Anything He Wants 2: All's Fair (2 page)

The man
made me nervous; I couldn’t trust myself around him. Whenever he was nearby I
kept imagining erotic scenes I only read in romance novels and saw in my
fantasies. That had been fine when he was a stranger on an elevator I saw once
a day. Now I needed to get him out of my head, but easier said than done: he
had become a prominent fixture in my fantasy life and my body wouldn’t allow me
to forget him. Even the hopelessness of my current situation couldn’t stop my
reaction to his presence, the same reactions that had gotten me into this mess
in the first place.

Grabbing
a bottle of water, I turned to leave the little kitchen area and ground to a
halt when I saw him standing
beside
the opening. He
moved toward me and I backed up a step, only to bump into the countertop. “I,
um,” I stammered, “I should get back to my seat...”

His
fingers were toying with a button on his shirt. “Could you help me with this?”
he asked, indicating his shirt and ignoring my statement. “It seems to be
stuck.”

I blew
out a disbelieving breath.
Seriously?
His words
came across as a lame line, almost absurd given the situation, but another line
I'd heard earlier that afternoon popped into my head.
Anything I want.

I
snorted.
So now I'm dressing him too?
This wasn’t what I thought I’d
signed up for but with a small huff I reached out and took the button. His
fingers brushed mine and I tried to ignore them along with the tightening in my
belly.

Surprisingly,
the button really was caught but it took only a few seconds to untangle. I
released his shirt when I finished, leaving the button open, but he captured my
hands before I could step away. “Check the others, perhaps?”

I glanced
up into his eyes then quickly down again.
This is stupid
, I thought,
trying for anger as my hands were pulled back to his shirt.
I was supposed
to be a lawyer, someone who stood up for the little guy; this isn’t what I took
out massive college loans for, to be a glorified seamstress...

Jeremiah
stared down at me and I tried hard to ignore his gaze – easier said than done.
Giving him a brief glare that was mostly bravado on my part, I started
unbuttoning his shirt. The material was thin but strong, not silk but something
similarly expensive. I didn’t make it to the third button before my hands began
to tremble, not from fear but from his proximity. It didn’t take me long to
realize there was nothing beneath the shirt but skin. The more buttons I
released the more torso was revealed, dark skin against a white shirt that
refused to stay closed on its own. He took a step closer, looming above me, and
my whole body began to quake.
Oh my God.

My life
up to that point hadn’t involved many men outside of family and a few study
buddies. High school, then college, had been all about academics; I had always
been more interested in books and studying than forming any relationships with
the opposite sex even if they had been interested. Life after my parents died
had been a blur; there was never time to do more than work at various jobs and
worry about my future. If anyone had been interested I certainly never noticed,
but I definitely noticed the man in front of me now.

Fighting
the urge not to touch the smooth skin beneath my fingers was a losing battle.
He took a small step sideways and I unconsciously moved too, turning slowly
with him as he pulled the shirt off and threw it over the chair beside us.
Breathless, my eyes roamed the body his shirt had previously covered,
then
the flutter in my belly became full-blown sparks when
his fingers skimmed up my arms. I didn’t even realize we were moving, too
caught up in his proximity and touch, until my back pushed up against something
hard – a wall. My hands tightened against the firm muscles of his abdomen as I
looked up to see him watching me with an intensity that left my knees weak.
There was no thought of resistance as he pressed his body against mine and
lowered his head to take my lips.

What
started out soft, barely a brush of our mouths, morphed quickly into something
much more
passionate.
Helpless against his assault, I
moaned into his mouth and skimmed my fingernails down his taut body, responding
to his kiss with a fire I didn’t know I had. My touch served only to enflame
him as he pressed closer, his tongue coming out to briefly flick my lip and
tease my mouth open. His large hands roamed down my body, settling on my waist
with his fingers digging into my hips and backside, pulling me closer against
his wide frame.

My hands
came up around his neck, tangling in thick dark hair, as desperate for his
touch as he seemed to be for mine. One leg wedged itself firmly between my legs
and I gasped as it pressed against parts of my body that were swollen and
begging for more. The hands clutching my hips tightened and I was suddenly
lifted, pressed against the wall supported only by his body and grip. My hips
wrapped around his waist as his lips left mine, teeth skimming down along the
soft skin of my throat as he thrust his hips against me. A small cry burst from
my throat, then again as his teeth latched on loosely to my shoulder through my
blouse and he rolled his hips again.

My hands
fumbled for his face and bringing it back up I kissed him again, making panting
moans into his mouth as he continued to rub himself against me. My skirt was
almost up to my waist and his fingers crept toward the apex of my legs,
pressing against the thin barrier of my panties toward my aching core. I moaned
into his mouth, nipping his lip and arching my hips down against his hand,
desperate for more.

“Perhaps
you can help with my pants button too?”

The low
words took me a moment to process but managed to cut through the haze of lust.
I broke off the kiss, realizing what I'd almost allowed to happen –
again
– and looked into his eyes. The hot need in his eyes still made my insides
melt, but when I pushed weakly at his shoulders he stepped back, lowering me
gently to the floor. My skirt was bunched around my hips much to my chagrin and
I hurried to correct it as I skittered sideways out of his reach.  

“You
should get some
rest,
it's a long flight to Paris.”

I looked
back at him. He stood there looking good enough to eat, as comfortable naked as
he did buttoned up in those expensive suits.
Why am I walking away from him
again?

Principles.
Morals.
Oh yeah. Dammit.

