‘You don’t … need to go,’ she whispered, and even in the dark he saw the blush that crept up her cheeks as she spoke, betraying her. She was close to him now. Granger didn’t move. He had to move. He had to go downstairs. Chantelle reached out a hand; her fingertips grazed the skin of his stomach ever so lightly – he could only just feel her. She ran her fingers over his contours.
Unable to hold out any longer, Granger lifted his hands to her shoulders. In one movement he pulled her forward until they were so close their bodies were just touching, the swell of her breasts against his chest. Her head was upturned towards him, her eyes wide and expectant, mouth parted, waiting. He brushed a hand over her face, cupping her cheek, the feel of her skin making him crazy.
He lowered his mouth, catching her in a tender kiss. She moaned as he traced the side of her lips with his tongue. The hardness of her nipples pressed into his chest. He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. For the second time that night he lowered her gently on to the duvet, but this time he followed her down, his body against hers, his mouth on hers in a hot kiss. He pulled way and traced kisses over her chin, her neck. She threw her head back, thrusting the hollow of her throat and her chest towards him. He obliged, dusting her skin with his lips.
Granger reached for her breasts and took one of her hard nipples in his mouth through the lace of her bra, his tongue caressing and stroking. She gasped, grabbing his shoulders to pull him closer to her, opening herself for him. His mind was consumed by Chantelle, his body in control now.
His rough fingers grazed her creamy smooth skin as they traced a path from her shoulder down to cup her breast, then moving further down to her firm stomach. His fingers hooked inside the waistband of her knickers and he slipped them off her. Easing her legs open he positioned himself between them. Chantelle shivered with anticipation as Granger’s fingers tenderly moved into her. Warm moisture pooled inside her and she shuddered with pleasure. He pressed his lips to hers as he moved on top of her.
‘We shouldn’t,’ Granger whispered, pulling back.
‘Don’t stop,’ she murmured. He reached across to his bedside table and took out a condom and put it on. Then he entered her, slowly and gradually, moving further and further into her until their bodies were as close as they could get. He held her tightly, neither of them moving, just experiencing the sensation of being united.
Slowly Granger began moving. He slid within her, holding her close to him as they rocked together. With each thrust the momentum built; soon he was entering her with firm deep strokes. Chantelle arched away from him, taking more and more, as much as she could. Granger lowered his mouth to the exposed hollow of her neck, covering it with butterfly kisses. Their bodies were damp with moisture. Then Chantelle called out as she reached her climax, eyes tight shut, her head thrown back. He held her and thrust with her, gasping his own pleasure until finally her body went limp in his arms. He stroked her face as she looked up at him.
‘I shouldn’t have done that,’ he said, his voice deeper than usual.
‘Yes, you should.’ Chantelle sighed. He watched her, pursed his lips, and ran his fingers down her cheek.
‘No, I shouldn’t. It’s against the rules. I’m such an idiot.’
‘What rules? I’m twenty-four – I am an adult,’ Chantelle said.
‘My rules,’ Granger said.
Chapter Four
Chantelle woke up from her dream of floating in the clouds to find herself surrounded by mounds of downy white duvet and pillows. Sun was streaming in through the window. The smell of fresh coffee reached her nose. She stretched lazily.
Then her eyes shot open as she remembered where she was. Granger Carmont’s apartment. Granger Carmont, the managing director of Granger Finance. And not only was she in Granger Carmont’s apartment, she was in his bed. And she was naked. And … memories of the night before filtered back into her mind.
She had given herself to him last night. Exactly what she had promised herself she wouldn’t do. Like all those other women he had bedded before her, she had done the same. How stupid!
For a moment, the night before, she had felt important. But why would he care about her when he had only just met her? There were so many women at his disposal – beautiful, sophisticated, rich women. There was no reason that he would choose her; she was just there last night, available. Like an idiot. Regret washed over her as tears rolled down her face. And to make matters worse she worked for him, so she couldn’t avoid him.
She squeezed her eyes shut trying to block out the memory. It had been wonderful, yes. She had wanted it, and yes, as she remembered it, she wanted to do it again. But it just wasn’t like her. She knew what he was like and had promised herself it wouldn’t happen, so why had it? Because he was so incredibly sexy, that was why; the evening had been so nice. So … romantic, and he was just…so incredibly sexy …
Chantelle sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t about to embarrass herself further by letting him think she expected anything more from him. She understood the game. One night together – that was it. It had been a wonderful, exciting night and she would cling to that memory. She had been a fool to fall into his bed, but she was going to move on and hold her head up high.
She could hear him banging about downstairs. The clock beside the bed told her it was almost eight o’clock. She was late for work. Jumping up she ran into the bathroom and into the shower, washed and dressed in record time, then hurried down the stairs.
Granger was standing at his desk reading a letter. His face was contorted into a frown. She hesitated; he was so engrossed in what he was reading it seemed wrong to interrupt him.
‘That woman! Unbelievable,’ he muttered with such anger that Chantelle gasped. He looked up. Seeing her at the foot of the stairs his face melted into a warm smile.
