Breach of Trust

by Kimber Chin

  "They were once an item,” Anne confirmed. It was obvious that they had been and, it appeared, still were, very close.

  "And what an item. The two of them, so wonderful to look at. Eye candy for the gods. Hmmm,” Stanley cooed.

  Anne's look cut him dead.

  "Not that you don't look cute together, Annie-pie. You do, adorable and you're more his height, pocket sized.” Her friend quickly tried to recover, “I like him, girl."

  "I do too,” Nancy jumped in.

  "How can we not? Annie-Bananie. No wonder you waited so long if that's who you were waiting for.” Stanley blatantly looked Philippe over, making the businessman frown their way. “I'd wait too for a man like that."

  "Don't get too excited. It's a passing thing,” Anne muttered, embarrassed by the situation. How could it not be temporary? Philippe dated the likes of Denise. For all she knew, he still was dating the fabulous Suzanne. That might not be serious either but it was a lot more serious than what he was doing with her, plain little Anne. Maybe not so plain. He said she was beautiful. Beautiful, her, and Philippe didn't lie.

  "A passing thing? Annie, you're not that type of girl.” Stanley nudged her in the stomach with his bony elbow. “And I'd bet my best eyeliner that you're not his usual type of girl. The Barbies, including the beautiful Denise, are his trophy babes, aren't they?” Anne nodded, amazed at Stanley's deduction. “You, you're not like that."

  Anne certainly wasn't like that, not even close. “I

  wish.” At least then, she had a shot at holding his attention.

  "You might think you wish but you don't really.” Stanley shook his blond head. “Those women are a short term fix for a quality man like Philippe. You, girl, you're a life-long addiction, you wait and see."

  Anne didn't have a chance to respond, even if she could, Philippe's lingering good-byes with Denise finally over.

  "Ready, ladies?” Philippe asked, looking to Anne for the answer.

  He got one from an unexpected source.

  "Ready? So ready.” Stanley flirted, “So very, very ready."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Seven

  Philippe found it difficult keeping his eyes off of Anne during dinner. Not that Stanley's make-up job made her look like someone else; that would be easier to accept. Non, Philippe had seen that expression on her face before, dark smoldering eyes, flushed cheeks, full pouting lips. His little sparrow looked like she had been kissed senseless, and it made him squirm. All he could think about was putting her in that state naturally. And as soon as possible.

  "Are you thinking of getting a dessert?” Anne leaned toward him, her hair slipping over her shoulder, soft as satin, brushing up against him.

  "Mais oui, Cherie.” He swallowed, staring at her lips. He planned for his dessert to be a true calorie burner but still sinfully sweet. Anne's big brown eyes met his, and Philippe let desire transform his countenance. He felt the trembling in her body. It was so close to his.

  "Fancy Nancy and I are going to share the crème caramel,” Stanley piped up perkily from across the table.

  "Will you share with me, Cherie? I wish to save a little appetite for later.” Philippe, again, made his plans perfectly clear. He had a favor he was eager to return this evening. He thought about it the entire week and couldn't wait much longer.

  "The chocolate mousse looks good.” Anne's voice was husky.

  "It does,” but then, he would agree to anything to please her. Philippe signaled for the waiter that they were ready. He had done all the ordering tonight, Stanley insisting that it be done in French despite Philippe assuring him the waiter spoke perfect English. It now worked to his benefit, Philippe asking for only one spoon for the chocolate mousse. That should get the evening moving in the right direction, his lips curved in satisfaction.

  "Annie-kin, do you like pearls or diamonds?” Stanley volleyed across the table.

  Where that came from, Philippe had no clue. Such was Stanley's style of conversation, random questions followed by even more irrelevant insights.

  "Diamonds,” Anne didn't hesitate to answer. A crisp twenty-dollar bill passed from Stanley to Nancy.

  Diamonds? That choice surprised Philippe, Anne didn't seem like the bling-bling type, more classic, traditional. He said as much.

  Her answer had nothing to do with monetary value or others’ perceptions. It was all Anne. “Diamonds sparkle like stars. They make me happy."

  Whether “they” pertained to the diamonds or stars, Philippe wasn't too sure. He had the irrational urge to shower her with both, the former significantly easier to obtain than the latter. How? He would figure out a way.

