She was like no woman he’d ever met. So gorgeous, so stubborn. So deliciously responsive in bed, and he loved the idea of opening up her world, showing her what she might have missed all those years with all those selfish lovers. There was, indeed, so much the two could explore together, so many pleasures awaiting her—and him. The idea made him feel delirious. And possessive. But it was more than her body that intrigued him. It was also her mind. Her fight, her determination, they wiggled their way into his brain, told him she was more like him than he knew. When someone told him he couldn’t do something, couldn’t have something, that just made him want it more. That’s why he’d taken the one thing his father had left him and turned it into everything. Because he wanted to show his father that he wouldn’t just survive. He’d thrive. That’s why he’d vowed to himself he’d never make his father’s mistakes: putting love above all else.
But then came Asha. Blowing his plans apart.
He scanned the crowds walking through the doors, into the lobby of the airport. Asha had taken a commercial flight from London to Berlin. First class, of course, but as it turned out, since her father was squeezing her luxuries, he’d taken away the private jet when she’d refused to attend a company meeting. Durand wanted to know more about that. He of all people knew how tricky relationships with fathers could be.
Asha swept through the glass doors of customs looking even more stunning than he remembered. She wore a white skintight skirt and a colorful sleeveless blouse, big oversized sunglasses on top of her head. The instant he saw her, feet clad in strappy sandals as she pulled her rolling carry-on behind her, he moved quickly, his body taking over, as he swept her into his arms and kissed her. She tasted like everything he needed. Everything that had ever been missing in his life. She tasted like a purpose. His cock came to life instantly.
“I missed you,” he murmured as he released her, but kept his arms around the small of her back. It felt like admitting weakness, but he did it anyway. She grinned up at him.
“Did you now?” Her lips parted and he wanted suddenly to whisk her away from this public place, hide her away in his Hotel Adlon Kempinski suite, and hibernate there until fall.
“Shall we go to my hotel?” His fingers itched to peel off her clothes, to taste her skin, to inhale her scent. He felt like an addict right then, an addict needing his fix.
She smiled. “I’ve never been to Berlin before, and you want to hide me away in your hotel?” Now she was playing coy. Why? He knew that she needed his touch as much as she needed his. Why pretend otherwise?
He squeezed her waist tighter, pressing her against him, so that she could feel just how much he wanted her. His groin ached with need. Zut alors, his whole body ached. Surely she could feel that.
“Yes,” he growled. “I want to keep you in my hotel all week. Naked. Doing my bidding.”
Asha laughed. “Show me Berlin first. Or I might never see it.” Now he realized she had a plan of some kind. A plan he didn’t like.
“You want to play tourist?” Durand felt the bitter taste of disappointment at the back of his tongue. Who cared about touring the city when he’d much rather be exploring the twists and turns of her perfect body?
“I’d at least like to eat. I skipped breakfast today.”
“We could order room service.” Images of him feeding her strawberries, naked, in his bed, flashed through his mind.
“Take me out first,” Asha demanded, but a playful smile twitched at the corner of her pink lips. “Then, to your hotel. Something tells me we’ll have plenty of time to try out room service.”
Durand couldn’t agree more. Once he got her into his bed, he’d not let her out again.
* * *
Asha took no pleasure in the disappointment that flickered in Durand’s eyes as he took the handle of her rolling bag and led her out of the high-ceilinged sleek, modern terminal of the Berlin airport, beneath the red decorative red metal ribbon lattice hanging from the ceiling. She’d decided that she needed to try to resist heading back to his hotel room, because there, for certain, he held all the power. She knew this, knew that she’d be unable to resist his touch, since it had brought to life a need she never knew she’d ever had in her body. And then, she’d just fall deeper in love with him. Or lust. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she could tell the difference anymore. She was obsessed, she knew that much. She spent every moment thinking of him, or stalking him online, or reading gossip columns about him. The man who never had a serious relationship in his life, the Frenchman who swore off love.
And that made him even more of a challenge. She hated that she wanted to convert him, like some romance novel heroine, but there she was. She liked the idea of being the one woman he couldn’t resist. There still remained this stupid little flame of hope in her breast. She was the one who might be able to change him. She had no idea why she thought she could. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her now as they walked through the airport, the way he held her elbow firmly, possessively. Maybe he did this with every woman he met. Every exotique. Maybe they were all playthings for him. Maybe he made them all feel worshipped and adored, right up until the day he refused to return their calls. He tended to leave a trail of broken hearts in his wake. Asha wasn’t about to add to that pile. She would be no one’s fool.
What she needed to do was put the brakes on. Keep out of his bed for a microsecond so she could hang on to her wits. Get to know the man behind the amazing hands and mouth and cock, to decide if this was real, or just...want. It was easy to love him in bed, where his body controlled hers, where her want ran riot, but what about out of it? Maybe if she got to know the man better, he’d lose some of his power, lose some of his draw. After all, Asha knew, men, in the end, were almost always a disappointment.
