by Ros Baxter
No. She gave herself a solid talking to, in front of the mirror. A momentary surge of desire was fine. Desire she got. Desire you could control. And she would.
But perhaps, she thought, studying her reflection in the mirror again and imagining Ridge’s hands on her, she would not wear this particular piece tonight. She had other lingerie, and somehow this just didn’t seem right. Not after seeing it in Ridge’s hands. Not after the direction her thoughts had just taken.
She stripped off the little black teddy and stood, naked and nervous in the bathroom, wondering whether she could really carry this off.
What was she doing?
*
Eric accepted a drink from the passing silver tray.
The French sure knew how to entertain. The old Hotel de Ville building was stunning, with its renaissance arches and masterpiece paintings. The local establishment was thrilled that the European shoot for Forrester Creations’ new line was going to showcase their city. Tourism revenue was down since the financial crisis of a few years ago, and Donna’s brainwave of explicitly showing off the Cannes glitz in a tourist brochure-style spread had Cannes’ movers and shakers hot under the collar. Donna really was brilliant, Eric reflected, thinking about when Donna had first floated her plan. The theme of the collection was accessible glamor—and the combination of Cannes ritz with the approach to the shoot sent a clear message to the buyer: You too can dress like a star; this can be yours.
He shook his head as he took a swallow of the buttery French drop in his glass.
She sure was some woman.
He had been unsure, coming here, whether and when he should choose to talk to her, but now he knew.
Tomorrow.
He would ask her to dinner tomorrow night and declare his intentions. Her reaction was very important to him. Was he being an old fool? He knew that he could trust Donna to be honest about her feelings, but her reaction still worried him. It was very important that she understand his feelings were genuine; that she didn’t think he was being some foolish old man, trying to resurrect his lost youth.
That’s why he had wanted her to come here; he wanted a chance to test this with Donna, away from all the rush and push of prying eyes, before he risked another public fall. That was one thing he understood about Ridge’s recent humiliation and distress. In that way they were similar: they did not want to expose themselves to public pain.
Relationships were important to Eric—all relationships, whether they be for business, friendship or love. He was not a man who had flitted madly from one woman to another in his life. He had loved Stephanie very much; she had been the cornerstone of his life, despite their ups and downs. And when she had gone, he had taken some time to trust and love Taylor. Then that had proved to be impossible. Eric believed strongly that the next move he made had to be the right one. He had not taken his marriage to Donna lightly either. He still cared about her very much, and wanted the best for her. He felt he was ready to love and trust again, but he needed to be sure he was making the right decision. He knew his family and associates might be critical, given his past. So he needed to get it right. And now that he had both Ridge and Donna in the one place, he could open up.
He could tell Donna, and he could make sure Ridge, too, supported his plans.
As Eric moved through the crowd to the bathrooms, he spied his son, also circulating. A gorgeous redhead was talking to him, leaning very close and whispering something in his ear. As she did, Ridge threw back his head and laughed. It pleased Eric to see his son beginning to relax, after all he had been through.
Eric moved closer to see who the newcomer was.
“Hey,” Ridge acknowledged him warmly as he approached. “This is Claudine.” He inclined his head to the tall, svelte redhead with cheeky blue eyes. “Claudine, Eric Forrester.”
The young woman held out a hand impishly to Eric, who took and kissed it, smelling the unmistakable notes of Chanel No. 5. “It is my very great pleasure, Claudine,” Eric said, noticing the way her burnished copper dress set off her flawless skin and cat-like eyes. French women, he thought, raising an eyebrow at Ridge. No wonder he had never been able to resist them, and it looked as though his son might have a similar weakness. But on closer inspection, he could see Ridge looked tired, and while he was casually flirting with the girl, he seemed preoccupied. When Claudine excused herself for a moment, Eric drew Ridge aside.
“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly. “A local?”
Ridge shrugged. “University student, part-time model.” He shrugged again, seeming bored. “The usual.”
Eric studied his son’s face carefully. “You okay?”
Ridge smiled half-heartedly. “Long day.” He paused. “Wanna blow this popsicle stand and head back?”
Surprise pricked Eric’s antennae. “Without Claudine?” He gestured to the bathroom.
“Huh?” Ridge followed the direction of his father’s finger. “Oh, yes.” He laughed. “Definitely without Claudine. Nice girl but . . .” He waved his hands eloquently. “What is it the French say? Une personne peu profond.”
Eric frowned, then smiled gently. “Shallow?”
Ridge grimaced. “Maybe shallow is a little harsh. It sounds kinder in French.”
Eric laughed. “Everything sounds kinder in French,” he agreed. “But I know what you mean.”
“So,” Ridge said, running his hands over his eyes and placing his glass on a nearby high table, “want to escape with me?”
Eric surveyed the room. “I’d love to, actually,” he said, his eyes lighting on the person he needed. “But unfortunately I can’t go before I’ve locked one more detail in.”
“Anything you need help with?”
Eric could see from Ridge’s face that the offer was genuine, but he could also see that Ridge was beat, and that there was something on his mind. “No, Ridge, you head back. I’ll be a half-hour or so.” He grimaced a little. “Got some flesh to press.”
