Pleasure Games

by Daire St. Denis

  “Non. Je ne peux pas le croire.”

  That did not sound good. Jasmine leaned her elbows on the counter as she watched the exchange with great interest.

  Luca opened the sliding doors off the living room to the balcony and peered down at the street below. Something was going on because Jasmine heard the cacophony of a crowd even from where she stood.

  “Non, non, non, non,” Luca said, slamming the doors shut.

  Okay, she understood that. It was a lot of no’s. Definitely indicating something was making Luca unhappy.

  When Luca finally hung up, he slammed the phone against the counter, which surprisingly did not break it, and growled like a caged beast before pacing some more. His head was down and he gripped his hair as he moved back and forth across the small space.

  Finally he stopped, turned to her and said, “Okay. Change of plans.” He marched to the wardrobe in the front hall and came back with two helmets, two leather jackets and a leather bag. “Put this on,” he said, shoving a helmet and jacket at her. “We leave in five minutes.”

  Jasmine stood barefoot at the front door, stunned by this change in events. Luca stomped down the hall muttering angrily and returned moments later stuffing clothes into a leather satchel and slinging the strap over his shoulder. Then he donned his helmet, took her hand and dragged her out the door and down to the parking garage.

  When he started up his bike, she stood beside him with her visor raised and said, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to ride.”

  “You’re fine. Now get on and wrap your arms around my waist.” He flipped down the passenger foot pegs and waited.

  As soon as she’d done as he asked, he put the bike into first, opened the garage door and ripped up the ramp and onto the street, narrowly missing a van and then another one before skirting a group of people that were milling about between the vehicles, toting microphones and cameras.

  What the hell was going on?

  “Hold on tight,” he called over his shoulder as he changed gears and wove between cars as he headed for a main street.

  Jasmine leaned against his back, her toes curling painfully around the teeth on the metal pegs as she watched Paris slip by at high speed.

  Holy shit! Was that the Louvre? She’d seen so many pictures of the palatial landmark, but now, as they roared by the building, weaving in and out of the tourist traffic, it seemed surreal. But the building and crowds were gone before she’d had a chance to really take it in, then Luca turned onto a street that paralleled the Seine.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered to herself a few minutes later. With hands gripping the leather waist of Luca’s jacket, she sat up so she could get a better view. They were on the other side of the river from Notre Dame Cathedral. The central spire, the ornate stonework, it was such an impressive, distinctive Gothic structure, and even though she’d seen hundreds of pictures of it, seeing it in person took Jasmine’s breath away.

  So did the speed at which they were traveling.

  Luca drove like a madman, changing lanes at speeds that were certainly illegal and highly unsafe.

  She’d never felt more thrilled in her life.

  When a car driving in the opposite direction turned on its lights and siren, and then spun around to pursue them, Jasmine felt something else she’d never experienced. A tingling at the base of her spine that spread out across her lower back and into her abdomen.

  “Hold on,” Luca commanded for the third time.

  She leaned into him and closed her eyes. This could very well be the last day of her life and if it was...she didn’t care.

  She was having an adventure!

  * * *

  How the hell had the fucking paparazzi found him? Luca had no idea. François said they were out in full force at the front of the building milling about, waiting for him to emerge. Did they know he was in the company of a concussed, shoeless American woman?

  He hadn’t had time to think about who might have leaked his whereabouts, he’d been too busy driving and trying to get the hell out of Paris. His adrenaline had kicked in, causing him to drive like he would in a race. It was the best fucking feeling in the world—next to an orgasm, of course—because it was the closest thing to flying that you could get while still staying on the ground. Time moved differently, like breaking speed limits actually broke the veil of physics and hurtled him from the laws of this world into the next.

  It was a spiritual experience.

  So when the police siren had started up behind him, Luca barely noticed or cared, other than realizing he’d never be able to take Jasmine directly to the embassy while the police were on his tail. He’d taken the corner onto Boulevard Périphérique so tightly an amateur would have spun out, and Jasmine had screamed behind him, burying her hands in his pockets as she mashed herself against him.

  He continued speeding along Périph, headed toward the A6 that would take him south of Paris. It wasn’t until he was on the A6, the police lost somewhere in traffic, that Luca had had time to think about who might have exposed him—once more—to the press. Had Hugo said something to someone?

  No, his friend wouldn’t do that.

  Who else could have known? Had Anika had him followed? What about Marcel? Maybe Marcel had overheard his conversation with François and alerted the press. Or had Jasmine told someone when she used his computer last night?

  He pulled the clutch and changed gears, rage feeding his need to push the bike to its limits. There was only one problem; something in his boot, a rock or something, was driving him crazy. He’d noticed it as soon as he’d put his boots on but hadn’t had time to stop and shake it out. He wouldn’t be stopping, either, not until he got to Nemours, where he planned to drop Jasmine off at a train station before he traveled another hour south to his final destination in the Loire Valley.

  By the time he turned off the highway onto D403 into Nemours, the rock in his boot was a constant annoyance, also reminding him that Jasmine was still shoeless. After an hour on the bike, her feet would be getting sore from the metal pegs. He needed to find a shoe store.

