The Paris Affair (Affairs of the Heart #1)

by Kristi Lea

  She looked up at him through her lashes, her temples pink with heat. Her fingers found his chest and traveled upwards, leaving trails behind like footsteps in the sand, until they found his shoulders.

  Blood pulsed through Helmut’s cock, straining at his khaki shorts, but still he waited. The move was hers to make.

  And move she did.

  She snaked her fingers through his hair and drew his lips to hers with a sudden fierceness. Helmut’s hands left the door to wrap around her and cup her butt, pressing her against his erection. Their lips clashed and tangled, both greedy for the taste of each other, both impatient.

  He pulled on her skirts, bunching them up around her waist so that he could feel the bare skin of her hips and thighs with his fingers. He found the strings that held the sides of her bikini closed and tugged one bow free.

  Claire groaned as he lifted her knee upward and wrapped it around his waist so that he could explore her with his hands. She was wet. Slippery. Hot.

  Helmut trailed kisses across her face to her ear as he teased her clit and he felt her shiver and nearly lose her balance. He had to adjust their stance so that he held her firmly against the door, and his body complained as it put space between the two of them.

  But then he slid two fingers into her, and she moaned and writhed, and he could set aside his own need to watch the emotions and pleasure play across her beautiful face as he stroked her. Deep and swirling. Lightly brushing her clit with his thumb, and then harder.

  She moved against his hand, urging him higher, harder, more. Until he felt her contract around his fingers and still briefly.

  “Helmut,” she whispered, her eyes stormy. He slowly removed his hand and swallowed her protest with his kiss. He then lifted her other leg up and around his waist and carried her.

  The heat of her sex rubbing against his cock, still trapped inside his pants, was tortuous as he walked across the living room to the bedroom and his bed. He lowered her bottom to the edge of the bed and with a quick jerk of his arm swept the covers onto a pile on the floor.

  He sucked in his breath as she worked the button on his shorts. Then her fingers—no longer cold—hit the bare flesh of his abdomen. She yanked his shirt upwards, and he swept it up and over his head while she unzipped his pants. He gritted his teeth as she pulled his cock free and rubbed its hard length with her hands, then her tongue.

  Helmut pulled back and kicked off the rest of his clothes. “Now yours,” he said.

  She pulled her dress off over her head, and the bikini bottom was already gone, lost somewhere between here and the front door. That left her sprawled on his bed, wearing only two tiny triangles of fabric and some string.

  Helmut knelt and kissed her bare belly button, flicking his tongue around her navel and grasping her hips in his hands. She sucked in her breath in anticipation, but he moved his mouth and hands higher, not lower. He kissed her sternum and slid up her ribcage and around to her back.

  He sucked first one nipple, then the other, through the fabric. She arched her back pressing more of her beautiful breasts to his mouth, and allowing him to untie her top. With his thumbs he brushed the scraps upwards, exposing her nipples. And then rubbing them. Up, down, his thumbs worked the sensitive flesh until she was panting and rubbing her pelvis against his thigh.

  He slipped the top up and over her head and then kissed her again, and pressed his full weight down on her. His cock rubbed against her wet opening, and she pressed her breasts against his chest.

  With a groan, he found a condom in the nightstand and then he was inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her butt, allowing him full access. Helmut thrust deeper, harder. She kissed him hard on the mouth, thrusting her own tongue into his, echoing his thrusts into her hot center.

  She wanted more. He got up on his knees, pulling her hips up off the bed so that he could penetrate as deeply as possible. She looked exquisite, with her hair arrayed around her head as she thrashed with pleasure. Her entire torso was bare to his view, and to his touch. He cupped her breasts with his free hand, and then reached between their bodies to rub the pad of his thumb over the nub of her clit.

  Claire cried out, and he repeated it, rubbing in time as he stroked his cock in and out. In and out. She arched, and he changed the motion of his thumb, swirling it faster as he controlled the strokes until she was begging, her legs locked tight around her back.

