Time to impress Mr. Quinn with my networking ninja prowess.
With a final check in the mirror, I was ready to go. Not bad for a mad scramble. “And Lana,” I called after her as she left the room with my crop in hand, “punishment comes first, then reward.”
She snorted. “Now I need to find someone to punish.”
By the time I got into the Bentley, I was a bit winded. I felt a bit awkward leaving my place in something so formal. Once I got settled into the seat, though, everything slid into place. I was Sophie Ashton wearing a couture gown on the way to the opera. Just another day on the job.
“You’re early,” I remarked, keeping my gaze away from him. He looked so good it hurt my eyes. His short-cropped hair had been styled to perfection, and his finely tailored clothes and dignified air made me believe for a moment that he was my date.
“I wanted us to discuss any last-minute details over drinks.” His deep voice was honey to my ears. I couldn’t miss the way he glanced over me with appreciation. Before I could open my mouth, he added, “You keep skipping meals, so I wanted to make sure you were taken care of, Miss Ashton.”
A protest right now seemed appropriate, but we were already dressed and ready for the opera. The space I kept between us though didn’t seem like it was enough. To keep myself occupied, and my mind on business, I went over scenarios with Xavier on how to interact with Watanabe and the best people for him to impress. My mouth kept moving, but Xavier’s heated gaze made it hard for me to focus.
By the time we were on our way downtown to the opera house, my skin hummed again and I couldn’t sit still in the seat. Again and again I reminded myself he’d be gone in a few weeks. This hunger that made my breath catch and my body tremble would go away. This was nothing more than an attraction I had to get past.
That became easier said than done when he finally spoke. “You look breathtaking right now. You’ll be a great asset tonight. I know people, but there are many social circles here in Boston and you know them better than me.”
So all the time I spent securing a proper dress had been for the benefit of attracting attention and not because he liked how I looked. I shoved that thought aside and focused on the obvious: at least he knew my strengths very well.
“All we’re doing is the benefit and then I need to go home,” I said.
“Naturally.” His grin said otherwise.
Breathtaking, he’d said. I tried not to let myself react to the word. I’d done everything I could to make sure I looked my best. I touched my curls to make sure they were in place.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all evening.” His fingers twitched.
“Do my hair?” My lips pursed. “Now this is a new talent I didn’t know about.”
He reached for me and stopped midway. A part of me screamed to me to lean toward him. Don’t give him a foot because he’ll take a yard. And yet, I wanted him to reach out and touch a tendril. I wanted him to take a fistful and pull my head back. If he asked me to comply, would I do it?
“Have you ever seen the painting called Water Serpents?” he asked casually.
I shook my head. “The name sounds familiar, though.”
“It’s an erotic painting by Gustav Klimt with two figures. Klimt had a thing for the naked female form. He found symbolism in what others would find overtly sexual.”
I chuckled. “I’ve yet to do any naked posing for art.”
“No, I’m sure you haven’t, but you remind me of the woman in that painting. The milky complexion of your skin. The way your hair frames your face.”
My breath caught and I had to turn away from him to take in the lights of downtown Boston.
Thank goodness we pulled up to the opera house before I had a chance to lose it. He was almost close enough to see all my secrets and none of them I wanted to tell.
Chris opened the door for us. Xavier emerged first and I followed him. The sounds of busy streets erupted around us, but all I could focus on was him and the fact he stood so close to me. Flashing lights from photographers’ cameras flashed around us, pulling me out of the moment.
You’re not on a date, Sophie.
I reminded myself I was his assistant for the evening and any inquiries to his company would reflect such.
“This way, Mr. Quinn,” one man with a camera called.
Xavier paused, turning so that his hand hovered over my back. So tantalizingly close, yet not close enough to touch me. Ever since I’d met him on the plane, he’d avoided touching me for some reason. I briefly glanced at the flashing lights, but my stomach was churning. The last thing I needed was a headline in The Boston Globe: CONCIERGE PHENOM PASSES OUT IN THE BRIGHT LIGHTS AND FLASHES HER WALMART PANTIES TO THE WORLD.
