Good Girl's Bad Lessons

by Carmen Falcone

  And she’d never know what it was like to have anal sex.

  She doubted Simon would want to do it, and if he never got back with her—it’d take a lot of trust to try it with another guy. Besides, she’d read in a women’s magazine it could be painful with the wrong partner. Nico had a lot of issues, but in the bedroom he was definitely the right partner for pretty much anything.

  A frisson moved through her body. After she’d left the shop, he’d asked the store manager to have their items delivered to their hotel, and then he’d followed her. When the attendant had brought a brown paper bag and given it to him, she’d become flustered, because she knew her naughty stuff was in there.

  “Are you okay, Emma?” he asked from behind.

  She shifted in the chair to find him impeccably dressed in slacks and shirt, topped with a light gray jacket. She swallowed the lump of frustrated desire in her throat and loosened her grip on the brush. “Are you ready?”

  He stood a little straighter. “Yes. Ready to go get what’s mine.”

  Emma acquiesced and felt jealous of how possessive he was over the property. A property that could kick her in the ass at the end of the day—and not in the way she expected.

  Chapter Ten

  “How beautiful,” Emma said, as he made his way past the entry gate, where he’d given his name to a security guard at the front.

  He’d recognized the tall white walls from afar, and now he drove through them, following the long, curving driveway leading to the house. His heart rate spiked at the sight of the tall tree where once there’d been a swing.

  A sad smile formed on his lips. Desmorais had kept most of the garden his mother had so carefully planted. Some of the plants he remembered had turned into bushes, the colorful plethora of flora managing to distract him from his anxiety.

  He parked in an area in front of the wraparound wood-floored terrace, and the memory of running away from bath time invaded him so vividly, it could be a scene unraveling in front of him. He’d promised himself he’d buy back the home his mother had loved and cared for. She’d told him once that this place had a way of bringing her to peace with herself. Why couldn’t it do the same for him?

  Emma placed her hand on his leg and squeezed it. “I can see why you went through these lengths to come here and have the opportunity to buy this place. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. I’ve seen pictures, but they don’t do the real thing justice.”

  He turned off the ignition and stroked her cheek. Zaine and Marco had recognized his dream, but Nico suspected both of them didn’t really consider it worth pursuing. A measure of relief trickled down his spine. Emma could see his need, his want, and somewhat supported him even without knowing the full story. Supported him enough to accompany him on this trip, even if by doing so, she could turn off Desmorais from keeping her on his payroll. “Thank you.”

  Hustling out of the car, he mentally braced himself. When he opened the door for her, she took his breath away. He’d had a hard time keeping his hands off her lovely body, which made for an extra-long cold shower that morning. But after the pain he’d caused her, he decided not to push for sex until she demanded it. Delayed gratification would be good for both of them.

  He closed the door and stuck out his hand. She took it in hers, threaded their fingers, and a spark shot up his arm. Of course walking in like this would help brand them as a team. A couple—wasn’t that what Desmorais expected?

  Before they knocked on the heavy front door, a woman in her thirties with a dark complexion swung it open. She spoke in fast French, and Emma quickly greeted her with her easy attitude. The woman smiled, glancing at him before talking to Emma again.

  She brought them to the living room, and with a sentence or two, left them.

  Nico scanned the space, studying the dark wood furniture accented with lots of white, including a long Persian rug under the coffee table. He didn’t remember every detail about the furniture from way back when they’d owned the house, but it looked nothing like this. Many books stacked the shelves, and there was no TV or any sign of an entertainment system. Interesting.

  A collection of sparkling crystal rocks crowded a console table, and Nico touched one of them. His mother had always loved crystals, another one of her beliefs that never panned out—that they calmed her down. Once, he’d saved his allowance to buy her a turquoise quartz.

  A clearing of a throat made him put it back on the table, and he spun around.

  Desmorais joined them in the living area, wearing a pristine white shirt and dark gray pants. A couple of dogs tagged along, small furry things wagging their tails and breathing loudly, excited.

