[Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon

by Daire StDenis

  I slowly pull my hands from his softened grasp. “So, how does this relate to me?”

  “You are the same. Going from one lover to the next. Always looking for new experiences. Always needing more.”

  “Ah.” I raise my finger at him. “That is where we differ. Your relationships were not satisfying. Mine are.”

  “Are they?”

  “Yes.” This time my affirmative has way more conviction.

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He stands and I think perhaps he’s about to leave, but he doesn’t and I realize I’m relieved that he is staying.

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “About what?”

  “About what I’m proposing.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “Not only a new way of making love, a new way of being.”

  Needing something to occupy my hands, I slice a piece of cheese and take a bite. “Not really,” I lie.

  “So, you do not want me to describe what an encounter between us would look like?”

  I raise my gaze. “No.”

  He grins. “You truly have the worst poker face I’ve ever encountered.”

  Chapter Five

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Tessa Savage. You are dying to hear how being with me would be different from that primal, animalistic act you’re accustomed to. You want desperately to know how it is that we could reach a state of orgasm, together, rather than the fleeting moment that is over before it even begins.”

  Oh my fucking God. He is right, I am curious and I hate him so much right now for knowing me so well.

  When he sits back down, he doesn’t sit across from me, he sits next to me. He does not ask me again if I want to hear his tale, he just starts telling it.

  “We do not start by removing clothing, but by sitting together. Much like we are now. Looking at one another, holding hands, gazing softly at each other. I wait for your eyes, your breath and the warmth of your skin to tell me you’re ready.”

  Unfortunately I’m pretty sure I know what my eyes are saying right about now.

  Ready, ready, ready!

  “Only then do I begin to remove your clothes. Reveling in every inch of skin revealed. Touching, tasting, breathing in your scent.” He bends closer and breathes me in like I’m the Macallan. Then he lifts his gaze. “Observing your reaction.” His hands move from mine up my wrists to the sensitive inner elbow. “Finding each erogenous zone. Grazing it lightly. Savoring.”

  Dammit! He found that one so quickly.

  “I will not be frantic with you. I will not tear off your clothes. I will relish you. Appreciate the flavor of your shoulders...” He touches me there, softly. “...of your neck and jaw.” His fingers graze as he speaks. “I will take my time exploring your collarbones and chest...your breasts.” His hands pause before drawing a line down the front of my dress between my breasts.

  “I will taste your nipples, delighting in their texture and scent, worshipping each because they are so lovely, so perfect, so much an important part of you.”

  Right this second, my nipples are letting me know they are very keen to experience this scenario with Christophe. Very keen.

  “My desire is not just to experience your flesh, but to touch your heart and to connect with you on a deeper, more meaningful level.”

  Umm, this part sounds unnecessary and I sense my forehead crinkling as I wait for him to move on to the good bits.

  “Only then do I explore your belly, your hips.”

  Oh yes. Here we go.

  “Slowly, slowly I part your thighs. You give me permission to devour you with my gaze, and I am honored for this privilege. I spread your legs wide, opening you with my thumbs and glimpsing the glistening entrance to your body.

  “Your arousal is my cue to come closer, to take in your scent. To taste you, to breathe in your unique perfume. I touch the satiny texture of your pussy with my tongue, and it is smooth and slick, like warm silk. My fingers glide inside of you, your most sacred and intimate space. You are wet for me. Eager for me. Made for me.”

  Moisture pools in my mouth and I have to remind myself to swallow.

  “The simple act of exploring you results in arousal. My cock grows hard...for you. Longing to join with you. Ready to awaken a new and profound passion within you. Eager to journey into love, together.”

  It takes me a while to realize that Christophe has stopped speaking in that deep, hypnotic tone of his. Who needs opium when I’ve got Christophe drugging me with sex tales?

  I open my eyes. “Is that it?” I whisper.

  “Non.” His smile isn’t quite as smug as you’d think it’d be considering how quickly I am on the verge of giving in to his seduction. “That is barely the beginning. You see, there is no end goal in Trantra. No ten second orgasm that’s over before it begins. I will take you to a place where time stands still and ecstasy is embodied. This is something that must be experienced. It cannot be described.”

  “Well.” I reach for my glass and take a drink, falling back on my old habit of gulping. I cringe from the burning shock of the alcohol, but it has the desired effect of snapping me out of Christophe’s influence. “What you described sounds nice, but it’s not going to happen. I’m totally happy with my sex life exactly the way it is.” I take another drink. Again too much at once. I cough. When things are under control, I say, “I’m all good.”

  “If you say so.”

  I hear doubt. Doubt makes me want to prove myself. But not here. Not now. Not with him.

  “Besides,” I wave my hand dismissively, “I understand Tantric sex takes a long time. Like six hours or something.”

  “It can. When you reach Nirvana, you don’t want to leave.”

  I nod because suddenly six hours of sex...with Christophe, well, that doesn’t actually sound too bad. “Of course, if you were Sting, I might change my mind.”

  His smile turns to a grin and then to laughter. It’s sexy as hell, dammit. Why does he have to keep surprising me? Taunting me? Tempting me?

