by Autumn Grey
"And how does it feel?"
"Like I could actually kick someone's ass."
"God, you're a precious little thing, aren't you?" he said when his laughter cooled down a notch.
"I'm not sure 'little' would be a word to describe me. Precious, yes." I grinned at him, enjoying how his eyes twinkled with amusement.
"Brave and breathtaking." He took my hands in his, rubbing his thumbs on my wrists. "Small, enclosed spaces scare the shit out of me."
Wow. This man had so many facets. I had a feeling I was just starting to discover them.
He said it as if it didn't matter. The small tremor in his body said otherwise.
I squeezed his hand to comfort him.
He rose from the chair, pulling me with him, finally realizing I was all dressed up. His gaze slid down my body, taking in every single inch of my five-feet-ten-inch, size-twelve body. When he brought those eyes to my face, he swallowed. Hard.
"We still have a dinner to attend, ma belle." He released my hands.
My eyebrows shot up. “My Beautiful?” This man was full of surprises.
"You're mine for tonight and you're beautiful." He glanced around the room, searching for something. "Are you wearing those?" He pointed at the red-soled Louboutin stilettos under the vanity.
I nodded, and turned to go get my shoes, but his hand shot out, grasping my wrist.
"Sit." The command was soft. Definite?
I settled in my chair, enjoying the view of how the black pants framed his thighs as he strode across the room. He returned, holding the shoes and then dropped to his knees.
I waited, my breath a tornado in my chest, wanting to break free. My skin tingled with awareness as he bowed his head.
God, he smelled so good! As soon as his long, strong fingers wrapped around my ankle, air rushed from my lips, my eyes squeezing shut. His touch was heat and ice, his breath a soft caress on my skin, his skin wet against—
My eyes snapped open in time to see him lean back, licking his bottom lip, and smiling wickedly.
Did he just kiss my calf?
He straightened and took a step back as if everything was right in his world, while mine was on a constant repeat of that single, hot kiss.
"We need to leave before they cancel our reservation."
He did have pretty lips. Kissable. Devourable. I shook off lusty thoughts and stood up, tugging my deep purple dress down as I smoothed my hands around my butt. Then I walked to the bed to get my black clutch, earrings and necklace.
He sucked in a deep breath, his hot gaze a brand on the skin exposed from the slight dip in the back of my dress. I grinned widely, knowing he couldn't see my face.
Works like a charm. Every. Single. Time.
AS WE reached the elevators, Remington's step faltered, his eyes darting to the door on our right leading to the stairs. He tucked his hands inside his pants’ pockets, and looked at me, before turning to stare as the red numbers scrolled upward on the tiny display above the elevator.
What had traumatized him so much that the thought of getting inside the elevator terrified him?
"We could take the stairs." His face was growing pale at an alarming rate.
"No." His gaze fell on my shoes. I rolled my eyes, leaned down, and pulled off my shoes, daggling them in my hands.
He snatched them from my hands and crouched to put them back on, then stood up, his face set into a stubborn scowl. A young couple emerged from a suite down the hall, giggling and kissing, ignoring us, at the same time the elevator dinged.
"Take the next one," Remington said in a voice that brooked no argument, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside the velvety interior.
He dropped my hand, turning his back to me and pressed his forehead on the wall. His breathing grew erratic with every passing second.
The man was going to hyperventilate and probably faint right there in front of me.
"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" I muttered, dropping my clutch on the floor and wedging myself between Remington and the elevator wall.
He lifted his head, and slowly peeled his eyes open, meeting my gaze in confusion.
"Put your arms around me."
He did without hesitation, and I pulled him to me. I began to rub a hand down his back, occasionally threading my fingers through his silky, soft hair. God, it was soft. And smelled like Heaven. He was hard everywhere my hands touched. I wasn't sure what I was doing but it seemed to be working. He dropped his head to my shoulder, tucking his face in my neck. His hard breathing eased up slowly, and the grip around my waist loosened.
