“We will only discuss business, I assure you.” He felt his own face grow hot and wondered why Asha always made him feel off balance.
“Yes. Yes. Of course.” She laughed, the hard edge of a challenge in it. “I’ll be there, Mr. Durand.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ASHA ARRIVED TWO minutes early at Durand’s hotel suite door, butterflies rioting in her stomach, a swarm of them fluttering their tense, anxious wings. She pressed her hands against the thin fabric of her fitted gold cocktail dress that hit above the knee. The shiny fabric clung to her curves and the tiny straps over her almond-colored shoulders were largely decorative. She picked the dress knowing that it flattered, knowing that men would tend to stare at her when she wore it. She knew the effect it had and hoped that Durand fell under the same spell.
She wore slinky, strappy stilettos on her feet, knew that they made her calves flex in a way that men liked. She’d wrapped her dark, nearly black hair up in a French twist, and wore sparkling, dangling earrings she thought drew just the right amount of attention to the curve of her neck. Asha took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She told herself that this was exactly what she wanted: a membership, whatever the cost, and she ought to be relieved that Durand was motivated by the same things as every other man: sex and money.
Though she knew he couldn’t be distracted with small things, a simple hand job or a little flash of flesh wouldn’t do it. She’d have to go farther. Give her whole self. But she didn’t even care about sleeping with him to get what she wanted. No. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. It might be that she cared too much. She wanted this. She worried she’d even jump into bed with him without the membership. She wanted to feel the man’s hands on her body. Wanted to grind against him until their bodies became slick with sweat. She was actually looking forward to it. And that was a far more dangerous game. How often had men disappointed her? More times than she’d like to count. Then, when she’d fail to be pleased, it was her fault somehow.
Frigid.
That was the word one of them used, after, when he’d failed to make her climax. She worked hard to keep men at bay since then. She played to their fantasies of her, she remained in control, and then no one could ever find her lacking.
Now she needed to focus. Keep her eyes on the prize: the membership into the Sphinx Society. Durand probably wouldn’t be anything special, and it was no good to get her hopes up. She lifted her fist and rapped hard on the double door of Durand’s suite. Judging by the lack of doors down the hallway, she assumed the suite must take up the bulk of the corner of this floor of the Savoy Hotel.
Durand opened the door and Asha glanced up at his face, her mouth going suddenly dry. He was more handsome than she remembered, and this time, wore no mask. His dark wavy hair perfectly combed, his sharp blue eyes assessing. He wore a stiff oxford button-down, with three of the top buttons undone. She could see the hint of tanned chest there, and itched to run her hands inside his shirt, feel his smooth, muscled pecs beneath her fingers. He cleared his throat and she realized she was staring at his open shirt collar. Not exactly the best way to play her cards close to the vest.
“Would you care to come in?” He stepped backward, arm sweeping wide, to let her into his enormous luxury suite. She stepped inside, glancing about, but keenly aware of Durand’s eyes as they swept her from head to toe. His gaze felt like heat she could feel.
“Wow. This is some place.” Asha was used to opulence. After all, she had billions at her disposal, but this had the feel of old-world money. Mirrored walls gave the impression that the suite—largely decorated in white and gold—was much larger. She could see at least three large rooms, and none of them contained a bed. A living area, complete with green marbled fireplace adorned with golden antique statues, and two large white couches met her as she stepped into the room, framed by antique golden floor lamps. A small hallway led to a study with a glass desk and workspace with a wall of shelves containing leather-bound books, and beyond that, a dining table with four plush white chairs. The dining table was already set with a silver candelabra and fine china. Near the table sat a rolling cart with what she assumed must be dinner, hidden behind plates covered by ornate silver domes.
“I’m impressed,” she managed as she stepped further inside, hesitating near the foyer table filled with a large yellow-and-white bouquet of roses. She trailed her fingers across the cool white marble tabletop. As she turned the corner, she saw a black-and-gold bar near the dining room, on it, sat a chilled bottle of open champagne.
“Would you like a glass of Dom Pérignon?” Durand asked, his French accent even more pronounced as he mentioned the famous champagne.
Asha raised an eyebrow. The butterflies in her stomach hadn’t calmed, and if anything, were still flapping around like maniacs. Maybe a drink would help calm her nerves. “Yes, thank you. I’d like that.”
Durand passed close on her left, and he brushed her arm ever so slightly. She felt a little chill run up her arm as she watched him stride purposefully to the bar, his legs long and lean in black pants that hugged him in all the right places. He was a man who kept himself in excellent shape. She appreciated that. So many wealthy men felt they deserved to let themselves go. Not Durand. She watched as he lifted the bottle out of the golden bucket and poured them each a foaming serving in a crystal flute. He handed it to her and her fingers brushed his as she took it. He raised his glass.
“To new friends,” he said, and touched his rim to hers with a high-pitched plink.
“I hope to be more than friends,” she said, feeling a little brazen as she met his gaze. If she could hide behind her persona, then maybe she had a chance of pulling this off. She knew what she was here for. She needed to keep reminding herself of that.
