by Letty James
“Nikki, are you listening?”
“Sorry.” Her glass suddenly felt very heavy. The effects of spending the night in the train station and having a day topsy-turvy with emotions had exhausted her. She was ready to fall over and go to sleep. Into the sweet pillow of Gérard’s arms. They hadn’t talked about sleeping arrangements. And why was he asking about Jessica? Especially after that remark of ol’ biddy VonDorling. Had Jessica been one in a long string of Gérard’s lovers? She would ask him. Nikki turned and clutched her wine glass. She took another swallow. Such lovely wine in France. Gérard, no Beauvais, no Monsieur Beauvais took it gently from her grasp and set it firmly on the white tablecloth.
“Your name matches you. Gérard. Gérard.” She rolled his name around like candy over her tongue. “It sounds like a soft growl. Do you make noise like that when you make love?”
He rubbed his chin, chuckling. “I rather think of it as an American cheer. Rah, rah and so forth. Perhaps the noise made after making love?”
Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear. She had crossed the line. He was smiling, but it was one of those lion smiles. The satisfaction of knowing he could smash her with one paw. She sat up and smoothed back her hair, knocking him in the chin with her elbow, making his teeth click together.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rubbed at his jaw as if her hit was a gravy stain she could wipe away. Bristles of evening whiskers scraped her thumb before he clasped her hand in his. She yanked away, feeling the imaginary building of the meringue again, wanting oh so desperately to fling herself upon him. Sitting back, she bit her lip—hard—to force herself to refocus.
Nikki blinked. “Right. Where were we? Jessica? Yes.” She let out her breath in a whoosh. “I don’t know Jessica very well, now.” Nikki sighed and sat up straighter, putting her elbows on the table. Remembering her manners, she abruptly took them off and sat back, only to be engulfed in Gérard’s presence again as his arm curled closer on top of the banquette.
“And why is that?”
“She left home when I was thirteen. She was nineteen. Five years ago, she moved to France. Poof!” Nikki waved her hand in the air. “Kept in touch through email.” She peered up at Gérard. Such lovely hair. “I kept telling Mimi she could find Emmaline through the internet. She didn’t believe me. But we found her. Used to read about you, too.” Nikki cocked her head, studying him. “You’re different than I expected.”
Gérard’s expression went blank and Nikki wished she could swallow her words. She had a tendency to run on at the mouth when she was drinking. No kidding. And she couldn’t stop. Oh, who cares? He’d find out all this stuff, eventually.
“Don’t you want to know why you’re different?” She arched her eyebrow in imitation, teasing him.
“Please enlighten me, Mademoiselle Sommers.” His finger ran over the back of her neck, causing a shiver to run through her entire body.
She sat up straighter, away from his hand, and picked up her wine again, the dark liquid sloshing against the side of the glass. Her mind had gone totally blank, and she could only focus on trying to keep her wine glass from tipping over and her head from turning to meet his gaze. It felt like a replay of this morning. If she looked at him, he could read her mind—every private thought. The flickering candles on the table mesmerized her as he waited patiently for her answer.
“I expected you to be cold. But I watched you in the bakery. The, the . . .” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t say passion. It sounded so intimate—even more so than making love. She couldn’t analyze it, though. Fumbling for her water glass, she finally got a hold of it and took a gulp, then wiped her mouth with the wad of her napkin. After replacing the glass, oh so carefully on the table, she turned to him, swaying slightly. Ah, it was like dancing. “You’re so focused. But you enjoy life. You certainly know how to live, they would say in the States.”
He gave her a small smile.
“I try.”
He took a sip of wine and she watched him swallow. Nikki licked her suddenly dry lips, and his gaze followed her tongue. She did it again, just to be sure. Yes. Oh, God. Her gaze dropped from his face. If the man flared his nostrils, he could probably convince her to get naked right here.
Gérard loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. Dark hair sprang from the top of his shirt. Her gaze trailed down the line of his tie, following the hidden image of Gérard’s chest hair from neck to groin. A napkin covered his lap. Damn.
“Let’s talk about your career.”
Nikki blinked at the change of subject. What career?
Focus, Nikki. Focus.
It wasn’t happening.
“Let’s talk about you.” She smiled up at him, her breath catching at how his eyes became dark gray shadows in the candlelight. “Is this your favorite restaurant?” Lots of questions would get him to talk more—if only to hear his wonderful deep voice, French spilling out like warm caramel sauce.
“One of my favorite. They do an excellent job with the squab and the service is superb. But don’t order the fish on Tuesday.”
“Everyone’s a critic.” She picked up her glass and polished off her wine. “This is a lovely Bordeaux. Rich, full-bodied, a lot of depth. Like you!” She flushed, feeling her ears turn red. Her hand crept up to her lobe. Maybe red-eared pixies turned him on.
His breath brushed her cheek. “Would you like dessert? It’s my favorite part.”
She put a hand on his chest and leaned against him, inhaling his cologne, the deep, fruity tang of his breath. “I make a chocolate soufflé that would knock your socks off.” Realizing what she had done, she pushed away, banging her arm against the table. So much for smooth. His arm slipped around her back, steadying her.