Moments later, the elevator dinged. He pulled back, staring at me as if he were seeing me for the first time.
"Thank you." He dropped his arms and picked my clutch up from the floor before stepping out.
"Anytime," I said quietly, following him out.
He flashed a smile. "I might take you up on that offer. How did you know what to do?"
"I didn't. Frankly, I just wanted to make everything go away."
He broke eye contact as someone called his name.
"Be back in a second." He strode toward the reception desk, clutching my bag under his arm possessively as though it might grow legs and dash away.
Two minutes later, he was back, placing a hand on my lower back as he led me out Hotel Catherine's doors and toward the Phantom parked five feet away.
THE EVENING had progressed from fascinating to enchanting with every single word that passed from the man sitting across from me. Or maybe it was all the wine I'd been sipping while letting myself be charmed by Remington St. Germain, and his accent. Dear God! It seemed to hover between very British and very French. It was the sexiest thing that'd ever teased my ears. He kept a constant flow of questions about my family and my job. I found myself answering without hesitation. He was so easy to chat with. I couldn't explain why I felt this pull toward him.
"So you intend to open your own lingerie design line?" Remington asked, tracing a finger along the rim of his glass.
I nodded. "I graduated with a Bachelor of Fine Arts. I didn't have start-up capital, so when I saw an advertisement looking for plus-size models, I jumped at the chance. I intend to model for the next year or so, and then open my own line."
"Sounds like a very good plan." His eyes shone with what I thought was admiration. "Have you drawn up some designs yet?"
I nodded. "I usually have a notebook with me in case inspiration strikes. What about you? I noticed the wine bottle had your surname on it. Is there a story behind that?"
"Yes."
He leaned back and stared at me.
"What? What's the story?"
"Hmm, if I tell you, then I will no longer be mysterious to you."
I laughed. "That's very narcissistic."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not telling."
I shook my head smiling. "Fine. So when did you know you wanted to be an artist?"
"For as long as I can remember, my mother fed my need by buying canvas after canvas and brushes." We held each other's gaze, until I dropped mine, shying away from the sea of questions shining in his.
The silence between us stretched, punctuated by the cutlery and conversations from the other patrons. Finally, he leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table between us and took my hands in his, and stared at my fingernails. "You have beautiful hands," he said, ignoring the fact the nails were now chipped around the corners. I had worried them to death whenever he'd asked a question that hit too close to home. I needed a manicure after today. "Tell me about your ex-husband."
I blew out a breath and tried to pull my hand away, but his grip was strong. His eyes were filled with so much compassion. I caved. If I was going to get over the aversion, the pain of my past, I would eventually have to deal with everything. "His name is James. I've known him literally my entire life. We attended the same school and he was my first boyfriend. He proposed when we were seventeen. Logically, I married him." I smiled, remembering how eager James had been
while sitting in front of my father, trying to impress him by being a gentleman and properly asking for my hand in marriage. My father had been impressed.
"I loved him. I have been divorced for almost two years now." I waited for the pain that accompanied those words, but nothing happened.
Nothing happened! Did this mean I was finally free?
I grinned to myself.
"You should smile often," Remington said, and for umpteenth time since he picked me up from the hotel, his intense gaze lingered on my lips.
Kiss me, darn it!
We fell silent again, and this time it felt comfortable. I couldn't recall a time when this level of comfort had been felt between James and me, no matter how many years we had been together. This was the kind of comfort where two people said everything with just a single look, and understood without uttering a word all while sitting across from each other. At least that is how I felt.
"I don't want to sound like a bad cliché or a dreamer, but do you believe things happen for a reason? Like people meet for a reason?" I asked, stumbling over my words. We were attracted to each other, but that wasn't a reason to say things that could end up being construed as desperate and send him running.
