Standing on the edge of Lake Michigan, he’d worried that having Jaime with him might thwart his plan. Women manipulated situations based on who he was, on what he could do for them. Jaime hadn’t seemed to know what he did, but Carla was a fashion buyer, one with Marie-Chloe pieces in her closet. It was entirely possible she’d made the connection and passed the information on.
When Jaime had pushed for details of his life, he’d been rocketed back to Europe, to women who knew the score and wanted to play the game. He was so tired of the game.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in the passenger seat. He needed a break from always looking for ulterior motives. The constant guard he had to keep up. For just a moment, he didn’t want to think about what everyone wanted from him, or that no one cared to see him through the veil of money, prestige and power.
When Jaime came back to the car, she wore more clothes than he’d ever seen on her. Lounge pants patterned with pink hearts, a long-sleeved red tee and socks so thick they looked like sweaters for her feet.
Xavier slid lower in the passenger seat, not saying a word as they hit the road. He watched Jaime drive from the corner of his eye. Maybe all the clothes on the women at the living history museum had had a negative impact on her. He loved that she was usually bare from the top of her head to the high rounded mounds of her breasts. Breasts that were completely camouflaged in this get-up.
Not that he should care. She said she wanted to get to know him, which always got in the way of a good time. He wanted to keep things light and easy, and explaining to anyone why he was driving across the country would tread into territory that was heavy, dark and would lead to more of the same.
That had been his life for the last year, and he needed to leave it behind. Make some new memories, bright shining moments of summer to hold him through the rest of the year while he battled the storms raging between his father and sister.
He shifted in the seat, knowing if he kept his mind in Paris, he’d never fall asleep. Instead he watched Jaime as she drove, cute wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. The picture of the perfect driver, her profile lit up by the headlamps of the passing cars.
“Why are you staring at me?” Jaime asked, never taking her eyes from the road. “Think I’m going to mess up your rental insurance rates?”
He owned the car, but she didn’t need to know the details. “Are you sure you want to do this? Drive through the night?”
Jaime raised a dome-lidded drink she’d picked up at the Welcome Center, the chocolate swirls showing through the clear plastic. “I’m all caffeinated and ready to roll. You just try not to snore. I’ll wake you for the sunrise somewhere in Wyoming.”
“I don’t know how you can drink coffee that cold.”
“It’s espresso blended with ice cream. Ice cream is always good.” She fiddled with the radio, finding yet another country-music station. The girl had a gift for tuning in songs he couldn’t stand.
He forced the thought to the back of his mind, closed his eyes and focused on something more pleasant. Like the way Jaime had tried to milk a cow while wearing a skirt, or that she hadn’t seemed to mind when a toddler tugged on the same white skirt with berry pie on his hands. He’d never been with a woman who wouldn’t have thrown a fit at that. Instead, Jaime had met the little boy on his level and listened intently as he stammered through his life story. It hadn’t been brief, and yet she’d never rushed him through his disjointed ramble. Even when the boy’s mother tried to apologize, Jaime had waved her worries away with a smile and kept listening to the child.
The boy had been as taken with Jaime as he was. When she wasn’t being ornery, the girl was a great date. The kind of woman who would be game for anything, anywhere, anytime.
This journey had started with finding his mother’s list of things she’d wanted to do―drive cross country, make ice cream, see the Smithsonian, experience a living history museum, go to the top of the Statue of Liberty―but thanks to the Jaime-induced frustration, he was building a list of his own.
Ever since he’d had to watch her round hips sway up the narrow stairs at the haunted hotel, he’d had an obsession with having her climb stairs in front of him. The possibilities of positions were limitless.
And Spanish, when had he ever wanted to have sex with someone who could talk dirty to him in Spanish? He needed to know what it was she and Carla had been talking about, and then do it.
…
“I can’t go on like this another minute.” Jaime pulled the car over, or perhaps he was dreaming. Her lips curled in a hungry smile as she undid her seatbelt and he stopped caring. Real, fantasy, either way, things were about to get good.
He’d pushed the passenger seat all the way back so he could stretch out his legs. Moments ago he’d felt cramped, but now there was room for her to climb to the floor with the grace of a cat, sliding between his spread legs and kneeling in front of him. With her hands on either side of his hips, she pushed up, her breasts heavy on his chest, her breath warm on his lips.
“I want you.” The low, sultry purr of her voice went straight to his groin. “I’ve wanted you from the first day.”
Threading his fingers through her hair, he pulled her mouth down onto his, the kiss instantly deep and hot. His free hand reached beneath the hem of her top, finding a bare breast. Her ripe nipple felt hard against his thumb as he pressed and rubbed, forcing the kiss faster and harder with the rhythm.
She pulled away, lifted the shirt over her head and gave him a glorious view of her naked flesh. The strands of her dark hair twined around her brazenly exposed breasts. The desolate highway was silent beside them, but at any moment someone might speed by and catch quite the show.
On instinct, his hands covered her, protecting her tantalizing offer from prying eyes. The softly curving mounds felt heavy in his palms, her nipples pressing for more. The world melted around them as her tongue glided across his lower lip, tracing to the corners of his mouth. He grew so hard he had to shift for more room.
