Like Theresa.
He smiled to himself at the thought. She didn’t favor designer clothes or care about fashion. He still had visions of her in the stretchy black underwear she’d worn the first night they met. No lace, no trims, nothing designed to make her look more sexy or more tempting than she naturally was. And yet, he couldn’t forget that image. Totally honest to the point of bluntness, but utterly desirable.
Would she have chosen white to go under her dress today? Or perhaps some subtle pastel shade that would warm her skin and make him want to taste her? Cream and strawberries. Perfectly English. He’d like to see her in deep red satin, silky smooth under his fingers and tongue. He’d edge the fabric aside and just slip his fingers in to tease her, testing her skin was as soft and velvety as he remembered.
Emile was halfway up the stairs before he realized it. He contemplated reversing for approximately half a second. He’d promised her lunch and they had to buy the rings. On the other hand, they were married, and Theresa was getting undressed.
She hadn’t closed her bedroom door. Emile pushed it further open and grinned. Theresa was kneeling on the floor, searching through her chest of drawers.
She caught sight of him in the mirror and turned round. “I told you to wait downstairs.”
He shrugged. “But you are up here. Naked.”
She glanced down. “Yes. Well.”
“You were naked under the wedding dress?” Christ, she was even more brazen than he’d remembered.
“No, of course not. I had a strapless bustier. And a thong.”
“Can I see?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Not if you want to get out of here before the shops close.”
He shrugged again. “That’s not high in my priorities anymore.”
Theresa shook her head and stood up. “Are you going to stand there and watch me get dressed?”
“If that’s all that’s on offer.” He slanted a grin at her, folded his arms, and leaned against the doorframe.
“Men.” But she was smiling. She liked him watching her. Liked that he wanted her.
He loved the way she made no effort to cover herself. She had no shame in her body. No reason she should, but Emile had been with enough women to know that made no difference to most of them.
“Shop first, fun later.” She selected a pair of jeans and a casual top from her wardrobe.
“And then we celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“I have plans for this evening.”
“Oh, really?” She raised her eyebrows at him.
He gave her a look. “Oh yes. Dinner at Le Terroir. After-party at my flat. That’ll be you and me. Naked.”
“Naked, huh?” She pulled on her jeans.
“You have a problem with that?”
Not the hint of a blush or even a hesitation. “I have some underwear I thought you might be interested in seeing.”
Merde, she knew how to drive a man crazy. He cleared his throat. “I can revise my plans to include underwear.”
“I like a man who can be flexible.”
She finished getting ready with the same quick efficiency that she did everything. Unself-conscious and utterly un-coquettish, and yet she had him burning to rip those clothes off her back and show her all the ways she turned him hard.
“Come on, then. Let’s get this done.” As she walked past him, her hand deliberately brushed against his erection. Emile groaned. “The sooner we shop, the sooner we get to come back, right?”
“Right.” If he survived that long.
After lunch, they walked to a small jeweler’s shop a few streets from her house. They didn’t need an audience for this unromantic post-nuptial purchase, and here they could be relatively sure of being paparazzi-free, so long as they were quick enough. Theresa scanned the trays of engagement rings and selected one at random.
“This should be fine.”
Emile took hold of her wrist and brought her hand up to examine it. He laughed softly. “Take it off.”
“You don’t like it? I’m the one who’ll have to wear it.” Theresa kept it on her finger. It fitted surprisingly well.
“I have no opinion, but the diamond is too small.” He turned to the sales assistant. “We’ll need to see your most expensive rings.”
“No, we won’t!” Theresa glared at him.
“Chérie.” He slid his hand around her waist and pressed a kiss at the corner of her mouth. She kept it stubbornly closed. “You need a ring that people, and journalists, will believe I bought for you. You’re a footballer’s wife now, Thérèse.”
She grimaced at the images that phrase conjured up. “I’m not going to get a boob job and start drinking Prosecco for breakfast.”
Emile laughed. “You don’t need a boob job, but you do need a decent ring.” He gestured to the tray that the assistant had brought out. “Take a look at these.”
She curled her hands into fists, so that he couldn’t make her try them on. He glanced down at her, then his lips curved up and his eyes gleamed.
“Chérie, if you don’t like these rings, we can go somewhere else. We’ve got all day.”
Damn him. He knew perfectly well that she was as eager to get home as he was.
“Fine. I’ll try this one.” She pointed to a simple platinum ring with a rectangular stone. Unusual and elegant, she liked it a lot. Unfortunately, it was too big.
“Can you size it for us?” Emile asked. “This afternoon?” He flashed a grin at the sales assistant who immediately hurried away to check.
“It’s really not necessary.”
“Don’t be silly. If you’d reminded me to do it, I’d have bought you a ring that cost ten times as much.”
“If I’d remembered to do it, I’d have bought one for fifty quid at the market.”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t have let you wear it. I don’t want anyone accusing me of being a cheapskate.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to stop me.”
Emile stepped closer, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Oh, yes I would, chérie.” And then he kissed her.
She sank into the warmth of his lips and let him make love to her with his tongue. She slid her hands around his hips and leaned into his body. He kissed her thoroughly and expertly, and when he pulled away to look down into her eyes, she murmured softly, “You never, ever, get to dictate what I wear. Understood?”
His jaw dropped. She turned away, satisfied that he’d got the message, and smiled at the shop assistant. “We need wedding bands, as well. Nothing flashy.”
Fortunately, Emile was happy to go with her choice of plain wedding bands. The assistant told them regretfully that the diamond ring would not be ready that afternoon, but offered to have it delivered by courier the following morning.
“Perfect.” Theresa handed over her credit card.
“Excuse me.” Emile whipped her card from the assistant’s fingers and substituted his own.
The assistant looked between them both. “Madam?” he asked, nervously.
“Oh, very well. Put half on his card and half on mine.”
Emile raised an eyebrow. “We are not going Dutch on wedding rings.”
“Why not?”
“Do you have any idea how much I get paid?”
She shook her head. “A lot, I imagine. What does that have to do with it?”
“I can buy the damn rings.”
“That doesn’t mean you should.”