My heart clanged uncomfortably against my ribcage and though I desperately wanted to say something, I couldn’t find the words to untangle the jumble of hormones and desires I had been reduced to. So instead, I watched a serious smile tilt one side of his closed lips as his eyes scraped over my face one last time and then, without a word still, he left.
Chapter Two.
My cell phone rang just as I emerged into the muggy Mexican heat to hail a taxi. I shook my head at the many men eager to help me with my suitcase for a few pesos and stuck my cell between my ear and shoulder.
“Giselle, darlin’.” Brenna’s husky southern drawl warmed me. “How is the drug runner city treating you?”
I smiled and nodded enthusiastically at a sweet-faced Mexican man who pulled up in his beat up yellow cab. “I just got off the plane, B, but so far no drug runners.”
She laughed but it wasn’t the full-bodied sound I was used to. Brenna Buchanan was Hollywood royalty and my best friend from Paris. It was thanks to her that I was here in the first place, due to a scheduling conflict with an up-coming film. But something about her tone had me second-guessing that.
“How are things on set?”
There was a telling pause and the creak and bang of an old door slamming shut. “Great.”
“You must be in,” I paused and raked my foggy brain for the details, “Verona now?”
“Mmhmm.” A whistle in the background sounded suspiciously like the call of a boiling kettle. “Listen, darlin’, I don’t have much time between scenes, I just wanted to call to square away the details at the resort.”
I sighed wearily as I got into the warm interior of the car. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, B?”
“No.” Her own sigh echoed my own. “Maybe. I just needed to, um, take some time off from the fans.”
“Don’t let all this fame go to your head,” I leaned my head back against the sticky leather and gave the driver directions to the resort. “I miss Brenna Buchanan, curvy misfit, not the Glamazon on red carpets in couture gowns.”
She made a humming sound. “Fair enough, darlin’, and for you, I will always be that girl. But admit it, I rock haute couture.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed for the second time in weeks. “I wish you were with me.”
“I know.” Her voice softened into a croon. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” I murmured as the cab flew past brilliantly painted low buildings and old trucks lagging under the weight of debris in the peeling cabs. “I’m happy for the time to paint.”
“It will be good for you to relax,” she agreed before a cacophony of falling metal erupted in the background. “Listen, I should go. But don’t worry about anything. I’ve got a handle on the situation over here and I set up everything with the resort under my name. Just relax, drink the tequila and find a man who makes your heart beat.”
I smiled wryly as I thought of the handsome Frenchman I’d met on the plane. He had my heart racing the moment I caught sight of those electric eyes.
“Will do. Take care of you and your gowns.”
She laughed and kissed me through the phone but I held it to my ear for a minute after she hung up. Brenna had lived in Paris for the last three years with her husband Franklin Robinson, a wealthy Brit with business in France. She had taken me under her wing as soon as I arrived and she was the first one I had turned to when Christopher had shown up in Paris to destroy my life.
We pulled up to the Westin Resort and Spa in Los Cabos and I was immediately blown away by the sheer size of the resort. The multistory tangerine building sprawled across a massive lot dotted with palm trees and dense green shrubbery. Women wearing expensive jewelry and small bathing suits wandered in and out of the hotel and a group of men in exquisitely cut suits exited a huge black SUV ahead of me.
“Brenna,” I muttered, as a bellboy took my luggage with a smile.
“Ah, Brenna Buchanan.” The man behind the grand marble desk smiled warmly at me. “Will Mr. Robinson be joining you later?”
I blushed at the mention of her handsome husband. “No, I’m here alone.”
He frowned and his fingers clattered across the keyboard ominously. “We have you booked into a deluxe suite with the couples package. I’m afraid it’s nonrefundable.”
Of course. I smiled prettily. “I completely understand. Thank you.”
He nodded briskly and printed out the necessary documents but as he handed me the keycards he winked. “I’m sure you’ll find someone to share it with before the week is out.”
I laughed lightly. “I don’t think so. Have a nice day, Senor.”
Despite my disavowal, the Frenchman’s silken voice wound through my thoughts as the swift elevator carried me to the twelfth floor. He had been so perfect that I doubted the reality of what had occurred between us.
It was just as well though. I was in Mexico to relax before the inevitable rockiness of my family reunion. Just thinking about seeing them again made my heart race and I was glad to open the door to my room to find the AC cranked and the fan on. It was a lovely space with large French doors leading to a small patio overlooking the beach and the interior echoed the soft colours of the sea. I waited anxiously for the bellman to drop off my things and then, with a squeal like a preteen girl, I jumped onto the brightly dressed bed.
Later that night after a bracing shower and a quick rest, I walked through the resort just as they were lighting the torches lining the walkways. The light south of the equator was different. Sunlight poured like honey, fragrant and gold across the brilliant tropical gardens and as the sun brushed the horizon gem toned hues exploded across the sky. I raised my camera to my eye and allowed my subconscious to take over, capturing shot after shot as I walked the darkening paths. Being somewhere so beautiful soothed my ragged heart and though I was hyper aware of the couples strolling past and scrutinizing my lack of partner, I felt more at ease with myself than I had since my youth in Italy. I had one week to relax before my family reunion and I intended to make the most of it.
