Pleasure Games

by Daire St. Denis

  And in those startling blue eyes that she’d come to adore was a distance that told her everything she needed to know without him having to say it.

  The fairy tale was over.

  She turned back to the eggs, not wanting Luca to see the emotion she feared was written quite clearly across her face. While she did that, he sliced some meat and cheese, and poured orange juice, and they sat and ate in silence. It was while they were cleaning the breakfast dishes—when had they gotten into such a familiar routine?—that Luca finally spoke.

  “I left the bag on your bed so you can pack your things. We’ll leave in half an hour.”

  Not trusting her voice, Jasmine simply nodded.

  The leather satchel that Luca had brought from Paris lay open on the bed. Jasmine took her pile of clothes out of the drawer and set everything beside the bag. She spread the bag open and was about to plop her clothes inside when she noticed Luca’s wallet in the bottom. She glanced toward the open door and tiptoed back to pull it shut.

  Was snooping wrong at this stage of the game?

  Maybe.

  But Jasmine didn’t care. In a couple of hours, she’d never see Luca again. She opened the wallet to the slots that held all of his credit cards and ID. The picture on the driver’s license was the clean-shaven version of Luca who had appeared this morning. He had credit cards. Lots of credit cards. She pulled each one out before slipping it back inside. Then she studied his driver’s license picture again.

  Something was off. What was it?

  Luca Legrand.

  Legrand? Hadn’t he said his last name was Deschamps? She checked his credit cards again. They were all in Luca Legrand’s name. Why the hell had he lied to her about his last name? It made no sense.

  She opened the bill compartment and pulled out the wad of cash. The man was carrying thousands of euros. Why would he need to carry so much cash when he had credit cards? And...wait...what was this lump at the very bottom of his wallet?

  Jasmine fished inside and came out holding a ring between her thumb and forefinger.

  Her engagement ring.

  Why the hell did Luca have her engagement ring?

  Who the fuck was he?

  * * *

  Luca found Jasmine at the front door. She wore the same outfit she’d been wearing that first day, the leather bag sat at her feet and she stared at him with a strange expression on her face.

  “Are you ready?” It was a stupid question. She was clearly waiting for him.

  “Luca?” she said, moving toward him.

  “Yes?”

  “What happened on the day you found me?”

  Her question took him by surprise. It’d been a while since they’d talked about that. Luca simply reiterated the story he’d told all along about how he’d found her on the street.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, gazing into his eyes, as if testing him.

  “Of course I’m sure. Why?”

  “It’s funny. I seem to remember—vaguely—trying to sell a ring of mine.” She turned her head to the other side, regarding him. “And I was wondering if you had any idea what might have happened to it?”

  Fuck.

  He’d forgotten all about the ring. Where had he put it? In his wallet, maybe? Luca couldn’t remember. He checked his watch. It was eight thirty. It would take them two hours to get to Paris, which didn’t give him much time to spare before the press conference. He didn’t have time for this conversation. Particularly for the lengthy explanation that the conversation would entail. Once life got back to normal, he’d track Jasmine down and send her the ring.

  Anonymously.

  But right now? They had to go.

  “Sorry,” he said as he picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I don’t know anything about a ring.” He waved Jasmine out the door and locked it behind them. His bike sat waiting for them and he passed her a helmet before putting his on. She slid hers on without another word, and when she climbed on the back behind him, she held onto the leather of his jacket. Not him.

  Something was up. Probably the fact that things were over and he was being distant. But what choice did he have?

  The two-hour ride back to Paris was uneventful, apart from some wet roads from yesterday’s storm. Yet how different it felt from the ride out of Paris little more than a week ago. It felt more like a month, a year, a lifetime ago.

  At the exit to Nemours, he slowed, turned and asked Jasmine if she needed to stop for any reason, but Jasmine just shook her head so he drove straight through. She’d been quiet the entire ride, not that they could talk while riding a motorcycle, but she seemed different. Detached.

  Well, so was he.

  Even when he turned onto the Avenue de la Grande-Armée, which led to the famous roundabout circling the Arc de Triomphe, Jasmine remained quiet. Barely holding on to him.

  It shouldn’t matter to him, he was going to be saying goodbye to her in a matter of minutes.

  Yet it did.

  He took Avenue Kléber to Rue de Longchamp. The 16th Arrondissement Police Commissariat was only two blocks east. Luca pulled his motorcycle up to the front of the commissariat and stopped.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “This is a police station. I’m dropping you off.”

  Luca engaged the kickstand, removed his helmet and stood. Then he took the satchel off his shoulder to pull his wallet out before handing the bag to Jasmine, who’d also gotten off the bike.

  She’d taken her helmet off along with the leather jacket he’d loaned her, and she hugged the bag against her chest, as if it were a shield. “So that’s it?” Her lower lip quivered. “You don’t have anything else to say to me?”

