A Deceptive Attraction: The Wilsons, Book 3 (4 page)

She reached for her handbag and shawl. “If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes while I freshen up, I’ll meet you outside.”

Chapter 5

Out in the street, Leon hailed a cab for the two of them.

“It’s been a wonderful evening,” Leon said as he settled her into the cab and then slid in next to her. “I don’t want it to end. I would love to buy you a nightcap at my hotel.”

Here it comes, thought Violet. The proposition. “And where are you staying?”

Leon
took her question as an agreement. “Columbus Circle,” he told the cab driver.

Violet had been all ready to protest that she wasn’t agreeing to go to his hotel with him, but she decided to wait and see what happened. She was pleasantly surprised at the Midtown address, which wasn’t far from her apartment, so it would be safe. She had assumed he would be staying somewhere down in the Financial District, and she had no intention of going all the way down there in a flimsy dress late at night after several drinks.

As they pulled up to Columbus Circle and Leon paid their fare, Violet realized where he was staying and involuntarily gave a gasp of delight.

“I hoped you would approve of my choice of hotels, Violet.” Leon
said, smiling with pleasure. “You’re a native New Yorker, so your approval carries great weight with me.” He took her hand and helped her out of the cab. “But first, a ceremony of sorts.”

Holding her hand, he walked her through one of the gateways in the granite wall marking the perimeter of the Circle, where the famous likeness of Christopher Columbus sat atop a seventy-foot pedestal in the center. The lights of the Manhattan skyline winked above their heads as the night traffic on Broadway hummed beyond the wall. Couples embraced and tourists snapped pictures, their cameras flashing in the dark.

Taking her in his arms, Leon said, “A traveler from Europe discovers America, and the most beautiful American girl.”

Caught up in the moment, Violet closed her eyes and lifted her face toward his. His mouth met hers, and there was a teasing of tongues as he kissed her unhurriedly, then held her close for a few seconds more before letting her go.

Violet’s heart was racing. She needed to be more careful to keep her guard up with Leon. After more than a year of Tim’s grandmotherly kisses, she had forgotten that a man could kiss her the way Leon had just kissed her. It made her want to abandon her instinctive caution and New Yorker cynicism and promise him anything he asked of her.

They left the circle, crossed Broadway, and entered his hotel, which Violet had already recognized as a five-star high-rise known for its spectacular views of Manhattan and Central Park. The lobby was beautiful, and Violet heard merengue music from the ballroom. There must be a wedding tonight, she thought.

They took the elevator to the small bistro near the top floor. Violet noted wryly that it was what New Yorkers called a “dark bar,” just light enough to find your way and see your companion but dark enough to signal intimacy.

Of course it was perfect for romance, she thought.

Leon steered them to a corner table. Violet ordered decaf coffee with a shot of Bailey’s, and Leon had a martini.

He stirred his glass before taking his first sip. “So, Violet, I somehow sense that I’m doing a poor job of convincing you that I’m not just another snooty Frenchman. Is that true?” He leaned across the table with mock earnestness, as if daring her to say something caustic to him.

Violet thought again of her agreement with Colette and decided that any more wishy-washiness on her part would be above and beyond the call of duty. At least, for the rest of this evening, she thought.

Her New Yorker bluntness came to the forefront, and she spoke up.

“I don’t think you’re presumptuous, Monsieur Girard. I merely think you’re evasive.”

Leon looked genuinely surprised. “Why Violet, not at all. Ask me anything and I’ll answer you honestly.”

Right, Violet thought to herself. It might be the truth, but it was unlikely to be the whole truth. If Leon wanted to tell her the whole truth, he already would have done so.

“What’s your partner’s name?”

“Hugh Steffans,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“My sister is a trader. I thought she might know him.”

Leon appeared to be treading carefully. “Possibly. New York is a busy place, as you informed me this morning.”

Violet backed off. She had the information she needed.

She was becoming more and more put off by Leon’s manner. It wasn’t a language barrier; he spoke English with a light French accent and a vocabulary every bit as good as hers. The problem was his evasiveness as if men and women lived on different planets in his country and waved hello to each other as they passed on their orbits. Or was he just being formal, not evasive?

She decided to
break the ice. “Do you have American TV shows in your country?”

“Yes, in fact they are very popular. My favorite is Les Experts: Manhattan.”

“What was that again?”

“I think in your country you call it ‘CSI: New York.’”

Violet laughed. “I thought that was what you were talking about. That’s my favorite show too. I love detective stories.”

“So do I.” Leon smiled. “The show is dubbed in French, so it’s funny to hear all those tough New York police officers talking about your city in my language.”

“I’m trying to picture Detective Mac Taylor addressing a crook as Monsieur,” Violet said, laughing even harder.

“Please don’t think the show is realistic,” she added, when she had caught her breath. “We have plenty of crime here, especially in the outer boroughs, but all that violence is greatly exaggerated. You can’t put together much of a cop show with purse snatchings and larceny from vehicles.”

Leon laughed with her. Violet noticed that he had relaxed visibly.

“One reason I watch the show is to learn as much as I can about New York,” he said.

“You probably know as much about it as I do, then. So you don’t really need me to show you around, do you?”

“Au contraire, Violet, I certainly do.” Leon’s handsome features grew serious again. Violet thought she saw a flicker of sadness pass across them, but she could be imagining things.

“Tomorrow I have set aside the day to spend with you seeing the sights, if you agree,” he said.

