Pleasure Games / Legal Attraction

Already the international interest from collectors had been a distraction from Luca’s dishonor and prompted an uptick in champagne prices.

Luca entered a name into the search engine: Marcel Durand. He’d done the same thing every night for a week. Watching for any new article or item to show up. He creeped his social media pages and watched for any indication of the slimy eel Luca knew him to be. But, he had to admit, the guy knew how to keep his nose clean.

Luca could almost hear François’s voice telling him he could learn a thing or two from this young man.

Salaud! Bastard!

“Literally.” Luca ground his teeth.

He was just about to type in another search when he noticed something new. An announcement of Marcel’s engagement to Lydia Fournier—hmm...the name sounded familiar. Luca must have met her at one of the functions the company had held in the last eleven months. She was blonde and tall, almost as tall as Marcel, who stood beside her in the photo that had been posted in today’s paper. Luca skimmed the article, reading that she had been attending university in Madrid. Then he stopped reading.

So, Marcel was living a perfect life. That would end when Luca exposed him for what he was, though he still had no idea how to go about doing it.

Probably because it was difficult to make a move when he was in hiding, rarely going out during the day. Of course, today had been the exception. This morning, he’d gone for a long ride along the Loire River valley. Riding was the only thing that kept him sane.

But instead of sanity, what had he gotten? An American damsel in distress.

The polar opposite of sanity.

Worse, this damsel just happened to have gorgeous, thick hair, soul-melting eyes and the nicest ass he’d ever seen...

Luca pinched the bridge of his nose. He was a sucker for a beautiful woman in need. Wasn’t that how he’d met Anika? She’d had too much to drink during a party on a yacht. He’d held her hair while she got sick.

Without thinking about what he was doing—maybe it was a reminder of why not to get involved with the devil that was woman—Luca typed “Luca Legrand sex video” into the search engine.

Despite the fact that Luca’s team had had the video taken down—and wanted to take legal action against the original site that posted it—it had spent far too long online before he’d become aware of the situation and had it handled. Millions of viewers had seen it.

Merde.

And millions were still talking about it, if the current search results from blogs and gossip sites were any indication. Luca didn’t doubt the internet was rife with illegal copies that could still be viewed somewhere. The whole situation was a nightmare—one that felt impossible to contain. Some sadistic need to punish himself had him opening the original copy of the video and hitting the Play button. The video was dark and amateurish—because when he and Anika had made it, it was for their eyes only—but her face was clearly distinguishable. As was his as he tied her up, spread-eagled, to the bed. An act that took ultimate trust had been corrupted by exposure to the public.

Luca rubbed his forehead before exiting the video. He returned to the search results online and clicked on the first hit, then scrolled to the comments beneath the article. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. More figurative self-flagellation.

What an asshole.

Luca Legrand can tie me up anytime.

Anika deserves better than that sadistic pig.

He should be thrown in jail...

With a growl, he snapped the laptop lid closed, pushed the computer back onto the coffee table, got to his feet and paced the length of the small living room. What his surfing had confirmed for him was that he could not afford another scandal. He needed to get rid of the American woman first thing without her or anyone else finding out about his involvement.

He could drop her at the embassy—but she had no money and no one to vouch for her.

He could take her back to the street where the shop was to see if she would remember anything. Maybe her bag was still at the shop. Or, more likely, it was at the police station.

He opened the French doors onto the small balcony and went to stand at the rail, breathing in the night air, considering his options. The woman’s memory was faulty and she didn’t know his real name. Even if she tried to describe him to the police, what were the chances they’d find out it was him? He could vacate the flat, go somewhere else, maybe head south of the city to the villa he’d avoided for twelve years. Perhaps if he just dropped her off at the police station and then drove away...

No. The possibility that someone local would see him and recognize him was too much of a gamble. Once again, it was François’s voice in his head telling him it was too risky.

He leaned his elbows on the rail and gazed out.

Wait.

He stood up straight.

