Midnight Action (10 page)

The encounter with Jim left Noelle shaken and confused. The second their clothes were back on, she’d retreated to the master bedroom, where she’d remained all day to avoid any further interaction with him.

As much as it annoyed her, it was impossible to deny that the sex had been explosive. Violent and terrifying and passionate to a degree she hadn’t anticipated. Not only that, but she knew it would happen again. She wasn’t fooling herself into believing it was a onetime deal, but she had every intention of gaining the upper hand next time. Oh no. Next time she wouldn’t lie there gasping and writhing beneath him.
She
would be in charge.

But first, they needed to investigate Maurice Durand, which meant banishing all thoughts of sex, and perfecting her party face.

She’d put painstaking effort into her appearance. Her black Esteban Cortázar gown was elegant enough to blend in among the corporate folks attending Durand’s event, and the neckline was low enough that it provided plenty of cleavage to keep Jim’s gaze on her breasts. She wanted him hot and needy tonight, so that the next time they came together, he’d be the one lying there in a panting puddle of mindless need.

“You ready?” Jim opened the door without knocking and strode into the bedroom.

She opened her mouth to scold him for his rudeness, but it snapped shut when she noticed his appearance. A designer tuxedo was molded to his muscular frame, the slim fit emphasizing his long legs and broad shoulders. It was all black, from the wool-blend jacket to the crisp shirt beneath it. A silk tie and patent leather dress shoes finished it off, and with his clean-shaven jaw and cropped dark hair, he looked suave as hell and sexier than sin.

It took a second to recover from the sight of him, and his slight smirk confirmed that he knew she’d been checking him out.

Noelle quickly pasted on an indifferent look. “Dolce and Gabbana?”

“Good eye.”

“You keep a tux in your travel bag just in case?”

He ignored the question. “Are you ready or what?”

“Just one more sec.”

She lifted the bottom of her dress, slipped her bare feet into a pair of sexy Louboutin heels with red-lacquered soles, then strode toward him.

He didn’t compliment her as they left the bedroom together. Didn’t comment on her dress, her fuck-me shoes, her sweeping updo. And not even a single remark about her smoky eye makeup and the uncharacteristic red lipstick she wore.

She would have been insulted, except the hard set of his mouth and the way he painfully avoided looking at her were more telling than any compliment he could give her. Yep, her outfit was definitely having the desired effect.

Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor on the way to the private elevator that led to the garage. In the front parlor, she collected her black satin clutch from the credenza, but didn’t bother with the coat closet. It was too humid out for a coat, which she’d discovered when she’d had a cigarette on her private terrace earlier. Normally she adored summer in Paris, but it was hard to enjoy it when Jim was around. His presence meant she was forever on guard and therefore unable to appreciate even the simplest things like a sultry summer night.

“How many weapons do you have stashed under that dress?” he asked after they stepped into the elevator.

She shrugged. “Enough.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly, but she didn’t know whether it was from irritation or amusement. “Anticipating trouble?”

“Always. But I think this is going to be a pretty tame evening. As long as the real Eloise Lambert doesn’t show up, we’ll be fine.”

“You sure Lambert is taken care of?”

“If Bailey does her job, then yes.”

Noelle had to chuckle as she thought about her phone call with her prized chameleon. Other operatives might question a last-minute assignment that entailed impersonating a federal officer and detaining an innocent French executive for hours on end, but the request hadn’t fazed Bailey in the slightest.

“Did you have to pull your girl off another job?”

Noelle shook her head. “She was already in the city. She’s got some downtime before the next assignment.”

“And she’s capable of keeping Lambert away from the party?”

“Bailey is more than capable. Trust me. Eloise Lambert is about to have a real shitty evening.”

“Let me guess. You don’t feel at all bad about that.”

Exasperation washed over her. “Why should I? Bailey keeps the woman occupied, and we get to use her invite and stroll into the party without any trouble. Which, by the way, we wouldn’t have to do if it weren’t for the target on
your
back, remember?”

He didn’t look thrilled by the reminder, but he didn’t argue either.

The elevator doors slid open and they entered the spacious garage, where Noelle’s car and driver awaited.

