“A little money?” Nichelle quirked a brow at Wolfe.
“Okay, a lot of money.” He flashed her an annoyed look and a smile at once.
Their eyes met and held. A fluttering awareness took wing in Nichelle’s belly.
She licked her lips. This was getting a little ridiculous. Damned near every time she looked at Wolfe now, she was ambushed by the feelings that had taken her over in the French hotel room. “Clint, could you give us a few minutes?”
“Take as long as you like. I have another meeting in about an hour.” He left and took his tablet with him.
The door barely closed behind him before Nichelle turned to Wolfe. “I want this to happen.”
“Easy, tiger.” His smile was warm and teasing, but there was a hint of seriousness there. It was obvious he wanted her to really consider what she was going after.
“I have,” she said, as if he’d spoken those words out loud.
Nichelle was competitive to a fault. She knew that and most days tried to channel it for good versus evil. This was for good. For both hers and his.
She leaned into him, a hand on his thigh. “Just say yes to this fake marriage, Wolfe. I can make Quraishi come to us. Kingston Consulting needs this. You know we do.” She felt the big thigh muscle jump under her palm, and her thoughts derailed.
Damn.
Wolfe didn’t speak. Early afternoon light tumbled through the wide windows to fall over his shaved head and the goatee framing the lush and slightly pink firmness of his mouth. In one breathless moment, Nichelle was pulled back to that hotel room in Paris. The Eiffel Tower peeking over his bare shoulder, the low hum of the air conditioner beneath the heavy thud of her pulse as she watched him and realized how easy it would be to cross the room and touch him. Then taste and allow herself to be tasted in turn. She pulled her hand from his thigh.
“Liars get caught,” Wolfe said. If his voice was a little shaky, she chose to ignore it.
“We won’t be lying,” she said. Except for the lack of sex, they practically lived like a married couple anyway.
He gave her a look that forced a rueful laugh from her. She dipped her head to twine her fingers in her lap. “Okay, a little lie. But what’s a little lie in business?”
“Are you sure you want to go there?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
He pursed his lips, his lashes lowering in thought. “Okay. Then we’ll do it. But we have to do it the right way.”
What exactly was the right way to lie about being married?
“When do you want to go shopping for a ring?” he asked.
A ring? Her belly tightened oddly at the thought. She shook her head. “No. Let’s not take it that far. Some modern couples don’t even wear wedding rings.”
Wolfe leaned close. The scent of hot chocolate from his lips and traces of his mint-and-mandarin soap overwhelmed her senses. “My wife will wear my ring.” His voice rumbled with an unfamiliar intensity. He stood up and brushed invisible wrinkles from the front of his tailored slacks. “Tomorrow, we go find rings.” He picked up his empty cup and took it with him to the door.
Now that the agreement was made to pretend, second thoughts nipped at Nichelle’s conscience. Maybe this wasn’t the right thing to do. She straightened on the couch. But if the alternative was to relinquish any opportunity of getting Quraishi’s business, she’d rather risk the deception.
“By the way, your shoes are very nice today.” Wolfe paused at the door, a smile playing on his lips. His gaze dipped to the lavender stilettos before climbing steadily, slowly, up her body. “I just didn’t want my appreciation to get lost in the usual round of adoration from everyone else.”
The expected “thank you,” or even something dismissive, didn’t find its way immediately to her lips. His gaze on her was like a hot touch. She shivered in her stilettos, aware that he was looking at her in a way he’d never done before Paris. She felt like a fumbling teenager, uncertain how to respond to the unexpected flirtation. It was flirtation, wasn’t it? Christ! Pull it together, Nichelle.
“You could never get lost among the masses,” she said finally.
Wolfe grinned. “Good to know, especially since I’m about to be the number one man in your life.” With another body-skimming look, he left her alone.
What the hell had she just gotten herself into?
* * *
A few days later, Nichelle and Wolfe met at the pier near the Coconut Grove library. He’d had a meeting near Vizcaya and wanted to go home to change before meeting up with Nichelle. She took advantage of the location to have a solitary lunch at one of her favorite spots in Miami.
