Driving too fast.
The crash.
“It belongs to an aunt. She’s in Switzerland at the moment.”
Jasmine studied him as if she wasn’t quite satisfied with the story, but she didn’t press him as her attention was captivated by the grandeur of the house. The Gauthiers—the elderly couple who lived in the caretaker’s cottage—had done a superb job of keeping up the place. Even the ivy wasn’t overgrown, considering no one had stayed here for twelve years.
“And she’s okay with you staying here now?” she asked over her shoulder as she started to make her way up the gravel path.
“I called her while you were buying clothes,” he lied, adding to the lengthening list.
The walk was well groomed, flowers had been planted in beds edging the walls of the house and the trees were all pruned. Considering what he paid the Gauthiers to maintain the property, he would have been extremely disappointed if things hadn’t been kept up. The deal was that the house was supposed to appear lived-in.
It did.
Yet for Luca, the residents were all ghosts.
“And who are the people who live outside the gates?” Jasmine asked as she waited for him to unlock the front door.
“Madame and Monsieur Gauthier. The caretakers.”
He recognized the house key among the seven on the ring and unlocked the door.
“They seemed happy to see you.”
“I used to come here sometimes as a boy. It’s been many years. I’m surprised they remembered me,” Luca said quietly as he swung the door open, prepared to be greeted by stale air, dust and spirits.
Instead, the air smelled like lemon and the marble floor shone. Not a speck of dust. His money had been well spent.
“Ho-ly.” Jasmine gazed at the sixteen-foot-high ceilings and the curved stairs that led to the second floor. Without being invited, she wandered in through an arched door to the living room, which had the same high ceilings with original beams overhead. The room had an enormous fireplace at one end, and French doors opened up to the terrace out back that stretched the entire length of the home.
The only things that made the house seem uninhabited were the dust covers draped over all the furniture. Luca followed Jasmine from room to room as she explored. It was a one-sided conversation, as she made appreciative comments in each room and he stayed silent. So many memories.
Too many.
After touring the entire main floor—which consisted of the living room, dining room, kitchen, two bedrooms, bathroom and WC—they returned to the front entrance.
“What’s up there?” Jasmine asked, pointing up the stairs.
“More bedrooms and bathrooms. But the main floor should be sufficient for our needs.”
She bit her lip, and by the way her eyes glowed, he could tell she wanted to investigate further. However, his old room was upstairs and he wasn’t in the mood to revisit it.
“Out back there’s a pretty park and a pigeon loft that dates back to the seventeenth century, when this was a monastery.”
“Are you serious?” Her eyes shone and she took his hand and tugged him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Despite the melancholy that Luca had initially felt upon his return, Jasmine’s enthusiasm for the estate—a place he had always loved—was contagious. For the rest of the tour, he showed off the property with the pride of someone who had a deep fondness for the place. The large park that led down to the boathouse on the banks of the Loire River. The vineyard to the south, the only part of the estate that was showing neglect. He didn’t expect his elderly caretakers to handle that job.
They strolled between the overgrown rows of grapes, and Jasmine stopped. “What kind of grapes are these?”
“Mostly sauvignon blanc, but this vineyard still has some pinot noir vines and some cabernet franc.” Luca gazed out over the rows, amazed at how peaceful it was here.
“Why isn’t this being cultivated? It seems like such a waste.”
“It’s a lot of work for...my aunt.”
Though Luca could imagine it, suddenly. Cleaning up the rows. Pruning. Weeding. Picking. For the first time since he’d taken over the Legrand estate, the thought of producing wine and champagne seemed more than just a duty, it excited him.
He glanced down at Jasmine, who was watching him with a puzzled expression. “What?”
“Nothing.”
They took a path back to the main garden. “You’re lucky to be able to stay here. I’m surprised you didn’t come here sooner.”
“It’s a little remote.”
“It’s gorgeous!”
“You like it here?”
“Are you kidding?” Jasmine’s enthusiasm bubbled out as if from a spring. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkled and her hands moved expressively. “This is like a fairy tale.” She gazed up at the nearest tree. “What is this? A pear tree? And what’s that? Apples? Is this an orchard?”
Luca laughed and then, for the first time that day, he noticed how badly the side of Jasmine’s face was bruised. Considering all the excitement of the trip, she hadn’t complained once.
“How’s your head?” he asked, taking a step closer and reaching out to gently touch her face.
She sucked in a breath. From pain?
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she replied quickly, turning toward him. “I’d actually forgotten about my goose egg.”
“Goose egg?”
“Lump on my head.” She covered it and winced. “This place could make a girl forget just about anything.”
She gazed up at him and everything was forgotten. The paparazzi, the betrayal, the road trip and the ghosts of memories. All Luca could focus on was her.
This petite American woman who gazed at him with a heady combination of longing and lust. Who, despite his distant and questionable behavior, seemed to find his company enjoyable. He reached for her hand and drew her close.
