My name is a temptation, and his lips so sure and so firm and little more than a breath away. I try not to stare as I wonder if Remy would kiss me differently in this alternate reality. Would his kiss be more, here in his natural habitat? Would it be harder? Commanding? Would he hold me tight against him? Would I let him?
Like those are even serious questions.
Liquid heat courses through my veins, answering the almost magnetic pull of him.
‘Do you know Emile Durrand?’ he asks, the question a dangerous sounding purr.
‘As in, Emile Durrand, the founder of Wolf Industries?’
His thumb resumes its feather-light caress. ‘You’ve met him?’
‘Only between the covers of the company magazine.’ Emile Durrand founded Wolf Industries. He’s also Remy’s father, according to the articles. ‘I read the back catalogue while HR was deciding what to do with me. I guess you don’t offer many of your so-called conquests jobs, given how they struggled to keep me occupied. Should I be flattered? Because, honestly? I’m just confused.’
‘Conquests?’
‘So-called,’ I correct. ‘One night in my bed doesn’t mean you own me.’
‘What about one night in my bed.’ His fingers tighten around my wrist, his expression shuttering quite suddenly. ‘What do you think that would earn me?’
Probably a stalker, I don’t answer.
‘You say you’ve never met him?’
‘I have not met your father,’ I reply imperiously. ‘And, according to those magazines, I’m not likely to now.’ Unless I’m living in a bad telenovela because Emile Durrand died over two years ago.
‘Non,’ Remy replies, this time making me roll my eyes. Sexy French accent be gone. ‘I didn’t think so. He liked them un peu docile.’ He holds his thumb and forefinger a pinch apart.
‘Whatever.’ I glance away. No way I’m touching that. And to hell with docile. ‘And now I’ve missed my bus.’
‘Do you know your eyes turn gold when you’re annoyed?’
‘It’s my special superpower.’
‘I disagree. Your talents lie elsewhere.’
‘I preferred it when I didn’t understand what you were saying.’
‘You don’t like my voice?’
I don’t answer. I like his voice plenty, especially when it’s addressing me in that low, bedroom-y tone with the hint of his accent rounding the words.
His hand trails up the inside of my arm, the pads of his fingers heating my skin. I find my nipples standing to attention under the thin layers of my dress and hope he doesn’t notice.
‘Rose.’ He elongates my name almost chidingly as he lifts my chin, turning me to face him. ‘We both know you appreciate the things my mouth can do.’
Oh, my. He is relentless.
I know I should come up with a rebuttal, some kind of put down—and maybe I would if my head was on straight. I should resist the pull of him, deny his arms as they slide around my waist, but I find I can’t. Even if, at the last minute, I turn my head.
‘I’m not the kind of girl who kisses the boss.’ Even if as his lips brush my cheek, my body cries out with the memory of his.
‘I’m not your boss.’ His words are barely a whisper yet they still make me shiver.
‘I also don’t kiss my boss several times removed.’
I feel the smile he presses against my cheek. ‘What if I promise I didn’t bring you to Monaco to fuck you?’
‘That’s not good enough. You need to tell me why I’m here.’
‘You’re here because I want to know who you are.’ His voice is suddenly rough, and I can feel the heat coming off him in waves.
I make as though to push him away—I swear those are my intentions—because I won’t be played with a second time. Instead, his eyes dip to my mouth, and I have no idea who moves first. All I know is my fingers are pulling at him, wrapped in his shirt, and not for a little leverage to knee him where it hurts. And then I’m noticing how his lips are so soft against mine, not hard like I’d imagined and not at all tentative. His touch skates up my spine, clasping the back of my neck as though to hold me in place. I’ve little intention of moving, not as his mouth plunders, his kiss deepening and coaxing mine to return the change of pace. I need no encouragement, my hands questing and greedy, my will bent to his. Tongues tangle and teeth graze, his shirt not the only item of clothing