Spiraling Deception (14 page)

Dressed in the pair of
faded denim jeans, pastel baby-blue buttoned-down shirt, tan
leather belt, and beige ballet flats, I listened eagerly as
Fabienne, my tour guide, escorted me through some of the most
impressive, awe-inspiring treasures of the Louvre while educating
me on its history. Seeing the
Mona
Lisa
was by far and away the highlight of
the tour; however, the other four Leonardo da Vinci paintings she’d
shown me definitely ranked up there. All the great
artists—Rembrandt, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Rubens—were
represented in the Louvre. It was truly awe-inspiring.

When I first arrived at the regal museum, I
had worried about being too underdressed, but after seeing how the
majority of other tourists were clothed, I was immediately put at
ease. After quickly showering, dressing, and briefly pausing to
apply a light dusting of make-up to my face that morning, I hurried
into the sitting room of the hotel suite, conscious that I had only
half an hour to make it to the US Embassy on time. Immediately, I
spotted Roman on the balcony, talking on his cell. He was dressed
in another three-piece suit, similar to the one he had worn when
I’d first met him, but this one was charcoal in color, paired with
a white shirt and sage green tie. As cliché as it sounded, at that
moment, Roman really did look the epitome of billionaire mogul as
he stood there with the skyline of Paris as his backdrop. The suit
fit him to perfection, as if it was tailor-made for his tall,
imposing frame—which it most likely was. However, with his
signature five o’clock shadow peppering his strong jaw and his
artfully tousled black hair, he also looked like the quintessential
bad boy.

Tearing my gaze away, I crossed to the
dining room table where a selection of breakfast dishes, served on
hotel-monogramed plates complete with silver matching domed lids
placed beside each plate, laid. An assortment of pastries, waffles,
scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and sausage links wafted deliciously
in the air. A crystal decanter filled with freshly squeezed orange
juice and a silver pot of freshly brewed coffee completed the
scrumptious buffet. My mouth watered at the sight.

After I poured myself a steaming hot cup of
heavenly potion, I then reached for a sugar-dusted waffle, nibbling
as Roman continued to pace the balcony, absorbed in his
conversation. The man was beyond handsome—he was freaking gorgeous
and when he wasn’t being an insufferable, arrogant jerk, he was
amazingly thoughtful and even sweet at times. Not to mention his
talented prowess in the bedroom bordered on the stuff legends were
made of.

Just as I finished the last drop of my
coffee, Roman appeared and announced that after he escorted me to
the US Embassy and my replacement passport was sorted, he would be
leaving me in the capable hands of Seth, who would serve as my
chauffeur/chaperone for the remainder of the day. Apparently, Roman
had a series of meetings to attend to and wouldn’t be back to the
hotel until around dinnertime, which was fine with me because I was
eager to explore the iconic city further. The only downside was
Courtney wasn’t here to experience it with me.

The appointment with Matt Donavan, Roman’s
friend at the embassy, went surprisingly smoothly, with Matt’s
assurance that my new passport would be ready to pick up by four
the following afternoon, which was a huge relief. I’d been worried
since first discovering my passport stolen but up until that point,
I didn’t realize just how stressed I was. It felt as though a giant
weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I could finally breathe
freely.

As soon as the meeting concluded, Roman
promptly left, leaving me with a stoic Seth. Roman kissed my cheek
in a perfunctory manner, distractedly wished me a good day while he
typed away on his cell and then slipped into his waiting Audi.
Hearts, flowers, and declarations of affection wasn’t what I
expected after one night together of mind-blowingly amazing sex,
but his cursory gesture made me feel oddly bereft all the same.
However, any thoughts I had regarding Roman’s earlier indifference
was promptly squashed when Seth drove me around to a small private
entrance of the Louvre Museum.

“
Er…where are we?” I asked
Seth hesitantly.

“
The Louvre, Miss
Gilmore.”

“
Please call me Charli,
and I can see that, but why?”

