by Linda Skye
The senior McMahon responded with incoherent grumbling while Harry eyed her admiringly.
“Well said,” he said, sitting back and thumping the table. “Well said indeed, Elise.”
Elise flushed at his praise. She turned to him and beamed.
“Why th-thank you, Harry,” she stammered gratefully.
But when she turned to face his parents across the table, she saw the shrewd look in his mother’s eyes.
“You say you studied in New York?” she prodded sweetly.
“I did,” Elise replied.
“Where did you study?”
“Washington Square College,” she answered before she could think better of it.
A triumphant smirk lit the older woman’s face. She looked over to her son.
“Why that’s the same college you graduated from, Harry,” she commented blandly. “Shouldn’t the two of you have met?”
Puzzled, Harry looked over at Elise, who had blanched.
“Oh, I recognize you now,” his father said suddenly. “Your makeup can’t hide it, you know.”
“I don’t know what—”
“You’re right, dear,” his mother said with a saccharine smirk. “We are already acquainted with Madame Rousseau, aren’t we?”
“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, stricken.
“Didn’t you recognize her?” his father said grumpily. “She’s that mousy girl. The stuttering fool who followed you around like a lost, little puppy.”
Elise stood suddenly, her fists balled tightly at her sides. She swung around to face Harry, who was staring at her in bewilderment. His eyes wandered over her face, searching. Recognition slowly filtered into his expression.
“Elise?” he asked, the name meaning so much more than before.
“My, my,” his mother said mockingly. “Haven’t you cleaned up well in the last few years, Elise? We hardly recognized you!”
“It’s you, isn’t it, Elise?” It was Harry again, his voice disbelieving.
Elise couldn’t feel her fingers. Everything seemed numb, and her head was spinning. Her eyes drifted shut. The jig was up. She had been outed, exposed, humiliated. With a sob caught in her throat, Elise turned and fled the room. Blinded by tears, she ran from the mansion and into the garden. Seeking the first refuge she could find, she ducked into the maze garden. But as she flew through the bushy corridors, she became aware of quickly approaching footfalls behind her. She kicked off her heels and tried to outrun him—but Harry was faster. Just as they reached the centre of the maze, he caught her by the upper arm and spun her around.
“Elise,” he said. “Elise!”
“Let me go!” she cried, desperately trying to wriggle from his grasp.
“No,” he growled hoarsely. “Not this time. I won’t let you go again.”
“Please...” Elise begged, tears dripping from her chin. “I just can’t bear it!”
“Look at me,” Harry demanded, cupping her face in his hands. “Elise, I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad you’re back.”
He pulled her close and showered her tear-streaked face with kisses.
“Elise,” he said her name reverently.
Harry captured her lips in a tender kiss, showing her what he couldn’t express with mere words.
“Oh, Harry,” she whispered.
After a long kiss that left them both breathless, Harry tugged Elise to the center of the maze where there was a open-air stone rotunda surrounded by rosebushes. They entered into the cool shade of the pavilion. Harry drew her close, planting a row of sweet kisses across her brow.
“I can’t think of a better place to show you how I feel,” he murmured.
At the center of the pavilion was an ornately carved round table and benches. He led her to the table and then gently lifted her up so that she sat on its edge with her legs dangling over the side. He wedged his hips between her thighs and leaned over her.
“I see you’ve not yet taken up the habit of wearing underwear,” he commented slyly as he slid his palm up her leg.
“And I see that you’ve still got a penchant for the outdoors,” she quipped lightly. “I thought I told you that once in a public place is quite enough.”
“This is hardly public,” Harry countered. “But would you like me to stop?”
“Of course not,” she said, pulling him down for a kiss.
Harry grabbed her hips and ground against her core, his mouth muffling her low moan of pleasure. She grabbed his tie, jerking him forward abruptly. With deft movements, she undid the knot and tossed the silk tie away. Then her fingers set to work on the buttons of his shirt. Meanwhile, Harry peeled off his coat and pulled off his vest. As Elise began to tear away his shirt, he unbuckled his trousers.
“Aren’t you eager?” she teased.
“So what,” he grunted, as he pulled his throbbing member free.
Her hands closed around the pulsing shaft, sliding leisurely over the velvety skin. Harry groaned. Impatient, he tugged at her dress. He grabbed the straps and pulled so hard that the neckline tore open, golden beads springing free and pinging across the stone table.
“Naughty, naughty,” Elise whispered coyly.
“Just you wait and see how naughty I can be,” he murmured as he let the silky dress fall to the ground in a torn heap around her ankles.
He gently pushed her back so that she lay across the stone table, her dark hair spilling in short, inky waves across the marble surface. He leaned forward and trailed kisses down from neck to her navel, his hands massaging the mounds of her breasts. He nipped lightly at her hip, his hands skimming her thighs. Elise ran her fingers through his hair as he sank lower, his tongue and fingers strumming her into a fevered state. She writhed as he explored her body with his lips, and what he was doing with his fingers made her thighs tighten and tremble.
Then he straightened above her, bracing his palms on the marble surface. He looked down at her, his eyes blazing with passion.
“Elise,” he said huskily.
