by Caro LaFever
Kissing Alex wasn’t just kissing. Kissing him was not like any other kiss she’d ever received or given.
Kissing Alex was like kissing with her heart.
Her heart.
Oh, God.
She gasped. A keen of bewilderment broke from her mouth before his captured hers. With a rush, he let her hands go and spread his own across her waist. She caught her breath against his lips and before she could let it out, the air clogged in her throat as he moved once more.
His hands brushed up to her breasts, down to her thighs, around to her butt. He encircled her body with his big hands, melding and molding until she gasped again this time with surprise and pleasure.
The want in his touch screamed in every stroke.
The way he rolled her tight nipples through the silk, the way he tightened his grip on her hips and pushed her into his hardness, the way he kept kissing and stroking her mouth with his tongue.
He wanted her desperately.
Alex wanted Sophie.
The knowledge blasted into her, erasing every thought and emotion. The only thing she wanted was to climb into his skin, come into his heat and become one with this man. She didn’t think about her heart or her pride or her soul. He had swept past all that to the core of her.
She wanted, she wanted—
Bright light flashed from behind them as the curtains were yanked back.
“Alex.” Henry’s loud voice boomed into their enclosed hiding place.
The curtains swished back once more, closing off the sudden noise of the party moving from the dining room back to the parlor. The scent of Henry’s distinctive cologne drifted over both of them, cutting through the sexual haze.
“Oh!” She jerked herself out of a suddenly loose grip.
“Have you gone mad?” His partner’s voice shot through the air again, pointed and caustic. “This is a once in a lifetime deal and you’re mauling your fiancée instead of attending to the emir?”
“Open the curtain.” Alex’s curt tone came in instant response.
Henry whipped open the curtain with an irritated fling.
Expecting a dozen curious eyes to peer in, Sophie relaxed as she realized the party had moved past. She smoothed her trembling hands down her dress, hoping the creases weren’t too apparent.
“You look fine, Soph.” His friend gave her a forced smile. “No thanks to this animal.”
“Leave it alone,” her fake fiancé snarled.
The other man turned and frowned. “This contract is teetering on a knife edge, Stravoudas.”
“I’ll deal with the emir.” His blue eyes latched onto hers. “Don’t go near that little asshole, Sophia. Do you hear me?”
A shaft of hurt shot up her spine. She’d been trying to help, dammit. “I was just—”
“No where near.” He spaced the three word out like marching orders.
“I don’t know why—”
“Listen. Both of you.” Henry cut through the burgeoning argument with the harshness of his words and the slash of one hand. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I’m telling her—”
“He’s so stupid—”
“Sophie.” Alex’s partner zeroed in on her. “Do you want to help us?”
“Yes, of course.” The hurt pumped like a painful sore on her heart.
“Then don’t go near the young sheik, okay?”
“Okay,” she muttered.
“She better stay far away from—”
“And you.” Henry cut off the snarling male in front of him. “You focus on the emir. I’ll take care of Sophie.”
Alex stared at him before shrugging and turning away from both of them. “Fine.”
“Good.” Henry slid his hand around her elbow. “Do what you do best with the emir and everything will work out perfectly.”
She risked one more glance at Mr. Perfect.
The change in him was astonishing. Blank blue eyes. Bland face. The lean body filled with casual grace.
The hair on her neck bristled.
Chapter 14
Sophie woke to the muffled chirping of two robins perched on the iron grill outside her window. The sunlight was murky, yet from the way the light traveled across her bed, it was mid-morning already.
She’d slept deeply and for a long time.
Surprising, considering the turmoil rolling around in her head and gut. But she’d been tired and today was the first day they didn’t have any early-morning appointments with a pastry chef, so she was due.
Stretching her arms above her head, she closed her eyes and breathed in. There was something about the air in this fabulous apartment that reminded her of the richness of Paris. The faint hint of lilies combined with the lemony smell of the cleaning oil seeped over years into the wooden antiques. The whiff of yeasty brioche from the boulangerie across the street. The lingering scent of cafe au lait coming from the exquisite kitchen down the hall.
Her eyes popped open.
Alex’s cafe au lait.
He was gone. She knew it from the silence. From the stillness inside herself.
Three days had passed since their scorching kiss at the emir’s house and she hadn’t seen a hair on his head after the moment he’d said a clipped goodnight and stomped into his bedroom that evening.
Not that she cared.
She’d been extremely busy filming during these last three days. Learning from and talking with some of the best pastry chefs in the world was pure joy. If she’d thrown a glance over her shoulder a time or two, it had nothing to do with looking for a tall, blond man.
Pleased as punch would be how she felt when Henry had called her to tell her she wouldn’t need to attend the dinner parties with the emir any longer. Evidently, her one visitation had been so impressive she’d passed the test. In her darker moments, she wondered if it had anything to do with the flirting young sheikh and Alex’s uncontrolled anger. Perhaps Henry was cutting off any chance of a confrontation. But since she’d disliked the emir and his entourage and wanted to never meet the boy-man again, she’d been relieved.