There was a large outdoor dining room beside the beach with a mariachi band in full swing beside a roaring blue green fire. A few couples swayed gracefully on the dance floor but I was drawn to the quartet of men toiling away in the intense heat. As I drew closer, I saw one of them with his eyes closed, the body of his large guitar cradled against his round stomach. I inched closer and took a picture of his passion.
“Signorita!” Another Mexican man, handsome and young with his glittering black hair slicked back, caught me and walked over to me with a large smile. “What is a beautiful woman doing on the ground? You must be dancing!”
“No, thank you,” I demurred as the semi circle of well-dressed diners turned to look at me. Somehow, I had become the evening entertainment.
“Come Signorita,” he continued to coax, his hips swaying to the beat of the candle flames. “A beauty like you must dance.”
I could feel a blush flame across my cheeks as I shook my head, mortified by the multitudes of paired dinners staring at me.
“Maybe I can persuade you.”
My breath left me in one long whoosh as I looked up at the man before me. The candlelight was at his back, illuminating his tall physique and casting shadows across his features. It could have been anyone really and his English was flawless but I knew who it was. A thrill ran up my spine and I shuddered.
The Frenchman extended his hand and the moment I took it, I was in his arms, pulled there seamlessly as I rose. I was overwhelmed by the smell of him and the strength of his body against mine.
“The lady is dancing,” the MC cried, causing a polite round of applause. “My job is done for the night, ladies and gentlemen. Please enjoy.”
The music grew louder, filling the heavy night air with beats and vibrations. I felt them thrum through the soles of my feet and I laughed when a couple beside us spun gracefully across the dance floor.
“It’s good to see you again.” He waited for
me to supply my name and I realized with a start that he hadn’t known it on the plane.
I bit my lip and considered my options. It was exciting, my interaction with the stranger, and I wasn’t willing to give too much of myself away so with sudden confidence even though no one had ever called me by the name, I said, “Elle.”
He repeated the syllable and the way he tasted my name was sinful, like biting into a decadent sweet.
I looked up at him and smiled wryly. “I wouldn’t have thought so. You practically sprinted from the plane this morning.”
A small smile twisted his lips but his hands tightened, one in mine and the other on my hip. “Any man with sense runs from a siren.”
“Good save.” I looked up at him from under my lashes and was rewarded with his sparkling blue eyes. “I don’t see you running now.”
“No.” He seemed just as perturbed by the idea as I was. “I’m here to work and usually, I’m not the type of man to mix business and pleasure but when I saw you sitting here…” he shrugged, irritated by his lack of control even as he moved us masterfully across the dance floor. “I’m also not the type of man who denies himself something when he wants it badly enough.”
The music pulsed quickly now. I could feel the beat at my core and any questions I might have voiced were lost to my breathless enthusiasm as the Frenchman spun me faster. We were doing some version of the tango. I had taken enough dance classes with my sisters growing up to know that but the more we moved together, the less formal it became. One strong hand hiked my leg up over his hip and I slid inch by delicious inch down his steel thigh until he pulled me upright once again. With my arms on his chest, I undulated like the wavering flames low to the ground, his hands on my shoulders guiding me down. I was short of breath, but not from dancing. I was moving intimately with a man I hardly knew, and I could have sworn nothing had ever been so erotic. The music reached its rapid-fire crescendo and I was sent spinning across the floor, tight circles guided by his strong hand. It was only when the music suddenly slowed and ended on a breathless whimper that he stopped me with his body flush against my own.
He was basically unfazed by the most sensual experience of my life, cool and composed with not a gorgeous strand of hair out of place. But those electric eyes were dilated as they stared down into mine and his body was tense with unease. I felt myself melt further against his marble edges and, for a moment, I thought I might have the courage to kiss the perfect stranger but hands descended on our shoulders, jarring us apart.
“Very beautiful couple, very beautiful!” the MC cried, inspiring a round of applause. With his arms on both of us, he grinned at the crowd. “I think we have a winner for best couple tonight, si?”
There was some outcry and a smattering of agreement from the other diners and he taunted them to take the dance floor and show us up.
“And these two, they will dance again!”
A hand snatched his mike out of the air and my Frenchman looked down into the much smaller man’s face with inscrutable coolness. “No. We will not.”
The MC nodded and laughed nervously but I was forced to mask a chortle as I was led from the dance floor.
His table was pressed up against the beach, close to the fire but on the other side of the sweltering music so that its tangy refrains faded away, replaced by the gentle crush of waves on the shore. It was an utterly romantic setting, but I had a feeling my Frenchman could have made an industrial waste plant sexy.
“I have people joining me,” he muttered petulantly even as he pulled out a chair for me.
I hesitated awkwardly poised over my seat. “There is no need for me to join you.”
Strangely, my coolness seemed to amuse him. Even in the wavering light, I could see a grin cut into his left cheek. “Excuse me, as I said before, I’m not used to mixing business and pleasure. My objection is to my pending associates, not you. Please, eat with me, Elle.”