•   •   •

Maurice Durand’s estate was forty-five minutes outside of the city, a fifty-acre property enclosed by a tall stone fence that ensured privacy. Frédéric drove through the imposing wrought-iron gateway, then continued along a winding driveway bordered on one side by majestic oaks and a cluster of olive trees that must have been transplanted from the south of France, because Noelle had never seen them growing in the north before.

When they reached the end of the driveway, even she had to raise her eyebrows. The main house was spectacular—three stories high with a stone and stucco facade, featuring multiple peaked gables and an arched front entryway with massive French doors and round stone columns.

“Nice digs,” Jim remarked.

The back door opened courtesy of Frédéric, and Noelle slid out of the car with ease, her heels connecting with the paved driveway. Jim stepped out next, his shrewd gaze taking in their surroundings with military precision.

She blinked in surprise when he offered her his arm. After a beat, she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and allowed him to lead her toward the pillared entrance. They climbed the stone steps, then paused to greet the bulky suit-clad attendant with a clipboard in his hand.

“Eloise Lambert and guest,” Noelle said coolly.

Neither she nor Jim spoke as the man checked his list. They remained relaxed albeit aloof, and when they received a satisfied nod, they wasted no time strolling through the front doors.

“Enjoy your evening,” the man said woodenly.

Once the door closed behind them, Noelle glanced at her date and murmured, “Easy as pie.”

His tone was grim. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

The foyer was as impressive as she suspected the rest of the house would be. The cathedral ceiling was thirty feet high at least, and the white-and-gray-veined marble beneath their feet gleamed from the light of the crystal chandelier. The walls boasted several expensive pieces of art, including a much-sought-after van Gogh, if Noelle wasn’t mistaken.

Another tuxedoed man appeared from a wide doorway to their right, greeting them with a warm smile. “Right this way, sir, madam.”

They followed him down a spacious hallway adorned with more eyebrow-raising art. No family photos in sight, Noelle noted. Just canvas after canvas, painted by some of the most iconic artists in history. Renoir, Gauguin, Monet, a handful of Rembrandts, a rare Dalí, and a piece from German painter Max Ernst that seemed oddly out of place. Durand clearly had eclectic tastes when it came to art, and his collection was enough to make other private collectors die of envy.

“Where is Mr. Durand?” Noelle inquired politely. “I’d like to say hello and thank him for hosting such a lovely event.”

“He hasn’t arrived yet,” their guide answered. “He had an appointment in Paris this afternoon and he was delayed, but I assure you, he’ll be here as soon as he can.”

They reached another set of French doors. A murmur of voices and strains of classical music reached Noelle’s ears, and she had to stifle a sigh. She was so not in the mood for a party.

“Until then,” Durand’s employee went on, “I urge you to enjoy the finest champagne our country has to offer and sample the delicious food our chef has prepared.”

She flashed him a sweet smile.
“Merci, monsieur.”

The man opened the doors with a flourish, revealing the magnificent ballroom that lay beyond. From the corner of her eye, Noelle saw Jim’s mouth fall open, and she didn’t blame him one bit. A soaring ceiling, cherry flooring, and pale yellow walls made up the space, and Noelle had never seen so many chandeliers in her life. They hung from the ceiling in all their lighted glory, sparkling like diamonds and reflecting off the expansive display of windows on the north wall.

The music they’d heard was coming from the eight-piece orchestra situated in one corner of the room, strings and brass accompanied by a handsome man behind a white grand piano. Waitstaff in black-and-white uniforms floated through the vast room with trays of champagne flutes and gourmet hors d’oeuvres that made Noelle’s mouth water. She’d skipped dinner because she’d been hiding from Jim, and her stomach rumbled from the heady aromas filling the air.

“So all these folks are shareholders in Durand Enterprises, huh?” Jim mused, assessing the three dozen or so guests milling in the ballroom. “Nice of their boss to host such a fancy-pants party for them.”

Noelle was doing her own examination of the crowd. Most of the guests were older gentlemen, accompanied by much younger women decked out in expensive cocktail gowns. A few women in their thirties lingered near the orchestra, and several younger males with an ambitious air to them were drifting from group to group, mingling with the older executives.

