Kristi Gold - A Royal Wager

Kate waited for him to take the first bite, but instead he cut into one of her crepes and held it to her lips. “Your first sample.”

She slid the crepe into her mouth and savored the flavors of strawberries, whipped cream and sugar; the delicate crepe practically dissolved in her mouth. “This is almost sinful.”

His eyes held fast to hers. “That would depend on your definition of sin.”

“Calories,” she added after she swallowed another bite. “And carbs, especially when they take up residence on your thighs.”

His gaze drifted to her thighs, then traveled slowly back up again to her face. “I doubt that you need to worry about that.”

“From your mouth to my metabolism’s ear.”

“I hope you’ll put away all your concerns and simply enjoy.”

Kate did as Marc asked and ate every last bite of the crepes, all the while wondering if Marc’s comment about sinful behavior went beyond indulging in dessert. But she didn’t dare hope, didn’t dare consider anything more than spending time with him as a friend.

After they both finished, Marc grabbed the remote control and snapped on the television positioned in the entertainment center. He flipped through the channels, pausing at one nature program heralding the mating habits of the mongoose. With a groan, he changed the channel to a French-speaking movie where two people seemed engaged in a battle of wills.

After tossing the remote back on the table, he leaned back against the couch. “Not much variety this time of the night, so I suppose we’ll have to settle for this. Unless you’re ready for bed.”

Kate assumed he’d meant alone and right now that didn’t float her boat. “Funny, I’m not all that tired, although I probably should be.”

“Then perhaps this movie will put you to sleep.”

“It could, since I have no idea what they’re saying.”

Marc draped his arm over the back of the sofa, only a few inches separating their bodies. “The man’s name is Jean-Michel and he’s telling the woman, Genevieve, that he must leave her since he belongs to another.”

“The cad. What did she say to that?”

“She says Tu me veux. Je te défie de me dire que je me suis trompée . She claims he wants her and she’s daring him to deny it.”

Hearing Marc speaking in French in a low, husky voice blanketed Kate in chills. She glanced at him and realized he’d moved much closer, rekindling the fire that had been smoldering deep within her all evening. “Is he denying it?”

Marc’s gaze drifted to her mouth. “ C’est impossible . It’s impossible for him to deny that he wants her.”

The conviction in Marc’s voice, the heat in his eyes, fed Kate’s optimism that he was speaking of his own desire—desire for her. Or maybe she simply wanted him so badly that she’d invented something that wasn’t really there.

Turning her attention away from Marc and back to the movie, she got the full effect of Jean-Michel’s weakness for Genevieve. Now tangled together in a passionate embrace, the lovers’ actions spoke loud and clear in that age-old universal language of love. Kate twitched when the camera panned in for an up close and very personal shot of the actors’ lips melded together, their hands roving over each other as if they couldn’t quite touch enough to be satisfied. She squirmed some more when the couple tore at each other’s clothing until they were completely, unabashedly naked.

“This must be a cable channel,” she muttered, all too aware of how dumb and unsophisticated that must have sounded.

“Actually, no. Freedom of expression is highly regarded here. Nudity is considered natural and beautiful. So is lovemaking.”

Kate’s heart bounded into her throat when Marc’s arm came to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips tracing slow, random circles on her upper arm as if drawing his name in the sand. Marking his territory so to speak, and making Kate mindful of how much the movie and his touch were affecting her.

“Maybe we should watch something else,” she said.

Marc nuzzled his face in her hair, taking her by surprise and her senses by storm. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Kate bit her bottom lip, hard. “A little.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know.” She did know, and Marc probably knew, too. The uncensored sex on the screen, Marc’s close proximity, was turning her on, turning her into a woman on the verge of asking him at the very least to kiss her again.

She didn’t have to ask, and this time there was no reluctance in Marc’s kiss, no hesitation. So focused was Kate on the welcome invasion of his tongue, the soft insistence of his lips, that she was only mildly aware of the lovers’ soft moans coming from the TV, Marc’s evening whiskers abrading her chin and his hand traveling up and down her side, grazing her breast with each pass.

Time seemed suspended and Kate acknowledged she could go on kissing him forever. But a girl could only be kissed this way for so long without other parts of her body becoming present and accounted for. Her nipples hardened against his chest. Fire spread through her belly and settled between her thighs in a dull throb.

As if some wild wanton creature had crawled beneath her skin, Kate lifted her leg over Marc’s thighs. He groaned against her mouth and took her down onto the couch, where he settled on top of her, his own leg dividing her legs. He momentarily broke the kiss to raise her shirt, untie his robe and push it open, before taking her mouth once more. But he didn’t use his hand to tantalize her; he used his chest, lightly rubbing her bare breasts, drawing away slightly then rubbing again and again, in maddening circular motions. The fine veneer of chest hair tickled her nipples into hard, sensitive buds and sent a wash of dampness between her thighs.

Unraveled by his skill, his welcome weight and deep kisses, Kate tilted her hips up to feel him more, as if that might soothe the ache. And she did feel him, every solid inch of him, through the thin material of his pajamas.

As if he recognized her need, Marc slid his hand between them at her abdomen. The tug on the snap of her jeans only heightened Kate’s excitement and spurred her anticipation.

Then suddenly, there was nothing. No kisses. No touches. No Marc.

Kate opened her eyes and looked up to find Marc standing several feet away, his back to her, both hands laced together behind his neck. And then came Kate’s complete mortification in a few moments of silence that seemed to last hours.

“I’m sorry, Kate.”

He was apologizing again, and Kate was without a doubt more embarrassed than she’d ever been her entire life. She pulled her shirt down, scooted to the edge of the sofa and clutched her disheveled hair by the roots. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me right now.”

He sat beside her, his expression remorseful as he took her hand into his. “Would you like to know what I think of you? I think you’re the most incredible, sensual woman I’ve encountered in many years, if not ever. I think that if I hadn’t remembered why we cannot do this, I would be inside of you at this moment and that would be wrong.”

His words gave her a courage she’d never known before, at least where men were concerned. “Why would it be wrong, Marc? We’re both adults. No one’s around. No one would have to know.”

He released a harsh sigh. “Because I could only offer you a casual affair, in secret. Because you’re a good woman, Kate, and you deserve to be treated as such, not hidden away from the world.”

Kate had always been the good girl. The good, reliable girl. She’d grown tired of bearing that label, weary of being that girl. Besides, she was a woman now, with a woman’s desires and needs—and she was with a man who had the knowledge and the means to take her beyond the limit. But he wasn’t willing to answer those needs, at least not now.