“You all right?” he whispered in my ear.
“Of course.” I gave him the smile I gave everyone.
Amusement shined in his blue eyes. “Of course.”
It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement. A long row of limousines waited to bring more patrons for the event tonight. The people who got out were dressed in dazzling evening wear from Valentino to Hervé Léger. Wealth had smells, from the heady citrus colognes the men wore to the delicate, expensive floral perfumes the ladies dabbed on their necks.
“Do you always smile like that when you lie?” Xavier had more to say as we entered the building. Heat filled my face. I kept my mouth shut and continued to walk beside him, all the while taking in the signs for upcoming events. The Nutcracker. Sleeping Beauty. Tonight’s piece was Pelléas et Mélisande.
I couldn’t believe he’d outright said that, but this was Xavier Quinn.
A beautiful grand chandelier shined above our heads. I’d been in this building many times before, but I was always delighted. Acquaintances who grew up in the area told me the opera house had been renovated more than a decade ago and now the original glory had returned. I could see it in the fine marble on the floor and the gold leaf finishes on the walls. The carpets and tapestries added an Old World flair that made this experience even more fairytale-like.
“I take that as a yes,” he added when I remained quiet.
“No comment, Mr. Quinn.”
We joined the crowd enjoying refreshments in the lobby. The stairs to the theater lay ahead. Now that we were in the thick of things, I couldn’t miss how others glanced in our direction. Women whispered inquiries to their friends. Men remarked on the new player on the field. And I was standing next to him.
Using my trained eye, I scanned over the crowd and I noted familiar faces. Even prior and current clients.
“Champagne?” Xavier placed a glass in my hand.
“Thanks.”
The drink went down smoothly. I turned to look at him from the corner of my eye. “You ready to do this?”
“Do your thing.” He extended his hand toward the crowd.
As we weaved through the crowd, Xavier became chatty. “How many people here do you know?”
“Too many to count,” I said with a laugh.
I introduced him to a few businessmen first. Going all out eager with the men associated with Nakamura wasn’t wise. Step one was to build buzz.
During the whole time, I tried to focus while Xavier stood close enough for our bodies to almost touch. For the bare skin of my shoulder to brush against his. Anyone who looked at us would most likely see him guiding me through the crowd having a good time, but to me tonight felt like punishment. A torture of sorts that made it harder for me to focus.
“Will Nakamura be here tonight?” he asked, looking over at Watanabe as he greeted one of his guests.
“Definitely.” The timing had to be perfect for his introduction to Watanabe. “He’s one of Watanabe’s patrons, but I don’t want you to approach him yet.”
“And why is that?” He was close to me again, his minty breath warming the side of my face. A master of seduction that rivaled Sato’s attentions. The tension in my stomach grew uncomfortable.
“There’s always a good reason wh
y I do what I do,” I managed. “Just like you told me.”
“And you wouldn’t have me do something unless you have a good reason.”
“Precisely.”
I still held my empty champagne glass. Any intentions to put the glass down vanished. Any distraction was welcome so I settled on conversation.
“I love the tapestries in here,” I remarked. On the other side of the room, I caught sight of Nakamura coming in with his wife.
“See something you like?” Xavier asked.
“Many of these are on loan from overseas.” I pointed at the nearest one that put me in the line of sight for Nakamura’s approach to Watanabe. “That one I believe is from an exhibit in Scotland. The first time I saw it was in Paris.”
“So you’ve traveled internationally?”
Did he think I was some rookie concierge who wasn’t familiar with the places I took my clients? “Of course. I might’ve even seen more places than you have. I’ve been almost everywhere—except Japan and Malaysia. Three times last year to South America, and I might be the only person to say I’ve seen most of the hidden gems in the London airport during my countless layovers.”
He gave a small smile. “I’ve never had the opportunity to travel for pleasure.”