Honest.
The smidgeon of guilt swimming through her thoughts during the last three days had been pulverized by dogged determination.
So what if she’d promised to help Alex get this deal?
She was here. Where he’d commanded her to be.
If he and Henry decided they didn’t want her help, better for her.
Better for her to spend time with Will and Jake as they explored the Louvre. Better for her when she’d spent a solitary afternoon strolling along the intimate streets of Ile Saint-Louis.
Better for her to be on her own.
She whipped off the plush, rose-colored duvet and silver silk sheets. Plopping her bare feet on the cool oak floor, she paced into the adjoining bathroom. A bathroom she’d cheerfully live in for the rest of her life. If she’d had the chance. Which she would not.
A knot of regret twisted inside her.
The pearled tile on the floor and walls made a girl feel she stood in a cocooning oyster. The white marble, laced with black veins, rolled around the sides of the standalone bathtub and covered the long basin with his-and-hers sinks. The silver-lined mirror matched the gleaming silver faucets.
Sophie ignored the bathtub big enough for two.
Turning on the shower, she stripped off her orange T-shirt and stepped into the stream of hot water. Lifting her face to the flow, she swallowed. For all the fun and work and being in Paris, a wretched coil of sadness stubbornly lodged in her throat like a burr. Ever since the kiss, a kiss that made her realize how far she’d fallen down the slope into Mr. Perfect’s allure, the burr had grown inside until it now threatened to choke her.
“Stupid.” She ducked her head, letting the water wash through her long hair, wishing it would wash him from her mind and memories. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”
By the time she’d wrapped her bathrobe around her, combed out her wet hair, and marched her way into the kitchen
, she’d made several resolutions.
One. The kiss had been nothing. Look at how he had responded—with complete disinterest, as if it had been nothing. He was right. The kiss had been nothing.
Two. It was a really, really good thing he had made himself scarce during the last few days. She’d been very close to doing something stupid, like maybe throwing herself at him; something Alex felt was his due with every woman he met. But now she had her feet back on the ground.
Three. She only had a few more days in Paris and then one more measly month at his monstrous New York penthouse before she was free from him forever. December was one of her busiest months at the bakery. She probably wouldn’t see him much at all.
The burr clogged her throat as she turned into the compact, elegant kitchen.
A brown paper bag sat in the middle of the stove. She knew what it was without even opening it. A gift. Some kind of wonderful pastry. He’d left these kinds of gifts throughout the past three days. A yummy chocolate box sitting on her bedside table. A bouquet of daphnes, with their delicate pink petals, placed on her bed. A stunning, multi-hued silk scarf hung across her old peacoat in the hallway closet.
The clog tightened and a film of tears blurred her sight.
She didn’t understand him.
How could he kiss her with such desperation, as if she’d become the center of his being, and then disappear for days without a word? How could he turn into the smiling, gentle man who cooked her dinner and made her laugh, when he’d started out as a grim-faced businessman intent on using her to get a deal? How could he show her this sensitive, caring side by leaving these amazing gifts and then not want to see her or be with her?
Sophie crept to the tempting bag and edged it open. Inside were two superb palmiers; one dusted with sugar, the other dipped in dark chocolate. Taking the sugared one in her hand, she bit into the puffed pastry, letting the sweetness of the caramelized sugar, mixed with the mellow nutty-flavored butter, roll across her tongue and down her throat. The pastry kissed her morning like a bright touch of sunshine.
Although he wasn’t here, wasn’t with her or waiting on her or wanting her, she still felt as if he’d just kissed her.
The burr in her throat melted as the rest of the palmier disappeared between her lips.
Squawk! Squawk!
The ring of her phone echoed down the hall from the bedroom. For a second, her mind zoomed to the thought of Alex, but common sense swamped the wish immediately. That would be Jake firming up their plans for this afternoon. Dropping the pastry, she rushed to her bedroom and grabbed the phone as it chirped its last ring. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” Jake’s voice came through the line, scratchy and hoarse.
“You’re hungover.”
“Yep,” he said with cheer. “I sure am. Will’s even worse.”
“You both better be in tiptop shape this afternoon.”
“We will.” He slurped some kind of drink before talking again. “I wouldn’t miss filming in the talented Monsieur Paol’s bakery.”
“I can’t wait to get there.” A shiver of excitement ran through her. To be allowed into the hallowed building of the greatest pastry chef in the world—it was almost too much to take in.
“Remember to keep your focus on Paol and not on that handsome fiancé of yours.” Jake chuckled at his own jest.
The fizz of connection with Alex, the fragile hope she’d allowed to bloom inside her unnoticed, the tiny, delicate imagining that perhaps Alexander the Great thought she might be perfect—
“Soph?” Her assistant’s voice went hesitant. “I was kidding.”
“Alex won’t be there. He’s busy.” And too perfect. Whatever he was trying to do by leaving these gifts strewn around the apartment didn’t amount to much. His actions shouldn’t be something she focused on.