No sooner had they walked out of the airport than a driver pulled up in a black Mercedes, and a well-dressed twenty-something German in a suit got out, hastily grabbed Asha’s bag, and stowed it in the large trunk of the car.
“Danke schön,” Durand told his driver, and then proceeded to give him further instructions in German. Asha had no idea what they were saying, but the man opened the back door of the Mercedes, and Durand ushered her in.
They drove through the streets of Berlin on the sunny summer morning, the blue sky partly covered in clouds. Durand reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it.
“There’s still time to tell him to turn around and take us to the hotel,” he murmured, his voice as sexy as she remembered, tinged with that faint hint of French. She wanted to. Badly. But she needed to rein in her desires, or they’d run her life. And she couldn’t afford to let that happen. She’d never willingly given over such control to anyone, and she wasn’t going to do that now, with a playboy who’d vowed never to love one woman his whole life.
She was giving him too much power. She’d never intended to stay in that hotel room in London with him for a whole week, but she’d done it, without even realizing how much time had passed. Whenever he touched her, she felt powerless. That scared her. She wanted him, yes, but she wanted him on her terms.
“I am hungry, and you can wait. It’s like you want to eat dessert first.” She tugged her hand away and gave him a playful swat.
“What is wrong with that? Especially when you are the dessert.” Durand let her hand go, moving his fingers down to her bare knee, caressing it ever so gently. She felt an electric current run right up her thighs, felt the power of his touch. He stroked the inside of her bare knee, working his finger up her thigh. She shivered. Her breath came a little quicker, a little faster, and she wondered if she’d be able to tamp down her own desire.
“You mustn’t spoil your appetite,” she warned him.
He gently squeezed her upper thigh. “When it comes to you, I don’t know that I can ever have my fill. Plus on a, plus on veut avoir.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, un
certain.
“The more you have, the more you want,” he whispered, leaning over and nuzzling her neck. She moaned, just a little, unable to help herself.
She pulled away, managing to fight against the rising need in her belly. She glanced at him, sharply, seeing honesty in his blue gaze. And a little bit of surprise. Maybe this wasn’t just some come-on line, something he said to all the women to make them fall at his feet. Yet part of her wondered.
She leaned forward and gently straightened his tie. “Then, I’m worth waiting for,” she whispered, aware that he watched her lips as she spoke, aware of how much he wanted to kiss them. He’d have to wait.
“Oui, ma chère. Worth the wait.” He sat back then and folded his hands on his lap, but she saw the twitch of frustration at the corner of his lip. Good. Maybe she’d get under his skin this time. Maybe she’d be the one with the power.
She wanted to show him that they were more than just passion. They were something deeper than that.
The car slid through the crowded streets of Berlin, the sun beaming down on the gray sidewalks. Eventually, the black car pulled over and let them out. Durand took her by the hand, as they strolled along the sidewalk beneath the bright summer Berlin sun. He nodded to the left.
“That’s Checkpoint Charlie,” he said, nodding to the white booth situated on an island in the middle of a bustling Berlin street. Sandbags lined one edge of the booth, and a crowd of tourists stood near it, taking pictures, standing beneath an original black-and-white sign that read, “You are now leaving the American Sector.”
“Wow,” Asha said, recalling a little bit about the Cold War she’d learned in history in college: the Berlin wall that once separated communist East Berlin from democratic West. He held her hand as they walked. Then, he stopped her, nodding downward. “See? This is where the wall used to be.” Oversized stones in the sidewalk marked the wall, labeled Berliner Mauer 1961-1989. Asha put her feet on either side of the cobble stones. “Wait, let me take your picture,” he said, and pulled out his phone.
She smiled, feet apart, and he snapped the picture.
“Belle,” he said, and pulled her to him. He kissed her on the lips, a quick peck, but a tingle ran down her spine. “You are too beautiful not to kiss,” he told her as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him as they walked to the restaurant, a sleek modern affair serving tapas. The host seated them in a small corner booth near the window so they could watch the tourists posing together in front of Checkpoint Charlie.
“Is this all right?” Durand asked her as she frowned at the menu, which was largely in Spanish. “It’s a new restaurant in Berlin. Two Michelin stars.”
“I... I don’t have tapas that often,” Asha admitted.
“Do you mind if I order for us?”
“No. Please.” Asha folded the menu, and then proceeded to watch Durand address the waitress in Spanish. She’d never quite felt so worldly before: she about to eat tapas, in Berlin, with a Frenchman. That had to be a first. Plus, he seemed to be fluent in at least four languages.
After the waitress had taken their order and left, Asha leaned forward. “How many languages do you know?” she asked him.
“Four fluently. Seven passably.” Durand shrugged. “It was part of my education. Plus, it helps to be able to speak to my society members in their native tongues.” She thought of Durand’s talented tongue, and realized it had more uses than just languages. Delicious uses. She pushed the thought away, though he seemed to read her mind, anyway. He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “Though I feel our bodies do not need words, no?”
“Now you sound like a stereotypical Frenchman.” She laughed.