  What the hell was he supposed to say? I care for you more than I should? I don’t want to leave you but I have to if I want my life back?

  This last week with you has been the best time of my life?

  Luca simply shook his head. “Non. I have nothing to say.”

  Pain flashed across her face.

  “Jasmine,” he said sharply and grabbed her arm. She tried to tug away but he held on. “Please understand. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “So, who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. But you? You are...” God. What could he tell her? The truth, for once?

  “Jasmine, you have this exceptional capacity for love. You need to go and find someone who deserves you.”

  It was the best, most honest statement Luca was capable of making. And what did he get for his effort? A slap across the face.

  He stumbled in shock and then grabbed her hand again, needing to...what? Straighten things out? Explain?

  What?

  “Let go of me.” She tugged but he wouldn’t let go.

  Suddenly people were running out of the police station. Police officers had guns drawn, shouting to get down. Luca pulled Jasmine into his arms, an automatic response.

  “What’s going on?” she shouted.

  “I don’t know.”

  More officers, maybe ten in all, surrounded him and Jasmine. All with guns drawn. All pointing at them.

  What the fuck?

  “Laissez-la partir!” an officer shouted. Let her go.

  “Luca?” She searched his face, panic written all over hers.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he reassured her, though there was not one part of him that believed things were okay.

  “Luca Legrand, laissez-la partir, maintenant!”

  “You need to go to them,” he said as calmly as possible. He dropped his arms from around her and gave her a gentle push toward the nearest officer. Jasmine glanced back with a worried expression before slowly walking away. The officer jumped up, ran to cover her and then scurried her away.

  What happened next happened so fast, Luca couldn’t process i
t. The officers pounced and he was forced onto his stomach on the pavement. A knee was pressed into his back, the cold clasp of handcuffs were forced onto his wrists and an authoritative voice said, “Luca Legrand, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of Jasmine Sweet.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NOTHING WAS MAKING SENSE. There were too many people surrounding her, too much chaos, all of it happening in a language she didn’t understand. The next thing Jasmine knew, she was being escorted inside the police station where more officials were waiting.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, over and over again, but no one answered her until a female dressed in uniform approached. She had sympathetic brown eyes and brown hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  “Jasmine?” she said. “My name is Danielle. Please, would you come with me?” She held out her hand as if Jasmine was supposed to take it.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere quiet.” Her thickly accented voice was calm and soothing, and Jasmine followed the woman to a room where two male officers were seated.

  “Please, sit,” Danielle said, indicating one of two empty chairs. “First of all, we are so happy to find you safe and sound.”

  Jasmine frowned. “People knew I was missing?”

  “Yes. We’ve all been looking for you.”

  Oh, shit.

  “Your family has been very worried.”

  Oh, God. Her family. She’d meant to email her parents and then had totally forgotten. Or rather, been distracted by mind-blowing sex...

  With a man who had turned out to be a cold-hearted asshole.

  She was such an idiot.

  “Can I speak to them? I need to speak to them.”

  “Of course. We will let you speak to them momentarily. But first, I need you to answer some questions, okay?”

  “Okay, but...” Jasmine looked from the woman to the men. “Do you know what happened to me?” Maybe finally she’d get some answers about the theft and the concussion.

  The female officer glanced at the men, giving them some kind of meaningful look. What it meant, Jasmine had no idea.

  “Your belongings were turned in to the police over a week ago.”

  “Belongings?” The woman was speaking English but she may as well have been speaking French for all the sense she was making.

  “Your bag. With your passport, ID, money and hotel key.”

  “You found my bag?” Jasmine said, sitting up. What a relief. She wouldn’t have to contact Parker for her documents, after all.

  “Yes.” The woman went on to explain how the police had contacted the hotel to return her belongings after they’d been picked up from the scene of a robbery, only to find out she’d never returned. They’d used the information on her passport to contact her next of kin. When no one had heard from her, she became a missing person. “You have become an international incident.”

  “Are you fu—” Jasmine stopped herself. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. Now,” the woman said. “Tell us about Luca Legrand.”

  Jasmine had figured Luca was in trouble with the law, but this seemed a hell of a lot more serious than what she’d supposed. What had he done?

  Then suddenly, she remembered what she’d found in his wallet.

  “Is this about the ring? Was Luca involved in the robbery?”

  “The robbery?” She shook her head. “Luca Legrand is the heir to the Legrand estate, worth billions. I doubt he’d be involved in petty theft.”

  Jasmine stared open-mouthed.

  Billions?

  The woman tilted her head in that very French way and turned to the man writing notes with a raised brow. “But then, where that man is concerned, who can be sure of anything?” She spoke softly to the two male police officers, the one who was taking notes slid the paper in front of Danielle and then the men exited the room.

  Once the door was shut, Danielle found an envelope from the pile of paperwork from which she withdrew a stack of photos and slid the first in front of Jasmine. “Can you identify the man in this photo, please.”

