by Susan Stoker
“Henri!” Celeste glided up, silver and spangled and elegant, bangles dangling and eyes flashing. Her fingers dripped with delicate diamonds. She looked so miraculous that Maya herself wanted to scoop up Celeste and put her on a shelf and stare at her forever, capture that essence of pure woman.
But also, she wanted to squash her, because Celeste was—and there was really no other way to put this—a bitch. Because a nice non-bitchy person would at least acknowledge her friend’s date and smile or say hello. That’s what normal people did in this world.
Maya was pretty sure that being a billionaire socialite didn’t exclude you from certain societal norms. In fact, she’d noticed that most people here were breathtakingly polite, what with all the comments like, “Maya, such a pleasure to meet you. Oh! You’re with Save Our Smiles? The charity you work for is amazing, and we’re so glad you’re here tonight. Tell us more.” Or, “I would love to make a donation.” And the, “It’s just so wonderful to make your acquaintance! Thank you for your assistance in making the world a better place, my dear. And enjoy the gala tonight.”
If people seemed surprised to see Henri there with a mere mortal, they didn’t give it away with any kind of facial expression. She could almost delude herself into thinking she was welcomed in this crowd. Perhaps, then, Celeste was a good thing—a reminder that this wasn’t her milieu. Not her circus, not her clowns… and definitely not her man. Not with the way Celeste was eye-fucking him. No, wait, make that eye-sucking-his-cock. Maya wanted to say, “His eyes are up there, Celeste.”
“This is Maya Murphy, one of the volunteers for the charity my brother highlighted today,” Henri said, his hand tingling on the small of her back. “You met earlier.”
“It’s a pleasure. Henri, may I steal you for a dance? I really need to catch up!” She inserted herself between the two of them so easily that Maya stepped back, relinquishing her spot.
“Maya, do you mind?” Henri paused, his hand on Celeste’s, as if the two were about to waltz away into the sunset.
It wasn’t really a question, so she smiled. “Or course not. Please, enjoy.” She nodded regally.
As they swept away, she sighed. For a minute, she’d nearly forgotten why they were there—which was to corner Mags and Erik and keep them quiet. She giggled, feeling slightly like a spy in a Bond movie, but her smile faded as she looked around the room. No Mags. No Erik. And—she pulled her phone from her tiny beaded clutch—zero messages.
A few minutes later, she began to feel awkward with nobody to talk to and nobody to dance with. On Henri’s arm, she was noticed. Alone, she was invisible. She contemplated whether it was better to hang in the bathroom for a while or get a glass of champagne. She’d decided on the champagne when Celeste walked by—sans Henri—with another elegant woman. Celeste glanced past Maya, making the briefest eye contact. The two women stopped and spoke a few feet away.
“Who’s the woman he brought tonight? A new flame?” The friend smiled. Maya figured the friend didn’t see her, but she knew Celeste did.
Celeste waved her hand. “She’s new and she’s nobody.” She laughed and lowered her voice, said something Maya didn’t catch.
The other woman nodded. “I didn’t think she seemed familiar. I wondered if I should meet her and be polite. Will she be at the Paris event?”
“Don’t waste your time. She’ll be gone tomorrow.” Celeste laughed, and her gaze skimmed Maya, who flushed furiously. “I think he’s just giving the press something to talk about to distract from… you know. The situation. Let’s go find Beatriz. We need to discuss plans for Nice.”
Tears pricked her eyelids, and Maya stuck up her chin. When Henri found her a minute later, he frowned. “Is everything all right?”
She nodded, but darted a glance toward Celeste without meaning to do it. “I’m fine. Just, so, hey, no sign of your brother.” She wiped delicately at the corner of her eye.
“Was Celeste talking to you?”
She shook her head. “Not to me, no. We should figure out what to do about Erik and Mags.”
“Dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand, his words a demand and a request. “I’m here with the most beautiful woman in the room, and I want to show her off.”
She started to laugh, but it almost turned into tears. Alarmed, she touched her face near her eye and stopped: Makeup. No crying.
He stepped in and whispered into her ear. “Whatever you heard isn’t worth it, I promise you that. As someone who’s overheard many insults, accidental and deliberate both, may I point out that the best defense is to simply go on with your life.”
She looked up at him, her expression pleading; for what, she wasn’t sure. “That’s very easy to say.” Her voice quivered.
“Are you weak, or are you strong?” He sounded frustrated and ran a hand through his hair.
“What the fuck?” Angered, she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Your friend insults me in a way that guarantees I can’t strike back, and you pile on too and add a few punches?”
“No.” He took her hand. “This is a different world, Maya, and even walking through those doors puts you on a new playing field, where the swords are sharp and the bullets are real. Friends aren’t always friends, and the social consequences of telling someone off are not always worth it. Do you want that right now? For me to make a scene with her?”
He raised his eyebrow. “I promise you that if we were together longer, I wouldn’t put up with—” He broke off. “But you’d learn to defend yourself, too. You’d have to learn to stand on your own with these people. Otherwise we could never—this isn’t coming out right.” He sighed. “Maya. If she can so easily ruin your night with some catty comments, what does that say about you?”
