“I forgot that Stacey said she was coming.” He tugged his shirt from his trousers, letting it hang out and cover everything up.
“I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry. This is the only bed.” She shifted uncomfortably when he didn’t move. “I—”
“Mila Johnson. All these years and you still have apologies running on tap?” He turned towards her, his lips twitching. “Stacey did send me an email some time ago, but I never read the whole thing. Got distracted. If I missed something, the fault’s mine.”
She blinked as not a single response came to mind, except the profuse need to apologize again. She had to keep this impersonal. “Stacey will be here next week, once she’s done with her rewrites.”
“So here we are then.” He walked around to the other side of the bed, fished for a remote in the bedside table’s drawer and switched on the air conditioner. “Welcome to Paris. I just got off a long-haul flight from Singapore.”
Their eyes locked across the plump feather cushions, mutual recognition of their situation sinking in. The other two rooms were locked. Why did she sense he didn’t have the keys for them? Between them, there was a king size bed and a wingback chair.
The need to get out of the confining space, a space that tightened by the second, overwhelmed her. There was no way she’d be able to get any shut-eye now. Not with him in the room, her heart hammering and her body begging for something she shouldn’t have. She flung her legs to the floor, forcing the jelly in them to solidify. “How about a glass of wine?”
He grinned. “Sure, if you’re up to it?”
“I’m always up to it.” What a lie.
“Let me shower first.”
This was her cue. “Sure.” She got up, grabbed her discarded Hello Kitty PJs from the floor and scuttled out of the bedroom, pulling her nightshirt on.
chapter 4
James turned on the shower and paused. Little Mila Johnson. She was the last woman he’d expected to find in his bed.
She’d changed a lot. The last time he’d seen her she was a dangle of limbs, out of proportion with a body that had been so skinny nothing had predicted the curves she ruled now.
Now her firm breasts had jutted up to him, their rosy tips hardening with each second he’d stared at her. There was something irresistible in a rising blush on a woman’s cheeks when she was perused, openly and with sexual interest. It got him going every time.
And then there were those lips… he’d have to keep himself in check. That mouth was thoroughly fuckable. And thoroughly kissable.
He pulled his shirt off and tossed it into the laundry basket, then tugged off his shoes and socks. His fingers quivered slightly as he reached for his belt, which he unbuckled slowly, drawing out the moment in which he could take himself in hand. His cock was straining against his jocks, harder than it had been in months.
That a pair of white cotton panties could pull him out of his slump was a wonder. Had he known he would have investigated the matter sooner… but surely it was more than that? Maybe it was the look in her eyes, the way she’d pulled her legs up when he’d scrutinized her, closing up, hugging her pillow so tightly, hiding her body from him. That was new. Women usually flaunted everything they had.
He didn’t know what it was.
His trousers and jocks dropped to the floor and he groaned in relief as he gathered his sack and stroked himself in long, languid pulls.
Fuck, she’d feel good right now. His fatigue from earlier was long gone. The notion of burrowing himself in Mila’s tight, moist velvet would be the perfect release of months of underlying tension, tension he’d consciously chosen to ignore.
He stepped into the shower, testing the water with his back, enjoying the scalding burn as the heat engulfed him. He soaped himself down, spreading the lather over his chest and lower. Closing his eyes as the suds smoothed his hold on his cock, he let his hands slide over it, one trailing after the other, visualizing how she was waiting for him… had been waiting for him. At the current rate, he would explode within a minute of slipping into her tight pussy.
The mental visual made him pause.
Little Mila Johnson. She was Stacey’s age, so around twenty-four, and his sister’s best friend since playgroup. Until the time when Mila’s parents had forced the two girls apart. The pastor’s only daughter was not to be seen fraternizing with the town hussy’s offspring. He’d never had time for all that holier-than-thou bullshit that seemed to permeate the middle-class neighborhoods of their youth. But for those years of intense friendship, with them living a few houses apart, Mila was like Stacey’s twin. Fucking her would be like sleeping with his sister.
The idea was enough to cool his mounting desire and he let go of his cock to lean both hands against the shower wall. He let go of a deeply buried groan.
There was always the club. He could go. Alone. After that glass of wine. As it was he had a meeting there later in the week, but one night there could be all he needed.
The thought lasted all of two seconds before he wilted. The mood wouldn’t come back to him. The notion of the club had become a complete turn-off. With Mila in the apartment, he should be thankful. Thinking of the club would keep his cock in check.
He turned off the faucet and reached for a towel. As he rubbed dry he took stock of the situation. Tomorrow he’d be leaving for work again, if only for two nights. He could make arrangements for a sleeper couch or something in those two days. Whatever.
Did Mila Johnson even know she was hot as hell?
Rein it in, boy.
One night. He could do it. He was the master of control, after all. Wasn’t he?
