You want this?
“Yes.” The word was said on a gasp as she rubbed her clit with the pads of her fingers.
Oh, baby...another lick, another suck, You’ve got the sweetest pussy. I can’t get enough...
Jasmine lifted her hips off the bed as her fingers penetrated her slick channel. The man in her fantasy looked up from what he was doing. Dark hair. Dark brows. A week-old beard. The bluest eyes.
This wasn’t the man from her fantasy.
It was Luca.
Her orgasm hit her like a rogue asteroid, knocking her out of orbit, shattering her as she pressed one hand on top of the other between her legs lest she literally explode.
* * *
Luca stood outside the door. The woman was moaning. In pain? Should he go in? He put his hand on the doorknob and was about to turn the handle when she cried out.
Then everything went quiet.
That was not good. He didn’t want to walk in to find her passed out. Or worse. He waited a few seconds before knocking.
“Jasmine? Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” she called in a high-pitched voice.
“Bien. I’ll wake you around midnight, okay?”
“Yes. Okay. Perfect. That’s good. Thank you.”
Luca’s hands lingered on the door before he moved to the bathroom to wash up. It was early, yet, for him, only nine thirty, but he should try to rest if he was going to rouse the woman every four hours.
“What else do you have to do?” he asked his reflection. “You’ve got two more weeks to wait before returning to work. You should be glad for the distraction.”
Distraction was fine, but this distraction was a little too...distracting.
He dried his face, the image of Jasmine’s naked back burned into his irises.
“She’ll be gone tomorrow,” he muttered, then he hung up the towel and turned the light off.
On his way to the living room, he paused outside her door, listening. No more moans. No more sounds. He hoped that meant all was well. He moved past and settled his frame onto the sofa, reaching for the laptop that sat on the coffee table. Like every night for the past week, he navigated the web to the Legrand website.
When Myra Monte took over the estate’s publicity, she convinced Luca to auction off one of three remaining bottles of the Legrand Goût des Rubis. The exclusive rosé blend had been commissioned for the marriage of Grace Kelly to Prince Rainier in 1956, and the bottle included a two-carat ruby in its label. While the bottles were meant to be passed down through the family, Luca had readily made the decision to give one up for the auction if it meant he could maintain control of the estate.
Already the international interest from collectors had been a distraction from Luca’s dishonor and prompted an uptick in champagne prices.
Luca entered a name into the search engine: Marcel Durand. He’d done the same thing every night for a week. Watching for any new article or item to show up. He creeped his social media pages and watched for any indication of the slimy eel Luca knew him to be. But, he had to admit, the guy knew how to keep his nose clean.
Luca could almost hear François’s voice telling him he could learn a thing or two from this young man.
Salaud! Bastard!
“Literally.” Luca ground his teeth.
He was just about to type in another search when he noticed something new. An announcement of Marcel’s engagement to Lydia Fournier—hmm...the name sounded familiar. Luca must have met her at one of the functions the company had held in the last eleven months. She was blonde and tall, almost as tall as Marcel, who stood beside her in the photo that had been posted in today’s paper. Luca skimmed the article, reading that she had been attending university in Madrid. Then he stopped reading.
So, Marcel was living a perfect life. That would end when Luca exposed him for what he was, though he still had no idea how to go about doing it.
Probably because it was difficult to make a move when he was in hiding, rarely going out during the day. Of course, today had been the exception. This morning, he’d gone for a long ride along the Loire River valley. Riding was the only thing that kept him sane.
But instead of sanity, what had he gotten? An American damsel in distress.
The polar opposite of sanity.
Worse, this damsel just happened to have gorgeous, thick hair, soul-melting eyes and the nicest ass he’d ever seen...
Luca pinched the bridge of his nose. He was a sucker for a beautiful woman in need. Wasn’t that how he’d met Anika? She’d had too much to drink during a party on a yacht. He’d held her hair while she got sick.
Without thinking about what he was doing—maybe it was a reminder of why not to get involved with the devil that was woman—Luca typed “Luca Legrand sex video” into the search engine.
Despite the fact that Luca’s team had had the video taken down—and wanted to take legal action against the original site that posted it—it had spent far too long online before he’d become aware of the situation and had it handled. Millions of viewers had seen it.
Merde.
And millions were still talking about it, if the current search results from blogs and gossip sites were any indication. Luca didn’t doubt the internet was rife with illegal copies that could still be viewed somewhere. The whole situation was a nightmare—one that felt impossible to contain. Some sadistic need to punish himself had him opening the original copy of the video and hitting the Play button. The video was dark and amateurish—because when he and Anika had made it, it was for their eyes only—but her face was clearly distinguishable. As was his as he tied her up, spread-eagled, to the bed. An act that took ultimate trust had been corrupted by exposure to the public.
Luca rubbed his forehead before exiting the video. He returned to the search results online and clicked on the first hit, then scrolled to the comments beneath the article. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. More figurative self-flagellation.
