by Caro LaFever
Alex shouldn’t be mad at her. He should be grateful.
Sophie looked at the stew and managed to slide a cucumber onto the bread. She stuffed it into her mouth just as the young sheikh turned back to focus on her again.
Well, not her.
He stared at her chest.
She supposed it might have something to do with the black gown she wore. The dress was simplicity itself with its elegant puffed sleeves and straight lines. Demure and sophisticated, the edge of the skirt fell way past her knees. The wives had seemed to approve after spending long minutes looking her over.
The gown had given her confidence. The folds of the dress made her appear taller and slimmer, with the help of her La Redoute shoes. She had to admit—the Perfect Man had picked perfectly. There was something about the color that made her skin glow. Yet he probably hadn’t thought about how the cut of the bodice would highlight her cleavage. Even though the dress wasn’t splashy or daring, it still showcased what she couldn’t help.
She fixated on the stew.
Eventually, the boy-man turned to the conversation on the other side of the table once more. Taking a deep breath, she glanced over to the other end. This time, Alex didn’t meet her gaze. He seemed to be in a stilted discussion with the emir’s second-in-command and Henry.
Doubtless about the deal. The deal to build the emir’s dream.
The architectural model had stood in the middle of the wide parlor they’d been ushered into. It rose like a black spear, an elongated, rigid…dick.
A dick designed by her very own dickhead.
I might be a dickhead, but you want me.
The memory of his accusation shivered across her skin. Every time she thought of the intensity of his voice…every time, she shivered.
She did want him.
She hated to admit it, hated the thought of falling into his bed. But last night, as she’d watched him cook dinner for her, watched as his broad shoulders hovered above the stove, watched his lips as he sipped the wine, she’d known right in the pit of her.
She wanted him.
“Our food is delicious, isn’t it?” Swaggering satisfaction oozed in the words.
Swallowing, she exaggerated her smile and faced the nasty boy. “Yes, it’s wonderful.”
“There’s more here at this table that’s wonderful.” His gaze dropped.
Sophie forced away a desperate desire to slap her linen napkin onto her chest. There was also the urgent need to slap this boy sheikh that had to be fought.
Focus on smiling, Soph.
Smile. At a man who was not looking at her face.
If she did what she wanted to do, slap this guy, then all of Alex’s plans would explode and along with it, her bakery.
She gritted her teeth and smiled.
A strange noise came from the end of the table. An animal noise. Did the emir have a bear or a lion in residence?
Before she could stop herself, she glanced back down the table.
Alex was staring at her again. Or at least in her direction. Henry also had his concentration pinned on the interaction going on between the emir’s son and her. He gave her a slight smile as if prodding her to be a good girl.
Alex’s jaw was rigid. No mistaking it. His blue gaze brimmed with fiery heat. One of his muscular hands lay on the table clenched in a fist—right by the china plate and sterling silver knife. It would only take a quick movement of those talented fingers and missiles would be flying down the table toward her.
Or the emir’s son?
The sound came again. That sound was not from a bear or a lion. That sound came from her fake fiancé.
The noise radiated…
Jealousy?
Truly?
A flush of astonishment heated her face. She’d never dated any man who showed a hint of jealousy. Sophie Feuer wasn’t the type of girl to elicit possessive thoughts. At least, until now. Maybe?
That big fist clenched again, white showing on the knuckles.
Her eyes widened as she met a blue gaze so hot it gleamed like a blowtorch.
No, no. This couldn’t be. Her logical mind rebelled. This must be something else. Something much more likely and predictable.
Her fake fiancé was mad at her for some reason or another.
She didn’t think it was the remnants of their earlier fight this afternoon. Sure, he’d stormed off at the end for some unknown reason. But by the time they’d marched across the bridge and landed at the apartment, he’d seemed to recover his temper. He’d even been pleasant as they walked up the stairs and entered the beauty of his family’s Parisian home.
If anything could, that apartment would gentle a temper.
So it must be something she was doing now. Did he think she was whispering damaging information to the boy-child? Or did he think she was flirting with this horrible twit? Even when she knew how important this deal was to him?
Hurt rushed in to replace astonishment. How could he think any of these things?
“Mademoiselle Sophie.” The twit’s grating voice droned right next to her ear.
“Yes?” Choosing between her glaring fake fiancé and this man was a very hard choice indeed. However, she needed to keep her focus on the nearest danger. She tore her attention away from Alex and landed it back on the man at her side.
“Your Alexander is quite talented.” His black eyes promised her he was more talented. In bed, his gaze said, as it slid down her throat to her breasts once more.
Repellent and revolting.
An idea, a perfect idea, sprung fully formed into her head. Adoration of a man wasn’t in her usual repertoire, but a pastry chef learned to improvise.
“He is, isn’t he?” The best way to cure this come on and to stop this interaction at once was to gush. She wasn’t much of a gusher, but in this case, she’d figure out how to do it. If she gushed enough to appear incredibly, stupidly in love with Alex, then the emir’s son would grow disinterested and he’d leave her alone.
Hopefully.
