Page 78 of The Stranger

“Liking you isn’t the problem. The problem is me.” Eyes screwed tight, her next words fall like a torrent. “I’m sorry I said that. It was inappropriate.”

With my hand at the nape of her neck, I tighten it in her hair. Her eyes flare as she gives a little gasp, the kind that makes my gut tighten and my cock pulse. “What about this situation strikes you as appropriate?”

She blinks, perhaps as her mind plays catch-up. “I don’t want Emmy to lose her job.”

“You’re not the nanny right now, and I’m not a father. We’re just two people alone in the dark and enjoying each other.”

“Strangers, like before.” Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, the sight of it like a magnet to my own mouth. My lips coax and tease as hers tremble. “I’m not very good at this.” Her hand falls from my shirt.

“Contrary to appearances,” I whisper, pressing that hand to my groin. I swallow her sigh as I whisper in French what a sweet little perfectionist she is.

“Later, you’ll be disappointed.”

“C’est impossible,” I whisper into another kiss, my hands sliding over her shaking shoulders.

It is impossible to be any more endeared, and I can’t blame the Armagnac. I have drunk a little too much, but I’m not drunk. My senses aren’t blunted. If anything, they’re heightened. I know what I’m doing, and I know this is absolute madness. But I also know her words seem a little too strong for just perfectionism, considering how into this she is.

I put my hands to her shoulders as I reluctantly tear my mouth from hers. “Tell me. Whatever it is you’re trying to tell me, just spit it out.”

She’s so fucking lovely, her skin so soft, and her mouth so tempting, I can barely fucking stand it.

“What your friend said about me in Paris. I think he might be right.”

I’m not sure what she’s saying as I, figuratively at least, take a step back.

“Excellent, Primrose,” she mutters. “Way to go.” She casts suddenly glossy eyes to the high ceiling.

“Stop.” I take her face in my hands and bring her watery gaze to mine. “What could there possibly be to cry about?”

“I’m not crying,” she says harshly.

“Why are you upset?” I ask, tone softening.

“Because you were kissing me until I opened my big mouth and ruined it. As per.”

As per usual? “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Do you want to kiss me? Because if you do, please get on with it.” She tilts her head, eyes falling closed. There’s something less than stimulating about the motion, something a little grin-and-bear-it. But then her eyes open quite suddenly, their color like the sky over a story sea. “Provided you’re not about to push me out the door again.”

“You’re sure you wouldn’t like that? To leave.”

She straightens, and my hands fall away, hers rising and dropping with a slap to her bare thighs. “No.” She doesn’t sound at all happy about that. “Because I am curious, even if that makes me a bad friend.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want Emmy to lose her job.”

“You think I would do that?”

“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what you’re capable of.”

I give a wolfish smile to hide my consternation, my answer purely sexual. “Aren’t you?” But how could I expect her good opinion with how I’ve behaved? “Tell me more about your curiosity.”

One shoulder lifts and falls, and the meaning behind it seems heavier than she’d have me believe. “I suppose I’m just not sure it would work a second time.”

My brow furrows.

“What happened—how you made me feel? When I, you know?”