Filthy Rich

by Julie Kriss

  “I don’t have to,” he said. “I pay close attention to you, Samantha. I always have. I think it’s Montmartre, because that’s where Rachel the art student would go.”

  I had to pause, because at the mention of that night I felt a rush of pure lust. That night in the rain, going back to his place, stripping, straddling him—everything about it had been hot. I’d come so hard it almost hurt.

  “You were fucking magnificent that night,” Aidan said, reading my mind. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.”

  I made myself speak. “Rachel the art student was a role, Aidan. It wasn’t me.”

  “Your roles were the most honest you’ve ever been,” he said matter-of-factly. “With me, or with yourself. Everything you did while in character told me something about the real you. And I missed none of it.”

  I had entered a garden now, large and beautifully manicured. The sign said it was called the Jardin de Tuileries. I made a note to look it up in my guidebook. “That still doesn’t mean you know where I am,” I said. I was starting to enjoy the challenge.

  “Leigh the office worker would go to Versailles,” Aidan said. “She’d be dazzled by the riches there. Or she’d go to an erotic bookshop to find something to read. Apparently there’s one in the suburbs, but the books are all in French. That’s sent me back to square one.”

  He was amazing. I hadn’t done either of those things, but given a few more days, I would have done both of them. “Wrong,” I said, because I was getting into the game. “I’m not at Versailles. Or at an erotic bookstore.”

  “One night with the devil, Samantha,” Aidan said. “You’ve already had more than one. Do you want more?”

  Yes. I wanted all of it. I wanted everything. “Aidan, I’m your employee. In fact, we’re both supposed to be at work right now.”

  “I told you, I solved that.”

  “How?”

  “Meet me and I’ll tell you.”

  “You haven’t guessed where I am yet.”

  “I will. What’s your next objection? Don’t tell me it’s Angelica Barnes, or any other woman, because we’ve covered that.”

  I sat on a bench, ignoring the beautiful gardens around me and the gorgeous Parisians walking by, enjoying it. “I’d be in the public eye,” I said.

  “You can more than handle it, but if it bothers you, we’ll limit our social appearances. That’s fine with me anyway. It gives me more time home alone with you in bed.”

  He was killing me. Killing me. “I’m independent,” I said. “I’m used to my space.”

  “If you want to wait before moving in, then I’ll wait.”

  “I’m not…easy,” I said. “I’m messy. Some of my pieces don’t fit. I’m still figuring everything out.”

  “I know. It’s what I like about you. I like watching you put your pieces together. It’s fascinating. And as an excellent side benefit, the role-playing sex is better than any sex I’ve even imagined.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Just hearing him talk about it was making me hot, my skin sensitive under my clothes. It had only been a few days, but it felt like a year since I’d had sex with Aidan.

  “Is that what you want?” I asked him. “Sex?”

  “With you? All the time, day and night. Was that part not clear?”

  Oh, God, that sounded so good. “You know what I mean. Is there more? Because to me, Aidan, there’s more. There’s a lot more.”

  “Do you know what I find amusing?” Aidan said. “That you think I flew all the way to Paris to get laid. But if you want to know how I feel, I’ll only tell you in person. That’s my offer. Your move, Samantha.” He hung up.

  I put the phone down in my lap, dazed. And turned all the way on. What was I getting myself into? No wonder I’d gotten on a plane to be able to think. Aidan Winters was a lot to handle. Too much for most women.

  He isn’t too much for me.

  I might be figuring myself out, but one thing I had learned was that I wanted a man who wanted everything. A man who pushed me and challenged me and dared me. A man who would fly to Paris for me, just to taunt me when he got here.

  I wanted Aidan. He was complicated and brilliant and strangely wonderful. Incredibly sexy. Any woman would get in line for him. I wanted him to be mine.

  I picked up my phone again, thinking. We’d talked about Rachel the art student and Leigh the office worker, but we hadn’t talked about Sarah the CEO, with her black dress and sexy eyeliner, taking what she wanted from a gorgeous man in a bar.