“It says I’m a human being?” she retorted.
“The best way to show her she’s wrong about whatever she said?” He shrugged. “Enjoy the party. The comments meant nothing to you because you’re here, you’re beautiful, you’re with a man who drives you wild.”
He ran a finger down her cheek. “A man who has eyes only for you, chèrie. Not her, not her friend, not the woman down the hall. You. Understand? Take that and let that be your thought for now. You have to ignore the other things. You have to, or you simply won’t survive.” His voice sounded fierce, protective and angry.
She grasped his point, angry though she still was. Kill or be killed. Swim or drown. She’d chosen to come here tonight; she had to find her balls now and deal with this crowd.
He took her hand. “I’ve wanted to take you into my arms from the second you touched my hand today. Didn’t you feel the same?” He was confident, but something in his eyes was deeper than the casual words. It was like her answer meant something to him. “We may not get this chance again,” he warned, and a muscle clenched in his jaw. “I like to take my chances when they come.” He cocked one eyebrow. “How about you?”
She stood, smoothing her hands down her body, although the gown, skintight as it was, needed no arranging. His gaze followed the path of her fingers, hungry, and he narrowed his eyes. Then she held out her hand and he smiled, victorious, and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”
He led her to the dance floor and pulled her to his body, holding her close with one arm, his hand taking hers. “Did I tell you tonight how your eyes shine?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
She caught her breath. “I think you just did.” She smiled up at him. “At least this time you said it in English, so I can be sure of what you said. I don’t trust your translations.”
“No?” He affected great surprise. “I am saddened at your lack of trust.” He grinned, and she nearly melted when his dimple showed. God, he was fucking handsome.
“Perhaps I should get my French dictionary from college to check,” she rejoined. “I’m still not sure you were honest with me before, when you picked me up.”
“Oh, is that so?” He leaned in and whispered, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke, sending shoc
ks through her. “What did you think I said?”
“I’m not sure,” she murmured. “But I know the word teach was in there.” She couldn’t stop looking at his lips. So stern and sexy. He would probably be an excellent kisser.
He chuckled. “Si tu veux apprendre comment s’embrasser, tu ne dois que demander.”
“And that was?”
“The music is delightful.”
She scowled at him. “No.”
“No? A shame. They were so highly recommended.”
She giggled. “You’re teasing me again. With your words.”
“Would you like me to tease you with something else, then?”
His smile was dark, dirty and oh so hot. She nearly swooned in his arms.
“For example?” She couldn’t believe herself. But it was all she wanted, to flirt with this sexy, dangerously dark man who held her—her!—in his arms tonight.
“Oh, I can be creative,” he said. “Although,” he continued, his voice low and firm, “First, you’d have to apologize for insulting me back at the press conference.”
“I thought I already did.”
“Oh, Maya, you misunderstand.” He gave a wicked chuckle. “I’d like a very different apology from you. And it would take more than the five minutes we decided you could handle.”
“I could handle more than five minutes,” she retorted, hot and confused and aroused.
He laughed. “Could you?”
She blew out her breath. “Are you trying to make me frustrated?”
He pulled her back to his body and twirled her, then put his lips right to her ear again. “Yes.”
His chest was hard and firm, and she pressed her hand into his body, feeling his powerful abs through the tux. As the lights dimmed and the music softened, he pulled her closer, so they were touching chest to thighs, and each brush of his physique against hers was almost painful with the desire it raised. Her nipples hardened through the dress and she breathed harder, as if already fucking him—
He leaned in. “Je vais te faire supplier pour que je te touche.”
“What was that? For real, this time.” She looked at him.
“I’ll have you begging for my touch. You give me just a few minutes alone, and I promise you.”
“I won’t beg.”
He pressed his lips to her neck and kissed, then bit softly, once and again, trailing nips down her skin. She moaned softly and dug her fingers into his strong arms. He flicked her skin with his tongue. “If you beg, Maya, you may just get what you want,” he teased, running one hand slowly—so slowly—down her back, splaying out his fingers just above her buttocks and pressing. “Over and over again.”
“I never beg.” Her voice was ragged.
“But for me, you will.” He sounded so confident that she wanted to punch him and kiss him at the same time.
She let out a frustrated groan. “Henri!”
He tapped her ass once with his hand, and she almost died with pleasure. “Do what you’re told, and see how good I can make this for you.”
They had danced their way to the corner of the room, and he looked around, nodded to his bodyguard. The man approached and they spoke softly in French, then he took her arm. “Come. I think it’s time for a private dance.” But he waited for her assent before walking.
“What about your brother?” She tilted one shoulder.
“He clearly isn’t coming. He texted me that they decided to skip the gala, and to leave him alone, and he’ll talk to me in a few hours. I’m tired of waiting, wasting our time. I want…” He swallowed. “Don’t you sometimes feel like the minutes are flying past your face, like silver bullets, too fast? Let’s grab them and make them count, tonight.”
He held out his hand again, longing etched into his features, raw need. “I’m tired of inconsequential frivolity. I want something real. I want you.”