Again Violet thought of Colette, and their agreement. “That will be fine,” she said, without much enthusiasm. “Troyesha can handle the shop herself. It’s slow on Tuesdays.” Again, she had the unpleasant feeling that Leon was ordering her around.

They sipped their drinks and admired the view of Manhattan, the city that never slept.

In spite of her doubts, Violet couldn’t remember feeling so happy and relaxed in months. The food had been wonderful, she had drunk just enough but not too much, and her date was
possibly the best looking man in Manhattan tonight. She had noticed the envious looks from other women as they had entered the lobby hand in hand.

“Shall we?” Leon asked her as the waiter brought their tab.

“Shall we what?”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “Violet, I know you have your own place, but while I’m here, I’d like to offer you a room in my suite here at the hotel. It’s 2,500 square feet total, and there’s a private bedroom and bathroom just for you. There is even a private entrance.”

He shot her a quizzical look. “I suspect you think this is a prelude to seduction, but you would be wrong. There is absolutely no obligation on your part. I make the offer in friendship. It is the least I can do for your hospitality to me as a visitor to your city.”

Right, thought Violet.

Yet, she was intrigued. She was no stranger to five-star hotels. But she wasn’t looking forward to ending the evening alone in her Upper West Side apartment. The place was pleasant enough, but she hadn’t been home in weeks. It pained her to admit it, but she was lonely.

“Is that a promise?” she asked.

“I promise you there will be no obligation. So will you accept my offer of your own private room? It’s on the thirty-seventh floor and overlooks Central Park. My expense account will cover all of your cab fares and meals until I check out. Please, Violet. It’s the least I can do in return for you taking a day away from your shop to show me around.”

Violet looked across the table at her handsome dinner companion and thought about the boredom that had crept into her life in recent months. “I accept,” she said. She trusted herself to fend off any advances the Frenchman might make.

Leon kissed her hand again, longer and more lingering than when he had kissed it in her shop earlier in the day. “Tres bon, mon cherie,” he said. “Come with me.”

He casually tossed a fifty-dollar bill on the table, stood up, and helped Violet out of her seat.

Leon swiped the keycard in the slot and let them in through the door. The suite was spacious, with large wall hangings and cream-colored leather sofas. Violet stood still for a moment admiring it, and Leon came over to her. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a deep kiss.

“You look stunning tonight,” he murmured in her ear in
a thick French accent.

His lips wandered from her mouth to her neck, planting leisurely kisses on her skin as he made his way toward her breasts.

Violet leaned back in his arms and offered herself up to his hungry mouth. Leon was in no hurry. His lips followed the outline of her dress’s plunging neckline, placing kiss after kiss on her cleavage as he drank in her scent.

Violet remembered Troyesha’s words. When you do, you’ll know it. Wild horses won’t be able to keep you away.

Desire had once been familiar territory for Violet. Now she was revisiting it after a long, dry absence, and she loved it. As the lights of Upper Manhattan glowed outside the window of the suite, she reveled in the sensation of warmth that Leon had kindled inside her.

“I told you there would be no obligation,” Leon murmured in her ear. “I intend to prove to you that I am a man of my word. Please allow me to show you your room and kiss you good night.”

Violet felt a pang of disappointment, but she opened her eyes and found Leon looking at her expectantly. She suddenly realized she was exhausted.

“Thank you,” she replied.

Leon took her hand and led her to a luxurious bedroom off the suite’s living room. It was furnished in fluffy white with peach accents and had its own bathroom with a spa tub.

Kissing her again, he said, “I hope you feel at home here.”

“It’s lovely.” Violet was glad she was staying here tonight instead of calling a cab and going home to her empty apartment. “Tomorrow morning I’ll need to get my things before we go sightseeing.”

“Bon, here is your key,” Leon said, placing a keycard on the dresser. He gave her a scorching goodnight kiss and left her alone in her room, hungry for more of his touch.

Chapter 6

The next morning, Leon woke early, scribbled a note to Violet that he would meet up with her later, and walked the four blocks to where his sister was staying. He knew why she insisted on this hotel each time she visited New York. Against all odds, the lobby had a pâtisserie that had passed Colette’s impossibly high standards for French style coffee and baked goods.

He arrived fifteen minutes after their agreed time and found his sister already seated, with a bite of bread and jam mostly finished and a steaming bowl of café au lait in front of her. As driven as he was, he never succeeded in getting up earlier than Colette.

“And what drives you to sleep so late this morning, mon petit frère?” she asked him in French with a smile.

“Business, of course,” he answered her, also in French.

“That doesn’t sound very exciting.”

“It has its moments
.” Leon thought of the way Violet felt when he held her in his arms last night. The memory of her scent made him almost dizzy.

Leon wanted very badly to tell Colette about his evening with Violet, but it was better if he didn’t. His sister knew what he did for a living. She was much too polite to put him on the spot and force him to tell her what she already knew, that he couldn’t talk about it, but sometimes he wished she would. Now was one of them.

Colette snapped him out of his reverie. “It really is fortunate that we ended up in New York at the same time this week,” she was saying. “It is a wonderful city. As exciting as Paris in its own way. I am almost sorry I am returning to France this afternoon.”

“I know. But I’m always so busy when I’m here.”

That wasn’t quite the truth, Leon thought to himself. New York was like Paris in another way – it was romantic, the type of town that you wanted to see with a beautiful woman. He didn’t mention it because he didn’t expect Colette to understand.

Or maybe she did understand, all too well, he thought.

Ten years ago his sister had been engaged to a wealthy Parisian who called off the wedding at the last minute. As far as he knew, she had never loved anyone since then.