by Vivian Wood
Or had he even done that? He leaned his face against the window and closed his eyes. He was fairly certain that image was just a projection of what he wanted to do to her.
And of course she was right yesterday when she said that he wanted her gone because the close quarters would make him uncomfortable. Well, not exactly uncomfortable, but he’d spend every waking moment reliving the precise manner in which she’d made him cum.
She was right about the fact that he wasn’t being fair, at least.
The flight attendant came by, asking if he wanted something to drink. He smiled and asked for a bourbon, neat. She flushed when she took his order, biting her lip.
Apparently the pretty blonde flight attendant found him attractive. His attractiveness usually wasn’t something he cared about, but she was pretty obvious about swinging her hips as she walked away.
He looked her up and down as she headed to ask Cameron the same thing, thinking. He couldn’t in good conscience fire Cameron, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t drive her away.
And what better way than to chat up the stewardess? Even though he wasn’t genuinely interested in her, it might make Cameron angry. If it worked, he’d just act the same way with every woman he came into contact with until Cameron threw up her hands and quit.
It wasn’t the classiest thing he could do, but it wasn’t the sleaziest either.
The stewardess came back by with his bourbon, hips swiveling as she walked. Smith turned on the charm, grinning as she handed it to him.
“Thank you, love,” he said. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Andrea,” she said, turning red.
“Andrea,” he said. “You’re very fit. Has anyone ever told you that?”
She went even redder. “No, sir.”
“Please, call me Smith. Do you mind sitting with me for a minute?” he said, giving her puppy dog eyes. No woman could resist those.
“Well…” she said, looking up toward the closed cockpit door. “Just for a minute.”
Cameron noticed when she sat down. She put her book down and frowned. Good.
“Tell me, Andrea. Do you like being a flight attendant?”
“Oh, it’s great!” the blonde told him. “I get to go all over the place.”
“Is that right?” he said, moving closer. “So Paris is no big deal to you.”
Andrea smiled. “Well, I haven’t really seen all the sights. I try to see something new every time I visit.”
Smith noticed her watch. He reached out, caressing her wrist. “This is nice. Where is it from?”
“I got it when I was in New York,” she said, biting her lip. Her eyes traveled down to his lips, which made him smile. His attractiveness really did suit him, at times.
“It’s exquisite,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “Just like its owner.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but one of the pilots poked their head through the galley door.
“Andrea?” the pilot said, looking a little confused.
She jumped up, looking like someone had just caught them in bed together.
“I have to go get him what he needs,” she said apologetically, rushing off.
When the door closed behind her, Cameron raised her guidebook, but he didn’t miss her smile.
“Does something amuse you?” he asked, leaning back in his seat.
“Me? No, definitely not,” she said, trying to suppress her smile.
“You’re smirking,” he said.
She looked at the book in her hands, lifting a shoulder casually.
“It’s just… it’s nice to see that even gorgeous people get shut down now and then,” she said, flipping a few pages of her guidebook.
“I’m gorgeous, am I?” he goaded her.
She flushed, closing her book and standing up. “You know, I think the stewardess forgot my drink.”
He watched as she let herself into the galley. She came back a few minutes later with her drink and a pair of headphones. Before he could say anything, she plugged her headphones into an iPod and closed her eyes.
She reclined her seat, making it plain that she didn’t want to banter with Smith any further.
He sighed, sipping his whiskey, and watched her. Her blue dress rode up her thigh on one side, giving him a glimpse of creamy skin. He shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t even be noticing, but he couldn’t help himself.
His problem wasn’t that he wondered what was beneath that skirt. His problem was that he already knew. He knew what she’d look like if she hiked up her dress, knew how it felt to sink himself between those honeyed thighs.
Fuck. He was hard just thinking about her pussy. Not to mention the fact that he knew she was a natural redhead, because he’d already stripped off her panties once before.
He adjusted himself, wondering if there wasn’t something to what his father had been saying. He could just let her whet his appetites…
His military background kicked in, making him ashamed of himself. He had joined the Special Air Service to get himself out of this exact mindset, that of the rich spoiled asshole.
He straightened up in his seat. He needed a distraction.
He got up and got his laptop. If he buried himself in spreadsheets and financial analyses, at least he wouldn’t be thinking about her.
Shaking his head at himself, he got to work.
Hours later, he was pulled from catching up on his emails by a particularly nasty bout of turbulence. He looked up when his laptop fell to the side.
He rubbed his temples, tired. He noticed that Cameron’s seat was empty; funny, he hadn’t noticed her getting up.
He stretched and set his laptop aside, ready to signal Andrea for a drink. A moment before he did, though, Cameron came through the door to the galley and the restrooms. She was headed back to her seat when turbulence hit again.
“Cameron!” he said as she stumbled toward him.
“Shit!” she cried.
She landed in a pile at his feet. The turbulence stopped and he helped her to her feet, but no sooner had she stood up than it started again.