Maybe he should call François and get him to help. François was as intent on keeping things quiet as Luca was.

That wasn’t a bad idea.

Why hadn’t he thought to call the lawyer sooner? He’d do it first thing in the morning.

With the decision made, Luca went back inside and settled onto the sofa, his bed for the night. The ride and fresh air this morning had tired him out. Worrying about the woman had taken the last of his energy and he was tired. However, instead of sleep, images of Jasmine’s sweetly curved spine appeared behind his closed lids. Why he let his mind wander in that direction, he couldn’t say. Maybe because she’d be gone by morning.

Luca saw himself kneeling behind her, hands on either side of her sloped hips, his tongue tracing the indent of her spine at the top of her ass. Circling those delicate dimples, kissing high up on the globes of her cheeks.

Luca?

“Hmm?”

Will you kiss me? Please?

She turned herself around, presenting the front of herself. There was a silky patch of hair over her mound, so soft and glistening he had to stroke...with his cheek. “Where do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, gazing up at her.

Everywhere.

“It would be my pleasure,” he mumbled quietly.

“Luca?”

Luca’s eyes popped open. Jasmine was standing above him, gazing down at him with a—smirk?—on her face.

Fuck.

Sitting up quickly, Luca hoped to hide his raging erection from the woman who had caused it because she’d been starring in his fantasy only two seconds ago. “Jasmine?” He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and then winced. “I’m fine. But I was lying in bed...” For some reason her cheeks turned pink. “And... I...” Her gaze met his. Her eyes sparkled.

Jesus, was she psychic and able to read his mind? Did she know what he’d been fantasizing about?

“I think I remember what happened.”

CHAPTER SIX

SHE MUST HAVE woken him up. He’d sat up abruptly and looked startled by her appearance. Whatever he’d been dreaming about, it must have been good, based on the noticeable bulge behind the fly of his designer jeans. God, his girlfriend was one lucky woman, because that was one sizeable erection.

Hmm. Did he have a girlfriend?

Jasmine realized—with a start—that, first of all, she was staring at the man’s crotch, and second of all, she really didn’t know anything about him, other than that he drove a motorcycle and had had a concussion before.

“So, what do you remember?” he asked, looking as though he might stand but then thinking better of it. Jasmine hid her smile.

Who was she to judge? She’d been lying in bed totally fantasizing about him—in glorious detail—when out of nowhere a memory had surfaced. A quaint little shop on a narrow cobblestone street. A lamp. A scarf. And...a thief.

She’d been caught in a robbery.

It took her a few minutes to describe what she recalled while Luca listened carefully. “And what is the last thing you remember?”

“There was this man wearing a ski mask yelling at me in French. I didn’t understand and then he pushed me...” Her hand went to her temple. “Or maybe he hit me.” She frowned. “I kind of feel like he did both. Anyway, it’s foggy, but that’s the last thing I remember.” She sat down on the edge of the couch.

Luca nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry, Jasmine. The thief must have taken your bag in the robbery.”

“Yes. Probably.” She rested her elbows on her knees.

Luca stood and went into the kitchen. “Anyway,” he called, “I am happy that your memory is returning. Tomorrow, I’ll help you figure out the next steps. You should be back in your hotel and back to your regular life in no time.”

“Ye-es.” Jasmine drew out the one-syllable word.

“Get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy.” He gestured for her to return to the bedroom.

But Jasmine didn’t want to return to the bedroom. She didn’t want to waste what could be her one and only night with this enigmatic Frenchman by sleeping it away in his bed.

Alone.

Not to mention, she didn’t want to go back to her hotel. In her mind she had a flash of the suite: the high ceilings, sheer drapes, a wrought-iron balcony—the room only served to remind her of the fact she was not on her honeymoon and that she was in Paris.

Alone.

She eyed Luca from beneath her curtain of hair. What she really wanted to do was to get to know him more.

No, what you really want to do is to ask him to take your clothes off—slowly—and do terrible—wonderful—things to your body.