“Jasmine?”
“Yes?” The word was breathy and hopeful. She placed her hand on his chest, and Luca longed to feel her slim hand against his bare flesh. To let her touch him, her trembling fingers exploring him with the same wonder she’d explored the estate.
“Luca?” A male voice called from the terrace.
The spell was broken and Luca’s head snapped to attention. Monsieur Gauthier stood up on the terrace, his hand shading his eyes from the sun.
“Ah. Supplies are here. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE PLACE WAS like something out of a storybook and Jasmine couldn’t contain her sense of excitement, excitement that made no sense. Here she was, without a penny to her name, no ID, no passport, stuck on a remote and practically abandoned estate in France with a man who was running from someone, most likely the police.
And yet things had never felt so right.
There must be something wrong with her.
Maybe it was the fact that Luca had almost kissed her in the orchard.
You are getting some tonight! Her inner critic had even traded in her sarcasm for a little bit of excitement.
With a skip to her step, Jasmine followed Luca up to the terrace where the older gentleman waited for them. He spoke rapidly to Luca, pointing inside the house and then gesturing to the grounds. After they finished, the man met her gaze and bobbed his head.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
“Bonjour,” Jasmine said, liking the feel of the French word on her tongue.
“Monsieur Gauthier, this is Jasmine,” Luca introduced them.
In halting English, the man greeted her and welcomed her before turning his attention back to Luca. They ended their conversation with a handshake and the man left by way of a path around the house. When they went back inside, there were three baskets full of staples waiting fo
r them on the kitchen table. Bread, cold meat, cheese, butter, milk, flour, sugar, coffee, and fruit and vegetables that were not in plastic bags but looked like they’d just been pulled fresh from the garden...there was even a box full of pastries.
In addition, stacked in an ironed pile, were freshly laundered linens.
“Why don’t you go make up the beds,” Luca said, “while I put lunch together?”
Beds? Did Luca say beds?
Oh, hell, no. There were not going to be any “beds” for them. One bed. One for both of them. However, that would all be sorted later, so Jasmine took the linens—which smelled like sunshine—to the first bedroom on the main floor. She pulled the dustcover off the queen-sized mattress and got to work. Once she was done, she couldn’t help but lie down on top of it. The mattress was a little firm, but that was okay. She gazed up at the high ceilings with the old beams running across. There was a gorgeous antique chandelier above the bed—a little dusty, but still pretty. The bed had one of those old-fashioned canopies arching up from the headboard, which contributed to her sense of being caught up in some modern-day fairy tale. The furniture wasn’t buffed to a high polish like the furniture in her hotel, but was nicked and worn, as if well used.
She shut her eyes, and just like last night, images of Luca filtered through her brain, though with less clarity than her constructed fantasy.
Luca, damp after his shower.
Luca’s hard body in front of her as they raced through the streets of Paris.
Luca, smiling seductively with the sun dappling his face through the foliage in the orchard.
Luca kissing her in a way no one had ever kissed her.
Luca...just Luca...
* * *
Where had she gone? How long did it take her to make up a couple of beds?
When Jasmine didn’t return, Luca went in search of her and found her curled up in the middle of the bed in the master bedroom. Sound asleep.
Instead of closing the door and letting her rest, like he should have, Luca walked softly into the room and sat on the bed beside her. What was it about this woman that compelled him to do such irrational things, like watch her sleep? He’d only known her for twenty-four hours, yet already he felt the need to crawl up beside her and fit her slight body within the circle of his arms and hold her.
Protect her.
Make love to her.
Then do it again and make her scream in ecstasy...
What the fuck is your problem? You barely know her.
Luca got up carefully, so as not to wake her, picked up the rest of the linens and left the room to make up the bed in the room down the hall. After that was done he went back to the kitchen and ate, though his thoughts were still on his unwanted guest.
Unwanted? Really? Or is it that you want her too much?
With a groan, Luca put together another open-faced sandwich with a thick slice of bread, a slab of meat and some creamy cheese, and decided it was time to get busy. He spent the next hour removing dust covers from furniture, testing light bulbs and fixtures to make sure everything was in working order, and then going to check on the hot water boiler. There was an old bag of wood pellets—he had to get some more soon—that he dumped in the burner before lighting the pilot light. Hot water should be ready in thirty minutes. Then he made his way to the garage.
He spent another couple of hours in the garage and in the boathouse, cleaning and checking the old vehicles and boats. After so many hours working in the dust, he returned to the house and headed straight for the bathroom. After cranking the stiff tap and letting the water run through pipes that had grown rusty from disuse, he stuck his hand under the spray to test it. Scaldingly hot. Perfect.
He dropped his clothes and stepped under the spray, rubbing the dust from his skin and hair. There hadn’t been room to bring anything other than their toothbrushes and a change of clothes, they’d have to pick up toiletries tomorrow.
