Fling in Paris (3 page)

"Should we talk about last night?" he asked, wondering if perhaps putting it on the table would ease her mind.

"No.” She raised her chin and spoke firmly. Her hands stilled, coming to rest on the back of the chair nearest her. “I don't mix my personal life with my professional life."

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I understand that. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do to make you more comfortable here.” He waited a second before she nodded. “If you're not too tired after the training sessions on Friday, we are having a party to celebrate the opening of this branch. Since this is a rather small office, we’re hosting it at my country home. I hope you will come."

She moved some papers around and looked at Mr. Zanetto. As the new training coordinator and a member of HR, she couldn’t afford to turn it down—she needed the opportunity to get to know the employees better. “I would love to come. Thanks for inviting me.”

"Great. I will have a car waiting for you after the training session is over on Friday to bring you to the party.” He walked around the table again and smiled at her. “I will be looking forward to seeing you."

She watched him walk out the door, his stride confident, and wondered what the hell she’d just gotten herself into.

*****

The week passed quickly, despite the fact that the daily training sessions were both grueling and frustrating to both her and her students. The French did not understand anything she was trying to teach them; she wasn’t sure if it was the language barrier, or if they were used to another style of teaching, or if they just did not like her. She thought she would only be there for one month but at this pace, she would be there at least three or four.

She probably should have voiced her concerns to Mr. Zanetto, but she’d barely seen him at all since Monday. Despite his assurance that she could come to him if she needed help, she felt as if he was avoiding her—perhaps he felt uncomfortable. Sherry knew she sure as hell did. Under the dim lights at the Rex Club it had been easy to lose herself for a few minutes in the arms of a handsome stranger. But in the light of day, in the real world, it was dangerous—and he wasn’t just a handsome stranger, but her boss.

It was Friday now, she was finished with her workday, and the car was waiting for her just as Mr. Zanetto said it would be. It was the same Black Mercedes-Benz that had picked her up from the airport, and the chauffer greeted her a bit more familiarly as she slid into the leather interior of the back.

“Would you mind taking me back to my hotel?” she asked. “I’d like to change my clothes before we head over.”

A few minutes later she was back in her room, mulling over several clothing choices. Eventually she narrowed it down to two dresses— the black Rhinestone corset gown or the black choker-style halter dress. She opted for the second one, and pulled it over her head, enjoying the sensation of the silky material as it slid against her skin. She brushed her curly hair and pulled it up into an elegant bun before fastening a rhinestone clip in front of it for decoration. She touched up her make-up, smoothing bronzer over her cheekbones and painting her lips with a plum-colored lip gloss.

Stepping back, she studied herself in the mirror, admiring how the halter-top gown lifted her bust and accentuated her curves.

Maybe she was heading straight into a potential disaster, but damn did she look good.

*****

The gates opened and the driver pulled up to the front steps of a charming French-style house, characterized by the gabled roofs and limestone walls. Warm light spilled through from the dormer windows and onto the cobblestones of the circular driveway, lending the house a welcoming atmosphere. The chauffer opened the passenger door and she walked up the wide steps and through the front entrance.

The inside of the house spoke of old wealth with its marbled tile floors, gleaming oak furniture, and silk-papered walls. Art adorned the walls and tables—a painting here, a vase there. Chatter and music filled the air, and the house was practically crammed to the rafters with guests. Though many of them were employees that she worked with, Sherry found it difficult to relax and get into the party mood— she felt out of place because she was the only African American female, and she could tell that the guests she approached were slightly resentful that they had to switch from French to English when they spoke to her, though they hid it behind polite words and friendly smiles.

Finally, she heard a familiar voice to her left. “Mrs. Williams, how nice to see you.”

She turned to see Rob, wearing a suit, it was a dark brown one this time. She found the color complemented his green eyes. He cradled a glass of champagne in one hand, his other hand tucked into his jacket pocket. A small smile played at his lips, which she noticed were firm and sensual. Her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips—a mistake, she realized, as his eyes gleamed as they watched her tongue.

“Hello. Mr. Zanetto,” she said calmly, trying to keep things formal.

“Please call me Roberto or Rob.” His smile widened; he was deliberately challenging the boundaries she was putting into place.

“I will if you stop calling me Mrs. Williams,” she countered, arching her brows.

“Touché.” He lifted his glass to her, then took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. The feel of his warm lips—firm yet sensual—against her knuckles sent shivers down her spine. This gorgeous Italian man made her feel wanted, desirable; something she had not felt in a long time. It made it hard for her to stay away from him, but she knew she had to. She simply wasn’t a one-night stand kind of woman, and she couldn’t afford an emotional entanglement with a man who was her temporary boss.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, drawing his lips away from her hand. Sherry missed the contact, but allowed her hand to fall back to her side anyway.

“No, I’m fine,” she lied, even as her stomach was twisting itself into knots.

"Yes,” he murmured, his eyes scorching her with a smoldering look that had her breath catching, her heart tripping. “You most certainly are."

“What did you say?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly. Was he hitting on her?

“You heard me.” He took her hand again, but tugged on it this time instead of kissing it. “Follow me. I want to talk to you about something important.”

Sherry allowed Rob to lead her down the hallway and into a room she quickly realized was his library. There was a large mahogany desk facing away from one large, triple-paned window, and to the left was a fireplace and several low-backed, comfortable looking leather chairs and a couch. The rest of the walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of books, and she completely forgot Rob for a moment as her fingers itched to touch them. She loved books, both fiction and non-fiction, and she wondered what kind of reading material a man like him would keep in his personal library.