  He gave Emma a hug, and she embraced him back, and soon, she was speaking in French and bending down to play with his dogs.

  Nico erased the distance between them, resolute in not letting the misunderstanding of the other night kill his chances. Hell, he’d come this far. “Thank you for having us, Monsieur Desmorais. Merci,” he added, one of the few words he mastered in Angele’s native language.

  “You’re welcome,” Desmorais said in a thick French accent. “Alors, have a seat.”

  Desmorais sat in a big chair, while Emma remained on the floor, playing with the pups. Nico sat on the leather sofa across from the man who literally held the key to his happiness. Well, perhaps not happiness, but buying back the house that was taken from him—hell, from them—would give him a sense of closure and an amount of joy he could only dream of. Moments he’d shared with Emma popped into his head, when he’d experienced happiness, moments that’d come to an end. He curled his fingers into a ball, angry at himself for the mental distraction, then uncurled them.

  “Have you enjoyed Port Louis?” Desmorais asked, regarding Emma.

  “We have. Nico has been so amazing, showing me everything. We saw the dolphins yesterday, and I’ve almost convinced him to smuggle one of them home for me.” She petted the head of the dog in her lap, and the animal closed his eyes, soaking in the caress. Lucky bastard.

  “They’re incredibly smart, beautiful animals,” Nico said, determined to be part of the conversation.

  Desmorais finally tilted his head in his direction, sizing him up. Did he remember what he’d said about lapdogs at the function? Nico hated this job interview vibe. Damn it, he was a billionaire—hadn’t Desmorais heard of him before? Didn’t he feel compelled to ask him a single question about the American business world? The stock market?

  A third dog joined the trio, this one a white and brown Chihuahua mix. He took to Emma quickly, licking her cheeks as she spoke to him in a sweet voice that almost made Nico jealous.

  “This one’s so cute. What’s his name?” Emma asked, while the little guy rubbed himself on her lap.

  “He doesn’t have a name yet. We rescued him from the beach a few days ago.”

  Nico had seen stray dogs in the capital, and knew that unlike the U.S., where a lot of shelters and rescue groups took in and worked hard to help stray dogs and cats, the Mauritius government didn’t offer this type of support. Unclaimed dogs in public places were seen as a nuisance. “What’s the plan? Do you adopt them or intermediate?”

  “I’ve found several dogs and kept them, many of them in dire condition,” Desmorais said, sadness flickering in his eyes. “I’m not getting any younger, and I try to get as many as I can adopted. I like to rehabilitate them and find them safe, good homes.”

  “That’s really nice of you. Makes me mad when dirtbags are mean to these sweet creatures,” she said, kissing the top of the dog’s head. The little guy responded with an excited bark. “You’re really making a difference, Desmorais. I know you don’t need my approval, but I’m so proud of you,” Emma said, emotion leaking into her voice.

  “Merci.”

  Desmorais’s shoulders relaxed, and he flashed an affectionate look at Emma. Nico scratched his chin. Didn’t seem like the man had a crush on her, more of an older man type affection. Either way, it made a strand of jealousy pump in his vein
s, hot and thick.

  Eyes on the prize, he told himself. Emma was smart and had worked with him in the past, and was no doubt being super sweet to lower his defenses for Nico’s benefit.

  “The garden’s incredible,” Nico said. By the end of the lunch he had to seize the opportunity and make him an offer, but he also needed to get on Desmorais’s good side quickly. And learn more about him, whatever his corporate investigator hadn’t been able to. Of course Desmorais already suspected he’d make an offer—the elephant in the room. “Do you live here full time? I understand you own other properties on the island and in France.”

  “Yes, I do. I like it here; it’s peaceful.”

  Shit. Nico stared into his eyes and held. He smiled. “Yes it is. At some point, I’d love a tour if that’s okay with you. I don’t know if you’re aware, but long ago my family owned this property, and I used to come here often from Italy.”