‘Morning, you,’ he said, looking at her warmly while he stuffed the letter under some magazine on his desk. He gestured to the dining room. Laid out on the table were coffee and fresh croissants. Rocky was on the floor beneath the table resting his head on his paws.
‘I … err, overslept. We’ll be late,’ Chantelle murmured, unable bring herself to meet his eyes. Granger approached her and for a moment she thought her was going to kiss her. But he put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched from his touch. He looked confused but took his hand away.
‘I figured you needed to rest after the long day yesterday. Don’t worry, we’ll be in the office by nine.’ His hair was damp, and he was wearing training pants and a sports T-shirt that clung to his rippled stomach. He’d been working out, she figured. ‘Sit down and eat. I’ll just grab a shower and then we can head off.’
He went upstairs and disappeared into the bathroom. Chantelle dropped down in the chair and gave Rocky a pat on the head; at least she had an ally in this foreign place. The old dog stood up beside her and rested his chin on her thigh. The warmth was comforting.
‘Oh, Rocky. Qu’est-ce que j’ai fait?’ she whispered. The dog looked at her with wide chocolate-brown eyes. She bent down and kissed the top of his head. ‘I’ve been such an idiot.’
She wasn’t hungry at all, but she bit into a croissant and closed her eyes. The rich butter pastry melted in her mouth, transporting her back to France. She sipped the coffee, starting to feel better. It was good coffee, strong and fresh. She had slept well in the huge double bed; it was worlds away from her grotty single bed in the shared house in Branford.
The apartment was bathed in sunlight, allowing her to have a better look at the expensive furniture and rich wooden floorboards. On the wall above his desk was a framed photograph of a young Granger dressed in gown and mortar board, next to a framed degree certificate. Chantelle crept over to have a closer look. The certificate stated he had been awarded a first-class degree in Economics from the Seid Business School. Chantelle had looked at courses there herself but then the scholarship had c
ome through for Paris. She had a first-class degree in Economics too. They had something in common. She remembered her time at university. She had always felt out of place among the rich and privileged; she’d had to work at an evening job to supplement her expenses.
She felt another pang of regret at having slept with Granger Carmont. He was one of those guys. Like the guys she’d studied with: rich, entitled, carefree. Patsy had said Granger was only interested in girls with money and she certainly wasn’t that. What had she been thinking?
Granger appeared on the stairs, fresh and crisp in a white shirt that clung to his chest and dark wool trousers secured by an expensive-looking crocodile leather belt with a shiny golden buckle; his brown hair was dark from the shower. He grinned at Chantelle while tying a golden patterned tie around his neck.
‘Ready?’
‘Yes.’ She jumped up, happy to be leaving. She located her coat and pulled it tightly around herself. Next to Granger she felt wrinkled and scruffy in her clothes from yesterday. The scent of his aftershave tingled in her nostrils, making her want to turn and run as fast as possible.
‘Don’t forget your bag.’ Granger grinned. ‘I don’t want to bring you home with me again to retrieve it.’
Chantelle felt her cheeks colour as she picked up her laptop bag. Sure, he didn’t want to bring her back with him again. He’d had what he wanted from her.
In the lift to the car park Chantelle fought to keep her mind clear. She stood as far away from him as possible, fearing being caught up in the magnetic force field that had attracted her the night before. Granger was watching her; he took a step towards her causing her breath to catch in her throat.
‘Don’t move,’ he whispered, lowering his face closer to hers. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her again, right there in the lift. Her stomach flipped. The lift door buzzed opened to the underground car park. Granger ignored it, staring into her eyes. Chantelle’s legs were about to give way beneath her. The lift doors slid shut again leaving them inside the stationary lift. She couldn’t do it again; she had to be strong, so she turned her face away from his. Granger’s hand reached her face and brushed across her cheek.
‘You had an eyelash,’ he murmured, his voice like pure silk. He held his fingers up to show her as he pressed the button so the doors swished open. He took a deep breath, then turned and strode out of the lift towards his car. Chantelle gazed after him, a knot tightening in the pit of her stomach.
Granger unlocked the car, going first to the passenger side door and holding it open for her to get in. She slid down into the car, her bag resting on her legs. He closed the door behind her and moved around to the driver’s side. The car started with a low powerful rumble as Granger fired the engine. He drove out of the parking spot and up the ramp; the automatic garage door opened just in time as the low sports car slipped under it and turned right towards Branford.
‘You’ll have to direct me,’ he said, as they approached the Branford road.
‘OK,’ Chantelle said, and guided him to her house. He parallel parked the Porsche on the street outside her place in one smooth movement and shut down the engine.
‘You don’t have to wait, I’m sure you’re busy. I can take the bus from the bottom of the road,’ she told him, gathering up her bag.
‘No way.’ Granger shook his head; the fixed look he gave told her there was no negotiation.
‘OK, I’ll be really quick,’ she said, preparing to jump out.
‘I’m coming in with you,’ Granger said, unbuckling his seat belt. ‘And while you’re changing I’m going to have a word with that flatmate of yours.’
Chantelle froze. Have a word with Neil, what did that mean? His eyes had turned black as coal and she could feel the tension mounting in his body. ‘Mais, non! Granger, I mean, I don’t want any trouble. I have to live here.’
