Vivian stiffened when his hand moved gently up her shoulder blade, circling around the small tattoo she’d had inscribed on her back after her parents’ death.
“What does this mean?” he whispered from behind her, closing the gap between them.
Her pulse quickened. “It means family in Japanese.”
“I wouldn’t take you for the family type.” He moved around to face her, holding her wrist as if waiting for an answer.
“I could say the same about you,” she managed to say.
“Why don’t you have any emergency contacts in your employee file?”
“I don’t need to trouble anyone in the event of an emergency,” Vivian said truthfully. She didn’t have anyone to call. Not anymore.
“Not even your parents?” Javier pressed, loosening his grip on her wrist.
“My parents died in a car crash when I was seventeen.”
“Did they leave anyone behind besides you?”
“I lost everyone who mattered.”
“My condolences,” he murmured, his hand rubbing lightly over her back.
Vivian looked deep into his eyes. The usual arrogance that crowned his hardened features was gone. With a sigh, she resumed walking, and soon they reached their table at the front, close to the raised podium. She smiled as a few guests greeted Javier, wishing she knew who these people were, if they were business partners, acquaintances, or friends. Javier Rivera wasn’t known for having many friends.
An older gentleman with a trimmed beard approached the group, and everyone at the table greeted him warmly.
“And who is your charming companion, Javier?” The old man smiled at her.
“This is Vivian Foster. Vivian, meet…” Javier hesitated.
“Call me Edouard.” The man kissed her on both cheeks in the French style. “Enchanté.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Vivian replied. The man exuded wisdom and sympathy.
Javier snaked his hand around her waist, possessively bringing her closer. Her throat closed in discomfort. All she could think about was escaping from his embrace.
“Where have you been hiding this lovely lady?” Edouard asked Javier.
“Oh, we’re not…” Vivian shook her head as a red wave of anger spread over her face.
“You’d be surprised to know where she was hiding.” If there was humor in Javier’s voice, his fingers tightening around her waist told a different story.
The band played vintage Nina Simone, and elegantly dressed people crowded the dance floor.
“Would you give me the pleasure of this dance, mademoiselle?” Edouard asked her.
“Unfortunately, I was just about to ask her the same,” Javier said. His tone was playful, but Vivian had no doubt of the message. He’d meant it when he’d said she was not to leave his side.
But being by his side was dangerous. Literally. The side of her chest crushed against him, his fingertips bit into her dress, and his hot breath was so close. Her awareness of him was a liability she couldn’t afford. “I would love to dance, Edouard.” Vivian withdrew from Javier’s arm.
“But mi querida,” Javier insisted, his dark eyes sending her a warning message, intense and secretive. Obviously, he didn’t want her to go, which only made her more eager to dance with Edouard. Might he know Monsieur Broussard or have information about Javier’s agenda in Paris?
“Don’t worry,” Edouard said. “Just one dance, and I will bring her back to you safe and sound.” He chuckled, seemingly oblivious to the tension emanating from them both.
“Well, since it’s just one dance,” Javier said with a tight smile.
As the Frenchman led her to the dance floor, she shot Javier a mocking glance over her shoulder.
“I hope Javier doesn’t mind my whisking you away,” Edouard said. He raised his hands to meet hers and began dancing elegantly. Vivian did her best to follow him, imagining how odd the two of them had to look together. She was a foot taller than her dance partner.
“I doubt it.” She smiled, making a clumsy effort not to trip over his feet. “Have you known him long?”
“I’ve bumped into him quite a few times. I guess that’s the curse of the business world.”
“You’re doing business with him?” A ripple of excitement traveled through her. Finally, I’m getting somewhere.
“Why, my dear?” Edouard swirled her around. “Should I expect you to oversell his potential?”
Vivian chuckled. “I wouldn’t be the right person for that.”
“Why not?” He spun her around the floor. “You find it impossible to separate matters of the heart from business decisions?”
“It’s rather complicated.” The underestimation of the century.
“Oh, ma chérie, it’s always complicated.”
Edouard sobered, and a moment later he added, “At the risk of sounding odd, I must tell you something.”
“Go ahead.” Vivian held her breath. There was something about this man that assured her she could trust him.
“You remind me of my daughter.” His eyes were filled with pain.
“Do I?” Vivian exhaled slowly. “Is she here today?”
“She’s right there.” He pointed to the life-size picture above the stage of a beautiful young woman wearing white, her smile broad and her eyes blue. The golden frame was thick, and as Vivian’s gaze drifted over the picture, she saw the birth and death dates.
Dead. His daughter was dead.
“I’m sorry.” The idea of asking him for any information about Javier vanished from her mind. She would offer him the only thing she could—her silent sympathy for the remainder of the dance.
But Edouard spoke again. “Why is it complicated?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she whispered, “Do you know anything about the Broussard merger?”
He hesitated, and his brows furrowed. “I’ve heard rumors.”
Vivian chewed on her lower lip, undecided. Edouard had confided in her, hadn’t he? Why couldn’t she do the same? She couldn’t afford to waste time.
“I need to talk to Monsieur Broussard. I must tell him he can’t do business with Javier.”