She stood at the railing looking out over Biscayne Bay and the flotilla of boats anchored in the glimmering blue water. It was strange being out of the office during the week and in the sun. She didn’t like to think of herself as a workaholic, but there were far too many days when she was locked in the office from sunrise to sunset without taking advantage of the sunshine, which was one of the best things about living in Miami.
“I hope you’re not contemplating jumping off this pier just to escape our fake marriage.”
She didn’t turn when Wolfe walked up behind her, his footsteps quiet against the wooden planks. She smelled him, fresh from the shower, a different aftershave today, something subtle with the hint of sage. It felt good to anticipate the sight of him, to wait until he was standing next to her, his arms draped over the railing, his scent pressed close to her, his shirt a light brush against her bare arm.
“You should be the one with jumping on your mind then.” She turned to him finally. “I’m the one who talked you into this, remember?”
He had traded that morning’s suit for a short-sleeved gray shirt worn untucked over dark jeans. Sexy. Edible. Other inappropriate words came to mind, but she pushed them firmly away. Friend. Partner. Platonic. Those were the words she should be focused on.
He leaned closer to press his arm firmly into hers, a teasing motion. “Once I’m committed to something, I’m all in.”
For better or worse, so to speak, that was true. Wolfe was a man of his word who also backed up those words with action. Yet another reason she trusted and loved him. As a friend. Nichelle drank the last swallow of her sparkling water and put the empty bottle in a nearby recycling bin. “You ready?”
They walked the short distance to the jeweler Wolfe suggested. It was a store he’d used for years, apparently. He opened the door for her, a subtly marked storefront that was easy to miss if you walked too fast, and stepped in behind her. As they walked in, the bell above the door jangled. Wolfe was so close that his shirt brushed against her shoulder blades, and his breath stroked the back of her neck. She swallowed.
The store was small and narrow but brightly lit; every piece of jewelry on brilliant display. There was the usual round of diamonds, platinum necklaces, rings and watches. They had only taken a few steps inside when a door at the rear of the shop opened and a slender woman stepped through. She was dressed in a nondescript but obviously expensive skirt suit. Her hair, pulled back from her face in a tight bun, was glossy and woven with strands of gray. She wore little makeup and no jewelry.
“Mr. Diallo!” The woman welcomed Wolfe with a wide smile.
She looked very happy to see him. Nichelle frowned. Just how much did he spend in this place, and how much of a regular was he?
“Martine.” He greeted the woman with a firm handshake and one of his warmest smiles. After introducing Nichelle, he turned back to her. “How is your father doing? I was sorry to hear about his heart attack.”
The light dimmed slightly in Martine’s face. “He’s actually doing much better. The doctors expect a full recovery but insist that he stay at home and away from the store for a while.”
“I bet he wasn’t happy to hear that.”
“You know Papa.” Then Martine smiled and made a dismissive motion with her hands. Her business sense had kicked in. Enough with the small talk wh
en there were people waiting to spend some money. “But it’s good to see you and finally meet the woman you’ve decided to settle down with.” She turned her attention to Nichelle. “You are absolutely gorgeous!”
“Thank you.” Nichelle appreciated the woman’s kindness. Even if it was motivated by the desire to sell Wolfe more trinkets.
“I picked out a few things after you called,” Martine said. She waved them to a small antique table surrounded by four padded chairs. “Let me get them for you.”
Nichelle and Wolfe made themselves comfortable at the table in time for Martine to return with four trays of rings. The trays were velvet-lined black rectangles that held some truly breathtaking pieces.
She presented one tray to Wolfe, a selection of simple gold and platinum wedding bands, and the rest, all filled with glittering diamond wedding sets, to Nichelle. Although she’d never been one to be impressed by jewelry, Nichelle had to admit the pieces were beautiful.
