.
“So what are we calling this place?” he asked, turning his head toward me. “Syphilis Lake? STD Island?”
I pounced, pushing him onto his back and pinning his wrists to the blanket. “You are, without question, the biggest smartass on either side of the Atlantic.”
He laughed as I seized his lips, then groaned as I stroked my tongue over his, tasting sugar and chocolate. And him, which was all I really wanted.
Neither of us came up for air, both lost in the kiss and each other. Our dicks swelled. He hooked a thigh around my hip and pulled me closer, grinding his erection into mine.
When I finally drew back, lust glazed his eyes, his pupils so wide they reflected the clouds above us.
“Did you bring me out here to ravish me, Mr. van der Meer?” he murmured.
Fuck.
My hand shook as I rubbed my thumb over his full bottom lip. “Stop giving me bad ideas.”
His lips curved. “You don’t want to fuck me next to this lake?”
“I want to fuck you everywhere,” I said honestly. “But I have elaborate plans, and I don’t want to scare any wildlife.”
