The woman finally spoke. “It’s nice to see you.”
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Javier said.
“I came for the party. I will go back to Madrid tonight. How have you been?” She took one step forward, her sad black eyes searching for his.
“Good,” he answered. His fingers clenched at Vivian’s waist, the gesture telling her that something about this woman unsettled him. He could not show it or say it, but she felt the tension in his body. It prompted her to stretch her hand out to the woman and say, “I’m Vivian Foster. Nice to meet you.”
The woman blinked, slightly taken aback. With the hint of a smile, she shook Vivian’s hand. “I’m Gisela Rivera. Javier’s mother.”
His mother. Of course. They shared the same dark eyes and full lips, but the similarities ended there.
Vivian sensed that Gisela longed for a deeper connection to her son—which made her wonder, how could such an important relationship be allowed to degenerate to the extent that Javier and his mother could have this awkward run-in?
“I sent you an invitation for the family reunion in November,” Gisela said.
“I’ve been busy.” Javier inhaled. After another long pause, he said, “Good night.”
His mother simply nodded, as if she not only expected this kind of treatment from him but accepted it.
Vivian shot Javier’s mother a sympathetic smile over her shoulder as Javier’s hand on her back prompted her to match his decisive strides out of the ballroom.
Chapter Four
Vivian leaned against the cold wall of the elevator and sighed as she glanced at their reflection in the mirrored walls.
They were all alone. Javier stood straight and faced forward with his features set in hard lines, waiting for the doors to open. She sagged against the wall, her gaze alternating between the mirror and his broad back and strong shoulders.
The oppressive silence didn’t seem to faze him. When the doors opened, Javier walked out of the elevator and into the hallway with his usual confidence. Vivian wished she could see his eyes, although she knew deep down it wasn’t a smart impulse. Whatever flickers of emotion he tried to hide from his mother were not her problem.
I don’t care how he got this way. I don’t. Vivian chanted the mantra inside her head.
She had other things to think about. Since she had talked—damn it, she had danced—with Monsieur Broussard himself, hope had blossomed inside her. A part of her knew Edouard would at least look into her accusation, just as she knew Molly hadn’t committed suicide. Call it intuition or instinct—whatever it was, she trusted it. She had made progress.
The knowledge should have brought her some comfort. It should not have been clashing with growing doubts.
But it was.
“What are you looking at?” Javier asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Your scar,” she blurted out. “Did you get hurt at cricket?”
“No.” A curt reply.
“Rugby?”
Certainly a man like Javier, born and bred into the upper crust of Spanish society, had not been scarred doing something noble. A sports injury was the most likely scenario.
“It was a fight,” he said tightly.
“How sophisticated.”
“I was eight.”
Vivian stopped short. Eight. “Was the other child hurt, as well?”
“It wasn’t a child. It was my stepfather, back in Spain.” He almost sounded casual, but she noticed the tension in his jaw and the careful way he pronounced the words, as if each one of them carried a heavy weight.
“I’m sorry.” Vivian bit down on her lip so hard, she could taste the blood inside her mouth. Her first impulse was to touch him, to comfort him, but she pulled back her hand before it was too late.
She couldn’t hug him. This was the man who put her best friend through hell. This was the man who had handcuffed her last night.
“You didn’t know rich kids get beaten, too?” He sounded angry, but before she could respond, he spoke again, and this time he’d removed all the emotion from his voice. “It was a long time ago.”
The pain that remained in his eyes told her that the real scar was rooted deep inside his soul.
She chastised herself silently. You have no business being anywhere near his soul.
But still, she wondered. Did it happen often? Did his mother know?
He strolled in the direction of the suite, motioning to her to do the same. Vivian went along, although her heart resisted following his orders, even as her legs obeyed.
She had to say something. She couldn’t give him a hug, nor could she use his troubled past to justify his actions. But for reasons she couldn’t understand, she just couldn’t drop the subject. “Despite what you may think, I really am—”
“Don’t.” His warning glance told her this was none of her business.
Vivian nodded. Who was she to push a subject he’d probably only brought up to make her feel bad? Yet the unbearable silence made her more aware of her pounding heart and sweating palms. To escape the torturous thoughts that threatened to cloud her judgment, she asked, “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
“Since my bodyguard can’t resist your charms, tomorrow I won’t let you out of my sight.”
“If you want something done, do it yourself?” she asked as he opened the door to their suite. Vivian looked at the hallway one last time, staring at the elegant striped wallpaper and the Louis XIV chairs located at the far end of the hall, close to the elevator. She saw the shadow of the bodyguard coming toward them and knew he would guard her room even at night.
There’s no way out, is there?
“After being cuffed, hostage to a spa day, and then forced to dance with you at the ball, I must say I’m worried about what else you can do to me.” Vivian had meant to say it playfully, to relax the elevated tension between them. But a nervous chuckle followed the words, and Javier cocked his head.
“I can do a lot more.” His husky voice sent a chill chasing down her spine.