He groaned. He didn’t need to look down to know his dick was giving him the one-eyed stare. Fuck. He hated his life.
chapter 5
Mila’s ears pricked with every sound coming from the bathroom. The shower turned on and she exhaled, relaxing her grip on the wine bottle. She poured two glasses, so eager that she spilled some. The drops pooled like blood red watercolor on the white granite and she wiped them off with the side of her palm. Her fingers were trembling as she licked the liquid off her hand.
He gave her such a shock barging in on her.
Yeah right. That was it.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the kitchen counter. Nothing Dutch courage couldn’t fix. She took a breath and downed her glass.
The liquid settled in her stomach in a slow, easy swirl of warmth, and she produced a little cough.
Ugh. The last thing she needed was to get drunk before he came out of the shower. She’d be passed out before they’d discussed the weather. Because the weather it was going to be. Her tongue was twisted into a thousand knots. What was she going to say to James Sinclair?
She refilled her glass and crossed to the French doors that led out to the terrace. With one hand she struggled with the latch but got it open to let in the night air and the cooling breeze. She’d never thought it could be so warm in Paris. The city lights twinkled in silver and gold and the lit-up Eiffel Tower shone as if encrusted in gold leaf.
Settling in one of the wrought iron chairs on the terrace, she let the wine do its thing, sipping at it demurely.
When James padded in ten minutes later, wine glass in hand, she’d mellowed completely. He was barefoot and wore shorts and a T-shirt, looking at ease. Heat radiated from his skin and a soft mist of freshly showered male drifted over to her.
Heavens, he looked good in anything he wore. But she bet butt naked was his best. She took a heavy gulp of wine, praying she wasn’t going to slur.
He smiled at her as he sat down, facing the same intoxicating view. “When did you arrive?”
“Only this morning.”
“You found the apartment easily?”
She shook with a slow laugh. “It was quite an adventure to find my way here. But yes, eventually I did.”
&nb
sp; He grinned. “What are your plans until Stacey arrives?”
“Visit every art museum twice? Three times if possible.”
“That’s a lot of art.” He studied her face in the dim light and leaned closer. “You did the drawing in the lounge?”
For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about. Her wild sketch of joy, her first one of Paris, came back to her in a rush. “Yes… I was just fooling around.”
“I like it.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You’re studying art?”
“Final year of my masters. I’ll have my first solo exhibition in three months. It’s only at the local gallery, nothing huge—” She broke off. The exhibition didn’t bear thinking of. It petrified her. Lately—or had it been forever?—things just didn’t jell. Another reason why coming to Paris had been a brilliant idea. She needed some inspiration… amongst other things.
“Really?” He chuckled. “You were always doodling around. I should have known you’d end up an artist.”
She shrugged. “My folks wanted me to do something more solid. Something that brings in a secure, decent salary. I finished my first year of law and then absconded to the art department.”
He laughed. “Absconded?”
“Pretty much.” She’d never expected her parents to have so much grief to give. She still got it every now and again, redefining the idea of a gift that kept on giving.
“There’s no reason why you can’t make a good living with your art.” He raised his glass in salute. “Good on you for sticking to your guns. Law would’ve been the end of you.”
“Yes, probably.” Stacey was studying finance and corporate law, and had been flunking it for how many years now? Did James even know how much Stacey hated her studies?
“Do you think you’ll have it finished before you travel home?”
“What?”
“The drawing? I’ll buy it from you once you’re done. Put a sold sticker next to it at your exhibition to get things started,” he said with a little smile.
“You can have it.” She swallowed, at last managing to look him straight in the eye. “As a thank you for having me.”
His gaze bore into hers, his one eyebrow slowly raising in a subtle question. “So… I’ll be having you?”
Splotches of heat spread over her neck and face. Oh for the good Lord’s sake. Did she have to put her foot in it so thoroughly?
His eyes dropped to her lips and he licked his own. “You still open yourself up for relentless teasing, Mila.”
“For having me stay here, I meant.” She blinked, her lips slipping into a smile. Half of her wanted to laugh, the other half wanted to run.
It’s just James. She had to get over what had happened earlier, even if the same tenseness hovered between them now. He might as well have been her brother. One more of those hardly mattered.
She glanced at him but didn’t meet his eyes. His gaze had dropped lower, to her breasts and her treacherous nipples, which had hardened under her ridiculous Hello Kitty nightshirt. It had been washed so often the fabric had thinned out and wasn’t fit for public inspection. From the closed look on his face and his eyelids that had lowered as he scrutinized her, the material was non-existent and he could see every curve and shadow of her breasts, the Pink Lady shade of her areolas, the protruding tips begging to be kissed.
He shifted in his chair, the metal scraping mercilessly over the tiled floor, and took a deep swig of his wine.
“Right. About that.” He stood and took two steps to the railing, his back to her. “I’m only here for tonight. Tomorrow I’m leaving for Brussels.”
She could exhale in relief at no longer being under his thorough inspection. But somehow her breath caught in her throat. “Brussels? What for?”
“We’re closing a deal. I’m blocked for two days, two nights. It’s enough time to arrange for a sleeper couch or something to be delivered here.”