He studied me thoughtfully before bringing my hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to my palm, and I felt dizzy and breathless at the contact. "I believe people come into your life for a reason. We could have met five years ago or two years ago, but we met when we did. Maybe it was a sign for us to acknowledge the bad, so we can appreciate the good when it comes along. I don't know, Selene." He covered my hand with both of his. "I don't believe in fairy tales. But I feel like I have known you forever."
I swallowed, watching him watching me.
"Wow."
He smiled, laid my hand on the table, and leaned back.
"I have a talent of shocking people to silence." He grinned. "So, your name. I was wondering about it. Isn't Selene a French name?" he asked, a slight frown on his face.
"My mother is French and my father, Jamaican. They met in a culinary art school here in Paris, fell in love, and migrated to the United States thirty-five years ago. So yeah…" I shrugged.
"The name suits you."
I grinned again like an idiot. I'd been doing that the entire night. This man was very good for my ego.
I leaned forward, enjoying how his eyes kept slipping down my dress. The front was designed in a way so the neckline drooped slightly, giving a hint of skin, but not overly so. "I hear you're France's sexiest single father."
He seemed to be having a hard time dragging his eyes from my chest. "I'm actually interested in what you think."
My eyebrows shot up. "You are? Why?"
His expression grew sober and the playful look in his eyes vanished. "I don't know. It matters, I guess."
Hmm. Another quality indicating Remington wasn't all that perfect. It was quite endearing.
"I think you are a great dad. As for the sexy part, I'm holding my verdict for now."
He laughed. "Haven't I proved my sexiness yet?"
Oh, he had done that and more.
"You might have to work harder." We laughed, then I sat back devouring him with my eyes, planning my move. God, I was feeling brave and sexy. I wanted to live on the edge. "You know, we've been chatting for a while now, but I still don't know how old you are."
"Does it matter? As long as we enjoy each other's company, it should not, no?"
I shrugged, not eager to destroy the mood, but unable to resist teasing him. "I just want to make sure I'm not breaking any laws or something."
He laughed. "I'm thirty-three. And you're twenty-six." I rolled my eyes, smiling. I guess Andrew couldn't resist filling him in with details about me.
I sipped my wine, studying him from across the table. "What happened in the elevator?"
Crap! That's not what I wanted to say.
He stiffened, and his lips flattened with obvious displeasure.
"When I was eleven, I got stuck in a lift while visiting my father in his office in London. It took almost an hour before someone got me out of there. Apparently, my father had seen fit to punish me by ordering his staff to stay put until he said otherwise." His lips curled in what I thought might be hate. "He was teaching me a lesson for disobeying him. I never visited him again after that."
God, such cruelty. No wonder the man was a mess in that elevator.
The mood had changed and it was my fault. I shouldn't have asked him. I needed the carefree Remington back.
"I have a proposal for you." I pounced on the first thing in my head. "Call it an arrangement."
His eyebrows shot up and he sank deeper in his chair. Curiosity sparkled in his eyes.
"An arrangement," he said, tracing his bottom lip with the tip of his finger. Gah! "Let's hear it."
I licked my lips, attempting to regroup the words in my head, which was proving difficult with the way he was staring at me.
Where's the lusty devil when I needed her? And as though summoned, she hopped on my shoulder, and I felt braver.
"When I left New York, I promised myself I wasn't going to hold back if I wanted something. And for the three months I'd be here, I wanted adventure and—" He continued to study me, his intense gaze never leaving mine. "What I'm trying to say is—"
"You're trying to get over your ex-husband by getting involved with another man?" he asked. There was no judgment or rebuke, or even curiosity.
I shook my head. "That's not why I'm doing this."
The restaurant manager, who'd been checking on us every so often, appeared at our table, his hands folded in front of him. His glanced at me, a small smile on his lips before turning his attention to Remington to ask if we needed dessert. The rest of the words got lost in translation as they chatted in French. The manager left moments later, a satisfied look on his face.
