"I've fucked countless women."

  "And you never counted them—-"

  "Because I started pretty early," Philippe felt obliged to explain, "and in those years, fucking was my means to rebel. So I tried to fuck as many girls as I could. At least a different one each night."

  Charlee-Mae was stunned speechless. A different one each night...at least? She had done a few wild things in her life as well, but...obviously, considering the fact that she was still a virgin at her age, she wasn't really that wild.

  Even if she looked the part.

  While Philippe, on the other hand—-

  He might look like a fairytale prince come to life, but obviously his past was more PornHub than Disney, and yet, somehow...

  "I know I'm not supposed to force myself to remember," Charlee-Mae heard herself say, "but is it okay if I take a guess?"

  "On what?"

  "How we fell in love?"

  Philippe's gaze turned hooded. "If you wish."

  "I'm thinking...we might have met somewhere we're mutually invited."

  "We have a mutual acquaintance, yes."

  "And then you seduced me, didn't you? Because I usually steer clear of Casanovas like you, but since we ended up married..."

  He thought about how Charlee-Mae had asked for a photo of his abs via Charlotte, and his lips twitched. "I believe I was your type, yes."

  "I knew it!" Charlee-Mae was feeling a little proud of herself. "So, let's see. We met, you seduced me, and while you were thinking I'm just another girl to add a notch to your bedpost, you didn't realize I was already getting under your skin, and before you knew what was happening..."

  The prospect of voicing out her feelings and hearing him say 'I love you' back thrilled her so much that Charlee-Mae found herself quickly sitting up, and as the sheets fell away from her body, and cool air brushed against her breasts and teased her nipples into life—-

  She had forgotten she was still naked!

  Charlee-Mae's gaze flew up to her husband's, and she could only gulp at the way he was staring at her breasts.

  Oh my.

  And Charlee-Mae then heard herself say, "I haven't told you yet..."

  "About what?"

  The thickness of his voice made her head spin, and her own voice turned husky as she answered, "The s-second thing," Charlee-Mae stammered, "that a man should do to make a woman happy..."

  "Je vois." Philippe was still staring at her breasts, and oh Lord, the hunger in his gaze was almost...savage.

  "A-Aren't you going to ask me what it is?"

  Philippe finally managed to wrench his gaze off his wife's breasts, which were the sweetest and plumpest pair of pink-tipped melons he had ever fucking seen. He looked at her, asking, "What is it?"

  A rare, shy smile touched his wife's lips, and he couldn't recall seeing anything more enchanting.

  "You make her cum."

  FUCK.

  He closed his eyes for control, but then he heard Charlee-Mae whisper, "Will you make me cum, mon Philippe?"

  His eyes flew open, just in time to see his wife cup her tits—-

  Putain de bordel de merde.

  Charlee-Mae moaned as her husband fell on her breasts like a starving beast, with his big, strong hands cupping each bountiful globe while his mouth nuzzled the valley of flesh between them. In the past, she had been attracted enough to a few men that they were able to make it to second base...but that was as far as they had made it. Their hands on her breasts, nothing else, and none of them—-

  None of them, oh God—-

  None of them made her go crazy and wild with desire the way Philippe was doing now, with just his fingers squeezing and kneading her already-swollen flesh, and oh my Lord—-

  He had finally plumped one breast to take her sensitive nipple into his mouth, and Charlee-Mae could no longer resist the temptation of driving her fingers through his hair. She had been dying to do this the "first" time she had seen him, with the way his thick, silky blond locks just seemed to be begging to be messed with by a woman's touch.

  Make that her touch, Charlee-Mae was quick to correct herself in her mind, because even as out of her mind as she was with need, she realized that she was still very much possessive towards him, and the mere thought of any other woman pawing her Philippe was enough to make her see red.

  Philippe was her husband, and only she had the right to touch him, just like he alone had to do what he was doing now to her nipple, with the way he was suckling on it so, so hard, pain and pleasure blended into each other, and she was left panting as she clutched his head—-

  "Mon Philippe..."

