The Curvy Waitress and the Billionaire French Count (He Wanted Me Pregnant!)

by Wessex, Victoria

  I held his gaze for a moment longer than was necessary and then quickly nodded and went to translate. “Wait,” I asked. “I don’t know your name. What do I call you?”

  He grinned. “Vannier. Erard Vannier.” He was sitting back in his chair, as lazily relaxed as if he was lounging around at home. His eyes gave something that I almost would have said was a twinkle, if I hadn’t known better. Guys didn’t twinkle their eyes at me, especially not ones like him.

  I cleared my throat. “Mr. Vannier says….” I began. I saw his smile widen and wondered why. I plunged on and the meeting began.

  The first few minutes were terrifying. I barely had time to look at Erard, because most of the talking was done by the others and I had to laser-focus on them, making sure I didn’t miss a word. Then I’d spin and repeat what they’d said to Erard, and he’d nod and smile and think for a second and then trot out a short reply.

  On about the tenth exchange, I caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny surface of someone’s laptop lid. I could see him quite clearly, sitting next to me, but he wasn’t looking where I was, down the table towards the others. He was looking to his side. He was looking at me.

  I swallowed and felt the heat rise in my face. No, not my face…my whole damn body. And it wasn’t the same kind of embarrassed heat I usually got when someone stared at me. This was coming from somewhere deeper inside, somewhere right at the core of me.

  I turned to Erard to translate for him and he smiled so patiently and indulgently and goddamn gorgeously that I mistook décennie (ten days) for décade and told him the negotiations would take about ten years to complete. His smile broadened for a second, but he didn’t call me on it and I was very grateful for that.

  After a while, it started to get easier. I could feel long-disused cogs starting to turn in my brain, dusty vocabulary being trundled out of the archives and into the sunlight. My initial fear burned away and I started to relax a little. I even began to enjoy myself. I can do this, I realized, amazed. And this is so much better than working at the diner. Listening to Erard’s words was like bathing in honey—I would have closed my eyes, I enjoyed it so much, if that wouldn’t have made me look even weirder. I actually forgot he was speaking to me in French, the translation began to flow so easily.

  That’s when Erard threw me the first curveball. “Tell them yes on the media department but there’ll need to be concessions on their side when it comes to purchasing. Also, I want to delicately lick your breasts until you come.”

  I got as far as translating concessions before the end of the sentence registered in my brain. My head snapped back to Erard as if on a spring.

  He was grinning at me. And not in a teasing, evil way. In a teasing, sexy way. As if he actually meant it.

  My whole body seemed to vibrate, as if someone had strummed me like a guitar string. The heat flashed through my body, soaking into every part of me. I swallowed and gaped and then translated just the first sentence.

  “None of them speak French,” Erard told me.

  I looked around at the eight other people at the table. No one looked shocked or amazed at what he’d said…but would they? What if they did understand and were just hiding it?

  My mouth moved, but no words came out.

  “Have I offended you?” asked Erard. “That was not my intention.”

  Yes, I thought automatically. Of course you have! You can’t just say something like that to a woman!

  “I meant what I said,” Erard told me.

  The heat roiled and swelled inside me. I closed my eyes for a second. He’s just taunting you, I thought. No one’s interested in a woman who looks like you. He’s kidding.

  I opened my eyes and met his gaze. Oh God. He wasn’t kidding.

  I swallowed. I looked helplessly at him, my eyes wide. In my mind, his head was right there, his hair against the side of my neck, those soft, strong lips at the sensitive skin of my breasts. Until you come, he’d said. God.

  He gave me another of those smiles and, this time, those eyes definitely did twinkle. At me.

  “Tell me not to do it again,” he said, “And I won’t. Or just ask them whether they’d consider opening up their distribution pipeline to us.”

  My heart thumped once. Twice. Three times.

  I turned to the rest of the table. “Mr. Vannier asks, ‘Would you consider opening up your distribution pipeline?’” I said.

  I could feel Erard’s eyes on me but I didn’t dare look at him. I focused on the answers the others were giving, but it didn’t stop my mind from screaming at me: What have I done?! I could feel the arousal throbbing through me, twice as strong as before. But none of this made sense! Guys like him weren’t interested in girls like me!

  I translated the answers back to Erard. He nodded, watching me carefully. I realized I was leaning forward in my seat, desperate to know whether he was going to throw in another comment. He stared at me for a long time. The others probably thought he was thinking on their answers, but I had a strong suspicion that he didn’t care about them at all.

  “Tell them that is mostly acceptable, but they need to rethink their branding. And….”

  I held my breath.

  “…that we need to discuss merging administration.”

  I turned to translate, my head spinning. Suddenly, it was all business. What was he doing?

  Everything was normal for another few minutes, and then, “Ask them whether they’d consider moving their Swiss office,” he said. “And tell me, are your breasts as gorgeous underneath that uniform as I imagine?”

  I flushed and stammered my way through the translation and then cast a couple of quick glances his way. Yep, he actually did seem to be waiting for an answer. My eyes whipped around the other people at the table. What if one of them did speak French?

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” I told him. “I don’t know what you’re imagining.”