A radiant cut canary diamond surrounded by a square of smaller white diamonds immediately caught her eye. But it was too extravagant for a pretense. She didn’t have to see the price tag to know that the ring, at least five carats, cost over fifty thousand dollars.
Nichelle pointed to a plain wedding set, a one carat diamond solitaire and a matching platinum band. “That should be fine.”
But Wolfe had been watching her. “Try that on.” He gestured unerringly to the canary diamond. “I think that would look better on you.”
With the gleam of a potential sale in her eyes, Martine gathered up the yellow diamond and matching band. She was about to slip them onto Nichelle’s finger when Wolfe reached for them.
“Allow me.”
In his hand, the rings looked small. The pale fire of the diamonds flashed prisms of light in his palms. He reached for Nichelle’s left hand before she could voice a protest. His skin was warm against hers, and firm. She couldn’t stop the tremor in her hand.
“Ready?” His eyes held hers.
Was she? The pretense was her idea, but now, faced with a gorgeous ring and an intent man with his hand on hers, she felt another quiver of trepidation. But then reality set in. This was only going to be for a few days. She took a breath.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
He slid the rings onto her finger.
“A perfect fit.” Martine smiled at Nichelle.
Nichelle looked down at her hand. The yellow diamond sat on her finger as if it was made for her. The stone was even more brilliant against her brown skin, the surrounding white diamonds haloing its impressive size.
“It’s a pretty rock.” She tried to sound unaffected, but even she heard the catch in her voice. The ring was stunning. It seemed criminal to use it only as a prop in a game of pretend.
“We’ll take it.” Wolfe slowly released her hand.
Nichelle cleared her throat. “Now it’s your turn.” She curled her hand with the ring on it, fighting the urge to put the fist in her lap. She glanced over the tray of masculine rings. It didn’t take her long to find one that vaguely matched hers in style—a wide platinum band with a vein of small yellow diamonds running through its middle.
“Try that one.”
It, too, fit perfectly. Nichelle gave Wolfe a teasing smile and echoed his words. “We’ll take it.”
At the counter, Nichelle insisted on paying for Wolfe’s wedding band while he unflinchingly gave Martine his black card for her rings. Despite his insistence that she wear them out of the store, she tucked them in the scarlet box Martine provided and put them in her purse. Having the rings on her finger felt too real, too significant.
They walked out of the store and back out into the sunshine. Nichelle drew a trembling breath. “Let’s go get a drink.”
They walked the few blocks to Greenstreet Café and found a table outside. Although it was a weekday, it was close to lunchtime with plenty of people watching to be done. Nichelle leaned back in her chair and put her purse in the empty seat to her left, conscious of the seventy-thousand-dollar diamond wedding rings inside it.
When the waitress came to take their order, she immediately asked for a dirty martini. Wolfe got his usual whiskey sour.
“Tell me,” he said once the waitress had gone. “What’s wrong?”
“Did I say something’s wrong?”
“Well, you’re not wailing and gnashing your teeth, but don’t pretend you haven’t frozen up on me on the walk over here.”
Nichelle pressed her lips together and drew a deep breath.
“Things have been a little off since France, don’t you think?”
“Is this about what happened in Paris?”
They both spoke at the same time, their words tumbling over each other’s. The foolishness of it made Nichelle laugh, and Wolfe’s deep chuckle soon joined hers. Their mirth only tapered off when the waitress came back with their drinks. Nichelle took a quick sip and sighed at the sharp pleasure of the alcohol on her tongue.
“That was a little ridiculous, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s not like I haven’t seen a naked man before.”
She noticed Wolfe flinch. Then he shrugged. “As long as you don’t compare me to some limp Ivy League professor with an inferiority complex, we’re good.”
Her mouth twisted into a half smile. “You were definitely not limp.”
“Jesus...” But Wolfe laughed in a way that made them both a little more relieved and relaxed. “Did that make things awkward? Because that’s not what I want.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She didn’t want either of them to focus too much on what happened. “I’m the one who walked in without knocking. Serves me right for getting an eyeful of Wolfe untamed.”
