by Chloe Blake
Even in school, she had gone for the older guy. Her psychology professor was six foot four with hair black as sin and skin so beautifully tan. Handsome? She had thought so. But sometimes it wasn’t about looks, but a combination of strength, intelligence and...sex.
“You want some?” She was pulled out of her head to see Lars gesturing toward a server with a tray of minicakes. She put her half mask over her face and shook her head, relieved when he left to get himself dessert, wondering if her business partner could be anywhere in the room. Luca Dechamps had no Facebook, no Twitter and a defunct LinkedIn, devoid of a picture. Except for some group photos that had no captions and were too small to enlarge, this guy was a ghost.
An older gentleman in dark sunglasses looked interesting. He wore his silver hair in a ponytail and...oh, my God. It was Karl Lagerfeld. Definitely not her business partner. She stopped staring like a tourist, reminding herself that she’d meet the man who would buy her father’s shares of the business soon enough. Across the room, the bar was filled with people in their half masks, teasing, flirting, playing god and goddess. It was Caligula, but clothed.
She was nose deep in her left champagne flute when tall, dark and handsome walked by. He ran a hand through black hair and swiftly buttoned a tailored suit jacket that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. He was late for dinner, she bet, with his wife. Because guys that hot don’t get left alone for long. She couldn’t help but watch his lean, long frame make quick work of the marble floor. She didn’t care what people said about slim cut trousers on a man; this guy wore them well.
Her eye candy disappeared around a corner, only to be replaced by Lars, who had crusted icing on his mouth and sat down almost in her lap. It was time to go back to her room. Alone.
Five minutes later, she was still waiting for the elevator. She should have gotten herself another glass of wine, because it was going on six minutes when the elevator alarm went off. Maya sighed when she heard muffled giggling and a few bumps against the wall. She supposed sex in the elevator went with the theme. If she was honest, she was a little jealous.
Maybe it was a sign she should go back to the party. She looked over her shoulder and saw Lars with another drink in his hand, coming right toward her. Instinctively, she put her mask up to her face and lunged around the corner toward an exit sign, hoping for stairs. Voilà! She burst through the heavy door and hurried up the stairs, intent on making it all the way to the eleventh floor in her heels.
By the sixth, her shoes were off and she was practically crawling when a barrage of heavy footsteps above her filled the stairwell. Male voices got louder and closer, and for a moment she felt nervous. She looked up the dark stairs and suddenly she didn’t feel safe. She turned quickly to run back downstairs and dropped a shoe. She picked it up, then shot back down the stairs, smack-dab into a tall, hard body. Her scream echoed. She jumped back and balled her fists, ready to defend herself, but when she looked up, an explosive wow registered in her brain.
It was him, the hottie she’d seen earlier in the slim cut suit. His black hair was ruffled. He looked leaner and more broad shouldered this close, and his frame was well over six feet. His brows were raised in supplication, and his palms were up, a mask dangling from in between his thumb and finger.
“Mademoiselle, vous allez bien?”
“I don’t speak—”
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“No, thank you, just startled.”
His dark gaze dropped to her mask, then her bare feet. “How can I help you?” Before she could answer, the group of men attacking the stairs had arrived. They were dressed in service uniforms, and spoke rapid French with the hottie before the group ran past. “We’re having a problem with the elevator.”
Ah, he worked here. “Someone’s having sex in it.” She mentally slapped herself for being so gauche, but he laughed. The deep sound was pleasant, as was his smile, which lit up his handsome face.
“Oui, probably. Is that why you are taking the stairs?”
“Yes.” She held up her heels. “Slowly but surely.”
“What floor?”
“Eleven.”
He shook his head in disapproval. “I can help you. If you’ll follow me?” he said, reaching around her to open the door to the fifth floor hallway. She slid past him, feeling juvenile for a woman of her independent status to be rescued like a damsel in distress, in her bare feet, no less. He dipped his head as he closed the door, and she fell in step as they started walking down the long hall.
“There is a private elevator just at the end of the hall. I’ll escort you to your room.”
“Merci,” she murmured. Normally she would be chattier, but she was feeling awkward and still a bit shaken from their surprise meeting.
“You didn’t enjoy yourself at our party?” he asked, so innocently that she admonished herself immediately for being paranoid.
“The party was really fun, but I’m a little tired, and it was becoming a crush to get to the bar.” She shrugged. “I can have wine in my room.”
He smiled. “I’ll have a bottle sent up for you.”
She smiled back. “I’d love that.”
“How is Paris treating you so far?”
“Well, I just arrived, so I haven’t been able to say hello to her yet.”
“Are you with the group of Americans here for the art convention?”
“No, but that sounds like fun.”
“May I ask where are you from?” Just as she was about to answer, a loud crackling sound came from his jacket. “Un moment,” he murmured. He pulled out a small two-way radio and spoke back and forth in strings of quick French before putting it back in his pocket. He glanced at her from the side of his eye with a smirk. “The couple seem to have finished.”
The private elevator bank was one skinny gold door. Her hottie, as she began to mentally call him, punched in a code and they waited. She turned her head to ask about his position at the hotel and caught him looking away quickly. She smiled inside. He was checking her out.