  She heard and felt him groan against her breast, and then he was suddenly straightening up and cupping her face between his hands.

  Jade-green eyes captured hers, and the lust in it was now feral, and Charlee-Mae's breath caught.

  "How do you do this?" he demanded savagely.

  Charlee-Mae had no idea what this was, but before she could even open her mouth to ask, he had already swooped in, and her lips parted the moment their mouths touched.

  Aaaah!

  Her hands instantly reached up to his chest, Charlee-Mae blindly roaming his muscled form until she found something to grip: the woolen vest that was worn between his buttoned-up shirt and trench coat, and her fingers involuntarily tightened its hold when she felt his tongue dive into her mouth.

  Oooooh God.

  His kiss was as divine as ever, and she could only kiss him back just as desperately, with every cell in her body starting to tingle and ache. They kissed and kissed and kissed, but just as she was about to run out of breath, it was suddenly over—-

  "Philippe!"

  The outraged little cry his wife released had him laughing. He had never been tempted to laugh while fucking, and he had never had a woman make such a sound at the abrupt end of a kiss. And when he looked down, and he saw the way Charlee-Mae was staring up at him with a mixture of confusion, outrage, and appeal—-

  Ah fuck, but this look of hers, this look that told him she wanted him to kiss her again—-

  It was too fucking hot, and Philippe instinctively reached up to run his thumb over her lips in soothing apology.

  "I only want to be fair, ma femme," he murmured. "There is your other breast that requires my attention..."

  Charlee-Mae could only moan. So that was what he meant to be fair!

  "And after that, there is your sweet little pussy, too..."

  Oh Lord.

  She had always imagined that men who were detailed-oriented and methodical were too boring for her taste, but with Philippe's plan to lavish attention on every part of her body, she was obviously mistaken, and oh my, oh God, oh, oh...oh!

  Charlee-Mae couldn't help but gasp as Philippe suddenly bit her nipple, not enough to make her bleed (or at least she didn't think so?), but enough to make her see stars, and whimper after whimper slipped past her trembling lips as her husband suckled away. It was just so good, so, so good that she once again found herself holding his head to her chest as tightly as she could.

  She didn't want this to end either.

  But it did.

  Because this time, oh God, this time—-

  Charlee-Mae fell back against the pillows as Philippe gently parted her thighs open, and fire blazed through her body as she watched him stare at her womanhood like it was a feast for his eyes.

  "I can see every inch of your flesh glistening with need..."

  The words were uttered in the sexiest purr, and the sound had her moaning helplessly.

  "And the scent of your desire is intoxicating..."

  Oh God. Charlee-Mae could not stop herself from writhing at the erotic beauty of her husband's words. Were all Frenchmen like this? It didn't seem so in Emily in Paris, and—-

  "I want to taste your pussy, ma femme."

  Desire consumed her, and all she could do was choke out—-

  "Yes, my God, yes!"

  She saw her husband smirk at the way she had answered him, but she couldn't make herself care when already he was kneeling down on the floor, and oh God, oh Lord, oh Jeeeesus—-

  Charlee-Mae barely managed to grab hold of the covers, and as soon as she felt his tongue run down her swollen, quivering folds, she bit hard into the thick layer of cotton...and screamed. It was all she could do, just scream and scream and scream as her husband did more than taste her pussy. He was practically devouring it, and oh God, oh God—-

  A convulsing wave of pleasure slammed into her body, and Charlee-Mae once again started to cum—-

  Oh my Lord.

  —-and keep cumming and cumming, with Philippe triggering another orgasm as he suddenly thrust his tongue in between the still-quivering folds of her flesh.

  When Charlee-Mae woke, the first thing she noticed was how comfortably warm she felt...in a pair of velvet pajamas that she could not recall changing into. And when she turned to her side, it was to see her beautiful husband seated next to her bed, and a grimace twisting over his features as soon as their gazes met.

