by Nora Snowdon
With a start, he realized he had again completely forgotten the reason he’d approached the woman in the first place. He splashed cold water on his face. Somehow her shares in her father’s company seemed less important now than playing with her delectable body. Non, he must keep his wits about him. Sex is temporary, business is long-term. He listed her faults—she was too forthright, she lacked social skills, and she made dubious fashion choices—to regain his control of the situation.
Resolve in place, he sauntered back into the bedroom. The sight of her lying in his bed with her glorious red curls spread over the pillow quickened his step. He slipped back under the covers and lifted her head to rest on his shoulder.
Helen’s hand inched across his chest, a gentle tattoo invisibly imprinting on his still sensitive skin. How could she be so enticing and yet so naïve? Regardless of his carnal desires, tomorrow he would raise the topic of her father’s business and deal with his true purpose. He should be able to use her philanthropic nature to his advantage.
Her leg casually resting on his thigh brought him back to the present and he stroked her firm derrière. “You will stay the evening?”
“No. I have to get back. Edward and Bettina will be worried about me.”
“May I remind you that they work for you?”
“No. They work for my father,” she corrected him. “But aside from that, they’ve both looked after me since I was a little girl. Edward had to put up with my teenage rebellions when my father wasn’t there and Bettina nursed me through numerous illnesses.”
“Ah. You are a good girl.”
“Not so good, or I wouldn’t be here.” She blushed.
“Don’t tell me you think this is bad?” Dieu save him from any belated moral regrets. This was the trouble dealing with good girls.
“No. But it’s not the sort of behavior one writes home about.”
“Mon Dieu! I hope not.” Sliding out of bed, he shook his head in frustration. “You get dressed to look virtuous in front of Edward and Betty.” Then he glimpsed the hurt look in her eyes. Had his tone of voice been too sharp? He must not let his temper rule, she was more than a fling—she also held too many shares in his company. “I am only teasing you, ma petite.” He hugged her as she stood to dress.
*
Helen pondered Antoine’s abrupt changes in attitude as he drove her home, from romantic cuddling to a curt dismissal and now…? Was he pissed that she wouldn’t spend the night? Or perhaps this was how he disposed of his unwanted lovers after a conquest. Maybe she was overreacting. It could be a French thing. They stopped in her driveway and Antoine pulled her into his arms and kissed the daylights out of her. Now it appeared he didn’t to want to let her go. Not that she minded, but holy crap she needed a manual—preferably in English—to figure the guy out.
“Tomorrow, I will pick you up at 11:00 for some shopping, and then a game of tennis.” It was not a question.
“What do you need to buy?”
“Proper tennis attire for you, ma petite.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she snapped. “I won’t have you dressing me. I’ll wear my ‘whites’ if my appearance embarrasses you.” She reined in her temper. Clothes were a ridiculous thing to fight about.
“You have the proper clothes?” He sounded confused.
“Yes. I have to dress appropriately for my father when he’s here. I just like annoying Jordana a bit. She’s so fashion-conscious. And then I didn’t want you to think I was dressing to impress you.”
“I certainly did not think that. But, how did you know I would still ask you out?”
“I didn’t think you would.” Helen shook her head in bewilderment. “I assumed you were interested in Jordana. She’s more your style.”
Antoine appeared aghast at the idea. “Well, wear whatever you wish, we will play tennis tomorrow.”
“Okay. And if I play in the nude, I might even be able to beat you.” His shocked expression made her grin.
“I am sure you would win, yet I think it would be worth losing to see.” His lips descended once more on hers. “Alors, much as I regret it, I must let you go. Bonne nuit, mon amour.”
“Good night.” Helen walked into her father’s place wishing with every pore in her body that she could return to Antoine’s house and bed. Confusing as he was, he certainly knew how to play her, mind and body.
Edward had left a hall light on for her, but luckily didn’t seem to be awake. As she undressed for bed, Helen thought over the entire evening. She was in way over her head with Antoine. She knew their relationship was only physical, but could she stop herself from wanting more?
CHAPTER 5
Helen glided across the tennis court in her tiny white skirt and fitted shirt, attracting the lustful attention of every man lounging in the café. Their interest spiked the few times she adjusted the hemline of the tight shorts underneath, pretending a desire to conceal more of her legs. It was an obvious ploy to draw all eyes to her derriere.
Antoine’s temper riled. He wanted to yell at them to take their filthy leers elsewhere. And he wanted to cover up the object of their desire. She was his. Helen feigned ignorance of the men and, as his play deteriorated, hers improved. He only managed to win the set by barreling several aces by her. He forced a smile as he led her to the café.
After her first sip of lemonade, he could contain himself no longer. “Do you flirt to make me jealous?”
“Pardon me?” She blinked, then frowned.
“Those men over there. They are your friends?” He refused to acknowledge her actions had worked and yet he could not let his anger go. He was not accustomed to feeling this possessive of a woman.
“Who?” She turned to look. “No, I don’t know them.”
As she did seem unaware of the men, Antoine realized that perhaps he had been mistaken. “I am sorry. They were so fascinated by your every move, I presumed you knew them.”