He stared at her a beat without answering, a playful smile tugging the corners of his lips. No matter how hard he tried to keep aloof, Asha could sense his growing desire for her, see it in the sparkle in his eye.
“Why do you do that?” he asked her and took a sip of his champagne.
“Do what?”
“Play the vixen.”
“Who says I’m playing?” Her heart thudded now, the butterflies in a full-out panic in her stomach.
“I’m a good reader of people. I can tell.” The way he was studying her made her believe him. She could not read him and wondered for the briefest of seconds if he’d brought her here just to reject her once more. Her body vibrated with the knowledge that this night would end with their clothes on the floor, but now, her mind intervened. What if she’d read all the signals wrong? What if she’d come here only to be humiliated?
“We all act. After all, isn’t that why you have these parties? Where all your guests can wear masks?”
A slow smile spread on Durand’s face. “Touché,” he conceded.
He was staring at her, and she’d forgotten to breathe. She inhaled, pushing the troubling thoughts from her mind. Surely not. Surely the man could feel the energy between them. It felt immovable, like gravity.
She took a sip of her own glass. The expensive bubbles hit her tongue with an explosion of flavor.
“This is delicious,” she murmured, leaning against the bar.
“It should be. Dom Pérignon invented champagne.” He held up his glass to the light, studying the bubbles flowing to the service. “Did you know he was a French Benedictine monk? His vineyard at the abbey produced phenomenal white wine in the 1600s at a time when almost all wine in France was red.”
“Really? A monk?” She glanced at her own glass. “I guess he had a lot of time on his hands, what with taking all those vows of silence.”
Durand laughed a little. “Probably true. Many think he also added the bubbles to the wine, but that came later.”
“I like the bubbles,” Asha said, taking a long sip. She’d drunk just half the glass and already she could feel a happy buzz beginning at the back of he
r brain. “This must be expensive.”
He glanced over the rim of his glass at her. “Does everything need a price tag to be valued?”
“No,” she said after a moment. “But doesn’t money make the world go round? People care about how much things cost. That’s why they want to drive expensive cars, and own expensive bags.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“Says the billionaire,” she joked.
Durand laughed, showing even white teeth, as the low roar of his amusement rumbled in her belly. She liked making him laugh. She wanted to do it again.
“I think history is more important than money. It’s better to know where we come from than to know how much it cost to get here,” he added. “So tell me about your own history, Ms. Patel. Who made you the woman you are today?”
“Why is history so important?” The past, to her, was filled with disappointment, like the bullies who tormented her in boarding school. Much better to bury those memories than relive them.
“History is everything. Tell me one thing about you. Something pivotal.”
“You first.”
Durand shrugged one shoulder. “Very well. I believe history is so important because that’s the only legacy my father left to me. He had many mistresses. My mother...she...well, she is French. She understood when she married him—into his very wealthy family—that he’d not be faithful. It was expected he’d stray. What she didn’t expect was for him to fall in love with one of them.” Durand frowned and stared at his champagne glass. “She told him he could have as many mistresses as he wanted, as long as he came back to her.”
“But he didn’t come back.”
“That’s right. One day, he stayed with one of them. Wanted to begin a new family. He divorced my mother, left her hardly anything. The only thing he ever gave me was his board seat to the Sphinx Society. So he gave me history, but...no money.” Durand’s mouth set in a thin line. “And just a few years after that divorce, Mother died. Heart attack, the doctors said, but I think it was a broken heart.”
“That’s horrible.” Asha felt her heart break for Durand, a man who was all but alone in the world, his mother gone and his father absent. And he hadn’t just been alone, he’d been penniless. She’d always assumed he’d inherited his money, but now it was clear he’d had to build it all up. Himself. “How did you afford this?” She glanced around the hotel suite, and at the expensive bottle of champagne chilling.
“I turned Sphinx Society membership into something everyone coveted, and I grew an empire, because of history.”
Asha took a step closer to him and he glanced down at her, his blue eyes determined. She suddenly had a new appreciation for the man. He hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Or, at least, he’d had it knocked out and had to get his own.
“That’s impressive,” she said.
He smiled slightly. “That’s just necessity,” he said. “I did what I had to do.”
“What does your father think about it?”
He grinned, even bigger. “My father is not a member. So, he doesn’t get a say about it.” He seemed to relish the power and that made Asha laugh. She could understand wanting to buck a little against the edicts of an all-powerful father.
She was beginning to understand Durand a bit more. He was a man with something to prove. Just like she was a woman out to do the same.
“Is that so? I guess the tables have turned then. I envy you that.”
“Does your father make demands on you?” Durand asked.
“Often.” She sighed. “He wants me to be his one and only heir. I don’t want the responsibility.”
“Don’t want it, or worried you can’t handle it?” Durand studied her and she felt as if he could see straight through her. Why could he seem to get right to the center of her, but she managed to be able to fool so many others? His insightfulness was unnerving.
“Maybe both,” she said. “But it is my father’s company, not mine. I want to make something of my own.”