Sophie frowned at her reflection in the circular mirror overhanging the king-sized bed. This excitement for her business was what was important. Not a fleeting infatuation with Alex Stravoudas. Her career was what was important, not Mr. Perfect.
“Soph?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” She was. Totally. She’d slid for a moment; she’d let herself mope around for a few days, but now she’d found solid ground once more.
Pure Pastry.
Her business.
The TV show.
These were the only things that were important.
* * *
By the time she’d completed the long session at the Paol bakery, darkness had fallen on the city. Sophie was ready to get into that gloriously big tub with a nice glass of wine and call it a day.
Thank goodness she didn’t have to deck herself out and go to the emir’s.
Hugging Will and Jake and wishing them a safe journey home tomorrow, she pulled her peacoat around her and marched toward the apartment. All the taping was done and the only thing she had left to do in Paris was wait two more days until Alex and Henry got the emir to sign on the dotted line.
Two days to explore Paris.
She should be jumping for joy, licking her lips, planning her remaining time in the City of Lights.
Sophie took a deep breath in, and then sighed.
She didn’t want to go out tonight. Leftovers from last night’s dinner were still in the fridge and she had almost a half a bottle of wine. Since Alex would have left for the emir’s by now, that meant she’d have the enchanting apartment all to herself to wallow in…
Happiness.
Happiness, dammit.
Another deep breath ended with another deep sigh.
Jake and Will had both told her the tapes from these past days were amazing. Freddie had called to tell her she was going to become a national star. Tamika had sent her a taped Skype message saying business was booming and Sophie’s dad was a gem to work with.
Every one of her dreams about her business and her career were coming true.
Sophia Charlotte Feuer should be happy.
Dammit.
She threw open the front door of the apartment building with a bang.
“Mademoiselle.” The old snob—Marcel, that was his name—lurched out of his chair. “Please be careful of the door.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled as she stomped toward the stairs.
As she slid the card through the apartment door’s lock, she made herself a promise. Tomorrow, first thing, she was going to make a busy plan to explore every inch of Paris until she was exhausted. Then she’d drag herself back to this beautiful home and fall into bed with not a thought about—
Alex stood at the window staring at the Eiffel Tower.
His unexpected presence stunned her to an abrupt stop. “What are you doing here?”
He glanced over his shoulder, throwing her a haughty look that immediately stoked her temper. “This is my family’s home?”
“I meant,” she slammed the door behind her, “you’re supposed to be at the emir’s.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have to be there tonight. Henry’s going through the final figures with him.”
“It’s a done deal?”
The broad shoulders shrugged again. “Looks like it.”
Pulling off her coat, she threw it on the nearest chair. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”
“Do you want me to jump up and down in joy?” he scoffed. Turning, he walked to the other end of the room to glower down at the boulevard. “Perhaps I should scream with delight?”
Sophie stared at him. “My. We are in a fantastic mood.”
He stuffed his big hands in the pockets of his pants and brooded. She could tell this by the way he lowered his head, sending the flow of his golden ponytail slightly askew.
How had she come to know him so well?
The burr in her throat reappeared.
Silence descended. A thick, uncomfortable one. One she wanted to break, but couldn’t think of anything to say to him.
His hands fisted in his pockets.
With a shock, she realized he wasn’t wea
ring his usual power suit and power tie and power shoes. She’d been so jolted by his presence and his mood, she hadn’t taken in the details of his appearance.
He had on a ratty pair of jeans, almost as ratty as her favorite pair. His T-shirt was old too, navy and tattered, something that looked like he’d pulled it out of the garbage. And he wore no shoes—his big feet matched his brutish hands.
“Are you all right?” The words burst from her.
He swung around, a scowl on his handsome face. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”
“You aren’t.”
“How would you know?” He marched across the room to her peacoat lying on the silk-covered curule and glared at it as if her coat were a personal affront.
“Go ahead. Yell at me about hanging my coat in the closet where it belongs.” A bubble of excitement rose inside, a stupid, asinine response to this man’s moodiness, yet there it was. Fighting with Alex made her insides go frizzy.
“If I started to yell about what you leave around here.” He waved at the jumble of her shoes by the side of the door before pointing at the two sweaters she’d left on the back of an antique sofa yesterday. “I’d never stop.”
“Come on.” She grinned at him. “Yelling at me will make you feel better.”
He kept his glare on her coat. “I’m not yelling.”
“You want to. I know you do.” Fearless, she stepped into his personal space and gave him an even bigger smile. “I can take it.”
When he finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, the turmoil in his eyes—the agitated azure fighting with the churning cerulean—made her take a step back.
The smile fell off her face.
“I don’t need to feel better.” He paced to the window and stared at the Eiffel Tower once more. “I feel fine as it is.”
Maybe she had it all wrong, but by the unfamiliar slump of his broad shoulders, she didn’t think so.
Alex was hurting. He was troubled.
A flash of intense desire shot through her. Not a desire for his kiss or his body. Rather, this was an intense desire to help him, make it, whatever it was, right for him.
“Let’s go out.” She grabbed her coat and jerked it back on. “Put on some shoes.”