Two days. She could find somewhere else to go slum in that time, but it would chow through her handful of euros. But she was intruding on his space. There was no need for him to spend money on a couch.
Behind her, the empty lounge all but whispered that it badly needed some furnishings.
“Don’t even think about it, Mila.”
“Think what?”
“Going to some dodgy youth hostel. I’d hate to go drag you out of the one three blocks away and bring you back home.”
Home. Why did he make it sound so cozy? It was wonderful to have the apartment to herself, space and luxury she’d never experienced before. Things had been crowded from the day she’d been born.
“We’d need it in any case once Stacey arrives.”
True… but.
“Tonight?” Her voice croaked, giving every feeling away. She closed her eyes. If he could but read her mind. The good Lord forgive her but she couldn’t help her body’s reaction to James. This feeling had never been so intense. She wanted to share his bed with him, in every sense.
What had Stacey said? Mila didn’t know what she was missing out on and she needed to lose her effin’ virginity and start living life.
But she was a good girl and James was like a brother.
Keep on telling yourself that.
“The bed’s big enough… if you don’t mind. I don’t have the energy to go to a hotel now.”
He didn’t have the energy to leave. She couldn’t expect him to leave. She’d been sharing rooms and spaces with her brothers most of her life. In his brotherly capacity, one night with James would hardly matter.
“Why did you bother to come home for one night if you’re off to Brussels first thing? Why didn’t you fly straight there?”
He chuckled. “I rather do like sleeping in my own bed when given half a chance.”
She bit her lip. Only half a chance. Given half a chance she’d do some seriously stupid and very regretful things tonight. “I’m cool.” Liar. She was hot, bothered and all clammy between her thighs. She wanted to open wide and let the night breeze cool her off in that particular department.
She and Stacey had made all kinds of plans for these two weeks in France. Hovering in the top ten was to “get thoroughly laid.” That was what Stacey had prescribed and jotted down. She would’ve been a dumb nut not to realize that sleeping with every Frenchmen within a two-kilometer radius was ideally the first thing on Stacey’s agenda. Mila glanced at the cityscape. That was a lot of Frenchmen. Her best friend had gone so far off the rails that she’d lost sight of the tracks.
Her gaze magnetized to where James leaned against the railing, his back to her. His body seemed rigid, his back muscles strained underneath his T-shirt. He drank deeply from his glass, inhaling sharply after the liquid had gone down.
He’d be the perfect candidate for her first time. Built and equipped for the job of satisfying every woman in said radius. And somehow, she couldn’t imagine ever doing it with a complete stranger.
Best of all, Stacey wouldn’t know. Stacey was still hanging on the thin thread of hope that Jamie and Marls—was it Marls? Short for what again? Marly? Marlène?—were going to patch things up and make her a bridesmaid or something that involved an expensive dress.
Sleeping with James would be trespassing on sacred territory.
Mila seeped out a slow, dense sigh. Never mind that, she wasn’t going to engage in the remedial activities Stacey had in mind. She couldn’t. Not only would she be flogging herself mentally for the rest of her life if she dipped her toe in Stacey’s sordid habits, she’d feel plain filthy.
Then why was she considering the world of possibilities with James seconds ago?
“I’m going to bed,” James murmured. “I’m catching a train in five hours.”
He turned and walked back into the apartment, his wine glass empty, ignoring her completely.
She sta
red down at hers. Despite her eager consumption of alcohol, her body was as stiff and taut as a freshly-primed canvas.
She had a good half glass to go. “G’night.”
Her words were lost between pedestrians calling and the erratic hum of traffic a block down. Her heart was beating in her ears, amplifying every sound.
Round one survived. Tick.
Except… James didn’t look like the type of guy who owned any kind of pajamas. What was she going to do if he was waiting for her in bed—stark naked?
chapter 6
James reached his bedroom and paused to rub his shoulder muscles. He dropped his head back with a groan. Mila Johnson. She’d come a bloody far way to ruin his peace.
What a joke. Peace wasn’t how he’d describe his life, but honestly. She couldn’t be in his bed when he’d arrived, wear nothing except knickers, then cover up in some girly Hello Kitty garb and think he was going to be immune to her. He was only a man.
He sighed and pulled himself tall. There was only one way he was going to deal with this situation. Pop one of those jetlag sleeping pills he had on hand and get mummified under the covers before she even came back to bed.
He glanced around the room, traces of her being there filling the empty space. Her backpack and handbag leaned against his closet, reminding him that he still needed to pack for Brussels.
He picked up the items to move them to the corner. The backpack’s zipper was open, revealing a scrum of clothes. Sticking out from the folds was a box of condoms.
His eyebrows shot up. Little Mila Johnson wasn’t as innocent as she seemed. He lowered the backpack, going on his haunches. He tugged the box from the clothes and paused. Wet & Wild. He swallowed involuntarily. An unopened twelve pack.
Museum visits were not the only thing on Mila’s agenda. He could get Wet & Wild with her and make her trip to Paris truly memorable.
The Paris Apartment (Love Nests Book 1) Page 2