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“I didn’t expect such a cold greeting.”
She made a choked noise. “I can imagine how you thought I’d greet you, given the way I behaved, but forget it. That was me getting over an old boyfriend. That’s all.”
That’s what she kept telling herself and she believed it about as well as anyone else believed she hadn’t slept with Henri Sauveterre.
“Vraiment?” His tone chilled by several thousand degrees.
“Oh, I’m sorry, do you find that insulting?” She flicked her head around to send him a haughty look. “At least he and I were completely over. I didn’t take his call while you and I were still—”
She wouldn’t say it. It was too humiliating. Her cheeks hurt with a painful blush.
Giving in to the urge to make love with him on such short acquaintance was a tolerable mistake. Yes, she’d been weak enough to succumb to a player’s best moves, but from a purely physical standpoint—pun intended—it had been great. She hadn’t had any regrets as he’d leaned against her, both of them damp and still breathing hard.
Then the ring of his mobile had galvanized him into withdrawing and straightening himself, as he grabbed the phone and said, “Bella.” He had gone outside, seeking privacy.
He might as well have smacked her. Of course he had other women in his life. Maybe their lovemaking had been profound and unique for her, but it was routine for him. She was no more than the stick of gum he chewed for fifteen minutes to freshen his breath!
Cinnia had tugged on her knickers and got the hell out of there.
“Are you serious?” he muttered now. “The call was from my sister.”
“Not any less offensive,” she declared, turning her disconcerted frown to the window, cautioning herself not to believe him. Fool me twice…
“D’accord. You’re right. It was rude,” he said begrudgingly. “But there are circumstances. I don’t ignore her calls.”
“That’s nice. Tell your driver I’m on the other side of London. He’s going the wrong way.”
“Cinnia,” Henri growled. “Have some compassion. There are reasons.”
The kidnapping? The isolation? She glanced at him, desperately wanting to throw his words back in his face, but he didn’t look manipulative or even like he was trying to cajole. He looked frustrated and, beneath it, troubled.
She recalled him saying he never spoke about his family and sighed. Perhaps she would have to take him at his word, but it was still insulting as hell.
“Fine,” she muttered.
“Do you mean that? Or is it a passive-aggressive fine?”
“Does it matter? I could ask you to tell me what those circumstances are, but you’re not going to, are you?”
“No.” His expression darkened.
She shrugged, hiding that his reticence struck her as lack of trust, which hurt far more deeply than it had a right to.
“So what do you care if I’m fine or not? Even if we’d ended things on a warmer note that night, you were never going to call me after. We both know that, so who cares how we end things now?”
“I care, obviously.”
“No, you don’t!” she cried on a scoffing laugh. “You walked into that party and saw the easiest girl in the room.” If she could take back her capitulation… Would she? Oh, it was lowering to admit it, but probably not. Regardless, she’d be a fool to repeat it.
“You’re looking for a do-over,” she accused. Her voice cracked and she forced out a tight no, thanks.
“Au contraire,” he said, his voice so sharp and hard it stabbed through the thick plate she was trying to hold over her chest. “At least three women in that room were far easier. Trust me. I’ve met them in the past. Not slept with them,” he quickly clarified. “But I’ve been invited to on very short acquaintance. I came tonight because you were on the guest list.”
Her emotions were taking a bumpy ride despite the smoothness of the car’s suspension. He’d come to see her? She didn’t want to believe that. It would make her soften toward him and she was already struggling to keep him at arm’s length.
“I wish you hadn’t. My supervisor already suggested it would be a good career move if I sent you a letter of introduction for the firm.” She turned her face to the window again. “Now he’ll be even more of a pain about it. Thanks.”
“You want me to come into his office and let him give me his spiel? Fine.”
“No, Henri, I don’t!” She swung her head around, barely able to keep a civil tone. “What message does that send? Next he’ll tell me who to sleep with in order to land a client. Men! Are you really that obtuse? Your notoriety is not ‘gold’ for me. It’s a scarlet letter. Don’t do me any favors.”
He sat back, a ring of white appearing around his tight mouth.
“I can’t help who I am, Cinnia. I can’t help that people want to use me, or use anyone who comes close to me to get to me. If I could change it, I would, but I can’t!” His voice rang through the small space like a thunderclap, rife with incensed frustration.
His outburst was so shocking, she sat in silence a moment, absorbing what he’d revealed—reluctantly, judging by the way he shut down immediately after.