“You know,” Jasmine said, getting up and going to sit at the breakfast bar. The act of standing had made her feel light-headed all evening, but for some reason this time it didn’t. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? “I don’t actually feel that tired. I feel kind of...wired.”

“Wired? I don’t understand what that means.” Luca poured himself a glass of water.

“It means I feel the opposite of tired. Is that normal, with a concussion?”

Luca tilted his head to regard her. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Weird.” Jasmine rested her elbows on the breakfast bar. “So, I gotta ask,” she began. “Does your girlfriend mind that you have a strange woman spending the night in your apartment?”

Luca blinked. “Girlfriend?”

“Yes.” She focused on her hands.

“Non. I’m not seeing anyone.”

Her head snapped up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh.”

“What is this ‘huh’?”

“Nothing. I’m just surprised.” With a new boldness, Jasmine leaned across the breakfast bar, pulled Luca’s sweating glass toward her and drank from the same spot he had drunk from.

His eyes followed her. “Why?”

“Because.” She examined him from the corner of her eye. It seemed impossible that he was single. He was...well, what she knew of him was all positive. He was kind to strangers, for sure. He had the nicest hands—she couldn’t look at them without imagining them on her body. He filled out his clothes in all the right ways—she tilted her head to eye his crotch again. Very nice.

And then there were his eyes.

He had “I’m going to fuck you” eyes.

And she was here to say yes to those eyes.

But Jasmine wasn’t ready to say any of that, so instead, she shrugged, turned the glass on the wet spot it had created on the counter and said, “You just seem like a good person.”

He made a deep, guttural sound. “You don’t know me.”

Jasmine glanced up. “Are you saying you’re not a good person?”

Luca shook his head and poured himself a second glass of water. When he didn’t answer, Jasmine pushed herself to her feet and wandered into the living room, running her hands along the spartan bookshelves, pulling out copies of books—novels?—in French and a guide to Paris in English. She picked up an ornamental bowl made of alabaster and weighed it in her hands before setting it down again and moving on. What quickly became apparent was that there was not one personal item in this space. No photographs. No personal papers or keepsakes. No clutter. It was completely neutral.

She turned to Luca. “Who’s apartment is this?”

“It’s mine,” he said, though it sounded defensive. Even with the sexy French accent.

“No, it’s not.”

He cleared his throat. “It belongs to a friend of mine. It’s mine for now.”

Jasmine was just about to ask why he was staying at a friend’s place, when Luca answered the question for her.

“My girlfriend and I broke up six months ago. It wasn’t...amicable. I’ve been staying here since.” He turned his back so she couldn’t see his expression.

Was he angry? Heartbroken? Something else?

Hmm. Well, he was single and his explanation made sense. Her gaze swept the room once more and she spied his laptop sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” She strode over and flipped it open.

“Attendez!”

Startled, Jasmine jumped back. Luca strode over and snatched the machine off the coffee table before taking it into the kitchen and setting it on the counter facing away from her. He tapped rapidly on the keyboard before using the touchpad, and after a couple minutes, he brought the computer back and set it on the coffee table in front of her, open to a search engine.

Interesting. What was it that he didn’t want her to see? Considering someone had been sporting a healthy erection when she’d woken him up, Jasmine could guess. Was it the head wound or just the fact that she was starting to feel like her old self that gave her the courage to blurt, “Were you surfing porn, Luca?”

“Pardon?” He reached into a cupboard overhead and retrieved two clean wine glasses.

She smiled to herself as she leaned forward to check email.

What the hell was her password?

“Porn,” she said absently as she typed some random phrase into the field. She glanced up at him. “You do know what porn is, don’t you?”

“Of course I know.” He had the good grace to look uncomfortable for approximately three seconds and then his lips twitched and a slow smile spread across his face. He poured wine into the glasses he’d gotten out of the cupboard and came to sit beside her on the couch.

With the warmth of his thigh pressed against hers, Jasmine really couldn’t think as each password she tried only resulted in an error message. She was so used to logging in automatically from her phone app—when was the last time she’d needed her password?