Because she had to nip this conversation in the bud quick or else the Perfect Man was going to do something perfectly stupid. The hairs standing high on the back of her neck told her so. An angry Alex tended to lash out—she could testify to that herself.
He needed this deal to make his dreams come true.
She couldn’t let this loathsome fool spoil her fake fiancé’s plans.
The determination rang inside her, startling her with its intensity.
The need to protect Alex’s pride had been surprising enough. The fact that she now wanted to protect his dream drove her right into complete consternation. When had this happened? Perhaps it had been when he’d smiled at her as she took the first bite of sole last night and groaned. Or it could have happened when she’d seen the respect shining in his eyes when she’d looked away from Dominique today and seen him staring at her. Possibly it was the unfiltered pain of love crossing his face as he’d talked about his father this afternoon on the bridge supposedly named after him.
And maybe, maybe it was all the above and more.
Sophie straightened in her high-backed chair. Whatever the motivation, what was important was getting this done for him. There was so much going his way, the only thing she needed to do was give this deal a bit of a push.
The emir loved the dick design. Clearly.
He’d circled the thing with Alex and Henry at his side, crowing about the line of the building. Babbling imaginations of the view from the top, the decorations of his penthouse, the awe of his neighbors—the man had gone on and on for what seemed like hours.
The emir’s family and sycophants had warmed during the course of the evening.
Her smiles were now returned.
Henry’s laugh had been joined by the emir and his staff.
Alex’s description of the design had been received with delighted approval, even if the presentation had been delivered with studied indifference.
The deal was a done deal. Clearly.
The boy-man came closer. “How did he convince a lovely woman like you to marry him?”
She brightened her smile to a beam. “Oh, it was exactly the opposite.”
“What?” His unibrow arched.
“I chased him all over New York City.” She tried her best to plant adoration of Alexander the Great on her expression. “He’s just unusually beautiful and smart, you know?”
“Humph.”
“I love him soooo much.” She clasped her hands to her chest and sighed. “He’s the perfect man.”
The boy-man’s unibrow lowered.
Had she gone too far? Had she played the wrong card?
“I have heard of his legendary charm.” The young sheikh eased back in his leathered chair with its scrolled handles. “I have yet to see it tonight.”
“That’s my fault.” She leaned forward. Why not use the wretched boobs she’d never liked? It was for a good cause.
“Your fault?” The words were murmured as his gaze dropped where she wanted it.
“Yes.” Her brain tripped along various alternatives until it hit on precisely the right one. “I took him shopping. He hates shopping.”
An answering gleam in the twit’s eyes told her she’d picked correctly. “I hate shopping too.”
“All men do, don’t they?” she chirped. “But I couldn’t let him out of my sight.”
“His partner, Kluge, did mention Stravoudas hadn’t been present at the meetings this afternoon.”
What meetings? The stray thought zoomed around in her head. Alex had said he’d finished work early. He’d walked out of a meeting?
“I guess if a woman as pretty as you asked me for a favor, I’d give it.” The smarmy guy smiled a smarmy smile.
“The shopping made him irritated enough, though, that his mind isn’t focused tonight as it should be. I promise you, I won’t ask him for anything else on this trip,” she cooed in a soothing voice. “I know how important this building is to you and your family.”
“Yes, it is.” He shifted in his seat. “Very important. My father needs to make some decisions in the next few days.”
She tipped her chest closer. “I heard there’s another competitor.”
“Uh, yes.” His expression glazed as he stared at her reluctant offering.
There had to be some kind of promise, something that would nail down this deal once and for all. Why not use this boy-man’s libido against him? “But I’m looking forward to traveling with my fiancé to your home. I want to see the construction of this beautiful building.”
Beady eyes jerked to her face. “You’ll be coming with Stravoudas?”
“Of course.” She smiled, a deep, intimate smile she’d once seen Jade give to Antony. “How could I miss it?”
“Sophia.” Alex’s voice came from behind her chair, grim and flat.
Yanking her head around, she almost screamed when she saw his expression. He glared at both the emir’s son and her as if he was ready to commit murder.
No, no! He was going to ruin everything. Jumping to her feet, she grabbed his arm and yanked his face to hers. “Don’t be an idiot,” she whispered in his ear.
His cerulean gaze burned, a white-hot flame at the center. “You are not—”
Cutting off his words was imperative. She knew PDAs were probably frowned on by the emir and his entourage, but she had no choice. Pulling on Alex’s tie, she planted an irritated kiss right on his open mouth.
He hissed in surprise.
Taking advantage, she pulled back and gave a blinding smile to the silent table. “You see? I can’t get enough of him.”
“I can see.” A thin line of reluctant amusement ran through the young sheikh’s words.
Yes, yes! This was exactly the outcome she wanted.
Her stupid fake fiancé opened his mouth and added to his idiocy by glaring at his potential client’s son. “I don’t want you anywhere near my—”
“Darling.” Throwing her hands around his neck, she tugged him back and stuck her tongue down his throat. What a fool he was. Couldn’t he see she was winning this deal for him? Didn’t he know her well enough to see she’d never ruin this for him?