Empathy rolled into the spaces he’d blown open in her. She couldn’t help feeling bad for him then, especially as a motor scooter buzzed up alongside the car and the passenger on the back aimed a camera at the darkened window. It flashed, perhaps catching her frown of dismay.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, making a visible effort to maintain his strained control.
“Trella—Trella Bella as we call her, or Bella—has a particular struggle. Partly it’s due to the attention we draw. I make myself available to her when she needs it. We all do. If she had called Ramon, your friend Vera would be the one feeling slighted. Trella’s situation is a fact of my life. That’s all I’m saying on the topic and you can believe it or not or post it to your damned news feed if that will make you feel better.”
“Of course I wouldn’t,” she said crossly. “Why would I deliberately hurt someone I don’t even know?”
Now she would dwell forever on the struggles of that poor girl who had surely been through enough just from being kidnapped. No public statements had ever been made about what had really happened to her during the five days she was missing. Terrible things had been theorized, though. Cinnia dearly hoped none of them were true, but judging by Henri’s grim expression, his sister had a lot to deal with.
She had such an urge to reach out to him in that moment, she had to clench her fingers together in her lap.
“Has the attention been bad?” he asked. “Are you being harassed by cameras outside your home? It’s so rare I meet anyone who feels like I do, I didn’t imagine it would be a burden for you.”
She shrugged. “Mostly just friends and family are asking about it. I didn’t say much and that’s not out of character because I keep a low profile as a rule.”
He glanced inquiringly, so she explained further.
“My kind of work is like banking or the law. Clients expect confidentiality and no one wants to give their portfolio to a woman who’s posting party photos or running with a sketchy crowd, so I live quietly and don’t put much online. But as you say, people put a lot of stock in the Sauveterre name. I realize it’s not really a detriment to be associated with it. It would shatter my ego completely, however, to have people say I only succeeded because of who I know. And to have my boss pressure me like that? I was really annoyed.”
“Did you report him to your HR?”
“There’s no point.”
“There is. Speaking as the president of a huge company, I can’t fix what I don’t know is broken. I need reports of that sort of thing so I can take action or it will keep happening.”
She hadn’t thought of it that way, only that she was leaving soon. “Fine. I will.”
“Good.”
Great. Annoying-boss issue resolved. “Can you take me home now, please?”
“I would like to have dinner with you.”
“You don’t want dinner, Henri.” That damned crack was back in her voice, betraying that she was still feeling slighted because even if he hadn’t been cheating when he’d made love to her, it had been nothing more than a casual hookup. “You want to go to bed with me.”
“I do,” he said baldly, face tightening at her tone. “Tell me you’re not interested and I’ll take you home. Be honest.”
She wanted to look away, but his intense gaze held hers, peeling back her layers of defensiveness as the streetlights flashed by. She knew she was flushing with guilty anticipation. She had managed to hate him for weeks because he had taken his girlfriend’s call after their lovemaking, but that’s not what he’d done. Her best reason for resisting him was nullified.
She jerked her head around, staring blindly at the passage of headlights and darkened shop windows.
“Ça va?”
“You could have called,” she muttered. “You’re not going to call tomorrow if I sleep with you tonight.”
“Since you’ll be with me at breakfast, there will be no need.”
She snorted at his arrogance.
“You were not planning to sleep with me that night.” Something in his quiet tone made her listen. It was as if he was reflecting fondly and it gave her a small shiver of pleasure because she was part of a memory he was recollecting warmly. “At first I thought it was your game to resist, but you really were intending to leave. You didn’t. You were carried away by a kiss and didn’t even take one of those silly gift bags on your way out. Yes, I took note of that detail,” he said as she swung a scowl at him.
As if she would have sex for a BPA-free water bottle and the latest reality star’s brand of lip gloss!
“You went away feeling ill used and I regret that,” he continued. “But I am used by women all the time. Put yourself in my shoes and imagine how singular and exciting it is for me to have met a woman who not only responds so strongly to me she lost her willpower against herself, but doesn’t want to write a damned online diary about it. Yes, I want to experience that again. You’re damned right I do.”
“I don’t like that I was carried away like that. It makes me feel cheap.”
“Cheap! Why?”
“Because you expected it. You expected me to behave that badly and I did.”
“I wanted you to make love with me. I didn’t expect it. And there was nothing bad about it. You have a real hang-up about when it’s permissible to have sex, don’t you?”
