A French Kiss in London by Melinda De Ross Read Free Book Online Page A

button to unlock the gate and opened the front door, in time to see a black Jeep advancing on her driveway.
    Gerard parked in front of the garage, before climbing out of his car. He walked around and opened the passenger door, revealing an enormous bouquet of flowers. He removed it from the seat, then headed toward her. He wore midnight blue pants and a white shirt, open at the neck. The white cotton created a delicious contrast to his tanned chest, sprinkled with dark-gold hair. She felt her entire body reacting to his presence like a metallic splinter attracted to a powerful magnet.
    When he reached her, she noticed he’d shaven.
    My God, he is completely magnificent! she thought, while his intense green eyes drilled into hers, as if he intuited all her thoughts and sensations.
    He handed her the bouquet—a combination of white roses and white lilac, spreading a divine scent. He took in her white dress, the thin material that flowed down her body, subtly emphasizing every curve.
    “I can see I chose the flowers very well. They perfectly match you and your attire. You look magnificent,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek.
    She turned her head involuntarily and his warm, soft lips touched the corner of her mouth. Entranced by his nearness and by his dizzying perfume, she turned her head another fraction. Their mouths touched in a kiss that would have been as chaste as the white flowers between them, if not for the explosive sensuality crackling in the air. For several seconds they just stared at one another, in hypnotizing fascination.
    He touched her lips with his once more, then slowly traced them delicately with one finger, as though caressing the petals of an exotic flower. He stepped back from her slightly, noticing Pirata, who had come to inspect the intruder. Amused, he bent to rub the cat’s ears and was repaid with a generous purr.
    Linda invited him inside, prompting him to have a seat on the living room sofa, while she took the flowers to the kitchen.
    “Would you rather we ate in a more formal ambient or in the kitchen?” she asked when she returned, aware that her dress wasn’t suited for a kitchen meal.
    “Definitely in the kitchen. You don’t have to be formal with me, Linda. Do you need me to help you with anything?”
    “Just with the eating,” she joked. “Come into the kitchen then.”
    As he sat at the counter, she mentally congratulated herself for being such a tidy cook. Because she cleaned all surfaces while she was cooking, her kitchen always looked brand-new. She took great pride in that.
    She arranged the dishes, then brought the spaghetti.
    “Mmm, they look almost as good as you!”
    “Thanks, but I can assure you they taste a lot better.”
    “I seriously doubt that,” he replied, watching her in that particular way, which never failed to incite her.
    After he had his first taste, Gerard remarked, “It’s absolutely delicious! Where’d you learn to cook this?”
    “Back home, when I was a child, we had an excellent cook. Sofia taught me everything I know. Unfortunately, lately I’ve become pretty lazy and I rarely cook.”
    “I’ve always loved Italian food the most. It’s got something special, just like Italian women. My mother always pushed me to find an Italian girl.”
    “And you didn’t succeed?” she asked jokingly.
    “I did now,” he answered in a serious tone, his eyes meeting hers.
    They looked at one another for a long moment, in silence. She was the first to break that intense visual contact. She resumed the conversation, changing the subject as if nothing had happened.
    They went on with their meal, making small talk, while Pirata twirled around their feet, shamelessly begging for treats.
    “I’m sorry, but I haven’t had time to prepare dessert,” she apologized, as she cleared the table. “But I’ve ordered something delicious.”
    Gerard stood and put his dishes into the sink.
    “What? So far, dinner was great.”
    She went to the fridge and