“Only my socks?” Mischief danced around the corners of his mouth.
“And your shoes,” Nikki flirted back.
“I think it’s time to go home,” Gérard announced.
“About that.” Nikki laid both hands on the table to steady herself.
“Yes?” He picked up her hand and caressed each finger with his thumb. A thumb easily twice the size of hers.
To melt in his arms. Like chocolate. Meringue. Pie. They would make a lovely pie. After all, he did say dessert was his favorite.
Instead, she curled her hand into a ball, away from his touch, but he simply covered her hand with his, enveloping it.
“I can’t sleep with you for a job.” She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.
“Then how about we leave the job out of it?” His fingers stroked her wrist.
“It wouldn’t be right.” Her fingers opened like the petals of a flower.
“What would make it right?” He kissed her palm, his lips trailing up her finger to the tip and she shivered with anticipation.
Chapter 6
“Pie.” What? She’d gone over the deep end. No. No. Pastry cream. Feed each other. Hear him moan. Make him something. Christ. Think, Nikki.
“What?” he asked.
She leaned into him again, her mouth a whisper away from his—and used a child’s technique to throw off her confusion. “I know what I want, Gérard. The question is—what do you want?”
Gérard’s laugh drew looks from the other diners. “Chérie, I don’t think you understand how these negotiations work.”
Nikki sat back, startled. Negotiations? Was he serious? Was he paying her to sleep with him? Before she could say anything else, Gérard stood up. “Time to go.”
The maitre d’ appeared with her cape, which Gérard placed upon her shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze. He guided her, or pushed her, she thought crankily, out the door, his hand at the small of her back. The car waited for them at the curb. Gérard opened the door and gestured for her to get in.
“We need to talk first.” She swayed against his hand, her other ha
nd on the car hood for support.
“We are not going to talk about a sexual arrangement in a crowded restaurant. And I don’t think you want to have this discussion in the middle of the street.” A couple passed by and gave them curious looks.
Nikki huffed and got into the car, sliding as far away from Gérard as possible. Who the hell talked about sexual arrangements? She wouldn’t trade a job for sex. But he is so damned tempting. Yeah, like a bright, shiny apple from the Garden of Eden.
She opened her mouth to ask Gérard’s opinion on snakes. He held up one finger as his cell phone vibrated. After he texted for ten minutes, Nikki wanted to stomp it under the heel of her new boots. It had begun to rain, fat drops pelting the windshield. Water ran in rivulets down the car window like tears from heaven. She had a fleeting thought of jumping out of the car at the next traffic light. And realized she didn’t truly want to. She wanted to see what he would offer. Oh, naughty girl. Mimi would be ashamed of her behavior. But Mimi was gone. Nikki was all alone. She traced a raindrop’s path on her window, the glass cold under her finger.
“We’re here.”
“Where’s here?”
He smiled. “Home.”
Nikki didn’t budge. She could always sleep in the car. And she was very sleepy.
“We’ll talk inside.”
Nikki sighed. It wouldn’t hurt to see what he had to say. And he could overpower her quite easily. The tiniest bit of excitement niggled through her.
Stupid girl. Why don’t you just lay down on the sidewalk for him?
She stepped out of the car and stumbled over the cobblestones. Gérard caught her in his arms. Nikki caught sight of a grand brick townhome in a private courtyard. The front door opened, the light blinding her.
She still smelled of vanilla. Gérard cursed and set her on her feet, only to have her stumble again at the front step. She’d obviously had too much to drink. He swung her up in his arms. Nikki squeaked in surprise, her arms going around his shoulders, her eyes wide. They were the color of peridots. How beautiful she would look dripping in jewels. He snorted at his fancifulness and bound up the stairs where Didier stood holding the door open.
“Another stray, sir?” Didier drawled.
“Am I so predictable?” The latest acquisition he’d found on the streets curled around his ankles, mewing with pleasure and answering his question. “This one can do more than eat and claw the furniture.”
“I can type,” Nikki piped up. “And I can make a damned fine chocolate soufflé. I told you that. We’re having dessert. I love chocolate.” This last declaration was directed at Didier, who raised his eyebrows in question to Gérard.
Gérard ignored them both. “Is the blue bedroom made up?”
“Of course, sir. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine. Perfectly fine.” Nikki sang out and kicked her foot out, missing a porcelain vase by a hair.
“That will be all. Thank you, Didier.” The older man nodded his head and discretely disappeared.
“You have a butler,” Nikki whispered, her breath tickling his ear.
“It would appear so.” He tried like hell to pay no mind to the nuzzling against his neck as he made his way up the stairs to the guest bedroom. The decorator had christened it the Wedgewood room, which sounded idiotic, so he’d promptly dubbed it The Blue Room. Painted a soft blue, inspired by the Wedgewood pottery his mother had loved, the room was restful. He often came to sit at the window seat and gaze out at the townhouse’s garden. Having Nikki in this room was the most expedient as she would have to pass his bedroom to reach the stairs. He set her on the flowered chaise, but her arms still encircled his neck.
