Chapter 10

“Still want that glass of wine I promised? We’ve got all night.”

Izzy nodded, then leaned down and kissed her deep, tongue sliding in slow and thorough before she finally climbed off and sat on the edge of the bed.

Chloe rolled up and stood, completely unselfconscious in her nakedness. She held out her hand. Izzy took it. Chloe tugged her up and led the way out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, their bare feet quiet on the floor, the promise of the rest of the night hanging warm between them.

Chloe pointed toward a high bar chair as she crossed to the wine rack built into the corner of the kitchen.

“Sit. I’ll open something decent.”

Izzy eyed the smooth seat, still a little slick between her thighs from how hard she had come earlier, and gave a small laugh.

“Might want a towel first. I’m still a bit of a mess.”

Chloe glanced back over her shoulder and laughed too. “Fair point. Lower drawer next to the fridge—grab a couple of kitchen towels.”

Izzy pulled two clean towels out, folded one thickly over the chair, and sat. While Chloe selected a bottle, Izzy looked around the kitchen. It was clean and modern, muted pastel cabinets, soft under-cabinet lighting, a few framed botanical prints on the wall. A full wine rack stood neatly organized, no surprise given where Chloe came from. On the counter near the window sat a framed photo of a striking woman in a bikini on a sunlit beach, the resemblance unmistakable.

“Is that your mother?” Izzy asked, nodding toward the picture.

Chloe smiled as she came back with a corkscrew and two glasses. “Yes. That one was taken in Nice, in the south of France. Mother was a model—still does the occasional job. My father is a fashion photographer in Paris. That’s how they met. It was her first real assignment and he swears to this day he knew the moment he saw her that he would ask her to marry him. They’ve been together thirty-five years this April. I was a late arrival. She wanted to build her career first, so they waited almost ten years. She was twenty-eight when she had me. She’s quite well known in France. Never really pushed to go international, which my father appreciated—he had no interest either. Now they live just outside Lyon, work when they feel like it, and worry about me here in America.”