She stared, then nodded, feeling her face flush hot. She wanted this, badly. And dammit, she was going to take it. If this was her night to grab at all the star-spangled pleasure that existed not only in her dreams, but also right in front of her face, she was going to take it, and fuck the cost.
So she took his arm and silently walked with him to his private floor in the hotel, the guard trailing a discrete distance behind.
Chapter Four
The window looked out over the city, and all the lights twinkling below were like patches of gems in the night.
“So pretty.” She stood looking out over the vast landscape. “I’ve never seen it from here before. From above. That makes it magical.”
He handed her a glass of champagne. “I’ve never seen it with someone like you before. To me, that makes it magical.”
“You’re good at lines.”
He smiled. “The reason they’re good is because they’re not just lines, and you can tell. Yes?” He shrugged. “You can tell that I do enjoy seeing this view all the more because of you.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, and drifted his fingers down her arm, making her shiver at the soft, tickly touch. He lifted her hair and put it back down. “Watching you watch the city is spectacular. The light in your eyes is brighter than all of the streetlamps.” He traced the curve of her waist and drew his hand up the side of her body to her breast. “The curve of your body accentuates the curves of the streets below, but they are garish and flawed in comparison.”
When she looked into his eyes, the passion there startled her. He wasn’t lying; his admiration for her came through in his face, his eyes, his pose.
He took her glass—untouched—and put it down, and moved her hair off her shoulder so he could kiss her neck. “The line of your neck is more delicate than the line of the horizon. And maybe you feel that my words are too poetic, but you can hear that the passion behind them is real. Very fucking real.” He turned her suddenly to him. “Isn’t that right?” And there was a touch of demand in his tone.
She was mesmerized with his eyes. He took off his jacket and tossed it to the couch, not breaking eye contact once. “Take off your dress.”
“My dress?” Her eyes widened, but her body came flaring to life, every nerve ending pulsing with desire. She was a hot wire.
He undid his cuff links and tossed them, then rolled up his sleeves; first one, then the other.
“That’s right.” He smirked at her. “Should I say it in French? Enlève ta robe, s’il te plait, so I can look at your beautiful body and fuck you and make you cry out with pleasure.”
“Why did you roll up your sleeves?” Her voice was hoarse.
He took a bottle of scotch and poured a glass, neat, then sat on the couch, legs spread, and leaned forward, the glass in one hand. “I’m going to watch. In comfort.”
“You want to watch me strip?”
“Yes.”
His eyes burned into hers. He lifted the glass and tossed back a swallow, and as she watched the tendons in his neck moving as he swallowed, she knew that she was going to do every damn thing he asked of her tonight.
“All right.” She licked her lips and felt a surge of triumph at the way a muscle jerked in his cheek. Tossing her hair, she turned her back to him, slowly, and looked over one shoulder as she started to slide the dress off that arm.
She blew him a kiss, then flipped her hair again as she pulled the dress down on the other side.
As the dress came down her body, to her waist, and then her hips, she turned to look again, and said, “Henri. I hope you don’t mind that I’m not wearing anything under here.”
“Jesus Christ. You were naked under there all tonight?” His voice was incredulous and his hand tightened on the glass, his knuckles white. “Fuck.”
“That’s right. Didn’t you feel my nipples through the fabric when we were dancing?” She crooned at him, taking the dress down inch by excruciating inch. “Couldn’t you feel how smooth my ass was when you touched me, no panty line? Surely you knew I was nude.”
When she dropped the gown to the ground and it pooled around
her ankles and heels, he sucked in an audible gasp. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Suddenly shy, she was afraid to turn around.
“Face me, please.” His voice was low and hoarse. “Kick the dress away.”
She stepped out of the fabric and pushed it aside, then turned, her hands over her breasts.
“You’re shaved. Fuck.”
His face was positively feral. But he merely put the glass down. “Turn around for me, please.” When she did it once, he demanded, “Again. Slower.”
“Yes, your Royal Highness,” she retorted, at once turned on and irritated by the command. “Anything you say.” But it delighted her to do it, to hear the intake of his breath when he looked at her body. If anything, this was harder on him than on her.
“That,” he murmured, “is a very bold offer. One I will take you up on. Come here.” He pointed between his legs.
She didn’t argue, but sashayed forward to stand as close to him as she could. His face was nearly even with her pussy, and she felt her breathing quicken, as desire made moisture gather between her thighs. God, she wanted him. His breath was warm on her mound, the front of her thighs. She squeezed her legs together with desire. She wanted his tongue there.
He reached out and pulled her closer by her buttocks, stroking and squeezing. “You feel good,” he said, running a hand down the back of her thigh. “So fucking gorgeous.”
She felt her breathing hitch, and put her hands into his thick black hair. “So are you,” she whispered.
He smiled, but then shook his head. “Right now, I want your hands behind your back, Maya. I’ll tell you when you can touch me.”
She frowned. “But I want to touch you now.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What happened to anything you say, your Royal Highness?” His voice was teasing and firm at once.
She sighed. “Fine.”
“Oh, it will be fine,” he warned, with a chuckle. “But first, perhaps, we need to deal with your punishment.”