by Autumn Grey
After the call, I walked to the bed and lowered myself onto it, rubbing my neck with one hand. Right now, I was a contradiction. I wasn't used to feeling like this, and I didn't like it at all.
I'd be leaving for Provence tomorrow. The distance should help me focus on more important things. The weeklong Art Symposium had consumed all my time and I’d hardly had time to catch up with other business. It seemed that other business was now going to include one sassy, beautiful American woman.
SOMETHING PRODDED my cheek. My eyes snapped open, clashing with the most adorable green eyes I’d ever seen on an even cuter face. A small hand appeared out of nowhere and swiped the black curls off his forehead.
He blinked once.
Twice.
I pressed my hand on my chest, soothing the pain blooming there, and I tried to breathe. My eyes burned.
Shit! I'm about to bawl all over the place and scare the child.
Would this feeling ever go away?
I inhaled deeply to ease the pain of loss that snuck up on me whenever I saw a child, especially one as sweet as this one in front of me.
I succeeded. Barely.
The boy leaned back, frowning down at me. Bet he was wondering what brand of crazy I was.
I cleared my throat and pasted a smile on my face. “Hey there,” I said in a hoarse voice, hoping I didn't frighten him.
He continued to stare at me as if analyzing a very difficult math problem. Suddenly, a wide grin spread across his face, displaying a huge gap where his lower teeth were supposed to be.
“Are you Papa's girlfriend? You’re wearing Papa's shirt. And you are…” He squinted hard as though he were searching for the right word. “Aha! Belle. Beautiful.” He spun around on his heel and dashed out the room, yelling, “Papa!”
Even before the sound of the boy’s pattering feet on the tiles faded, I swung my legs from the bed and glanced down at the black, silk pajama top I’d put on after waking up cold in the middle of the night.
Then the word the boy had yelled slapped me in the face. Papa? As in Remington St. Germain? Really? He certainly didn’t seem like the father type. Everything about him, the little I’d seen of his body, his face, his voice… I should stop thinking about him if I was going to make it downstairs and not die from embarrassment caused by the memory of being caught naked.
I scanned the room for a clock, narrowing in on the nightstand and groaned. I’d slept longer than I had intended, and now, I had a little over thirty minutes to get ready and meet Andrew at the Sara Arden offices.
I scrambled out of bed and headed for the shower. Moments later, I dashed out and dressed in a butter-yellow top with a plunging back and the blue jeans I'd worn yesterday before I quickly applied minimal makeup.
Shoving everything inside my carry-on bag, I straightened the bed, making sure to leave everything as it was the night before. After bounding down the stairs, I stopped at the entrance to a huge living room, which was part of an open-concept floor plan. Remington and the boy were huddled closely, with the younger version of him speaking non-stop, while Remington busied himself preparing what appeared to be a snack. I felt as if I was intruding on their morning routine, but I couldn't help myself.
I turned back to take in the view of the room since I hadn't gotten a chance to see it last night. The white walls were bare save for two paintings, both hanging on opposite walls in the living room. One was of a beautiful child about three years; the same boy who'd woken me up, I guess, with black, curly hair and adorable green eyes. The other was of a woman in her fifties with features similar to Remington. I wasn't much of an art connoisseur, but I could tell these paintings were extraordinarily good.
Three leather sofas were placed strategically in the room, pillows with warm-colored covers tossed haphazardly on the seats and a few on the floor. A box filled with toys stood in the right corner. Three photos in silver frames were placed strategically on the mantle above a stone fireplace. I shuffled closer, squinting to get a better look. All of them featured Remington, the boy, and the woman from the painting either standing in front of a Ferris wheel or sitting on a riverbank, fishing.
Where was his son's mother? Was he divorced? Was she dead?
I switched my gaze back to the kitchen counter. If seeing Remington yesterday had been overwhelming, watching him interacting with the boy this morning was simply beautiful. I hovered in the living room, taking in the scene before me. Remington was dressed in black, silk pajama pants slung low on his hips and a white T-shirt that emphasized his well-toned arms, which were dusted with dark, fine hair. The muscles beneath his T-shirt flexed as he prepared the snack. The boy said something and Remington ruffled the boy’s curly head, smiling.