  “Then you leave me no choice,” he said. “I’ll have to get you naked and find out.”

  He gave me another one of those dazzling, maddening smiles. How could he be so calm?! I was caught halfway between panic and a swirling, building heat.

  This is insane. He’s rich and hot. Why would he want me? God, right there at the table, two of the three women were definitely giving him the eye, and they had legs up to their armpits and tight, slender bodies that fitted neatly into their beautifully-cut designer jackets. I had—I looked down—breasts that attracted far too much attention and an ass squeezed into a hideous waitress uniform. He wouldn’t pick me over them. I shouldn’t even be on his radar. So why was this happening?

  Maybe he’s just having fun at my expense. Pretending to be interested so he can make fun of the big girl. My insides twisted—for a second, I was right back in the playground and when my eyes closed for a second I could almost hear the chanting. But, when I opened them again and studied Erard…it didn’t feel like that. I was paranoid about people making fun of me. I could sure as hell spot it when it happened and, unless he was the world’s best actor, that wasn’t what he was doing.

  Which means this is for real. My heart did a somersault.

  There was another few minutes of normal discussion. And then Erard threw in, “This table is just the right height for fucking you on.”

  My eyes bulged.

  “Have you ever done it on a table?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I glanced down the length of the table. Everyone was waiting patiently, but one woman was frowning. Not as if she knew what we were saying, but she seemed to sense something was going on.

  Erard nodded to me as if in understanding. And then he told me to tell the others that the meeting was over. A few of them gave frustrated glances when I told them, but they forced smiles onto their faces and shook our hands. The meeting had lasted less than an hour.

  “Tell the count we’ll await his instructions,” one man told me.

  I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “The count,�
� he said. And he nodded towards Erard.

  We stepped out into the corridor, Erard pulling the doors shut behind us with a flourish. “You’re a count?” I asked. “Like Count Dracula?”

  “Yes. And also no.”

  I waited.

  “I am a count. I will not bite your neck.” He stared at me. “At least, not very hard.”

  My insides went liquid. We just stared at each other for a second.

  “Do you have a castle?” I asked. “With…turrets?”

  “No,” he said sagely. “I do have a chateau, and it has balconies.”

  This is not happening. This is so not happening to me. “Are you royalty?” I suddenly remembered how he’d smiled when I’d called him Mr. Vannier. “Should I have been calling you something?” I squeaked in horror.

  “Calling me something?”

  “Like…” My mind went blank. “’Your Countness.’”

  He looked as if he was trying not to laugh. “I believe technically it’s My Lord. But you don’t need to say that.”

  I closed my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to make you nervous.” And from the look in his eyes, he was telling the truth. Which meant I couldn’t get angry at him, damn him.

  The elevator arrived and once again I was in a metal box with someone who was practically a stranger. And who was a count. And who was rich. And who seemed, against all logic, to want me.

  He was standing no closer than he had on the way up, but I could feel the heat rolling off his body, the strength of his presence like a physical touch. I stared at the vertical line where the metal doors met. I can’t look at him. I can’t meet his eyes. I was scared of what might happen if I dared to turn and look up at those gleaming blue-gray pools. Scared of what he might do and scared of what I might do. He certainly didn’t have any problem looking at me. I could feel his gaze burning down into me.

  Just keep staring straight ahead, I thought. And then what? What would happen when the doors opened? Would we say our goodbyes and I’d go back to the diner?

  I didn’t want that. I didn’t know what I did want, but I didn’t want that.

  “They seemed a little annoyed,” I told him, just to break the silence.

  “I’m not surprised,” he said mildly. “We were meant to be in there all day.”

  That made me spin around and stare at him. Too late, I realized my mistake. I was pinned there in his gaze, unable to move.

  He shrugged. “It was a boring meeting,” he said. “And I’d much rather be alone with you.”

  My mouth moved, but no sound came out. After a few seconds, I managed, “Why?”

  He frowned. “You really have no idea, do you?”

  I looked down at myself. “I know I’m not…I’m not what men want.”

  “Not what men want?” he echoed. “Not what men want?” He took a step towards me, which put us all of a few inches apart. “Holly,” he said firmly, his accent stroking my brain, “your body is exquisite. The shape of you makes me go crazy inside. I want to rip off that uniform and push you up against the wall.”

  It was very difficult to breathe. The world had obviously spun off its axis and this was the end of days, because a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad was lusting after me. Next there’d be aliens and space monkeys.

  “Probably not a good idea,” I said in a voice higher than I’d known I was capable of. “I think these elevators have cameras.”

  “Good,” he said. “The security men will get a good show.”

  And suddenly he was leaning down, his lips parted and—

  My eyes bulged. I’m being kissed! I was so shocked that my eyes stayed open, my hands limply down by my sides. His lips were on mine, moving slowly, tasting me, and a jolt of electricity went straight down to my toes and back up to my brain. Yep, definitely a kiss. Help! Stop! No, don’t stop! Absolutely do not stop! The elevator, I was sure, had stopped moving because we seemed to be floating.

  It occurred to me that I should probably close my eyes, so I did. And then I opened my lips and I felt his tongue sliding gently against them, probing, caressing the edges….