"Then why are you, Selene? Why are you doing this?" He fixed me with such an unreadable look I couldn't tell if he was furious because of what I'd said or he was just gauging how serious I was.
The past few hours talking to Remington had been so much fun, it'd cemented my decision to ask him. As much as the thought of him being my Paris fling had sent me running the other way before, he wasn't as bad as I'd originally thought.
"Because I want to do this for myself. I'm tired of being the girl who gives without posing questions. I want to be the girl who takes what she wants and gives in return."
There. I said it.
Remington leaned forward, staring at me under his lashes, then bit that bottom lip. "What if I don't want to settle for just flirting?”
My heart rate doubled in my chest, but I mirrored his move, leaning forward. His eyes widened slightly, and his lips twitched at the corners, apparently amused by my bold move. For once in my life, it felt good being in charge for something this delicious. Slutty, but very, very good.
"What do you want?"
"Sex. Hot, dirty, vigorous sex." One eyebrow raised in question. A challenge.
HEAT FILLED my cheeks as what felt like a flock of sparrows took flight in my belly. "Anything else?" I asked him.
Sweet, mother! I was on a roll.
"I get to touch you, whenever and wherever." His fingers flexed on the table as though he was fighting the urge to do just that.
"Done."
Wow and yay to the new me.
One side of his mouth tilted up. "Selene, I keep thinking I've figured you out until you throw another curve ball."
"Is that a yes, then?" I raised an eyebrow. This was so much fun, challenging him.
He threw his head back, laughing, then brought those strong painter's hands to my temples, pushing the hair off my face. "Yes."
"Good," I studied his face, halting on his scruffy chin.
A waiter stopped by our table, placing two plates of éclairs and coffee in front of us, but Remington's gaze never left mine. I was beginning to realize he was very intense when he set his mind on something.
Needing
a short reprieve from his gaze, I grabbed the fork and knife on the table and devoured my dessert.
"God, I love how you eat with such dedication." He sipped his coffee, watching me above the rim of his cup. Then he placed it back on the saucer and started on his éclair. Watching a guy lick chocolate cream off a spoon has never been so arousing.
"I don't shy away from food."
I polished off my dessert under his appreciative gaze. When he was done, he pushed his plate aside then stood up and effortlessly lifted his chair and placed it next to me. He sat down, making sure his knees touched mine.
Cool is the word, Selene.
I swallowed and watched as he bent slightly forward. He traced a finger down my neck, halting where my pearl necklace lay against my skin, then wound it around his finger and tugged it slightly. He leaned forward, his eyes taking in every feature on my face, before bringing them back to mine. He cocked his head to the side. "I have a proposal of my own."
"Why am I not surprised?"
His eyes lifted to mine. "I want to draw you."
I jerked back, but his grip on the necklace wouldn't let me. "Draw me? Why would you want to do that?"
He moved forward an inch, warm breath brushing my lips. "Because you're sensual and beautiful. You wear your curves with pride. It's sexy and utterly breathtaking."
Oh, God, he was serious about this.
I snagged my bottom lip between my teeth, feeling nervous yet curious. I was used to being the focus of a photographer, but somehow this felt more intimate. How would it feel, being the center of his attention? I'd seen how focused he was throughout dinner, but I had a feeling he was intense when it came to painting.
I nodded, unable to keep my distance any longer, and did what I've been dying to do since we sat across from each other. I brushed my lips across his and the hand on my necklace loosened as he pressed the calloused pad of his thumb across my top lip, resting his palm on my jaw.
"Is that a yes?" he asked, the deep timbre in his voice sending heat to pool between my thighs.
Is it?
Life doesn't always hand out second chances. We always tell ourselves we need a break; we need to take things slowly. Fuck slow. I was done with it. I wanted crazy flirting, insane hot, dirty, vigorous sex, crazy everything. I wanted both the brooding and the laidback Remington St. Germain.
