by Letty James
“I didn’t realize. Take a shower.” He nodded behind her to the glass stall. “I’ll bring up coffee.” He turned on the shower and closed the door firmly behind him.
What had she been thinking? Gérard had been the responsible one to stop their kiss before things went any further. She could have thrown away her best chance at having enough money for cooking school. Stupid. Stupid. She stripped off the rest of her clothes with shaking hands and got into the steaming hot shower.
Wrapping her hair in a thick white towel, Nikki caught sight of herself in the mirror and sighed. If only she had her Hint of Berry lipstick to brighten her milky pale face. A silver-backed hairbrush lay with a mirror on the counter, but Nikki didn’t dare use it. Instead, she finger-combed her hair and wrapped herself in the terry cloth robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. An embroidered blue B decorated the breast pocket and the hem hung down to mid-calf. Clearly not Gérard’s, so was it the designated lovers’ robe? Nikki didn’t want to think about other women.
Gérard stood as Nikki came out of the bathroom. Swathed in a spare guest robe, she looked young and fragile, so different than the confident woman who had perched herself on top of his desk. Her hair hung in wet tendrils over her shoulders and he could smell lavender scented shampoo as she eased past him. The robe hid the voluptuous curves, which had pressed against him just minutes ago. He’d considered joining her in the tub and damn the consequences. He knew they both would have enjoyed it, but he needed information first. What he hadn’t known is how hard it would be to push her away. He raked his hand through his hair.
“Let’s have some coffee.” He gestured to the chaise where the cat sat as if she were an invited guest.
Nikki smiled. “What’s her name?”
“Joan Jett.”
“The rock star?” She pet Joan, whose bottom rose shamelessly.
“Yes. Black hair, a bit wild. It seemed appropriate.” He snapped his fingers and the cat jumped off the sofa and bound out of the room. He didn’t need an audience, even if it was the four-legged variety.
“Sit.”
Nikki obediently sat, the robe parting to reveal her shapely knees.
“Coffee?” He handed her a mug before she could reply.
She took a tentative sip and he found himself surprisingly pleased when she smiled. “Very good. I’d heard the coffee in Paris is awful.”
“You mustn’t condemn a whole city from one rumor.”
“There are a lot of things I shouldn’t do.”
Gérard’s eyebrow rose. “But you must do them anyway?” Ah, perhaps they were getting somewhere now. He set down his untouched mug.
“Of course. If I want to get anywhere in life.” Nikki took a swallow of coffee and her tongue darted out to lick a drip off the side. “There are things I have to do.” She settled back into the chaise. “Don’t you feel that way, too?” She looked over the rim of her mug as if she were truly interested in his answer.
He didn’t believe it.
He leaned forward and skimmed his fingers over her knees as he watched her lips part in a sigh. “Every day, there are difficult decisions to be made.” He couldn’t resist and ran his hand down her bare leg from knee to ankle, making her shiver. “For instance, why are you here?”
“You brought me here.”
“No.” He fought to keep his voice calm. “Why are you in Paris?” She hesitated and his hand tightened around her ankle. She flinched and he released her, softly trailing his hands up her calves. It might take all night, but she would tell him everything.
His hand tightening at her ankle gave her a surprising jolt and she wished she hadn’t jumped. Her brain heaved, trying to follow the conversation, when all she wanted to do was feel his touch. What did he want her to say? She lapped up the attention of his smiles, his stroking. He traced a pattern against her thigh, the terry cloth pressing into her sensitive skin. She wanted his hands on her bare legs again, this time sliding under the robe, up, up, up. His gaze met hers, his eyes dark and probing.
“Tell me why you’re here, Nikki.”
His voice reminded her of chocolate, deep, rich, and smooth. He’d be chili chocolate, with a bite at the back of her tongue. Wait, she’d thought caramel before. She’d have to make a dessert and name it after him. Nikki smiled and her lids half closed.
“I told you. Mimi left me money. Even gave me a letter to give Emmaline. I’ve wanted this, but I was scared.” Nikki blinked tears away with the sudden memories of sitting at the kitchen table watching Mimi write a letter on her best stationery, not trusting the computer to save the words. The scent of wild roses and coffee hung in the air. The miniature fan on the counter whirred back and forth, stirring the napkins in their wicker basket.
Her coffee cup felt heavy. “Tim convinced me. Said we’d do it together. Even Jessica thought it was a great idea.” Nikki sniffed. Gérard took her coffee cup and set it on the table.
“Oh, don’t stop.” Nikki took his hands in hers, running her thumbs over his broad palms. She needed his affection, his warmth. For one night, she just wanted to be held. Made love to in the most romantic city in the world. And here she was, with the most handsome man she’d ever encountered. She kissed his calluses, inhaling his intoxicating manly scent.
Gérard kissed her forehead, pushing her back against the couch. “I won’t stop, but let’s talk a little more.” He sat back down and swirled his fingers over her knees.
She didn’t want to talk. Couldn’t he understand? Nikki clutched a blue brocade pillow and ran her thumb over its silky tassels.
“Tim? This was your lover?” His hands stilled.