  What would Sarah do?

  One night with the devil, Samantha. You’ve already had more than one. Do you want more?

  I swiped my phone awake and sorted through my work email. Sure enough, I found what I wanted—a copy of his travel itinerary with the name of his hotel on it. He might not be able to find me, but as his executive assistant, I could find him.

  He was staying at a place called the Parisien, near the Eiffel Tower. I called the hotel. “Good afternoon,” I said to the receptionist. “This is Samantha Riley, Aidan Winters’ executive assistant. I’ll be at the hotel shortly, and I’ll need access to his room.”

  “I am sorry madame,” the polite Frenchman on the other end of the line said. “We cannot do this without the permission of Mr. Winters, and he is not at the hotel at present. I believe he left an hour ago.”

  “Then call him and get his permission,” I said. “He’ll give it. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.” I hung up, then stood and walked back toward the street to find a cab.

  Thirty-Eight

  Samantha

  * * *

  The Parisien hotel was beautiful—five stories, built of cream stone, with doors of rich wood reinforced with black iron. Medieval and modern and classic, all in one. I would have looked out of place there in my jeans and tee, but I kept my head held high and my back straight as if I belonged there. It was all in the attitude.

  When I told the desk clerk who I was, he slid a key card across the desk to me. “Merci, mademoiselle,” he said politely. I was almost at the elevator when my phone rang. It was Aidan.

  “Coming to my hotel, Samantha?” he said when I answered. “That’s a bold move.”

  My heart was racing, but I tried to sound cool. “What can I tell you?” I said as the elevator doors closed. “You’re an excellent salesman. You’ve almost convinced me, even though you never found me.”

  “Almost?”

  “You said something about talking to me in person,” I said. “I’m almost in your room, Aidan. Where are you?”

  “Ten minutes,” he said, and for the first time he sounded leashed, as if he was keeping control. “I’ve been out searching for you, but I’ll be there in ten minutes. Go in my room and wait for me, and don’t take your clothes off.”

  “I never said I was going to.” I was totally going to.

  “You can’t wait to be naked,” he said. “But I’m telling you not to strip. Not because I don’t want you naked—I do. I’d just rather take your clothes off of you myself. And believe me, I’ll do it slowly just to torture you.”

  I swiped his keycard and opened the door to his room. “I see. And who takes your clothes off?”

  “Eight minutes,” Aidan said, and hung up.

  He had a luxury room, with a soft sofa and dark wood desk. A bank of windows looked over the 7th Arrondissement. A bedroom opened off to one side. I dropped my messenger bag on the sofa, sat down, and relaxed, toeing off my shoes and flexing my tired tourist feet.

  Eight minutes later, the door opened and Aidan walked in. I had to catch my breath. I loved Aidan in a suit, and I definitely loved him naked, but something about Aidan in jeans and a tee made a pulse start deep in my belly, my nipples going raw inside my bra. Our eyes caught, and he ran a hand through his hair, looking me up and down where I lounged on the sofa—fully clothed, as instructed.

  “I win,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Sarah the CEO,” he said. “I should have guess
ed.”

  I felt myself smiling, a giddy feeling going through my blood. This man just got me. Pieces and all, he got me.

  He held out his hand, and I took it, standing up. He swung me over his shoulder as if I was weightless and carried me into the bedroom.

  “What are we doing?” I said.

  “What I promised,” he replied.

  He dropped me on the bed on my back and looked down at me. “No shoes,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll deal with the rest. Slowly.”

  He undid the button of my jeans and pushed the hem of my shirt up an inch, trailing his fingertips along the skin of my belly. Already I bit back a moan.

  “Be quiet,” Aidan said. “You’re going to be waiting.”

  He had two days of scruff on his jaw, which was so sexy it drove me crazy. When he tugged my jeans down, his biceps flexed, along with his forearms. “You’re in a very good mood for someone with jet lag,” I said as the denim slid down my legs.

