Up for Love in London by Willow. Bonaire Page B

cologne brings the memories of our
first lovemaking flashing back. I turn to face him with a tiny
frown. “I thought we were going out for dinner.”
    He lifts my
chin with one finger, looking directly at me. His eyes glint like
fiery blue sapphires and his gorgeous mouth curves into a smile. “I
never said we’d go out for dinner Lauren, so don’t look so
disappointed. It’s Christmas Eve, how many fine restaurants do you
think are open tonight? Not many, I can assure you. And I paid the
chef extra to stay late and prepare a special meal just for you,
for us.”
    Now I feel
really bad, until he kisses me on the lips, softly, firmly. My
mouth is too busy to apologize but I’m sure he knows I’m okay with
staying in. “The room certainly is lovely,” I say, when we finally
break away. “It’s almost a shame to leave…”
    Charles glances
at his watch and leads me to the sofa. “I’ll ring now and dinner
should be here whenever we like. I’ll ask them to send the hors
d’oeuvres first.”
    I snuggle into
his shoulder, safe in his comfortable arms as he places the order.
He kisses me on the forehead, then uses the remote to adjust the
fireplace so it makes crackly burning log sounds. The scene is set
as he turns on a sexy jazz station and puts his feet up on the
coffee table.
    We cuddle like
this for a while, his arm draped over my bare shoulder as he runs
his fingers through my hair. I put my hand on his thigh and turn to
kiss him. Our lips meet and the passion from our last escapade
rises again. His lips are tasty and warm and his hands strong as he
caresses my shoulder, neck and breasts. My nipples harden beneath
his touch but my stomach is also grumbling.
    We both laugh
and at the same time, a knock announce the arrival of room service.
If the young waiter noticed the bulge in Charles’ pants when he
opened the door, he was too polite to stare. He also averted his
eyes from my perky bosom. He probably senses that he should drop
the food and leave, but he still has to set the table. Charles
offers directions.
    “We’ll have
this course on the coffee table and the rest in the dining room.
I’ll ring again when we’re ready.”
    “As you wish,
sir.” The waiter deftly removes the remote control and magazines
from the table before laying a white napkin and depositing the
tray.
    He then clears
the dining room table. He spreads a large linen table cloth over it
and lights two taper candles in crystal holders before moving the
bouquet back onto the centre.
    Charles shakes
his hand and slips him a generous tip which the waiter discreetly
tucks into his pocket. He leaves, closing the door behind him
Charles is already beside me on the sofa.
    “Let’s see what magic Chef has created for us,” and he lifts
the silver dome. The platter looks delicious, an array of tapas
almost too beautiful to eat. Chilli tiger
prawns, lemon-baked mussels, herbed leek and potato tortilla,
tomato bread with thin slices of serrano ham and as if that wasn’t
enough, smoked chicken skewers with garlic mayonnaise. Charles makes a selection and offers it to me
before filling his own plate.
    The food is
welcome and I feel like gulping it all at once but it’s so
scrumptious I want to savour every morsel. “Christmas in Spain,”
Charles says.
    In between
bites of foods and sips of Chablis, we nibble at each other. He
then pulls me toward the window, where we embrace and admire the
view. Snow is falling softly under the yellow street lamps and a
light dusting appears on the evergreens in the park.
    He puts his
arms around me and his lips are soft and insistent. He starts
kissing my mouth, then his lips travel down my throat, around the
back of my neck. I quiver with delight, my neck is my secret hot
spot and Charles lingers just long enough to make my body crave
more than kisses.
    He brushes my
hair aside and reaches for the zipper on my dress, pulling it down
slowly and deliberately, kissing my back as he does. His fingers
gently