“And if I was?” Luca asked, so close to her ear it tickled.

She shivered at the pleasant sensation, her hands hovering above the keyboard like they were as frozen as her email account would be if she failed too many more attempts. Jasmine shut the lid of the laptop, the turn of the conversation seeming more important than email at the moment.

She turned to face him. “I guess that’s your business.”

He handed her a glass. His gaze was as intense as ever, but something had changed. Something subtle. It wasn’t like he was searching; it was like he was trying to convey something. Something important. Something fierce.

Whatever it was, her body responded.

Hard.

Her lips parted and her mouth was suddenly dry. She wet her lips, and Luca’s searing gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering there. “Should I be ashamed of watching people make love?” His nostrils flared, as if he was a predator, scenting her. His gaze narrowed as it returned to hers, and the quirk of his lips was on the cynical side.

“No.” Jasmine shook her head, unable to break eye contact. “I don’t think so.”

He nodded and drank. When his stare focused elsewhere, Jasmine was able to take a sip of wine herself.

God, it was good. Smooth, like silk slipping down her throat...

“What kind of an American are you, Jasmine Sweet?”

“Huh?”

“There are stereotypes, you know. About Americans.”

“I’m sure there are.” Americans had plenty of stereotypes about the French, too.

It went both ways.

“So,” she said, raising a brow. “Are you going to tell me what they are?”

His nod was almost imperceptible. “There is the puritan American. Someone who thinks the body and bodily functions are dirty.”

Jasmine bit her lip.

“Is that you, Ms. Sweet?” He leaned forward.

She held her breath.

“Or...” He backed up and cocked his head to the side. “Are you the kind who enjoys being a woman, physically and sexually, but who pretends she doesn’t like sex because she’s ashamed of her pleasure?”

The breath that Jasmine finally dragged into her lungs was ragged. When Luca didn’t continue, Jasmine asked in a breathy voice, “Are those the only stereotypes you have for American women?”

Luca shrugged.

“What about...” Jasmine began. “The American woman who enjoys sex and isn’t afraid to admit it?”

“Does such a woman exist?”

“Oh, yes.” Jasmine set her glass down beside the computer and scooted closer to Luca. “What about the American who likes to try new things?” She reached for his face, wanting—no, needing—to know what his beard felt like against the tips of her fingers. Against her cheek. Her mouth.

As much as Jasmine was willing herself to be this bold, confident sex-venturer, her fingers still shook when she touched him. But she didn’t care. And he didn’t stop her.

Or turn away.

Or capture her hand and place it firmly in her lap.

No. He simply sat there and let her explore.

His eyes assessed her from beneath lazy lids while she brushed the contours of his face. His beard was both wiry and soft, and under that she felt the strength of his jaw.

In fact, his jaw suddenly hardened as if he was gritting his teeth.

Wasn’t that an interesting response?

“What about the American who isn’t afraid to ask for what she wants?” Jasmine whispered, her fingers sliding from beard to mouth, tracing the seam and then the top and the bottom lips. Oh, Jasmine was lying her face off right now, but it felt good.

The subtle parting of Luca’s lips was an invitation, she was sure of it, and two of her fingers slipped in, just to his teeth and then past. Good lord, his mouth was wet.

And incredibly hot.

Why was he letting her do this? Why was he encouraging her?

Jasmine had no clue; all she knew was that his mouth was completely and utterly seductive, and when he closed his lips around her fingers and gently sucked, Jasmine realized that the simple sensation of suction on fingertips was more erotic than anything she’d experienced.

She pulled her hand from his mouth and without thinking, sucked her fingers into her own mouth, never breaking his heavy-lidded gaze.

“Are you saying you are this kind of woman who is not afraid to ask for what she wants?”

With fingers resting against her mouth, Jasmine nodded.

“Tell me, Jasmine. What is it that you want?”