What an asshole.
Luca Legrand can tie me up anytime.
Anika deserves better than that sadistic pig.
He should be thrown in jail...
With a growl, he snapped the laptop lid closed, pushed the computer back onto the coffee table, got to his feet and paced the length of the small living room. What his surfing had confirmed for him was that he could not afford another scandal. He needed to get rid of the American woman first thing without her or anyone else finding out about his involvement.
He could drop her at the embassy—but she had no money and no one to vouch for her.
He could take her back to the street where the shop was to see if she would remember anything. Maybe her bag was still at the shop. Or, more likely, it was at the police station.
He opened the French doors onto the small balcony and went to stand at the rail, breathing in the night air, considering his options. The woman’s memory was faulty and she didn’t know his real name. Even if she tried to describe him to the police, what were the chances they’d find out it was him? He could vacate the flat, go somewhere else, maybe head south of the city to the villa he’d avoided for twelve years. Perhaps if he just dropped her off at the police station and then drove away...
No. The possibility that someone local would see him and recognize him was too much of a gamble. Once again, it was François’s voice in his head telling him it was too risky.
He leaned his elbows on the rail and gazed out.
Wait.
He stood up straight.
Maybe he should call François and get him to help. François was as intent on keeping things quiet as Luca was.
That wasn’t a bad idea.
Why hadn’t he thought to call the lawyer sooner? He’d do it first thing in the morning.
With the decision made, Luca went back inside and settled onto the sofa, his bed f
or the night. The ride and fresh air this morning had tired him out. Worrying about the woman had taken the last of his energy and he was tired. However, instead of sleep, images of Jasmine’s sweetly curved spine appeared behind his closed lids. Why he let his mind wander in that direction, he couldn’t say. Maybe because she’d be gone by morning.
Luca saw himself kneeling behind her, hands on either side of her sloped hips, his tongue tracing the indent of her spine at the top of her ass. Circling those delicate dimples, kissing high up on the globes of her cheeks.
Luca?
“Hmm?”
Will you kiss me? Please?
She turned herself around, presenting the front of herself. There was a silky patch of hair over her mound, so soft and glistening he had to stroke...with his cheek. “Where do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, gazing up at her.
Everywhere.
“It would be my pleasure,” he mumbled quietly.
“Luca?”
Luca’s eyes popped open. Jasmine was standing above him, gazing down at him with a—smirk?—on her face.
Fuck.
Sitting up quickly, Luca hoped to hide his raging erection from the woman who had caused it because she’d been starring in his fantasy only two seconds ago. “Jasmine?” He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and then winced. “I’m fine. But I was lying in bed...” For some reason her cheeks turned pink. “And... I...” Her gaze met his. Her eyes sparkled.
Jesus, was she psychic and able to read his mind? Did she know what he’d been fantasizing about?
“I think I remember what happened.”
CHAPTER SIX
SHE MUST HAVE woken him up. He’d sat up abruptly and looked startled by her appearance. Whatever he’d been dreaming about, it must have been good, based on the noticeable bulge behind the fly of his designer jeans. God, his girlfriend was one lucky woman, because that was one sizeable erection.
Hmm. Did he have a girlfriend?
Jasmine realized—with a start—that, first of all, she was staring at the man’s crotch, and second of all, she really didn’t know anything about him, other than that he drove a motorcycle and had had a concussion before.
“So, what do you remember?” he asked, looking as though he might stand but then thinking better of it. Jasmine hid her smile.
Who was she to judge? She’d been lying in bed totally fantasizing about him—in glorious detail—when out of nowhere a memory had surfaced. A quaint little shop on a narrow cobblestone street. A lamp. A scarf. And...a thief.
She’d been caught in a robbery.
It took her a few minutes to describe what she recalled while Luca listened carefully. “And what is the last thing you remember?”
“There was this man wearing a ski mask yelling at me in French. I didn’t understand and then he pushed me...” Her hand went to her temple. “Or maybe he hit me.” She frowned. “I kind of feel like he did both. Anyway, it’s foggy, but that’s the last thing I remember.” She sat down on the edge of the couch.
Luca nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry, Jasmine. The thief must have taken your bag in the robbery.”
“Yes. Probably.” She rested her elbows on her knees.
Luca stood and went into the kitchen. “Anyway,” he called, “I am happy that your memory is returning. Tomorrow, I’ll help you figure out the next steps. You should be back in your hotel and back to your regular life in no time.”
“Ye-es.” Jasmine drew out the one-syllable word.
“Get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy.” He gestured for her to return to the bedroom.
But Jasmine didn’t want to return to the bedroom. She didn’t want to waste what could be her one and only night with this enigmatic Frenchman by sleeping it away in his bed.
Alone.
Not to mention, she didn’t want to go back to her hotel. In her mind she had a flash of the suite: the high ceilings, sheer drapes, a wrought-iron balcony—the room only served to remind her of the fact she was not on her honeymoon and that she was in Paris.
