When she asked him for an hour’s head start, he granted it without question.

Sixty-four minutes passed idly before he arrived on her doorstep. His mouth went dry as she opened the door slowly; her knee-length robe opened just enough to reveal the expanse of skin underneath. Wordlessly, she pulled him inside and ran his open palm along the side of her naked hip.

“Wow,” he breathed, his free hand brushing a finger across the black beret on top of her head. He leaned down to kiss the spot beneath her earlobe and sighed. “What’s all this?”

“Just getting ready for a nice evening at a French beach,” she pulled back slightly to reveal her bright, laughing eyes. He snuck his other arm inside the robe and pulled her body flush against his.

“You saw that?” he snickered.

“You really should have closed the door. I thought Phyllis’ eyes were going to bulge out of her head,” she grinned as she stood up on her tiptoes and placed small kisses on his cheek and jaw line.

“Me and Phyllis? No worries, Beesly, that’s all in the past,” he smirked. “Besides, she’s not really my type.”

“Oh, really? So, what is your type, anyway?”

He ran his hands along her sides, her breasts, her face. "Naked French women."