Instead, she lowered herself onto the black leather couch, pressing herself as far into the left side as possible. Clearly not taking the hint, he sat next to her, as close as possible without actually touching her.

“What is on your mind?” she asked, trying not to sound like she wanted to bolt from the room.

“You are on my mind.” His voice was husky, his eyes intense on hers. “When I saw you that night in the club, I knew I had to have you." He picked up her hand, his finger rubbing the center of her palm gently and sending shivers of pleasure down her forearm. “When I found out that you were the new training coordinator I tried to put some distance between us out of respect for our professions and your feelings, but I realize now that it’s impossible. My feelings haven’t changed a single bit. I want you.”

Sherry was speechless for a moment, then panic had her blurting out an instant denial. “That’s crazy!” she all but shouted, trying to stand, but his grip on her hand kept her in her seat. “There’s no way that this can happen—you’re my boss! It’s highly inappropriate for us to have a relationship.”

“I know,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “But I will not be your boss for very long. Why not try, and see where this could go?”

"I can't--” she tried, desperately tried to explain why she couldn’t afford to get into a relationship with him, but the thought of Nick had the words clogging in her throat.

"Just give me one date." His fingers, warm and strong, began to stroke gently up and down her arm, sending more pleasurable shivers through her nervous system, making it awfully hard to concentrate.

She took a deep breath, struggling to marshal her thoughts together into some kind of defense to refuse him. Instead, she found herself asking, "One date and you will leave me alone?"

He grinned at her. "Yes… if you want me too." The smug tone of his voice clearly indicated his confidence that she would not, and her back went up automatically. She could resist him. She could. One date and then she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.

Lifting her chin, she met his eyes squarely. “Alright. One date, and that’s that.”

“I will pick you up from your hotel tomorrow at seven.” His grin widened, and she knew that he viewed her statement as a challenge. “Now let’s go enjoy the rest of the party.”

They left the room and parted ways as though nothing had ever happened. Sherry tried to enjoy the party, she really did, but everywhere she went she could feel Rob’s eyes on her, even though they didn’t make contact for the rest of the night. Even so, she managed to be sociable and stayed until the party ended, at around three o’clock in the morning.

She pulled out her phone to call the chauffer, when Rob laid a hand on her arm. “It’s late. Why don’t we let him rest, and I’ll drive you back instead.”

It was hard to argue with that, so she agreed and waited outside on the steps like he told her. A few moments later, he pulled up in silver Maserati, and she smiled—of course he would drive an Italian sports car. Even though she knew this was her ride, she touched the handle very hesitantly and lowered herself very cautiously into the leather interior before closing the door and strapping the seatbelt on.

“The car’s not going to bite, you know,” Rob told her, sounding amused.

“I have a tendency to tread cautiously around cars worth twice my yearly salary,” she responded dryly, and he laughed.

He drove for awhile in silence, and Sherry took the time to stare out at the window, admiring the scenery. The country side, away from the heart of the city, made it easier to see the stars twinkling in the night sky. A tiny sigh escaped her lips; she could easily see herself living here, even though Canada was her home.

Roberto mind was occupied with thoughts of running his fingers up and down her leg that was exposed by the slit in her dress. Damn, but this woman looked exquisite. He’d kept his hands stuffed in his pockets the entire night in an effort to hide the hard-on that just wouldn’t go away as he tried his damndest to mingle and be sociable with the guest—after all, he was the host. All that had been on his mind tonight was getting her out of that dress.

"Did you like the party?" Roberto asked, wanting to break the silence.

"I had a good time." He knew that she wasn’t entirely truthful—she’d mingled and laughed just as he did, but he’d noticed the stiffness in her posture; she hadn’t been comfortable. But he was her boss, so of course she wouldn’t tell him that.

They stopped at a traffic light, and he removed his right hand from the steering wheel and reached out to caress her hand. She looked at him, lips parted, beckoning, and he couldn’t refuse that call. Leaning over, he pressed his lips gently against hers. They were soft, sweet, and he groaned as they gave so easily against his. Knowing that this was neither the time nor place, he pulled away.

“I’m sorry Sherry,” he said, returning his attention to the road as the light changed. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“I can't do this,” she whispered, and he detected a trace of panic in her tone that grabbed at his heart. What was she so afraid of?

He touched a loose strand of hair, moving it away from her face, and smiled at her. “I promise I will try to behave myself. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, then swallowed nervously, both relieved and disappointed. The conundrum baffled her.

Chapter 3

A knock at the door woke her from a deep sleep. Rolling over she looked at the clock—10 A.M. Had she really slept that late? Jesus.

"One minute!" she yelled, throwing off the covers hurriedly. Hastily, she fumbled on a terrycloth robe, then crossed the room and opened the door.

Outside, a waiter stood in full uniform, his gloved hands resting on the handle of a cart with a covered tray on it. “Good morning Madame,” he greeted her. “May I come inside?

She stepped back, baffled, and allowed him to wheel the car inside. “What is all this?”

“Your breakfast, Madame.” The waiter smiled and whipped off the cover with a flourish.

On the tray was a heaping pile of French toast, bacon, and eggs, with a glass of orange juice, a small pot of coffee, a tiny pitcher of maple syrup, and a butter dish.

Sherry simply stared. “I didn’t order breakfast.” And if she did, she certainly wouldn’t have ordered enough to feed herself for a week!

“Madame, you breakfast is courteous of Mr. Zanetto.” The waiter bowed. “If you are not pleased with it, I can also order something else.