  “Please,” she begged and their gazes locked. Her eyes were glazed with passion and pleasure.

  Helmut closed his eyes as he brought them both to their climax. As her contractions rippled over him, his own poured forth. The power of it scared him.

  Chapter 23

  Claire yawned and stretched as she looked around Helmut’s bedroom. The furniture was simple: a bed with no headboard, a whitewashed dresser, a chair with a pair of jeans draped across it. But the water view was spectacular. One entire wall was made of windows with French doors leading out to the same deck she had crossed on her way in the front door.

  He was there, leaning on the railing, staring out at the sea. How long had she slept? After making love, they had lain together quietly, limbs entangled, both lost in their own thoughts. Both afraid to speak for fear of shattering the perfect silence.

  She was still reeling from the surge of something that had washed over her when she saw him this morning in the coffee shop. That something was so hard to name. Happiness. Desire. Excitement. Peace. Rightness. That was the word. It felt so right to walk next to him, to be in his arms, in his bed.

  She had no idea what kind of welcome she would get when she found him. Anger. Scorn. Or worse, indifference. Instead, it was that unreadable glint in his eyes. Passion underscored by something else. She gave herself a mental shake. It was probably just lust. She wanted the something else, looked for it.

  Because, God help her, she was in love with Helmut Forrester. Friend of her father’s. Jaded playboy. A man of questionable ethics, living life in the fast lane. That’s what everyone told her, what she was warned about from day one.

  But that nifty little portrait didn’t quite fit the man standing in front of her at the railing. The one who donated anonymous scholarships and nursed an ailing mother. The one who stood up a date with a sure thing to help out his kid sister. The kind who cradled her body with his to protect her from an explosion.

  Claire sighed and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, scanning the floor for her discarded dress. She had thrown away almost a decade on Frank, deluding herself that the man loved her when really he was living off of her. Like a tick, he had sucked her confidence and energy and grown fat. And insanely hard to get rid of.

  And Helmut? He had stood behind her, supported her, helped her, protected her. He didn’t try to claim her success for himself.

  She didn’t bother with her bathing suit, and slipped the gown over her head.

  Then there was the childish bet with Lackey. Once her temper had cooled, and she had a few thousand miles between herself and Paris, she’d turned Lackeys’ words over and over. Helmut had not collected on that bet before leaving Chicago for Paris. Despite the steam room. And making love in her apartment. And being fired.

  Claire opened the door a crack and stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. The house faced west, and the sun hadn’t yet rounded the corner from the south, so the pale wood under her feet was hot but not scorching, and the sun was bright but not blinding.

  “Hi.” She took a spot at the railing next to him.

  “Hey.”

  They stood there for a long moment, each staring off over the ocean as the soft lapping of water washed over them. Claire struggled for how to begin. How do you go about telling a man you’re in love with him? She couldn’t even remember how she’d broached the topic with Frank. First things first.

  “I made a statement to the board of directors,” she said.

  He turned toward her then, and leaned one elbow on the railing. “About what?”

  �
��About our relationship. I gave them the truth about when it started. The real truth—that we were personally involved before you were asked to leave.” As the words tumbled out of her mouth, she felt a weight lift.

  “Huh. What did your father say about that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t think he minded. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He retired. But not because of us.”

  His look penetrated her thoughts, and she blushed. “Well, he did go because of me. I told him that I couldn’t work with him and keep the respect of the employees. I offered to leave.”

  He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners of his tanned face. “But he left instead. That sounds like him.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so,” she muttered.

  “Really, why?” He looked genuinely surprised.

  Claire shrugged again. “The James Sheffield I grew up with was ruthless and selfish. If he wanted something, he went after it. No holds barred. He didn’t care whose feelings he stomped on to get it.”

  Helmut put one hand over hers. “It must have been rough being his daughter. I remember some of the ruthless, as you put it, days, too. But I think he mellowed the past few years.”