  “I’m going to be inside you shortly, so of course I’m in a good mood,” he said.

  “You’re very sure of yourself.”

  “Your pants are already off,” he pointed out. “Any objections?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  He slid a hand up my bare calf to the back of my knee, making me shiver. He moved my leg wider and bent to my inner thigh, running his tongue over one spot, then sucking on it, pulling the skin between his teeth. I gasped at the sting, going hot and wet in my panties.

  “You taste so fucking good,” he said when he finished.

  I was breathing hard. “You said you’d tell me what we’ll do about our work situation,” I managed to remind him.

  “Yes, that.” He moved to my other inner thigh, positioning my leg just so. He ran a fingertip up almost to my pussy, then down again, watching the goosebumps on my skin. He really didn’t seem to be in a hurry. “The company is buying a building in Chicago,” he said. “It’s the building the four of us used to live in in the old neighborhood. It’s run-down and will be condemned if we don’t do something. It isn’t our best investment, but the partners don’t want to let it go. Call us sentimental, I guess.”

  I watched as he kicked his shoes off and pulled off his shirt, then got back on the bed between my bare legs. He was impossible to look away from, all dark hair and cheekbones and scruff. “What does that have to do with me?” I asked.

  He ran his fingertips along the outside of my hip, over my hipbone, then under my shirt. “It’s going to be a special community-building project instead of a for-profit project,” he said matter-of-factly. “And you’re going to be in charge.”

  I sat up on my elbows. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You’re no longer going to work for me as an executive assistant. Instead you’ll work for Tower VC as a special executive, in charge of the Chicago project. What it does, what it costs, everything. The decisions will all be yours.”

  I stared at him, shocked. He wasn’t looking at me—he was inching my shirt up, looking at the skin being revealed on my belly and my ribs. “Aidan, I’m not experienced in that kind of thing.”

  He shrugged, as if that didn’t matter. “You’re working with four partners who have experience,” he said. “Ask us anything. And since profit doesn’t drive this project—real value does—you don’t have to be cutthroat. You only have to do what you think is best.” He glanced up at me and smiled. “Besides, you can do anything you set your mind to.”

  His confidence in me made me fall in love with him even further. And it was very, very hot. I met his eye and said, “Do I get a raise?”

  He grinned, enjoying this. “We won’t discuss money while I’m between your legs,” he said, his hand moving up my inner thigh again. “But it will definitely be discussed.”

  His finger slid into my panties and lightly inside me, rubbing. I gasped and lay back again, luxuriating in the pleasure of that finger. Negotiation or not, with one fingertip Aidan could make me do anything. “I agree,” I said.

  “Good.” His magic fingertip moved to my clit, wetting it with my juices and circling it slowly.

  When I was worked up and squirming, he took his hand out again and pushed my T-shirt up, revealing my bra. He took the shirt off, and then the bra, taking his time, touching and kissing my skin. He pulled my panties off, drawing them down my legs. Then he took the rest of his clothes off and positioned himself back between my spread legs, kissing up my inner thigh.

  I was going to die of anticipation. I wasn’t going to live another ten minutes—I was going to expire. “Aidan,” I said, reminding him. “You promised.”

  He knew what I meant. He skipped over the aching place between my legs, kissing along my hip and sucking at the skin there. “I love you,” he said. “Is that what you were waiting for? You didn’t have to wait, you know. I would have told you if you hadn’t fled halfway across the world.”

  I ran my hands through his hair as he moved up my body. “I love you, too,” I said. “Madly. And you have to admit this way was more interesting.”

  “It was.” He licked my nipple, then moved up to my mouth, which he took—finally—in a deep, long, kiss. When we broke off I was wild for him, open and ready. He slid inside me and we both made a sound of satisfied pleasure.

  “You’re mine,” he said as he started to move. He kissed me again, his stubble scraping my skin as his body owned me. “You’re the only woman for me. Admit it, Samantha. You’re fucking mine.”