  "More wine?” Philippe picked up the bottle of white and tilted it toward her empty glass. Anne shook her head.

  "Me, please.” Stanley waved his glass in front of him for a top-up.

  "Nancy? Last chance.” Philippe asked. He knew the answer but offered anyway. Anything else would have outed her. “It's good."

  "If you do say so yourself.” The redhead laughed. He had chosen the wine. “None for me, thanks."

  "Nance, you're really on the wagon tonight.” Anne commented, “Not a drop of liquor."

  Philippe's eyes met Nancy's. For close friends, Anne hadn't yet shared Nancy's secret. No alcohol, a healthy dinner, heavy on the spinach salad, and frequent bathroom breaks made Nancy's condition obvious to Philippe. But then, he knew more than the average man. His two sisters seemed to be constantly pregnant.

  The crème caramel was placed in front of her and Nancy hooked her thumbs in her waistband. “Trying to reduce, Anne. Not all of us have your amazing metabolism."

  Philippe's clueless sparrow accepted the lie. “It's slowing.” Anne then slanted Philippe a look that told him she knew what he was doing with the one spoon. She didn't kick up a further fuss. A good sign.

  Philippe watched her, guarding his expression, as she bit into the mousse. Her eyes fluttered closed, dark lashes against brown skin. Her quiet moan of pleasure made his palms sweat. Merde, she turned him on, simply watching her eat was an erotic experience.

  "You'll want to try this.” She handed him the warm spoon, their fingers lingering, touching. “It's really good."

  "I can see that.” Philippe shaved off a tiny piece, leaving more for Anne. There was no way he'd enjoy eating the mousse more than he'd enjoy watching her suck on that spoon.

  The friends talked and laughed, Philippe content to listen to the conversation, sipping at his coffee, joining in when needed. Anne was the quietest of the three, completely overshadowed by Stanley's drama and Nancy's bubbly personality, but Philippe found himself nodding his head more at her insights.

  Anne's neat and tidy brain was one of the reasons. Philippe enjoyed their daily phone conversations, one of the reasons he looked forward to seeing her again. That and the promise of hot sex, of course. That could not be ignored. But in the past, with his other women, hot sex was all he was interested in. Not so with Anne. Philippe asked for her opinion and wanted to hear the answer. He paid attention. He had to, the woman too damn quick to tune out on.

  Anne threw him a grateful look as he picked up the check. He chuckled at her charge for chicken fingers and fries. Not the fancy food type, his girl.

  "Stanley, you want a ride home?” Nancy offered as they headed to the exit. “I have to drop Annie off also."

  "I'll take care of Anne.” Philippe nodded his thanks to Nancy for the opening. She's a good one, that Nancy.

  "I bet you will.” Stanley's saucy comment made his skittish girl stiffen. Philippe cautiously tightened his grip on Anne's waist. She wasn't going anywhere. He had plans for tonight.

  Those big brown eyes devoured Philippe as he climbed into the driver's seat. He started the car up and she sighed. Oh, no, we don't, he almost chuckled with delight, this time we'll do this properly. No more hanky panky in the cramped car.

  * * * *

  Anne wanted him, more than she ever wanted anything in her life. She w
anted his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, his hard muscle against her soft skin. But, she watched as he concentrated on the road, his determined chin in profile. That would have to wait. Until then, small talk. What to say?

  "Thank you for tonight. Stanley...” Was bringing up her flirty friend conducive to exciting bed play? Likely not.

  "It was nothing, Cherie.” He shrugged her comment off, smoothly parking the Maybach.

  It was not nothing. Anne knew enough less confident men to dismiss his tolerance as easily. “You're a good man, Philippe Lamont."

  "If thinking that helps my cause tonight,” he opened her car door and held out his hand, “then I'll be a good man."

  She slid her hand along his. It was firm and warm and made her palm tingle. Yeah, Philippe is a good man, surprisingly so. “Well, I don't know if it helps your cause,” Anne dropped her voice into a whisper, “I wouldn't want to corrupt you."

  His eyes burned amber. “You think you can do that, Cherie? Corrupt a worldly, jaded man such as myself?"

