by M. S. Parker
She turned towards me and gave me a look that said everything I'd been trying to pretend wasn't true actually was.
Shit.
“I work in a man's world, and I learned a long time ago that I must take what I want.”
I really wasn't liking where this was heading. I was still trying to figure out the best way to politely decline her interest, but before I could, she took a step toward me.
“I know what I want, and I always get what I want.”
I held out a hand to try to stop her but she ignored it and kept coming.
“I can make all your problems go away,” she purred. “For a small price, of course.”
What the fuck was she talking about? “Problems?”
She wrapped fingers around my wrist and shifted her weight until my palm was pressed firmly against her breast. She gave a throaty laugh as I quickly pulled my hand away.
“Don’t underestimate me,” she warned. “Just because I have breasts doesn’t mean I’m soft. Or weak. I know you. I know about your, ah, financial issues. You need this deal very badly.”
I turned from her, but she slithered closer, pressing against my back. Her hands snaked around, grabbing hold of the rail in front of me, trapping me between her and the warm metal. I could break free, of course, but I knew she had me trapped in a different way. Like I'd told Carrie, we weren't broke, but if this deal fell through, we were going to be in trouble very soon.
I didn't try to hide the anger in my voice. “What do you want?”
“Your surrender,” she murmured and I could hear her breathe in my smell. “You give me what I want. I give you what you want.”
Heat rose within me, but it wasn't anything remotely close to desire. I’d never hit a woman out of anger, but Alizee was seriously testing my self-control.
“What exactly do you think I want?”
She laughed. “You want it all, just as I do. You want your little girlfriend to be happy. You want your new dance club to thrive. You want to pay your bills and never let anyone know how close you are to desperation.” Her hands moved from the rail to my stomach, one hand slipping beneath my shirt and touching skin.
She had stressed the word ‘dance’ when she referred to the club and I heard the underlying threat in her voice. I wrapped my hands around her wrists and pulled them away from me. Then I turned to face her.
“I’m not for sale.”
She laughed again, her eyes glittering. “Of course you are. You would be foolish not to be. An hour of your time and attention removes all of your troubles.”
It was my turn to laugh. I repeated, “I’m not for sale.”
“Vincent will be very disappointed to hear this,” she said, moving so that her body was nearly flush against mine.
Fuck. My mind screamed at me to push her way and then I realized that I was fucked either way.
Chapter 13
Carrie
Sitting wasn't exactly comfortable after last night, but I definitely wasn't going to complain. What had happened between me and Gavin had been one of the most intense experiences of my life. When he'd first mentioned spanking me, back when our relationship was beginning, I'd been turned on, but also nervous. I hadn't been at all sure I'd like it.
But, oh, I had. I'd more than liked it. I'd been wet from the first strike.
There were, however, consequences. One of which was how tender my ass was at the moment.
“These are the things I found about Alizee's businesses.” Pierre handed me a folder of papers. “As you’re in the club business, I hoped you would take a look at them, see if you can find anything suspicious.”
I spread the papers out on the café table, but immediately realized the problem. “It's in French.”
“So sorry,” Pierre flashed that grin. “I’ll translate.”
For the next half hour, Pierre and I went over the papers. He'd tell me what they said and I'd tell him if it was important. Most of it wasn't. A couple of the papers contained financial information, so I set those aside to go over more carefully and look for any sort of discrepancies that could indicate how money was being siphoned off into areas it wasn't supposed to be.
“There are some things that could indicate trafficking,” I said as I turned over another paper. “Trips to places that are known for their poor human rights laws, places where people disappear and the authorities turn blind eyes.”
“But these things can be explained for other reasons, no?”
“That's the problem,” I said. “I’m not seeing direct proof.”
“I am seeing one thing repeated,” Pierre pointed at a line in one of the papers. “It seems that Alizee likes to use her yacht on some of her journeys. Because of her connections, I believe she receives only cursory checks at borders.”
“You think she's using her yacht to traffic people,” I said.
Pierre shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“Maybe we should go check it out,” I suggested. “Maybe if no one is on board, we can get close enough to see if there are any hidden compartments, places where people could be smuggled.”
“You’re suggesting we sneak inside?” Pierre gave me a sly smile. “You would make an excellent reporter.”
“I have to admit,” I said. “I’m enjoying not having to think about how things will play out in court.”
“Let us go then.” Pierre stood and gestured toward his car.
As we rode to the docks, Pierre chatted about the mundane things, nothing too personal, but the kinds of questions that could be personal if either of us wanted them to be. He never crossed the line, but I got the feeling he was sussing me out, trying to determine if I was interested. I ignored the subtle signals and kept things polite and professional. Friendly was fine, but I wouldn't let it go any further than that. I also wasn't going to say anything preemptively. If he made a pass, then I'd handle it.
We parked in the main lot and walked down the dock toward the slip where one of the papers had said Alizee kept her boat. We were a few feet away when I realized it wasn't there.
“Well, that was a wasted trip.” I sighed. I supposed we could start going over papers again, but I'd been looking forward to some sort of action. The idea of sneaking onto a boat gave me a thrill.
“Maybe not,” Pierre said.
I turned to look at him and found him with binoculars, peering out toward the ocean.
“The yacht is out there.” Pierre pointed. “I believe she’s there with someone. Perhaps a contact.” He held out the binoculars.
I took them and focused on the spot where he was pointing. I adjusted the sight, and then adjusted it again, desperate to sharpen the blurry image of the two people I instantly recognized.
It wasn’t possible. Was it? No, it couldn’t be.
There, in an intimate embrace, was Alizee…passionately kissing my boyfriend.
To be concluded in Club Privé – French Connection Vol. 3, coming December 22nd. Click here to get an email as soon as it’s available.
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Acknowledgement
First, I would like to thank all of my readers. Without you, my books would not exist. I truly appreciate each and every one of you.
A big “thanks” goes out to all my Facebook fans, street team, beta readers, and advanced reviewers. You are a HUGE part of the success of my series.
I have to thank my PA, Shannon Hunt. Without you my life would be a complete and utter mess. Also a big thank you goes out to my editor Lynette. You make my ideas and writing look so good.
About The Author
M. S. Parker is a USA Today Bestselling author and the author of the Erotic Romance series, Club Privé and Chasing Perfection.
Living in Southern California, she enjoys sitting by the pool with her laptop writing on her next spicy romance.
Growing up all she wanted to be
was a dancer, actor or author. So far only the latter has come true but M. S. Parker hasn’t retired her dancing shoes just yet. She is still waiting for the call for her to appear on Dancing With The Stars.
When M. S. isn't writing, she can usually be found reading– oops, scratch that! She is always writing. ☺
