Всё самое интересное обо всём на свете. Дмитрий Кошевар

      Oh, God.

      The tingles she’d been feeling all evening spread from her extremities down her lower back and abdomen, culminating at the very juncture of her legs.

      “Mademoiselle? Are you okay?”

      Jasmine realized her breaths were coming in short little pants and she was gripping the counter like a life vest in an ocean of orgasmic waves.

      “Fine,” she said quickly. “I’m totally fine.”

      “Do you need my help?” he asked once again.

      She met his gaze. There was concern there and nothing more. This man was not coming on to her, as insistent as her imagination was. Luca was simply being helpful. And kind.

      She smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m all good.”

      “Bien.” He stepped back out the door. But before he left, he ducked his head inside the bathroom one more time. “Mademoiselle? Please, keep the door open.”

      * * *

      Luca left the woman in the bathroom and went to the wardrobe in the bedroom. There was very little to choose from that would fit her, as the collection of clothes he’d brought was sparse. In one drawer he found a pair of shorts that could be tightened with a drawstring and one of his favorite T-shirts from the Red Bull Ring MotoGP event in Austria, 2016.

      He left the items on the bed and then went to stand outside the door of the bathroom. It was partially open. He raised his hand to knock, but before he did, his glance went to the mirror, visible through the opening.

      Jasmine’s back was to him—her bare back.

       Merde...

      Her spine swayed gracefully and there were two delightful little dimples at the top of her buttocks. Her skin was a flawless caramel color, a contrast to the dark hair that cascaded in waves between her shoulder blades. Her ass was...

      Jesus, her ass...

      Clenching his fists, Luca turned away from the barely opened door. What the hell was he doing? Now he was a fucking voyeur? This woman’s mere presence was trouble enough. The last thing he needed to be doing was ogling her through a semiclosed door. He certainly did not need to be entertaining thoughts of running his finger down the indent of her backbone, dipping into one dimple and then the other and cupping the glorious globes of her ass in each of his hands.

      Squeezing before exploring...

      Enough!

      With a strengthened resolve, he knocked on the wall beside the partly open door. “Mademoiselle?”

      “Yes?” Her voice sounded startled. And hopeful.

      What the fuck?

      “I’ve left some clothes for you in the bedroom. I can launder your clothes tonight so they are clean for tomorrow. Just leave them on the bed.”

      “Oh.” Her voice sounded breathless. “Thank you.”

      Luca marched down the hall without another word. He needed to focus his attention on tasks like preparing the fish for dinner. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t exactly cooperating.

       It’s been a long time, Luca...and that ass...

      “Silencieux!” he muttered to himself.

      There was no way he would get involved with an amnesiac, concussed tourist. Honestly. It was a bad idea all around. No matter how much his libido thought differently.

      Twenty minutes later, when the fish was warming in the oven, he glanced down the hall with a hint of worry. Should he check on her? What if she’d ignored his recommendation and had filled the tub with water, then fallen asleep or passed out and drowned.

      Shit.

      He hurried down the hall and was just about to push open the door when Jasmine came out wearing nothing but a towel. The scent of his own shampoo wafted about her and he was forced to squash the insane desire to bury his nose in her hair and breathe her in.

      Before tugging the towel from her body and tasting that warm skin.

      “Hi.” The woman’s eyes were wide and gorgeous, and appeared much more innocent, sans makeup. That should have quieted his libido.

      It did not. Quite the opposite.

      He purposefully took a step back, tipped his head and said, “Dinner is ready. I hope you like fish.”

      He didn’t wait for a response but simply spun around and made his way back to the kitchen where he poured himself a large glass of wine and drank most of it before Jasmine made her appearance.

      Jesus.

      If he’d thought she looked good enough to eat wearing nothing but a towel and the scent of his soap, he was mistaken. The sight of her in his too-big clothes was—fuck—an instant and immediate turn-on.

      “Whatever it is, it smells wonderful,” she said, softly. Shyly.

      Seriously, she was killing him.

      “It’s sole meunière. Very simple. Just fish, lemon, butter and parsley. Oh, and potatoes.”

      She sat down at the counter and shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

      Luca took the plates from the oven and set them on the counter. He slid cutlery across, refilled her water glass and went around the counter to join her on the other side. Ten minutes ago he had been famished. Now, sitting within touching distance of the American woman, Luca’s senses were so enraptured by her that his hunger for food was displaced by an even stronger hunger. Her skin was still warm from the bath, so warm he could feel heat radiating off her. With the heat came the scent of his toiletries but somehow feminized when combined with her own natural scent.

      Then there were her eyes.

      Whenever their gazes met, he found himself captivated by her large brown eyes, as if sinking into them in a wonderful way, like Charlie at the river of chocolate in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. He wanted to stay there, drinking it in, forever.

      It was Jasmine who broke his stare, turning her attention to the food in front of her. She delicately cut off a piece of fish and placed it on her tongue.

      “Mmm...my God.” She closed her eyes while her fork was still aloft. “That is so good.” Opening her eyes, she smiled at him. “That’s more than just fish and lemon and parsley.”

      “Non. That’s all it is. But everything is fresh, of course.”

      “Of course.” She took another bite. “You French really know how to cook.”

      Luca grinned. It was a cliché, and yet coming from this woman her remark pleased him. They finished their meal in relative silence—except for the odd sound of orgasmic enjoyment, which was not helping to cool his libido in the least—and once their plates were clean, Luca took them to the sink and washed them.

      “Thank you.”

      He looked up. “You don’t need to thank me every five minutes.”

      “I know but...” She played absently with a strand of hair. “Your kindness means so much...” Her voice caught but she recovered quickly. “Particularly when I’m a complete stranger to you.”

      “Really, it is nothing.”

      She exhaled softly. “Can I ask you a question?”

      He glanced up. “Of course.”

      Her fingers strayed to the lump on her head. “Is there anything else you can tell me about how you found me?”

      Luca pulled in his lower lip. His new beard felt strange against his mouth. “Non. I found you passed out on the road.”

      “Where?”

      “Not