As his wet fingers slid on her swollen skin, shocks ran up her body. He massaged her, his fingers slipping easily, and Georgie felt herself begin to tighten. She arched her back, pressing down on his fingers, gasping.
Alex knew what he was doing. Georgie might joke that she was falling in love, but damn, it was incredible to go to bed with a guy who liked to get a woman off.
He rubbed deep in her, sliding over her clit and deeper, dipping into her, his fingers taking on a perfectly metered rhythm that echoed her heartbeat. She whispered, “Alex!”
He leaned over and sucked on her breast, syncopating with his mouth, driving her higher.
She whispered, “Alex, I’m going to come.”
His fingers dipped deeper, sliding quicker in her center, and his thumb found her clit, rubbing both so-sensitive places with an insistent rhythm that tightened until she fell over the edge, and her body throbbed like a deep bass drum pounding through her.
She held him around his shoulders, her fingers tracing the rough rows on his shoulders, crying out with the intensity of it, her body contracting around his hand, and Alex crawled up her body. He kissed her hard, his hardness rubbed on her stomach. Her body still pulsed with the orgasm, and she panted and wiped the tears away from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Alex. That was—”
“Not done yet,” he whispered.
He reared up above her—his muscled body glorious in the late afternoon golden sunlight streaming in the windows from over Paris—flipped her limp body over, and grabbed her hips, hoisting her ass into the air.
“Oh!”
The sound of plastic ripping reached her ears, and Alex drove himself into her center, still sensitive and quivering from the orgasm.
She cried out again and arched, not from exactly pain, but he filled her so deeply in her wet skin and trembling center that it overwhelmed her.
He stroked into her—long, hard strokes—rubbing inside her sensitized skin that felt almost raw from the intense orgasm, and the pressure inside her began to build again from deep inside.
Georgie rocked back, taking him in deep, his hardness pressing inside her with every stroke.
He held her hips, pulling her body back onto him, and Georgie gathered her elbows under herself so she could push back farther. He growled above her, and he leaned over her back, biting her shoulder.
Alex wrapped one arm around her waist, yanking her all the way up to her hands, and his left hand slid past her belly button, around the curve of her hip, and between her legs again.
She almost told him to stop, that her skin couldn’t take it, but his rough, callused fingers dragged on her folds, found her clit, and he pressed his fingers there and vibrated his fingertips like he was drawing a tremolo out of a violin, a shuddering, quaking oscillation in the note, and his fingers shook Georgie to her core.
She was coming again, immediately, so strongly, a blinding tightening and shattering release that reverberated through her body.
Georgie clutched the gold bedspread in her fists, her breath panting and crying out with each pulse, her legs shaking, as Alex punched up into her and grunted as he spent himself inside her, his body contracting with the force. He kept his weight off her with one arm braced on the bed. His long hair slid around her sides, and his warm forehead rested on her back.
His hand fell away from her clit, and he struggled to rise off her and pull himself out.
Georgie collapsed and rolled to her side, and after a few seconds, Alex lay beside her and drew her into his arms. His chest rose and fell under her hand, his thick muscles contracting and releasing with each breath. His heart pounded under her palm.
“That was incredible,” she said.
“You’re incredible.” His grating voice sounded more hoarse.
They lay there for a few more minutes until they could breathe normally. Georgie ran ten miles on most days, but this strenuous exertion had consumed her.
Awesome.
She asked, “You mind if I use your shower real quick?”
“Go ahead,” Alex panted, his ribs and hard abdominal ridges still expanding as he breathed deeply. “Better yet, I’ll wash you.”
“We’ve got to get back down there before we’re missed.” Georgie scooted away from him and stood up. Her wobbling legs barely held her. Her sore folds slipped against each other. “We don’t have time for Round Two.”
“I messed you up,” he said. “I should clean you.” Something glinted in his eyes, something mischievous.
“Oh, come on.” Georgie rolled her eyes and walked away from where he sprawled on the bed, and he did sprawl. He had to be several inches over six feet.
Alex rolled off his side of the bed and followed her in.
The bathroom had a large, glassed-in shower stall and a tub along one wall, all built out of shining marble. It wasn’t as opulent as the master bath of the Empire Suite, which had an enormous soaking tub in the center of the room, but it was a really nice bathroom. Georgie snagged a thick towel off the rack and started the shower.
Alex followed her in. The large shower stall had more than enough room for both of them. He had grabbed a rubber band off the counter and twisted his long hair into a man-bun on the back of his head.
“You really shouldn’t use naked rubber bands,” Georgie said, finding the soap. “They tear your hair.”
“Do they?” Alex frowned. He took the bar away from her and soaped a washrag.
“Yeah. You can buy covered ones anywhere.”
“I’ll make a note of it.” He lifted her arm and spread the warm soap foam over her skin.
“I’ve had long hair most of my life,” Georgie said.
“I just grew this out a few years ago.” Alex washed her back and bent his knees, wiping the foam down her legs. She looked down, tracing the aqua and teal tattoos that covered his back like paint had been splashed on him. A treble note peeked out of the color on his shoulder like it was drowning in a raging ocean.
