Pretense and desire
1134 Words
Not good, any of it. Not the blender her emotions were in, not her tilting world, and certainly not the fact that she was already anticipating—wondering—what it would feel like to kiss him again. Freely. Wildly. Without restraint.
She would have to stall. Abstain. Ignore him. If she did something to compromise her job, she would never forgive herself, and nothing compromised a career quite like s*x. And if she compromised her heart? She stiffened, firmly putting a lid on the thought.
Her mother had loved her father with a quiet, steadfast devotion, and Elizabeth wanted that same kind of love. She had promised herself that if she ever gave away her heart, it would be to someone reliable and devoted—someone who valued her more than his games or his ego.
No matter her shockingly visceral response to Henri, he was still everything she should be wary of. Worldly, sophisticated, and ruthless, he was a man enamored of the challenge, the risk, and the job. The last thing she could imagine Henri Gagnon being was a family man, no matter how generous he had proven to be as a boss.
Down the hall, a bellhop emerged from the service elevator, but Henri was already turning the key. He flicked on the light switch, and the suite glowed in welcome: golden tapestried walls, plush turquoise carpet, and a large sitting area that branched off into rooms on either side.
"Merci," Henri said, tipping the bellhop and personally hauling both suitcases inside.
Elizabeth surveyed the mouthwatering array of food atop the coffee table—trays of chocolate-dipped strawberries, sliced fruit, and imported cheeses. Then, she heard the heavy click of the deadbolt. The sound made her wince. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow: they were alone. Just him and her.
Suddenly, she wished she knew what he was thinking. Did he expect another kiss? What if he wanted more? What if he didn't?
Feeling her skin prickle, she shied away from his gaze. She navigated around a set of chairs and pulled the sheer drapes aside. Outside, the city flickered with a million lights, but the hotel pool below was eerily still.
"Do you come here frequently?" she asked quietly. Her insides were anything but still.
"No." She heard the muffled fall of his footsteps on the carpet as he approached. She felt, rather than saw, him draw up behind her. "There wasn't a reason to."
He spoke with such intimacy that he might as well have been whispering an admission of guilt. A rope of longing stretched taut in her stomach. The proximity of his broad, unyielding frame sent a flood of heat across her body. He wasn't touching her yet; it was the mere threat of the touch that made her crave it.
Standing there in the shadows, she wondered if Henri was as ruthless when he loved as when he did business. She wondered if his kiss would be as dark and devastating as his eyes had promised.
The air seemed to vibrate, urging her to turn and close the gap between them. The contours of his chest were nearly brushed against her back, and his scent—clean, expensive, and masculine—was an assault on her senses. He laid a hand on her shoulder; his fingertips felt like fire.
"This is a safe neighborhood," he murmured. "I won't lose sight of you, Elizabeth."
But the danger wasn't outside. It was right here. It was him.
"What was it like for you when you were young?" she asked, her voice trembling.
His hand stroked her arm. Heat streaked across her skin as he drew lazy patterns along her skin. "It wasn't as dangerous back then. I grew up in the streets—I was always running away with my father’s workers, looking for adventure."
Did he move closer? She thought he felt larger, harder. She sensed the thundering in his chest, or perhaps it was her own heart she heard.
"Were you pretending just now... when you kissed me?"
The question hung in the air. They were actually discussing it. Her nod was jerky, forced.
Henri hesitated, then murmured huskily, "Do you want to...?"
She bit her lower lip to keep from shouting yes. "To what?"
His whisper tumbled against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You know what."
"I don't know what you mean," she lied.
"Kiss..." His voice was thick, terse with suppressed passion. "Touch..."
Shaking like a leaf in a storm, she wiggled free and walked around him, her pulse racing. "I told you, I can pretend just fine."
She headed for the couch and sat down, trying to regain her composure. Was she supposed to resist what her body and heart wanted when the chance was right in front of her?
Henri ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "That was pretense?"
"Of course."
He looked so genuinely shocked, so annoyed, that she might have laughed if she weren't so terrified. He roughly scraped the back of his hand across his mouth, as if trying to wipe away the memory of the taste of her. Finally, he nodded. "You’re good, Miss Stone. I’ll give you that."
"What made you leave here?" she asked, desperate to change the subject.
One lone eyebrow rose. When he laughed this time, she knew it was at her transparent attempt at small talk.
"Well." He propped a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Even in a relaxed pose, he exuded a raw, primal power. "Gagnon Autos was taken by my father’s woman. It was either her or me—and he chose her. But I promised myself when I came back... that company would be mine."
His voice—the deep bass and the slight accent—filled the room. Henri was larger than life, and Elizabeth knew she would be a fool to forget her position. She had to make sure the "incident" in the car never happened again.
"Henri, what happened here and in the car was—"
"Only the beginning," he interrupted.
She started, her heart hammering against her ribs. The beginning of what? The end? She ground her teeth, fighting for calm. "We were pretending."
"Aha."
"Yes," she said vehemently. "We were."
"Right, Miss Stone," he said, his eyes dark with a challenge she couldn't ignore. "Whatever you say."
"You asked me to pretend," she reminded him, though she was mostly reminding herself. "That’s what I’m here for. Isn't it?"
- Writer