Nikki gave an inelegant snort. “Love? Ha! He didn’t love me. Used me, more like.”
“Lovers can be rather disappointing, can’t they?” His hands trailed down her calves with a delicious tickle. He picked up her foot, rested it on his thigh, and ran his thumb roughly down her instep.
“Oh, God!” Her head flopped back on the couch. What would she know about lovers? She’d only had one. Nikki gave a deep sigh. She wanted to learn more. Much more. “I bet you never disappoint anyone.”
He chuckled and she looked up into his eyes. The air pulsed between them. The pillow fell to the floor.
“We can never meet everyone’s expectations.” His finger lightly circled her ankle.
“You’re certainly exceeding mine.” Nikki closed her eyes and let her head fall back again as she took a long deep breath. Her chest expanded and she imagined herself floating in the air. Gérard’s touch, like magic, keeping her there.
He pulled on her big toe until it cracked, then soothed it with a gentle massage. “You’re easily impressed.”
“What do you mean?” Nikki bumped against a dark cloud, her insecurities spilling like rain. “I might not come from money, but I’m not some country bumpkin.” Which is exactly what she was with her almost-virginity, her almost-chic and her almost-French.
Tears welled up. Again. Damn. She flung off her glasses and covered her eyes, trying to hide from Gérard’s intense gaze.
His hands stopped. His lovely, warm, talented hands. Hands that almost made her forget everything.
“Nobody’s calling you a bumpkin. I know your family doesn’t come from money.”
“And if we did, I wouldn’t be so gullible. Is that what you’re saying?” Nikki struggled to sit up, but Gérard held her in a firm grip.
“I’m saying perhaps you make too many decisions based on money.”
“Of course. I don’t have any. What would you do? Would you work for you? Why did you hire me, anyway? For this?” Nikki wiped her eyes, curiosity overwhelming her. She didn’t care. Throw caution to the breeze, to the wind, whatever.
Gérard picked up her other foot, stroking her from calf to heel. He gave her a wry smile.
Her brain clicked on something so absurd she couldn’t believe it. But it all made sense. That’s what he was—one of those men who loved feet. After all, he hadn’t let her kiss him. He’d pushed her back on the sofa and concentrated on her feet. He would make love to her foot and demand she wear sexy high heels so he could get his jollies off. That’s why he had bought her those boots. Maybe, maybe if she let him fiddle with her feet, he would make love to her properly. Oh, dear Lord, she was so tired.
“I know your secret and it’s okay with me.”
His hands stopped. Again. She wiggled her toes, but he ignored them.
“What secret?” His voice held a hint of menace that pierced her alcohol-fogged brain. Maybe she shouldn’t talk about it.
“It’s okay. You’re safe with me.” She tried to reassure him and pat him on the hand, but she couldn’t quite reach and ended up patting the air like some dotty old woman.
Gérard stood up so abruptly the chair tumbled over behind him. Nikki squeaked in surprise and lay sprawled on the chaise, her robe tangled at her hips.
He leaned down, nose to nose. She gripped the slippery chintz in fear and complete, utter longing. Raw power emanated from him like an aphrodisiac, but she paused, biting her lip.
Something’s wrong here.
“Nobody’s ever safe, Nikki. With anyone.” His voice was a deadly whisper.
“I feel safe with you. I did. It’s not a big deal.” Nikki pulled her head back.
Gérard straightened, running his hand through his hair. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know.” She could feel her whole body blushing. She waved a hand toward her toes and he gave her a puzzled look.
“My feet. Any feet. You know? You and feet?” Nikki stumbled over her explanation.
She could see realization finally dawn in his eyes and then he laughed. A big laugh that filled the room and felt like a bear hug, except now he was laughing at her and her face flamed in mortification.
“I’ve never heard that before.” He wiped his hand over his mouth, barely able to stifle his grin.
She sat up, indignant, struggling to straighten her robe. “How was I to know? Men don’t go around fondling feet unless they have an agenda.”
He shook his head, not bothering to hide his grin this time. “I think I like this new secret. Perhaps I shall buy you more shoes. Good night, ma petite gateaux. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
With a nod, Gérard left her room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Nikki flopped back on the chaise. What the hell? One minute he looked like he wanted to eat her up, the next he looked like he could kill her. She shivered and drew her robe tight around her. Perhaps she ought to sleep in the park. A burst of rain against the windows made her think otherwise. Would dealing with this man be worth the salary? She jumped up and paced, trying to think about the options, the questions, the mystery of Gérard Beauvais. No answers came as she circled the room. Lying down on the bed, she felt dead tired, but her brain wouldn’t stop. The bed felt too intimate, reminding her of her assumptions when she’d entered this room. Assumptions of making love. Assumptions of freedom—letting the wine, the man, the City carry her away to forget all her troubles with Tim and her nonexistent life.
