Читать книгу Hot Picks: Secrets And Lies - Dani Collins - Страница 15

IT WAS WEEKS after the nightclub before Henri found himself in London again. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Cinnia Whitley and he didn’t know why. Their evening together had followed exactly the pattern he’d assumed it would and it wasn’t a new one.

Well, he usually closed an encounter with more grace, but she was the one who had disappeared when he’d stepped away to take what he thought might be an emergency call from his sister.

Regardless, it wasn’t as if Ramon was giving a second thought to her friend Vera, so he didn’t know why he couldn’t stop thinking about Cinnia. Maybe it was because she hadn’t behaved as predictably as her friend.

Vera had posted the selfie she’d taken with the four of them when they’d first entered the hospitality suite. She was using her rub with a Sauveterre to gain some celebrity status of her own. Absolutely nothing new and he didn’t even bother feeling disgusted by it.

Cinnia hadn’t shared the selfie to her own account, though. The one online quote he’d found attributed to her about him was “I met him briefly. There’s nothing else to say.”

Not one to kiss and tell, obviously.

Neither was he, so he appreciated her discretion.

Of course, what could one say about their lovemaking without sounding like a blatant liar or an overly romantic poet? He liked an involved partner and always did what he could to ensure the woman got as much from their lovemaking as he did. But to say he and Cinnia had had sex, or had given each other an orgasm, was to completely understate the act.

He kept rationalizing what had made it seem so powerful. She’d been resisting their attraction in a slow burn that had made her capitulation all the sweeter. The partially public location had held a titillating appeal. Their chemistry was very compatible.

As he’d leaned against the soft cushion of her body, barely able to keep his knees from buckling, he’d been… He wanted to call it empty, but even though he’d felt drained, he’d also felt utterly satisfied.

At peace.

All the responsibilities that weighed on him were still there. He hadn’t stopped caring about them, but in that moment of euphoria, he’d accepted it all. If that was what had made him into the man who could be there with that woman, forehead tilted against the wall, cheek pressed to hers, inhaling her scent and twitching with reaction long after the pulses of orgasm had faded, feeling the very light stroke of her fingertips at his spine…

So be it.

Then he had heard Trella’s ringtone and his demanding life had rushed back in to consume him. He had stepped away from Cinnia and straightened himself, snatching up the phone and answering it without visuals, stepping outside in case Trella was in crisis and he needed to talk her down.

Looking back, he knew he had reacted almost like a shock victim, rushing to get on with his life after a collision that had nearly taken his life. His head had been spinning, his body firing with adrenaline.

Since then, he had been telling himself he was wrong. Their lovemaking hadn’t been anywhere near so profound as he recollected. Even if it had been the best sex of his life with a woman who possessed an ounce of discretion, so what? He wasn’t in the market for a relationship and given the life he led, never would be.

At best, he might have stretched their association into the rest of the weekend, if she hadn’t disappeared like the fire bell had rung. When he had realized she hadn’t just ducked into the ladies’ room, he had told himself it was for the best and asked for his order of strawberries.

The berries had been both sweet and tart, imprinting on his memory a little deeper with each bite. He suspected he would think of her every time he glimpsed a strawberry for a very long time and would wonder if she was managing to stay away from them.

Why? Such a ridiculous question to clog up his brain.

And yet, weeks later, as he entered a party he had no desire to attend and spotted her, his first thought was so far so good. She was alive and well, not having succumbed to fruit poisoning.

Her blond hair was gathered in a knot and held in place with a couple of sticks, but a few delicate spirals fell around her face. Her shoulders were bared by her white summer dress, her heels an attractive spike that showed off her legs. She wore only a pair of silver hoop earrings for jewelry.

She was as casually beautiful as he remembered, her expression serene as she listened to a man who wasn’t her date, but looked like he wanted to be.

As was his habit, Henri had insisted his security be given the finalized guest list before he accepted the invitation. If people wanted him to show up to their affairs, they complied. That’s how he had known Cinnia would be here and he’d made himself take a full ten minutes of sober second thought before he’d accepted the invite himself—without a plus one, as she had also done.

His heart started to thud with male need as he looked at her. He knew what lurked beneath that air of containment and he’d be damned if that gangly pontificator would discover it, as well.