“How come?” she asked, fascinated with watching him wash her. His hands on her were erotic, even though he wasn’t trying to be sexy. It felt very caring, even possessive. The only reason that she didn’t freak about it, she assumed, was because she knew that she would probably never see him again after she flew back to the States. With that very British accent, he must live in Europe.
He shrugged. “I suppose I wanted to look like a Bohemian musician.”
“But you’re not a professional musician,” she said.
“Not to speak of.” Alex lifted her thigh, placed her foot on his knee, and washed every intimate fold between her legs.
Yes, this felt very possessive. “So what do you do?”
Alex said, “You can’t tell from my name?”
“Alexandre?”
“Flicka introduced me by my duchy, probably just to rankle me. She needles everyone she can, every chance she gets. Plus, when she introduces people like that, she can’t be accused of omitting titles, which pisses some people off no end.”
Georgie laughed while Alex soaped her other leg, then turned her to soap her torso and her other arm.
Georgie asked, “So what’s your name, or your title, or whatever?”
“It seems ridiculous to introduce ourselves now—”
Georgie laughed some more.
His amused glance up at her seemed like he approved of her laughter. “My given name is Alexandre. My family name is Grimaldi.”
“And the other thing, Valentinois?”
He smiled a wry, sarcastic smile and stood. “It means that one of my ancestors was Princess Charlotte of Monaco, who was bestowed the title of Duchess de Valentinois, a French Duchy. The French, however, cite that inconvenient revolution of theirs as the reason why they have no nobility, so it means that I own a large house and some vineyards in France, even though I am Monégasque.”
“So you’re, um, a Duchess?” She tried not to look at the fishing tackle swinging between his thighs.
“I am Alexandre Grima
ldi, the Hereditary Duc de Valentinois.” His accent became more sibilant French, sliding around the consonants, but his acerbic tone mocked himself.
“And that’s why you’re at Wulfram’s wedding.”
“I’m Pierre’s cousin, and so I was invited to Flicka and Pierre’s wedding last night, plus Flicka was a close friend in school because we were both interested more in music than the other things that went on, so I would like to think that I would have gotten an invitation, anyway. We were often transported to outside lessons together. She’s a few years younger than I am, but we became friends.”
“So what instrument do you play?”
He blinked his large, brown eyes. “I play several passably, not terribly well. I am one of those despicable, idle rich men who dabbles in music. You’re done. I’ll join you in a moment.”
Georgie was indeed squeaky clean, and she stepped out of the shower while Alex cleaned up. She found her dress crumpled on the floor and her thong among the snarled bedsheets and pulled them on. Alex’s wood and clean-grass cologne clung to her dress as she slipped it over her head.
Alex came out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips. Muscle packed solidly over his lean body, from his broad shoulders down to the deep vee that pointed under the towel.
Yep, that’s right. She hit that. Georgie smiled.
He turned her and zipped her dress up over her butt, caressing her ass as he did. “So, what’s your phone number?”
Georgie picked his shirt up off the bed and threw it to him, then snagged her purse off the nightstand. “Let’s not screw this up with empty promises.”
“I want to call you,” Alex said, resting his arm on the wall beside her. He had taken the band out of his hair, and it swung past his shoulders.
“No, you don’t,” she said.
“Come on. What’s your phone number?”
“I’ll see you around.” She ducked under his arm and walked out of the bedroom.
He shook his undershirt out of his dress shirt and followed her, holding all the white fabric in one fist. “I’m serious. I’d like to call you, just to talk, if nothing else. We could meet somewhere.”
“Look, this was a wedding fuck. I’m a bridesmaid, for all purposes. You’re essentially a groomsman. It’s expected that you’ll put out.”
“I put out?” Alex began to laugh that ringing, singer’s laugh.
“Yes, you did, and pretty damn well, I’ll admit. And now it’s over.”
“I want to see you again,” he said, his tone firm. Obviously, his statement usually had some sort of authority behind it.
But not with her.
“Stop it. You live in Europe—”
“I never said that.”
“—or wherever. I live in BFE, USA. Let’s not fuck this up with sentimental shit.” She slipped her shoes on her feet and stood three inches taller, closer to his shoulder. He looked a little shocked. She cradled his chiseled jaw in her hand, a gesture of affection. “It was lovely fucking you. Now I’m leaving.”
Georgie opened the door to the hallway, pushed him back inside with one finger in his chest before he could protest again, and shut the door in his surprised face.
Gunshots
Georgie
Georgie made it back to the chattering reception in time for one last champagne toast to the bride and groom, standing among their beautiful friends and smiling at each other, and then people began to file through the lobby for the cars. The champagne was sweet in her dry mouth after the mad scruffing, and she was pleasantly sore between her legs. Aggressive men were her favorite.
The crowd rustled beside her as something small pushed through the people, Lizzy popped out from between two ladies in jewel-toned cocktail dresses. She announced, “Evidently, we’re going to a restaurant for supper before we head to the planes. Your friend will be there, too. Also, we’re riding home on The Dom’s private plane.”
“Oh, nifty.” There was no way Georgie would be able to dodge Wulfram von Hannover on a tiny, little private plane. She should rehearse an apology and explanation.