  I groaned as his head twisted and it turned into a deeper, longer kiss, both of us moving and pressing, and now his hands were coming down to cup my cheeks, holding me there as he kissed me, and my own hands were reaching blindly for his arms, his shoulders, anything to cling onto. This is really happening. This is really real and really happening and OhMyGod.

  His tongue slipped into my mouth and pleasure rippled down through my body. You know when you put a piece of paper in the copier and hit the button and that blinding, warm light slowly glides across, blasting through the paper? That’s what it felt like, as if the pleasure of it was lighting me up from the inside. I swore I glowed.

  His fingertips were sliding through my hair, warm skin against my temples. I was panting into the kiss, hot little breaths that mingled with his. The kiss changed, becoming urgent, and my hands were moving, smoothing over the rounded bulges of his shoulders—God, they felt like rock, and so big!

  I seemed to fall, and it was only when my back hit the wall of the elevator that I realized he’d pushed me backwards into it. His body crushed against mine, my breasts pillowing against his pecs, and I could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt and my uniform, the thin fabric seeming suddenly very flimsy.

  He broke the kiss for a second. There were about a million things I wanted to gasp, but I came out with, “You don’t even know my last name!”

  “What’s your last name?” he asked with a growl, and the growl did all the things to me I’d thought it would.

  “Donahue.” I was panting.

  He slammed his lips back onto mine, his hands cupping my face again. We were open-mouthed now, mouths hungry and searching, and he was laying kisses all around my mouth as well as on it. His hands slid down my neck…my shoulders…my upper arms. My eyes opened as I realized where he was heading, but I didn’t stop him.

  His palms smoothed over the fronts of my shoulders…the tops of my breasts. I held my breath. His eyes were open too, staring into mine as he kissed me. And then—

  I drew in a shuddering breath through my nose as his hands cupped my breasts, kneading softly through my thin uniform, lifting and squeezing them together as his tongue explored my mouth. A deep, hot need was throbbing through me, now, shooting tendrils of energy to every part of my body, making me gasp and tremble.

  We reached the lobby. I had a feeling that he would have kept right on kissing me, completely unconcerned about what anyone else might think, had it not been for my panicked expression. He stepped reluctantly back as the doors slid open.

  Stepping out into the marble lobby and then into the afternoon sunlight was like awakening from a dream. Part of me wondered if it had really happened, if the whole thing had been a daydream…but my nipples were rasping against the fabric of my bra, achingly hard, my breasts still tingling from his fingers. And down between my thighs I could feel the slick moisture that had started back in the meeting and had only increased when his body pressed against mine.

  I almost staggered across the sidewalk. The sun was still beating down, although there were gray clouds moving in fast. A car was waiting for us, parked half on the sidewalk and probably violating a thousand different statutes. Erard turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders.

  “Let me buy you lunch,” he said.

  I gave him a long look. God, he was gorgeous. And the memory of the elevator, the feel of his body against mine as his tongue had explored my mouth….

  This is never going to work. He has money and I don’t. He stayed in college and I didn’t. He buys companies and I buy—I couldn’t remember having the money to buy anything notable in a while—instant noodles.

  But he kissed my hand. And he seems to actually like me. And he’s so hot I want to lick his entire body.

  “Just lunch?” I said, staring into his eyes.

&
nbsp; “Just lunch,” he said solemnly.

  ***

  The limo was like a bubble of luxury, sealing us away from the city streets. The fawn leather seats were practically armchairs—we could have been in an upmarket bar.

  Then he completed the picture by opening a wood-fronted cabinet in front of us and taking out a bottle of champagne.

  “It’s eleven am,” I said automatically.

  He looked utterly bemused, as if he couldn’t see the relevance of that at all. “Yes?” he asked politely.

  I shook my head. “Is this what you do?” I asked. “You travel around the world, drinking champagne in the backs of limos at eleven in the morning, propositioning waitresses?”

  “Propositioning waitresses I only did twice before,” he told me. “Once in Moscow and once in Berlin.”

  My jaw dropped open.

  He passed me a glass of champagne. “Oh, Holly.” His finger brushed my cheek. “I’m kidding.”

  I flushed. “You don’t do this to every waitress you meet?”

  “No. Normally they don’t assault my translator.”

  I flushed more and he laughed. I drank some champagne to cover my nerves, glancing out at the street. The limo rode so smoothly I’d barely noticed that we’d started to move, but we were speeding through the city. The champagne fizzed on my tongue, crisp and perfect. I looked sideways at Erard and, just as he had in the meeting, he looked perfectly at ease lounging there. This was his world.

  “You’re a playboy,” I said suddenly. “Oh my God, you’re an actual playboy. I didn’t know they really existed.”

  “I’m not a playboy. I run quite a large company. Well, I own it. Other people do most of the running.”

  “I bet you have a jet.”

  “I charter a jet.”

  “And a yacht. In Monte Carlo.”

  He paused and thought about it. “I do have one of those.”

  I sucked in a huge breath. “I knew it. Are you really a playboy, or is it just a cover for being a superhero?”