Jean emerged from the back, frowning. “Edouard,” he called. “Can you come check the kegs? There’s not enough room for tomorrow’s order.”
Edouard rolled his eyes before turning to follow Jean. Sera smiled and tried not to laugh. She took her water and went back to join Jeremy. He stared grimly into his bourbon, his mouth a thin line. He didn’t notice her immediately and she set her water down on the table across from him. He glanced up.
“May I?” she asked. If he didn’t want her there after all, she’d go home. His expression softened.
“Please. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“You looked deep in thought—and not about anything pleasant. I’m hoping you weren’t thinking about me.”
Her flirtation did the trick: Jeremy laughed. She settled into her chair, her legs brushing his under the table.
“No, if I’d been thinking about you, I’d have been smiling.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips, his fingers enveloping hers. He had large hands and seemed to think she was made of porcelain. His touch was different from Marc’s. She wanted him to be determined, to touch more than just her hand.
“Then what were you thinking about?”
“Just work. Nothing worth telling.”
“You must have an awful job if it makes you look like that.” She wanted to kiss him, to pull off his tie, but instead she merely held his hand.
“The job has its perks. Travel. Meeting lovely women.”
“So you’re here for work?”
“My poor French must give it away.” He gave her a half-smile.
“Just a slight accent,” she assured him. “You speak it well.”
“Grammar school,” Jeremy confided. “And a French girl I met at the Dalston, though she wasn’t nearly as lovely as you.”
“Is that a bar?”
“A club, a bit like this one, but the music isn’t as good. Gina introduced me to chanson, but I hadn’t really heard it properly till I came here.”
“Are you a musician?” Sera let her gaze wander over him, watching his hand cupping his glass of bourbon, the slight shake of his head, the widening of his smile that flashed slightly crooked teeth.
“I’d have more of a chance with you if I were,” he remarked.
“How do you mean?” Even though he’d kept it light, she’d been chastised.
“The cellist the other night was a lucky man,” he replied. As she thought.
“He and I aren’t together, if that’s what you’re wondering.” So that’s what this was about. Was he disappointed?
“You’ve been together before, though. Performed, I mean.”
She almost laughed. “Yes, a few times.”
“I’m glad I was here tonight. Would you sing for me?” He looked at her intently.
“When?” she asked. The house lights flickered and brightened. Sera looked up in surprise. The club was closing. It couldn’t be that late. She’d only just sat down.
“How about now?”
“You timed that with the lights, didn’t you?” Sera teased.
“I’d like to think so.” He rose, tossing back the last of his bourbon before holding out a hand. “Shall we? My hotel is close by.”
“D’accord.” Sera smiled to herself. He didn’t pull any punches. But why not? Better than spending the night alone. She welcomed the warm weight of Jeremy’s arm draping over her shoulders, providing shelter from the cool night air. Still, she shivered, enough that Jeremy looked down at her.
“It’s not far.”
Several streets over, Jeremy ushered Sera into the dim lobby of a small hotel. The decor was sparse but well-kept, though she noticed that the front desk was empty. As they made their way to the staircase she thought she could hear the faint sound of snoring. The hall smelled slightly musty and the carpet runner they walked on needed replacing, but it was quiet. Jeremy produced a key from his pocket as they reached the second floor, stopping at #214. He let her precede him inside. To her surprise, his room was a small suite, with a sitting room separated from the bedroom by a partial wall. The leather chair and ottoman looked like they wouldn’t be out of place in an old chateau library, and the bed’s frame seemed of similar vintage.
She placed her bag on the chair and unwound her shawl. Jeremy took it from her and tossed it on top of her bag.
He was taller than Marc by several inches, and she rose onto her tiptoes as he bent to kiss her, cupping her cheeks with his hands. He parted her lips and delved into her mouth, leaving her breathless. She wobbled and they broke apart.