Seth switched off the ignition and turned
around to face me. “Mr. Knight has arranged a private tour for you
today…Charli.” His voice was all crisp professionalism, but the
corners of his warm brown eyes crinkled. Seth, apparently, was a
nice guy.

“
Oh.” Belatedly, I noticed
a tall brunette, impeccably dressed in a black pants suit, standing
beside the hood of the car.

Seth got out and opened my door as the woman
approached. A wide, friendly smile lit her features.

“
You must be Mademoiselle
Gilmore. Bonjour, I am Fabienne, your tour guide today. Welcome to
the Louvre.” Her French accent had a melodious lilt. She thrust her
hand forward for me to shake.

Returning her smile, I shook her hand.

“
When you’re ready to
leave, text me on this number and I’ll be here waiting, Charli.”
Seth drew my attention back to him. He held out a small card with a
phone number scribbled across it.

I slipped it into the back pocket of my
jeans. “Thank you, Seth.”

“
You’re welcome. Take all
the time you need and have fun.”

Oh boy, what fun I had. For the next six
hours, Fabienne showed me around, generously imparting her
invaluable knowledge regarding the history of the world-famous
museum and the great treasures it held within.

Instead of a usual tour,
where you’d expect up to twenty people in the group, being led
around on a brisk circuit as the tour guide dutifully recited a
history spiel, Roman had organized Fabienne to privately escort me
around for the day. She was both delightfully animated and
passionate about the museum and all its collections. Her insightful
commentary made the whole experience uniquely memorable. We even
had lunch at a bistro called Café Mollien, which was actually
located inside the Louvre, and had the most spectacular views that
overlooked the galleries of French paintings. The day was
extraordinary, made all the more amazing when I received several
text messages from Roman.
* Enjoying
yourself? *

I felt giddy when I saw his text on my
phone.

* I’m speechless—it’s that
good! Thank you for arranging the private tour. xxx *

His response came back in within
seconds:

* You’re very welcome.
Speechless huh? I now know firsthand other ways of making you
speechless. *

Memories of last night assailed me and I
blushed. Glancing around, I noticed Fabienne wasn’t back from the
restroom yet, so I decided to flirt back with the cheeky Mr.
Knight.

* Yes you do, Mr. Knight,
but so do I…which I may have to see to now that your text has me so
hot and bothered. Don’t you have meetings to attend to?
*

His reply was instantaneous.

* You touch yourself
without me, Princess, and I may have to punish you. *

* Ooh are you attempting
to threaten me? What you don’t know…won’t hurt you. *
I giggled like a schoolgirl as I pressed Send on
my phone.

Not a full minute later, my cell pinged with
another incoming message just as Fabienne returned, asking whether
I was ready to go see the Greco-Roman exhibit. After I wiped my
hands on a napkin, I gathered my bag and quickly read the new
message on my phone.

* Charlotte—I don’t make
idle threats. Be dressed & ready by 7pm. You’re all mine for
the evening and you will be rendered speechless again…and again!
*

Holy-mother-of …!
The man certainly had a direct hotline to my
nipples, pelvis, and beyond even via text messages.

Dusk had settled over the Parisian skyline
as Seth drove me silently back to the hotel. He was back to being
all taciturn, although I knew he found it initially surprising, and
then somewhat amusing when I insisted riding up front with him
instead of the backseat of the car. It felt too weird to be
chauffeured around like some wealthy socialite—that was Roman’s
world, not mine.

As I entered the hotel suite, I glanced at
the ornate wall clock in the sitting room. I was surprised to see
it was almost six in the evening—the day had just flown by in a
whirl. Hurrying to my bedroom with the goal of showering and
changing so I’d be ready by seven, as per Roman’s instructions, the
suite felt eerily quiet and empty. Roman apparently wasn’t back
from his meetings and I suspected the man was probably a
workaholic. But then again, I guess you didn’t get to be a
billionaire by just working a nine-to-five day. Once more, I idly
found myself wondering whether he was self-made or had inherited
most of his wealth. Either way, the man was obviously driven and
dedicated.