“Okay,” Ridge said, squeezing Eric’s arm. “Just don’t let Claudine get hold of you.” He smiled. “She is one persistent lady.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Eric assured him, his thoughts wandering to the place he really wanted to be. There was only one woman he wanted to persist with him right now. “I promise to behave. But won’t she be disappointed you’ve escaped her attentions?”
Ridge surveyed the room casually. “I think there are more than enough people here to keep Ms. Claudine occupied tonight,” he said, making for the door.
*
Donna slipped quietly into Eric’s apartment. They would be doing a lot of business over the next few days, and Eric knew she would need access to his apartment at various times, so he had ensured she had key cards for access. But she hadn’t needed to use her key: Eric had left his apartment unlocked. Donna supposed he knew that the apartments were very secure anyway. Their floor was accessible only by elevator and e-pass, and the whole complex was heavily patroled.
The apartment was a huge three-bedroom suite. Donna had booked it for Eric not because he needed all that room, but because she knew how much he loved a prime beachfront view, and this one had the pick of the vistas. Hugging her gown around herself, she tiptoed out onto the balcony and took in the palm trees of the Promenade de la Croisette, waving like welcoming hands toward the glittering waters of the Bay of Cannes and the Mediterranean.
Although the night was warm, there was a cool breeze, and Donna shivered as she took in the beauty of the outlook, and thought about the risk she was about to take. If Eric did not feel as she did, she could end up looking a dreadful fool. And, even worse, she could jeopardize the closeness and trust that had developed between them.
She closed her eyes as she weighed her options.
It was worth the risk.
She slipped quietly back inside and spied the crystal decanter and glasses on the expansive bar. Perhaps this was what she needed to give her a dose of courage. She poured herself two fingers of the whiskey and drank it down in
a couple of quick gulps. The warm liquid burned her mouth and melted her insides as she stood at the bar. She caught sight of herself in the mirror behind it. Her makeup was perfect, soft and romantic. The creamy pink robe she was wearing perfectly matched the delicate coral-pink bra and panties set she had decided on after discarding the black teddy. And her hair was loose and lightly curled. She looked like a woman about to take a man to her bed. And that man was Eric. The thought made her tummy flutter, and she quickly poured herself another two fingers, downing it swiftly before making for Eric’s bedroom.
The master suite was suitably imposing. An enormous bed dominated the space, and wide glass doors led to another part of the balcony with an even better view than the one she had just seen. The sea twinkled at her as she discarded the robe and slid into Eric’s bed. Some slippery scent Donna couldn’t quite catch lingered in the room. It ramped up the nerves that were making her tummy clench in anticipation.
She glanced at the clock. Ten pm. She wondered what time Eric would be back from the reception. Would he have had very much to drink? Would he shower before falling into bed?
Donna worked hard to still her thoughts and calm her nerves. She tried not to question whether she was doing the right thing; tried to suffocate the voice that was asking her whether she was sure it was Eric she really wanted. She would not listen to it. That voice had been wrong before, and those mistakes had led her only down the path of loneliness and regret.
She needed to relax, and focus on what she was doing. Focus on this seduction, and the rightness of it.
The whiskey helped, and she concentrated on slowly and deliberately unbunching each of her muscle groups in turn. She started at her toes, stretching them to their full extension against the crisp cotton sheets. Then she tensed and relaxed her calves, her thighs, her buttocks and her tummy. By the time she got to her shoulders and neck she could feel her body unwinding. It had been such a long day. The flight, the arrival, then checking on the last-minute details ahead of the first day of shooting tomorrow.
She practiced what she would say when Eric arrived. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.
The open curtains made Donna feel a little exposed, and so she got up to close them, shutting out the sights and sounds of the night and the beach. If she was going to do this, she needed it to be dark, and private. She was amazed by how well the blackout curtains worked. The room was almost in complete darkness. She figured once Eric arrived, she could touch the lamp on the bedside table, to ensure he could see what she was offering him. But she didn’t want to alert him to her presence before he joined her in the bed.
This was her surprise, for him.
As she lay back on the bed, she started to feel very relaxed. The whiskey worked its dark and delicious magic on her bones and her skin, and she felt herself start to sink into the big, warm, soft bed. Her eyes began to close and her bones to melt even further. Lying here felt so good, and safe, and right. That scent she had been unable to pin down when she first came in seemed to settle over her like a warm blanket, and even though her brain kept trying to remember where she recognized it from, her body was giving up the fight and giving in to the delicious creeping drowsiness that was overtaking her tired body. Perhaps she could just rest for a moment.
Eric would be here soon, and events would take their natural course.
*
Donna woke to the feel of his body. She rolled into him, the words slipping off her tongue, “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Me too,” she heard. But the voice that answered her was not the one she expected. And the arms that snaked around her waist, hard and insistent, did not belong to the person she had been waiting for.
Her sleep-drugged brain struggled to climb out from under the spell of jet lag, bed and the balmy Mediterranean night. “Ridge?” Donna tried to push him away but he was wrapped concertedly around her and her traitorous skin was delighting in the feeling of his warm body pressed against her almost naked one.
“The very same,” he countered, nuzzling his mouth into her neck.
