He shrugged. “It’s not my thing.”
“I don’t imagine. Not when the women are beating down your door for a night with the lion.”
“Bailey…”
“Why are you asking this?”
“I want to know.”
She looked as though she was going to tell him to mind his own business. He wasn’t sure what was going on in those cool blue eyes. Embarrassment? The need to protect herself? But then she lifted her shoulders. “There are four types of men who come to a strip club. The jokers, the guys who come in with a bachelor party or to party with their friends, they drink too much, leave you nice tips and go on their way. Then there’s the regulars. Some of them become friends, they pay you to dance for them, sit with them, listen to the things their wives won’t because their marriage is so far gone, they don’t listen to them at all anymore.”
His mouth twisted. “You realize you’re proving my point.”
She ignored him. “Those are the good regulars. Who can become bad regulars if they fall for you. Then they decide you need to be rescued. That you shouldn’t be living this life and they want to marry you. If you’re unlucky, they become stalkers and then they’re a real problem.”
“Did that happen to you?”
“Once. The club saw him follow me to my car and called the police.”
He looked horrified. “And the final kind?”
“The men who want to degrade you. The ones who are unsuccessful in life, feel they aren’t appreciated enough at home—the ones who don’t feel manly enough. They come in to put themselves on a power trip. They’ll call you names, call you stupid, whatever makes them feel better about themselves by making you feel like you’re about an inch tall.”
“So how did you deal with that?” A wry smile curved his mouth. “I can’t imagine you took it well.”
“I didn’t. One night when a guy grabbed my butt, I slapped him across the face.” Her mouth pursed. “He hit me back, only, much harder.”
Jared’s heart lurched. “What happened after that?”
“The bouncers threw him out. He came back the next night.”
“They let him back in?”
“He was spending. That’s all they care about.”
“Did that happen often?”
“No. It was more verbal abuse. You got used to it, you developed a thick skin, but it still wears away at your self-confidence.”
She looked so vulnerable, so tiny beside him when some of those guys must have been twice her size, it made his skin burn just thinking about it.
“What were the rules on personal contact?”
Her gaze skipped away from his. “To make the really good money, you had to do private dances.”
“Lap dances?”
“Yes.”
He’d never had a lap dance. He’d watched his groom-to-be buddy have one and hadn’t felt any desire to do that with a stranger. Hadn’t seen the sexiness in it. His buddy had, though. He’d loved having the beautiful girl intimately plastered across his lap.
“Was this,” he asked Bailey, his voice a little on the rough side, “all done with or without clothes?”
Rosy color stained her delicate cheekbones. “We had to wear bottoms. We wore two, in fact. I’m not even sure why. It might have been more of a fashion statement.”
The thought of Bailey dressed like that, dancing on a guy’s lap, had him asking, “Didn’t it bother you, doing that?”
“Of course it bothered me,” she snapped. “It wasn’t Sunday school, Jared. It was a job—a very lucrative job where men paid me a lot of money to take off my clothes. And maybe if I hadn’t had to worry about money my entire life, hadn’t had to wear hand-me-downs every day to school, I would have chosen differently. But I didn’t have that luxury and I wanted to make a better life for myself.”
Point taken.
She looked out at the sea, the sun slanting over her alabaster skin. “Most of the men were fine. Most of them respected the line and didn’t cross it.”
“Except for the ones like Alexander.”
She looked back at him, the remnants of a memory in her eyes. “Do you know what he said to me that night in my dressing room?”
He was pretty sure he didn’t, but he nodded anyway.
“He said he would respect my hard limits.”
Jared’s hands clenched into fists by his sides. “You stay away from him in Paris,” he said harshly. “I don’t want you interacting with him.”
She nodded. “I will.”
He didn’t want Gagnon anywhere near her. He was also sure he never wanted a man to raise a hand to her again. Put a hand on her. Ever.
He raked a hand through his hair and blinked against the sunshine breaking through the clouds as they stepped down onto the beach. Absorbed the uneasy feeling in his gut as he worried he was seriously losing his edge. Protecting Bailey against Alexander Gagnon was a given. The rest of it—the urge to keep her for himself—that was something he could never, ever do. He wasn’t even sure where such a crazy thought had come from.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AN UTTERLY BRILLIANT, rock-solid presentation under their belt, Jared and Bailey landed in Paris on Sunday night after a quick hour-and-a-half flight north from Nice in the Stone Industries jet. A car picked them up from the terminal and whisked them into the city, lights sparkling from every vantage point as dusk fell.
Jared studied the play of color across the Seine as they neared their hotel in the Left Bank, thinking the City of Light was so much more appropriate a descriptor than the City of Love. For one thing, he thought, mouth twisting, love was a myth perpetuated by all the romantics of the world. Secondly, there was no city as gorgeous as Paris at night.
He watched Bailey once again play twenty questions with their driver, asking him about the city landmarks.
I don’t know what love is, she’d said. I’ve never had it so how would I? I’d settle for a man who respects me. A man who tells me the truth. One who wants me for who I am.