  “Apparently.” She looked down at their hands, hers paler and pinker against his, strong and tanned from a few weeks in the sun.

  “And I made a hugely public scene about Frank. Had him escorted out of Sheffield and Fox’s lobby one day. I threatened him with a police order of protection if he kept harassing me. I think that finally woke him up.”

  Helmut gave her hand a little squeeze. “He always struck me as a bit spineless. Has he been back?”

  She shook her head. “He never has liked confrontation. And after my father stepped down and he realized that I wasn’t going anywhere, I think he gave up. I hope he did.”

  “He and Lackey deserve each other.”

  She nodded. “We’re still investigating all of the Shadow Fly finances. But so far it just looks like a case of gross mismanagement.”

  “Ben always did take the easy road. I should have paid more attention to the signs early on. You were right to fire me, you know. I wasn’t fit for that job.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Half the company still sings your praises.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Only half?”

  She grinned. “The male half. The female half are either too pissed at me or too heartbroken over you to sing anything.”

  Helmut winced and stepped back, letting Claire’s hand drop. “I never set out to break anyone’s heart. I just—”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I knew who you were from the beginning,” she said quietly.

  His gray-green eyes turned stony again. “Claire, I’m glad you’re here. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to keep seeing each other.”

  Claire’s heart constricted. This was what she was afraid of. “I told you once that I don’t need anything complicated.”

  His eyes flicked over her face, searching her features for something. She smiled bravely. Coolly. But in her heart, she knew this was a losing battle. This was his MO. When a woman declared herself in love with him, he ran. Not that she blamed him.

  “That’s the problem, Claire. With you, things are already complicated.”

  She shook her head, denying his words. Grasping at anything. “It doesn’t have to be. I know it’s been a mess. And I know you don’t want a woman to get too close. But I can—”

  He closed the distance between them in one step and cut off her words with a searing kiss. When he finally relented, she was breathless.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  A sob formed in Claire’s throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut, focusing every nerve on his body still so close to hers. She wanted to memorize his scent, his warmth. “I am, too. God, Helmut, I know it’s the last thing you want to hear. But if we’re over, what can it hurt?”

  “What’s that?” His voice sounded strangled.

  “I lied to you just now.” The words were almost a relief. She didn’t know if the twisting pain in her chest would ever heal, but at least she could walk away and not regret that she held back. She pressed her hands to his chest, willing her fingers not to curl themselves into the soft fabric of his shirt. Willing them not to cling. “I...I’m glad you refused my offer. Because I don’t think I can be here, with you, without complicating things. I love you. And I’m not sorry that I came. Only sorry that I have to go.”

  She tried to step back, tried to turn around, but he refused to let her go.

  “What did you say?”

  She gave another shove, and he wouldn’t budge. She fought back the tears that clogged her throat. Don’t back down. She forced herself to meet his eyes. His look was hard and intent. His breath was uneven, and there was a hint of a flush beneath the scruff of his chin. She wanted to run away, but that would not resolve anything. She knew that now.

  “Never.”

  “I love you, Helmut Forrester. I love the way you make me laugh. I love the way you take care of your family. I love that you donate that scholarship to the university in memory of your fiancée. I love that so much that it hurts. I wish that you could love me that deeply, that long. And most of all I wish...”

  He didn’t really flinch, not physically. But she saw in his eyes how he shut down. It was like a door slamming, with her on the wrong side. Just like she’d done to him in Paris.

  She drew in a ragged breath and licked her parched lips. “But I am not her. I should leave.”

  His grip on her arms softened, but if anything he drew her closer. “No, you are not her.”

  “I am nothing but a complication.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and when they opened again, they were brimming with an intensity that made Claire’s knees weak. “Olivia is gone. She has been gone for a long time. She will always be in my heart, but time moves on. Things change. I changed. I don’t want another Olivia in my life.”

  Claire nodded sadly.

