Page 81 of I Love You in French

I slowly turn my face toward her mouth and focus on the bright pink of her lips, deep rose in the candlelight, then the curve of her neck arching against the arc of the tub. Her pulse gently greets me under her neck, and I grin. She inhales slowly.

“What are you thinking?” she whispers.

I hesitate. Allowing myself to fully feel what I do for this woman is still somewhat new, even if I welcome the discomfort.The candlelight flickers on her features.

“I’m thinking that I need you.” My voice scratches through the air. “How I always need you,” I add. Her eyes widen, and I swallow. “But I think you already know that.”

“Oh.”

Her eyes trace the outline of my face, landing on the parts she says are her favorite. My scruff. The dimple on my right cheek. The scar on my left eyebrow. She looks in my eyes for a fraction of a second before sliding closer to me. The sound of the water gently flowing around her curves has me frozen. I feel the heat of the water turn cool as her hand wraps around my neck, casually dripping bath water down my back.

“So sorry.” She hesitantly moves her hand, but I catch it before it returns to the water.

I lightly grip her hand and slowly kiss the center of her palm. Her eyes flutter closed as she leans closer to me, and I pause to hungrily take in her face. No matter how much I stare at her, I’m still willing to find out more, to see another angle I’ve missed.

“And I’m thinking that we never did finish that book,” I say with a grin. She smiles back at me, resting her arms around the edge of the tub. We’ve started a tradition where I read to her while she takes a bath. Sometimes, it’s a fantasy book. Other times, it’s a classic. And lately, it’s been poetry. Love poems.

I stand and move the wooden stool from the corner to place it beside her. I pull the paperback from my back pocket, already prepared for this moment, and settle in, reading to her in French as the candlelight flickers off the porcelain tub and the millions of tiny bubbles surrounding Sparrow.

Later, when we’re sitting on the couch, another day tucking away into the quiet of evening, I strum my guitar and listen as Sparrow hums beside me. I don’t even know if she realizes how much she sings lately. I carefully place my guitar on its stand near where we sit, Sparrow twirling one of my guitar picks between her hands. With her hair pulled casually into a low bun, dressed in my shirt and some oversized grey sweats, she looks like comfort and hope.

I lean toward her, lightly catching her bottom lip with my own. Wrapping my arms around her, I slide my hands around her ribcage and down the length of her spine, now curved toward me. I bury my face in the side of her neck, the feel of her warm, soft skin unlocking my reason. I can’t be this far apart from her for another moment.

“Sparrow?” Slowly sliding my mouth up her throat, I lightly place a kiss on the pulse point that was calling to me earlier.

“Mmm?” She happily sighs.

“Let’s go on an adventure.”

She lets out a laugh that’s laced with desire. “Ready when you are,” she whispers.

I sense how shy she still is in this way when it comes to me, but when she kisses my scarred eyebrow, I know that’s my cue. Without hesitation, I scoop her up, and she squeals, some coffee in a cup spilling onto the little table. I don’t care. I’ll clean it up later.

I set her down in our bedroom, the vulnerability in her eyes a lightning bolt. She still doesn’t know how desirable she can be. Still. But it’s okay. I have the rest of my life to show her.

A candle flickers on the bedside table and on her features, one side of her face now more lit than the other. She stares at me openly, almost reverently, and I don’t want to waste this sacred moment. My eyes burn from the emotion threatening to come through, so I pull her even closer, until our breath is one.

“Je t’aime, Sparrow.”

She closes her eyes and softly kisses a trail along my neck and collarbone. I tuck my chin down to meet her gaze. Hovering her mouth near mine, she kisses me slowly, smiling against my mouth before deepening the kiss. I can’t get enough of her. She tastes like croissants, Nutella, and dreams. Lots of dreams.

Sparrow breaks the kiss only to catch my eyes again, the light between us branding my heart. Pulling at a piece of my hair falling over my forehead, she slowly twirls it between her fingers before letting them outline my jaw. Grinning, she rises on her toes to get closer to me and softly inhales.

“Rafe?”

I nod slightly.

“I love you too.”

“In French?” I mumble, barely able to wait before I plan to capture her sweet mouth once more.

“Oui.” A slow, soft kiss. “En français.”