Cinnia had convinced herself this engagement party for her friend from uni was yet another good “networking opportunity,” even though she knew why she’d been invited. Once Vera’s photo of the two of them with the twins had made the rounds, Cinnia had been inundated by old acquaintances eager to reach out. She was part of the “it” crowd now and her mother couldn’t be happier.

If only she was in a position to decline, but she was too practical to be proud. Her friend was marrying into a very wealthy family from New York and their circle of friends included the types of fortunes that were just complex enough to need a qualified manager.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t reply to casual questions about your career with “I’m drumming up biz for the agency I’m opening.” Evenings like this were about making introductions and impressions, keeping the talk light yet memorable, then somehow finding an excuse at a point down the road to contact the same people and ask, “Do you have a plan for your eventual death?”

Since she didn’t have a man in her life who was eager to put on a tie and show up to a stranger’s engagement party, she had come alone and was now a target for the stags in rut. Gerald, here, was a perfect example, shadowing her through her last two attempts to ditch him. She swore if he asked for her number, she would give him her business card and tell him to call when he was ready to discuss his final wishes.

“Don’t look now, but guess who just walked in,” the woman across from her said with a sparkle in her eye. “I think you know him, Cinnia.”

Of course Cinnia looked.

And promptly felt stretched thin as a strand of glass, so brittle she would break if a wrong word was breathed in her direction. Her throat closed and her chest stung from the inside. It took everything in her to keep a look of nonchalance on her face while her heart bolted for the nearest exit.

He was looking right at her, gorgeous in tailored grey pants and a black shirt sans tie, hat or suspenders. His forest green linen jacket should have looked affected, but, of course, it was a simple statement that he was gorgeous and stylish in modern garb as well as vintage.

“Not really,” she said, turning back to her group, begging her cheeks not to go hot with betrayal. “I only met them briefly,” she lied. For the millionth time.

It was an open secret that Vera had slept with Ramon. She hadn’t just notched her bedpost, but had engraved the words A Sauveterre Slept Here on her headboard. Everyone assumed Cinnia had put out as well and it had taken her weeks to convince the world at large she hadn’t.

Because, when a man could walk into a room and create a stir without doing a damned thing, what red-blooded woman wouldn’t sleep with him the first chance she got?

Guilty as charged, obviously, but Cinnia was far too mortified to admit it. Why, why, why had he affected her so strongly she’d gone against her basic principles? She could already feel him creating the same wicked stir in her—which was unconscionable now she understood he hadn’t just been availing himself but cheating.

“Friends with the groom, I guess?” Gerald murmured. “Looks like it. Not your date then, Cinnia?”

“No,” she asserted, refusing to look at Henri again. Refusing. Burning inside with rejection. “I’m not even sure which one that is,” she said, utterly bald-faced.

But she knew that was Henri. It didn’t make sense to her that her body recognized him at a basic level while regarding his brother like any other man, but there it was. She was attuned and susceptible to this twin.

Please, God, don’t let him know how susceptible. Would it be too obvious if she excused herself to the ladies’ room and caught a cab away from here?

“What did you get for the happy couple?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation off Henri. “I saw they’d registered for one of those bullets to make smoothies, but someone beat me to it. I got them the yogurt maker instead.”

“He’s coming,” the woman said, barely moving her lips, then pasting on a big smile. “Mr. Sauveterre. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Bonjour.” He nodded and set his wide hand on Cinnia’s lower back as he leaned in to shake the offered hand. She stiffened, burned by the imprint of his touch through the satin of her dress. “Cinnia. Nice to see you again. Will you introduce me to your friends?”

She could hardly breathe with his palm sending waves of sensual excitement through her.

“Of course, um—” she squinted at him, making a show of guessing “—Henri?”

His gaze flashed and his thumb and finger dug into her waist in a suggestion of a pinch, promising retribution. “Oui.”

He was a master at the small talk game, asking people how they knew the betrothed couple, discovering occupations and commenting on places of travel without offering a single detail about himself.

She stood dumbly paralyzed by his hand resting against her spine, telling herself to walk away, but unable to. Her entire body was reacting with the tingling memory of his muscled body moving against hers. Within her. It was all she could do not to betray that she was growing aroused by standing next to him. If she walked away, she’d only draw attention to how gripped she was by her reaction.