  Once turning onto the Rue d’Paris, he saw a little shop on the corner and pulled the bike over. He flipped up his shaded visor and turned in the seat. “You see that store, Chaussures Sigal? It will have shoes.” Opening up the flap on his bag, he found his wallet and peeled three one-hundred-euro notes from a stack just as Jasmine dismounted and pulled off her helmet.

  Her eyes were saucer shaped as she took in the bills. He thought she was going to comment, but she didn’t. She snatched the money out of his hand and padded barefoot into the store. That gave Luca time to take off his boot and shake the rock out of it.

  Except it wasn’t a rock.

  No, that wasn’t true. It was a rock, a big fucking rock. Luca picked the ring up off the road and inspected it. The band was small and platinum, made for a delicate finger. The diamond was...huge. Three, maybe four carats. This was an expensive engagement ring.

  “Jesus,” he muttered to himself. Was it Jasmine’s ring? Was that why she’d been chasing him yesterday on the street? Had the ring somehow gotten lodged in his boot during the chaos of the robbery?

  What was he supposed to do with it now?

  Tell her? But then she would know that he’d been in the store, seen what happened and lied to her. No. He couldn’t tell her, but he did have to give it back to her.

  Somehow.

  If it was hers.

  But if it was hers, what did that mean? Was she engaged? Where was her fiancé? What the hell was she doing with him?

  Luca tucked the ring into his wallet—maybe he’d slip it into her pocket while saying goodbye at the train station. If it wasn’t hers...oh, well. Twenty minutes later, Jasmine emerged from the store wearing a pair of sandals and holding another bag in her hand.

  She held the bag aloft and said, “I borrowed some
money to buy some clothes, too—I got great prices on two pairs of shoes, a blouse, a skirt and a dress.” She smiled wide, showing her teeth. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” He swung his head to indicate the seat behind him. “Get on.”

  “I’m a very good shopper,” she continued, as if he’d commented about it. Which he hadn’t.

  “Great. Now, get on.”

  “Yeah. I don’t think so.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not getting on until you tell me where we’re going, why you’re driving like a maniac...” She eyed the bag he had slung across his chest. “And why you have an enormous wad of cash in your wallet.”

  Dammit. He had no intention of answering any of those questions. Well, he could answer the first one. “We aren’t going anywhere. I am dropping you off at the train station and you are returning to Paris.”

  She set the bag down, crossed her arms over her chest and said, “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m not going back to Paris.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. And I’m not getting on the bike, so...”

  “Fine.” Luca pulled his wallet out of the bag again and peeled off a few more notes. He held them out to her. “You’ve got shoes now. You can walk to the train station.” When she didn’t take the money he leaned over, picked up the shopping bag and dropped the notes inside.

  She glanced down at the money and then said, “You know what I think?”

  “Non. I don’t.”

  “I think you’re on the run from the police.” Her eyes lit up. “And I think you’re worried that I’ll turn you in.”

  If she thought he was some criminal on the lam, why the hell were her eyes so bright and her cheeks so pink? It was like the notion turned her on.

  And—bam—like that, he was turned on.

  Fuck. He had to get rid of her. Quick. She was a liability. “An interesting hypothesis.” He pointed to the end of the street. “Take this street across the river and then turn right. The train station is maybe five hundred meters north.”

  Jasmine’s lips twitched. “So, you’re saying I need to walk right past that official-looking building on the other side of the street?” She pointed. “Because that’s the police station.” She smiled. Wide. “I asked the girl in the store. She pointed it out to me.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Luca started the engine and lowered his visor, ready to call her bluff. “Au revoir, Jasmine. Bonne chance.” He was just about to drive away when he remembered something.

  He still had her ring.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FOR A SECOND, Jasmine thought she’d been wrong about Luca, that he didn’t care about the police and might actually drive away.

  Except he didn’t.

  Oh, he revved the engine like he wanted to drive away. He even put the bike into gear. But after some muffled sounds that Jasmine was certain were a string of curse words, he lifted his visor and said, “What do you want from me?”

  Jasmine glanced up and down the street. There was no way she could articulate exactly what she wanted from this man. Half of the things were illegal—maybe only in Alabama, but still. “I want to come with you.” She wet her lips. “Wherever it is that you’re going.” She had no idea where he was going but she was pretty sure it wasn’t back to Paris. And if he wasn’t going back, either was she, but for very different reasons.

  She blinked as a random imaged popped into her brain...

  Luca standing bare chested before his shower, only this time he invited her to join him...

  He cut the engine. “Why? Why don’t you want to go back to Paris and continue your nice holiday? Why would you want to come with me? You don’t know me.”

  How could she answer that without sounding ridiculous? She wanted to stay with him because when she was with him, her senses were heightened. Colors were brighter, food tasted better and nothing was predictable. He was the first man to make her feel alive. She knew it wasn’t a forever thing, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to experience more of how Luca made her feel.