  He refills his glass, hands me mine and then taps the rims together in a toast.

  “You are a remarkable woman, Tessa Savage. I do hope we can become friends. Close friends.”

  I lift the glass to my mouth and drink, slowly and purposefully. The taste is so much better this way—dammit—and I wonder whether sex with Christophe would be as glorious as I’m starting to suspect it’d be.

  “Maybe,” I say. “Maybe one day.”

  ***

  It’s my last day in Monte Carlo and after sharing a rushed breakfast with Tal on the Terrace of Le Hotel de Paris—so he could spend the rest of the morning with Alejandro before rehearsal—I find a secluded spot to sit and read. I’m reading a book called Slayer, an erotic retelling of the Princess and the Pea story where the princess in question is a dragon slayer.

  Very fun.

  I’m a third of the way through the story when a shadow falls across me. Instead of looking up, I breathe in.

  I recognize that scent.

  “Hello Christophe.”

  “Tessa.”

  “Would you care to join me?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” There is humor in his tone and I like it. God, he is turning out to be a lot different from the man I thought he was.

  “I understand you leave today.”

  “You need to stop stalking people. It’s creepy.”

  I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corner when he laughs. It’s infectious.

  “If certain women wouldn’t drive certain men to distraction, then certain men would not have to stalk certain women.”

  “Touché.”

  He draws his chair closer. “When do you leave?”

  I pull my phone out of my bag and check the time. “In an hour.” I place my phone on the table.

  He nods and looks away, gazing toward the sea. “A friend of mine owns a resort on an isl
and. It’s exclusive. Special.” He turns back to me. “I have a long standing invitation. I should like to visit again.”

  “Oh?”

  His expression is suddenly serious.

  Even though he hasn’t asked me to join him, I know where this is going. “Christophe, we barely know one another.”

  “Yet, why do I feel as if we’ve met before, as if I know you?”

  I shrug.

  “Is it not the same for you?”

  It’s my turn to look away. I think about the moment our eyes met in the salon, him sitting at the bar, me about to play roulette. Though I had just read about him, there was something instant between us.

  A chemistry?

  A connection?

  God, I don’t know.

  “Maybe,” I whisper.

  “Then take a chance.” He takes my hand and caresses the backs of my knuckles. “Trust the feeling.”

  I’m about to ask him what he’s proposing when my phone rings. I’m so captivated by what he’s saying and by the incredible light in his eyes that I don’t even check the caller.

  “Tess?”

  Fuck!

  It’s Chase.

  I snatch my hand from Christophe’s and get up. Turning my back on him, I walk to the edge of the terrace and lean on the rail.

  “What are you doing calling me?”

  “You didn’t reply to my text.”

  “I know. I’m in Monte Carlo.”

  “I see.” Silence follows his statement as Chase undoubtedly realizes I’m implying that I’m here with someone.

  Eventually he speaks. “Here’s what I don’t understand. Why are you with other men when there’s still this thing between us?” Chase’s angry drawl puts me on edge, making my chest tight and breathing difficult.

  “Chase.”

  “It doesn’t make sense, Tessa.”

  Glancing back at the table, I see Christophe watching me. “I know,” I whisper. How do I explain to my ex-husband that I’ve never been able to make sense of the feelings he evokes in me. The horrible, wonderful, unsettled feelings.

  “So, do you want to see me or not?”

  “Chase...”

  “Answer the question, Tess.”

  Not fair! How many years did I love and obey his commands? Even after more years of divorce, why do I still have the urge to continue to obey?

  “I can’t.”

  “You can’t see me or you can’t answer the question?”

  “I...” My words trail off as Christophe starts to approach. I wave him away but he doesn’t stop.

  “Do you want me to come—”

  I press end on my phone just as Christophe stops in front of me.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I nod, not trusting my voice.

  He touches my cheek. “Everyone I know hides their true self. Wears a mask. Except you. You show every expression, everything you feel. Joy, excitement, laughter, distrust, dislike...” He uses the back of his knuckles to stroke my cheek and temple. “Sadness.” Now his hand is beside my eye, as if he’s wiping away tears.

  But there are no tears, I’ve got them too firmly in check.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I try to laugh but instead a small sobbing sound escapes.

  “Or not.”

  Normally after speaking to Chase, I feel on the verge of a panic attack. For some reason, Christophe’s presence calms me. Not completely, but enough so that I can eventually speak.

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No. But you have?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was your ex-husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “He broke your heart?”

  “We broke each other’s.”

  I hazard a glance into Christophe’s eyes to find the decadence and sin has vanished, replaced by concern and...compassion?

  Shit.

  The quivering in my lips becomes more than I can bear.

  He does not speak. He does not make stupid empathetic remarks about how difficult relationships can be. When I turn away because I can’t bear for him to witness the emotions that are wrestling wildly to break free, he turns me back to him and pulls me against his chest, holding my rigid body against his warm breadth.

  Just holding me.

  A tear escapes, trickling down my cheek as I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Tessa!”

