The town is quaint—bed and breakfasts, boutiques, and restaurants line the street. He parallel parks between an old dented pickup truck and a shiny black Mercedes. The flower-and-cactus-filled Spanish-style patio of the restaurant is full, but we decide to wait for an outdoor table. Once we’re seated, we order margaritas—one classic and one apricot. After a quick glance at the menu, he looks up.

“The Puebla-style chicken is cooked over a red oak fire. What do you say we both try that?”

My eyes zero in on it and the words sausage and bananas make my stomach turn. “Did you read what it’s made with?”

“Yes, the splash of sherry sold me.”

I roll my eyes. “You are attracted to the foods with alcohol with them.”

“No, I’m attracted to what’s good,” he growls in my ear, setting my already heated body aflame.

Since grilled salmon isn’t on the menu, I concede and decide to try it.

Once we’ve eaten, we spend the afternoon browsing the shops. One shop sells intensely flavored, Tuscan-style oils. Jagger lifts a small piece of bread dipped in oil to my mouth. “Just try this. I promise it’s delicious.”

I take a very small bite and the pepper infused in it has a bite that only leaves me wanting more. I take the cup from his hand and a small piece of bread from the basket on the table. “I’ll finish that,” I say.

His sly grin curves up wider. “I told you you’d like it. I know what you like.”

His words grab me and again that feeling overtakes me—the feeling that I know I love this man.

At the end of the old-fashioned street is a small winery—like the one I saw in the ad. A sign above the door reads, “Rhônes.” A bell jingles as Jagger swings open the door. I look up at the scruff on his face and graze my hand down it as I pass by. The small room is filled with people and wine—red at one end and white at the other. Upon passing through the second door, we approach a long narrow set of rickety stairs. Jagger laces his fingers in mine and keeps hold of me with his strong grip, as his orange shoelaces guide our way down. When we enter the wine cellar, Jagger pays the admission and is handed a small clipboard with a list of wines and a pencil. I’m immediately drawn to the word organic and stop at the table labeled “Côtes de Tablas.” Open bottles of wine line the table with small, already poured glasses surrounding them. We each take a glass and sip it. The wine is a dark red, rich, balanced, and delicious.

I crane my head back as he stands beside me. “Rhône style wines are my favorite.”

He tastes his sample again. “It’s not bad.”

“Not bad?” I say in mock exasperation.

Impersonating the customer who was just minutes ago standing in front of us, he describes the attributes he likes about it in a deep stern voice. “It’s extremely juicy and the taste reflects the lime-stone rich soil . . .”

I kick his shin with the heel of my shoe. “Stop it,” I whisper.

He sets his cup down and his hands are on my hips. “What? I’m just commenting on the wine. I thought you liked it when I recite random facts.”

His warm breath cascades down my cheek and I lean my head against his shoulder. “I do, but only when they’re yours.”

Clutching my hip bones tighter, he says, “I don’t know any random facts about wines.”

I escape his embrace, as my need for him turns painful, and grab his hand. “Come on, then, let’s go learn some.”

Two hours and way too much wine later, we are at our final tasting. Our clipboard is loaded with at least a dozen selections for purchase and we are sampling the whitest of whites.

“Mmmm . . . sweet and delicious,” I say, maybe a little too provocatively for being in a public place.

His hands are around my waist, and when he doesn’t drop his grip to taste it, I swivel my h*ps and put the glass to his lips. He bends down, “Mmmm . . . sweet and delicious just like you.”

His accent is much more noticeable with alcohol in his system. When he dips the tip of his tongue in my ear and pulls me against him, I gasp. His hard c**k presses into my back. The room is dark and crowded and I wish we were alone.

“Pour another glass,” he commands, as he pulls out the clip holding my hair up. His accent is so sexy right now, my body quivers.

His hand skims the front of my pants and my eyes instantly pop open. I look around but no one is paying any attention to us. His fingers tease the inside of my thighs and it feels incredible. As he starts to move up, closer to my clit, I push away.

“I have to use the restroom,” I whisper, my pulse throbbing at all points in my body, and I rush away, knowing that if I hadn’t, I would have come here, in the middle of a wine cellar.

When I return, he has paid for the wine and is thanking the sales clerk for having the items delivered.

As we make our way up the creaky staircase, my heart is still pounding from his touch and I know I’m going to ask him if it’s even possible to consider h**ing s*x in his small car. But it turns out I don’t have to say anything. As soon as we open the door and walk into the blinding light, he has me caged against the cool brick building. I feel the wool of my sweater snag, but don’t care once his mouth finds mine. Soft, cool, sweet, I can’t help but lick the flavor from his lips.

When we pull away, he has the look on his face that he wore yesterday when I left him in the doorway to his bedroom. I notice his jaw tighten before it relaxes.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

He cups both my cheeks. “I love you, Aerie.”

I take a deep breath and my heart pounds in my ears. There’s a slight possibility I may be hyperventilating. I exhale and fasten my eyes to his. “I love you, too.”

Never have I known what real love is—until now.