“Why does that sound so weird when you say it?”
“Maybe because it makes you sound like some sort of rabid dog.” She shrugged, still smiling. “I don’t really know.”
“Normally you know every damn thing.” He sipped his drink. “But it’s okay. Isn’t it?”
“It is,” she said. It had to be. “Things don’t have to change between us because I know a little bit more about your measurements than I used to.”
Wolfe laughed. “So are you impressed? Or should I invest in a gym membership? Or a penis pump?”
A crack of laughter shot from her mouth, but she refused to rise to the bait. “I think you know the answer to all those questions. I’m sure your women, and mirrors, give you plenty of positive feedback on a regular basis.”
He chuckled, a pleased and masculine rumble. “So, we’re okay then?”
“Yes, we are okay. About everything. Even the fake marriage and that damned diamond.” She toyed with her martini glass but didn’t lift it to her lips.
Wolfe hummed low in his throat. “So you admit the ring scared you a little.”
“It’s kind of impossible to ignore.”
“I think you’re already impossible to ignore.” Wolfe lifted his glass to his lips with a teasing smile. “The ring is just another accessory to your radiance,” he finished.
“Keep talking that way and you’ll find yourself with a wife for real.”
Wolfe laughed as if that was the funniest thing she’d said all day.
By the time the second round of drinks was almost gone, they were both relaxed enough to act normally with each other. The ring in Nichelle’s purse was just something she would think about at another time. Preferably when she didn’t have the distraction of Wolfe near her.
* * *
Later that night, she called Nala. It was a long conversation, one of their marathon talks that lasted until nearly sunrise. She told her best friend everything, texted her a picture of the rings, told Nala how it felt, that tingling warmth when Wolfe slid the rings onto her finger, holding her gaze as if the moment meant something. But she didn’t fool herself into thinking it was more than just another amusement for him. A fantasy of significance that any of the women who’d fallen into his bed had had before her.
Just bef
ore she hung up, Nala put on her serious voice.
“I’ll be in Cannes around the time you’re in Morocco,” she said to Nichelle. “If anything happens, if you need anything, call me and I’ll come.”
Nichelle hoped she wouldn’t have to make that call. But she hung on to the offer like a lifeline.
Chapter 5
In the hush of business class, as the lights in the plane dimmed to allow the passengers on the long flight an easy rest, Nichelle and Wolfe were wide awake and drinking red wine. They sat in adjoining middle seats, chatting quietly while the aircraft winged its way toward Marrakesh.
“I think we should consider investing in a company plane.” Wolfe swirled the Chianti in his glass, his eyes half closed while he gazed at Nichelle, who lay fully reclined in her seat but curled toward him. Her wine glass was nearly empty.
“That wouldn’t be cost-efficient for us. Pilots want too much money these days.” Her words were only a breath above a whisper, giving Wolfe the perfect excuse to lean even closer. She smelled like sleep and Merlot.
“I’d fly the damn plane myself.” He licked a drop of wine from his lower lip, watching the slow rise and fall of her breath beneath the scarf draped over her throat and chest. “Three airports and twenty hours of travel time. That’s ridiculous.”
Nichelle wore what she called her “plane clothes,” delicate-looking flats, leggings and a long blouse that draped down over her butt. A black sweater. All very respectable. Even modest. But he couldn’t stop looking at her. At the way she managed to curl up in the seat toward him, the stretch of her thighs under the thin leggings more tempting than any nude stripper who’d given him a lap dance. It was a mystery. It was distracting. He needed to get it together before they landed in Marrakesh.
And he needed to get used to her in ways he never had before. She shifted again in the seat, and the thin sweater fell away from her thighs. He could easily imagine tugging up that fabric to get access to the plump curve of her butt, the perfect size for his hands. She’d moan as he lifted her up to straddle him, her arms falling onto his shoulders while her mouth lowered slowly to his. Wolfe adjusted himself in the seat. Damn.
Affair of Pleasure Page 5