He pursed his lips and stared out at the elegant facades of the historic buildings that lined the river. Bailey was everything a man in his right mind would want in a woman. Intelligent, stunningly beautiful, interesting and desirable… How had one not snapped her up, pushed his way past that impenetrable facade? Tapped into that wistfulness she kept hidden so well? Had the life she’d led made her bury it that deep?
He put it out of his head as the car whipped around a corner and pulled to a halt in front of their elegant old hotel. It was exactly that vulnerability, the fact that she was untouched, that was going to keep him a hundred paces from her at all times if he knew what was good for him.
Their takeoff spot had been delayed in Nice, which meant they had less than an hour before they were due at the dinner that had been organized for them and their Gehrig counterparts. Enough time to check in to their hotel, change and go. Jared left Bailey to shower and dress in the suite that adjoined his and did the same.
He had showered and was pulling on his shirt when a knock came at the connecting door. He strode over and pulled it open, finding a fully dressed, toe-tapping Bailey on the other side. Her gaze moved over his chest, down over the muscles of his abdomen in a caught-off-guard perusal that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but total appreciation.
It made his vow to avoid anything that constituted lust between them snag in his throat.
“I just need a tie,” he muttered, turning around and putting distance between them.
Bailey walked in and strolled to the Juliet balcony to look out at the lights. “It’s so beautiful at night.”
Jared did the buttons of his shirt up. “One of my favorite cities in the world.”
“Which you will never enjoy on your honeymoon because you’re never getting married. How sad for you.”
“How forward-thinking of me,” he retorted. “I can bring my girlfriend here instead of paying for divorce proceedings.”
Her throaty laugh did strange thin
gs to his stomach. “You think you’re so tough, Jared Stone,” she murmured as she turned around. “But you’re really not. You know that?”
He elected not to respond. She was in white tonight, a simple classy knee-length dress that made the most of her curvaceous figure, hair up in a sleek chignon that left her beautiful neck bare. His strict no-virgin policy should have shielded him from the desire to bury his mouth in the exposed hollow between neck and shoulder. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t following his strategic plan.
Biting out a curse, he whipped the tie around his neck and tied it with the quick efficiency of a man who hated that particular accessory. He was not having her.
Bailey surveyed him with a critical eye. Walked toward him with a purposeful movement that sent his pulse into overdrive. He yanked in a breath as she came to a halt in front of him and pushed his hands aside.
“Your tie is crooked.”
As disheveled as his mind.
He kept his hands by his sides while she undid the tie, set it back around his neck and retied it, her technique smooth and flawless. Her perfume drifted into his nostrils, the curves he was almost going crazy not touching so close he would only have had to take a step to feel her against him.
“How did you,” he murmured roughly, “learn to tie a tie so well with no lovers in your life?”
She pursed her lips as she finished it off. “Etiquette training.”
“Etiquette training?” He stared at her as if he hadn’t heard right. “As in Pygmalion?”
She smiled. “If you want to put it like that.”
“Why?”
Rosy color stained her cheeks. “I grew up dirt-poor with no idea of how to function in society, Jared. I was a stripper. Where was I going to learn what to say over a business dinner? What fork to use? I might have gotten an MBA, but it in no way prepared me for any of that. So I had someone teach me.”
“Right.” His heart contracted. Just a bit.
Every time he built a wall against her, she disarmed him. She said something like that and reminded him just how vulnerable she was under that tough exterior. It made him want to hold her and never let go.
“Jared—” She bit her lip and stared up at him and God help him, he almost snared that luscious mouth under his and did what he wanted to do. But that was absolutely, definitely not happening. Not tonight when he needed his wits about him. When he needed to win this deal.
“We need to go,” he announced abruptly, stepping back. “We’re already late.”
The hurt he seemed to be a professional at putting in her eyes gleamed bright. He ignored it and shoved his wallet into his pocket.
“The car’s waiting. Let’s go.”
* * *
The seafood restaurant on the Rue de Rivoli was packed with people on the warm, steamy Paris night. The maître d’ led them to the chef’s table at the back of the restaurant with its much-in-demand view of the bustling, sparkling kitchen in which white-coated chefs worked in symphonic precision.
They were the last in the group of seven to arrive. Their competition, John Gehrig, the CEO of Gehrig Electronics, rose to introduce himself, his wife, Barbara, and his vice president of marketing. Gehrig was a warm, friendly Midwesterner in his early fifties whom Bailey couldn’t help but instantly like. As was Barbara, who was utterly charming as his feminine counterpart, and apparently whip-smart as Gehrig’s legal counsel.
She moved to greet Davide, then Alexander, who was superbly dressed in a gray suit and navy shirt and drawing more than one set of female eyes as he stood. He bent to press a kiss to each of her cheeks, the touch of his lips sending an involuntary shiver through her. “You look outrageously beautiful,” he murmured in her ear as he brushed the other cheek. “Unfortunate Stone had the pleasure of escorting you.”
Bailey stepped back, firmly disengaging his hands. “So lovely to see you again.”
Jared made a point of sitting in the seat beside Alexander at the round table designed for conversation, which left Bailey to his left and Barbara beside her. A potent predinner cocktail Barbara suggested was a fine method of relaxation, and before long, the two of them had hit it off.
