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matter how gorgeous she was. Precisely at
that moment, Mac’s gaze came to rest on her. She placed a steaming
cup of tea next to the pie on the kitchen table. The scent of
blueberries tickled his nose. Blueberry candle? Chamomile tea?
Apple Pie? Whatever it was, it was irresistible.
    She spun around to face him and all that hair
swirled around her shoulders, the hint of gold catching the light.
She smiled and his heart stumbled, once, twice. Mac shook the snow
globe and watched the tiny flecks flutter down around the little
Eiffel Tower. Anything to keep his eyes off her.
    “Your tea is ready, but first you have to
tell me about Paris,” she urged breathlessly, drawing his gaze back
to her. The excitement in her eyes lured him two steps closer than
he’d intended to go.
    “I went, I came back. What exactly do you
want to know?”
    “Did you visit Montmartre ? Did you
walk the halls of the Louvre ? Did you take a boat ride on
the Seine?” Her eyes grew wider as her anticipation mounted with
each question.
    He thought for a moment, then said, “Yes,
yes, and yes.”
    “Mac!” she scolded.
    “What?” He was enjoying her frustration way
too much.
    “Details, I want details. Did you take
someone there with you or did you meet someone while you were in
Paris?”
    “Ah.” He dipped his chin and raised a
speculative eyebrow. “Now we get to the heart of the matter. You
want to hear a romantic story. Did the old lady tell you romantic
stories about the City of Lights?”
    Free planted her hands on her hips and glared
at him. “Just answer the question, Mac, your tea is getting
cold.”
    “Okay.” He edged closer, directly in her
personal space now, but she didn’t seem to mind. Hell, if the woman
wanted to hear a romantic story, he might as well get intimate. “I
did meet this woman on one particular trip.” He paused, then leaned
closer and dropped his voice to a more seductive level. “She was
French, of course, and beautiful. We took a long, slow ride down
the Seine. It was a perfect day, warm and sunny.” Free’s eyes never
left his, she didn’t as much as blink. If she even breathed, he
couldn’t tell. Hell, he was hardly breathing himself. Every muscle
in his body was tense and growing harder by the moment.
    “What did she look like?”
    Mac blinked. “She…she had…” His train of
thought derailed as his gaze lingered on Free’s hair. The woman had
the most amazing hair. It looked so soft, and the way it caressed
her skin and curled around her cheek and chin—he sucked in a harsh
breath. “Can I…” He met her expectant gaze and went as hard as a
rock. “I need to touch your hair.”
    When she didn’t protest, he slowly lifted his
hand, giving her ample opportunity to stop him. He swallowed hard
and his senses whirled with expectation. Silk, pure silk, wrapped
around his fingers when he tangled them in the mass of soft,
seductive curls. Simply touching her hair was the most powerfully
erotic sensation he had ever experienced. Desire coursed through
his veins, urging him closer and closer until his face was so near
to hers that he could feel her shallow, rapid breaths as they
feathered across his mouth.
    She touched his chest with one tentative hand
and it was all over. Mac thumped the snow globe down on the table
behind her and wrapped one arm around her waist. He pulled her hard
against his body and covered her lips with his own. She tasted like
cinnamon. Hot, sweet cinnamon. And he wanted more.
    He traced her lips with the tip of her tongue
and she opened for him. He thrust into the warmth of her soft mouth
and need gripped him with such force that he shook from it. He wove
his fingers more deeply into her hair and cradled the back of her
head, holding her in place while he thoroughly explored her sweet
mouth. Free moaned softly and he held her more tightly. Her soft
sounds of pleasure sent renewed desire as well as a feeling of
protectiveness surging through him.
    She pushed against his