Giving
him a jerky nod, I forced myself to turn around and walk back to my seat.
Grabbing a pillow from a nearby cubby, I sat down in my seat and pushed the
chair so it was reclining backwards. I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep but
managed to finally fall into a fitful slumber as the sun passed the horizon,
the orange glow extinguished by the earth below.

At some
point I awoke to find it was dark outside the windows and a blanket had been
laid over me, the edges tucked in around my body. I frown, certain it hadn’t
been there when I sat down, and looked behind my seat to see Jeremiah fast
asleep in another chair nearby. His shirt was once again buttoned, the suit
jacket folded neatly in the chair beside him. He took up more space in the
chair so couldn't tuck himself in like I did, but seemed comfortable reclining
back. Sleep had softened the hard expression on his face; he looked different,
younger, more relaxed like this.

I wish
I could hate him
,
I mused, but there was no anger in the thought. The man in that chair had all
but blackmailed me into signing a contract that allowed him whatever liberties
he wanted to take, yet there had been moments of almost tenderness that shone
through.
He never did anything I didn’t want
, I thought, fingering the
blanket around me.
I wonder which
is the real man
:
the hard CEO who interviewed me bent over his desk, or the man who covered me
with this blanket.

I shelved
that conversation for another day, exhaustion making my eyes heavy. Yawning
quietly, I pulled the blanket up to my chin, nestling into the comfortable
chair, and slid back into a sound slumber.

2

“Do you
have anything to claim?”

Considering
I wasn't allow to bring anything with me...
“No.”

The man
checked my passport again then handed it back to me, motioning for the next
person as I walked past the desk. Bold letters displayed above me told my
location in several languages and I stopped and stared.
I’m really in France
.

Jeremiah
stood nearby and as I drew abreast he laid a hand on the small of my back and
steered me through the small crowd. I saw a line of people waiting for the new
arrivals as we made our way out to the main terminal. Jeremiah led me off to
the side toward a large bald man with a blonde goatee next to a far wall; he
strode forward to meet us halfway. “Lucy, this is Ethan my Chief of Security.
He will take you to the hotel.”

We shook
hands but it was clear my presence wasn’t his priority. “Celeste is still
here.” Ethan’s voice had a southern twang, light but noticeable. “She won't
leave for another three hours.”

Jeremiah
nodded. “Perfect. See to it that Ms. Delacourt here gets to the hotel.”

“What
about you?” I asked as he started to walk away.

“I have
to deal with the vultures.” To Ethan he added, “Try not to be seen.”

I watched
him walk away toward the glass doors leading out.
That’s it?
I thought,
confused.
I’m being given over to the chauffeur and secreted out of the
airport?
It occurred to me I should be happy to be out of his presence but,
suddenly alone with another stranger in a strange country, I found I missed the
stoic man.

“Okay,
let's go.”

I
followed Ethan silently, sneaking glances back toward my boss. As Jeremiah
exited the glass doors I saw a commotion outside as several people rushed
toward him. Flashes of cameras and the garbled tin of voices flowed to me as we
exited farther down from the action, ignored by the crowd. “What’s that about?”
I asked, struggling to keep up with Ethan’s long strides.

“Paparazzi.”
Ethan held the door
opened for me as we exited the terminal a ways beyond the throng. “His
attendance at the gala this weekend is high profile enough to earn press
coverage.”

Gala?
I got into the back of
the large SUV waiting at the curb. Another man who had been waiting behind the
wheel exited the vehicle so Ethan could take his place, and we pulled out. “Is
he going to be okay?” I asked, looking through the rear window at the swarm of
reporters.

Ethan
snorted. “This is nothing, and he did it mostly to divert attention so we could
leave unmolested. He won't be far behind us.”

Indeed, I
saw him move through the crowd as a limo pulled up and breathed a small sigh of
relief.
I could never do that
, I thought, thankful in hindsight for the
reprieve. The thought of all those cameras in my face, following me
everywhere... I
shuddered
just thinking about it.

There
were a million questions running through my mind but the man driving didn't
seem the talkative type so I kept them to myself, instead enjoying my first
real view of Paris. I had secured a promise from my parents back in high school
that, when I graduated and got my bachelor’s degree, they would pay my way
there. That wish had never materialized - their deaths my junior year of
college had derailed my life, forcing me on a radically different path than I'd
always imagined - but my love for the city remained. The glimpses of the Eiffel
Tower through the buildings made me smile, some of the stress of the last
couple days draining away.

When we
finally stopped and a valet opened the door for me, my jaw dropped as I stared
in shock at the hotel. “We’re staying
here
?”

I didn’t
get an answer and, honestly, the question was rhetorical anyway. I stared up at
the magnificent Paris Ritz, finding it incomprehensible that I would be
sleeping there. Another Parisian establishment I’d only seen online and in
magazines, pictures hadn’t done the structure justice. While not as big as I’d
thought, it was as grand and stately as I’d always dreamed and I was itching to
see the inside.

A redhead
in a trim pale dress suit made her way toward us, heels clacking against the
stone ground. She seemed pleased to see Ethan but paused when she saw me. The
big driver gave her hand a kiss, a romantic gesture that seemed at odds with
his gruff demeanor. “Celeste, this is Lucy Delacourt, Mr. Hamilton’s new
personal assistant.”

The
confusion immediately cleared from the woman’s face although she still seemed
surprised by the news. “Pleased to meet you,” she said with a warm smile, extending
her hand in greeting. “I’m Celeste Taylor, the head of Operations for Hamilton
Industries.” Her handshake was firm and businesslike, her smile a welcome
relief to the stoicism I’d seen so far. “It’s been a while since Remi has taken
another personal assistant.”