  Desmorais paused.

  His assistant reappeared carrying a tray with three mugs of what looked like tea. Carefully, Desmorais leaned and grabbed one of them, thanking her in French, then glanced at the contents inside the mug.

  Emma peered at Nico before taking her own tea and bringing it to her lips.

  He needed a much stiffer drink than that. Maybe Desmorais hadn’t answered right away because he’d heard about his family’s tragedy and didn’t know how to respond. After all, how could he not? His mother had committed suicide, and his father turned into a functioning alcoholic. Ashamed, he and Marco had left for the United States after high school, to secure as much distance from their father as possible.

  “I can show you around,” Desmorais said. “Soon.”

  “I appreciate that, thanks.” Nico reached for the mug and took a drink of the tea. A sense of purpose filled him. What if he used his sob story to get Desmorais to sell him the property? A shameless dirty trick, sure, but if it worked, why not? Didn’t Emma complain he never told her much? Nico rocked back on the sofa. She’d better be ready for what’s coming. Maybe he’d screw her rapport with Desmorais after all was said and done. But fuck, he’d come too far to retreat.

  Retreating had never been an option.

  …

  “More?” the cook asked, after dashing out of the kitchen to receive the compliments.

  “No, thank you,” Emma said in French. “Lunch was perfect. I may need a crash diet after eating so much. Seriously,” she said, earning a smile from the short man in his forties. Desmorais joined in on the fun and smiled.

  Lunch had been interesting, with them talking about Mauritius’s lifestyle and economy. Nico had done his homework; he was a successful businessman, after all, and had asked questions to engage Desmorais and keep him speaking to him. She chimed in whenever needed, but let Nico be the ringmaster as much as possible.

  Still, tension stiffened her shoulders. Desmorais was hard to read. She’d almost expected him to mention the sanctuary project when they discussed his love of dogs, but he’d been tight-lipped about the subject, so she followed his lead. When she translated business dealings, he always held a damn good poker face until the last minute. So, besides his apparent acquiescence, there was a strong chance he wouldn’t give up the place he loved for any amount of money in the world.

  Could she blame him? She loved her childhood home, and when her mother decided to downsize after the kids were up and out, she’d missed it terribly. If she had been rich, she’d probably have bought it for some stupid sentimental reason, too. Because that had been the house her father had lived in. Her heart squeezed for a moment. Nico wasn’t so crazy after all, with his hell-bent need to buy this place.

  A part of her tensed up, because she didn’t want him to suffer with bad news. I’m such an idiot. He’d spelled out his not wanting any kind of attachment and here she was worried about the outcome for his sake. Besides, if Desmorais learned she’d told Nico about the sanctuary and brought him here to annoy him as he tried to buy the one property Desmorais probably would never part with…there was a good chance Desmorais would consider her unethical. She’d always prided in excelling at customer relations and now—

  “How about that tour?” Desmorais asked, and Nico stood immediately.

  She slapped her forehead. Oh, the poor bastard. He wanted this so badly. Nico pulled out her chair and she rose to her feet, giving his hand a quick squeeze.

  Soon, Desmorais took them on a stroll through the immense property, taking them to the second floor, where most of the rooms were located. She appreciated the airy, open floor plan allowing lots of natural lighting through the colonial-type blinds and large glass windows.

  A glint hit Nico’s eyes and remained there as he walked alongside Desmorais. She paid more attention to his reaction than the extraordinary décor of the house—if a little extravagant for her taste.

  “May I?” Nico asked in front of one room with the door closed.

  Desmorais shrugged. “Of course. Why don’t you reminisce? I’ll be waiting in the backyard. Take your time.”

  Desmorais marched out of sight, and she heard him going down the stairs. Nico opened the door and entered the room she imagined had been his in the past. She inhaled and entered the space without asking him if he wanted her there. This time, she wasn’t going to give him an option.

  “Hey,” she whispered softly.

