Business, Desires.
972 Words
Your new lover?"
Silent, Henri stood at the living room window and broodingly watched the car pull away with Elizabeth inside. From the penthouse, the sedan looked like a sleek black beetle slipping into the intermittent traffic below.
The pressure in his chest mounted with the distance. His blood still pumped hot through his veins, and his head swam with a thousand erotic thoughts he had no business entertaining.
"Or a mistress, maybe?"
Twisting around, Henri faced his guest. Matthew Smith—corporate raider, self-made millionaire, and currently inquisitive nuisance—was helping himself to a bowl of nuts he’d scavenged from the bar.
"My assistant," Henri said, swirling the amber whiskey in his glass.
Matthew had arrived promptly at eleven. The blond, Toronto-born millionaire was never late, and like a predator catching a faint scent, he had c****d his head the moment he spotted Elizabeth nearly in Henri's arms. As she had whispered her goodbye, Henri’s own instincts had flared, signaling that she didn’t truly want to leave.
But when "The Vagabond of Toronto"—as the press had dubbed Matthew—said he’d deliver, he delivered. Unfortunately, the business Henri expected couldn't wait, not even for her. Still, he couldn't allow Matthew to get the wrong impression of her.
He lifted his glass in a mocking toast. "She makes good coffee."
Matthew popped an almond into his mouth and munched. "Aha. In bed?"
Henri ignored the jab, crossing the living room toward his office with Matthew trailing behind. Cranky, frustrated, and exhausted, he set the glass atop a stack of papers on his desk and sank into his high-backed leather chair.
"I'm not that man, Matthew. Never mix business with pleasure, remember?"
But Elizabeth's sweet, fragrant scent lingered in the air, a ghost of her presence tormenting his straining body. It was a silent mockery of his words. He took pride in his reputation as a man of moral fiber, a man who respected his employees. And yet, when it came to Elizabeth Stone, he was reduced to the base instincts of a caveman.
His friend’s smooth, easy chuckle came from the threshold, further cranking up Henri's frustration. "I remember. But the question is: do you? Should I have fetched a spoon, buddy? You looked ready to eat her."
Henri wanted to scoff. He certainly didn’t welcome the canny twinkle in Matthew’s eye. But then he remembered the desperate urge he’d had to kiss her… the exquisite warmth of her skin… the surprisingly fine feel of her in his arms, stirring a hunger beyond belief.
His chest cramped as he dragged a hand down his face. "Perhaps the old adage is true," he muttered. "Some rules are meant to be broken—especially if you’re the fool living by them."
"Don’t go there, Henri." Matthew pushed away from the door, his expression turning dead serious. "I’ve been there. It’s not fun, man. Not for you, and definitely not for her. Office affairs always end in a wreck—no matter how well you think you’re driving when you start."
Henri turned his gaze to the massive, crowded bookcase across from him. A heavy, bursting sensation was lodged in his gut. He didn't want to hurt her. Hell, he hadn't wanted to want her.
He’d been sexually frustrated since the day he hired her. She was demure, determined, and desperately in need of the job—everything he should have protected, not coveted. He had feared she’d be a distraction, but he hadn't counted on this primitive response reaching such a fever pitch.
"I’ve never been involved with an employee in my life," Henri said, his voice low. "But she’s different, Matthew. And yes, I’m aware of how that sounds."
Reclining in his seat with a grimace, he popped his cuff buttons and rolled up his sleeves. He was past the point of considering it; his mind was made up. He was going to give them both what they’d clearly wanted for months.
He was a man of flesh and blood, and there was only so much he could withstand. No matter how energetically Elizabeth tried to conceal her reactions, she responded to him. It was visceral—a vibrant woman hidden underneath the tidy assistant.
And now he’d asked—practically demanded—that she spend a week with him pretending to be his lover. It was a dangerous game to play at a time when all his energy needed to be focused on the one prize he’d sought for years: Gagnon Autos.
He knew focus was key to the acquisition, and Elizabeth was the ultimate distraction. But tonight, seeing her alone and financially abandoned by her family—a rejection Henri knew all too well—he hadn't been able to deny himself any longer.
The week-long position was a guise, a thin veil for his true desires. He thought of her every hour; he relived their encounters, often finding himself pausing just to hear her laugh at Chloe’s antics through the office doors. He’d made a mental list of all the reasons to stay away: she was innocent, he was not; she was vulnerable, and he was her boss.
But the way she had looked at him tonight had pulverized every logical reason he had.
"Here, I have just the thing to cheer you up." Matthew stepped forward, rummaging through his leather briefcase. He yanked out a manila folder and held it out.
"There you go. Your wish is my command."
Henri took the file, his focus snapping instantly to the name printed across the tab: Marie Poitier.
He smiled darkly. "Aha. My rainmaker. Everything is in here, I assume?"
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