“What is wrong with that?” Durand said, and they both laughed.
“So...you learned languages...at school? Where?” She needed to get this conversation back on track.
Durand took her hand on the table, holding it possessively. “Why do you wish to know?”
“I want to know more about you.” She wanted him to open up to her. To show her more than just delights in the bedroom. She wanted to know what made this mysterious man tick. He seemed to be a riot of contradictions: one minute, he was cool and aloof and in control, and the next, he was a lover who couldn’t seem to get enough of her. She’d begun to understand his body very, very well, but what she wanted to explore was his mind. Maybe then, if she knew him better, she could balance her feelings, which even she knew were growing wildly out of control.
A playful smile pulled at the corners of Durand’s sensual mouth. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, if you’ve ever been in love.”
The waitress came then with two glasses of sangria. Asha took hers gratefully. Durand sipped at his, pensive.
“I told you before,” he said, somber now, an edge to his voice, “love only ends in pain. I’ve spent my life avoiding it.”
“Love exists, Durand, no matter how much you try to deny it.”
“It killed my mother and made my father...a terrible man.” Durand shrugged. “I know it exists. I just don’t believe it works the way most people think it does.”
“How does it work?” Asha took a sip of her ruby-red sangria, the tart, fruit-infused wine tickling her tongue.
“Most people only think they are in love. But, really, they are just in lust. Or in obsession. Or suffer from loneliness. Or it’s just about ego. It’s not love. We give love too much power these days. People believe they have no immunity. That they must suffer whatever love dictates for them. But that’s not how love should be. Love is in our control.”
“I disagree.” Asha put down her glass and then dabbed at the edges of her mouth with her napkin. “Sometimes feelings grow bigger than you want them to grow. And that’s what makes them so beautiful in the end. The fact we can’t really control them. Not completely.” She couldn’t meet his gaze for fear he’d read the truth in her eyes. That she was in love with him. More than she’d like.
“You think you know love? Because you followed your ex-boyfriend to my party? Is that love?”
Asha laughed bitterly. “No, that is not love. I never loved Connor.”
“Then what do you mean? Who do you love?” There was a challenge in the bend of his eyebrow, the slant of his mouth. It was as if he already knew exactly what she was thinking. But that was impossible. He could read her body, yes, but not her mind, she told herself. That was still hers to control.
“Do you want me to tell you that I love you, Durand? Is that what all your women tell you right before you lose interest in them?” Asha wasn’t going to admit her feelings for this man. Not when he was so stubborn about love, about refusing to believe in the power of it, refusing to give in. She also realized that her own plan of getting to know him, trying to find his flaws so that she, herself, might lose interest, was backfiring. Durand’s magnetic presence held her full attention, and all she wanted to do was crawl into the man’s bed after this meal and never get out. But she could not let him know that. She could not let him know the kind of power he had over her.
If she did, she’d lose everything. She knew the kind of man Durand was. She also knew exactly the way to keep his interest. By keeping him at arm’s length. A man like him knew nothing but the pursuit. A man like him would always lose interest once he caught his prey.
Durand chuckled and took a sip of his sangria.
“You worry I’ll lose interest in you?”
Asha laughed. “No.” She gave him a slow, deliberate smile. “I’m worried I’ll lose interest in you, first. And then you’ll be such a bore.”
“Bore?” Durand’s eyebrow rose as his blue eyes grew sharp at the insult. “You think I’ll bore you?”
“Eventually, yes, all men bore me.” She could see him stiffen. Then a slow smile spread across his face, the relish of a challenge in his eyes. She loved pushing his butto
ns, loved prodding him. “Eventually, even you, Mathis Durand, will run out of tricks.”
“Not me, Asha. Not ever.” His determined expression made her rethink her challenge, almost made her wonder if she’d gone too far. “You’ll never be bored with me.”
“Prove it,” she challenged him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DURAND HELD ASHA’S hand tightly as they swept into the lobby of the five-star Hotel Adlon Kempinski, on the east side of Berlin, an upscale hotel built in 1905. They walked across the white marble floor and in between the plush gray seats, Asha’s heart beating loudly in her ears, anticipating what would come next once they made their way upstairs into his bed. She wanted this more than she dared to admit even to herself. She glanced at the signature fountain in the center of the lobby, noting the black elephant heads midway up the fountain’s tower.
“The elephant fountain was a famous gift,” Durand said as they swept by it on their way to the elevators. “India’s Maharaja of Patiala gave the fountain to the owner of the hotel, Lorenz Adlon, in 1930.”
“Ah, you and your historical facts,” Asha said.
“We all must learn history or be forced to repeat it,” he said.
She squeezed his hand tightly. “What if I like to repeat certain histories? Like...ours?”
“That, of course, must be the exception to the rule.” Durand flashed her a knowing smile as Asha admired the lines of the sculpted elephants that fanned out around the center tower of the fountain. Even in the hotels she was used to, these kinds of artifacts were rare. Durand must be rubbing off on her because she was starting to appreciate antiques.
Masquerade Page 11