“You sound a little jealous. I heard you went to the last party looking for me.”
“Hardly worth finding. You’d better get out of here before Durand finds you.”
Connor took the butt of the cigar out of his mouth and tucked it into the empty ashtray on the golden side table near his chair. Then, he picked up his glass of brandy and cradled it in one hand. “I’m not scared of Durand.”
“So he did revoke your membership.”
“I don’t care if he did or not. I’m planning on enjoying myself.” Connor pulled a phone from his pocket. “Selfie?” he asked as he gently put down his brandy glass next to the ashtray on the side table.
“Those aren’t allowed. The first rule of the Sphinx Society is no pictures.” Just as she’d finished her sentence, he clicked a photo of her.
“Give me that!” she cried, and lunged for the phone, but missed. He held it aloft, and when she got close enough, he clicked a picture of them together. “Stop that.” She lunged again, but he once again kept the phone out of her reach.
“Why do you care? I’ve got many more pictures. Of former presidents, actresses, pop stars. You name it. Most of them are still recognizable even beneath their masks.”
“That’s against the rules.” Asha knew Durand wouldn’t like it. Rich and powerful people didn’t go to secret balls if they wanted their identities known. Durand would most certainly not like it. Not one bit.
“You can’t do that,” she said.
“Why not?” Connor snapped off his mask, that cocky grin plastered on his face. She noticed for the first time his nose was crooked and wondered why she’d missed the flaw before. “Why do you care?”
“Just give me that phone.” She stretched forward. He held the phone to his chest.
“Take a real picture with me, and I will.” Asha considered this. If she took the picture, then maybe she’d get the phone. And she could delete that one...and all the rest while she was at it.
“Fine,” she managed, and she leaned in and smiled, as he clicked a selfie of the two of them together. “Okay, give the phone to me.” She held out her hand.
“Give me a kiss first,” he demanded.
The nerve. He was the last person on earth she wanted to kiss.
“I absolutely will n—” But Connor had grabbed her wrist and yanked her into his lap, laying a wet kiss on her mouth against her will. She struggled against him, but he held her in a vise grip, his tongue lapping at her closed mouth. How had she ever thought he was even remotely sexy? He kissed like a dead fish. Plus, he was a jerk. What he was doing was technically assault. She squirmed, but he held her fast, and as she worked to free herself, she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Am I interrupting?” The French accent was unmistakable, and she knew even as she freed her lips from Connor’s who she would find when she turned and scrambled off Connor’s lap.
Durand was standing just a few feet from the chair, his face looking like he was only barely restraining his temper, his blue eyes flashing fire and retribution.
“Durand,” she managed, realizing from the anger in his eyes that from his perspective on the other side of the chair, it probably looked like she wanted to be on Connor’s lap. Not that she went there against her will. “This...this isn’t what you think.”
Durand didn’t look at her. He kept his focus on Connor. “You’re trespassing,” Durand said, voice low and lethal. She could tell his whole body was tense, every muscle ready to spring to life.
“I’m enjoying a brandy in the smoking room of one of my favorite hotels,” Connor said, crossing one leg casually over the other. “And I’m a guest here, so, no, I’m not trespassing.”
A muscle at the side of Durand’s jaw twitched.
“You should go, Connor,” Asha warned him. “Why make a scene for your publicist? Don’t you have a premiere to worry about?”
“Yes, it would be a shame if your publicity photos were marred with a black eye,” Durand added dryly. But his face said he was deadly serious. Asha glanced at Connor and then back at Durand, both men frozen in some kind of primitive staring contest. Connor blinked first. Of course he would. He wasn’t half the man Durand was.
“This room is getting too crowded for me, anyway.” He stared at Durand. “Enjoy your party.” He grabbed his brandy glass and then nodded at Asha. “Good to see you again, Asha. If you get lonely later, feel free to come see me in my room. I’m in 305.”
Durand’s nostrils flared just a bit, his eyes on fire, but he managed to keep his hands still by his sides, Asha noticed.
Durand cursed in French, beneath his breath, but Connor ignored the remark as he left the room, closing the big oak door behind him. He was just out the door when Durand exploded.
“What were you doing kissing that man?”
“I wasn’t. I was fighting him off.” She crossed her arms and turned her back to him. Durand grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him.
“What do you mean?”
“He forced me into his lap. That’s what. I was trying to fight him off.” She clenched her teeth. “That’s more than I can say for you and the nearly naked what’s-her-face.”
Durand stopped then, dropping his hand from her arm. “What do you mean?”
“I saw you. The Nordic beauty in the expensive lingerie? Waiting for you in the office near the kitchen? You seemed to go more than willingly. And you were the one who talked of me being faithful.”
“I didn’t touch Princess Lilly.”
“No? Not what your assistant told me.”
Durand blew out a frustrated breath and turned, running both hands through his hair. “You cannot trust what she says.”
Asha knew this was true. But she’d seen Durand go into that room with her own eyes.
“Why do you still keep her around? She’s gone behind your back twice now, and she should’ve been fired ages ago.”