  I’m startled by the sound of my name. Christophe releases me and I turn to see Tal striding across the terrace. He looks angry. Upon closer inspection, I see it is probably more heartbreak etched across his forehead than anger.

  “The car will be here soon.” He reaches for my hand, glaring at Christophe like he really is upset with him for having his hands on me. Like I really am Tal’s girlfriend.

  Everything is happening too fast. There are too many weird emotions circling like startled birds inside of me at the moment. As Talal drags me away, I turn and wave to Christophe. Regret adds its feathered fury to the myriad of emotions making their home in my rib cage.

  He nods. “Until we meet again, Tessa Savage.”

  Chapter Six

  I leave Tal at the airport in Monaco and grab a quick flight to Paris where I’ve got a short layover. Now, I’m sitting at the Café Voltaire, across from the Seine, waiting for a freelance writer named Noelle Davis. I don’t know what I was thinking, agreeing to do this interview for Modern Woman Magazine. I’m a private person, discreet about my business dealings and even more discreet when it comes to my personal life. What’s bizarre about the whole situation is that I don’t remember agreeing to the interview in the first place and would have forgotten all about it except that the calendar app on my cell phone beeped three days ago while I was in Monte Carlo, reminding me of the appointment with the writer. When I checked for correspondence, I found a few emails that had been sent between us six weeks ago, arranging the meeting.

  Weird.

  However, while privacy is important, I’m also a woman of my word, which is why I’m here, drinking a lovely Bordeaux, sipping it slowly, savoring it while I watch droves of tourists stream across the bridge toward the Louvre. I would be lying if I said my thoughts weren’t continually returning to a certain French billionaire. Thoughts of Christophe make me feel restless. I don’t know if it’s because it’s been a while since my last love affair, a crazy, intense relationship with a bad ass biker who has a thing for leather and law enforcement. He’s in witness protection now and I have no idea where he is. No way of contacting him. For some reason, it's made it next to impossible for me to move on.

  Until now.

  Until Christophe.

  I guess it’s a good sign.

  The old Tessa, the one who loves as much and often as possible, who isn’t afraid to make new and wonderful acquaintances, is making a comeback and that makes me happy.

  I swirl my wine and bring it to just beneath my nose, breathing deeply.

  Instead of currants and oak, I smell Christophe’s aftershave.

  I swivel, half-expecting to see him standing there with that cocky grin of his. But he’s not.

  “Ms. Savage?”

  A blonde woman approaches, wearing a tailored skirt and jacket, smiling shyly. A Princess Diana smile.

  This must be Noelle Davis.

  I stand and we shake hands. Her hand is warm and soft in mine and a scent of vanilla and strawberries wafts across the table as she sits.

  From the moment we meet, I feel this strange kinship with her. It’s like I’m looking at a younger version of myself. We’re about the same height, both fair, with blonde, shoulder length hair. Noelle’s curvier than I am. She’s got the kind of figure that may not be portrayed in the pages of fashion magazines but that men go completely gaga over. Noelle’s also got an air of innocence about her, though I’m not sure if it’s put on or legitimate. When her gaze meets mine, I feel some strange, latent sisterly gene kick in, like I’ve got an urge to protect her or something.
<
br />   “It’s funny,” she says as she opens her purse and withdraws her cell phone. “On the way over here I had the strangest feeling that you weren’t going to show.”

  “I’ll be honest with you, Noelle, I’d completely forgotten about the interview. Thank God for smart phones and reminder apps."

  "No kidding." She nudges her phone. "I don't know what I'd do without mine."

  The server comes by and takes Noelle’s drink order and after he’s gone, she points at her phone. “Do you mind if I record this?”

  Yes.

  “No.”

  “Good. I’ll send you a copy of the recording and the article before it goes to print. Does that work for you?”

  “Sure.” I take a sip of wine to cover the fact that I’m not sure at all. For some reason, this young, sweet-looking girl is making me nervous.

  When the server returns with her white wine, we order. Salad for Noelle and a croissant with cheese and meat for me. We make small talk, I mention an article of hers I’d recently read (like last night as I looked her up) on the pressure of female body image on models/actresses.

  Once our food arrives, she taps the screen on her phone and starts the recording app. “Do you mind if we get started?”

  “Not at all.”

  She recites the date and my name, then says, “The Most Influential Woman in Business Who You’ve Never Heard Of.”

  “Tell me that’s not the name of the piece,” I say, cringing.

  She shrugs and smiles. “It’s a working title. I like it though.”

  “So, that’s the angle you’re going with?”

  “Every story needs an angle.”

  “Okay, well, if no one’s heard of me, how did you hear about me?”

  “Eli Kent. CEO of Kent International.”

  I nod as I cut a piece of cheese. I did some work for Eli a couple of years ago, helping him restructure his European offices.

  “Do you want to know what he said about you?”

  “I don’t know, do I?”

  Our gazes meet and I see something in Noelle’s eyes. A flash like a hard, steely edge. It’s there and then it’s gone. Hmmm. Maybe the innocent aura is a ploy. Or maybe not. I guess I’m about to find out.