Donna was starting to come to her senses and tried to sit up. “Ridge,” she said again, unable to form anymore coherent words.
“Donna,” he echoed. “Delicious, delightful Donna.” His voice was low and potent, and the raw edge of it stroked deep into her tummy and sent goosebumps traveling over every inch of her skin. It sounded like raw, molten desire.
She sat up and touched the lamp on the bedside table. As the dim light illuminated the scene, she almost wished she hadn’t. Ridge was shirtless, and by the feeling of his bare legs against hers, he was clad only in boxers. His chest was indeed as tan and muscled as she had suspected. His hair was sexily mussed, his eyes were hooded with sleep and desire, and his brow was furrowed.
And then there was her. She glanced down to find her chest covered in pink flush, her breasts full and prominent in the delicate lacy bra, and her breath heaving in and out in ways that made the bra look even more indecent. “What are you doing here?”
He laughed; a deep, wicked chuckle. “Isn’t that my line? This is my bedroom after all.”
“No, it’s not,” she snapped, wrapping a sheet around herself and glowering at him. “It’s Eric’s.”
“Ah.” It was Ridge’s turn to sit up. His face had darkened into a furious scowl, and his eyes swept over her assessingly. “So that’s what this is about. A surprise seduction? Hoping to move things up a notch? Pick up where you left off?”
Donna had no words. She felt small and silly, her brain slowed by sleep and whiskey. “No, I . . . I just—”
“You just what?” Ridge kneeled on the bed beside her, and Donna could see that he was indeed wearing boxer shorts, a tight-fitting black pair that clung to hard thighs and tight buttocks. He leaned forward and tugged on the sheet, pulling it from Donna’s grip and then surveying the bra and the top of her panties. “And tell me, Donna, where is that little back number? Now that I’d really like to see.” His mouth twisted cruelly. “Don’t get me wrong, the pink is nice. Very—” he waved his hand casually, “—safe. That’s what you like, isn’t it? Safe?”
Donna had had enough. She summoned her courage and dropped the sheet, rolling off the bed to stand beside it. She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of. She would not let Ridge make her feel like some naughty schoolgirl. She was a grown woman.
“Why are you in here?” she demanded, hand on her hip. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Ridge laughed, swinging his long legs off the bed to stand facing her. “Don’t flatter yourself. Me being here is not about you. My father asked me to come on this trip, I’m not sure why. I think he has something he wants to tell me, but I don’t know what it is. He asked me late, as you know, so he suggested I stay in here with him.” He shrugged, and Donna tried not to notice the way the gesture emphasized his shoulders and chest. “Plenty of room.”
But something still felt wrong to Donna. “And he said go ahead and have the master bedroom as well?”
Ridge frowned. “He did. The second bedroom has the desk, apparently.”
Donna’s eyes swept the room and she realized it was true. Dear God, of all the things to go wrong; of all the people to witness this . . .
“Well,” she said, moving to the small nightstand where she had left her robe. “I guess that’s my cue to go.” She held her head high and made to push past Ridge, who was standing between her and her robe. But as she did, she realized what that scent was, the one that had been bugging her since the moment she had entered this room—it was Ridge’s cologne. That salty, zesty smell that screamed to her of his body. Why had she not realized he had been here?
She steeled herself again to push past him but as she did he caught her arm.
“Going so soon?”
His semi-naked body was so close she could count the hairs on his chest and smell the hot tang of his skin. The urge to reach out and touch the scratchy stubble peppering his c
heeks was strong, but an answering urge to slap his face warred with it. She closed her eyes against the memory of him on the plane today, seducing her with his voice.
“Do you know what I want to do to you, looking at you standing there like that?” His voice now was low and deadly. “I told you today, on the plane, so you must know what I want to do to you, right now.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He continued. “I shouldn’t want it,” he said, gesturing at the bed. “Not after this, not knowing it’s my father you want.” He squeezed her arm. “Maybe I’m kidding myself, but I can’t help thinking you’re just confused. That you’ve got it all wrong.” He stepped closer and she could feel his breath against her face. “Donna, I know you loved Eric once. I really do believe that now.” The unspoken words lay between them: I didn’t believe it back then.
He continued, his voice so slow and seductive it almost didn’t matter what he was saying. His voice was stroking her, inside and out, making her melt with the force of this thing that seemed to have grown between them. “But that was then, Donna. There has been so much water under the bridge.”
She tried to speak, but he wasn’t done. “The two of you tried, and it didn’t work. You’re chasing something that’s in the past.” He reached up and touched her hair, so gently she could almost have thought she imagined it. “Whereas this thing . . .” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “This thing that’s going on between us, it’s very much alive, isn’t it, Donna?”
Before she could work out the right next move, Ridge had scooped her up in those strong arms and carried her back to the bed. The skin of her stomach and breasts pushed against his warm, smooth chest and the sensation was indescribably arousing. Her breasts felt heavy and painful, and her nipples puckered as she bounced against him. Her legs were so weak she was almost sure she couldn’t have walked to the bed alone even if she’d wanted to. He laid her down gently, and she knew she should have protested, should have struggled, should have got up and run.