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Laurent interrupted her musings, inching his way up Jack's leg like he was climbing a jungle gym. “’Allo, Lili.” He draped his arm over Jack's shoulder and expelled a juicy belch. “Merde, Jack, it is drunk out.”
Jack murmured something in French that Lili didn’t understand but could tell wasn’t very nice. Propping his friend against the wall of her building, he held his palms up, willing Laurent to stay upright. Then he turned back to her and stepped in close. Too close.
“Before we go, I’ll need you to take it back.”
“Take what back?”
“What you said about my kissing technique.”
Aw, poor little big shot needed massaging for his sore ego. “It’s all so subjective. That suction thing might work for some girls, I suppose.”
Another dangerous step and he had gripped her hips with both hands. Mercy, he was fast. “Give me another chance.”
“Oh,” she managed to eek out just as that smooth-talking mouth met hers. Her initial thought was thanks he was holding onto her because her spine had dissolved. Her next was…she didn’t have a next. The kiss hit her like a fifth of bourbon and with each luxurious swipe of his tongue, she fell deeper and deeper into oblivion.
Displaying his range, he cut a path of honeyed devastation along her jaw. “Am I doing better?”
“Hmm. Full letter grade improvement. B minus,” she teased. “But I’m still not going to date you.”
He laughed, a warm chocolaty sound against her neck that goose-bumped her heated flesh. “And I’m still not going to sleep with you. No matter how much you beg.”
“Oh, I think I’ll survive. We great women are used to enduring.” Her hands caressed his strong back, shaping its tightly-woven muscles. “You, on the other hand... How long has it been since you last had sex?”
“Four months—” He nipped her earlobe. “One week—” His lips tickled the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. “Five days.”
“Sounds terrible,” she murmured as she rubbed her breasts against his chest. So much for keeping her nipples in check. They happily pebbled their pleasure at this latest turn of events.
“It hasn't been so bad,” he said, his voice thick as the humid night. “I just can't help flirting with gorgeous women.”
Her mind heard the compliment but before it could register, he moved in flush making her gasp as his hardness rasped against her belly. A Darth Vader-like rumble reverberated in her head. I have you now. They just needed to get Laurent settled on her sofa, then let the good times roll.
Jack drew back to face her, his lust-blown eyes illuminated by the overhead streetlamp. “Lili, all joking aside, I’m serious about going on a date...” One hand dropped from her waist and traveled shakily to his forehead.
“Jack, are you okay?” She squeezed his beautifully-muscled shoulder. She couldn’t wait to kiss every inch of—
“I’m fine,” he muttered just as his body crumpled and slid from her grasp. He made a surprisingly soft thud considering all that rock-hard muscle. As if in sympathy, Laurent slid down the wall with a well-oiled giggle.
Merde.
Eleven
“Who’s the President of the United States?” A muffled grunt was his response.
Lili drew the curtains apart, allowing watery early morning light to flood the hotel room. The sun’s rays bathed the cathedral façade of the Wrigley building and the soft glow glinting off the water almost convinced her the toxic Chicago River was appealing enough for a dip. Tourists trickled down Michigan Avenue on their way to breakfast, or just as likely biding their time waiting for Nike Town to throw open its doors. It was a cliché, but she loved this city. Its beauty never failed to move her.
She stepped around to the other side of the humungous bed where beauty of a different variety hid beneath swathes of luxurious Egyptian cotton.
“Is that your final answer then?” she asked cheerfully.
Jack poked his dark head above the sheet, shading his eyes. “Why is it so bright in here?”
“Oh, sorry.” She hastily grasped at the curtains until just a chink of sun infiltrated. The doctor had said he might be sensitive to light and sound for a while. She sat at the end of the bed. “So, who’s the President of the United States?”
One eye, shadowed by eyelashes most women would give their first born for, peered at her. “These questions are stupid.”
“I know, I know,” she said soothingly.
“And that sounds patronizing.”