She felt the old man’s grip on her tighten. “Why not?”
“I believe he’s responsible for my friend’s death. Her name was Molly Richardson. I don’t think Monsieur Broussard will want to mix up the empire it took him a lifetime to build with someone like Javier.”
“That’s a very strong accusation.”
“I have strong reasons to believe it,” she said, thinking of what Molly had told her, and of the voice mail. “I’ll tell him everything I know. Do you know how I can get in touch with him?”
Before Edouard could answer, Javier approached them, shooting Edouard a friendly smile. The song had ended. “Can I steal her back?” As the old man nodded, Javier bowed to her, his smile fading and his black eyes drilling into hers.
“Vivian, it’s been a pleasure.” Edouard bowed to her, handing her to Javier. “And don’t worry about stepping on my feet. I will take care of it.” Edouard winked. Javier seemed not to notice the hidden message in his last sentence.
Edouard would help her somehow. She could feel it.
“I’m done dancing,” she said after Edouard had left. She tried to move away, but Javier wouldn’t have it.
“I insist.” He splayed his large hand firmly on her bare back, pulling her against him with such strength, she pressed her lips closed to suppress a gasp. “I lead with my right foot, and you follow with your left.” He led with a blend of refinement and virility, leaving no doubt this would be a very different dance from the one she had shared with Edouard.
“Opposite sides,” she replied sharply. It helped to remind herself out loud where they both stood, just in case the heat coiling low in her stomach tried to trick her. “Got it.”
The slow rhythm of the music made it impossible for her to create a buffer zone. Her body molded to his without her consent, her blood thickening and her nip
ples hardening against the silky fabric of her dress.
Vivian couldn’t speak. She tilted her head to the side, battling her yearning to rest it on Javier’s shoulder and relax, just for one moment…
If only she could. If only he were anyone else.
He broke the silence. “The deal was, you were to be by my side at all times.”
Vivian she stepped back to meet the darkness of his eyes. “It was only a dance.” She stopped moving, but he placed his hands on her lower back, gently tapping his fingers.
“Just a dance?” he murmured sarcastically. “With one of the most powerful men in France?”
“How would I know? Maybe in your world he’s some kind of hotshot. To me, he was just Edouard, a kind old man who asked me to dance.”
“So what did you and the kind old man talk about?”
“Pleasantries. It’s nice to talk to someone rational for a change.”
“You don’t waste time, do you, Vivian? Befriending an old billionaire widower, vulnerable to a beautiful young woman’s affection.”
“Watch your tone, Mr. Rivera. If you don’t begin respecting women, one day you’ll be the old lonely man yourself.”
“Oh, but I do respect women,” Javier said casually, sending her into a twirl so swift that before she could think, she was back in his arms. A couple dancing next to them cheered with excitement at his perfect timing.
“In every way?” she asked coolly. “Have you ever bedded a married woman, for instance?”
“No,” he said immediately, tightening his hand on hers.
“Do you think it’s appropriate to sleep with an employee?” Vivian locked her gaze on his, challenging him to reveal the real man behind the facade.
“Is this a question or an invitation?” His eyes trailed down her face, assessing her with the intimacy of a caress.
No. No. He’d gotten it all wrong… She wasn’t challenging him to bed her.
“A question, obviously.”
“It really sounded like an invitation.” His lips turned up in a tempting smile as he tightened his hold on her.
“It should have sounded like an accusation. You slept with Molly.” She would not forget what had brought her here. Would not forgive.
He sobered. “She was the only employee I ever slept with.”
“Were the other employees wiser?”
To her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. “Vivian, you amuse me.”
“That’s me, a natural-born entertainer.”
“You are not attracted to me?” Javier’s condescending smile proved his ego couldn’t be dented.
The nerve of the man. He obviously thought no one was immune to his charms.
She shook her head vehemently. “No.”
“Then we have nothing to worry about.”
She lifted her chin. “Absolutely nothing.”
Javier’s drawl thickened as he said, “And that makes it all the more interesting.”
“Where were you on the evening of her death?”
“Her suicide,” he corrected. “I was at a friend’s cocktail party.”
There was something about the way he danced elegantly while responding to questions about a murder… He remained at ease, but his face displayed a measure of annoyance.
“Which wasn’t very far from Molly’s flat. You could have gone and returned,” Vivian said.
“How do you know where the party was?”
Vivian sighed. She couldn’t tell him Roger had helped her to get that information. “I’m resourceful.”
He stopped moving for a moment. “What if I give you the names of the people I talked to at the party?”
“You would do that?”
“As long as you call them and pretend to be some jealous girlfriend making sure I behaved. I can’t have you telling people I’m a suspect in that crazy mind of yours.”
Vivian pondered. There was always the possibility he would give her a list of people who would corroborate his version whether it was true or not. But for the first time, her mind seriously considered the alternative. What if he hadn’t done it? What if one of his men had, and he really hadn’t given permission or even known? Did he know now? Was he protecting the real murderer?
Either way, it was too soon to tell. She needed more information.
“I’m not crazy,” she said, staring deep into his eyes.
