Irresistible You by Lynne Connolly Page B

“Here?”
    “It’s the only way.”
    With hands that shook, she pushed, just a little, but he got the message and drew away. No way would he overwhelm her, as he always did, with hot, sweet passion. He didn’t release her, but gazed at her, his eyes softly glowing.
    “Remy, we can’t. You know I can’t.” She clasped her hands together, trying to keep them steady.
    He caught them, gripped her small hands in his much larger ones, brought one to his lips. His tenderness nearly undid her. “Don’t talk. Don’t say anything about the review we both know you’re doing, then we’re breaking nothing.” He kissed the knuckles of her other hand, drew her closer but gently, giving her the chance to move away.
    She swallowed, but didn’t leave. “So this is our last time.” He lifted his chin, smiled wickedly. “For now. How long do I have to exist without you, ma petite ?”
    She should hate him calling her that, but it made her feel absurdly cherished. “A week.” Maybe more. Miserably she reflected on the meal she’d had. She couldn’t lie. It would invalidate all the work she’d done, all the places she’d given five stars to for genuinely great food. She’d built up a reputation for judging a place on its own merits, not on reputation, or clientele, or anything but the food, the wine and the service.
    So if this was her last time with him, she’d better make the most of it. She lifted her face for his kiss. Smiling, happiness creasing the corners of his eyes he bent slowly, keeping his eyes open, watching her until his mouth touched hers. Then he let his lids slide over his eyes, and gave himself to her.
    Whenever she kissed him, she lost time. Lost all sense of, well, sense. He opened his mouth over hers, and she let him in to play. He tasted her, a leisurely appreciation, and she felt a smile forming, a coming home.
    Ah, shit, there she went again. That was why she’d asked for the break, while she wrote her review and got it out. He tasted her like she was the most precious morsel, the delicious, elusive taste of heaven and she loved it. That was why she’d risked her job and her reputation, and told nobody about her affair with Remy Girard.
    As well as a strong urge to hug the knowledge to her chest, because the illicit nature of it gave her goosebumps of the very best kind.
    He stroked her, moulded her close, spent time they didn’t have exploring her, slowly unbuttoning her top. He finished the kiss, glanced down. “I have to see you. You’re an addiction, Elise.”
    If he didn’t seem as desperate as her, she’d worry even more. He was wearing his chef’s jacket, crisp white, and she knew how it fastened now. Reaching up, she undid the button at the top, and then the other, hidden ones. She also knew he didn’t wear a shirt underneath. Unable to resist the sight of his broad, muscular chest, she swiped her tongue over one tiny nipple, half shrouded in chest hair. He shuddered, caught his breath. “Damn, woman.”
    He reached out, grabbed something from the nearest shelf. She glanced to one side as she caught a flash of colour and she smiled, drew back, because he’d need the space to sheathe himself. “You call that a preserve?”
    “Of a kind.” That slow, thick drawl with the accent unique to Remy did it for her every time. A mixture of French and London, utterly irresistible. Not that she’d tried. From the first evening at the art gallery to today, six months later, they’d seen each other almost every night, shared the same bed more often than not. But her raw need for him hadn’t abated as she’d hoped it would. It just got worse.
    Or better.
    After unbuttoning and unzipping, he dragged his pants down and eased the condom over his hard, straining cock. Elise didn’t waste time protesting either, instead, reaching under her skirt to tug her knickers out of the way. He turned to her, lifted her and pushed her against the only bare bit of wall, where the shelves ended just