Dim the Lights: Islands of DesireLiquid ChocolateHer Wild and Sexy Nights

by Lindsay Evans

  “Put it on,” he said. “I want to see it on you.”

  That’s when she noticed the second hanger behind the first. It had a bustier made up of the finest white lace she’d ever seen and matching boy shorts made of the same material. “And you got the underwear, too?” She shook her head. “I really don’t think I can accept this. Or at least let me pay the taxes on it. I mean, there’s no prize package in the world that would cover the taxes, too…”

  He came over to her and took the dress away from her. He put it on the closet hook, then turned back to face her. He then untied the hotel robe she’d put on after her own shower, exposing the full length of her naked body to his hooded eyes.

  “This is why I took over at Tourdin,” he said. He palmed her naked breasts with his large hands before slipping the robe off her shoulders. “You’re the sort never buys anything for herself.”

  He took the boy shorts off their hanger. “And I’m the sort that won’t let that stand.”

  He held out the lace underwear at her thigh line. “Step in.”

  She stepped in, putting a hand on his shoulder to maintain her balance as she did. “Seriously, I don’t need you to help me get dressed. I was just saying…”

  He let his hand skim over the V shape between her legs, an errant finger dipping into her tunnel. “I know what you were ‘just saying,’” he said, sliding his finger in and out of her on each word.

  He then took his hand away and pulled the delicate boy shorts up and over her butt before turning her around toward the room’s mirror so that he could put on the matching bustier.

  As he connected the hooks, she could feel his erection through his towel and heavy against her back. But after he was finished, he merely turned away from her and took the dress off its hanger and unzipped it.

  “Step in,” he said again.

  She did as she was told, but she was disappointed when he simply pulled the cocktail dress up her body without any further intimate touches.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  She did, and she heard him walk away and open a nearby drawer. He quickly came back and clasped something around her neck.

  “Open your eyes,” he said.

  This time her gasp was audible. The necklace swimming in multicolored jewels fell all the way to her cleavage. It was less a necklace and more of a statement piece. Colored glass meant to dazzle. There was no way the green jewels could be emeralds, the blue jewels sapphires and so on. But even as a well-designed piece of costume jewelry, the necklace was no less stunning than it would have been if it had been the real thing. She could only gape at her image in the mirror.

  Her speechless reaction seemed to please him, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Got it from the shop downstairs. Don’t ask me how much it cost. This is our last night together. Let me give this to you.”

  Maybe it was because she had never in her life seen a necklace so beautiful, or because he was right, it was their last night together and she didn’t want to spend it arguing his questionable spending habits. For whatever reason, she put her accounting brain aside and said a simple, “Thank you.”

  He turned her around in his arms, but before he could kiss her, she stiffened.

  “What?” he asked.

  She grimaced. “There’s no way I’m going to get away with wearing Tevas with this dress.”

  It seemed that everything was easily acquired in Paris. A pair of black Louboutins in her size arrived in the room just a few minutes later. He gave her a warning look when she saw the label, and she didn’t argue. She just put them on and swore to herself that she’d look up how much they cost, then go downstairs early tomorrow morning and discreetly pay for the shoes, the necklace and anything else he had tacked on to the room bill. It was the least she could do considering how generous he’d been about sharing his prize winnings with her. And who knew how much he had paid in taxes on the dress and whatever he’d had sent to her condo back in California.

  Still, she had to wonder after he got dressed in a tuxedo that fit him to a T—she could only hope he’d rented it—just where he was taking her.

  “This restaurant you made reservations at, it’s so fancy you have to wear a tuxedo?” she asked him in the elevator as they made their way down to the car.

  “Yep, that’s what the prize package said.”

  “What’s the restaurant called again? Maybe I ran across it in my guide book.”

  “The Third Level.”

  “Hmm, never heard of it.”

  He shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ll see if it’s worth all the fuss when we get there, right?”

  Fewer than fifteen minutes later, Kayla’s chin nearly hit the floor. They were standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

  “I told you I’d make it up to you,” he said with a grin.

  After a ride in two brightly colored hydraulic elevators with exposed wheelworks, she found out “The Third Level” was actually the third observation platform at the top of the tower. People came from all over the world to see Paris from the tower’s highest observation deck, but tonight it had been closed off to the public. A table set for two awaited them, with the most stunning view of Paris in the background.

  And that was when the last doubt left Kayla’s mind. European prize packages beat American ones every day of the week.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The look on Kayla’s face when he sat down across from her at the private observation deck table was worth everything he’d had to do over the past twenty-four hours to make this happen on such short notice. Including the one he knew his agent, Gerald, would be none-to-happy about.

  A Bristol United player could not get a private table set up on the Eiffel Tower’s most popular observation deck. But as a future member of the Paris L’élite, the city was his to do with as he pleased.

