I looked to my husband who was warily inspecting my movements.
“Heaven on a spoon,” I told him and turned the loaded spoon his way. “Try it,” I encouraged and his eyes came to me.
Then his mouth opened and I fed him heaven on a spoon.
When he was working the delicious goo down his throat and I had started to dip the spoon back in the jars, I asked, “Do you like it?”
“Its… interesting,” he replied, I looked to him, grinned big then shoved a giganto spoonful of peanut butter and fluff into my mouth.
My eyes closed slowly in abandoned rapture as I sucked the spoon clean.
“Gods,” Frey muttered and I suddenly found myself without spoon or jar and on my back in our bed with my husband on me.
“Frey, I wasn’t done,” I told him as his fingers pulled my nightgown up.
“You’re done,” he told me as my hands slid around his back.
“No, seriously, I wasn’t –”
His lips came to mine, his hard hips pressed into my soft ones and he growled, “You can have more later.”
“Okay,” I breathed against his mouth, I felt his lips smile then he slanted his head and he kissed me.
My handsome husband tasted of peanut butter and marshmallow fluff.
Kiss number three in the lineup of our best kisses.
Kisses, all of them, better than anything… absolutely anything… even my wildest dreams.
* * * * *
Very late that night…
The forest outside Houllebec.
Valentine Rousseau moved through the dark night until she saw the figure emerge from behind the tree and she stopped.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the moonlight was bright and she saw his big, firm, muscular body, dark thick hair, strong jaw and jade green eyes.
Delicious, she thought as she had always thought when she saw this gorgeous specimen.
“You are a powerful witch,” his deep, appealing voice rumbled.
“I am,” she replied.
He hesitated.
Then he asked, “Is it true what Frey tells me?”
“About each world having twin?” she queried.
He didn’t bother to reply but she knew.
She knew.
She was pleased to bring her goddess of love jars of peanut butter, marshmallow fluff and even her tedious friend for she had her delightful ice blue diamond from The Drakkar.
But Valentine was multitasking.
“It is,” she answered.
He moved a step closer and she tipped her head back, keeping hold on those remarkable green eyes.
And what she read there made her draw in a delicate breath.
Then he held out a small, leather pouch to her, she lifted her hand, palm up and he dropped it in.
“Her name is Ilsa Ulfr,” he growled then he turned and strode away.
She stared at his broad-shouldered, departing back.
Then she dipped her chin, pulled the leather band on the pouch to open it and she tipped the stones into her palm.
They sparkled in the moonlight.
She smiled her cat’s smile.
Then she looked to the distance and saw he was gone.
“Love is,” she whispered to the night, “everything.”
About the Author
Kristen Ashley lives in the beautiful West Country of England with her husband and her cat. She came to England by way of Denver, where she lived for twelve years, but she grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana. Her family and friends are loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write.
Kristen’s Mom moved her and her brother and sister in with their grandparents when she was six. Her grandparents had a daughter much younger than her Mom so they all lived together on a very small farm in a small farm town in the heartland. She grew up with Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon and Whitesnake (and the wardrobes that matched). Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music, clothes and love was a good way to grow up.
And as she keeps growing up, it keeps getting better.