Suddenly he held out his hand. “I’m Nicolas. Nic.”
“Maya North,” she said, shaking his warm hand, wondering if his lips would be warm, as well. The elevator opened swiftly, and he waited for her to enter before entering himself. He pressed another code and then eleven. Because of the small space, he was standing very close—his delicious cologne filled her nostrils.
She decided to slip on her heels. “Careful,” he said, and held out his hand for her to steady herself. “If I may be so bold, you look very beautiful.” She smiled and almost fell into the wall. She took his hand and sucked in a breath of restraint. This wasn’t like her. Her skin had goose bumps, and she wasn’t even cold.
“You’re shivering.” He frowned.
“Oh, it’s okay. We’re almost at the room.”
He whipped off his jacket and placed it on her shoulders, his warm breath briefly caressing her ear. Her nipples hardened and she pulled the jacket tighter around her. “This building is old, and the elevators have the worst drafts.” He came back to stand next to her. “Better?”
“Much better. You’re my savior tonight.”
“My pleasure,” he whispered. “Although you seemed ready to take me out in the stairwell,” he teased.
She blushed. “Just scare tactics. I watch a lot of Marvel movies.”
“X-Men,” he said, nodding in reverence.
“X-Men.” She smiled her agreement.
The door opened to the eleventh floor and they walked in silence to her room. “Ah, le chambre de la lune. One of my favorites. If you leave the curtains open at night, the moonlight cuts through the room like a laser. It’s gorgeous.”
His voice was doing naughty things to her body, even as she fished for her key card. She slid it in the slot and turned to him when the door popped open. “I’ll have to leave them o
pen, then.”
The alabaster white shirt enhanced his tan skin and dark eyes. He was stunning, and her mind raced with dirty thoughts of inviting him in and taking full advantage of what the hotel had to offer. But, as much as she wanted to put on that mask and act like the goddess she was, she just wasn’t that type.
“Nic, I don’t know how to thank you. I’ll be here for a little while. I suppose I’ll see you around.”
Nic licked his lips as if to say something, then his gaze dropped to the floor. “Oui, if you need anything, please do not hesitate.”
She walked inside and turned to him with a nod before slowly closing the door. Then she leaned her back against it in total disappointment. What happened to the pep talk she’d given herself about taking risks and being someone else for a night? Slowly she walked to the bed and kicked off her shoes, then lay back in Nic’s jacket, pulling it tighter over her shoulders, fantasizing about what she would have done differently.
* * *
Jesus, Nic thought as he took the elevator down to the basement. His powerful attraction to the American came as a surprise to him; the minute she’d taken his hand in the elevator he’d had an instant hard-on.
Sex with guests was not good PR for the hotel. He had a serious conversation with himself as he walked into the wine cellar—think of the Yelp reviews. But his next thought had to do with which wine she would enjoy and what her red lips would look like closing over the glass. Not exactly the voice of reason he was trying to sustain.
He moved to the reds and chose a fruity Loire Valley Pinot Noir that would look beautiful against her red mouth. He’d get one of the porters to take it up, not trusting himself to knock on her door again.
There had been a moment where he was hoping she would invite him in, offer him something to drink from the mini-bar, kiss him. He ran a hand over his mouth and made his way back to the first floor, intent on finding someone in the kitchen to take the wine to her room.
The music pumped louder as more and more people filed into the lobby, waving their masks and drinks in the air. A crush, she’d called it. That was how he felt as he pushed through to the back of the bar and skirted in between the bartenders to find the good crystal. One perfect sparkling glass for the goddess upstairs. He heard a glass break across the room—the cleanup was going to be ridiculous.
Nic moved from the bar, allowing the bartenders their much-needed space, and waved over a young porter. “Nic?” he thought he heard mixed into the music. Couldn’t be—then again, his name, louder this time. A woman’s voice, one he recognized. Nic brought the porter close so he could hear him. “Is there a redheaded woman behind me calling my name? Don’t be obvious.”
“Oui, patron.”
Daphne. Merde. “Never mind,” he said to the porter. “I’ll take it myself.”
Nic took the private elevator to eleven, thinking more about getting away from Daphne than what he would say to Mademoiselle North. What had she said her name was again? God, he was horrible with names. He got to her door and hesitated, wondering if he looked creepy or desperate, realizing the longer he talked to himself outside her door, the more creepy and desperate he looked. He knocked lightly, then more forcefully when no one answered.
“Mademoiselle?” he yelled out. The lock turned and there she was again in her bare feet, still wearing the strappy dress that accentuated her body. Her eyes widened and she smiled. Breathtaking. He held up the bottle of wine and a single glass. “As promised.”
Her surprised gaze touched the bottle, then his eyes. She seemed to debate for a moment, then stepped back. “Come in. Maybe you can open it for me?”
“Of course.” The moment he stepped inside, she closed the door and came toward him, so close he could smell the vanilla scent of her hair. Then she kissed him, sweetly at first, her lips testing his, then bolder, their mouths fusing perfectly. She pulled back slowly, his lips following before he let hers go. There was a wicked gleam in her eye.