Oh my God. That smile! It was as if the room felt lighter and brighter at the brief show of his teeth. He turned around, opened the fridge, grabbed something from inside, closed the fridge door, and carried on with whatever he was doing before. The boy shifted forward, pressing his forehead to Remington's, and kissed his father on the nose before squealing as Remington snatched him by the waist and tickled him. There was no doubt. This was his son. The way they angled their heads to the right as they talked and how they squinted while trying to think was freakishly fascinating.
His son shrieked and this time Remington threw his head back and laughed. I gasped at the heavenly sound, deep and alluring. Two set of eyes whipped in my direction.
“Good morning.” I smiled brightly as if I hadn’t been watching them for the last few minutes.
His son jumped down from the stool and raced toward me, skidding to a stop while his father seemed frozen in place. The unreadable look was back on his face again.
What is he thinking?
Dropping my gaze from his, I sank to my knees to be at eye level and extended a hand to Remington’s son. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a cute blue sweater with a Spiderman picture on the front.
“I'm Selene. What’s your name?”
He slapped a small hand on mine in greeting. “Adrien. You’re pretty. Isn’t she pretty, Papa?” He swung around to look at his father. “Is she your new friend?”
Remington's gaze was fixed on me, sending shivers of awareness all over my body. Eventually, he said, “She is beautiful and no, she's just here for the night. Come on. As I said last night, we will stay in Paris today. Adele will be here soon to take you to school, and you know she doesn’t like tardiness.” Even though the words were spoken gently, there was a firm note twined in his voice.
Not seeming in a hurry to do his father’s bidding, Adrien turned to face me again, his eyes twinkling in joy. “Can't you stay with us? Please say yes. Please—”
“Adrien.” This time, Remington’s voice brooked no argument.
The poor boy snapped his mouth shut and shuffled back to the kitchen island, his shoulders stiff. He then perched himself on top of the stool he had been sitting on moments before. Silence reigned. My scalp prickled as tension filled the air.
Right. “Thank you for letting me stay, Mr. St. Germain. I need to get to the Louvre in fifteen minutes. May I use your phone to call for a cab?”
Remington’s head came up fast, something like surprise registering in his eyes. Just then, the doorbell rang, followed by the sound of keys unlocking the door. Adele walked in a few seconds later. After exchanging pleasantries, she glanced over to the kitchen, her face softening as she took in the sight before her.
“Give Papa a kiss before you go,” Remington was saying to Adrien.
I turned around in time to see Adrien wrap his short arms around his father’s neck and peck him soundly on his cheek. After Remington handed a red lunch box to his son, Adrien shuffled toward me. Suddenly, he broke into a run and slammed his tiny body into mine, hugging my legs. I dropped my carry-on bag and embraced him.
God, he felt so right in my arms.
“Au revoir, Selene,” he whispered in my ear before pressing a wet kiss on my cheek.
“Bye, darling,” I s
aid, pushing myself back to my feet as he walked away, smiling shyly.
As soon as the front door clicked shut, I turned around to find Remington staring at me. A scowl was on his face.
Why the hell was he pissed off? Had I done something wrong? Was he angry I slept in his room?
Crossing my hands under my breasts, I clenched my jaw. “I'm sorry to have used the wrong room last night. I was sleep-deprived and misheard Adele's instructions. Thank you for letting me stay the night though.”
He continued to scrutinize my face. I wish I had a clue what he was searching for. “It was a pleasure.”
I smiled politely and grabbed the pullout handle of my luggage, turning to leave.
“You could stay here if you want,” he said. “I'm leaving for Provence for a few days.”
I froze on my tracks. Um, what? Stay here? He had been reserved from the moment we met, sending mixed signals. Worse, I did not understand the reason he seemed cautious around me. "I'm truly flattered. Thank you for the kind offer; however, Andrew will sort out my accommodations today."