Whenever she went out, Noelle was usually the one who stood out in the crowd—her golden hair and flawless features made it that way—but the number of beautiful women in attendance tonight was reassuring. Noelle might be able to slip under the radar after all.

She continued to scope out the room, her eyes resting on the elegant spiral staircase in the corner of the room, leading up to an honest-to-God opera box suspended twenty feet above them.

Beside her, Jim’s gaze had rested on the massive ice sculpture near a set of doors leading out to the terrace. The sculpture was shaped like an elaborate dragon, posed as if it were about to take flight.

“Our host went all out,” Jim said dryly.

“I imagine he can afford it. This house is incredible.”

A petite redhead approached with a tray of champagne, and both Noelle and Jim readily accepted the glasses she offered them. Once the waitress was gone, Noelle took a delicate sip of the sparkling Dom Perignon, savoring the crisp taste of it. Jim did the same, only he didn’t seem to be savoring a damn thing.

She had to smile when she glimpsed the look of distaste on his face.

“So it’s still only beer and tequila for you, huh, Jim?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t get it. You grew up loaded—you should be used to guzzling down Dom. Your parents probably put it in your baby bottle instead of formula.”

“My parents preferred Merlot,” he corrected. “You, on the other hand, were always into the expensive bubbly.” He paused for a beat. “Remember when I made you order a beer at that pub in the Left Bank? I still remember how horrified you looked after you took a sip.”

“Because it tasted like sewer water,” she protested. “My reaction had nothing to do with the price, or the fact that it wasn’t champagne. It’s not my fault you have terrible taste in beer, James.”

He grinned, and her pulse promptly sped up.

Damn it. She hated seeing that crooked smile on his sexy mouth. She hated her body for responding to it. And she hated being reminded of how easy it used to be between them. Once upon a time, they’d never run out of things to say to each other.

She suppressed a curse, annoyed with herself for letting the past surface. “I wonder what’s keeping our host.”

“No clue, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t gotten held up at all.” Jim used his glass to gesture around the lavish ballroom. “Men this rich know how to play the game, and making people wait is a great way to make you look important and mysterious. It adds to the allure.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Aw. Your modesty is
so
endearing.”

Another waiter walked up to them, this one carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. “Would you like to try some salmon-trout tartare?” the dark-haired man inquired in crisp French.

Noelle accepted the square linen napkin he handed her and picked up one of the delicate hors d’oeuvres. She took a bite, then moaned.

“This is amazing. Here, try some.”

Without thinking, she brought the delicious pastry to Jim’s lips.

He stiffened, his blue eyes flickering with surprise.

And then to
her
surprise, he opened his mouth.

Noelle’s fingers quivered ever so slightly as she fed him. Jesus. What was wrong with her? What was she
doing
?

Her gaze fixed on his lips, the way his strong jaw worked as he chewed.

After he’d swallowed, his eyes rolled to the top of his head. “Motherfucker. That’s good.”

Noelle laughed before she could stop herself. “Told you. Come on, let’s go find another waiter. I want to try everything here.”

“Women,” she heard him mutter under his breath.

Yet he didn’t protest. He just followed her on her food quest, and even though he acted like he was humoring her, she knew he enjoyed every second of it. Not only did he taste every item they came across, he raved about each one afterward. They sampled everything they could find, from the tasty pork rillettes to the adorable mini tart flambés, from the incredible wild mushroom and chicken fricassee to the sweetest chocolate-covered strawberries she’d ever tasted.

Noelle found herself relaxing. Her naturally suspicious mind warned her that she shouldn’t lower her guard, but for the first time in years, she wasn’t overcome by tension in Jim’s company. Her shoulders weren’t stiffer than two-by-fours, her chest wasn’t plagued by resentment, and her jaw didn’t feel like a toy car that had been wound up to its limit.

As they wandered around the ballroom, she noted that Jim’s body language also conveyed a serious lack of hostility. And it was impossible not to miss the way his magnetic blue eyes kept fastening on her cleavage.