[Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon (6 page)

“See, you’re wrong. I do love deeply.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Why does the word sound like a question instead of a statement?

He does that tilted head gesture and drinks. Afterwards he says, “I used to think I did too. I had many love affairs, with beautiful, exciting women.” He leans forward, elbows on knees. “But always,
always
the excitement faded. The scenario I described to you? Tearing at one another’s clothes, the fierce need of being inside of a lover’s body? I lived that for so many years, the excitement intoxicating...it always ends.” Finishing his scotch, he sets the glass down on the table. His gaze meets mine. “So, I would find another. And another. And then the quicker I traded one lover in for the next, the quicker the feelings of passion subsided.” He reaches across the table and takes my clenched hands, rubbing my knuckles. “I became more demanding. Needing more all the time. Anger taking the place of love.”

I try to pull away but his hold is too tight, as if he’s reliving some of the anger in his previous relationships. I can totally picture him, the fierce dominant, tying up his lovers and taking them hard, always needing more, more, more.

“Until I discovered Tantra.” His grip loosens. “And I realized I was going about it all the wrong way.”

I slowly pull my hands from his softened grasp. “So, how does this relate to me?”

“You are the same. Going from one lover to the next. Always looking for new experiences. Always needing more.”

“Ah.” I raise my finger at him. “That is where we differ. Your relationships were not satisfying. Mine are.”

“Are they?”

“Yes.” This time my affirmative has way more conviction.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

He stands and I think perhaps he’s about to leave, but he doesn’t and I realize I’m relieved that he is staying.

“Aren’t you curious?”

“About what?”

“About what I’m proposing.”

“What are you proposing?”

“Not only a new way of making love, a new way of being.”

Needing something to occupy my hands, I slice a piece of cheese and take a bite. “Not really,” I lie.

“So, you do not want me to describe what an encounter between us would look like?”

I raise my gaze. “No.”

He grins. “You truly have the worst poker face I’ve ever encountered.”

“I
’m not lying.”

“Tessa Savage. You are dying to hear how being with me would be different from that primal, animalistic act you’re accustomed to. You want desperately to know how it is that we could reach a
state
of orgasm, together, rather than the fleeting moment that is over before it even begins.”

Oh my fucking God. He is right, I am curious and I hate him so much right now for knowing me so well.

When he sits back down, he doesn’t sit across from me, he sits next to me. He does not ask me again if I want to hear his tale, he just starts telling it.

“We do not start by removing clothing, but by sitting together. Much like we are now. Looking at one another, holding hands, gazing softly at each other. I wait for your eyes, your breath and the warmth of your skin to tell me you’re ready.”

Unfortunately I’m pretty sure I know what my eyes are saying right about now.

Ready, ready, ready!

“Only then do I begin to remove your clothes. Reveling in every inch of skin revealed. Touching, tasting, breathing in your scent.” He bends closer and breathes me in like I’m the Macallan. Then he lifts his gaze. “Observing your reaction.” His hands move from mine up my wrists to the sensitive inner elbow. “Finding each erogenous zone. Grazing it lightly. Savoring.”

Dammit! He found that one so quickly.

“I will not be frantic with you. I will not tear off your clothes. I will relish you. Appreciate the flavor of your shoulders...” He touches me there, softly. “...of your neck and jaw.” His fingers graze as he speaks. “I will take my time exploring your collarbones and chest...your breasts.” His hands pause before drawing a line down the front of my dress between my breasts.

“I will taste your nipples, delighting in their texture and scent, worshipping each because they are so lovely, so perfect, so much an important part of you.”

Right this second, my nipples are letting me know they are very keen to experience this scenario with Christophe. Very keen.

“My desire is not just to experience your flesh, but to touch your heart and to connect with you on a deeper, more meaningful level.”

Umm, this part sounds unnecessary and I sense my forehead crinkling as I wait for him to move on to the good bits.

“Only then do I explore your belly, your hips.”

Oh yes. Here we go.

“Slowly, slowly I part your thighs. You give me permission to devour you with my gaze, and I am honored for this privilege. I spread your legs wide, opening you with my thumbs and glimpsing the glistening entrance to your body.