He seemed to relish saying her name, his lips carefully articulating the syllables.
“Yes?” she asked breathlessly.
“Are you ready, Elise?”
She nodded. And then he sheathed himself in her in one fluid stroke. With a groan he withdrew and then plunged into her again. Elise cried out in pleasure, winding her ankles around his waist. He continued at a feverish pace, and their bodies grew slick with sweat and desire.
All of a sudden, he pulled her from the table and spun her around so that her palms were flat on the table and his chest was a furnace behind her. He grabbed her hips and slowly entered from behind. He began his pace anew, and Elise’s back arched with the sheer electric heat between them. His hands roamed freely over her body, sliding up her hips and waist to cup her breasts, tracing heated trails over her stomach and nudging her slick folds with his fingers.
His rhythm grew frantic. While one hand fisted in her hair, the other dipped between her legs. As he thrust fiercely into her, he carefully stroked and circled her, stoking the flames of her passion to new heights. Her cries grew into a keening wail as he brought her so near the edge, keeping her there teetering on the brink of oblivion. Then, with a press of his thumb and an angled thrust of his hips, he set her nerves alight in a dizzying climax. As she cried out his name, he gave a guttural shout and drove into her with wild abandon, his warmth flooding her core.
They stood, poised against the table’s edge, their limbs trembling with spent desire. Harry wrapped his arms around Elise and pulled her back into his chest. For a moment, they were silent. Elise could feel Harry’s rapid heartbeat thudding against her back. He clung to her, dropping his forehead onto her bare shoulder.
“Elise,” he whispered after he had regained his breath.
“What?” she asked as she basked in the warm afterglow.
“What on earth are we going to do about your dress?”
Chapter 7
Elise puttered around her suite at the
Grand Plaza Hotel, occasionally stopping to wring her hands nervously. A few days had passed since that crazy day in the rose garden at the McMahon estate. She flushed pink just thinking about the brazen way that they had reaffirmed their passion for one another—and the shameless manner in which they’d reentered the mansion. Her dress irreparably torn, she’d donned Harry’s coat, wrapping it tightly around herself to preserve what modesty she could. They’d giggled all the way to his rooms.
And then they’d spent the last few days getting to know each other—over drinks, during walks, at parties and while making love. Harry had proved a surprisingly considerate lover, constantly showering her with gifts and affection. It had only taken a few days for Elise to remember why she had fallen in love with him four years back, for beneath his polished exterior of a rich playboy heir lay a deeply sensitive and thoughtful man.
Elise did not know how long their affair would last—but she was enjoying herself and planned to do so for a while yet.
She paused in front of a floor-length mirror, studying her reflection and adjusting the way her hat sat on her hair. She’d pulled out all the stops again in this outfit: a silky lilac dress embellished with embroidered flowers. To complement the dress, she wore a purple headband trimmed with black netting. She gazed approvingly at her reflection; the color was a perfect contrast to her dark hair and pale skin.
There was a sudden rapping on her door. She frowned; she hadn’t been expecting Harry for another hour. The knocking resumed insistently. Elise strode over the door and peered through the peephole. All she could see was Harry’s face in profile—and he did not look happy. He seemed to be furiously speaking with someone else, but no matter how she shifted, she could not see who it was.
So, she opened the door.
Three rough-looking men barreled suddenly into her room, pushing Harry along with them. They slammed her door shut and fanned out into the suite.
“What is the meaning of this?” Elise demanded indignantly.
“Well, good afternoon to you, too, madame,” one of the men slurred sarcastically.
Harry grabbed the lapels of the nearest goon, his expression fierce.
“Listen here, you scum,” he snarled. “I told you to leave her out of this. I’ll get you your money.”
The goon knocked his hands away and laughed.
“From where?” the ruffian asked with a hoarse laugh. “You haven’t been able to pay up for our liquor for weeks!”
“Harry?” Elise asked, her eyes wide. “What is this about?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” the bootlegger said, swaggering over to Elise.
“Tell me what?”
“What a piece of work!”
The criminal guffawed and turned to his buddies. Then he grabbed the cuff of Elise’s sleeve, fingering the material between grubby fingers. Elise flinched away, her doelike eyes searching out Harry.
“Don’t you dare touch her,” Harry snarled, taking a threatening step forward.
The bootlegger’s face turned ugly. He grabbed Elise’s upper arm, flicking out a knife. He pulled her close in a parody of an embrace, flashing the knife. Elise felt herself wilt, her knees weak.
“I won’t hurt her,” he promised with a dirty grin. “If you get us what you promised us.”
“I will,” Harry said with an angry growl. “But she has nothing to do with this. So let her go now.”
“Nothing to do with it?” the bootlegger exclaimed incredulously. “Isn’t she the rich widow? The one with all the dough?”
Elise blanched and felt her chest tighten painfully. Her eyes sought out Harry’s panicked gaze. His eyes were pleading with her silently, his handsome face contorting in remorse. And then realization slammed into her like a cold wave.
“You were using me,” she whispered numbly. “You were going to use me to pay your debts.”
Harry swallowed anxiously, feeling the weight of his sins crashing down around him.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But that was before.”