  Worldly, jaded. Oh dear. Philippe is right. What could I possibly offer him? Me, plain little Anne James. She squashed that thought. Philippe was used to confident women. He bedded confident women, and dang it, that's what she'd give him, a confident woman. Be brave. Be fearless. “I could try."

  "Not tonight, Cherie.” He tapped a finger against her nose. “Tonight is all about you."

  All about her, Anne quaked. Could she do that? Take all the pleasure for herself? Sit back and enjoy? No, it felt too greedy, too selfish. And it gave him complete control. She'd be at his mercy. She didn't like that.

  Since their encounter in the car, Anne thought about the next steps. A lot. So much so that in this week apart, she plotted out a brazen action plan. It took courage, guts, to implement. She didn't know if she had it in her. But worldly, jaded—was it really such a risk? The usual could bore him. What she planned ... well, if it went wrong, at least she tried. If anything, she could laugh about it later. Alone.

  Anne weighed the risks as she led Philippe into her living room. What now? “Would you like a drink?” she offered, nervously watching him prowl around the room, his sharp eyes not missing anything, picking up photos and putting them back down again. Her place wasn't that large. They already passed the microscopic kitchen. The only other room was, gulp, the bedroom. And she wasn't ready for the bedroom yet.

  "No, a drink isn't what I'd like.” He returned to her side. “You are.” Before Anne said another word, Philippe kissed her. His kisses were hard like his body, urgent, hungry. They drove all air from her lungs until she was left gasping, hanging onto him.

  Philippe unbuttoned her blazer, pushing it over her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground, his hand running over her ivory camisole. She was backed up until her calves hit the edge of the sofa. Then he tilted her down to lie on the cushions so he was over top her, braced against one arm. “Tres douce, very soft,” Philippe murmured against her neck, his free hand cupping her breast, bringing her nipple to hard peaks underneath the silk. “I know what you like too, Cherie."

  This was it, her sign, her chance, and she took it. “I don't think that you do,” slipped out before she debated it further.

  The impact was immediate. Philippe pulled away, his face one of stunned disbelief. “Comment? You don't think I know how to please you?"

  "I don't think that you do.” Anne looked as sultry as she could manage, trying to diffuse his anger, bring the passion back. Had she made a mistake? She didn't know. It was too late to back out now. “I think I'll have to show you."

  Anne rose to her feet, leaving him confused and angry on the sofa. Be brave, be fearless, concentrate on the task at hand. First step, secure the man's attention. Anne reached around behind her to unzip her slim skirt, all the while watching him. Accomplished. Philippe waited expectantly, his brown eyes flashing gold. Next step, get naked.

  Wishing she had the foresight to put on music, Anne hummed as she edged the skirt down teasingly over her hips, slowly revealing first her midriff then the top of matching ivory panties, lower, lower. Wiggling a little more gave him a peek of the top of her tan stockings, and then the skirt fell to the floor in a swish of fabric.

  His mouth dropped with it. Good, good, very good. That gave Anne enough courage to rest one high heel on the cushion by his thigh, and bend over slightly to smooth her stocking from ankle to thigh, drawing his eyes upward, well aware that her camisole gaped open while she did so.

  Now what? Talk, that's it. Not small talk, no mention of Stanley; sexy talk. “Do you want me to show you, Philippe?” Anne stepped back, running a hand over that camisole, down to her panties. “Show you how to please me?"

  "Mon Dieu, woman, this was supposed to be about you,” he groaned. From the tightness in his voice, she guessed his control was stretched.

  Anne had no bloody idea how stretched his control was. Philippe told himself that it couldn't happen again. He thought he ensured this morning that it wouldn't. But non, this blasted sparrow was turning him into a sex maniac. Oui, her actions were unpracticed, a little nervous, a little awkward, the humming adorably off key. Philippe would bet big dollars this was her first time doing something like this. That made it all the more erotic. Like he was peeking into a private moment. The little brown sparrow flying free.

  "This is all about me,” and Anne's words were right on the money. It was about her. There was no room in his mind for anything else.

  Philippe tried to look away. He couldn't. Those long fingers of hers trailed over her thin body. Did he ever think it was too thin? He had been a fool. It was lean with subtle curves in all the right places.