“We need to fix this,” he teased. He lifted her in one smooth motion, his hands under her buttocks. “Hold on.” She clutched at his neck, giggling as he adjusted his grip. Her dress hiked up her legs and she hooked her legs around his waist. Once she had a stable perch, she looked down at him, seeing all the details of his face. Pale eyelashes framed his intense blue eyes. Faint lines at the corners of his eyes hinted at his age, but that had never mattered.
“Much better.” She lowered her mouth to his and they picked up where they’d left off. Jeremy shifted and braced her with one hand so the other could slide under her dress, coming to rest between her thighs. Sera felt the dampness of her arousal as his fingers moved over the thin fabric of her underwear. She wiggled, wanting to feel him on her bare skin. He broke off their kiss.
“Stay still, I might drop you.” He chuckled, lowering her to the sofa. “Patience, Sera.” She sprawled on the cushions as he removed his jacket, leaving it on the coffee table. He perched next to her and she ran her hand up his thigh from knee to groin. His muscles flexed under her touch. He caught at her hand and pressed it against his rising erection. “You’re rather direct.”
“Would you rather I wasn’t?” She stroked him.
“I’d rather you weren’t so covered up.” He unbuttoned the front of her dress, his thumbs stroking her skin as he spread the cloth. He lowered his head to her breasts, flicking his tongue over her cleavage. She loved the feel of his light stubble dragging over her sensitive skin, leaving it reddened. He traced the edge of her bra before slipping a hand under her.
Jeremy lifted her and she shrugged out of her dress. He undid the clasp of her bra and pulled it off, his mouth going directly to her nipple, sucking with an intensity that startled her. His hands gripped her hips and she winced.
“Too much?” He glanced down, saw where his fingers lay over her bruises. She turned away from him, her cheeks flushing. “Or not rough enough?” He pulled her back against him and she felt his erection against her thighs, harder than he’d been when she’d touched him.
“I...” She couldn’t explain what being with Marc did to her, didn’t want to have to explain it to him. It wasn’t just the bruises. “You don’t mind another man’s marks?” He slid a hand into her underwear.
“It turns me on,” he murmured in her ear. He stroked her, parting her with a finger to feel her dampness. “I only wish I could have been the one to give you those bruises, and know they’re from my fingers. Would you have let me?” His fingers pressed on her clit and she arched against him. Would she have let him? She pictured him cuffing her to the bed as Marc had done, closing her eyes. His fingers on her became more insistent, dipping into her wetness before retreating to stroke her.
She gave a moan.
“Is that a yes?” Two fingers slid inside her and she rocked her hips in welcome. She felt him kissing her along the line of her shoulder. As he pressed a third finger inside her, his mouth nipped at her neck. She shuddered, feeling the heat growing between her thighs. When he bit down, she came against his hand with a whimper. Sera felt at once languid and exhilarated. Jeremy’s fingers withdrew, but not without a last caress. He grew harder against her buttocks and he fumbled with his zipper, shifting her off him.
“Do you have a condom?”
“In my pocket.” He paused to take the packet out, leaving it on the sofa as he lifted her off him and stood, stripping off his trousers. They fell to t
he floor, the belt buckle clattering on the hardwood. She reached out, teasing him through his snug briefs, rising onto her knees. Her gaze flicked upward and he looked fascinated by her actions, waiting for her to continue. She watched him from under her lashes as she tugged the briefs down his legs.
Sera let her hair brush his legs as she pulled the briefs to his ankles. Where Marc wouldn’t let her touch him except at his behest—a long time practice between them—Jeremy let her touch as long as she wanted. When she closed her hand around his cock, he pushed forward. She paused, her lips hovering over the tip. He gave her a sly smile. She licked the underside of his cock, flicking her tongue against the head. His hands gathered her hair away from her face. She took him in her mouth and his answering groan was all the gratification she needed.