“And you worry if you take it over, it’ll be somehow diminished.”
“No. Well...possibly.” Was that it? Was she telling herself she wanted to forge her own path but in reality she was just worried about being measured against her father and coming up lacking? “Enough about The Skycloud. The Skycloud bores me.”
“Does it? What doesn’t bore you?” He grinned.
“You,” she said, the honesty surprising even herself.
“Really?” The sparkle in his blue eyes grew brighter. “Then, by all means, let’s sit down and talk about me.”
Asha laughed.
“Would that be to your liking, Ms. Patel?” He motioned towards the table with his nearly empty champagne glass.
“If we’re going to be friends, you should call me Asha.” She glanced at him and grinned, noticing his lips twitch.
“All right.” He paused, the look in his eyes unreadable. “Asha.” She loved how her name rolled off his tongue, how his French accent seemed to caress the vowels. “Would you care to sit?”
He gestured to the table and she nodded, walking towards it. He moved easily and pulled out a plush white chair. She sat and he walked around to the other side of the small round table. He grabbed the bottle of champagne and refilled each of their glasses. Then he opened the first silver cover and revealed a plate of chicken and vegetables.
“Coq au vin,” he announced.
The warm smell of chicken in wine hit Asha’s nose, making her stomach grumble. He put the plate before her, and then a plate on his side of the table. As he slid into his seat, Asha couldn’t help but admire the way he moved, as his strong hands took the white linen napkin and gently laid it on his lap.
“Bon appétit,” he declared.
“Bon appétit,” she echoed back.
“So tell me, Ms.—” He caught himself. “Tell me, Asha.” Her name in his mouth raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “Tell me why you don’t care for history.”
“History is in the past.” She put her own linen napkin in hers. “I’m about looking towards the future.”
“What’s in your past that you hate so much?” he studied her. Asha felt suddenly on display.
“It hasn’t been easy to live in my father’s shadow.” She said it softly, so softly she wondered if Durand even heard. He studied her.
“I can imagine. Money does not solve the problems most people think it does.”
“And sometimes it creates new ones.”
Durand laughed. “Yes, indeed. What problems did it create for you?”
“Boarding school bullies.” She surprised herself with her own candor. She hadn’t admitted to anyone about being bullied at boarding school. Not her father. Not her best friends at home. No one.
Durand clicked his tongue. “They were jealous of you.”
“They thought very, very powerful and rich people should be blond. And blue-eyed.” She remembered the endless taunts, the smirks, behind her back, the nicknames. “They called me Slumdog Millionaire.”
“Ah.” Durand nodded, as if understanding. “People are scared of what they don’t understand, and they’re even more scared when it has more money than they do. Your father could no doubt buy them over many times.”
Asha laughed. “Yes, he could.”
“What did you do about these bullies?”
She glanced at her almost empty champagne glass. “I never backed down. Whatever group they didn’t want me to be in, I made sure I was in.”
Durand laughed, a low chuckle in his throat. “You thrived on conflict, then.”
“I wasn’t going to let them win. I had as much right to be in their clubs as they did.”
Durand nodded. “True. So, then, is that why you want to become a member of the Sphinx Society so badly?”
Asha studied Durand. �
�Maybe.” Could this be the reason she was so determined to keep going—to get access to a place denied to her? It was about a matter of principle. She didn’t take “no” well.
“Initially, as you know, I wanted to catch my boy—” she stopped and corrected herself “—now, ex-boyfriend in the act of cheating.”
“Yes, about Connor.” Durand swiped his lips with his linen napkin. “I was curious about why you were so jealous...about a man you’d not slept with?”
Asha felt like she’d been slapped. As if Durand could see past her defenses. How did he know that? How did he know Connor was one of those men she’d toyed with, but never let into her bedroom?
“Who told you that?”
Durand’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Connor himself. It was his defense. He didn’t think he ought to be kicked out of the society for ungentlemanly conduct when you were...as he said...‘a tease.’”
“That’s a distasteful term. That’s a pillar of rape culture,” she managed, her heart thudding as she felt exposed. Vulnerable.
Durand arched an eyebrow. “Yes, well, he is no gentleman.”
Asha’s mind whirled. Connor was telling her secrets to Durand, and she didn’t like it. Also, Durand had stuck up for her? “So you expelled Connor from the club. Why?” she asked.
“Our members should have better sense than to insult someone as beautiful and intriguing as you.” He met her gaze, and for a second Asha couldn’t say anything. The man was definitely flirting with her, but she wondered if it was a game, or if he really believed what he said.
“Is that why you don’t want me in your club? Because I’m so beautiful and intriguing?” she teased.
“Oh, I want you in my society, Asha.” He paused, letting this sink in. “I want you very much.”
She froze, glass halfway to her lips. Her stomach knotted as she met his stark blue gaze, the want in it suddenly real. He was telling the truth. She felt a tingling at the back of her neck. She realized it was her own excitement. Not just at the possibility of being invited into an elite group, but because she wanted to be invited into his life, see behind the curtain he so carefully used to block outsiders.
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