“Your arousal is my cue to come closer, to take in your scent. To taste you, to breathe in your unique perfume. I touch the satiny texture of your pussy with my tongue, and it is smooth and slick, like warm silk. My fingers glide inside of you, your most sacred and intimate space. You are wet for me. Eager for me. Made for me.”

Moisture pools in my mouth and I have to remind myself to swallow.

“The simple act of exploring you results in arousal. My cock grows hard...for you. Longing to join with you. Ready to awaken a new and profound passion within you. Eager to journey into love, together.”

It takes me a while to realize that Christophe has stopped speaking in that deep, hypnotic tone of his. Who needs opium when I’ve got Christophe drugging me with sex tales?

I open my eyes. “Is that it?” I whisper.

“Non.” His smile isn’t quite as smug as you’d think it’d be considering how quickly I am on the verge of giving in to his seduction. “That is barely the beginning. You see, there is no end goal in Trantra. No ten second orgasm that’s over before it begins. I will take you to a place where time stands still and ecstasy is embodied. This is something that must be experienced. It cannot be described.”

“Well.” I reach for my glass and take a drink, falling back on my old habit of gulping. I cringe from the burning shock of the alcohol, but it has the desired effect of snapping me out of Christophe’s influence. “What you described sounds nice, but it’s not going to happen. I’m totally happy with my sex life
exactly
the way it is.” I take another drink. Again too much at once. I cough. When things are under control, I say, “I’m all good.”

“If you say so.”

I hear doubt. Doubt makes me want to prove myself. But not here. Not now. Not with him.

“Besides,” I wave my hand dismissively, “I understand Tantric sex takes a long time. Like six hours or something.”

“It can. When you reach Nirvana, you don’t want to leave.”

I nod because suddenly six hours of sex...with Christophe, well, that doesn’t actually sound too bad. “Of course, if you were Sting, I might change my mind.”

His smile turns to a grin and then to laughter. It’s sexy as hell, dammit. Why does he have to keep surprising me? Taunting me? Tempting me?

He refills his glass, hands me mine and then taps the rims together in a toast.

“You are a remarkable woman, Tessa Savage. I do hope we can become friends. Close friends.”

I lift the glass to my mouth and drink, slowly and purposefully. The taste is so much better this way—dammit—and I wonder whether sex with Christophe would be as glorious as I’m starting to suspect it’d be.

“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe one day.”

***

I
t’s my last day in Monte Carlo and after sharing a rushed breakfast with Tal on the Terrace of Le Hotel de Paris—so he could spend the rest of the morning with Alejandro before rehearsal—I find a secluded spot to sit and read. I’m reading a book called
Slayer
, an erotic retelling of the Princess and the Pea story where the princess in question is a dragon slayer.

Very fun.

I’m a third of the way through the story when a shadow falls across me. Instead of looking up, I breathe in.

I recognize that scent.

“Hello Christophe.”

“Tessa.”

“Would you care to join me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” There is humor in his tone and I like it. God, he is turning out to be a lot different from the man I thought he was.

“I understand you leave today.”

“You need to stop stalking people. It’s creepy.”

I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corner when he laughs. It’s infectious.

“If certain women wouldn’t drive certain men to distraction, then certain men would not have to stalk certain women.”

“Touché.”

He draws his chair closer. “When do you leave?”

I pull my phone out of my bag and check the time. “In an hour.” I place my phone on the table.

He nods and looks away, gazing toward the sea. “A friend of mine owns a resort on an island. It’s exclusive. Special.” He turns back to me. “I have a long standing invitation. I should like to visit again.”

“Oh?”

His expression is suddenly serious.

Even though he hasn’t asked me to join him, I know where this is going. “Christophe, we barely know one another.”

“Yet, why do I feel as if we’ve met before, as if I know you?”

I shrug.

“Is it not the same for you?”

It’s my turn to look away. I think about the moment our eyes met in the salon, him sitting at the bar, me about to play roulette. Though I had just read about him, there was something instant between us.

A chemistry?

A connection?

God, I don’t know.

“Maybe,” I whisper.