His broad hands landed on her hips, trying to push her away. Idiot dickhead. Tightening her grip on him, she plastered her body on his.
His dick was hard.
She gasped in his mouth and opened her eyes. He met her gaze, his own eyes flaming with anger, yes, but something much more important and potent. Her mouth went dry at the need and desire she saw in those deep depths.
A kind of desire she’d never elicited in any other man.
Alex tore his attention away from her and started to do his stupid again. “I don’t want you anywhere—”
“These lovebirds.” Henry’s voice boomed from the end of the table. “They can’t get enough of each other.”
“I can see that.” The emir appeared to be oblivious to Alex’s anger, thank goodness. Amusement shone from his black gaze as well as his son’s. He threw a couple of words out across the table in a foreign tongue and his companions dutifully laughed.
Time to escape.
“If you’ll excuse us for a minute.” Sophie put on her best smile and tugged an unwilling dickhead toward the latticed arch of the doorway. “We’ll be right back.”
Coarse laughter followed in their wake.
“Are you crazy?” Pushing Alex into a circular window seat set deep in a stone turret, she grabbed at the floor to ceiling velvet curtains and swung them shut. The small enclave immediately plunged into darkness, only the lights of Paris streaming across the dark water of the Seine giving off any illumination. “What are you thinking?”
She saw nothing, but she felt him surround her. Heat radiated from him, filling the small space with his masculine vitality. It was as if she stood in a room with the sun, all fire and flame and fury.
“You’re supposed to be the charming one around here.” She crossed her arms in front of her and took a step back into the velvet because threat emanated from him. “This is your deal.”
His breathing came harsh, hard.
“Henry and I did the best we could, but this is your time to shine. This is what you do, Stravoudas.”
Silence rolled in the short distance between them. Not a clear, cool calm. No, this hush roared with anger and thundered with…
Pain.
“Alex,” she sighed, her frustration dropping away, replaced with compassion. “Talk to me. What’s going on with you?”
A large hand came out of the darkness to curl around her neck and yank her into his fire. His long, lean body flamed at her side, sending her temperature zinging into space. “No talking,” he muttered, his mouth whispering across the curls at her hairline. “No more talking.”
His lips brushed along her temple, slipping across her brows and then to her hot cheek. Everything inside her stilled.
This wasn’t the time.
This wasn’t what he should be doing or she should be allowing.
And yet, everything inside her reached out to him, yearned to take this moment and make it fill her entire life with his brightness.
But this was his dream. This building. This contract.
“What is going—”
His wide mouth captured the beginning of her protest, swallowing her will and her words at the same time. Twining his tongue around hers, he sucked her in, causing her to hum with pleasure in one short second.
He was magic. He was.
Like an ancient sorcerer, he bewitched her. His lips went soft then hard. His body pulled her in and then pushed her against the stone wall. His heat wrapped around her making her drowsy with need and far more alive than she’d ever been.
Shock pummeled inside her.
More alive? With Alex Stravoudas?
Every muscle froze.
“Krotída mou.” His voice—the voice that could charm and cajole with clear intent, that could
laugh and tease with delicious decadence—sounded drugged and delirious. “Kiss me back.”
Her eyes popped open to see nothing except a thick darkness splashed with tiny ripples of murky starlight. The shape of his head and shoulders were all she could see in the dangerous, dusky gloom.
“I have been kissing you back.” She pushed the words out in a huff.
A silky chuckle came. “No, you haven’t. You haven’t given me everything.”
Give him everything?
Her hands came to his chest to push him back, but before she could maneuver past him, he grabbed her wrists and pulled them above her. His big body pressed her to the wall, his warmth contrasting with the cool stone.
“Sophia.” He drew her name out like he intended to relish every vowel and consonant. But in the strands of his voice wove a plea, a crooning, mournful craving that tugged at the center of her soul.
His breath brushed across her mouth. “Kiss me.”
He didn’t say please. Still, she felt the need in him, the same hopeful, angry pain of wanting her when he didn’t want to that she felt towards him.
She shouldn’t want Alex Stravoudas.
She shouldn’t like him.
She shouldn’t let him win this war between them that had raged for months. This simmering brew of insults and desire, of bitter anger and violent passion.
“Come on.” The ache in the two words was too much for her will or her pride.
Tugging him to her was impossible with her hands clasped above her, his lean, tense body pinning her to the wall.
So she went to him.
On her tiptoes, she touched his neck with her lips and tongue. The slide of her body on his made him stiffen. A low groan rumbled from him as she licked his skin. He tasted of salt and musk and male. His jaw tightened as she made her way along the edge and when she reached the sharp point of his chin, she felt him swallow.
“Come here,” she said. “Let me kiss you.”
Again, the unique taste of him filled her mouth. The taste of culture, with its flare of elegance mixed with richness. The kick of roughness, in the way he pierced her with his need. The wet of his mouth, the touch of his tongue. He gave her all of his heat, melting the last hold on her conviction to keep away.
She let herself fall. Let herself go.