I bit the inside of my cheek but finally settled in my seat. I was silent as a waiter came to take our drink order even though I was usually very opinionated about wine. It was obvious, when he began to order in heavy, polished Spanish, that he knew what he was doing.
When we were alone again, he sat back in his chair languidly and stared at me with such carnality that heat flared across my skin and my nipples puckered shamelessly against the frail fabric of my dress. He was so sleek and powerful it was hard not to relate him to a jungle cat, something dark and solitary stalking the woods at night looking for prey.
“You know,” I attempted to make casual conversation, anything to lower the temperature between us, “I don’t even know your name.”
His mouth flat lined and his hands flattened on the table as if he was bracing himself. I shifted impatiently in my seat while I waited but when he did look up the desire in his eyes paralyzed me. “Have you ever had a holiday affair, Elle?”
I blinked and licked my lips nervously. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”
He smiled again, small and almost too fleeting to capture. “You are a stunning woman. So, there can only be two reasons for your inexperience, lack of opportunity or lack of gumption.”
Even as I blushed, I tilted my chin and gazed down my nose at him. “I think we both know the answer to that.”
“Yes.” He leaned forward on his forearms and his eyes caught the flame so that they glittered like diamonds caught in fire. “The question is, now you have the opportunity but do you have the gumption to take it?”
“Are you propositioning me?” I teased. My heart was racing and my hands were damp as they tangled in my lap.
He nodded somberly. “I am.”
“I see.” I swallowed and tried to ignore the intensity in his eyes, the chemistry crackling in the hot air between us. “And if I say yes?”
“A girl who thinks ahead.” He grinned, suddenly carefree. “Very good, Elle, you should always protect your interests.”
I raised an eyebrow and prompted a short bark of laughter from him.
He held up his hands innocently. “You are here for the week?” When I nodded, one of his fingers began to trace the outline of my hand where it lay on the table. His eyes were hot on mine and his voice dropped lower, smoke rubbing itself sensuously against my skin. “Well, I imagine we could find a number of things to do in seven whole days.”
It was hard to belief this was happening. I had been such an ugly duckling my whole life, especially compared to my glamorous siblings, that I couldn’t imagine what this beautiful Frenchman saw in me but it was obvious he did, see something. Something he liked very, very much.
My tongue darted out to wet my lips and his eyes darkened as he followed its path, “One week with a perfect stranger, no complications, no surprises. Just,” he turned my wrist over and feathered his fingers along the sensitive skin of my wrist where my pulse beat madly, “this.”
“If I say yes, will you finally tell me your name?”
He blinked and a slow smile spread across his hard features as he chuckled. “Yes, Elle, but I’ll warn you now, you won’t get much else.”
I understood. If I entered into this holiday affair, as he so casually offered, he would remain a stranger. The only part of him I could know was his body. My eyes flickered over the strong width of his shoulders and the firmness of his hands on mine. Was it enough? My sister Cosima’s voice rang out in my head; yes!
I opened my mouth to respond when a small group appeared at the opening to the restaurant.
He leaned forward, an urgent desire in those blue eyes. “I want an answer by the end of this meal.”
When I nodded mutely, still overwhelmed by the moment, he flashed me a genuine smile and traced one finger behind my ear and down my neck.
“You have beautiful hair,” he murmured before sitting back in his chair, looking utterly unruffled and almost bored when his guests arrived at the table.
I stood up to shake their hands when he introduced us and was met with surprised smiles. Cage Tracy
lingered over our handshake with flagrant approval. I recognized him, of course, as the lead singer of Caged, the absurdly popular French band that was just starting to become a phenomenon in America. He grinned down at me with gorgeous nearly black eyes and thick black hair he kept secured in a messy braid over his shoulder. I wondered how a rising rock star knew my French businessman.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said as he pulled out my chair for me and leaned forward familiarly when I sat down. “Sinclair always did have the most exquisite taste in women.”
Sinclair, I tasted the name, rolling it on my tongue so that it split and reformed like mercury. It was an old-fashioned name, formal even, but dark too, inexplicably sexy. I looked over at him to find him staring, his eyes midnight blue in the darkness. A shudder rolled through my shoulders. Oh yeah, it suited him.
“She’s only a friend, Cage,” he said mildly as the other three men and a woman sat down around us.
“Of course,” the woman, a plain brunette with slightly protruding front teeth, demurred. “Do stop interfering Cage, you always hit on Sinclair’s women. It does get boring, you know.”
Cage smirked at me but when Sinclair raised a cool eyebrow his way, his smile tripped and slid off his handsome face. I hid my smile behind my wine glass. Obviously, the Frenchman was someone who demanded obedience.
An older man with brilliant silver hair who introduced himself as Richard Denman leaned closer to Sinclair into order to politely inquire, “What happened to the other one, your girlfriend—“
Sinclair cut him off with a sharp glare before quickly looking to me. I pretended nonchalance, picking up my glass of water and smiling at Cage as he charmingly related his love for Mexico in his thick French accent, but I had heard. Tension knotted the muscles between my shoulders.
The Affair (The Evolution Of Sin #1) Page 2