  “Are you serious?” Kayla said as soon as the maître d’ who had seated them disappeared behind the observation deck’s wood-and-glass doors. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I told you I don’t kid,” he answered.

  “I know but this is…” She suddenly reached across the table and grabbed his hand. There were tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t cry, baby,” he said, reversing the hold and enclosing her hand in both of his. “You deserve it.”

  “After I got on you about not coming to the Eiffel Tower with me, and all along you were planning this? I feel horrible.”

  So did Mick. He’d been throwing money at her all day in one way or another, yet it was doing nothing to assuage his guilt over continuing to lie to her. In fact, the more money he spent, the worse it became.

  He pasted on a neutral smile and pretended like he was enjoying himself as much as she was as they made their way through several courses. And by the time they were finishing up the dessert course and sipping their café au laits, he had almost started to buy his own act. That they were two middle-classers who both won first-class trips to the same city and happened to meet on the way there.

  “Just when I think this city can’t get any more beautiful, we get to see it like this. I love it here.” She looked away from the view, but he could still see the lights of Paris sparkling in her eyes when she said, “I love you.”

  His heart violently constricted in his chest upon hearing those words, then he completely flatlined.

  The close-to-death feeling must have registered on his face because she gave him an apologetic grimace. “I know it’s too soon. And I know we only just met each other. And I know that it’s impractical to feel this way since you’re leaving tomorrow and neither of us have the money in real life to be flying back and forth from London to L.A. all the time.”

  For a moment he couldn’t talk because so many words were stuck in his throat.

  But that s
eemed to make more words come spilling out of her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Really, I shouldn’t have said anything, just kept my feelings to myself. But this is the best time I’ve ever had in my whole life, and I couldn’t let you go home without telling you that.”

  Finally he was able to speak. “Don’t apologize to me ever again.”

  She blinked, obviously taken aback. “Okay,” she said carefully.

  “You’re always with the ‘I’m sorry’ and you’ve never done anything to be sorry about. Not one thing.”

  Her eyes melted. “Okay,” she said again.

  “And I love you, too.” The words he didn’t think would ever cross his lips easily slipped out. “Have felt that way since you showed up at me hotel, I think,” he added quietly, though he knew confessing this made him look like a romantic idiot.

  Her smile was nothing short of beatific. But then, she gave him yet another apologetic look. “In that case I’m going to have to break your ‘don’t apologize’ rule because now I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  For Mick, the sex they had that night felt like a living manifestation of their recently confessed love. Every touch sizzled with it; every kiss labeled it by name. Mick loved each of her breasts, suckling each in his mouth for minutes on end.

  He then moved down to the V shape between her legs, his mouth spelling out their love with every flick of his tongue until she came for him hard, pushing into his still-hungry mouth.

  “Where does Marcus the Wanker get off making you think you ain’t perfect?” he asked when he came back up to kiss her lips. “You know what you taste like, baby? Woman. Joy. Love. If my manhood wasn’t such a selfish bastard, I’d stay down there all night. Don’t laugh. You know I’m not joking.”

  Her laughter transformed into a soft gasp when he guided himself into her. She moaned, her hands finding his hips as he braced himself and established a rhythm.

  “Open your legs wider, baby. I want to go deeper.”

  She did as he said, her hands moving to his bottom. He groaned when he sank deeper into her. As her breasts bounced every time he thrust inside her, he had to fight to maintain control. He curled his back to take one of her beautiful breasts in his mouth, and she went wild underneath him, bucking and squirming, until she managed to babble a few words, telling him how good it felt, how she had never experienced anything like this before.

  The same was true for him, but he couldn’t have put words to his feelings if he tried. He wished crazy stuff, like that she wasn’t on birth control so that they could make a child together, a girl with her good nature and his athletic ability. He wished they could get married before she left, so that she’d have a reason to quit her job and come right back to France to be with him forever. He wished that they could defy the laws of physics, that he could sink deeper and deeper into her until they became one. He came then with a great yell, all of his wishes spilling out of his body and flooding into her. “I love you so much, baby,” he said.

  Somewhere in the distance he heard her say, “I love you, too,” and that made him drive his release into her even harder. He didn’t stop until he was totally spent.

  It took them both a long time to come down from that. They clung to each other for what felt like hours, whispering “I love you” back and forth. And even when they both started to chill from the accumulated sweat on both of their bodies, he didn’t let her go. He pulled the covers over them but kept her in his arms, tight against his chest, her legs trapped under his, so that she couldn’t possibly have moved even if she wanted to.

  “Mick?” she asked.

  “Yeah, baby,” he answered, hoping she didn’t ask him to let up on his hold. He didn’t know if he could, especially considering that this would be the last chance he’d have to hold her like this. Because tomorrow when he left for London, he’d be forced to tell her the truth. Who he was and how he’d been lying to her this entire time. This fantasy they had created together would all come crashing down around him.

