Champagne with a Celebrity

No doubt in some of the rooms there would be portraits of his ancestors—men in eighteenth-century costume who looked exactly like Guy, with those same amazing blue eyes and that sun-kissed hair.

And who knew? Maybe one of them had danced with a woman at a wedding, and the attraction had been so strong that he’d carried her up the stairs to this very same bed…

‘Are you still sure you want to do this?’ Guy asked softly.

She trailed a forefinger down his chest. He really could’ve been a model for one of his own perfume ads. Muscular without being overdeveloped, his skin burnished to gold by the sun and beautiful enough to make any woman want to reach out and touch him. ‘Absolutely. I had these pictures in my head when you danced the tango with me,’ she admitted softly.

His gaze was scorching. ‘I hope they’re the same pictures that were in mine.’

She did, too. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

His response was to kiss her hard.

And then he took the pins from her hair, one by one, and laid them on his dressing table. He combed through her hair with his fingers, and nodded in satisfaction as it fell past her shoulders. ‘I like that. And your hair’s so soft. So silky.’ He wound a strand round his finger, then released it again. ‘Ravissante.’

When he spoke in his own language, it was incredibly sexy. She licked her lower lip, wanting him to kiss her again; but instead he took her clothes off, very, very slowly. So slowly that it made her ache with need and want to push his hands away so she could rip them off, then rip off his own clothes and guide him into her body.

But Guy was being thorough. Methodical. Paying attention to the little details. A tiny mole on her shoulder, the crease of skin on her elbow, the softness of her curves. Almost as if he were learning her shape with his mouth and his hands. He unzipped her dress with incredible slowness and patience—and then let it drop on the floor while he stroked her skin.

‘I love this lacy stuff. It’s gorgeous. Like you.’ He traced the edge of her camisole top with the tip of his forefinger. ‘But it has to go, Amber. I need you naked. And I really, really need to be inside you.’

Oh-h-h.

She wanted that, too. So desperately.

He slipped one spaghetti strap down over her shoulder and kissed her bare skin. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back in offering to him; he took the hint and kissed a line across her throat, pausing to tease the spot where her pulse beat crazily, then moved to the other shoulder, nuzzling her skin. His hands rested lightly on her waist, and the heat of his mouth against her skin was driving her mad. By the time he’d stripped her down to just her lacy knickers, she was quivering.

He looked gorgeous, with his shirt and waistcoat open and his cravat undone, but she needed to do more than just look. She needed to touch. To feel. To explore him, the same way he’d just explored her. Curve for curve, touch for touch.

‘You’re wearing too much,’ she said shakily.

‘I’m in your hands.’

The waistcoat went first, and then she pushed the soft cotton of his shirt off his shoulders, tracing the line of his collarbone as she did so. His skin felt glorious, soft and smooth, and there was just the right amount of chest hair to be sexy; she couldn’t resist trailing her fingers across it.

‘You have lovely hands,’ he said, his eyes darkening. Giving her permission to go further.

She undid the button at the waistband of his trousers, and ran her fingers across his flat abdomen. ‘Very nice.’

‘Merci, Mademoiselle Wynne.’ His voice was full of amusement.

She felt the colour flood into her cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean to say that aloud.’

‘I’m glad you did.’ He traced a lazy circle round her navel. ‘You feel nice, too. Warm and soft. And I’m so going to enjoy exploring you, Amber.’

She was going to enjoy it, too. Given the way he’d danced with her in public, she had a feeling that his private lovemaking was likely to blow her mind.

She undid his zip, and gently drew the material down to his thighs; his trousers fell to the floor and he stepped out of them, kicking off his shoes and removing his socks as he did so. His erection was very obvious through the soft jersey of his boxer shorts and her mouth went dry.

‘Whatever I said earlier, you can still change your mind, mon ange,’ he said softly.

She shook her head. ‘I want you, Guy. It’s just…’ Her breath hitched. How could she explain?

‘I know, chérie. It’s the same for me. Unexpected.’ He brushed his mouth gently against hers. ‘This is just between you and me. Nothing to do with anyone else. No guilt, no worries—just pleasure.’

Pleasure.

Oh, it would be that, all right. For both of them.

He pushed the duvet aside, lifted her up and settled her against the pillows. The white linen was soft and smooth against her skin—seriously expensive high thread-count, she recognised—and the pillows were decadently soft.

Guy hooked his thumbs into the sides of her lacy knickers and gently drew the material down. Amber lifted her bottom slightly to help him remove them; and then she was completely naked in front of him and shyness washed over her.

‘I’m going to look at you, mon ange,’ Guy murmured, correctly reading her expression, ‘because you’re beautiful. And then I’m going to taste you. And then…’ He gave her a lazy grin. ‘Then, I’m going to blow your mind.’

‘Is that a promise, rather than a threat?’ she asked huskily.

‘Absolument. And—just so you know—I always keep my promises, Amber.’

He teased her nipples with the pad of his thumb; she could feel them tightening and hardening under his touch. Then he leaned forward and took one into his mouth, sucking hard. His mouth was hot against her flesh, making her arch towards him and slide her fingers in his hair. This was good, but she wanted more. Much, much more.

He kissed his way down over her abdomen, and suddenly Amber forgot how to breathe. Was he going to…?

He shifted to kneel between her legs, rocked back on his haunches and gave her a truly wicked grin, one that sent her pulse rocketing. Then he started at her ankle and kissed all the way up; clearly he was paying attention to what made her arch towards him and what made her catch her breath, because he did the same with the other leg.

By the time his mouth was idling along her thigh, she was practically whimpering, her hands fisted in his hair. ‘Guy, please…’ The words came out as a needy little moan, but it had been months since she’d last had this kind of relief, and nobody had ever made her feel quite this abandoned before.

She felt the long, slow stroke of his tongue along her sex. He swirled the tip round her clitoris, teasing her, and she pushed hard against him, demanding more. He gave her exactly what she needed, varying the pace and pressure so her arousal coiled tighter and tighter and tighter, until she didn’t think she could bear it any more. She was babbling his name when her climax exploded through her, more intense than she’d ever thought possible.

This shouldn’t have been so good. Not for a first time. It should’ve been clumsy and embarrassing and faintly disappointing.

But she had a feeling that Guy Lefèvre was no ordinary man.

He shifted up the bed and drew her into his arms, holding her close. ‘Better now, mon ange?’ he asked softly.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘Good, but that was only the start. To take the edge off.’ His eyes were intense. ‘Now, it really begins.’

That definitely sounded like a promise.

And Guy had said he was a man who prided himself on keeping his promises.

Almost shyly, she removed his boxer shorts, then sucked in a breath. ‘Guy, you’re truly beautiful.’

He actually blushed, to her secret pleasure. ‘I think that’s the first time anyone’s told me that.’

She kissed the corner of his mouth. ‘And I really, really want to make love with you.’ She stole another kiss. ‘Right now.’