“Oh, Cinnia, there’s someone you should meet. Let me introduce you.”

Henri smoothly snagged her hand and drew her away while Gerald stammered, “Nice chatting with you, Cinnia…” in their wake.

Enough. She had to get away. She tugged at her hand. “I’m leaving,” she told him.

“Excellent. Me, too.”

Oh, nice one. She had walked blindly into that.

“But I do have to say hello to this couple.” Apparently he knew them from New York. He drew her across the room.

She followed to avoid making a scene and they chatted for a few minutes. Cinnia quietly fumed, hating him and herself for still reacting. She was just about to make her escape by excusing herself to the powder room and crawling out a window when Henri tightened his grip on the hand she was subtly working free of his.

“I’m afraid we have to run. We should say good night to our hosts,” he added to Cinnia, exactly as if they were a couple who had arrived together.

“They” were not a couple. He had demonstrated that clearly enough at the nightclub. Growing hot with fresh outrage, she waited until they’d left the prospective bride and groom and their roomful of friends with a meaty chunk of gossip to chew over before saying, “Why are you doing this? You’re ruining my reputation.”

“Untrue. Nothing a Sauveterre touches turns to anything but gold. You can thank me later.”

“How?” she demanded with undisguised bitterness.

“Don’t be crass.” He steadied her with a hand under her elbow as he walked her down the stairs and out through the lobby of the hotel. A car glided to the curb before them. His guard reached around them to open the back door. “Where can I take you?”

“I think you know where I want you to go. I prefer you go alone.”

“So hostile. You can’t possibly be upset about how we left things since it was your choice to leave. Let’s have this conversation away from our audience.”

Flashes started going off and she realized paparazzi were swarming like mosquitos scenting fresh blood.

She slid into the car and he followed, reaching forward to close the privacy screen before the door had been slammed behind him.

His guard moved into the passenger seat and the car pulled away.

“I didn’t expect such a cold greeting.”

She made a choked noise. “I can imagine how you thought I’d greet you, given the way I behaved, but forget it. That was me getting over an old boyfriend. That’s all.”

That’s what she kept telling herself and she believed it about as well as anyone else believed she hadn’t slept with Henri Sauveterre.

“Vraiment?” His tone chilled by several thousand degrees.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you find that insulting?” She flicked her head around to send him a haughty look. “At least he and I were completely over. I didn’t take his call while you and I were still—”

She wouldn’t say it. It was too humiliating. Her cheeks hurt with a painful blush.

Giving in to the urge to make love with him on such short acquaintance was a tolerable mistake. Yes, she’d been weak enough to succumb to a player’s best moves, but from a purely physical standpoint—pun intended—it had been great. She hadn’t had any regrets as he’d leaned against her, both of them damp and still breathing hard.

Then the ring of his mobile had galvanized him into withdrawing and straightening himself, as he grabbed the phone and said, “Bella.” He had gone outside, seeking privacy.

He might as well have smacked her. Of course he had other women in his life. Maybe their lovemaking had been profound and unique for her, but it was routine for him. She was no more than the stick of gum he chewed for fifteen minutes to freshen his breath!

Cinnia had tugged on her knickers and got the hell out of there.

“Are you serious?” he muttered now. “The call was from my sister.”

“Not any less offensive,” she declared, turning her disconcerted frown to the window, cautioning herself not to believe him. Fool me twice…

“D’accord. You’re right. It was rude,” he said begrudgingly. “But there are circumstances. I don’t ignore her calls.”

“That’s nice. Tell your driver I’m on the other side of London. He’s going the wrong way.”

“Cinnia,” Henri growled. “Have some compassion. There are reasons.”

The kidnapping? The isolation? She glanced at him, desperately wanting to throw his words back in his face, but he didn’t look manipulative or even like he was trying to cajole. He looked frustrated and, beneath it, troubled.

She recalled him saying he never spoke about his family and sighed. Perhaps she would have to take him at his word, but it was still insulting as hell.

“Fine,” she muttered.

“Do you mean that? Or is it a passive-aggressive fine?”