  "Je suis navré," Philippe apologized stiffly. "I did not mean to make you pass out—-" He broke off at his wife's soft laugh.

  "If sex is always like that between us," she teased, "then please feel free to make me swoon every time."

  Philippe's lips pressed together. "I am being serious, ma femme."

  "So am I."

  Her husband sighed. "No." But his voice was faintly humorous. "I can tell you are not."

  His wife laughed, and Philippe, in spite of everything, could not keep his lips from twitching in response. What was it about this woman that made her so different?

  "Philippe?"

  His phone started to ring in his pocket just as she murmured his name. Since it was presently programmed to only allow certain calls, Philippe knew it was something he had to answer. But for the first time in years - the first time since his brother had died, actually - he chose to ignore the demands of work and focused...on his wife.

  "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

  Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink, albeit curious as well, and then she was suddenly reaching for his hand, and Philippe's entire body clenched as Charlee-Mae's lips gently pressed against his knuckles.

  "Je t'aime."

  Her French, even when she was uttering one of the most commonly known phrases of his native language, was still as horrible as ever, and yet at the same fucking time—-

  The sound of it had somehow become precious, and it was why, even with his phone continuing to ring inside his pocket, Philippe heard himself say in return, "Je t'aime, mon coeur."

  Chapter Five

  Charlee-Mae was properly bundled up in several layers of winter clothing when she stepped out of the en-suite and caught the tail end of her husband's conversation. Concern filled her when she heard his grim tone, and she looked at him uncertainly as he ended the call. "Is everything okay?"

  "Oui, bien sûr," he assured her. "Forgive the constant interruptions. Everyone in the company has been feeling the pressure of our launch."

  "You don't look pressured, though."

  He gave her a lazy smile. "It must be because of you."

  She smiled back at him sweetly, saying, "I think so, too." The answer won her a laugh, and its sound was so, so sexy it made her toes curl hard. Thank You, Lord, for giving me the hottest husband ever!

  Philippe turned to the balcony, and upon following his gaze, it was then she belatedly noticed that their lunch alfresco had already been set up.

  "Oh my gosh!"

  His wife's gleeful squeal could only be described as shrill, but strangely enough, Philippe found this adorable as well.

  "I can't believe it!" Charlee-Mae was so excited, she was practically hopping from one foot to another. The weather outside was gorgeous, and the landscape even more so, with the snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance. "Can we go out now?"

  "As long as you give me your word," he said strictly, "that you understand we can only be out for an hour."

  "Um..." Charlee-Mae squirmed. Just an hour? Really?

  "I mean it, ma femme. Konstantin already made me feel like I know no better than a horny teenager," Philippe muttered in self-disgust, "when I was forced to tell him this morning why you had passed out." His wife giggled at this, but Philippe was still feeling slightly disgruntled. "And thanks to your alfresco request, my friend is now convinced I have lost all common sense since marrying you."

  Charlee-Mae could no longer keep herself from grinning. Basically, what he was saying was that Dr. Manolis believed she had her husband wrapped around her finger. Wasn't he?

  She saw Philippe's gaze start to narrow, and she quickly wiped the grin off her face and sought to distract him with a mournful shake of her head. "I'm so sorry, mon Philippe. I didn't mean to have you suffer a lecture from your friend." Inspiration struck, and she said, "But maybe I can make you feel better?"

  Philippe was startled when his wife suddenly rushed towards him.

  "I shall kiss your bad feelings away," Charlee-Mae announced.

  And so she did...by suddenly bending down to press a quick little kiss to his trousers, and right on top of the telltale bulge of his manhood.

  Nom de Dieu!

  It was the simplest and cutest little thing, but it still aroused him...even as it also made Philippe throw his head back with a laugh.

  His wife straightened up, her amber eyes aglow once again with mischief. "Feeling better now?"

  Philippe shook his head "I think you need to do it again, but this time sans clothing?"