“Assume makes an ass out of you and me.” She quoted Mimi out loud. It didn’t make her feel any better. She rolled out of bed and went to the window seat. Perhaps some fresh air would help. She pushed up the window and gulped the cold air rushing in. Rain dripped from the trees and she could hear it running down the gutter somewhere on the side of the house. Odd shapes rose in topiaries below and she could make out patterns created with evergreen hedges. A light shone from a large greenhouse at the back of the stone wall surrounding the garden. Gérard was moving around inside. She squinted but couldn’t see any details. What was the man doing out there?
Chapter 7
A pounding headache greeted Nikki when she awoke. Squinting against the lamp light coming from the bedside table, she surveyed the room from the top of layers of fluffy down, memories of the previous evening coming to her in a rush. She groaned and slid her head under the pillow. A faint mewing sounded outside her bedroom door. Groggily, she sat up and an ivory cotton blanket slid to the floor. Who had covered her up?
She staggered toward the door and opened it a crack to let Joan Jett inside. In the hallway, stood Monsieur Formidable himself. She better watch it or she’d be calling him that to his face. She suspected he wouldn’t take it in the spirit intended. Surely, he’d come to fire her.
“I’ll be dressed in fifteen minutes,” she blurted out.
He ignored her announcement and shouldered his way into her room. “I’ve brought you breakfast.” He nodded to the tray holding a silver coffeepot and a china cup decorated with roses, resembling something Mimi had painted, along with two croissants and a pot of dark jam.
“What? No potatoes and eggs?” She bit her tongue. Why couldn’t she keep quiet?
His mouth quirked up, then straightened again, all business. “I’m surprised you remember.”
In excruciating detail. “It was a memorable dinner. I don’t believe I thanked you properly.” Oh, shoot. That didn’t come out right.
“Here’s your opportunity.” His gaze skimmed over her body as if her robe was invisible.
Nikki stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated, although she was embarrassed down to her well-massaged pinkie toe. She owed him an apology for being totally unprofessional. But then, come to think of it, he owed her one, too. Somehow she didn’t think it was going to happen.
Gérard gestured to the couch with his chin. “I thought it best to continue our discussion when we were both sober. Sit down.”
Nikki bristled at his autocratic attitude.
He set the tray on the coffee table and ran his hand through his hair, unintentionally mussing it, making him look human. “Please?”
The uncertain please convinced her. She sat, pulling the hem of the robe closed over her knees. He poured what she’d first thought would be coffee and turned out to be the most luscious hot chocolate she’d ever had.
“Oh, my God! This is wonderful.” She could get used to this.
“I’ll tell Jean-Luc you said so.”
She bit into the buttery pastry and nearly moaned. No jam needed. “Tell him he makes an excellent croissant, too.”
He gave her a tight smile. “I only employ the best. Now, I have some stipulations regarding your job.”
The flaky layers turned to dust in her mouth. She didn’t want to be fired. That would be humiliating after only one day. Of course she’d gone way beyond the professional boundary. But then, so had he.
Nikki jumped up, conscious again of her nakedness under the robe. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I’ll find another place to live.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You signed a contract.” He sat down and poured himself a cup of chocolate and picked up a croissant. Settling back onto the cushions, he took a bite, eying her as he chewed.
Nikki pushed her glasses up her nose, only to realize they weren’t there. Feeling foolish, she kept her hand there, closing her eyes as if she had a headache. She didn’t have one anymore. The chemistry of either the chocolate or Gérard had cured it. She would like to bet it was the chocolate, but she wasn’t a gambling woman.
“In America, we have three days to cancel a contract.” Nikki peered between her fingers.
“Then it’s a good thing this is France.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he stared at her. He ignored Joan Jett as she licked the crumbs off his fingers, keeping his gaze on Nikki. “I expect you to keep your word, Mademoiselle Sommers.”
So they were back to formal address, were they? Maybe this was Monsieur Formidable’s way of apologizing—by resetting
the employee/employer boundary. But then she would probably become just like the cat, subsisting on crumbs. Crumbs of affection thrown her way. Why did that bother her? This was her boss, for heaven’s sake. She didn’t need an affair to muddle up her future career plans. Nikki sat down again on the edge of the chair, her knees primly pressed together. “I always keep my word, Monsieur. Just as I expect you to keep yours.”
Gérard, Monsieur Beauvais, nodded and wiped his hands with a linen napkin. “As you know, the contract stipulates any communication within the scope of your work will remain private and be available to my scrutiny at all times. I wanted to make sure you understood that means any word from your sister regarding my company is to be reported to me.”
Bells and whistles went off in her head, along with waving red flags. “What did Jessica do?”
“It’s more of what she hasn’t done at this point.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged and stood up. “It’s imperative I talk with her if she contacts you. Understood?”
She stood, her arms crossed over her chest, trying to hold herself safe from what she might hear. “Did you have an affair with my sister?”
Gérard frowned. “Of course not.” He stepped closer, one side of his mouth quirking up as he fingered a lock of hair lying against her breast. Her breath hitched as her hair curled around his finger. “Jealous?”
She held her ground and lied. “No.” She’d always been jealous of her sister, the cosmopolitan rebel who captured the international spotlight. To think of Monsieur Formidable and Jessica together made her stomach churn, even though it shouldn’t matter. “You and I have a professional relationship only.”