  But then she said, “I know it’s hard to get unscheduled time off, but do you think you could stay? Just for a few more days? Until my trip is over?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mick woke up feeling like someone who’d been granted a stay of execution by the governor—even though Britain didn’t have political governors…or the death penalty. Her request for him to stay through her trip had effectively given him three more days. Three more days to figure out how to tell her who he really was. He’d have to figure out a way to make her agree to continuing their stay at the Paris Grand, where he wouldn’t be in constant threat of being mobbed by autograph seekers. And he’d have to figure out a good excuse for why he couldn’t go to any major landmarks. He had faith that Bruno and the president of the Paris L’élite club could continue to weave their magic, especially now that he would be an official member of the club starting in August. None of those obstacles mattered.

  But when Mick woke up in the bed that would be theirs for three more days, one thing was missing. Kayla. Her side of the bed was empty except for a note on the pillow beside him with 6:00 a.m. written in the corner. “Went down to the restaurant to grab some breakfast. Will probably be back before you get this.”

  He shook his head, guessing that she’d opted to make the trip herself rather than tack another room service charge on their bill. But then he frowned when he saw the time. 6:45. Why wasn’t she back yet?

  Mick could hear the shouting even before he reached the open entrance of the Paris Grand’s main restaurant. His heart dropped all the way into his stomach when he spotted Kayla arguing with Jacques.

  “Tell me!” she shouted. “Tell me the truth right now!”

  “Madame, please calm down,” Jacques said. “If you will just follow me, we can call Monsieur Attwater, and perhaps he can…”

  “Perhaps he can do what? Lie to me some more?”

  They argued underneath a flat-screen television, which was broadcasting a sports program. Mick quickly recognized the show as the same type of football highlights they showed in England. Except in the French version, the announcers were talking excitedly while a cartoon graphic of Mick wearing the Paris L’élite jersey and a mean scowl stood with arms folded at the bottom-right side of the screen. On the top-right side of the screen, video of him and Kayla ran on a loop. Him getting in the car outside of Kentucky, entering Je T’aime Tourdin. They even had a video of them giving each other a kiss as they left the Eiffel Tower.

  What had happened was immediately obvious. Someone had leaked the news of his agreeing to join the Paris team. And now this French sports program was discussing not only the highlights of his career, but also the mystery woman he’d been running all over Paris with.

  “Why would you help him do this to me? Did he pay you?” Kayla, who still hadn’t seen Mick, shouted at Jacques.

  Jacques looked poleaxed. “Madame, please. Do not make a scene. Come this way—”

  “Mick,” a voice called out from the cluster of tables in the middle of the restaurant. “Mick Attwater! Mick Attwater!”

  Suddenly nearly everybody in the restaurant was cheering, with quite a few French men chanting his name. But he could barely hear them.

  Everything had gotten quiet in his head as Kayla walked toward him, looking horrified and disoriented, like someone who had just witnessed a bombing.

  “Why are these people chanting your name?” she asked when she reached him. “And why is there video of me and you all over the TV?”

  “Kayla, let me explain. There’s been a misunderstanding between us from the beginning.”

  She shook her head, her eyes completely devoid of the love that had shone so clearly in them last night at the Eiffel Tower. “So when you told me you were an electrician, that was a misunderstanding?”

  “I said I came from a family of ele
ctricians. Never said I took that path meself.”

  “And when I told you explicitly that I would never want to date a sports star, that was a misunderstanding?”

  “I thought that if you got to know me…”

  “You thought that if I got to know you, I wouldn’t mind you lying to me from the very beginning? Because that’s what you did. There was never any prize package. You went out of your way to convince me you are someone you’re not. And apparently you even got the entire French soccer team to help you do it. All so you could get in my pants.”

  “Wasn’t the whole team, just the starting lineup,” he said because that was the only point he could really refute. Christ, this was getting out of hand. Kayla was looking at him like he was a murderer of small children. As he looked around he could see several phones in the air, a few that were probably set to video record.

  “But you lied to me,” she said. “Do you admit to lying to me from the beginning?”

  The utter disappointment in her eyes was so disheartening, he actually wanted to lie to her again. A thousand lies sprang to his mind, anything to keep her, to preserve what they had. He thought of how happy they had both been less than an hour ago, and desperation nearly overtook him.

  But in the end, he loved her too much to continue with his charade. “Yeah, I lied to you. I’ve been lying to you this whole time,” he admitted. He took her hand and brought it to his chest. He begged, “But, Kayla, I can explain. Come with me someplace private and I swear to you, I’ll explain everything.”

  She slapped him so hard that his face turned sideways. “Don’t touch me!” she whispered fiercely, yanking her hand out of his.

  She stormed past him. “Wait—you can’t leave,” he called after her, following her into the hotel’s main lobby. “What ’bout your suitcase? It’s still in my room.”

  “Keep it,” she said, swiping at her angry tears as she made her way to the lobby doors. “That’s what I should have said four days ago.”