Granger’s face softened. He reached across, took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry. There won’t be any trouble, I promise. But he can’t be allowed to get away with what he’s doing to you. It’s exploitation. I don’t want you to go in there on your own.’
‘Mr Carmont, that won’t be necess—’ Chantelle started. But Granger cut her off by getting out of the car and slamming the driver’s door. He walked around to her side. Chantelle was in shock, not knowing how to feel. Part of her was fuming that he felt the need to interfere in her life but another part of her was grateful that he cared about her.
The passenger door opened and Granger offered his hand to help her step out. She led the way to her front door on legs that were numb. As she slid her key into the lock she felt a flush of embarrassment. She didn’t want him to see how crummy the place she was living in was. Even in Paris, her tiny flat was nicer. She really had to move out as soon as she could.
Inside the house it was quiet. Chantelle started up the stairs and Granger followed her. She glanced back. His tall muscular frame dressed in expensive clothes was out of place in the dirty narrow stairway. She almost laughed, imagining how worlds away this must be from his own university days. He hadn’t seemed to notice.
On the landing Chantelle peered towards Neil’s bedroom. The door was open and the bed empty and unmade. Relief shot through her as she remembered it was Wednesday. Neil had early lectures on a Wednesday. She turned to Granger.
‘It’s OK. He’s not here.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
Chantelle nodded. ‘Thank you for coming in anyway, though, it’s very kind.’
She opened the door to her bedroom and stepped inside.
‘You shouldn’t have to live like this,’ Granger said quietly. She turned around; he was studying her room. She followed his gaze to the peeling wallpaper and the dark spots of mould growing just above the skirting board.
‘No.’ She sighed and swallowed. ‘I guess I can’t afford a penthouse apartment like you.’ It sounded meaner than she had intended. Granger didn’t answer. She turned away from him.
‘I’ll wait for you in the car,’ he said.
‘You don’t have to wait for me, I’ll take the bus,’ she said, without looking at him. There was silence. Chantelle stopped moving, listening, wondering if he had gone already.
‘I will wait for you in the car,’ he repeated. Then she heard his footsteps on the stairs.
Chantelle pulled a dress out of her wardrobe and started changing. Suddenly the broken wardrobe door really bothered her. She looked at the torn wallpaper touching her neat flowery bedspread and it made her feel sad.
She frowned; she was doing the best she could with the money she had. When her parents died no one had imagined that their little orphan would make anything of herself. Now here she was with a degree from a top university and living in England working for the prestigious Granger Finance. Money wasn’t everything.
Her world was so different from the one Granger Carmont came from; she could never forget that. She should never have let him come to her place and see where she lived. Just as she should never have gone to his. It was all a big mistake.
Ten minutes later she walked down the stairs having changed into a bordeaux coloured woollen dress and heels and applied a rushed make-up job to make herself look presentable for work. Granger was sitting in his Porsche, waiting. He got out to open the passenger door for her. Chantelle lowered her eyes, unable to look at him and return the smile.
The silence in the car was heavy. Granger guided the Porsche out of the tight parking spot and down the road to the office. They pulled into the MD reserved parking spot at 8.55 and walked to the lift. Chantelle hung back. Granger stopped and turned to her.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘We should go up separately,’ she said, looking him in the eye.
He laughed. ‘What? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?’
‘Mr Carmont, people might talk.’
‘Don�
��t be ridiculous. People don’t talk about me like that. Not here. I never fool around with anyone from work. My rules. It’s my company, Chantelle. No one knows that you stayed at my place last night. For all they know we just happened to step into the same lift.’
‘Mr Car … Granger, it’s not right. I shouldn’t,’ Chantelle protested. She would die of embarrassment if anyone saw her with the MD and suspected that she had thrown herself at him. Her own shame was bad enough without others knowing.
He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her into the lift, jabbing the button for the fifth floor. When the doors opened to Chantelle’s relief the corridor was empty. They stepped out together. Granger turned towards the executive wing and Chantelle turned right to the analyst floor.
‘Thank you for the ride to work,’ she whispered to his retreating figure. He turned back to the executive suite, just as his PA Janet was arriving. Chantelle ducked into the analyst department hoping that she hadn’t been seen. She heard Janet asking if he’d had a late night. She didn’t hang around to hear his response, but an image of the night before was suddenly conjured in her mind and a shiver ran though her; it had been like a dream. A wonderful … crazy dream.
She settled down at her desk and turned on her computer, she had an uneasy feeling in her stomach.
Patsy eyed her. ‘What happened?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ Chantelle swallowed a smile and fought hard to maintain her composure. ‘I overslept, that’s all.’ She tried not to imagine her colleague’s face if she told her she’d spent the night with the managing director.
‘Late night?’ Patsy asked.
‘Kind of. I was … thinking. I’m worried that my contract is due to end, that’s all.’ Chantelle bit her lip. ‘I’m going to talk to Margaret today to see what the chances of an extension are.’
‘Extend your internship?’ Patsy looked unsure. ‘Would you be happy with that? You don’t want to push for a permanent job?’
The Executive Floor Page 6