  “Yes,” Jasmine said slowly, it was promotional picture for the Grand Prix circuit. “It’s Luca. He lied about his last name, but I saw his ID. It’s Luca Legrand.”

  The woman nodded. “And you have been with Monsieur Legrand since you went missing?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “And he held you captive?”

  “No.”

  “No?” The officer spread the other photos out across the table, in order. “I need you to describe what is happening here.”

  Hesitantly, Jasmine slid the photos closer and looked at the first. Then the next and the next and the next until she’d seen all twelve images.

  Holy fuck.

  The pictures were grainy because they’d been taken during a storm—yesterday’s storm—and they told a story. A sordid story.

  Dear God.

  Who the hell had taken these? And how did the police get them?

  It was like time-lapse photography. Luca chasing her and tackling her. Pinning her. Tying her up. Jasmine trying to escape and Luca chasing her down again. There was even a picture of him manhandling her. Then there were images of him hauling her up and over his shoulder and carrying her back to the house.

  “Look,” Jasmine said. “This isn’t what it seems.”

  “Mmm.” The woman gathered the photos back up into a pile. “I think this is exactly what it seems.” She patted Jasmine’s hand. “It is very common to feel a sense of...” She paused as if searching for a word. “Kinship with your kidnapper.”

  “Luca didn’t kidnap me.”

  “Mademoiselle, I know it may seem that way. Men like Monsieur Legrand can appear charming, but—” The woman smiled with such understanding, yet she didn’t understand anything.

  Jasmine put her fingers to her temples and winced as she pressed on a still tender spot. “Please, I need to explain.”

  “Of course. I want you to tell me exactly what happened, and I want you to start from the beginning.”

  * * *

  Luca had no idea how long he’d been in the interrogation room. The police had confiscated his watch and everything else on his person. When they’d first shown him the pictures, he’d been too shocked to answer any questions.

  Who the hell had taken those pictures? How the hell had they found him? What the fuck was he going to do now?

  When he’d finally found his tongue, he’d gone over his story about fifty times with the police, explaining that Jasmine was a tourist he’d come across who’d had an accident. That he’d simply helped her and everything was consensual and that this was one big fucking mistake.

  Of course they didn’t believe him.

  When François finally appeared. He sat down across from Luca looking ten years older than the last time he’d seen him.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” Luca attempted a joke.

  It did not go over well.

  “I don’t even know what to say,” François said.

  “Say you’ll talk to Jasmine. Say you can get the story straight and that you can get me out of here.”

  François’s reply was a single raised brow followed by a sad shake of his head. He slid the pictures that had been sitting in the middle of the table toward him and went through them. Slowly.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Luca said to fill in the terrible silence.

  François raised his gaze and then removed his glasses to clean them.

  Before Luca had a chance to add anything, there was a knock on the door and François got up to open it. An officer stood outside and spoke quietly to the lawyer. Luca heard Jasmine’s name mentioned but that was the extent of it.

  When the conversation ended and François returned to the table, Luca noticed the door had bee
n left open.

  “She’s refusing to press charges,” François said, as if this was a bad thing.

  Luca stood. “Then it’s all over.”

  “No. It’s not.” François sighed. “The photos were sent in by an anonymous tipster. There’s no stopping them being leaked to the press. Criminal investigation or not, the public has already condemned you.”

  Fuck.

  “I don’t even know what to say to you anymore. It’s over, Luca. You’ve ruined us.” He got up and walked to the door, then stopped to say, “Oh, and the American woman wants to talk to you, apparently. She’ll be here shortly.”

  Luca stood, scrubbing a hand up and down his face. How could things have gone so awry? There was only one way. He’d been set up. Again. And there was only one man who would do it.

  Marcel.

  Luca kicked the wall in anger just as the door opened. Jasmine stood there accompanied by a female officer.

  “I’d like to speak to him alone, please,” Jasmine said to the other woman.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Please.”

  “Okay, but I’ll be right outside if you need me.” It was clear by the woman’s tone that she didn’t like the idea of Jasmine being in a room alone with him. Based on the fucking photos, he couldn’t blame her.

  “Jasmine,” Luca began. “Thank you for—”

  She stopped him with a fierce look before he could say another thing.

  “Why did you lie?”

  “About what?”

  She threw her head back and laughed. There was not one whit of humor in it. “Let’s see, about your name. About who you really are. About this...” she shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out her ring.

  Fuck.

  “Jasmine, let me explain. Please.”

  “You had plenty of time to explain.” She paced the room. “Days to explain.” She stopped. “I asked you point-blank this morning about my ring and you lied to my face.” She came to stand right in front of him. “Why?” She narrowed her gaze. “Did you rob the store and knock me out and then try to hide that fact by whisking me away?”

  “No. God, no. That’s not what happened.”

  “Then for the final time, tell me the truth about what happened. You’ve got two minutes or I press charges for theft.” She tapped her toe, a permanent scowl on her face.