Jeremy pulled away after a few minutes. “It’s not enough,” he told her. “Turn over. On your hands and knees.” He reached for the condom and she heard the packet tear as she stripped off her underwear before grasping the back of the sofa. He parted her flesh and thrust home, so deep and hard that it took her breath away. He set an insistent pace, holding her in place, one hand splayed across her hip. The other slid between her legs to tease her clit.
Sera’s second orgasm built, but Jeremy increased his pace, coming with a groan before she could reach satisfaction. He braced himself over her, resting his forehead on her shoulder. Her almost-orgasm ebbed and she bit back a sigh. He’d gotten her off once and it was more than she’d expected. Her thighs trembled from the strain of holding herself up under his thrusts and she sank down to the sofa. He slumped beside her, one hand possessively over her hip. When he’d caught his breath, he rose and retreated to the bathroom, returning after ridding himself of the condom. He caught at her hand.
“Want to come to bed?” She let him tug her upward and lead her into the bedroom. She crawled between the sheets. He turned off all the lamps but one and slid in next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder, listening to his breathing. She closed her eyes, but sleep wasn’t waiting for her. She shifted, moving onto her back. The sheets were scratchy, and she felt too warm. She opened her eyes, tilting her head to look at him. His profile in the low light was unfamiliar, strange. She didn’t know him at all. Thoughts of the money she owed Royale flooded back. She shifted back to her original position.
“Sorry.”
“What is it?” His voice sounded deeper with her ear on his chest.
“Nothing.” She felt him chuckle.
“Liar.”
She lifted her head and stared at him. “It’s nothing.” He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her.
“Do you have a hard time sleeping? Or do you need to be alone? I suppose you might leave after your encounters instead of staying the night.”
She pushed away from him and sat up, looking for her clothes.
“You don’t have to lie to me—I saw you with that man in the alley. And with others in the club.”
“Then why am I here?” She hadn’t asked him for anything, though the need for money burned in her. “Doesn’t it disgust you?” She got out of bed and went to grab her clothes from the sitting room. She found her underwear and pulled them on. Her dress lay crumpled on the floor and she bent to grab it, shaking out the wrinkles.
“Why would it? You do what you have to. This city’s as expensive as London—you can’t survive on just one job.”
Sera stepped into her dress and began to do up the buttons. His hands brushed hers aside. He dropped a kiss on her shoulder.
“I wish I didn’t have to do it at all.” She barely whispered the thought, but he heard her.
“Turn them all away.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “I can’t. Not yet.”
Jeremy brushed his fingers down her back, exerting the barest pressure to turn her towards him. “I could change that.”
“How?”
“Stay with me,” he said simply. His easy answer disquieted her. She couldn’t do that. She could have had the same from Marc if she’d wanted. She had no intention of tying herself to any man.
“No.” She moved from his embrace.
He dropped his arms and stepped away. “That’s it?”
She swallowed, watching as he crossed his arms over his chest. She softened her tone. “I’ll manage.” She found her shoes and slipped them on, pushing her bare feet into the cool patent leather pumps. He grasped her hand, tugging her towards him again.
“I don’t mean forever.” At her raised brows, he chuckled. “I’m only in Paris for a few weeks.”
“Then what?”
“You need money, I want a companion while I’m here. We both win.”
“How often would I see you?” She let him embrace her again. His lips brushed hers and she returned his kiss.
“As often as you’d like, but a few times each week. After your work, if you’d prefer.”
“How much is it worth?” She needed to know. She couldn’t agree if it meant being at his beck and call.
“How much do you need?” He shrugged. “Whatever we can decide on, within reason, of course.”
“€600 a week?” she estimated.
“And you promise three nights for me? Or more?”
“I will. Three nights.”
“Then we’re agreed.” He began to undo her buttons. “Stay.”
Chapter 6
The burnished nameplate of Perron et fils glinted as Marc pushed open the heavy outer door. Once a dark warren of small rooms, he’d made the executive decision for an overhaul. His uncle had passed—and good riddance—and the firm was his to do with as he pleased. He walked into a bright and modern reception with sleek mid-century modern chairs that sat gracefully on the pale floors; floors that didn’t creak under his feet as they used to do.
