Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page A

complemented the green of my eyes. I tied my messy curly hair up loosely so that it wasn’t in my face. Slipping into flat shoes, which were practical for an afternoon of sightseeing in Paris, I checked my reflection in the mirror. Finally, I threw a cardigan over my shoulders, just in case, ever the practical woman.
    I sighed. I am what I am , nothing I can do to change that now .

Chapter 8
    I ate with gusto; French food was famous for a reason. Alain cocked his head, his one eyebrow lifted as he gazed at me—I couldn’t place his expression. Was it amusement?
    “Another thing, it seems, that I really like about you,” he chuckled as he leaned over slightly to wipe the sauce from my chin. There was more than one thing he liked about me?
    He saw the question on my face. “French women don’t eat much,” he explained, “it’s such a waste of time, spending hours in the kitchen cooking and then they just pick at it. I would love to cook for you at my chateau and watch you enjoy every morsel.”
    It was a very tempting invitation indeed.
    In a lower voice he continued, “Watching you eat with such joy is very sensual, mademoiselle Clarke, it really turns me on.”
    What?
    How could my eating have that kind of effect on him? He really was easy to please. My previous boyfriends had always frowned at my appetite, worried that I may add a few pounds to my already full and buxom frame.
    He leaned over and brushed his lips over mine, his tongue rimming my lips as he went. “I could just eat you now,” he whispered at the corner of my mouth. I spluttered, fully comprehending his innuendo. I quickly took a gulp of wine to hide my embarrassment. People in the restaurant were staring at us, smiling openly.
    “Alain. Not here in public.” I could have saved my breath. He threw his head back and a really deep guttural laugh escaped his lips, creasing the corners of his eyes.
    “Oh Mademoiselle, it is not possible, to not touch you. You are really going to enjoy our sightseeing this afternoon, I am going to delight you in ways you have never experienced before.”
    I wasn’t sure I wanted to understand that last comment, so I returned my focus back to my delicious food, feeling an awkward warmth spread up from my chest to my cheeks. For goodness sake, I really had to stop this blushing thing. My cheeks were permanently flushed lately.
    As if he read my thoughts, Alain gently brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. How could the simple act of eating—in a public place—be so damn erotic? He had me all hot and flustered and we hadn’t even begun sightseeing yet. A swarm of butterflies were doing a jig in my stomach, my appetite for food suddenly gone.
    After paying the bill, Alain took hold of my hand and lead me outside. “Dessert will be served in there,” he indicated by tilting his head toward the limo.
    Once we settled inside the limo, Alain poured cognac from the small bar into a crystal glass. He swirled the amber liquid around, taking a deep sniff, his nostrils flaring slightly. My French self-appointed t our guide looked so hot, my eyes devoured him. Gazing into my eyes, he took a sip from the glass as I held my breath. Then he leaned over and gently parted my lips with his tongue, squirting the warm liquid into my mouth. My senses went into overdrive. It was the most sensual way I had ever tasted this ambrosia. I swallowed the fiery liquid eagerly. It warmed me all the way to my belly as it slipped down my throat. My eyelids grew heavy and fluttered closed.
    He kissed my neck, his breath warm on my skin. I moaned softly as his weight pushed me further into the very comfortable leather seat. His erection throbbed against me, causing an equal throbbing ache between my legs. I was completely lost to this man’s lips. I wanted him badly; my sex pulsed wildly, increasing the dampness between my legs, eager for what was to come.
    Just as suddenly, Alain pulled away. No . Don’t stop now.
    The driver pulled over