Read [Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon for Free Online

on with his lesson on drinking scotch.
    “This scotch has been casked for over half a century. It deserves respect.” He lifts the glass high, observing the color through the clear glass. He swirls the amber liquid and shows me. “You see, it coats the crystal when I do this. This allows it to breathe so that all of its intricacies can be released. Much like a fine wine.”
    Bringing the glass to just beneath his nose, he breathes in deeply, eyes closed, then slowly exhales as he draws the glass away. He holds it beneath my nose. “Tell me, what do you smell?”
    I breathe in deeply and the alcohol burns my nostrils. “Smells like booze.”
    He takes the glass away, watching me, making me squirm, then brings it close. “Try again. Close your eyes this time.”
    Obeying, I close my eyes and breathe in, slowly and deeply. This time my nose doesn’t feel singed by alcohol. In fact, I smell...something.
    “What do you detect?”
    “I don’t know. Smoke, maybe.” I breathe in again. “Um, lemon or...grapefruit. Something citrusy.”
    “Very good.”
    When I open my eyes, Christophe is holding the glass below his nose and breathing in deeply. “Currants.” He breathes in like he’s drinking. “The smoke is peat smoke.”
    With his eyes still closed, he takes a small sip. Barely a taste. His facial expression is...intense. I don’t know how else to describe it. I thought he was being pretentious but he’s not. There are real lines of concentration and pleasure etched across his face as he moves his jaw, not like he’s tasting alcohol, like he’s tasting something else.
    Like he’s tasting me.

Chapter Four
    I can picture exactly how he’d look, propped between my parted legs, his dark hair brushing my thighs, his tongue making a thorough pass before he raises his head to gaze at me, his handsome face serious, his nostrils slightly flared as he licks his lips.
    Oh God. He’d be magnificent in the oral sex department. The image is so vivid in my mind, I’m sure he must see what I’m thinking because when he opens his eyes, they are on fire and I am consumed by their blue flames.
    Holding my gaze, he raises the glass to my lips and my hands cup his. Together we tilt it and I take barely a mouthful. The alcohol is thicker, more dense than I remember from my early gulps. It coats my tongue and mouth, not burning this time, but with spice and zest.
    “Open, let air mingle inside your mouth.” Christophe’s hand is on my face, his thumb lightly parting my lips. My tongue touches just the pad of his thumb and then retreats back into the smoky cavern of my mouth.
    My mouth feels soft. Warm. Alive. I taste the citrus again, mixed with...is that raisins? There’s the smoke again. Yes, it’s not wood smoke. I thought Christophe was making that shit up about the peat, but he was right. The smoky flavor is earthy. I take another breath. It’s salty too. Like the sea.
    Or...that could be Christophe’s thumb. I seem to have sucked it into my mouth.
    I open my eyes, slowly, like coming out of a deep sleep, pulling my head back, withdrawing his thumb. Unbeknownst to me, my other hand is on his knee, caressing. I’ve totally leaned into him while I was concentrating on the scotch and the result is I look (and feel) like I’m about to jump him.
    He regards me with half-lidded amusement and with a whole lot of desire flickering in those gorgeous eyes.
    “You know,” he says, stroking my cheek, his fingers lingering for a second along my jaw before sitting back. “Enjoying scotch like you just did is actually Tantric.”
    “Tantric?” The word releases me from whatever spell the scotch and Christophe have put me under. There was an article I read recently in Cosmo on crazy Tantric positions, and they had stupid little names for them too, the wicked wheelbarrow, the pleasure pretzel, shit like that. “How on earth is this related to sexual positions?”
    “Tantra is not just about sex. It’s a philosophy combining