Now that surprised me. Around us, the crowd shifted. We had less than five minutes to go before the show began. My gaze shifted toward Watanabe and he followed my lead. A small line formed to greet him.
“Wouldn’t you at least go to Cancun or Monaco or some place like that for yachting?” I asked.
“Sounds like fun, but in the business I’m in, I travel to make more money for my company.”
He chuckled when I made us walk more quickly so that we could get in line to the theater right in front of Nakamura. “All work and no play…” I began.
“Makes Jack a very rich man,” he finished.
Makes Jack a tired man is what I wanted to say.
“You have to have gone on vacation once.” Nakamura was right behind us, but I didn’t want him to go silent. I wanted to see the real Xavier at this moment.
“Not once, Miss Ashton. Wait, I went to Disneyland with my family. Does that count?”
“Kind of.” Not really. I’d always imagined a man like Xavier Quinn lounging and eating olives on a yacht off Hawaii. Bikini-clad women offering him drinks and saucy conversation. I’d yet to do anything like that.
Xavier laughed.
“What?”
“I remember the day when my brother Marcus broke his leg at the park. At the time I thought he’d ruined the whole trip, but now that I look back, at least we were all together at the time.”
I wanted to ask further what he meant by that, but we finally reached Kaito Watanabe.
The older businessman looked to be no more than fifty, but I knew he was in his late sixties. He smiled, extending his hand toward Xavier. “I’m pleased to see you came, Mr. Quinn. I was pleasantly surprised to hear of your kind donation.”
Xavier didn’t grasp Watanabe’s hand with both of his in the manner that the Japanese prefer, but Xavier was an American so that faux pas could be ignored. “The pleasure is mine. I’m always looking for new organizations to support through the Quinn Foundation. The work you do here for the traditional arts is astounding.”
Watanabe briefly looked at me. I bowed and greeted him in Japanese. After that I remarked, in Japanese, how excited Xavier was to give to such an important cause and how Xavier wanted to be involved in future partnerships with a man as esteemed and experienced as him. Xavier’s company made a lot more money than Watanabe’s, but that didn’t matter right now. Respect did.
Poor Xavier had no idea what I was saying, but he kept smiling—like I wanted him to do.
Right behind us, Nakamura waited, but he heard every word.
Watanabe nodded. Then he turned to his assistant, who extended a card. Bingo! I took it with both hands and a bowed head.
“Mr. Nakamura.” Xavier nodded his way.
I cringed on the inside, my plan for an offhand introduction crumbling after Nakamura heard us talking to Watanabe.
Nakamura simply nodded and Watanabe turned to him. Our opportunity to have Watanabe casually introduce Xavier to him vanished. Damn.
Now we had no choice but to say our thanks and head up the stairs to the theater.
I sighed. Being disappointed would get in the way of coming up with a new plan. I had the whole evening to figure something out.
We went up a well-lit stairwell to Xavier’s private box. I tried to focus on going up each step, but instead my mind wandered and I kept thinking about the man behind me. Could he see the way the dress fit my curves or the way my hips began to sway as if they had a mind of their own?
By the time we reached the box and slipped into the red velvet seats, my whole body hummed. Ignoring the feeling was futile, even with my face forward and my gaze set on the stage. There were plenty of sights to drink in, from the ornate painted ceiling with intricate cherub carvings to the beautiful crystal chandeliers hung along the walls.
The massive room dimmed and murmurs from the crowd floated up to us. The performance would begin soon and give me the distraction I wanted.
A waiter arrived with more champagne, but I didn’t look over my shoulder. Finally, Xavier spoke to me.
“Would you like some champagne?” he whispered. His breath was warm on my neck. I didn’t dare turn toward him. My imagination churned out vivid images I couldn’t push away: His lips trailing across my neck. His hand pressed against my thigh.
Xavier handed me the glass and I gratefully downed the drink to sate my parched throat.