“You smell delicious. Like a spot of shade in a lemon grove.”
She was certainly creative. “Merci, Mademoiselle Sommers.”
“De rein. You know it’s never nothing. It’s always something.”
He gently disengaged her hands and divested himself of his coat, then stripped Nikki of her hideous cape. Nikki leaned back on the sofa and scratched the cat behind the ears, proceeding to utter baby talk to the cat, who lapped it up like cream.
Gérard sighed. He suspected the rest of the evening would be a waste of time in terms of any reasonable discussion. But then, he’d managed to hammer out deals with all sorts of inebriated individuals. Just none who called him delicious.
He handed Nikki a large glass of water and some aspirin he retrieved from the bathroom.
She placed the aspirin on her tongue, the glass of water wobbling on its way to her mouth. She took large gulps and he waited for it all to come back out.
“Slow down.”
She looked up as if she’d had forgotten he was there. Pushing herself off the chaise, she scanned the room. “Where’s the bathroom?”
He pointed. Nikki stumbled and slammed the door behind her. Gérard sat still and waited. He didn’t hear any signs of distress. This was madness. He should leave, but instead walked over to the window and stared out at the rain. Wait, did he hear the tub running?
Nikki leaned against the bathroom door, the brightness making her blink. The bathroom sparkled with a gleaming marble countertop and gold plated faucets. A chandelier sparkled over the sunken tub. A chandelier?
“Holy gorgeousness.” She twirled over the black and white tiles, feeling like a princess. Next to the tub sat several bottles of soaps, lotions, even bubblebath. What fun!
She turned on the hot water tap and stripped out of her leggings and sweater. Gotta get clean for Gérard.
She giggled.
Delicious Gérard.
Like a thick juicy steak. Yum. Yum.
Negotiations, he’d said. Her head pounded, trying to get the word out of her brain, but it splintered and danced on the rainbow bubbles.
He wanted her. She could tell. And oh, she wanted him. Those large hands running over her skin.
She shimmied out of her skirt.
He was her boss. Her conscience needled her through the fog of alcohol. Not anymore. She waved her hand in the air, swatting away objections. She’d go to the embassy. They would help her. She’d have a Paris fling and go home. She deserved it after awful, awful Tim.
She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse.
Was someone pounding on the door?
A large hand reached out and twisted off the faucets.
“Are you trying to drown?” Gérard loomed over her, his eyes dark and angry, his mouth set in a hard line.
Nikki backed up, her thighs hitting the cold marble behind her. Her arms flailed as she felt herself falling backward. He reached out and grabbed her upper arms, pulling her away from the tub and hard against his chest. She slowly inhaled as their gazes met and clung, desire flaming between them. She grasped his shirt, feeling the hard chest within, the caged strength of the lion.
Kiss me. Gérard’s eyes flared as if he could read her mind. His head lowered, his mouth capturing hers, and she felt a touch of heaven in his kiss.
He made her feel beautiful and desirable. He held her as if he would never let her go. Sweeping her jaw in a possessive caress, he held her still as his mouth slanted over hers, taking what she willingly gave. She returned Gérard’s fierceness, stretching up on her tiptoes as she dug her fingers into his starched cotton shirt. How she wanted him. Her heart pounded in her ears, almost covering the sound of their frantic breaths. Gérard’s hand trailed down her throat to cover her breast and she moaned into his mouth.
He thrust her away, his chest heaving in a shuttering breath. “I don’t make love to drunken women.”
“You’re lying.” Clearly, she’d had enough to drink to argue about drinking. Nikki shook her head, fighting for self-control, but not able to stop her big mouth. She sat down on the edge of the tub, trailing her hand in the hot wat
er as she avoided his gaze, wanting to shrink into herself. But no, she wouldn’t be a doormat anymore. Been there. Done that.
“You’d make love to me if we were in the tub. Covered with warm water. Slick, soapy bubbles. Two more minutes and you’d have joined me.” How experienced she sounded to her own ears. How naïve she felt. Tim had always laughed when she tried to seduce him. This man would enjoy it. And probably had women doing it all the time.
“Is that a proposition, Mademoiselle Sommers?” His storm-colored eyes gleamed under his raised eyebrows. He stepped toward her.
Nikki held her ground as she wiped her wet hand on her skirt. She could feel the blush, hot and pulsing on her chest and face. She hadn’t been the one groping his thigh during dinner. The remembered word negotiations made her hesitate. She shivered. All the magic dust evaporated into confusion.
“I simply wanted to take a bath. I feel dirty.” Nikki chickened out and wrapped her arms around her chest.
Gérard raked his hand through his hair. “Guilty conscience, Mademoiselle Sommers?”
Nikki’s eyes snapped up to glare at him. “No.” She stood up, her feelings giving her whiplash—one second she wanted to do so much more than kiss him, the next second she wanted to strangle him. “It’s been a long day. I slept in the train station last night.” She eyed the disappearing bubbles mournfully as Gérard flipped the tub stopper lever. So much for a moment of paradise.
Why had he stopped? Gérard lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. She stared back, trying to hide any longing from her eyes.