  Electric. Sensual. Feminine.

  He was exactly what she needed at this juncture of her life. He was the key to her getting over the disaster of her engagement.

  He was what she needed to move on.

  But of course she couldn’t tell him any of that. So she told another equally true story. “The person who has all the papers and documents I need for a passport is not someone I’m keen to speak to right now.” She didn’t even have to pretend. The excitement and thrill of the motorcycle ride evaporated instantaneously at the thought of talking to Parker. For the first time in over an hour, the lump on the side of her head throbbed like someone had shoved a knife into her temple. Once the pain abated, she said softly, “I know I have to, at some point, but not yet. I’m not ready.”

  Reaching down into the bag, she fished out the notes and tried to pass them back to Luca. “Please. I promise I won’t cause any problems. Let me come with you, just for a few days.”

  He tilted his head to one side, his blue eyes so much bluer in the sun. She could see the wheels turning and a spark of hope filled her when he exhaled heavily and took the proffered notes from her hand. “Bien.”

  “Does that mean good?” She kind of recognized that word, but the way Luca said it made it sound like it was anything but good.

  “It means fine. Come with me. For now.”

  Jasmine fought the urge to clap and jump up and down. She had to play it cool. She had to show him that he was making the right decision by taking her with him—and she was going to make sure she paid him back.

  In whatever way possible.

  Preferably on her back.

  Or on her knees in front of him.

  Perhaps on her hands and knees with him behind her.

  Oh, God...

  Jasmine climbed onto the back of the bike, her clit throbbing against the leather seat as she snugged herself up against him, the bag of clothes squished between their bodies as she shoved her hands into his pockets.

  Yes.

  This felt good. It felt right.

  “So, where are we going?” she called.

  “You’ll see.”

  Without another word, Luca took off, doing a U-turn in the street and heading back the way they’d come in order to merge back onto the highway. While he still drove fast—maybe about ninety miles an hour?—it seemed positively leisurely compared to the earlier frenetic speeds.

  The traffic was lighter when they got farther south. And the countryside? Well, the traditional French landscape was like something out of a movie. Rolling hills of pastureland, vineyards and fields of wildflowers. On the top of every other hill sat little villages built out of stone with black tiled roofs, and every so often she caught sight of a river as the road wound up and down and around.

  But nothing could have prepared her for their destination. Luca turned off the highway heading for one of the little villages with old stone and brick buildings rising crookedly along narrow winding streets. Luca turned down one street on the outskirts of the town, and between the trees that lined it she could see glimpses of the river. The steeply sloping roof of a large villa rose at the end of the road.

  Was that where they were going?

  Luca turned down a lane that also had trees on either side. At the end of the lane was what must have been a twelve-foot-high metal gate, and to the right of the gate was a humble stone cottage. Luca stopped in front of the house, turned the bike off and engaged the kickstand. “Wait here.”

  He pulled off his helmet and hung it from a handlebar, ran his hands through his hair and slowly made his way to the door. An elderly gentleman opened it, looked Luca up and down and then gave him a bear hug.

  Was that his father? Had Luc
a brought her home?

  Luca and the man spoke for a few minutes before the man disappeared and then reappeared with a stout, elderly woman who practically mauled Luca. She gestured wildly and even from the distance, Jasmine could tell the woman was inviting Luca inside. He pointed to where Jasmine was sitting. The man tipped his head in greeting from the door but the woman only seemed to be frowning at her. Luca spoke again and gestured to the house and the man disappeared inside. When he reappeared, he handed something to Luca and, in return, Luca opened his bag and found something that he gave to the man.

  What was it? Money?

  After one more hug from the woman, Luca jogged back to join her. Considering he had obviously been reunited with people of significance to him, his expression was grim.

  What was going on?

  She had no time to ask because he popped his helmet back on, and without bothering to do up the strap, he straddled the bike in front of her and started it up. He drove slowly to the gate, climbed off the bike again, took a ring of keys that he’d obviously been given by the man and used one to unlock the gate. He swung it open, came back to drive through, stopped, and then closed and locked the gate behind them.

  He mounted the bike again and they drove down the lane until a house came into view.

  No. Not a house.

  This was a French villa. Or a château or something.

  It was a large, whitewashed, two-story structure with a steeply pitched roof of black tiles and vines creeping up the corners.

  Luca stopped at the doors of the two-car garage and turned off the bike.

  “We’re staying here?” Jasmine asked after she pulled off her helmet.

  “Oui.”

  “Who’s place is this?”

  “It’s mine.”

  * * *

  “It’s yours?” Jasmine asked, aghast.

  Shit, he thought. That slipped out.

  Luca quickly shook his head. “It’s mine, just for the season.”

  “So, who does it belong to?”

  Luca should have been planning a story during the drive, but he’d been bombarded by too many memories. Summers here by the river. Rebuilding and riding his motorcycles all over the countryside. That one summer, nearly fifteen years ago, when he and his mother had been returning from town, his mother letting him drive her Aston Martin DB9. The sudden thunderstorm. The dark road. The pools of water.