“I told myself I would do that the next time I saw you,” she whispered.
He licked his lips. “I’m happy you did.”
“Will you stay and have a drink with me?”
“I would love to,” he said, staring at her mouth. He gave her the glass and moved to her small kitchen for the bottle opener.
She inspected the crystal in the light. “You only brought one.”
He popped the bottle with a graceful flick of his wrist, then came toward her with a grin. “We can share.”
Chapter 4
“I should let this breathe a little, but—” he looked into her eyes “—I can’t wait.” He wasn’t talking about the wine. The attraction between them was palpable, almost suffocating.
She held the glass steady as he poured, her gaze lightly taking him in, making his body respond in kind. Her eyes traveled over his hands. “Are you engaged or married?” she whispered. She bit her cheek in embarrassment, but it was a valid question. Several men he knew didn’t wear their rings. He had always felt that if he was going to take a wife, then he wanted others to know.
He finished pouring. “No, I’m not.” He grinned, hoping he put her at ease. “Neither.”
“Good.” She grinned back.
He was right; the ruby liquid would look beautiful against her mouth. He brushed a caramel-colored curl from her shoulder. “Please, try the wine. I want to make sure I chose the right one.”
She looked at him for a moment. “This is... I don’t usually do this.”
“Neither do I. I’ve never done it actually...been with a guest like this.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you going to get fired?”
“I—” He started, then stopped, unsure he wanted to say he was the owner. Women he knew chased him for his money; it might be a nice change to be chased for something as mundane as his personality. “No.”
“This is weird,” she whispered, her lashes lowering. Her gaze flashed. “But good weird.”
“Definitely,” he said, wanting to taste her more than he wanted to taste the wine. He gestured to her glass. “Did I do all right?”
“I’m sure it’s fine. I’m not much of a connoisseur.” Her eyes danced. “I mean, I like wine, I just don’t know much about it.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place. The French are raised with wine in their baby bottles.” He loved her throaty chuckles. “May I?” Her tentative look turned into a smile as she handed him the glass. Her skin glistened in the dim lighting; he imagined his lips trailing over her shoulder. “Wine tasting should be fun. Hold on.” He tuned the radio to soft music, then came back to stand very close. He angled the glass and held it up. “First we check the color. This one I chose because the garnet color is very close to the color of your lips. So we already know it’s perfect.” Her shy look became bolder, ending in a sexy grin. Every time she smiled, he got harder. “Next the aroma.” He primed his nose with a sniff, gave the liquid a swish around the crystal, then breathed in again. “I can smell the fruit and floral notes. You try.”
She lowered her long lashes and took the glass, mimicking his every move. “I think I smell strawberry.” She frowned.
“Yes.” He smiled wide, his gaze moving to the fallen dress strap on her shoulder. “Now, taste.” Her dark eyes held his as she sipped.
“It’s good.” Her tongue came out to lick her lips and he almost lost his control.
“What do you taste?” he half whispered, lust palpable in the room.
“Chocolate, maybe?” She lifted the glass toward him, but he refused.
“Try again. This time, drink deeper.”
She closed her lips more fully around the glass, and he was lost. She swallowed and handed it to him. “Rose?”
“That’s an excellent start,” he said, putting down the glass. Her gaze followed his every move. “My turn to taste.” He kissed her fully, his tongue plundering h
er mouth. She wound her arms around his neck. “I taste fire,” he said against her lips. He kissed her again, pulling small sounds from her throat as his hands roamed over her body. “I taste beauty.” She didn’t wait for him to come back to her, her hand finding the back of his head and pulling him to her mouth. He leaned her back with the force of his kiss and her dress slid up as her leg bent up to his waist. He caught her knee and pulled her off the floor, hitching her legs on either side of his hips.
He pulled back, only to look into her eyes and make sure they were both on the same page. “I taste passion,” she whispered, lowering herself back down to his lips.
They savored each other for a long moment, and when they could no longer get close enough, she wriggled herself down his body, stopping briefly to caress the bulge between his legs and, with her gaze on his, slowly began backing up toward the bedroom.
The minute she entered the adjacent room, the motion-activated lights burst on, then lowered to a soft glow around her. The luxury suite suited her, he thought, moving forward as if pulled by an invisible force. The room was awash in shades of gray with accents of white gold and dark pink quartz.
He’d called it the Luna Suite because the location of the room in the northwest corner of the building made it the best for viewing the moon as she ruled above the Paris rooftops, hence the floor-to-ceiling windows and wraparound terrace.
Maya stood by the bed, and Nic was struck by how the waxing moon hung above her head like a crown. Her gaze boldly moved over him and then softened when she met his eyes.
“Are you having any second thoughts?” He wanted to make sure she was feeling what he was feeling. Lust.
“I should be, but I’m not.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I haven’t had sex in a long time. I shouldn’t have invited you in, since I don’t know you from a hole in the wall. But you’re very sexy, and as good as you look in that suit, I’d like to see you out of it.”