Amorous Thoughts
1027 Words
His silence was so prolonged she felt deafened. Was she here for another reason? A reason other than what he had requested of her? An intimate, wicked, naughty reason?
She could tell by the set of his jaw that if he had a hidden agenda, he wouldn’t be admitting to it now.
"At what time should I wake up tomorrow?"
"We have a late lunch; no need to rise with the sun," he said.
She gestured toward both ends of the hallway, needing to get away from him—and wishing she could get away from herself. "And my room?"
"Pick the one you like."
She felt his gaze on her, sensing it like a fiery lick across her skin.
She stepped toward the first door and peered inside: a large four-poster bed draped in white and brown linens. It was beautiful. She moved toward the other room, feeling his eyes follow her every move. The lamplight cast his face in a mellow, golden glow. He looked like an angel who had just escaped from hell—the kind of angel she wanted to sin with.
"I guess either will do," she admitted.
She offered a brief smile from the doorway, and although he returned it, both expressions felt empty.
In that instant, Elizabeth was struck by two realizations at once: she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted the man standing before her, and if his lips covered hers again—if his hands touched her, if his eyes continued to hold her captive—she would never truly own her heart again.
"Good night," she said, not waiting for his reply.
The room she chose featured coral-pink bedding. She didn’t question the fact that, for the sake of appearances, he would want his "lover" to appear to be sharing his quarters. But she quietly turned the lock behind her nonetheless.
As she changed, she thought of what she had read about Henri and Lyon. She arranged her clothes in the large closet, hanging each garment with care, her fingers lingering on the expensive fabrics he had bought for her.
She slipped into her plain cotton nightgown, ignoring the silk, satin, and lace options, and climbed into bed. Awareness of his proximity in the adjoining room sent goosebumps trailing along her arms. A fan hung from the ceiling, its rhythmic twirl the only sound in the room. The echo of his earlier words feathered through her, melting her resolve: I’ll pretend… you’re her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest constricting. It’s not you, Elizabeth, she told herself firmly.
She touched a finger to her sensitive lips and felt a lingering spark of pleasure. In her heart of hearts, she knew the truth. In this moment, she was the woman Henri wanted. She had dreamed of him in private for so long, but dreams were only harmless until they came within reach.
Sleep eluded Henri.
The clock read past 1:00 a.m. Henri had smashed his pillow into a lumpy ball and kicked off the covers. He cursed the room, and then he cursed himself for thinking one kiss would be enough to rid him of his obsession.
Then there was Gagnon Autos.
He needed this victory. For years, the company had been a weight around his neck, a legacy he needed to reclaim and a weapon he intended to use. He had to plan, to plot, and to leave no room for error. He needed to stoke his hatred for Marie—to remember every slight, every cold calculation she had made—so he could be prepared to crush her once and for all. A low-ball offer was the first move in a game of financial chess he couldn't afford to lose.
But the numbers on the page were blurring. His ruthlessness, usually his sharpest tool, felt blunt. He couldn't focus on the acquisition when his senses were still saturated with Elizabeth. Memories of those kisses in the car assailed him: the fierce way his mouth had taken hers, her breathless responses, and the soft moans she’d made when he touched her.
He lay awake, glaring at the ceiling, his mind counting the steps to her room. Twenty? Maybe fewer. Was she asleep? What was she wearing? Was she remembering, too?
Jesus, what a nightmare.
He shouldn’t have brought her here. He had invited her to play a part, to be a pawn in his game against Marie, but she was becoming the only thing on the board he cared about.
He sat up and surveyed the door. He wanted her to give in. He wanted a stolen moment—something she hadn’t planned to give, but couldn't help but relinquish. She was cautious by nature; she feared ruining the security and respect she had worked so hard to achieve. If he crossed this line, would he destroy the very things she valued? Could they even continue working together when they flared up like torches the moment they were alone?
The memory of her tongue against his made his pulse race; he couldn't think straight. Forget the spreadsheets. Forget Marie. In his drawstring pants, he climbed out of bed and threw on a shirt.
He walked to the door, intending to go to the kitchen, or perhaps to his desk to review the Gagnon Autos files one last time. But his feet had their own agenda. He found himself standing outside his assistant’s bedroom door.
His hand rested on the doorknob, his heart beating with the erratic idle of a high-performance engine. He turned the knob, smiling at his certainty that she—always so orderly, always so professional—would have locked it against him. He almost wanted it to be locked; he wanted the brass barrier to protect him from his own lack of control.
But the knob turned fully. The latch clicked open. Elizabeth Stone’s door was unlocked.
Now, the only thing keeping him from her was his damned conscience.
- Writer