  He smiled, slow and seductive. “I said that, with you, things were already complicated. I’m in love with you, Claire Sheffield. I have been since Paris. Not because you are just like Olivia. Not because you are completely different than Olivia. I love you for who you are.”

  “But I thought you didn’t want complications.” She opened her mouth to speak, but words refused to form.

  “You took the job that I thought I was ready for and showed me that I could never have handled it. You fired me and kicked me out of the hole where I had buried my all my feelings for years. You seduced me with your intelligence. And with your honesty. And with those incredibly long, sexy legs.

  “I want you. All of you. Complications and all, and I won’t accept any less.”

  Clare stared, open mouthed, until Helmut leaned down and kissed her. Kissed away her doubts. Kissed away her breath. Kissed away her self-control. Kissed away all thoughts of goodbye.

  The End

  Special Preview: The Vegas Affair

  Affairs of the Heart, Volume 2

  Chapter 1

  Sweat streaked down the back of Kelsie Forrester's halter dress, soaking the ties of her bikini and making the fabric stick to her hot, sunburned skin. She dialed, again, and held her cell phone to one ear, again, and got yet another litany of ringing with no answer. From across the street, an engine gunned and tires shrieked on the shimmering pavement. She danced from foot to foot on the hot white sand as she watched the back of a red pickup truck turn onto Ocean Boulevard towards downtown Palm Beach.

  Her favorite flip flops were in that truck. So was her boyfriend. Rather, her ex-boyfriend. And his new girlfriend. Kelsie glared at the receding taillights. She was going to miss those flip flops.

  Her cell phone beeped its low-battery warning, again, and the ringing on the other end finally switched over to voicemail. Her mother never seemed to hear the cell phone anymore. Or she lost it. Or left it buried in the bottom of her tote bag for a wee
k until the battery finally ran out. Kelsie's brother Helmut kept wondering if their mother was starting to show early signs of dementia or Alzheimer's. Kelsie thought that their mom simply didn't care about the cell phone. It didn't matter whether the problem was forgetfulness or disdain, though. Today, it looked like Kelsie would be walking three miles back to her mom's house. Barefoot.

  She hot-footed it to one of the benches that lined the parking lot and flopped down. She rubbed her scorched soles for a minute before digging through her beach bag hoping to find some long-forgotten socks, or maybe twenty bucks for a cab. Instead, she found sunscreen, her towel, a mini-wallet containing her driver's license and University of St. Thomas ID, seventy-six cents, two hair ties, a fat comb, chapstick, a tattered romance novel, and the torn ticket stub from the beach volleyball tournament she'd come to watch. No footwear. Not even enough change for the bus.

  Her two-timing rat bastard of a boyfriend had been playing in the tournament today, and she had spent the rest of her cash buying a prime seat so she could cheer him on. The jerk even won, and had blown her a kiss in between fist pumps and high-fives with the rest of his team. And then, as usual, he left her sitting there all alone in his car for the better part of an hour while he and his buddies did their usual post-game routine: Packing up, changing clothes, laughing and joking and generally having a lot of fun.

  This time, he was having more fun than usual. With the new girl who had just joined their co-ed volleyball team a month prior. The same girl that he had joked was as flat-chested and narrow-hipped as a boy, but who had a wicked spike. Volleyball prowess must be far more attractive than the slimeball had ever admitted to.

  Kelsie's cell phone warbled its final death knoll and then shut itself down. Not that it would do her any good. If her mom wasn't around, she had no one else to call. Her brother Helmut lived in Chicago with his fiancée, and her other brother Rob was off in the Brazilian jungle studying frogs. Her best friend Alice had stayed in Miami for the summer in their shabby off-campus apartment. Most of her other friends from undergrad still lived down in Miami, or else had escaped to parts far and wide to pursue their own graduate degrees. She contemplated the sidewalk, and then her feet, and then the sidewalk again. This was going to hurt.