  A nicely made bed occupied the corner, with two nightstands, one on each side. A vintage-looking dresser and a white armoire completed the furniture, and a couple of landscape pictures adorned the walls. This could easily pass for a hotel room, yet judging from the emotion in his eyes, it’d meant so much more.

  “What did it use to be?” she asked, unable to tame her curiosity any longer.

  He touched the armoire, playing with the small handle then opening it. What did he expect to find?

  “A playroom. We spent a lot of our time here.”

  “Nice.”

  “My mom had picked bold colors, not a common thing back then, and painted the walls herself. She’d made rainbows and clouds,” he said, his voice wavering. He perched his hands on his waist and studied the place.

  She stood by his side. His eyes seemed glossy, sad.

  Her fingers tingled to touch him, to squeeze his shoulders or stroke his forearm. If she did, he’d retreat. So she remained still and silent, hoping her nonverbal support would prompt him to continue his reminiscing.

  His long sigh filled the air. He paced the space in a small circle, a veneer of vulnerability uncharacteristic to him washing over his face and hardening the lines on his forehead. “Do you think he’ll sell?”

  Her heart shrank, and she inhaled. “I’ll do whatever I can to make sure he’ll consider it, but I don’t know.” She could lie and be all positive, but he didn’t need bullshitting right now.

  He kissed her cheek, his lips brushing her skin. “Thank you, Emma.”

  She let out her breath in small gasps. “What for?”

  “For coming with me, all this way.”

  Her stomach curled, a part of her wanting to go with him all the way. Anywhere he wanted. She wished she were alone so she could slap herself back into reality. Damn it, Emma, this man isn’t for you. Snap out of it.

  She cleared her throat and stepped back, needing some distance from him just as much as she needed his body on her. “I’m glad I came.”

  He inched closer, crowding her personal space with his warmth and masculinity. His eyes fixed on hers. Every shred of sanity threatened to desert her like a sinking ship. Her chest rose and fell, and lust roared through her.

  His gaze dropped to her lips, and she licked them. “Emma…” he said in a growly voice.

  “I want you,” she said. “I missed you touching me last night.”

  She lifted her chin, proud of herself for speaking her mind even if that opened the door to a world of disappointment. “Was it a lesson?” she asked, cowardly backpedaling to the safety net she needed if she wanted to get out of their deal with her heart unsc
athed.

  “Always tell your partner what you want.”

  “Do I get any rewards?”

  He leaned down, lowered his mouth close to her ear. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and she suppressed a squeal. “Tonight, we’ll have a lot of fun with your amazing ass.”

  A tingle formed in her clit and spread across her pussy. “Do we have to wait?”

  His eyes glittered. “It’ll be worth it.”

  No kidding. She shook her head and withdrew from him to keep from jumping his bones in Desmorais’s residence. “I think we should—”

  He gestured for her to walk ahead of him, and she exited the room.

  If he didn’t secure a deal, he’d bring a bunch of pent-up energy to their lovemaking. If he secured the sale of the house, he’d want to celebrate. Either way, he’d be popping her ass cherry later. And for that, she couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Isn’t this lovely?” Emma twirled in the middle of the acre-long backyard.

  Desmorais had shown them the spacious area, where a nice table had been set with dessert and coffee. Nico hadn’t had the stomach to taste the delicious looking pastries; he’d gone straight for a cup of black coffee. He’d made small talk, but now the time had come to get down to business.

  “What are these called?” She pointed at a tall tree with striking white bell flowers.

  “Bois dentelle,” he and Desmorais said in unison, exchanging a glance.

  “Incredibly rare,” he said. “I’m surprised you’ve kept it,” he said to Desmorais.

  He sighed. “It wasn’t easy, but worth it.”

  Emma picked up and held the little nameless dog from earlier like a baby. The pet shifted in her arms, offering her his belly in an act of complete surrender. Nico couldn’t blame him; he’d felt her soft hands on him, and according to their plans, would feel them again later. Restless, he stood from the wooden bench.