"It's no bother since the house will be empty."
I blinked at him. “We don't even know each other. Why would you want me to stay? I could be plotting to rob you as we speak.”
He smirked. “You don't look like the thieving kind.”
I rolled my eyes, fighting a smile. "Don't ever underestimate a pretty face. I could be the kind of person who whacks people on the head and steals stuff." His lips curled up in amusement, but he didn't say anything. "Thank you, but I can't."
As if he couldn't help himself, his gaze darkened as it narrowed in on my lips. There seemed to be a war of emotions going on inside him, but then as quickly as the lust-filled gaze had slipped onto his face, it vanished, and his expression shuttered. “All right, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Allow me to do that, Selene.”
A tremor traveled down my spine at the sound of my name on his lips. It was as if he’d inhaled the letters and exhaled my name in one swift, intoxicating breath. It had never sounded so good.
Ugh! This man was confusing. Finding a guy to flirt with in this city would be much easier than figuring out the mechanics of his thoughts and moods.
“I really appreciate it.”
I leaned back against the door as I watched him stride up the stairs, his head held proudly and confidently, leaving me with a delightful view of his ass. I tore my gaze away, took deep breaths, and, for just a few minutes, thought of Adrien in my arms. It had felt unexpectedly good, considering I had always believed I'd feel the loss all over again if I ever held a child in my arms. I'd made a point of avoiding any contact with children in the past. But Adrien took me by surprise when he bolted toward me and hugged me.
I smiled, savoring that feeling all over again.
AS SOON as the door to my bedroom slammed shut, the scent, Selene's scent, still lingering in the room, slammed into me, and immediately, my anger vanished. I stumbled mid-step, pausing long enough to inhale deeply. Then I remembered what happened downstairs.
Being around Selene was intoxicating. I'm not sure what led me to open my mouth and offer her to stay in my house. Ah, yes, I know. I was greedy and wanted her to myself. I was envious she'd be spending her nights in some hotel room.
Three sins down, but who's counting, eh?
I shook my head, remembering how Adrien had embraced Selene, the hopeful look on his face, and the way my body had reacted toward her. I wasn't the kind of person who slept with women just for the fun of it. Well, I had after Colette's death before I realized how wrong it had felt and hated myself for it. After that, I'd steered clear of women and focused on raising my child. I had been in one long-term relationship since then, but it ended two years ago.
Which is why I wanted to punch something, preferably a wall. I wasn't used to contradicting myself with my own thoughts and feelings. Something about Selene was holding me back from pursuing her. An invisible flashing signal that said, “tread with caution.” Adrien's reaction to her had almost brought me to my knees.
I needed space to think and Provence was the only place I could do that.
I stripped and stalked toward the wardrobe where I pulled out a T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of white boxer briefs from the second drawer.
When I was ready and felt more in command of my foolish feelings, I went downstairs, pausing long enough to admire her arse and full hips as she stood below the painting of Adrien. One of my best works yet.
"Ready?" I asked. She glanced over her shoulder, quickly scanning me from head to toe before bringing those hazel eyes back to my face.
She licked her lips. "Lead the way."
IT WAS official. Being in the same space as Remington was wreaking havoc on my system. Every single shift of his body, no matter how minimal, and each flick of his gaze toward me heightened the tension coiled tightly in my body. I was ready to snap.
As soon as the sleek, black Rolls Royce Phantom pulled in front of the Sara Arden offices, I grabbed for the door, ready to tumble out of the car. Remington's big, strong hand slid across the console and planted itself on my knee, freezing me in my seat. I flinched as the heat from his palm seeped through my jeans and into my skin. I wasn’t made of stone. Not even his hot and cold moods could stop the shivers that had my stomach clenching with lust and my toes tingling with awareness.
I snapped my head around to face him and my brain screamed, Jesus! Dude, warn a girl first, or you might end up with a case of hyperventilation on your hands.
