Page 53 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Are you sure this is the right address?” I questioned Kabir when we rolled up to a stunning white limestone 19th century manse with smoky gray shutters framing so many windows I couldn’t count them.

“Yes, 1489 Rue du Mistral Caché. It is on the GPS,” Kabir replied tapping his phone resting in a cellphone holder attached to his dash. “Your man is making lots of money. What does he do?”

“Fashion,” I whispered as the large gray front door opened and Claude stepped out to the short front step holding Pamplemousse in his arms.

“Oh.” That was all Kabir said as I threw the door of the car open then wiggled my way out, falling over my bag as it hit the driveway in my haste to get to Claude. His hazel eyes flared as I nearly went to my face. Pamplemousse barked excitedly before he was handed off to Jon, Claude’s personal assistant, who stood a few steps behind his boss.

“Kinder,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“Claude.”

We stood there like two lampposts.

“Please just kiss and come inside!” Jon huffed, tucking the wriggling dog under his arm before marching into the house.

Claude moved first. A twitch of a hand. “A kiss sounds most lovely,” he said and before he could draw another breath I had him in my arms. He met my kiss with so much ardor it left me breathless. “Yes, most lovely.” He kissed me again, and again, and then I kissed him. The soft sound of someone clearing their throat.

Cheeks flushed, lips slick and pink, we stepped apart to look at Kibor holding out my bag to me.

“Oh, thanks. I…yeah, this is him,” I stated, grabbing my bag with one hand and my Claude with the other. The man I tugged to my side. The bag I chucked into the dark entryway behind Claude. “The man I told you about.”

“I assumed,” Kabir chuckled softly. “Now that all is well here I will leave you to your reunion.”

“Un instant,” Claude said, gently extricating himself from me to dig into his pocket for some cash. After tipping Kabir generously, we both waved goodbye as my driver left us to get reacquainted. With no damn cameras or nosy designers or sound crews. Just Claude and me. A yipping Chihuahua appeared at our feet, prancing on his hind legs.

Amend that to Claude, me, and Pamplemousse.

“By the damns he is so slippery!” Jon shouted as he arrived on the stoop. The dog darted out into the manicured grounds with Jon in hot pursuit.

Amend that to Claude, me, Pamplemousse, and Jon.

“Is there anyone else here?” I asked just as Claude took me by the wrist to pull me inside. The interior of the home was as luxe as I assumed it would be. Cottage my ass.

“Not at the moment. Gods I have missed the sound of your voice,” he whispered, yanking me back to him for a kiss that lingered and deepened until we were both breathless and hard as stone. “I have missed you. Pulling away was torture but—”

“Nope, not now. We’re not talking about the show or anything to do with it now. All I want to do now is get naked, fall into the biggest bed you have in this mansion, and make love to you until we pass out from pleasure.”

His eyes grew dark with passion. “My room.” He led me up a grand staircase without my bag. I glanced back at it. “Jon will get it.”

I nodded, my body humming, my heart skipping joyous beats as we ascended the stairs to the second floor where two halls peeled off in differing directions. “This way, at the end of the left hall are my quarters.”

“Soline called this a cottage,” I told him as we hurried down the carpeted hall like two kids sneaking out of school, giddy with what kind of fun we’d get into.

“A country cottage, perhaps?” He pushed through a door that opened into an airy sitting room slash workspace. A desk with drawings sat before some French doors leading to a balcony, the doors closed against the fall chill. A small fire burned in a large stone hearth. Chairs and chaises filled the space, thick rugs, walls painted a soft white with oils of small French villages. Gorgeous. Luxurious without being gaudy. Stunning. Just like the man who was grasping my hand tightly.

“Not in my world,” I replied allowing him to guide me through a door where his bed sat majestically under four posters and a canopy of sheer gauzy white. The bedding was taupe, brown and ivory as were the curtains on the windows. A modern chandelier hung over yet another seating area, the globes small white feathers which cast the room in warm ambient light. “God this is so beautiful.”

“It is nothing in comparison to you,” he said as he moved into my arms once more, eagerly capturing my mouth. I licked deeply, savoring the taste of coffee on his tongue, then swept him from his feet to carry him to the bed. “I pined for you, Kinder. Leaving was horrid.”

“Shh.” I kissed him softly now, lying him on the rich tan bedspread as if he were a garment crafted from sea silk, the most delicate and rare textile in the world. “No more talk of the separation. From now on we only talk about here and now, being together, and what the future holds.”

“Yes, the future. Let us focus on our futures.”

I’d never undressed a man before. It was a pretty easy process when the man was as eager to be freed from his clothes as you were to free him from them. Thankfully Claude wasn’t in one of his trademark suits. Peeling his lithe form from the confines of a pair of silky lounge pants, an oversized blouse, and his skimpy briefs was done in a matter of seconds. Once he was bare I ran my sight over him, desire spiking as I took in the sprigs of silver among the curls on his chest.

Something white on his bicep caught my attention. “Is that…”

“Yes, a nicotine patch.” He rolled his pretty eyes. “You so disliked the smell and my doctor has been advising me to quit for ages so I think now is the time.”