“Yes, all right? I do! I’ve had two lovers and I thought I loved both of them. I don’t have sex with random strangers for whom I feel mostly annoyance.”
He blinked once, taking a moment to pick apart her words. She expected him to take issue with her calling him annoying, but he only repeated, “Thought you loved.”
She looked away, aware of tension in the hands that had become fists on her thighs, and said nothing.
“Tell me about this boyfriend you were exorcising.”
“No.” She craned her neck to look past him. They were pulling up in front of a posh hotel. “What are we doing here?”
“We have dinner reservations.”
She had eaten exactly one stuffed mushroom cap at the engagement party. She was starving. Nevertheless, she glared at him.
To hide the fact she was scared.
And shamefully thrilled they weren’t parting ways yet. This man utterly fascinated her and it was so dangerous. Like swimming in petrol under a rainstorm of flaming comets.
“Why?” she asked, stalling.
“It’s a date, Cinnia. Surely that doesn’t go too harshly against your precious rules for how to behave with a man?”
She looked at her nails. “No, but I have one about providing the lion’s share of sarcasm in a relationship. I suggest you take it down a notch or things could become quite scathing.”
He tsk-tsked and started to open his door. His guard finished the job, but Henri held out his hand himself to help her out.
Then he kept his fingers firmly entwined with hers as he walked her through the glittering gold-and-glass entrance of the hotel, across the marble tiles and around the lobby fountain, up the red-carpeted staircase and into a restaurant where a harpist played. The maître d’ exclaimed delight that she could join them when Henri introduced her.
The moment they were alone, she said drily, “And I won’t feel obligated after this to go upstairs to the room you’ve booked.”
“No,” he assured her. “You won’t feel obligated.” He gathered her hands across the white tablecloth and gave her a slow and anticipatory smile. “But I hope very much you’ll feel inclined.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_541336f9-1e58-5e54-94b0-66e3a4092e12)
CINNIA WOKE TO a room that was nearly pitch-black, Henri’s arm heavy across her waist. They were naked, front to front, legs entwined. She wanted to press her lips into the smoothness of his shoulder and kiss his skin.
What the hell was she doing?
Succumbing to hormones. And charm. Henri was very engaging when he wanted to be. He smoothly deflected from anything too personal, but he was keenly intelligent and had exchanged lively opinions with her on everything from world politics to pop music. He had asked her advice about a point of estate law, which she had thought was pure pandering, but she soon realized he was serious and had to tell him he was better off consulting someone who specialized in international trusts.
Then the evening’s trio had arrived and he had taken her to the dance floor and seduced her, right there in front of the world. Not that he was obvious about it. Henri was far too subtle for that. No, it had been a light brush of his chest against her breasts, a whisper that she smelled delicious, a brief contact with his hips so she knew he was aroused.
“I can’t help it, chérie. You have that effect on me,” he had said without embarrassment.
Dessert had arrived, a caramel flan they’d shared, but they hadn’t even finished when he said, “Will you come upstairs? I’m dying to kiss you.”
They both knew how she reacted to his kiss.
They might have made love in the elevator if his guard hadn’t been with them, standing discreetly at the front of the car with his back to them so Henri could steal a first kiss, then a second, longer, more passionate one.
Inside the suite, they’d barely made it to the bed.
How had she been so aroused? Until that moment, he’d barely touched her.
But even as she lay here next to him, thinking about the way he’d hurriedly skimmed away her knickers and covered himself with a shaking hand, she was growing wet and achy. She had been pure butter beneath him, locking her legs around his waist and lifting into his heavy thrusts.
She should go home. She didn’t want to do the walk of shame in the morning, not when she already knew the paparazzi were on to them.
But she found herself slithering closer, sliding her legs against his and giving in to the temptation to taste his skin. He smelled sharp and masculine against his neck. His stubble abraded her nose and lips, but in a sexy way that turned her on because it accented how different they were. Female and male, meant to come together like pieces of a puzzle.
“Encore?” he murmured, moving against her, hardening at her first touch.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“Not a damned thing, chérie. Ah, this,” he growled with satisfaction as he trailed his hand between her legs and found her juicy and plump. “I’m addicted. I have to taste you again.” He slid down, pressing her legs open.
She moaned at the sheer indulgence of being pleasured by him like this. He made her feel like she was giving him something when she allowed this, which maybe she was because he pretty much took ownership of her. This act lowered her defenses completely so she was without inhibition, ready to beg when he drew back before she’d climaxed.