  Her camisole slipped off those dainty brown shoulders, slowly, slowly, until dark nipples were freed.

  Merde, did she just lick her finger before she circled the darkness, leaving a glisten of moisture in its wake?

  "Anne, I can't.” He shifted, so hard that he was uncomfortable. He wouldn't get through this without grabbing her. Or something.

  "You can touch yourself too, Philippe,” her voice was sultry as she read his mind. “I don't mind."

  He couldn't do that. She wasn't some stripper. To be used for purely visual entertainment. This was Anne. This was the woman he asked advice from, the killer businesswoman with the keen brain.

  But then she licked her finger again and moved it under the band of those silk and lace panties and all thoughts of not touching himself fled.

  * * * *

  Hours later, spent and satisfied, Anne lay cradled in Philippe's arms, back fully on the sofa though in partial denial over her actions. Had she done that? Pleased herself in front of Philippe Lamont? Worldly, jaded Philippe Lamont? No sense thinking about it now. What is done, is done.

  "What am I going to do with you, Cherie,” he murmured against her forehead, hugging her close.

  Anne ran her fingers through his short curly chest hair, finding comfort in the strength of his heartbeat. "Hmmm ... I thought you were tired."

  Philippe put his hand over hers, stopping her movements. “That wasn't what I meant and you know it. Though, hold onto that thought for later.” He kissed her fingertips one by one.

  So what had he meant? What was he going to do with her? In what capacity? Not sex. Had to do with business then. Business, business. Always business. Could business still be done between the two of them? With Philippe going out of town after the last encounter, they hadn't discussed it. Now it happened again.

  "Do you want me to continue working for you?” Anne framed her question for the affirmative she wanted.

  "Maintenant, Cherie? Now?” Did she want to talk about business now? Of course not, but it had to be talked about sometime.

  "Yes, now."

  "Then of course, I do,” Philippe's voice held no doubt.

  "This changes nothing. You don't need my approval to turn down the plans. It's like you're working solo."

  "And if it's a thumbs up?” Anne's experience with Denise today tol
d her the woman could have a viable business.

  "You have no emotional or financial attachment to my decision, so what will you care? They aren't your clients."

  And later, when they were her clients? When she did care? Had she screwed her company literally by masturbating in front of their largest financier? Anne knew the answer but was not brave enough to ask the question. Instead, Anne tackled the other touchy question she wanted to know about. “What's the story with Denise, anyway?"

  "Cherie, you might want to work on your pillow talk."

  "Advice from the expert. Thank you.” Anne's triteness earned her a playful pinch. “Seriously, Philippe, I'd like to know."

  "Then I'll tell you.” Anne rode the wave of his chest as Philippe sighed. “We were once an item."

  That was what he was worried about telling her? “Tell me something I didn't know."

  "Did Denise...?"

  "No, it wasn't Denise. I have eyes. I can see it. She's your type and you act, well, lets say you act closer than just friends.” Anne was careful to keep all hurt out of her voice. “So why'd you leave her?” How would it end? Anne and Phillipe's relationship. If she knew then maybe she could prepare. Forewarned is forearmed, and all that.

  "I didn't leave her."

  What? Had she heard that correctly? Anne sat up straight, moving away from his comforting warmth.

  "Denise left me."

  "Really?” Why would any woman leave Philippe? Denise looked and acted sane.

  "Vraiment. You may find it hard to believe.” His tone was dry. Anne doubted he was proud of Denise's actions. “But we were friends more than lovers."

  "Oh, yes. A platonic relationship.” The sarcasm slid out. Who is he trying to fool? Philippe had a very healthy sex drive.

  "Don't be bad, Cherie, not that friend-like,

  evidemment. We had no future and she fell in love with someone much more compatible. We remain friends. I'm happy for her."

  Sure, he is because everyone knows Philippe Lamont likes losing. Tell that story to someone who doesn't know him. Intimately. And friends more than lovers—didn't that sound familiar? Wasn't that what Anne and Philippe were? Business buddies who slept together or got darn close to, Anne amended, they not yet doing the deed. Not yet doing the deed. A technicality. It was a matter of time.