The receptionist, Aurore, a pleasing young woman who took calls, managed appointments and greeted clients, gave him a smile as he walked in. She stood behind a desk made of steel and glass. The firm might deal in antiques, but there was no need for the office to showcase the castaways of poor auction purchases. Aurore leaned on the counter to talk to Guillaume Fournier, the man who hoped that one day the firm might be his to run. Unlike his father and uncle, Marc had no illusions about legacy-building. He had no family to bequeath the firm to, and as much as he enjoyed his work, he wasn’t as sentimental about it as he had once been. He had told himself once that it was noble to give up the Sorbonne for the good of the family business, but the allure of the auction world had faded and he’d stopped believing in that empty platitude.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Perron.” Aurore greeted him cheerfully as he came to the desk. Fournier turned, giving him a welcome nod. Marc’s gaze flicked over Fournier’s latest ensemble: a pale lavender shirt under a striped waistcoat, paired with a dark violet blazer. The man never ceased to amaze him, but for whatever reason, none of the clients ever seemed bothered about his gaudy style.
“Any calls?” Marc rested an elbow on the counter, enjoying his view of Aurore’s cleavage as she bent to gather several slips from her desk along with a small stack of mail. He had hired her partly for her looks, as he’d found her pale hair and green eyes striking. She wore delicately colored dresses that made her appear ethereal, and Marc rather liked the idea of clients wondering if she were a fairy illusion behind all that steel and glass.
“Only a few this morning. Monsieur Richard called again about your finds in Amsterdam. I think he’s hoping that you’ll discover an obscure work that turns out to be an unknown Vermeer. He’s been quite persistent.”
Marc took the mail and call slips from her, idly flipping through the envelopes.
“Anything else?”
“We were just talking of the theft at d’Orsay,” Fournier said and glanced at Aurore. “I’m assuming you heard?”
“I saw the note in the paper,” Marc replied. “What of it?”
“My cousin Jacques got a job as a security guard at d’Orsay,” Aurore explained. “He
was training when the art was stolen. He had to stay in the museum for hours while the police asked questions.”
Marc paused and glanced up from the mail. How much did the police know?
“Really? What bad luck on his part. Did he tell you what the thieves took?”
“It didn’t sound like much,” Fournier remarked.
“Only two sketches,” Aurore said. “Jacques said they were in one of the smaller rooms that doesn’t have much traffic.”
“And they got away!” Fournier sounded as if he could hardly believe it. “What’s the point of security systems and staff if things still get stolen so easily?”
“It’s not the first theft from d’Orsay. All museums have had something stolen,” Marc said. He looked at Aurore. “Have they posted a reward for any information? I’ve always thought that a bit more of a bribe would help get things moving.”
Aurore shrugged. “Jacques didn’t say. But the police recovered one of the works. He said the thief dropped it trying to get away, but the head of restoration nearly had a fit when he saw how crumpled it was.”
“What a waste.” Marc shook his head. Claude and Michel would pay for that loss.
“I hope they find those bastards,” Fournier said. “Doing that to a Degas—even a sketch—is disgraceful.”
Marc leaned over the counter and pulled a slim silver letter opener from a container of office supplies on Aurore’s desk. He set the stack of mail down on the counter and began opening the envelopes as he continued to listen to Aurore and Fournier.
“So does the museum have footage of the thieves?” Fournier asked Aurore.
“Of course. But lots of men wear hoodies and jeans. Jacques said that they were having trouble even tracking them through the museum because of it.” She paused and leaned in. Marc stilled his work. “Jacques said that at least one third of the cameras weren’t working at the time of the theft.”
“The minister for culture is going to have a fit when he hears that.” Marc sliced open another envelope, unable to help a small flourish. The cameras were a stroke of luck. He drew out a letter of request from an old friend of his father’s and set it aside.
The Paris Game Page 7