How long would she want to stay?
How long did he want her to stay?
Honestly? Luca didn’t know. He was completely conflicted over his surprise American guest. His logical side insisted he drive her to Nevers tomorrow so she could catch a train back to Paris.
His physical side?
Luca glanced down, noting the growing evidence of what his physical side wanted. He wanted her naked. On her back. Her legs parted. Her dark hair fanned out on a white pillow. Her lips swollen from having been wrapped around his cock...
He grasped his erection. Jesus, he needed some relief. There was an old cake of soap on a shelf and though it was as hard as a rock, after moistening it, it eventually lathered, giving off a honey and lavender scent. Once he had created some suds in his hand, Luca slid it along his length. He leaned against the tiled wall and shut his eyes, letting his imagination take over as he fisted himself.
Fuck, it had been too long.
“May I?”
Luca’s eyes popped open.
He dropped the soap and stood dumbfounded, his erection pointing straight at the object of his desire.
Jasmine stood just inside the curtain—she was stealthy, this one—completely nude. Luca took in her naked body, as if the vision of her could be absorbed through every pore. Her hair, her sultry gaze, her parted lips, her narrow shoulders and full breasts. Her slim waist and curving hips.
Her bare pussy.
He’d known it.
“Would you like me to?”
“To what?” His question came out as a growl.
“To finish.” Her gaze dropped to his erect penis. “For you.”
Luca fought with himself for all of a nanosecond.
Then she wet her lips, biting down on the bottom one before slowly raising her gaze, a sinful question in her shy smile.
That was it. Battle over.
She had won.
“Yes. Oh, fuck, yes.”
But when she grasped the backs of his legs so that she could lower herself to her knees in front of him, her mouth level with his erection while water sluiced down into her upturned face, Luca realized Jasmine hadn’t won.
He had.
* * *
She’d woken up disorientated. But it hadn’t lasted long. Particularly when she’d padded out into the hallway and heard the water running in the bathroom.
Luca was taking a shower.
This was her fantasy. Except she wasn’t imagining it; it was happening right here in real time.
Fuck fantasy.
It was time to start living instead of spending so much time wrapped up in her imagination. Without wasting one more second, Jasmine had stripped out of her clothes and left them lying in the hallway. She’d thought for sure Luca would hear her coming into the bathroom so she’d moved straight up to the curtain and pulled it back, only to come face to face with the rawest, sexiest thing she’d ever seen.
Luca was leaning against the wall, naked—a fucking Adonis—with the nicest, hardest cock held firmly in his fist.
Pumping.
She’d blurted, “May I?”
The second Luca had opened his eyes and stood there, all naked and proud, she knew he wouldn’t say no.
And he hadn’t.
Without even thinking about what she was doing, Jasmine dropped to her knees in front of him and took him in her hands. He groaned at her touch. Groaned. Like what she was doing felt good to him. Like he liked it.
God. It made her feel so...powerful.
Wrapping her fingers around him—sweet Jesus, the man was well proportioned—Jasmine tried to mimic his earlier movements. She must have been getting it right, because his stomach muscles contracted as he thrust his hips forward and he muttered darkly in French.
Reality and fantasy merged, and Jasmine didn’t even have to think anymore. She just did. She lifted her face to the spray and opened her
mouth, catching water until her mouth was full and leaning forward, guiding Luca into the warm bath between her lips. Displaced water gushed down her chin as she took him in.
The harsh, guttural sounds he made encouraged her to take him deeper, and then deeper still, until she couldn’t breathe. Then slowly, slowly, she withdrew until his tip rested against her lips. She circled the head of him with her tongue; he tasted faintly of lavender soap and man, and it was like nothing she’d experienced before.
Better than her fantasies.
Better than—
“Jasmine...”
She’d never heard her name spoken in that tone before, with reverence, like her name could invoke magic...dark magic. Hazarding a glance up through the spray, Jasmine met Luca’s lust-crazed gaze while she played his cock back and forth across her parted lips.
This was what she wanted. What she’d always dreamed about in a lover. Someone to look at her with absolute desire. She couldn’t get enough. She loved the way his penis pulsed in her fist. She loved the way Luca’s hands had found their way to her hair, threading though her damp tresses and holding on with a ferocity that spoke of carnal need.
She loved the savage grunts he made, seemingly against his will.
Opening her mouth wide, she took him inside again, sucking in a way she hoped matched his ferocity. This time, when she withdrew, she gently dragged her teeth along his length, not caring about whether he liked it or not, but simply doing it because she wanted to.
By his reaction—thrusting his hips toward her—he liked it. So she licked and sucked and trailed her nails up the inside of his thighs, beneath his balls and then down his length and Luca cried out.
“Fuck, woman.” He took hold of his cock and turned himself away. Then he reached down and pulled her to her feet. “You’re going to make me lose it.”
“I thought that was the idea.”
Pleasure Games Page 9
