“They may not be crazy about my pedigree,” she continued his train of thought. “But they definitely want you to procreate.”
“My parents are snobs.”
“You think?”
He chuckled at the tone of her voice, turning to brush a few stray hairs from her soft cheek.
Her skin was flushed, her smile wide, and the sunshine off the Atlantic highlighted her green eyes. “Can we talk some more about sweating and moaning?”
Arousal instantly hit him in the solar plexus. “Not here we can’t.”
“Back at the chateau? In one of our ten bedrooms?”
“I noticed the master bed was a four-poster,” he pointed out, suddenly anxious to get her back there.
Her smile widened even further.
“And we have these new silk scarves.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“I hope you’re hinting that I should wear them.”
He moved closer to rasp in her ear. “Among other, more interesting things.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“Why?” Lovemaking should be playful and fun.
With the heel of her hand, she playfully hit him in the shoulder. “You seriously want to tie me to the bed and have your way with me?”
“Absolutely.” A sensual, compelling picture rose in his mind.
She coughed out an unintelligible protest.
“Trust me,” he told her.
“Reed.”
“Trust me.” He pulled away and grasped her hand, urging her back along the walkway toward the chateau.
Seven
At the chateau, Jean-Louis was clearly delighted to see them. And when Elizabeth saw the beautiful table he’d prepared, and inhaled the luscious scents wafting from the kitchen, she knew making love would have to be postponed. She excused herself to change, finding her clothes freshened and hanging in the closet of the master bedroom.
She changed into a black cocktail dress then met Reed at the bottom of the formal staircase.
He gallantly held out an arm. “Would you care to accompany me to the wine cellar?”
She grinned to herself, feeling sexy and playful for the first time in months. “Can I trust you in the wine cellar?”
He grin broadened. “Come on down and find out.”
She pretended to hesitate, but he turned them both into a short hallway that ended with a wood-plank door.
The stone staircase beyond it was narrow, and the light was dim. Reed kept a firm hold on her waist as they made their way to the bottom. There, he switched on an overhead light, and she drew in a surprised breath at the rows and rows of dusty wine bottles.
“We’re looking for row eight.” Reed led her down to the third rack.
“What are we looking for?” she asked.
“This,” he announced, and his hands closed over her hips, lifting her to sit on a ancient, hewn-beam table in the middle of the aisle.
“What—”
He silenced her with a kiss, moving between her knees and wrapping his arms tightly around her.
His lips were cool and soft, moist and parted. His tongue gently explored the recesses of her mouth, and she felt shards of arousal work their way out from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes.
His hands moved to her bare knees. His kisses explored her neck, her ears, her shoulders, while she gripped his upper arms for support.
His fingertips circled higher on her thighs, leaving a burning trail of want behind them.
“I had a feeling I couldn’t trust you down here,” she breathed.
“You can trust me completely.” But his fingers hooked around her panties, tugging them down.
She gasped and grasped his forearms. “Not here.” She glanced around at the cold, dusty room.
He chuckled. “No. Not here.” But he pulled her panties to her ankles, peeling them off over her heels. Then he tucked them firmly into his inside pocket.
He gazed hotly into her eyes. “Later.”
“But—”
He silenced her with a finger across her lips. “We’re on vacation, Elizabeth. We can play.”
He lifted her down from the table, smoothing her skirt back into place. Arm still around her, he guided her toward the narrow staircase.
“Reed?”
“Yes?”
She tipped her head to look back at him. “The wine?”
“Right.”
Elizabeth leaned back against the solid table, content to let Reed choose the year and the winery. If there was anything her well-bred husband knew, it was good wine.
She watched the play of his muscles as he reached into the bins, considering and returning bottles. She shifted down the table to bring his profile into view. There was no doubt he was a gorgeous man, and a slow pulse of sexual arousal remained steady in her bloodstream while the cool air circulated around her bare legs.
She couldn’t help but picture the big, four-poster bed. The silk scarves also tickled their way into her imagination, making her shiver. She and Reed had more complex problems than a long night of pleasure could solve, but reconnecting sexually wouldn’t hurt. It might even help. And it could definitely be satisfying.
“After you,” he said, gesturing to the staircase with one of the bottles he’d chosen.
They made their way back to the second floor, where a young French woman assisted Jean-Louis in serving them an artichoke and baby greens salad. It was followed by pumpkin soup, bay shrimps, salmon, a cheese tray, and finally the most heavenly torte she’d ever tasted.
By the time the final dishes were cleared away, Elizabeth had kicked off her shoes and curled up in the rich, velvet upholstery of the big, Louis XV chair.
“Come here,” Reed rumbled, a half smile on his face and heat smoldering deep in his midnight-blue eyes.
Elizabeth’s sexual arousal returned in a rush. She set down her coffee cup, uncurled her legs and padded the length of the table to Reed’s chair.
He took her hand, drawing her down into his lap. Pulling back her loose hair, he feathered soft kisses into the crook of her neck.
Footsteps sounded in the doorway, and she stiffened at the sight of Jean-Louis.
Reed’s hand closed around Elizabeth’s wrist, keeping her from jumping off his lap.
“We won’t require anything further tonight,” he told the chef.
“Bonne nuit, monsieur,” intoned Jean-Louis with a respectful nod.
“Oh, it will be,” Reed whispered to Elizabeth as the door closed behind the chef.
“That was embarrassing,” said Elizabeth.
“Exhibitionism not one of your fantasies?”
She drew back in astonishment. Sexual fantasies were definitely not a subject of discussion in their marriage. “No.”
He chuckled and resumed kissing, his spread fingers delving into her hair. “Noted.”