He leans his forehead to mine and we stay like this for a long while. Then he pulls back and the corners of his mouth tip up and his hooded eyes sparkle.

“How far away is your car?” I ask, still breathless.

“Why?” he says, his eyes gleaming.

“Because I want you right now.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want? To have sex in a car?”

“What I’m sure of is that I want you to make love to me.”

He slides his hands down my arms and circles my wrists with his fingers. “Well good thing I asked the sales clerk downstairs to call and get us a room right down the road.”

He laces his fingers through mine as we dash in the direction of the hotel. Close to the shaded town square, it’s a stone building with vines creeping up it. As we walk under the sign that reads, “Hotel Cheval,” we enter a sophisticated room. Jagger checks us in and I glance around—an outdoor stone fireplace, a library, a Parisian-inspired bar—all alluring and intimate. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be n*ked on those surfaces with his c**k or his tongue bringing me to orgasm.

“Alice, are you in wonderland?” He chuckles stroking his thumb over my cheek.

I blink myself out of my daze. “What?”

“Come with me.” He grins and takes my hand to lead us down the hall to our room. Opening the door, the space is stylish and classic at the same time. Light colored linens in corals and tans adorn it—it’s clean looking with an edge. But that’s not why I’m not preoccupied with the idea of bed bugs like I usually am at a hotel. No, it’s because he’s here with me and there is nothing that can distract me from him.

I rarely drink, so the wine has left me feeling really good and uninhibited. I know he’s also had a good amount of wine and his senses are just as impaired, or rather, heightened. I walk ahead of him. “Stay there.”

I pull my sweater off and let it fall to the ground. I can feel his eyes on me as I move toward the bed and seconds later drop my bra. When I kick my red heels off and unzip my pants he watches me intently.

“Put those back on once you’re undressed,” he breathes.

I smile to myself as I pull my legs out of my jeans, but leave on my white silk panties. I wedge my foot back in my shoe and bend backward to hook my heel into it.

“Everything first.” His deep voice sends a shiver through me.

I still can’t see him, which makes this so much easier. I turn around as I step out of my shoe for the second time. He’s leaning against the wall and as I turn he licks his lips. He has lust and want written all over his face and that’s all I need to see to set my soul on fire. There’s something so empowering about knowing he wants me as much as I want him. And I want tonight to be a night he’ll never forget.

His eyes pin me as I slide my panties over my thighs and let them drop before stepping out of them and back into my shoes.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Sauntering up to him, I notice his lips are slightly parted and his eyes hooded. He smells incredibly sexy and I can’t help but run my nose down his neck, stopping to suck in a few places along the way. I’ve never given anyone a hickey and right now I really want to. He doesn’t say I can’t so I give it a try. His hands are at my h*ps and his fingers are splayed across my ass. I run my hands under his shirt and it bunches at the top as my lips follow the same path. I notice he’s watching me with a predatory look as I pull his plain, white long-sleeved tee over his head.

He pulls me tight against him and my ni**les harden instantly at the contact.

His teeth skim the shell of my ear. “Tell me what you want first.”

My stomach flutters. “Whatever you want,” I say, trying not to sound too breathy.

“I want you to tell me what you want me to do to you right now. What were you thinking about in the lobby?”

I lean back and look at him—the connection we share is so powerful, I am not the least bit ashamed to tell him what my thoughts were. “About you making me come, about your face between my legs and your c**k inside me.”

He tilts my chin to look at him. “I can’t wait to f**k you with my tongue and my cock. But can you do something for me?”

I nod, completely turned on by his words and the thought of what’s to come—I think I’d agree to anything.

“Can you let your need for control go, for just this one night?”

I swallow and stare back into his eyes for the longest time before answering. “Yes.”

He grins. “And leave your shoes on.”

I smirk.

“I’m not kidding.”

“I know,” I answer, as my hands move to his pants and unbutton them. I’ve been waiting to hold his full, thick c**k in my hand for way too long.

He kicks his boots off and I quickly help him slide the denim down his legs and then follow with his boxers. He stands gloriously n*ked before me and the minute his c**k springs free, I wrap my palm around it. With my other hand roaming his body, and both of his roaming mine, he moves us toward the bed. He tugs the bedspread off and pats his hand against the pillow.

“Lay here and keep your hands gripped to this,” he says pointing to the top of the wooden headboard.

As I lie on the bed and grip the headboard, I place my legs as wide apart as I can in anticipation of what’s to come. When his lips find my mouth and slide down my neck, he sucks in one spot for a few short moments. When he stops I can feel the vibration of laughter dance across my skin. “Now we can have matching hickeys,” he murmurs and my body begins to shake with laughter as well, but it quickly stops when his teeth graze my nipple.

His descent is slow and torturous, but so good. He circles my br**sts and licks my ni**les into hard peaks as his hand slides down my body. His fingertips trail down my hip bone to my inner thigh and work their way up again.

“You’re so wet.”

With his mouth on my br**sts, his fingers circle my cl*t and I’m sure he can tell how much I want him—no more words are necessary because my body is speaking on its own.