“Does it matter? I could ask you to tell me what those circumstances are, but you’re not going to, are you?”

“No.” His expression darkened.

She shrugged, hiding that his reticence struck her as lack of trust, which hurt far more deeply than it had a right to.

“So what do you care if I’m fine or not? Even if we’d ended things on a warmer note that night, you were never going to call me after. We both know that, so who cares how we end things now?”

“I care, obviously.”

“No, you don’t!” she cried on a scoffing laugh. “You walked into that party and saw the easiest girl in the room.” If she could take back her capitulation… Would she? Oh, it was lowering to admit it, but probably not. Regardless, she’d be a fool to repeat it.

“You’re looking for a do-over,” she accused. Her voice cracked and she forced out a tight no, thanks.

“Au contraire,” he said, his voice so sharp and hard it stabbed through the thick plate she was trying to hold over her chest. “At least three women in that room were far easier. Trust me. I’ve met them in the past. Not slept with them,” he quickly clarified. “But I’ve been invited to on very short acquaintance. I came tonight because you were on the guest list.”

Her emotions were taking a bumpy ride despite the smoothness of the car’s suspension. He’d come to see her? She didn’t want to believe that. It would make her soften toward him and she was already struggling to keep him at arm’s length.

“I wish you hadn’t. My supervisor already suggested it would be a good career move if I sent you a letter of introduction for the firm.” She turned her face to the window again. “Now he’ll be even more of a pain about it. Thanks.”

“You want me to come into his office and let him give me his spiel? Fine.”

“No, Henri, I don’t!” She swung her head around, barely able to keep a civil tone. “What message does that send? Next he’ll tell me who to sleep with in order to land a client. Men! Are you really that obtuse? Your notoriety is not ‘gold’ for me. It’s a scarlet letter. Don’t do me any favors.”

He sat back, a ring of white appearing around his tight mouth.

“I can’t help who I am, Cinnia. I can’t help that people want to use me, or use anyone who comes close to me to get to me. If I could change it, I would, but I can’t!” His voice rang through the small space like a thunderclap, rife with incensed frustration.

His outburst was so shocking, she sat in silence a moment, absorbing what he’d revealed—reluctantly, judging by the way he shut down immediately after.

Empathy rolled into the spaces he’d blown open in her. She couldn’t help feeling bad for him then, especially as a motor scooter buzzed up alongside the car and the passenger on the back aimed a camera at the darkened window. It flashed, perhaps catching her frown of dismay.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, making a visible effort to maintain his strained control.

“Trella—Trella Bella as we call her, or Bella—has a particular struggle. Partly it’s due to the attention we draw. I make myself available to her when she needs it. We all do. If she had called Ramon, your friend Vera would be the one feeling slighted. Trella’s situation is a fact of my life. That’s all I’m saying on the topic and you can believe it or not or post it to your damned news feed if that will make you feel better.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” she said crossly. “Why would I deliberately hurt someone I don’t even know?”

Now she would dwell forever on the struggles of that poor girl who had surely been through enough just from being kidnapped. No public statements had ever been made about what had really happened to her during the five days she was missing. Terrible things had been theorized, though. Cinnia dearly hoped none of them were true, but judging by Henri’s grim expression, his sister had a lot to deal with.

She had such an urge to reach out to him in that moment, she had to clench her fingers together in her lap.

“Has the attention been bad?” he asked. “Are you being harassed by cameras outside your home? It’s so rare I meet anyone who feels like I do, I didn’t imagine it would be a burden for you.”

She shrugged. “Mostly just friends and family are asking about it. I didn’t say much and that’s not out of character because I keep a low profile as a rule.”

He glanced inquiringly, so she explained further.

“My kind of work is like banking or the law. Clients expect confidentiality and no one wants to give their portfolio to a woman who’s posting party photos or running with a sketchy crowd, so I live quietly and don’t put much online. But as you say, people put a lot of stock in the Sauveterre name. I realize it’s not really a detriment to be associated with it. It would shatter my ego completely, however, to have people say I only succeeded because of who I know. And to have my boss pressure me like that? I was really annoyed.”

“Did you report him to your HR?”

“There’s no point.”