To her relief, he said nothing. As the song ended, they returned to their table, and the waitstaff served dinner. Vivian picked at the ice-poached oysters and salmon with wild rice she’d been served. Her stomach was unsettled, and it had nothing to do with the food, which was exquisite. It had everything to do with the man sitting next to her.
Sharing the table with a few other people should have helped. She’d hoped they would mention something business-related, but to her frustration, they all spoke French or Italian. No one, including Javier, made an effort to speak to her. It was as if they saw her as his flavor of the month. Why would they want to get to know her better? She wasn’t famous, rich, or strikingly beautiful. And given their situation, she could understand why he didn’t want her to mingle with anyone at the table, which was possibly why he hadn’t paid her any attention over the course of the meal.
The waiter brought dessert, a small, warm chocolate cake surrounded by wild berries. Vivian ate it with satisfaction, enjoying the sensation of the smooth, warm chocolate filling moving down her throat and the sugar hit that took her thoughts from Javier, even if only for a few moments. When she had finished the dessert, he looked at her with amusement.
“It’s my weakness,” Vivian said, licking her lips. “Besides, dessert is the best part.”
Her light comment didn’t have the intended result. The amusement washed out of his face. He observed her with curved lips, and electricity surged through her body when her eyes met his heated stare.
“Have mine,” he offered, and as Vivian opened her mouth to decline, Javier scooped a piece up with his fork and dipped it inside her mouth.
Vivian swallowed the morsel and grabbed for her water glass. “Thank you, but I can feed myself.” She drank quickly.
“I don’t mind,” he insisted, and once again he raised his fork to her mouth.
Vivian looked back into his eyes, aware she needed a witty comeback to dispel the sexual tension. She knew he was challenging her. Hadn’t he asked her, not long ago, if she was attracted to him? She’d said no. Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? So why would she act like a Victorian virgin just because he wanted to give her another piece of paradise?
And by paradise, she only meant chocolate cake.
Delicious, inviting, warm…cake.
Vivian opened her mouth wide. He placed the cake inside once more and smiled.
With his thumb, he took a crumb from the corner of her mouth and brought it to his lips. Vivian caught her breath. Truth be told, she had never seen sexier, fuller lips on a man before. Plump and sensuous, they were just right.
The tip of his tongue slipped out, and he licked the crumb off his finger. She watched him, unable to take her eyes from his mouth.
“You are right. Dessert is the best part.” His voice was husky, filled with wickedness.
Vivian blinked a couple of times. What was happening to her? For the second time this evening, she’d completely lost her head around Javier. No thinking, just feeling. She wasn’t used to that kind of indulgence.
Just because she’d lied to Javier about what she was doing in the office when he found her didn’t mean she had mastered fooling herself. A part of her was attracted to him.
No good will come of this.
Vivian tore her eyes away, frustrated with herself. Apart from wanting—needing—to take the merger away from him, she now had to remain alert in order to keep her own responsive body in check.
A few short speeches were made, and the audience alternated between attentive listening and clapping for the next speaker. Her fingers played with a long allium stem fro
m the table arrangement.
Edouard walked to the podium amid a standing ovation. Following Javier’s lead, she got to her feet and clapped. The lights dimmed, and a large monitor began playing a video about the foundation. The narrator spoke French, but English subtitles appeared on the screen. Sighing in relief, Vivian read them and learned about the man who had founded the charity for women who were victims of domestic violence and abuse.
She gasped when his name flashed on the screen. The founder was called Jean Edouard Broussard.
Monsieur Broussard.
A frozen liquid spread through her bloodstream. She had danced, laughed, and shared a painful moment with the famous Monsieur Broussard—a spirited, kind man who had founded a charity to honor his deceased daughter. She cleared her throat, conscious that Javier was looking at her. “You could have told me he was the host of the fund-raiser.”
“Suddenly he’s not just a kind old man?” Javier squinted. “What difference does it make to know he’s the legendary Jean Edouard Broussard?” he asked in an accusing tone.
“I still don’t know him from Adam. But now that I know he’s the host, I’m embarrassed. I stepped on his feet so many times.”
“I’m sure he’s insured.” He assessed her briefly and looked away.
She twisted her head to see the photograph of Broussard’s daughter once again. He was right. Both Vivian and the woman in the photograph had fair skin, blue eyes, and dark auburn hair. But as she stared at the girl, it was Molly who came to her mind.
“Time to go,” Javier said when Edouard finished his speech and left the stage. The lights came back on, bright as before, and the band resumed playing.
Although several people surrounded him, they slowly made their way out of the ballroom. Javier didn’t let her out of his sight for one moment, and she knew the intrusive bodyguard was around somewhere, watching her every step.
“Javier.”
A deep female voice called to him.
Vivian glanced at Javier, who inhaled sharply before turning around to talk to an older woman. She wore a glamorous black dress with a long pearl necklace. Her heavy makeup seemed to carefully minimize all the years she had lived.
Silence descended upon them, lasting a moment longer than was socially acceptable. Javier’s features hardened. If there was any emotion behind his blank stare, he hid it well.
A Vengeful Affair Page 5