“She’s worked for me for years. It’s complicated.”
“Right. Maybe you have feelings for her, too.” Asha snapped off her own mask and threw it on the ground. “Maybe I’m wasting my time and I should just go up and be with Connor.”
Durand laughed, a growl. “You mean to make me jealous?”
“No,” Asha lied, searching Durand’s blue eyes, her heart hammering in her chest.
“You do.” He took a step closer to her and she could smell him: the clean fresh scent of his hair pomade. He reached out and touched her wrist, and she felt the heat in the touch.
“I don’t care if you’re jealous.”
“You lie, ma chère.” He pulled her close now, her heart thumping as he pressed her body against his. “I can feel you lie. Just like I can feel your want.” He pressed his hand against her bare lower back. “It’s like a perfume, calling to me,” he whispered in her ear.
“No,” she lied again, trying to resist him, but his hands, the smell of him, his strength, they all tempted her. His hands teased her with the promise of what they could do to her if she let them.
“Admit to me that you want to make me jealous,” he said, tightening his grip. He laid a gentle kiss on her bare neck, and a shiver ran down her spine.
“Why?” she asked, hoping to sound strong, but it came out a croak, a weakened plea.
“Because you care for me. Admit it.” He traced her lower spine with his finger, dipping to the edge of the fabric draped against her lower back.
“Yes,” she managed in a low whisper.
“Tell me that you do not care for Connor Henry. That he bores you.”
She glanced up at him. “He bores me,” she said truthfully, as Durand studied her eyes. In that moment, she knew he was jealous, that Connor had gotten to him. Interesting. It was a fact she could use later, once her senses returned, if they returned. Right now all she could focus on was Durand’s gentle touch
on her bare back.
“Tell me you will never have him in your bed. Promise me.” Durand pressed against her lower back.
“Why?” she breathed, their lips close enough to touch. She glanced up at his blue eyes, ablaze with jealousy.
“Because you belong to me.”
Asha laughed, though the merriment died in her throat. “And do you belong to me, as well? Or will you be fucking the next princess who offers herself up to you?”
“I do not want anyone else. I did not touch that woman. Nor do I want to touch any other woman.”
“And I don’t want any other man.”
Then, he covered her mouth with his, and all her thoughts shattered into a million pieces. All she could think about were his lips on hers, his tongue lashing her own. How clumsy Connor had been, how unskilled. Not like Durand, who took her breath away, who made her knees weak with want. She pressed her body against him, and he clutched her closer, his hand roaming down the snug lines of her dress. His hands found the backless drape of the dress, and then they were inside her dress, against her bare bottom, cupping her, owning her.
“You are bare,” he whispered, voice thick with want.
“A panty line would ruin the effect,” she murmured back. Her dress was so thin and tight that she wore nothing beneath. Even the thinnest thong would show through. Plus, she realized, she’d planned for just this moment, had wanted to surprise Durand, give him a naughty little gift.
She clutched his neck, kissing him with a ferocity she didn’t know she had, as he walked her backward. She went, and suddenly her back was against the smooth wall, as he lifted her knee up, pressing fully against her. He devoured her mouth and she wasn’t sure where he ended and she began, all her thoughts on his talented tongue, his wet mouth. A desire, stronger than any she’d ever felt before, rose in her belly. She wanted him. No, she needed him. She needed him now.
Yet, would he break his own rules? After all, sex was not allowed at one of his parties. Absolutely against Sphinx Society rules. What would his rich and powerful members think?
Then, she heard the zip of his fly and knew he needed her as much as she needed him. He yanked on her skirt and suddenly it was at her waist, the cool air on her bare thighs. She barely registered the fact they were still in public, that anyone could open the door to the smoking room and waltz right in, seeing them as they were. But she didn’t care. All she wanted was to be filled by him, now, owned by him right here in the small smoking room of this hotel. His very party guests right outside the unlocked door.
“I want you to be mine,” he told her, his eyes hot with want.
“I’m yours,” she managed, eyes flicking back and forth between his, just as he entered her, fully, completely, making her gasp with the shock of it. Her body accommodated him gladly, and she had no thought of anything else but him. His body, his cock, his mouth. She wanted it all, and she wanted it now. Her breath came hard as the wall beneath her back absorbed each and every one of his urgent thrusts, and she didn’t care. He held her against the wall, deliciously pinned. She’d never been so reckless before, never had sex in a public place, as her heart raced with the naughtiness of it. Her climax was building in her before she could think to stop it, and as he took her, quick and hard, she found herself tumbling over the edge, into the pool of pure pleasure, biting her lip to hold back her cry. Durand came too, then, fast and hard and hot, burying his face in her neck.
The door creaked open then. “Excuse me, Monsieur Durand.” Madelyn stood at the doorway, tablet in hand.
Durand withdrew quickly, zipping himself up. Asha pulled down her dress but not quickly enough. Madelyn had seen most everything, she assumed. She stared at Asha with a blank, unreadable face. A dark strand of hair fell into Asha’s face and she pushed it back quickly, even as she pressed her sticky thighs together.