His left arm was close enough to warm my right side and all I could do to keep myself in check was keep my hands in my lap. Even intertwining my fingers didn’t settle my senses.
The orchestra’s music began, the horns softly playing as the first act of Pelléas et Mélisande started.
“Have you seen this piece before?” he asked.
His words broke through to me. I dared a quick peek and his dark, mesmerizing stare forced my lips to part and made my throat dry.
“Yes. A year ago,” I managed.
“Damn it, Miss Ashton,” he breathed. The side of his mouth turned slightly with a devilish grin. “You need to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” My gaze flicked to the man and woman singing on the stage. Her melodic voice further softened my already molten insides.
“Like you’re begging me to touch you.”
Was it that obvious? He had yet to touch me again and I was close to begging. Even with the guilt of what I wanted nipping at me. Were my eyes betraying what my body felt? My body for damn sure didn’t care that he was a client and not a man who had similar interests to mine.
Instead of waiting for a response from me, his left hand drifted to rest on his knee. His fingers flexed, the movement wonderfully hypnotic.
Would one touch ruin everything?
We sat like that for some time, sipping the champagne through the first two acts. Then the third act began with Mélisande sitting at a tower window singing as she combed her long hair. Pelléas looked at her longingly and I wanted to look away. As hard as I tried to ignore Xavier, his hand still rested on his knee, ever so close to mine.
His head drifted toward me, yet he didn’t touch me. “It’s amazing how Debussy showed how much Pelléas longed for Mélisande. Even though she could never be his.”
My heart sped up and the truth hit me hard.
She could never be his.
He continued, “As a woman married to his brother, she haunted him in a way, her very presence bringing out a side of him he thought he could contain.” Finally, he brushed the back of his hand against my knee. I sucked in a breath. Next came a firm squeeze along my mid-thigh. Pure. Bliss. Just one touch had me trembling. “Passion. Longing.”
I tried to watch the play, but my gaze kept drifting to my clenched hands in my lap. The large hand on my t
high. Waiting was something I did so well, so why was my resolve crumbling so quickly?
Then his hand wandered up my thigh, dipping briefly near my sex, until he gripped my left wrist. The need to respond to him was intense. But the very idea of giving in made me freeze. Only once did I dare to look at him—he continued to watch the show intently—while my breath quickened. His thumb circled my palm. Sparks danced along my skin from his slow, yet deliberate touch.
I closed my eyes and told myself to tell him to let go of my hand.
Don’t do this again, Soph.
But there was no escaping him and I let it happen. He was closer now, his breath warming my cheek. “I’m going to kiss you, Sophie,” he declared firmly.
But instead of kissing my lips, he drew me onto his lap. The fullness of my dress didn’t deter him. The music continued to play. He kissed the place where my wrist began. Right above my pulse point. Like a leopard sampling his prey, he ran his lips, then his tongue over the most sensitive parts of the skin along my hand.
All the while, he whispered to me, his voice thick. “I control myself in all things, Miss Ashton.” The grip on my wrist tightened until I hissed. So good. Damn him.
“But your beautiful eyes make me want to do things to you that I shouldn’t…” Watching him do this to me was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen in my life. “Things that I told myself I wouldn’t do with an employee.”
I was breathless by the time he looked at me again. Our lips were mere inches apart. I could practically taste the alcohol he’d sampled. Settled in his lap with my head tilted toward his, our bodies were too close to prevent the inevitable from happening. He captured my lips and I unclenched my fists. My reservations floated away along with the tension in my limbs.
In contrast to Mélisande softly singing, every part of Xavier was hard. His body unyielding, his lips firm and hungry against mine. His tongue darted into my mouth and I moaned. I sagged against him, opening my lips further to invite more. Our tongues danced, dueling until he pulled back with a violent tremble.
He was as breathless as I was. The subtle upward thrust of his hips made my thighs clench with need. “There are so many things I could do to you…” He drew in a deep breath.
Bound to You Page 6