Was there anything more sexy than hearing that question—deep and guttural—from a hot guy with a French accent?

No. There wasn’t. Not that Jasmine could think of, anyway.

She dragged her fingers down her bottom lip, past her chin, to her throat. She’d never felt more seductive, more wanton, more womanly. God. If she had only one night to spend with this man who had turned her into a sex fiend with a simple stare and a question, then dammit she was going to make the most of it.

Jasmine wanted to know what it was like to have something this irrational.

Something that would rock her world.

Not only that, she was going to ask for it.

“I want you to fuck me.”

* * *

The only reason Luca had been playing along was because he was angry. It was that stupid video—the comments in particular. No one knew the context of that video and he was so tired of being judged for it.

He’d almost longed for her disapproval so that he could unleash some of his angst on her. But she didn’t judge. Oh, no. She’d flirted. And then she’d touched him, with a mixture of sensuality and innocence that was so disconcerting Luca found himself caught up in a new game that too closely mimicked his earlier fantasy.

When she’d asked him to fuck her, he nearly lost it.

All of his control was on the cusp of melting away and Luca had to use everything in his power to fight the urge to pull his own too-big T-shirt up over her head and then tug the shorts from her hips. He ground his teeth as an image of him burying his face in her hair and sucking on that tender spot at the base of her neck flashed across his vision.

And that was just to start.

Get a grip, Luca. “I don’t think—”

She reached out, took his wine glass from his hand and set it down on the table on the other side of the computer. Then she framed his face with her hands. They were so small and gentle, and they still trembled, which turned him on more than if she was truly this sexual goddess she claimed to be. Her gaze was on his mouth, like she had zeroed in and locked on her target.

“Jasmine—”

Suddenly one of her hands slipped down between them to cover his hand. Jesus. When had he planted his left hand on her bare thigh, trailing his fingers on her supple skin? Luca couldn’t remember, but when Jasmine pushed his hand higher up her bare leg, inching beneath the leg of the shorts, he didn’t stop her.

In fact, when she got up on one knee, suddenly giving his hand easy access to the silky skin that stretched up her inner thigh, Luca completely forgot about stopping.

How could skin be so fucking soft?

His hand inched higher and he knew—just knew—her pussy would be bare. The damp heat that was only centimeters from the tips of his fingers teased him, like a wet whisper, asking him to touch. When Jasmine swung her leg over his in order to straddle him, his fingers found the taut cord that marked the juncture of her thigh and pelvis.

God. Her body was so close. So alluring.

He wanted her.

But somehow he refrained from taking what he wanted, from playing with the soft skin of her labia before plunging his fingers deep inside.

She finally settled herself in his lap and Luca groaned because the heat of her body was scorching, even through the cotton of her shorts and his jeans.

“Please...” she whispered against his lips.

It was his fucking fantasy come to life, and yet Luca needed to stop it.

Her mouth was on his, pressed against his, kissing softly as she made little sounds at the back of her throat.

If you don’t stop now, you won’t.

“Jasmine,” he whispered in between kisses. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because, why?”

Oh, Jesus.

Luca gave up. He threaded his fingers through Jasmine’s lush hair and held her hard so he could kiss her properly. Her mouth tasted of wine and honey, and he sucked her sweet nectar both voraciously and with care, like he was a ravenous bear and she an unpredictable beehive. She reacted to his kiss by digging her fingernails into his shoulders, all the while rubbing herself against the fly of his jeans. All he’d have to do was pop his fly and slide the legs of the shorts to the side, and he’d be able to bury himself inside of her.

She’d be wet.

And hot.

And probably fucking tight.

God, he wanted her tight little pussy. His cock ached with need, and as she ground down into him, he held her hips and thrust his toward her.

Non!

This could not happen, no matter how much her sweet little pants and gyrating hips made his cock feel like it was going to explode. It was exactly these thoughtless encounters that got him into trouble. He had to stop. Now. Before it was too late.

“Jasmine.” He held her hips still and turned his face away. “We can’t do this.”