Nights with Him (Seductive Nights #4)(46)
Author: Lauren Blakely

“We have to wait ‘til after my keynote though,” she said, her voice a soft warning.

He laughed lightly. “Yes. Of course. I do want you to be able to walk.”

“But after that, you can have me.”

“I wish your keynote were ending this very second,” he said, and dropped his mouth to hers, consuming her in a hot, wet kiss that would have turned into so much more if they weren’t on this goddamn plane.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mais Oui

She was radiant in the gaslight from the streetlamps along the Seine.

The soft glow illuminated her, a faint golden light at night that made her all the more breathtaking. She wore heels and a skirt, her strong legs on display for him, always for him, and a pretty top that was falling off her shoulder. He’d already had her twice today. The second, the very nanosecond they’d arrived at the hotel room, he took her. The door had fallen shut and he’d thrown her on the bed, stripped off her jeans and his, and entered her. It was a hard, fast fuck, but after that red-eye flight it was what they both desperately required. It wasn’t enough to quench his desire, though, and after a nap, he’d put her on all fours, and made her cry out his name once more.

Then they’d behaved, spending the afternoon working. She’d practiced her talk alone in the room at the Sofitel Hotel in the 8th arrondissement, near the Champs-Elysées and the Louvre, while he’d gone to a cafe around the block and worked on his laptop. He’d drunk espresso at a sidewalk table, and watched the Parisians stroll by as he dealt with business matters related to vibrators, bullets, and butterflies. It seemed quite fitting to work on Joy Delivered business in a city like this, where anything goes and everything went, where the residents embraced sex and sexuality. Hell, the politicians here often had mistresses. Paris was a city that celebrated passion.

Judging by the P&L numbers his chief financial officer had just sent over, there were plenty of Americans and Upper East Siders, as the demographic data told him, who enjoyed the full range of Joy Delivered products, from basic massagers to butt plugs to leather floggers. But yet, there was such a vocal outcry to shut down the damn BDSM clubs, even though Denkler’s campaign had tried the whole “safer for everyone” route. Admittedly, it was working the tiniest bit, based on the new numbers Henry had sent over earlier today. That gave Jack a needed boost of confidence that turning the tide was possible. It wouldn’t be easy, but it seemed doable, even though time was running out on the campaign.

The whole situation had left Jack with a bad taste in his mouth. Politics and sex were terrible bedfellows. Ironic too, because there was so much demonizing of the clubs on the outside, but he bet some of those same opponents had red marks on their asses from using toys behind closed doors.

But here? Even when he’d had his laptop screen open to a photo of a prototype of a new double-headed dildo, neither the waiter nor the gray-haired woman who’d been sitting next to him, holding a teacup poodle in her lap as she drank a coffee and dragged on a cigarette, seemed to care. The woman had even leaned closer and whispered, “looks like fun,” to which he’d responded “mais oui.”

He’d always enjoyed the pace of life here in Paris, and the conversations he overheard revealed the city’s true nature—discussions about movies, art, an Yves St Laurent exhibit at the Grand Palais, a music festival on the steps of the Musee d’Orsay, even a debate about religion. Very few conversations were about business.

It was a different way of life in the City of Love.

Now, he and Michelle had finished dinner at a small bistro on a cobblestoned street, and were wandering along the river, buzzed on the bottle of wine they’d drunk. The Eiffel Tower beckoned in the distance, lit up like it was covered in diamonds, its nighttime jewels glittering across the night. The Seine cut a ribbon through the city, and he held Michelle’s hand as they threaded their way along a grassy path by the water, still-green trees forming a canopy overhead. They stopped several times to kiss. A small green cab scurried by, its horn bleating loudly. They were surrounded by other lovers on this path, tangled up together on benches, under the trees, on the stone wall.

“Think anyone is taking our picture now?” he joked when they broke the kiss as a young hip couple walked past them, looking at a photo on their cell phone. Even from a few feet away, he could tell the picture was of a dog.

She laughed and shook her head. “Hate to break it to you, big shot, but I don’t think anyone here cares about who Mr. NYC Eligible Bachelor is involved with.”

“God, I love the French.”

“No one knows we’re here, either,” she said.

“No one?”

She jutted up a shoulder. “Well, my brother knows, and Sutton knows. But I didn’t tell my clients where I was going. I only told them I was going to be away on business, and then arranged for a backup therapist. They don’t know where I am, and I like the privacy. I had a new client the last few weeks who just kept throwing me off-kilter.”

He quirked up his eyebrows in question. “What do you mean?” he asked, his shoulders tensing.

“It was weird,” she said, looking at the sky as if she were remembering. “He just seemed to be checking me out during one session, then in the next one he knew too much about me. And when he put his dark black glasses on, he reminded me of someone I’d bumped into once outside the office.”

Now his hackles were raised. He clenched his fists, immediately hating this guy, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Except he didn’t want anyone making the woman he cared for uncomfortable. “What does he look like?”

She shrugged. “Standard businessman, I guess. Short dark hair, dark eyes. Why? Are you going to go all Army Intelligence on me and track him down?” she asked, shifting to a playful tone.

“If I have to, I will,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. He would protect her if need be, though he doubted this dude was anything but a man who couldn’t keep his eyes off a beautiful woman.

“Well, I like that the Paris tabloids don’t care about you.”

He nodded in agreement, grateful that Page Six’s obsession with him didn’t extend overseas. Besides, only Casey and Nate knew where he was. “I’m nobody here,” he said.

“Then let’s get back to the hotel, Mr. Nobody.” She looped her arms around his neck as a soft night breeze blew by, kicking up her skirt. He copped a peek. “Pervert,” she teased.