“There is. Speaking as the president of a huge company, I can’t fix what I don’t know is broken. I need reports of that sort of thing so I can take action or it will keep happening.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way, only that she was leaving soon. “Fine. I will.”

“Good.”

Great. Annoying-boss issue resolved. “Can you take me home now, please?”

“I would like to have dinner with you.”

“You don’t want dinner, Henri.” That damned crack was back in her voice, betraying that she was still feeling slighted because even if he hadn’t been cheating when he’d made love to her, it had been nothing more than a casual hookup. “You want to go to bed with me.”

“I do,” he said baldly, face tightening at her tone. “Tell me you’re not interested and I’ll take you home. Be honest.”

She wanted to look away, but his intense gaze held hers, peeling back her layers of defensiveness as the streetlights flashed by. She knew she was flushing with guilty anticipation. She had managed to hate him for weeks because he had taken his girlfriend’s call after their lovemaking, but that’s not what he’d done. Her best reason for resisting him was nullified.

She jerked her head around, staring blindly at the passage of headlights and darkened shop windows.

“Ça va?”

“You could have called,” she muttered. “You’re not going to call tomorrow if I sleep with you tonight.”

“Since you’ll be with me at breakfast, there will be no need.”

She snorted at his arrogance.

“You were not planning to sleep with me that night.” Something in his quiet tone made her listen. It was as if he was reflecting fondly and it gave her a small shiver of pleasure because she was part of a memory he was recollecting warmly. “At first I thought it was your game to resist, but you really were intending to leave. You didn’t. You were carried away by a kiss and didn’t even take one of those silly gift bags on your way out. Yes, I took note of that detail,” he said as she swung a scowl at him.

As if she would have sex for a BPA-free water bottle and the latest reality star’s brand of lip gloss!

“You went away feeling ill used and I regret that,” he continued. “But I am used by women all the time. Put yourself in my shoes and imagine how singular and exciting it is for me to have met a woman who not only responds so strongly to me she lost her willpower against herself, but doesn’t want to write a damned online diary about it. Yes, I want to experience that again. You’re damned right I do.”

“I don’t like that I was carried away like that. It makes me feel cheap.”

“Cheap! Why?”

“Because you expected it. You expected me to behave that badly and I did.”

“I wanted you to make love with me. I didn’t expect it. And there was nothing bad about it. You have a real hang-up about when it’s permissible to have sex, don’t you?”

“Yes, all right? I do! I’ve had two lovers and I thought I loved both of them. I don’t have sex with random strangers for whom I feel mostly annoyance.”

He blinked once, taking a moment to pick apart her words. She expected him to take issue with her calling him annoying, but he only repeated, “Thought you loved.”

She looked away, aware of tension in the hands that had become fists on her thighs, and said nothing.

“Tell me about this boyfriend you were exorcising.”

“No.” She craned her neck to look past him. They were pulling up in front of a posh hotel. “What are we doing here?”

“We have dinner reservations.”

She had eaten exactly one stuffed mushroom cap at the engagement party. She was starving. Nevertheless, she glared at him.

To hide the fact she was scared.

And shamefully thrilled they weren’t parting ways yet. This man utterly fascinated her and it was so dangerous. Like swimming in petrol under a rainstorm of flaming comets.

“Why?” she asked, stalling.

“It’s a date, Cinnia. Surely that doesn’t go too harshly against your precious rules for how to behave with a man?”

She looked at her nails. “No, but I have one about providing the lion’s share of sarcasm in a relationship. I suggest you take it down a notch or things could become quite scathing.”

He tsk-tsked and started to open his door. His guard finished the job, but Henri held out his hand himself to help her out.

Then he kept his fingers firmly entwined with hers as he walked her through the glittering gold-and-glass entrance of the hotel, across the marble tiles and around the lobby fountain, up the red-carpeted staircase and into a restaurant where a harpist played. The maître d’ exclaimed delight that she could join them when Henri introduced her.

The moment they were alone, she said drily, “And I won’t feel obligated after this to go upstairs to the room you’ve booked.”

“No,” he assured her. “You won’t feel obligated.” He gathered her hands across the white tablecloth and gave her a slow and anticipatory smile. “But I hope very much you’ll feel inclined.”