They both tumbled into his bench seat, Cameron on Smith’s lap. The touch of her skin to his was like he’d put a fork in an electrical outlet, if that sensation could be said to be pleasurable.
Touching Cameron was alarming, but in a good way. The turbulence continued, and the pilot’s voice came over the speaker.
“Sorry, Mr. Calloway,” said the pilot. “We should be through this patch in a minute. Just hang tight for a bit.”
Smith looked at Cameron, who still had a startled expression on her face. He smirked.
“Guess you’ll have to hold onto me,” he said.
Cameron looked at him as the turbulence slowed. She didn’t say anything, but he noticed gooseflesh break out over her bare skin.
They were so close now, and the pleasant buzz of contact continued. She bit her lip, her eyes dropping to his mouth.
Before he could say or do anything, her mouth was on his.
She kissed him, the taste of her cinnamon-sweet. Her tongue played with his, teasing. He groaned and sank both his hands into her hair, his body hardening.
The intercom speaker crackled again, which brought them both to their senses. Cameron pushed herself off of him.
“We should be turbulence free for a while now,” the pilot said.
Smith looked at Cameron.
“That was what I was talking about, when I said we’d be sharing close quarters,” he said, straightening his shirt.
She frowned, making her way back to her seat. “What are you saying?”
He shrugged, picking up his laptop. She put her headphones back in and closed her eyes, but he could tell she was fuming. Her red hair was disheveled just a bit.
Damn, but she was sexy when she was angry.
He spent the rest of the flight trying not to think about the way she’d felt. The weight of her on top of his body, the way she’d sunk into him and kissed him.
She just sat there, not looking at him. Smith found it beyond frustrating. It seemed like the whole cabin was filled with their tension, and there was no escaping it.
When the flight finally landed in Paris, he sighed with relief. He was down the plane’s stairs before he realized that he had to spend the limo ride with her.
“This is us?” she asked, pointing to the limo as she walked down the plane’s stairs.
“Yes,” he said, walking over to the limo and opening the door.
He climbed inside with his laptop case and briefcase, impatient. She slid in the other side while the chauffeur loaded their luggage. Smith looked away from Cameron, unsure how he was supposed to feel.
The chauffeur rolled down the partition.
“Où est-ce que je vous emmène?” the driver asked.
“Les Quatre Saisons, s'il vous plaît,” Smith answered.
He noticed that Cameron did a double take when she heard him speaking French fluently. He smirked as the limo pulled off. There were a lot of things that she didn’t know about him.
Soon they began to see The City of Lights, as it was often called. It was early evening here, so the restaurants and shops were just beginning to turn on their lights. They drove past a couple of the big sights in Paris, like the Sacre-Coeur, the Moulin Rouge, and the Arc de Triomphe.
It was pretty phenomenal, seeing the city light up like that.
Cameron looked out the window, her eyes wide. He knew it was her first time in Paris, but anyone could guess from her reaction that it was all new. It was almost endearing to watch, he had to admit.
When they got to the hotel, Smith swept out of the limo and into the gray brick building. The grand marble lobby awaited, with its lavish chandelier and many flower arrangements. Behind an elaborately decorated marble desk stood two beautiful Parisian women, ready to assist them with their rooms.
“How can I help you?” a beautiful brunette asked in heavily accented English.
“Two rooms, under the name Calloway,” he said.
“Just a moment, please.” She started typing in the computer in front of her. “Ah, we have the reservation. Mr. Calloway, you and your guest are in the Royale Suite.”
She looked up at him, expectant. He frowned.
“No, we have two guest rooms,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “They’ll be on my company card, here.”
He rifled through his cards and handed her a Black American Express.
“I will be happy to check again,” she said. She typed another string of information, and looked up at him. “I’m sorry, but it looks like your reservation was changed yesterday. Paid for in advance by a Spencer Calloway.”
He repressed a grimace. Of course his father had to meddle in his affairs. It made total sense.
“Alright. There are two bedrooms, at least?”
“Yes, sir. It’s just down the first floor corridor. I’ll have one of the bellhops take you.”
“Thank you. Are these the keys?”
“Oui, monsieur.”
He turned around and spotted Cameron taking a cell phone photo of a sculpture of ballerinas dancing. He had no doubt that it was famous, but he had no time for art right now.
“Cameron, come on,” he chastised her. “We’re down the hall.”
He turned on his heel and followed the bellhop down a series of corridors, until they arrived at the Royale Suite.
He opened the door, tipping the bellhop as he looked around. They walked into a living room of cream furniture, all perfectly immaculate.
“Whoa,” he heard Cameron say. “Holy shit.”
The living room led into a white marble covered dining room, and an elegant marble balcony with black patio furniture. Two bedrooms and bathrooms were set up just off the living room as well, both with kingsize beds and done in beige tones.
Smith turned to Cameron, possibly to make a joke of the ridiculous accommodations. Then he saw her putting her baggage in one of the bedrooms. She shot him a look, and shut the bedroom door with a definitive click.