“Before?” Her voice sounded far away, even to her.
“Before we got to know each other,” he continued desperately. “Before I found out who you really were.”
Harry watched as Elise’s face crumpled, tears welling in her beautiful eyes. He knew in the pit of his stomach that they were beyond repair now...and it was all his fault. He’d hurt more than he’d ever hurt anyone before. Frustration, anger and regret climbed his throat, filling his mouth with the acidic taste of failure. This was the last thing he’d wanted...the very last thing.
“Stop it,” he said quietly, straightening to his full height.
“I’m sorry?” the bootlegger asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.
“I said, stop it!” Harry repeated authoritatively. “Leave her out of it.”
“And where do you suggest I get my money then?”
Harry met his eyes squarely, determined.
“Don’t take anything from her. It’s not her problem,” he told them decidedly. “I don’t have enough money for you now, but if you don’t want to wait...well, you know what you have to do.”
The bootlegger pushed Elise away, and she sagged against the wall. He stepped toward Harry, casually swinging the knife around by its handle.
“You do know what you’re saying, don’t you, pretty boy?” he drawled. “You’ve heard what I do to people who can’t make good on payments, right?”
“I have,” Harry said resolutely. “But I can’t let you assault Madame Rousseau any further. I won’t let you.”
The bootlegger shrugged indifferently.
“How noble,” he said sardonically.
He gestured to his henchmen, who grabbed Harry on both sides and began to pull him toward the door. Harry cast an apologetic glance over his shoulder at Elise.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he was pushed away. “Just forget about me.”
Elise stared as the bootleggers hustled Harry toward the door. She felt her heart drop into her feet. She hadn’t heard the horror stories herself, but she knew enough to know that Harry was in mortal danger.
I can’t let this happen, she thought frantically.
She jumped to her feet, her hands outstretched.
“Stop!” she shouted.
All the men turned at her raised voice.
“Leave him alone,” she demanded, straightening her spine.
“Madame,” the bootlegger said with a scornful sneer, “unfortunately this man owes me quite a bit of—”
“How much?” she interrupted.
“What?”
“How much does he owe you?” she asked curtly.
“A grand,” he said.
“A what?”
“A thousand dollars,” he repeated impatiently.
Elise quickly marched over to her jewelry cabinet. She pulled out handfuls of her necklaces, bracelets and rings. Stalking over to the bootlegger, she poured a small heap of gold and precious gems into his hands.
“Will that cover it?” she asked, her tone businesslike.
The man turned the chains and baubles over in his hands and then passed them to one of his colleagues. He looked Elise up and down, his eyes calculating.
“Half,” he said with a greedy grin. “That would cover only half his debt.”
Elise’s lips thinned angrily, but she walked back to her cabinet and pulled out another two handfuls of jewelry. She handed the treasures to the bootlegger and watched as he stuffed her prized pieces into his pockets. Then, he jerked his chin at Harry’s guards who pushed him away.
“Nice doing business with you,” the bootlegger said, tipping his hat and turning away.
Both Elise and Harry stood stock-still as the criminals filed out, slamming the door behind them. Silence hung like an awkward cloud, and neither could look at the other. Finally Henry spoke.
“Why did you do that?” he asked quietly.
Elise looked up at him suddenly.
“I couldn’t let them...” She stopped
, tears welling in her eyes. “I wouldn’t let them hurt you.”
Harry ran his fingers through his hair and paced the length of the room.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Thank you?”
Elise tried to sound flippant, but her laugh turned into a choked sob. Harry was at her side in two long strides, wrapping his strong arms around her slender frame. He pressed his face into her hair and tightened his hold.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his voice haggard.
“I know,” Elise said, leaning into his embrace. “I know.”
“We can’t fix this, can we?”
His voice was tinged with sad finality. He knew he’d broken her heart...not once, but twice. They pulled away slightly, their eyes meeting mournfully. Elise gently traced the lines of his face with her fingertips.
“No,” she said faintly. “I don’t know if...I don’t know if I could ever trust you again.”
Harry smiled ruefully and cupped her cheek in his palm.
“But you still like me, don’t you?”
He tried to keep his tone light, and Elise smiled softly.
“I’ll always like you, Harry.”
He leaned forward to press his forehead to hers.
“Thank you, Elise.”
He touched his lips to hers gently, ever so gently. She let her lids flutter shut as their lips moved in slow, delicate patterns. The kiss was tender, tingling with a slow-burning need. Elise lost herself in the kiss, allowing herself to drift away in the simple sensations. But it couldn’t last forever.
When Harry pulled back, his cheeks were wet with her tears. And then she opened her eyes and met his.
“Goodbye, Harry.”
Chapter 8
Elise sipped her coffee, leisurely watching the many people passing by on the street. It was summer in Paris, and the bright weather had attracted many weekend tourists. The Café de la Paix was particularly busy, but she still had her favorite table, which was close enough to the street to get a good view, but still in the shade of the tall buildings. From her vantage point, she could heard a smattering of languages: French, Spanish, Italian...even a little American English. The familiar accent made her nostalgic; New York was far, far away, but her thoughts often drifted back to the bustling city of her youth...and to her most tumultuous love affair.