  “Yes,” I said, pulling him down to me, running my lips along his jaw, inhaling him with every breath. “I’m yours. You know all the pieces of me.”

  He did know my pieces, and he held them with care. He also knew my body, and when I finally came—after long moments of torture—I fell apart.

  He came, too, and then he kissed me, a kiss that made me ache and promised me everything. Everything I wanted, everything I was willing to work and sacrifice for. Everything that life could give me. I could have all of it.

  As if he read my thoughts, Aidan smiled against my skin. “This is us, Samantha,” he said. “This is you and me. Forever.”

  Epilogue

  Two years later

  * * *

  Aidan

  * * *

  I ignored the jet lag and exhaustion and adjusted my tie in the mirror. I had just come home from a trip to LA, going over entertainment deals with Noah. My plane had landed an hour ago. I’d had time for a quick shower and a change of clothes before I set my evening plans in motion.

  The sun had just set, and New York was about to begin its nightlife. Outside the penthouse windows, the city was beginning to light up in its inimitable way. The exhaustion fell away and my blood pumped faster. Tonight was going to be a very, very good night.

  I was going to meet a woman tonight.

  I wasn’t wearing black. Instead I wore charcoal gray dress pants, a pale blue shirt, and a dark blue tie. I took my watch from my side of the dresser—bypassing the jewelry on the other side—and put it on. I put on a spray of cologne, putting the bottle next to the perfume bottle on the dresser.

  I walked through the empty penthouse. There was different artwork on the walls now than there used to be, and the sofa now had soft blankets and throw pillows on it. There were framed wedding photos on the mantel. There was tea in the kitchen that I didn’t drink and cereal that I didn’t eat. Half of my penthouse was no longer mine, and I’d never been happier.

  The anticipation built as I got in the elevator, then walked into the lobby. I hadn’t seen this particular woman in five whole days—far too long. I hated being away from her for even an hour, but it couldn’t be helped. Tower VC was doing better than ever, and the Chicago project was well underway. Both of our schedules were packed. We kept everything straight thanks to Jade, who had been promoted from receptionist to our shared executive assistant.

  Besides, these short absences, when we were both out of town, only made the reunion sweeter.

  The meeting place we’
d picked was a bar a few blocks from the penthouse. It was a high-end martini place, intimate and dark. When I walked in there was a woman sitting at the bar in a black sleeveless linen sheath dress, her hair tied up into a twist at the back of her neck, her long, sexy legs crossed. She wore low heels with ankle straps. As I watched, she took a sip from her martini.

  My body went into overdrive at the sight of her. I tried to stay outwardly calm, even though the only thing I wanted to do was take her home, strip her naked, and make her come over and over while I said filthy things in her ear.

  She caught sight of me in the mirror behind the bar, and she watched me approach. I wondered what name she’d use. Lately, we used our own names—it was more fun that way.

  I slid into the seat next to her. I smelled her scent, glanced at her beautiful mouth and the flawless line of her bare neck. All of her was going to be mine tonight.

  Thank God I’d married her a year and a half ago, or I’d be a very filthy man.

  She was still looking at me, subtly checking me out in the mirror. I saw her gaze flick to my shoulders, the watch on my wrist. She was just as ready to pick up a stranger as I was. When she put down her empty glass, her diamond wedding ring glinted in the dim light. It had taken me three weeks to pick just the right ring, and she’d never taken it off since the day I gave it to her. I wore my own gold band on my wedding finger.

  I ordered my own martini. Samantha’s gaze went to my ring as I motioned to the bartender. She licked her bottom lip.

  I took my drink and turned to her. She turned to me and smiled.

  “I’m Aidan,” I said to my wife. “Can I buy you another drink?”

  Coming Next

  Coming in November 2019:

  SEXY AS SIN

  Dane and Ava’s story

  Also by Julie Kriss