She gripped the skirt of her dress with shaking fingers, lifting it slightly so she could get to her room more quickly. She could feel his eyes on her, and she became aware it wasn’t just his gaze—he was walking dangerously close behind her.
She stopped in front of her door and turned around to look at him. His door was across from hers, but the way he stood beside her, his eyes burning into hers as he leaned close, Javier didn’t look as if he was about to go to his room.
Will he sleep with me—in my bed—again? No, no, no.
“What’s wrong, Vivian?”
“Nothing,” she said, and her eyes rose to meet his. As their gazes locked, a surge of desire ripped through her, challenging her common sense.
His index finger outlined her jaw, holding her chin up, his touch a whisper of what was to come…
Vivian wanted to move.
I should move.
I have to move.
Yet the blissful warmth of his fingers held her captive for a few more seconds, and the back of his hand touched her cheek with a tenderness that almost undid her. With her eyes half closed, Vivian let a tortured sigh escape her open lips. She backed away from his touch before her last thread of rationality could slip away.
“I have to…” She cleared her throat, reaching behind her for the door handle.
All she needed was the strength to turn it.
She would turn the door handle, say good night, and go to bed. All alone.
“Yes, you do.” Javier leaned over her, positioning his right hand to open the door for her. “We both do.”
His body moved into hers, the warmth of his thighs pushing her back against the door. His lips hovered over hers.
Vivian immediately spread both hands over his broad chest, her rational mind at war with a raw, fierce desire unfamiliar to her. She had never experienced anything like it before. She pushed at him, trying to resist the feelings overtaking her, but his hard, powerful body made it impo
ssible. All remaining doubt disappeared, and her pushing turned into pulling. Obeying a violent urge, she drew him closer and parted her lips, and his hot tongue slipped inside her mouth to begin a tormenting search, exploring every corner.
Vivian’s knees quivered, and he held her steady while his free hand angled the back of her head so his mouth could prolong the sweet agony. Her nipples hardened, peaking against the lace of her bra. Her quick response to him astonished her.
For a brief moment, he tore his mouth from hers. A moan of protest escaped her lips, and he kissed her chin, letting his lips slide down her neck, tasting her skin with his tongue. She threw her head back and pulled him closer as she ran her fingers through his short hair. Then he claimed her mouth again, branding her with a heat that spread in her body like flames on dry tinder. Never before she had been kissed with such passion. Never before had she been so aroused. Never before in her life had a kiss turned her into a rag doll or filled her with such reckless abandon.
“Tell me, Vivian…” He withdrew his mouth, his forehead touching hers as his own breathing heaved.
“Yes,” she whispered. Yes, yes, yes…
“Do you believe me now?”
At first, his meaning didn’t register. Her mind raced, her body burning with a profusion of needs awakened by Javier’s touch.
“Tell me you do,” he demanded, straightening his shoulders and moving back a little.
Vivian took a few seconds to understand what he was saying, returning to awareness as if she were just waking up from the effects of an anesthetic.
The passionate man who had just kissed her sanity away had been replaced by the cold, money-driven tycoon.
Then she understood.
He wanted compliance—he’d just changed his tactics. Or maybe he was paying her back for crashing his party without an invitation. Either way, while his kiss had destroyed her reason, for him it had been a tool of manipulation.
What a gullible fool she was.
Vivian snapped out of her lethargy. Driven by a different kind of heat, she slapped him hard enough to make her hand sting.
He pressed his hand to his cheek with an expression that hinted at his surprise at her boldness. Or perhaps her foolishness.
She didn’t care what he thought. She hoped that for a man like Javier, being slapped by a woman would damage his ego, even if it couldn’t damage him physically.
“Have a good night, Javier.”
She yanked the door open and locked it behind her, then leaned back against it, her chest heavy and laden with the burden of regret.
What have I done?
Vivian touched her lips, still burning from his kiss, and knew exactly what she had done. She had lost herself in the arms of the enemy, and she had come far too close to betraying her mission. Not to mention her common sense, which had vanished into thin air the moment he touched her.
She walked shakily to the beige chair in front of the vanity mirror and clung to the wooden dresser for balance. A quick glance at her reflection revealed flushed cheeks and swollen lips, reminding her that no man in her past had ever made her feel like this.
It was ironic that the first time she experienced such a strong attraction, it was for a man who was not worth it. The man who had broken Molly’s heart and—
“Molly.”
Vivian covered her mouth with her hand. A hot tear rolled down her cheek.
I have to be strong. I can’t fall into the same trap Molly did.
Every waking second I spend with him, I have to remember what happened to Molly.
…
The strong sunlight straying inside the bedroom warned Vivian that it was well past seven o’clock. She yawned, rubbing her fingers across eyes that were gritty after a night of tossing and turning. With a deep sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed just as she heard a knock on the door.