  Charlee-Mae would have loved to say yes, oh yes...but with her stomach suddenly growling, all she could do was smile sheepishly. "Can I take a rain check?"

  She expected him to laugh, but instead Philippe was swiftly urging her out to the balcony even as he scolded her for not informing him she was that hungry. The lecture continued as he started heaping food on her plate, but throughout it, all she could think about was how she would have hated every word if it were Landon or Charlotte doing the scolding.

  But because this was her Philippe, and anything her husband did was adorable—-

  This only meant he loved her so very much, she thought happily, and she therefore didn't mind if he were to scold her every day of their lives.

  When Philippe finally settled in his seat, it was Charlee-Mae's turn to talk, and Philippe surprised himself by answering his wife's seemingly endless stream of questions without feeling impatient or irritated.

  No, his older brother did not work for the company, and it was because Pierre had passed away seven years ago.

  No, Greta and Pierre had not met at work, but instead the three of them had grown up together.

  No, she had not yet met his mother, but she would soon, since Sandra was also here in Jackson Hole.

  In truth, most of the things she was asking about, she would have already known if she had not lost her memories, and if it had been anyone else asking these questions, Philippe would have long considered this a waste of time.

  But he did not.

  Because, truthfully, he could not remember having this much fun—-

  "Who's who?"

  —-and one of the reasons for this was her wonderfully horrible French accent, which Philippe still found strangely cute...and exquisitely arousing.

  Charlee-Mae looked at her husband hopefully. "Did I get it right?" The word she was trying to pronounce was French for 'happy', and it was the name Philippe had chosen for his company's new line of liquor chocolate.

  "Désolé, mais non." I'm sorry, but no.

  "Then..." Charlee-Mae refused to feel defeated, and so she tried again, saying, "Who's whose?"

  Philippe's lips twitched. "It's Heureuse."

  "Ah!" Her eyes lit up. "Who wuss?"

  "Ah, bien...I am sure you will get it in no time."

  She made a face. "In other words, I still suck."

  "Oui."

  Charlee-Mae stuck her tongue out. "You just—-" She stopped speaking when she saw Philippe's phone, which he had left screen up on the table, start vibrating, and the name Greta pop up on the display.

  "Aren't you going to take that?"

  "After lunch," he said firmly.

  "Oh, so Emily in Paris got that right? French people never work during lunch hours?"

  Actually, he had never been the type to have lunch hours, but Philippe decided it was best to simply shrug in response rather than have his wife realize he had no wish to speak to his mistress in her presence.

  "I hope it's nothing serious," Charlee-Mae said worriedly.

  "Even if it were serious, she should be able to handle it or let someone else take over as VP."

  "Uh...wow." Charlee-Mae was more than a little surprised. "That's quite harsh."

  "Just as my own father did not give me any special treatment when I started out in the company, neither can I treat my sister-in-law differently from any other employee just because of who she is."

  "Your father sounds intimidating."

  "He was." Philippe's tone was brief. "He passed away when I was still in college."

  Charlee-Mae reached to give his hand a squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Philippe."

  "It's fine, ma femme. We were not truly close to begin with."

  "And...your mother?"

  The chiseled edges of her husband's handsome face softened. "We are quite close."

  "I hope she'll like me." Charlee-Mae couldn't help feeling a little nervous at the prospect of meeting her mother-in-law. She usually had a lot of confidence in making people like her, but none of those people happened to be Philippe’s mother.

  What if her mother-in-law ended up hating her because she was too American? What if—-

  His phone started to ring again, and she then heard Philippe say, “Maman?”

  Charlee-Mae froze. Wasn’t that French...for mother?

  Chapter Six

  Philippe made himself smile as the elevator doors opened and out came his mother with her usual air of L'Air du Temps.

  "Maman."

  "Philippe." She lifted her cheek for her son's kiss before stepping back to study him. "You appear surprised."

  "Was that not your intention?" he asked dryly.

  Sandra only smiled. "The woman you have been visiting here is your wife, n'est ce pas?"

 

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