6
Cam kicked off her heels in her room. They’d been in Paris for three days now, and she’d seen precisely none of the sights. Not that she’d expected to slack off and sightsee the whole time, but she had been so busy the last few days that a break was welcome.
During the meetings at Calloway Corp, she’d mostly been left in the dark due to the fact that apparently everyone spoke French. They were in France, so it was to be expected, but it left her in the dust. She was often still looking up a word she’d managed to catch in her French-to-English dictionary when everyone stood to leave the boardroom.
She sighed and rubbed her neck, sitting on the luxurious bed she’d been assigned. Her phone buzzed, no doubt to notify her that Erika was calling again.
Erika had been elated to hear that Cam was being sent overseas, to what she called the most romantic city of all time. Her editor had urged her to spend her time seducing Smith, because she said the best informants were unsuspecting ones.
Cam suspected that Spencer Calloway had sent them here for the same reason, so a little part of her was glad that she and Smith had been too busy to spend time together.
She picked up the necklace from her bedside table, holding the locket carefully. The chain had been replaced three times, so the locket was the only original piece left.
She pressed the locket’s smooth gold sides, releasing the catch and opening it carefully. She hardly ever opened the locket anymore, because the two little pictures stuffed inside were starting to fade.
On one side, a picture of herself, a grinning redheaded girl of about eight. On the other side was a young woman, also a redhead. Dressed in overalls and a purple shirt, her mother looked at her with a vaguely happy expression.
It pained Cam to think it, but the young woman in the photo might be younger than Cam herself by now.
She closed the locket and put it away. She checked her watch. It was only four in the afternoon, and the meetings were concluded for the day. If she was going to do any sightseeing, it would have to be now.
She got up and went to her closet. She changed into jeans, a band t-shirt, and a blazer. Simple but sophisticated, much like Paris itself.
She grabbed her purse and her guidebook, planning on visiting the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. At least if she saw those two things, she could say her trip was not a waste.
She went into the living room, pausing when she saw Smith on the balcony. She walked over and stuck her head out. She felt the low rumble of attraction as soon as she saw him in his jeans and t-shirt, just as he’d been the first night she met him.
She swallowed her feelings down as he turned around.
“I’m going to the Arc de Triomphe,” she said. “So I’ll be gone the rest of the evening.”
He cocked a brow. “Are you, now?”
“Yep. And the Eiffel Tower after that.”
“You don’t speak French,” he pointed out.
“Yes, however will I survive in this city full of tourists?” she sarcastically replied.
She turned to leave, but Smith stopped her.
“Wait,” he said. “Let me get my coat.”
She must have looked pretty surprised, because he laughed.
“What, I can’t take my assistant sightseeing?” he said.
She was quiet for a second, so he pushed past her and disappeared in his room. When he came back, he was wearing his leather jacket.
Now he really looked like he had when they met. A bunch of images rushed into her head, images of what he looked like beneath the clothes. Most men didn’t look better with their clothes off, but Smith was an exception.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said, blushing a little at her thoughts. “Lead the way.”
He led her out of the hotel. She noticed that none of the toadying bellhops even looked their way, and the valets didn’t offer to pull around the limo.
She looked at Smith.
She supposed he was different looking enough in his current garb to warrant different treatment. It was funny what taking him out of the Brioni suit did for his outward appearance. He looked handsome, but otherwise he was totally average.
She smiled to herself, shaking her head as they walked away from the hotel.
“What?” he said to her as he pulled out his phone and hailed an Uber.
“I was just thinking… no one noticed you leaving, back at the hotel. It’s almost like you’re in your punk rock disguise.”
He winked at her and grinned. “Don’t tell anyone my secret.”
She laughed and shook her head again.
“You are so bad,” she said.
“I try,” he said casually as their Uber arrived.
She rolled her eyes and allowed him to put her in the car. He climbed in the other side and told the driver where to go.
“You’re just lucky that you speak French,” she said.
“I wouldn’t say lucky,” he said, looking out the window. “I was stationed in Senegal for six months, then in Rwanda.”
“Stationed?”
“Yeah. Special Air Service Lieutenant, at your service, ma’am.”
She was stunned. She’d taken Smith at face value, as a rich kid who went to punk clubs to defy his parents. Of course, now that she knew, it made sense. He was tidy, and seemed so worldly. He had gotten both of those things in the Special Air Service.
“How long were you in the service?” she asked.
“Almost four years,” he said, pulling a face. “I would’ve gladly stayed in, but…”
“But?”
“Duty called,” he said with a sardonic little smirk. “My father pretended he was about to retire. Somebody had to run Calloway Corp.”
He smiled, but it was humorless this time. She digested that information. For the first time, she considered who he was as a person, apart from the business.
Did he know that money was being misappropriated from his company? Worse, was he complicit in it?
She didn’t think so, but he was proving that she knew next to nothing about him as a person. She looked at him through her eyelashes, wondering if she was working toward putting him in jail.