She slipped a thick, white robe over her nightgown before opening the door to the female room service attendant, who strolled inside with a heavily laden breakfast cart.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Foster.” Vivian noticed a different bodyguard standing in front of her room. This one was bald and stocky, and as he held the door open, she noticed his stern expression. “You will find all you need here, Mademoiselle.” The attendant’s friendly tone was at odds with the exaggerated lift of her eyebrows. “I hope the tea will be to your liking.”
Vivian smiled and looked down the tray. The tip of an envelope peeked out from beneath the teapot. “I’ll try it, thank you.”
She closed the door behind the attendant, anxious to see what was in the envelope. There was nothing written on the outside. Inside, she found a folded note containing a single phone number.
A knock sounded on the door, making her jump. She quickly folded the slip of paper and hid it in a bedside drawer.
She opened the door, her throat dry. “Javier.”
He’d dressed casually, but he was just as attractive as he’d been in a formal suit. The short-sleeved white button-up shirt fitted snugly over his chest, exposing his strong arms and enhancing his golden coloring.
“Good morning, Vivian,” he said casually. “Did you sleep well?” He seemed to have forgotten that they had parted on less than amicable terms.
“Never better.” Folding her arms, Vivian raised her chin, looking into his black eyes.
She had tried and failed to forget that kiss. Instead, it had replayed in her memory many times throughout the night. Now, with Javier close to her once more, his hair damp from the shower and the scent of a clean soap on his warm skin, she had to acknowledge that any attempt to forget about the kiss would be futile.
“About the kiss,” he said, as though reading her thoughts.
“You mean my lapse in judgment? It’s long forgotten.”
“I’ve been playing it in my head, over and over.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Vivian said, her heart thumping in her chest. “You lied, though. When we danced, you made me believe you wouldn’t try for any sort of…involvement with me.”
“I told you it was no problem if you weren’t attracted to me.” He smiled. “I never said I wasn’t attracted to you.”
“Oh, please. Your attraction to me had nothing to do with that kiss.”
“The kiss again… I thought it was forgotten.” He closed the distance between them, but she stepped back, clutching both sides of her robe together.
“It is. Forgotten, I mean.”
He sighed and looked past her to her untouched breakfast cart. “I see you haven’t had breakfast yet. Come with me.”
“What about the food? It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”
“It won’t. Nelson, the bodyguard, is quite fond of pastries.”
She imagined the bodyguard feasting on the sugar-coated pastries and couldn’t suppress a chuckle. Once she’d sobered, she said, “I have to get ready. Can we skip the limo? I’d rather walk.” Vivian didn’t know how yet, but she was going to find a way to call the new number Roger had given her. She had to tell him about the progress she’d made the previous night. She didn’t want to be limited to the inside of a limousine—and, if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t want to be in an enclosed space with Javier beside her.
“You have thirty minutes.”
Vivian closed the door behind him. She had to get creative, and fast…
…
Javier looked at the message from his private investigator on the screen of his phone.
No ties between Foster and your opponents yet. I’ll text with updates.
Perhaps she wasn’t allied with his enemies—perhaps her interest in him really was all about Molly Richardson. But doubt haunted his thoughts. Could the person she had called from the restaurant be merely a friend or a lover? She’d had the Webb proposal when he’d found her in his office, and that was a small deal. Last night, she hadn’t even known who Edouard Broussard was.
According to his investigator, she had worked in an ar
t gallery before applying for the receptionist position. She didn’t have any family in the country. Her only blood relative was an aunt who lived in the United States and who had claimed not to know much about her niece.
Javier cursed silently. No one seemed to know anything about the woman he’d taken custody of.
He wanted to learn more about her. He knew he couldn’t trust her, but this knowledge didn’t prevent a part of him from wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t broken that kiss.
The most erotic experience he’d ever had with his clothes on. The moment their tongues had swirled together, Vivian had surpassed any fantasy. She had been an active partner, matching his need, his passion, stroke for stroke. Yes, it was easy to imagine what it would be like to make love to her.
They would have had a long night of passion, giving in to the desire that threatened his usual self-control. Images of Vivian in his bed, her naked body under his, her blue eyes darkening with pleasure, had tortured him through a sleepless night.
One way or another, he had to do something about this. Javier tucked his phone in his pocket and headed to her room. When he got no response to three firm knocks, he pushed the door open and strode in. The room was empty.
“Vivian?”
He found her facing the Eiffel Tower. Javier stepped closer until he was behind her, breathing in her scent, the note of lavender inebriating his senses. The mild spring breeze played with the ends of her loose hair. He closed his fists, tightening his fingers until his knuckles whitened.
Vivian broke the silence. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Gorgeous.” He glanced at her profile, still and focused on the city awakening before her.
A black pencil skirt molded her hips, and a white cashmere sweater fit snugly across her breasts. His hand fell to the indentation of her waist, and she moved to the side, away from his touch.
Javier let out a breath in frustration. “Avoiding this insane attraction won’t make it go away.”
“I’ll give it a try.” She crossed her arms and looked out at the city.
A Vengeful Affair Page 6