The touch was intimate, almost possessive, and the look he gave me was a veiled command. My heart threatened to leap out of my chest and join the cars racing down the street.
He removed his hand, and before I knew what was happening, he'd rounded the car and opened the door for me.
No other touch had felt like his just had.
No other touch had ever left me so confused.
No other touch had ever left me wanting like his did.
Whoa, Selene. Back the hell up. His mercurial moods are too confusing for your sanity.
I climbed out of the car and stood there on the sidewalk, watching him as he effortlessly lifted my suitcases from the trunk and placed them on the ground. His body moved lithely, his movements precise. Purposeful. I could watch him all day and night, but then I'd be at risk of getting whiplash from his shifting moods.
"Come on." He rolled the suitcase inside the Sara Arden offices, giving me no other choice than to hike my carry-on over my shoulder and follow him inside.
Halting just inside the room, he propped his hands on his slim hips, studying the chic, black and hot pink interior in that inscrutable way he seemed to view the world around him. Then he finally brought those eyes back to me.
"Au revoir, Selene."
Caught off guard, I straightened beside him, my head hardly reaching his shoulder.
Did his voice have to be that… potent?
Suppressing a shiver, I crossed my arms over my chest and met his gaze. "Thank you for everything. I must say it was… interesting meeting you." I hitched my carry-on bag on my shoulder. "Au revoir, Remington."
I held out my hand to him. He took my hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it before letting go. He strode through the doors, heading toward the car without a backward glance.
Man, that ass! I shook myself, grabbed my luggage, and headed toward the reception area.
Remington St. Germain was an enigma best forgotten. Fast.
FIVE O'CLOCK found me inside a black Peugeot 508 with Adele behind the wheel, compliments of Remington, according to the handwritten note in my hand. Andrew had arranged for a room at Hotel Catherine, a boutique hotel, a five-minute walk from the Seine River. He'd been delayed in Lyon, but he would drop by the hotel as soon as he returned to Paris. We still had a lot to discuss about the upcoming events.
I stared at the paper in my hand, the scribbled words bold and confident. This was a sign of someone in command of his life and surround
ings.
"They must miss you over at Monsieur St. Germain's household," I said, trying to figure out Remington's motives for sending Adele. I could have easily taken a cab, but no. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding was obviously in a very generous mood.
Adele's gaze flicked to the mirror and met mine before focusing on the traffic jam ahead again. "Monsieur St. Germain drives his own car most of the time."
I had too many questions circling my brain, but I didn't want to pry too much and make her uncomfortable, so I leaned back and closed my eyes. I made a mental note to contact Remington to thank him for this kind gesture. After a day filled with dress rehearsals for an upcoming lingerie fashion show; a meeting with Grace, the owner of Curves Fashion House, to discuss the forthcoming lingerie photo shoot; and my program for the next few weeks, I was mentally exhausted, still jet-lagged, and famished. I'd hardly eaten anything after the two cups of café au lait and the chocolate croissant at breakfast.
After Adele dropped me at the hotel and handed me a card with a number to call whenever I needed to be driven around town, she left. With the help of two bellboys, I went inside Hotel Catherine to check in. The interior was breathtaking with polished counters, a huge glass and brass chandelier, cream marble floors, and baroque furniture interspersed throughout the room. How was the agency able to afford this? Seriously, this was like a two hundred-and-fifty-Euros-per-night kind of hotel. If I were staying here for the next three months, surely the agency would be bankrupt by the time I returned home.
Andrew was going to have to look for other accommodations. This was just too much.
"Welcome to Hotel Catherine, Madame Michaels," a thirty-something-looking woman said, startling me.
I smiled, trying not to feel too guilty about staying here.
After exchanging pleasantries, I left her to her devices. She flicked a curious gaze toward me every few seconds and quickly looked away when I caught her staring. James’s inattention and disregard had affected me deeply. Whereas before I had been used to turning heads, both male and female on occasion, receiving looks of appreciation were now like healing balm for my damaged pride.