She glanced again at the men and one of them called across, “Good game, miss. We thought you had him there.”
“Thanks.” She turned back to Antoine, a new blush adding to her cheeks already ruddy from exertion and muttered, “You were the one who insisted I wear this ridiculous outfit.”
“Yes. Now I want to hide you away,” he admitted. “I am sorry. Can I drag you back to my cave to apologize?”
“Maybe, if you drag carefully. I’m kind of stiff. I haven’t played tennis for a while, and now I’ve played three days straight. My little legs might fall off.”
“Ah. I know the cure for tired legs,” he murmured with a suggestive wink. He swung a proprietary arm around her and drew toward the door.
*
Later, Helen lay satiated in Antoine’s arms, marveling at the different ways he made love. Last night there’d been an urgency in his passion, as if driven by fire. This afternoon he’d treasured every part of her body, bringing her to a climax with slow, subtle strokes making her body ache in different ways. His control had amazed her as he teased and tempted her body far longer than she’d thought possible. Then when she was almost senseless with desire, he brought her to a mind-blowing orgasm. She’d never felt so thoroughly fulfilled. She brushed a soft curl back from his face.
“Mmm, you spoil me.”
“I want to. You are mine, now.” Antoine kissed the top of her head. “I would like to lie like this with you forever.”
Helen caught herself before she answered. He didn’t mean he wanted to be with her forever, just that he didn’t want to get out of bed. There was a big difference.
“This is nice.” She snuggled closer. “But I’ll need food soon, if we are to keep up this pace.”
“Ah, the problem with roughing it in the Bahamas, no servants to bring us the peeled grapes,” he replied. “Would you like a quick bite of Camembert, Gouda and crackers here, or shall we brave the outside world?”
“Cheese and crackers sounds great.” Helen didn’t want to leave the warm confines of his place. She could pretend this
was normal when they were alone. Out in public, his worldliness was so much more conspicuous. She also could hold his attention better here, than amongst the beautiful, long-legged creatures, roaming the streets. Sure, her heart was going to be broken, but there was no point in rushing it.
*
Antoine arranged the simple meal on a plate, absurdly elated that Helen didn’t want to go out for lunch and he could hold her captive a little while longer. It was strange he wanted to keep her so close. With most women he went to great lengths to avoid the inevitable female neediness after sex. Thoughts of work would intrude, as his latest conquest would desire a deep, emotional conversation. It seemed if you spread their legs, it encouraged them to open their mouths.
Helen hadn’t done that. If anything, he had been the more effusive. He sighed. How much longer could he hold her before he had to return to the real world? He resolved not to think about that. She sauntered into the kitchen wearing the shirt he’d worn the night before.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind me wearing this, since it’s already dirty,” she explained. “It’s a gorgeous material.”
“Thank you. It suits you.” Antoine kissed her. Then he grabbed the wine and the food and headed to the living room. “Have a seat. Eat. Then we will discuss the next few days.”
She appeared nervous at the proposition, so he popped a cracker with Camembert into her mouth.
“D’accord. We will discuss it now. I think you should stay here with me for the next few days. I realize if your father should come back, I will have to return you, but I do not think the butler is a good enough excuse. Tomorrow is Monday. I have to do some business but not for long. I will be in meetings on Wednesday, so you may use that day to see old friends. I am willing to negotiate days off for good behavior, but not nights. Is this acceptable?” Antoine stared into her blue-gray eyes, willing her to agree. She paused long enough to worry him.
“Does this agreement include food? Because for a short person, I eat a lot.”
He smiled and took her in his arms. “All you can eat.”
“Oh, and I’ll need to pick up some clothes from my house.”
“Non, you will not need clothes. You are perfect as you are.” Antoine unbuttoned her shirt to reveal cleavage. “Ah. Even better.”
Helen climbed onto his lap and looped her arms around his neck. “You know, you’re lucky you kidnapped me and not Edward, because I don’t think he’d have gone for this.”
“I think you are right.” His eyes darkened as he moved in to kiss her forehead, nose and then zeroed in on her mouth. “I don’t know what you have done to me, but I am under your spell. Soon I will take you to pick up your things and then we will decide what to do tonight.”
*
Helen walked into the casino then paused to let her eyes adjust to the dark interior punctuated by flashing lights and garish décor.
Antoine draped his arm around her shoulders and asked, “Where would you like to start, ma petite? Cards, Roulette, slots, or perhaps some music and dancing?”
“I’ll watch you play for a bit, and see what appeals to me.”
The slot machines at the front of the casino looked like bizarre, video games, each emitting ringing bells, competing tunes and strange voices trying to entice bettors. The majority of slot players were female whereas men seemed to favor the table games. And the fashions worn by players were all over the map, with some in beach attire, others in tuxes and gowns and every possible combination in between.
A large man sporting a cowboy hat and some of the gaudiest rings she’d ever seen, dominated a large green table. Helen tried to glance through the crowd to see what they were doing.
“What’s that game?”
“Craps. They are betting on the dice.”
The cowboy yelled encouragement to the dice in a display intended for his ever-increasing audience. Then the crowd hushed as he stacked several more pink chips on the table.