Jaime took advantage of the opportunity to lift his shirt, her fingers sending waves of sensation through him as she ran them up his chest. He pulled off the shirt and tossed it behind them.
He wanted so badly to touch her, to end the ache pulsing in his groin by taking her here and now. The only thing he wanted more was to see what she had in store for him. Her fingers smoothed over the sparse hair gathered at his breastbone, his skin heating at her caress. His nipples tingled and hardened, and as quick as he could imagine her lips pursed there. The tip of her tongue traced the delicate circle while her hands followed the thin trail of dark hair lower.
She pushed off his loose shorts as if they never existed, lowering herself so she was face-to-face with the evidence of his desire. Her small hand gripped around the base of his shaft, keeping him from going insane with lust. He leaned back in the seat, spreading his knees as far as he could to accommodate her. Keeping one hand on her breast, he tweaked her ripe nipple to encourage her to continue.
“I want you, J’aime. I always want you.”
Soft kisses teased the inside of his thighs, his lower stomach, making him beg for more. Finally, her tongue flattened against him, so hot he had to hiss to contain the pleasure of it. A wicked smile crossed her full lips before she ended his torture by taking him in her mouth. He thrust gently to her rhythm as she worked him with her lips, tongue, hand, his fingers threading into her silken hair.
His body began to tighten as her talented tongue flicked and sucked, licked and pumped. He abandoned himself to the pleasure, his breath coming in sharp pants, words of gratitude spilling from his lips.
…
As soon as she found an internet connection, Jaime was going to do some serious translating of modern French slang. Xavier had been talking in his sleep for the last half hour, and from what she could make out, he was having one amazing dream.
About her.
She squirmed in her seat
, checking the clock, the speedometer, praying for a distracting road sign. Anything to get her mind off the man having a wonderful time without her.
“J’envie de toi. Je toujours te veux.” The sleepy mumble did little to hide the connotation. “J’aime ton corps, tes lévres, tes seins. J’aime. J’aime.”
She swallowed, but her mouth was too dry. Of course her drink had been empty since the Nebraska state line. This had to be some kind of torture, having to sit next to a man as he described how much he liked your body.
“Suce moi, fumer le cigar.”
She quirked a brow, unsure how to translate that one. He made her feel horny and incompetent at the same time. But what could she do? Nudge him awake and tell him he talked in his sleep? What if he asked what he’d been saying?
“J’aime,” he ground out, shifting in his seat and spreading his legs wider. She would not look to see if he was having one of those dreams. He had to be.
“J’aime.”
Why did her name have to sound as if he was saying I love? He could be dreaming about anyone, and then how embarrassed would she be if she woke him. No, best to keep going and get to Oregon as quickly as humanly possible.
“Maudit.”
He reached for her then, his hand wrapping around her thigh and squeezing, hard. She swerved as the translation flashed in her mind. He was having quite the naughty dream. His hand rubbed a lazy circle, his head lolling from side to side.
That meant he’d been dreaming about her, right? Her eyes widened at what he’d fantasized of her doing, then widened more as panic flashed through her faster than the blue lights flashing in the rear-view mirror.
Chapter Seven
Blaring sirens pierced through his sleepy haze, coupled with pulsing red and blue lights. By the time Xavier realized this wasn’t a bizarre dream, Jaime had stopped the car on the side of the road, her hands shaking on the steering wheel.
“Sorry,” she said as she pushed the button to roll down the window and then killed the engine. “The sirens were a bit much.”
“What happened?” He wiped his eyes, looking for some clue in the darkness. On one side of the road he saw nothing but a cornfield. The other side of the road looked exactly the same.
“I don’t know.” Jaime checked the side mirror, her entire body quivering. “Do you think we could have a taillight out or something? That would be a safety violation against the rental company, not a traffic violation. I think.”
He shook his head, not wanting to explain that he owned the car. “Where are we?”
“Ogallala, Nebraska,” the officer filled in as she leaned towards the window. “How are you feeling tonight, ma’am? In a hurry to get somewhere before morning?”
“Not really. We’re headed to Oregon.” Jaime cleared her throat, her voice coming out steadier. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I’ve been following you for a few miles. Your speed has been very erratic and a few times you veered into the other lane.” She flipped open the metal cover of a notepad. “May I see your license and registration, please?”
Jaime twisted to reach her bag in the back seat. For the first time since he knew her, he started to feel like he was hiding something as he pulled the registration from the glove box and handed it over.
This trip was about being free and anonymous, without any of the trappings of his status or reputation. He’d avoided telling Jaime, but until he passed the car registration in front of her, he hadn’t felt like he was lying about it.
“Do you have some ID?” The officer leaned closer to the open window, staring at him. “And maybe a business card that might show why you are in possession of a Marie-Chloe vehicle?”
“Of course.” He took his wallet from the glove box where he’d stashed it while he slept and gave the officer what she needed. Why did it have to be so damned difficult for a foreign national to buy a car? The bureaucracy of visas made it easier to list the company as co-owner. With a nod, the officer retreated to her car and he braced himself for the barrage of questions that always came when women learned who he was.