“The SUVs will be here to pick us up in a second,” Lizzy said, still practically hopping.
“Okay.” Look, I know that I didn’t tell you who I was, but I didn’t know you were related to Flicka, and you didn’t tell me your name, either, Georgie planned.
Their group was among the last to leave, and Georgie glanced over at Flicka’s group. Alex stood with them, his long hair brushed and shining, and he smiled when he caught her eye. He lifted a finger to Flicka and Pierre, a wait-a-minute gesture, and started walking toward her.
Georgie didn’t have to dodge Alex. There shouldn’t be anything weird between them, and it wasn’t like they were ever going to see each other again. She smiled at him as he ducked through the crowd toward her, his dark eyes intent on her.
The crowd ahead of her began walking, and Georgie moved with the crowd.
A bunch of security men in black flowed around Flicka’s group like a black fog, and then the whole group of them began moving toward the lobby doors and to the sidewalk outside.
As Alex approached her, her crowd jostled her toward the sunshine streaming in from the sidewalk outside. Rae and Wulfram von Hannover walked right in front of them, and their security men in black suits surrounded Georgie, too.
Theo the Medium Guy—now known in Georgie’s head as Radiant Sun God Dude since he had shaved that awful bristle off his face—had appeared and held Lizzy’s hand.
Great, they were all coupled off, too. Georgie was the only one with any sense left on the planet.
Alex continued swimming through the crowd as they broke out of the lobby into the afternoon sunshine. The trees had already leafed out, spreading patches of dark shade over the sidewalk, but the flowers were still blooming from every window box and planter along the street.
Georgie watched Alex as he smiled at her, his head sticking out of the crowd, and he had almost reached her when someone else grabbed Georgie’s arm from behind and yanked her back. Her purse slapped the back of her leg.
Sound smashed her ears, and Georgie recognized gunshots.
The crowd ducked and fell around her, the black-suited security guys falling on their charges, other people ducking and running.
More bangs cracked the air around her.
Georgie reached for Lizzy but grasped air and was being dragged backward.
A man in a black suit threw her up against the wall and demanded, “Georgiana Oelrichs?”
“No,” she lied. “No!”
“Yes. Madame von Hannover called you Georgiana Oelrichs.” His eyes narrowed, and he crammed his forearm up and under her chin. His accent became more guttural, more Russian, as he said, “We have been looking for you for a very long time.”
A hand appeared on the Russian’s shoulder.
Alex loomed above the man’s head.
Alex yanked the Russian away from Georgie. He wheeled the man around by his shoulder and shook him. “What the hell are you doing!”
She staggered forward when his arm stopped crushing her throat and coughed.
Alex drew back his fist to punch but the Russian twirled, yanking himself out of Alex’s grip, and ran into the panicking crowd around them.
Georgie straightened, and the wall exploded right next to her.
The SUVs on the street roared and jumped forward, leaving them there.
Alex grabbed Georgie and crouched over her, pulling her inside the hotel, as more gunshots slammed into the facade on the hotel and sprayed sharp marble chips around them.
She ran, trying not to let Alex shield her but he held her under him as they sprinted the few steps inside.
Men in black suits ran in after them and took up defensive positions inside the hotel, aiming guns out the doors.
Alex held her hand and dragged her toward the stairs. They ran up six flights, and Georgie thanked Jesus and Mary that she ran cross-country every day. Alex shoved his keycard in a door that led
out of the stairwell and took her to his room.
Georgie was breathing hard, partly from panic but some from sprinting up six flights of stairs, when Alex slammed the door behind them. She clutched her purse to her chest like a shield.
She yelled, “You’re not even winded!”
“Are you all right?” He locked the doors and came over to her.
“I’m fine. Why aren’t you winded!” She was focusing on the wrong things and her whole body quaked.
“Breath control. Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He brushed marble chips and dust out of her hair.
“I’m fine, I think. Where’s Lizzy, and Rae, and oh my God, where’s Flicka?” Georgie leaned against the wall, her heart flopping in her chest like a fish on the beach. “I can’t believe he grabbed me, here, in public.”
Alex still flexed his fists. “I can’t believe, in this day and age, that someone would take advantage of a crisis situation to try something like that.”
Georgie could believe it. She rubbed her throat where the skin felt burned. “I knew this would happen someday.
“This isn’t the nineteen-sixties when men chased secretaries around the desk. Why on God’s Earth would he do that?”
“I—what?” Georgie blinked hard, as if clearing her sight would help her understand.
“Grabbing you like that. Molesting you in public. We should call the police. He should be arrested for sexual assault.”
Alex had the motive exactly wrong, but the last thing Georgie needed was her old name associated with the new name on her passport. “I just want to know if Flicka, Rae, and Lizzy are all right.”
Alex held his long hair back from his face. “I should go after him. I should beat the shit out of him for touching you, for grabbing any woman like that, but especially you.”
“It’s okay, Alex.” Her hands weren’t shaking as much. “I just want to go back to the US. I don’t want to have to go to the police station and give a statement or come back here for any reason. I just want to go home.”
[Billionaires in Disguise 01.0] Every Breath You Take Page 10