The three elegantly gift-wrapped black
boxes, two of which were individually tied with white satin ribbon
and prominent camellias positioned on the edge of the bed,
instantly derailed any thoughts I had. Immediately, I recognized
the signature packaging from my day of shopping with Courtney on
the Champs-Élysées. A mixture of intrigue and uneasiness hit me all
at once. It was obvious the boxes were gifts from Roman; however,
without even opening them, the packaging alone told me they would
have been outrageously expensive.

Dropping my purse on the floor, I knelt to
the floor beside the bed and trailed my fingers along the ribbon of
the closest box, which also happened to be the largest. Carefully,
I unwrapped the satin bow, delicately unfolded the black tissue
paper and…my mouth fell open. There, nestled among the tissue
paper, was a stunning halter-neck cocktail dress. As I gently
pulled it from the box, I noticed it had a thin belt and the soft
pastel blush of the material had a dream-like shine to its texture.
The entire bodice was covered in what would have to be thousands of
tiny blush-pink pearls. The hemline of the dress ended mid-thigh,
and layers upon layers of wispy chiffon floated gracefully down
from the waist. It was incredibly beautiful but must have cost a
small fortune.

Next, I opened one of the smaller boxes and
found a sexy pair of strappy five-inch heeled sandals in a similar
blush tone to the fabric of the dress. The sandals had thin straps
adorned with tiny little blush-rose pearls—exactly like the ones on
the dress’s bodice—that tied around the ankles as well as a
delicate strap that crossed along the toes. Courtney would have a
heart attack if she laid eyes on them—the sandals were literally a
work of art. For me, it was love at first sight!

Eagerly, I opened the last package, which
was the only box that didn’t have the signature camellia bound with
satin ribbon, but I did recognize the prominent branding of Agent
Provocateur. A delicate oyster pink, French lace strapless bra with
matching thong was neatly folded on top. Beneath was a negligée,
also in oyster pink, and when I unfolded it, the length swept to
the floor. The negligée had diamond-shaped windows of sheer
scalloped lace held together by smooth swathes of oyster pink silk
that crisscrossed over the entire body, creating a stunningly
beautiful silhouette when I held it up against me.

Lastly, a thick cream-colored card with the
Knight Industries logo embossed at the top sat at the very bottom
of the box. I picked the card up and flipped it over. In black,
bold handwriting were the words:

“
Charlotte - The bra &
panties are for your new dress. The negligée is for
my
dessert later this
evening. R.”

I blinked several times at the card and then
I swallowed. I decided to have a shower and not think about how
much Roman had spent on buying me the outfit and lingerie.

Adding a spritz of perfume behind my ears, I
smoothed over the bodice of the couture cocktail dress Roman had
gifted me. Although I was still not sure how I really felt about
his outrageously extravagant gesture, I decided to think about it
later—much later.

Showered, make-up done, hair flat-ironed and
pinned back in a low messy ponytail with a silver clip, I was ready
to face Roman and our last night together—not only Paris but
probably forever. As soon as I collected my passport the following
day, the plan was to head directly to the airport and Roman’s
private plane for the trip back home.

With Roman based in New York and me living
on the West Coast for now, I highly doubted our paths would cross
again. But hey, that was the nature of a spontaneous fling: by the
definition, it was meant to be impulsive and fleeting.

“
You look exquisitely
beautiful, Charlotte.” The sound of Roman’s voice drew my gaze to
him and I watched in satisfaction as he raked his gaze down my
body. Even though I knew I wasn’t an ugly duckling by any means,
tonight I felt positively glowing in this dress and for once, I was
able to apply my make-up perfectly without Courtney’s
help.

“
Ditto, Mr. Knight.” I
unashamedly raked his gorgeous body with my gaze. He obviously came
home when I was in my room and changed from the charcoal
three-piece suit into a black two-piece one. This evening, his
shirt was a deep amethyst that only intensified the midnight-blue
hue of his inky eyes. Sans a tie, the top three buttons of his
shirt were undone, exposing the tanned, strong column of his
throat. The image of me kissing, licking, biting that throat last
night had me blushing.