“So,” Barbara murmured as the fish course was being removed, “are you and the delectable Jared together?”
She shook her head. “What made you think that?”
“The way he looks at you. Like he’d like to have you for the main course…you might want to address that.”
Or not.
“And then there’s the dark and dangerous Alexander…” Barbara mused. “Uncatchable, say the tabloids.”
Bailey wondered, for the millionth time, why he was fixated on her. Surely the man could have any woman with his looks and fortune?
Jared asked her a question, claiming her attention with a touch of his hand on her arm. It was a gesture that did not escape Alexander’s attention because he had been watching her like a hawk all night. Bailey leaned into Jared and contributed her thoughts on the changing retail climate. Alexander tracked the movement. That she heartily enjoyed the constant touching when she was supposed to be hating Jared was a matter she didn’t care too examine too closely. It was all an act for Alexander’s benefit, of course.
Dinner stretched on, Parisian-style, with course after course of delectable French food. More bottles of twenty-year-old wine were consumed than Bailey could count, accompanied by enough business talk to make the night worthwhile, but not so much it impinged on the very civilized French way of taking the time to truly savor a meal. Talk turned to port when a cheese plate was placed on the table to finish. Davide and Jared, both huge fans of the intensely flavored wine, were invited down to the cellar by the owner to choose their selection. While the Gehrigs went out for a smoke, and their VP left to make a call, Bailey excused herself to use the ladies’ room rather than be alone with Alexander.
She took her time, but when she returned to the table, Alexander was still its only occupant. Jerking her head around, she found the Gehrigs chatting to a couple at another table.
Alexander stood. “Sit down, Bailey. I don’t bite.”
Yes, you do, she wanted to say. But rather than cause a scene, she did. Alexander picked up his wine, lowered himself into his chair, and took a sip. “How did your strategy session go? Ready for Tuesday?”
She nodded. “I think you’ll be very happy with the final plan.”
“Good.” He set the glass down. “Jared may be a maverick but his vision is right.”
Her gaze met his warily. “I’m glad you realize that.”
His slate-gray eyes glittered. “Why didn’t you take me up on that offer in Vegas, Bailey?”
She swallowed. “It wasn’t personal. I never fraternized with customers.”
“Yet you fraternize with your boss.”
Warmth flooded her cheeks. “Jared and I don’t have a relationship.”
“Oh, come on, Bailey. You’re infatuated with him. If you’re not sleeping with him now, you will be.”
Her blood pressure skyrocketed. “Pick a more appropriate topic or I will leave the table.”
“It’s fine, you know,” he continued. “I only want one night. Think of it like this, my Vegas proposal, except this time, you don’t get fifty thousand dollars, you get to save your boyfriend’s deal.”
Her jaw dropped open. “Why? Why me, Alexander? You could have any woman you wanted.”
He nodded his head toward Jared’s chair. “I want what he has. I want what I’ve wanted from the beginning.”
She shook her head at the direct, unhesitating stare he leveled at her. The man was a sociopath.
His gaze narrowed. “For a woman who stripped for a living you are very naive, Bailey. I want the fantasy. I want what you were selling on that stage—but I want it for me. To know when I sink myself into you, I have what none of them had.”
Bailey stood up on shaking legs. “You are insane.”
“No,” he said underlining the word, “I know what I want.” He no
dded his head toward the back of the restaurant. “Sit down. They’re coming back.”
She turned and saw Jared and Davide winding their way through the tables, Jared’s gaze pinned on her. She sank back into her chair.
“Don’t make a mess of this for Jared,” Alexander murmured as the din of the restaurant buzzed on around them. “Think about it.”
She wasn’t actually sure what happened the last hour she sat there in a frozen state. The port was consumed, the cheese eaten by connoisseurs other than herself, and somehow the evening ended.
Alexander offered to drive them back to their hotel and rather than be rude, Jared accepted. When the Frenchman had dropped them off and they were in the elevator riding up to their rooms, Jared crossed his arms over his chest, the hot and bothered look to him suggesting he wasn’t so under control.
“What happened with Alexander at the table?”
She leaned back against the wall of the lift, her head spinning. “He told me if I took him up on his offer from Vegas, I could save your deal.”
His head jerked back. “What?”
She swallowed hard. “He said your vision was the future and we were the right choice. But that I could seal the deal by sleeping with him. That he only wanted one night.”
His nostrils flared, his fingers flexing around the metal bar that surrounded the lift. She was half terrified he would stop the car and go after Alexander from the coldly furious look on his face. Instead, as the lift stopped at their floor, he stepped out, held the door for her and stalked toward their rooms.
“Your card,” he barked, taking it and opening the door. It was a good two or three moments before he spoke.
“What else did he say?”
She lifted a trembling hand to her cheek. “I asked him why. He said he wanted the fantasy. That when he was deep inside me he would have what none of the others had.” She stared at him. “God, Jared. He’s sick.”
He was so still, so absolutely still, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. It throbbed once, twice, three times before he took a deep breath and started toward her, his hands cupping her jaw. “He’s a megalomaniac who thinks he can have anything he wants, Bailey. But he will never put his hands on you. I promise you that.”
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