What would Jaime leverage for? She didn’t seem interested in modeling or society invitations, money or free clothes would be his guess. But the questions never came. Jaime stared silently ahead, shaking her head slightly. He placed a hand on her arm, stilling her.
“Are you all right?”
“I never go over the speed limit. I’ve never even been pulled over.”
He shrugged. “It’s pretty much the same in America as in France or Spain. Don’t get pulled over in Belgium though. It’s too much of a headache to get the fine paid.”
She rubbed at her temples. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”
“From who? I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“My stepfather, the insurance salesman. He’s already angry that I didn’t have insurance coverage to replace my car when it was stolen. Now that I’ll be living in town he’ll insist on making sure the next car is covered. He’ll pull my record and this will be the topic of conversation for years.” She leaned forward, resting her head on the steering wheel.
“It’s just a ticket.”
“To them it is another example of what a screw up I am.”
He knit his brow, shocked by her sudden bout of insecurity. “How can you be a screw up?”
“I’m homeless, jobless, penniless, with no husband prospects and no kids. To them, I am an abject failure, and this is proof I need someone else to run my life.”
The officer reappeared in the window, handing them back their paperwork. She handed a yellow slip of paper to Jaime. “I could have cited you for reckless driving, but I only cited you for speeding. I suggest you head into town and get some rest. Falling asleep at the wheel is dangerous.”
“Absolutely,” Xavier said when he saw Jaime’s mouth open about to protest. “Where is the closest hotel?”
“At the next exit there is a Holiday Motel. You can’t miss it, but I doubt it’s the quality you’re used to.”
“I’m sure it will do.” He climbed out of the car and walked to the other side. “Sorry to have been any trouble.”
“No trouble. Just doing my job.”
Xavier opened the door, nudging Jaime to climb to the passenger side.
“Are you traveling on business? Looking for locations to do photo shoots or scouting for new models?”
“Modeling agencies handle that. We’re on vacation, driving cross country to get to her sister’s wedding.” He slid into the seat, forcing a smile. Ten minutes ago he still had his privacy, and now it felt as if it had been peeled off like sunburned skin.
“Lucky girl.” The officer gave a smile that showed she wasn’t referring to the bride.
…
“You just need a plan, and everything will get back under control.” Jaime decided. She’d avoided making any decisions during a shower so long it steamed up the bathroom mirror. She swiped the steam away and saw that her face did not agree.
She growled at her reflection, which at least made her smile. Her life was in freefall, and she had to find a foothold, fast. After drying off, she slipped a long cotton nightgown Carla had loaned her over her head and stepped into the dark bedroom.
“Did you know Ogallala was a stop for both the Pony Express and the Transcontinental Railroad?” Xavier leaned against the door jamb separating the two adjoining rooms. He’d taken a shower too, his short hair a disarray of wet spikes.
Jaime pursed her lips. If she tried, she could make all of this his fault. He was the one who refused to follow her map, who had her so distracted she’d inadvertently sped up and swerved the car, who kept taking her to places and showing her things she’d never imagined. And he had the nerve to do it all with a sexy grin on his face, tempting her to take him up on the sensual swagger present in his every step.
“I’m not in the mood for a history lesson.” The only illumination came from his bedroom, backlighting him. She tried to ignore the way it silho
uetted his features, outlined his physique. When she’d insisted on separate rooms, he’d insisted on adjoining ones. Too bad neither hotel room was much bigger than her college dorm. There was nowhere to go to get away from him and clear her head.
Jaime pointed her finger at him. “I’m not in a good mood at all, so you should stay away.”
“Why are you moving back to Oregon?”
His words hit her like the kick in Abuelito’s habanero sauce. She jerked her head in his direction, stunned by his seemingly out-of-nowhere question. She couldn’t give him an answer when she wasn’t sure of the reason herself. She lifted her chin and met his gaze.
“What exactly do you do for Marie-Chloe?”
His smile widened, looking terrifyingly wolfish. “For now, I’m the CFO. My father still holds the reins until he retires at the end of the year.”
“You’re a CFO.” She sank onto the bed. “But you are completely disorganized.”
“No, I’m on holiday. At work, every moment is as efficient as I can make it. My father accuses me of inheriting my mother’s American work ethic.”
“That’s why you’re so hell bent on having a vacation. When you get back to work you won’t have time for anything else.”
He shook his head and laughed. “I make time to enjoy life. It’s too short not to. But yes, when I return to Paris I’ll be busy.”
He stepped out of the doorway, taking the few steps to reach her bed in the small room. She should have closed the door before she’d taken a shower.
But she didn’t really to close the door.
“I answered your question. Now you answer mine. Why are you moving back to Oregon?” He took one step forward, the muscles in his thigh rippling with the movement. Why wasn’t he wearing more than shorts slung so low on his hips it was apparent nothing was beneath them?
“Depends on who you ask.”
His eyes watched her with wicked amusement. “That usually works for you, doesn’t it?” He sat next to her on the bed, a gesture so intimate she didn’t know how to hold back.
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