Alone.
She eyed Luca from beneath her curtain of hair. What she really wanted to do was to get to know him more.
No, what you really want to do is to ask him to take your clothes off—slowly—and do terrible—wonderful—things to your body.
“You know,” Jasmine said, getting up and going to sit at the breakfast bar. The act of standing had made her feel light-headed all evening, but for some reason this time it didn’t. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? “I don’t actually feel that tired. I feel kind of...wired.”
“Wired? I don’t understand what that means.” Luca poured himself a glass of water.
“It means I feel the opposite of tired. Is that normal, with a concussion?”
Luca tilted his head to regard her. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Hmm. Weird.” Jasmine rested her elbows on the breakfast bar. “So, I gotta ask,” she began. “Does your girlfriend mind that you have a strange woman spending the night in your apartment?”
Luca blinked. “Girlfriend?”
“Yes.” She focused on her hands.
“Non. I’m not seeing anyone.”
Her head snapped up. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Huh.”
“What is this ‘huh’?”
“Nothing. I’m just surprised.” With a new boldness, Jasmine leaned across the breakfast bar, pulled Luca’s sweating glass toward her and drank from the same spot he had drunk from.
His eyes followed her. “Why?”
“Because.” She examined him from the corner of her eye. It seemed impossible that he was single. He was...well, what she knew of him was all positive. He was kind to strangers, for sure. He had the nicest hands—she couldn’t look at them without imagining them on her body. He filled out his clothes in all the right ways—she tilted her head to eye his crotch again. Very nice.
And then there were his eyes.
He had “I’m going to fuck you” eyes.
And she was here to say yes to those eyes.
But Jasmine wasn’t ready to say any of that, so instead, she shrugged, turned the glass on the wet spot it had created on the counter and said, “You just seem like a good person.”
He made a deep, guttural sound. “You don’t know me.”
Jasmine glanced up. “Are you saying you’re not a good person?”
Luca shook his head and poured himself a second glass of water. When he didn’t answer, Jasmine pushed herself to her feet and wandered into the living room, running her hands along the spartan bookshelves, pulling out copies of books—novels?—in French and a guide to Paris in English. She picked up an ornamental bowl made of alabaster and weighed it in her hands before setting it down again and moving on. What quickly became apparent was that there was not one personal item in this space. No photographs. No personal papers or keepsakes. No clutter. It was completely neutral.
She turned to Luca. “Who’s apartment is this?”
“It’s mine,” he said, though it sounded defensive. Even with the sexy French accent.
“No, it’s not.”
He cleared his throat. “It belongs to a friend of mine. It’s mine for now.”
Jasmine was just about to ask why he was staying at a friend’s place, when Luca answered the question for her.
“My girlfriend and I broke up six months ago. It wasn’t...amicable. I’ve been staying here since.” He turned his back so she couldn’t see his expression.
Was he angry? Heartbroken? Something else?
Hmm. Well, he was single and his explanation made sense. Her gaze swept the room once more and she spied his laptop sitting on the coffee table.
“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” She strode over and flipped it open.
<
br /> “Attendez!”
Startled, Jasmine jumped back. Luca strode over and snatched the machine off the coffee table before taking it into the kitchen and setting it on the counter facing away from her. He tapped rapidly on the keyboard before using the touchpad, and after a couple minutes, he brought the computer back and set it on the coffee table in front of her, open to a search engine.
Interesting. What was it that he didn’t want her to see? Considering someone had been sporting a healthy erection when she’d woken him up, Jasmine could guess. Was it the head wound or just the fact that she was starting to feel like her old self that gave her the courage to blurt, “Were you surfing porn, Luca?”
“Pardon?” He reached into a cupboard overhead and retrieved two clean wine glasses.
She smiled to herself as she leaned forward to check email.
What the hell was her password?
“Porn,” she said absently as she typed some random phrase into the field. She glanced up at him. “You do know what porn is, don’t you?”
“Of course I know.” He had the good grace to look uncomfortable for approximately three seconds and then his lips twitched and a slow smile spread across his face. He poured wine into the glasses he’d gotten out of the cupboard and came to sit beside her on the couch.
With the warmth of his thigh pressed against hers, Jasmine really couldn’t think as each password she tried only resulted in an error message. She was so used to logging in automatically from her phone app—when was the last time she’d needed her password?
“And if I was?” Luca asked, so close to her ear it tickled.
She shivered at the pleasant sensation, her hands hovering above the keyboard like they were as frozen as her email account would be if she failed too many more attempts. Jasmine shut the lid of the laptop, the turn of the conversation seeming more important than email at the moment.
She turned to face him. “I guess that’s your business.”
He handed her a glass. His gaze was as intense as ever, but something had changed. Something subtle. It wasn’t like he was searching; it was like he was trying to convey something. Something important. Something fierce.
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