“What do you want, Madelyn?” Durand growled, protective, almost, as he put his body in front of Asha’s.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but it’s Mr. Henry. He took pictures of the guests.”
“He what?” Durand adjusted his tie and scowled. “Did you call security?”
Madelyn nodded. “They’ve escorted him out now. But...”
“But what?” Durand’s voice was annoyed, brittle.
“He sent Asha the photo. She’s posted it on one of her social media accounts.” Madelyn lifted her tablet and a photo of Asha and Connor came up. The one he’d taken when she’d been trying to take the camera from him. From that vantage point, it looked, of course, as if she was happy to pose with the man.
“I didn’t post that,” Asha said, taken aback. Somehow he had hacked her account.
“Is that you in the picture?” Durand demanded.
“Yes, but...” But she was trying to get the camera. She was trying to help. And she’d never planned to post anything like that. Ever.
“Was this your plan all along? Did you just want to boost your own profile?” He glared at the account online. “You have already many thousands of likes.”
His words felt like a cold spike through Asha’s chest. How could he accuse her of that? This wasn’t a ploy. This had never been a ploy.
“Were you and Connor even broken up?”
How could he ask that? Of course she didn’t care about Connor Henry. How could she after being so fully possessed, fully pleasured by Mathis Durand? The two men weren’t even in the same category. Plus, she wasn’t in love with Connor Henry. Never had been. Why couldn’t Durand see the difference?
“I am not working with Connor. How can you even think that?”
“I’m afraid I don’t think that’s true,” Madelyn said softly, as her attention darted from Durand to Asha and back again. She swiped to another picture. “Connor just posted a new one.” Madelyn showed the new picture then, one of Durand and Asha kissing, him pressing her against the wall. No nudity was present, but it was implied. The tag line beneath the photo read, “The host and his secret sex party?”
Durand cursed in French, and Asha could feel his anger, his rage.
“You planned this?” he managed, his blazing.
“No. Of course not!” How could she know that Connor would take such a picture? “I don’t want that out any more than you do!” Her face grew hot. She imagined all the comments people would make, how it was probably spreading on every social media platform already.
“You were kissing him when I came in,” Durand said, his suspicion clear on his face.
“He forced me. I didn’t want to kiss him,” Asha said, almost sputtering, feeling as if she were completely on her back foot, helpless against the onslaught of allegations, except that she knew she was innocent. She knew that as outlandish as it sounded, she’d been framed.
Durand paused, as if trying to work out whether to believe her or not. But he should automatically believe her. If they had anything like a real relationship, he shouldn’t doubt her. Not like this.
“I didn’t do this,” she managed. “You have to believe me.”
“Why? You haven’t been honest with me. About your feelings. About your true aims.”
“What do you mean?” Asha didn’t understand.
“You played me all along. All you wanted was to increase your profile. Your followers. You never cared about me. About us.”
“That’s not true. It’s not. You know it’s not.” Asha grabbed his elbow, but he shook her off, his eyes ablaze with anger, with betrayal. He truly believed she’d plotted against him. But how could he believe this? Did he not know her? “You can’t believe this of me. I thought you loved me.”
“I loved the woman I believed you were,” Durand said. “I thought you were better than this. I thought I knew you, but it turns out, you are just like the reputation you fight so hard against. You’re just out for yourself, and no one else.”
A small, triumphant little smile b
roke on Madelyn’s face. Asha saw then that she’d lost. Whatever she thought she’d had with Durand wasn’t at all what she thought.
The insult felt like a shard of glass lodging itself into her chest. “You can’t believe that.”
“We’re done, Asha. C’est fini.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A WEEK LATER, Asha sat in her father’s huge office in his massive Cloud headquarters in Seattle and wondered what had happened. She’d asked a few of her contacts in the building if they’d figure out how her social media account had been hacked. She’d changed her password since, and had had no other problems, but she wondered how those pictures had managed to get there in the first place. She’d never betray Durand like that. She hadn’t even cared about her social media presence since the two had met. She’d been too busy obsessing over Durand himself to even worry about what her follower count had managed to tick up to this week.
She stared out of her father’s windowed office, to the gorgeous view of Puget Sound. A single seagull flew by, white wings outspread, and the sun glistened off the calm blue water. Her father came into his office then, his salt-and-pepper hair combed back from his forehead, wearing his company’s casual wear of a logoed polo and jeans.
“Asha! What are you doing here?” He opened his arms wide, and she went into them, suddenly feeling emotion choke her.
“I wanted to see you,” she said, hugging her father, leaning into the secure feeling of his strong arms around her. Even if they didn’t agree on her career path, she still needed him. Her father hugged her back and then slowly released her, stepping back and studying her face.
“Does this mean you’ll finally take over the company?” He looked so hopeful, but she’d have to dash his desires.
“No, Dad. I’m afraid not.”
He looked disappointed for a moment, but then recovered. “I’ll never get you to take over the company, will I?”
She shook her head. “No, you won’t. But you’ll always be my dad. And I need you.” His face softened a bit.
“Come on, have a seat. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Masquerade Page 14