The game went so fast, between the rolling of dice and the redistribution of chips, Helen couldn’t tell if he was winning or losing. Then she noticed that the pile of chips in front of the cowboy had dwindled. He pulled out a thick wad of cash and threw several bills at the croupier.
“Change.” The croupier waited for the pit supervisor and then in an elaborate dance of hands and chips, brought out, flattened, and then re-piled several stacks of various colored chips.
“Wow. That’s a lot of money,” Helen whispered to Antoine. “Is he a professional gambler?”
“He thinks he is. Gambling like that is ridiculous. The house tilts all the games in their favor. You can win big on occasion, but if you play enough the house will triumph. To make money you must play against less skilled opponents, such as in poker. And for that, you need to be very good. And you must have luck.”
“You don’t gamble?”
“I play small amounts for fun. I enjoy the ambience of different casinos, the shows, the lights, the people. To win money, I prefer to gamble in business where I tilt the odds in my favor.” He gestured toward a dealer standing alone at a table. “Do you know Black Jack?”
“Is that the one where you try for twenty-one?”
“Oui. We will start there.” Antoine led her to the table and handed over a couple of hundreds for chips. Then he put some chips on the two squares in front of them.
“Oh.” She gulped as the dealer dealt out the hands. “I don’t really know how to play this. I mean, not for money.”
“That’s alright, ma petite. These are chips, not money.” He signaled to stay on his hand of eighteen and then looked to Helen to see what she wanted to do with her fifteen.
“Um, I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I would stay. The dealer has five. There is the likelihood that he will get a ten. Then he will have to take another card and we hope he will bust.”
“Okay, I’ll stay.”
As Antoine predicted, the dealer went over twenty-one.
“There. You won. Now you will play whatever you feel like.” Antoine whispered in her ear, “And do not worry. If you lose, I will take you home and slowly torture you. If you win, I will reward you. It will be the same either way.”
They played several hands, winning some, but the dealer seemed to be pretty lucky. After half an hour they were both wiped out of chips.
“More? Or shall we move on?”
“Something different. What’s the game that James Bond plays?”
“Chemin-de-fer. The closest they have here is baccarat. We will not play for long. It is a boring game.”
“Oh, we don’t have to then—”
“No. You should experience it. Baccarat is a game of chance. You are betting one hand is better than the other, but you control nothing. The odds favor the banker hand. If you bet on him, you receive less money.” Antoine put a few more hundreds on the table to purchase chips. After a few bets, Helen was ready to move on again.
“Roulette,” Antoine pronounced as he steered her through the crowd to the long thin table. “Also a game of chance, but the whirling ball and possibility to win big, makes it more entertaining. Alors, pick your lucky number.”
“Okay. Twenty-eight?”
“Twenty-eight it is.” Antoine stacked several chips on her chosen square.
Helen’s eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t go crazy on my account.”
“Ah. You have already made me crazy, mon amour,” Antoine murmured in her ear. Then he kissed her temple. “And we must play twenty-three as well. It is my lucky number; the date I first saw you playing tennis.” He placed several more chips on the nineteen.
“All bets are down,” the croupier announced. He turned the wheel and then spun the ball in the opposite direction. Helen focused on the ball; her eyes tracking its every move as it jumped in and out of squares before landing on nine.
“Nine? Man, we missed by one space! Can we try number twenty-two? But just one chip, a stack makes me too nervous.”
“Ah. I like to se
e you nervous. It makes it more important and exciting.” He placed another stack on twenty-two. Several other people added their chips to the board while she waited in anticipation.
“No more bets.” Again, the wheel and ball were set in motion.
He stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. She tried to will the ball into the twenty-two slot. The ball dropped and she let out a huff of disappointment. The ball never even came close to dropping in the right slot.
“I don’t think I like Roulette,” she said. “I’m sure my number will win, then I feel like a fool when it doesn’t. I’m not lucky at gambling. Could we just walk around?”
“Certainement. Perhaps a drink?” Antoine put his arm around Helen’s waist and steered her toward the bar. The chorus of an old Neil Diamond song infiltrated her brain and her feet subconsciously followed the rhythm. As they reached the lounge, Antoine turned her around to face him.
“First, a dance?”
“I’m not a good dancer,” Helen apologized.
“Nonsense.” Antoine pulled her to him and guided her through some waltz steps. “Relax, ma petite. You’ll enjoy it more.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on his body’s movements. Soon the tension in her back dissipated as she followed his lead. He kissed the top of her head and she melted into his arms even more. The music, the great smell of his cologne, and the feel of his body enveloping her was intoxicating. It wasn’t just that she was enjoying herself, but something more. She felt cared for and protected. So what, if it was all fake, she wasn’t going to let reality intrude now.
*
Antoine realized with a start that after another full day with Helen, he was no closer to broaching the subject of her father’s business. Was he holding back to prolong his affair with her? Beyond her father’s shares, she had no purpose in his life. But their brief time together had been refreshing and enjoyable. She challenged him in ways other women did not with both her honesty and her sassy attitude.