“Then take a chance.” He takes my hand and caresses the backs of my knuckles. “Trust the feeling.”

I’m about to ask him what he’s proposing when my phone rings. I’m so captivated by what he’s saying and by the incredible light in his eyes that I don’t even check the caller.

“Tess?”

Fuck!

It’s Chase.

I snatch my hand from Christophe’s and get up. Turning my back on him, I walk to the edge of the terrace and lean on the rail.

“What are you doing calling me?”

“You didn’t reply to my text.”

“I know. I’m in Monte Carlo.”

“I see.” Silence follows his statement as Chase undoubtedly realizes I’m implying that I’m here with someone.

Eventually he speaks. “Here’s what I don’t understand. Why are you with other men when there’s still this thing between us?” Chase’s angry drawl puts me on edge, making my chest tight and breathing difficult.

“Chase.”

“It doesn’t make sense, Tessa.”

Glancing back at the table, I see Christophe watching me. “I know,” I whisper. How do I explain to my ex-husband that I’ve never been able to make sense of the feelings he evokes in me. The horrible, wonderful, unsettled feelings.

“So, do you want to see me or not?”

“Chase...”

“Answer the question, Tess.”

Not fair! How many years did I love and obey his commands? Even after more years of divorce, why do I still have the urge to continue to obey?

“I can’t.”

“You can’t see me or you can’t answer the question?”

“I...” My words trail off as Christophe starts to approach. I wave him away but he doesn’t stop.

“Do you want me to come—”

I press end on my phone just as Christophe stops in front of me.

“Is everything okay?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

He touches my cheek. “Everyone I know hides their true self. Wears a mask. Except you. You show every expression, everything you feel. Joy, excitement, laughter, distrust, dislike...” He uses the back of his knuckles to stroke my cheek and temple. “Sadness.” Now his hand is beside my eye, as if he’s wiping away tears.

But there are no tears, I’ve got them too firmly in check.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I try to laugh but instead a small sobbing sound escapes.

“Or not.”

Normally after speaking to Chase, I feel on the verge of a panic attack. For some reason, Christophe’s presence calms me. Not completely, but enough so that I can eventually speak.

“Have you ever been married?”

“No. But you have?”

“Yes.”

“That was your ex-husband?”

“Yes.”

“He broke your heart?”

“We broke each other’s.”

I hazard a glance into Christophe’s eyes to find the decadence and sin has vanished, replaced by concern and...compassion?

Shit.

The quivering in my lips becomes more than I can bear.

He does not speak. He does not make stupid empathetic remarks about how difficult relationships can be. When I turn away because I can’t bear for him to witness the emotions that are wrestling wildly to break free, he turns me back to him and pulls me against his chest, holding my rigid body against his warm breadth.

Just holding me.

A tear escapes, trickling down my cheek as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Tessa!”

I’m startled by the sound of my name. Christophe releases me and I turn to see Tal striding across the terrace. He looks angry. Upon closer inspection, I see it is probably more heartbreak etched across his forehead than anger.

“The car will be here soon.” He reaches for my hand, glaring at Christophe like he really is upset with him for having his hands on me. Like I really am Tal’s girlfriend.

Everything is happening too fast. There are too many weird emotions circling like startled birds inside of me at the moment. As Talal drags me away, I turn and wave to Christophe. Regret adds its feathered fury to the myriad of emotions making their home in my rib cage.

He nods. “Until we meet again, Tessa Savage.”

I
leave Tal at the airport in Monaco and grab a quick flight to Paris where I’ve got a short layover. Now, I’m sitting at the Café Voltaire, across from the Seine, waiting for a freelance writer named Noelle Davis. I don’t know what I was thinking, agreeing to do this interview for
Modern Woman Magazine
. I’m a private person, discreet about my business dealings and even more discreet when it comes to my personal life. What’s bizarre about the whole situation is that I don’t remember agreeing to the interview in the first place and would have forgotten all about it except that the calendar app on my cell phone beeped three days ago while I was in Monte Carlo, reminding me of the appointment with the writer. When I checked for correspondence, I found a few emails that had been sent between us six weeks ago, arranging the meeting.