[Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon (7 page)

Weird.

However, while privacy is important, I’m also a woman of my word, which is why I’m here, drinking a lovely Bordeaux, sipping it slowly, savoring it while I watch droves of tourists stream across the bridge toward the Louvre. I would be lying if I said my thoughts weren’t continually returning to a certain French billionaire. Thoughts of Christophe make me feel restless. I don’t know if it’s because it’s been a while since my last love affair, a crazy, intense relationship with a bad ass biker who has a thing for leather and law enforcement. He’s in witness protection now and I have no idea where he is. No way of contacting him. For some reason, it's made it next to impossible for me to move on.

Until now.

Until Christophe.

I guess it’s a good sign.

The old Tessa, the one who loves as much and often as possible, who isn’t afraid to make new and wonderful acquaintances, is making a comeback and that makes me happy.

I swirl my wine and bring it to just beneath my nose, breathing deeply.

Instead of currants and oak, I smell Christophe’s aftershave.

I swivel, half-expecting to see him standing there with that cocky grin of his. But he’s not.

“Ms. Savage?”

A blonde woman approaches, wearing a tailored skirt and jacket, smiling shyly. A Princess Diana smile.

This must be Noelle Davis.

I stand and we shake hands. Her hand is warm and soft in mine and a scent of vanilla and strawberries wafts across the table as she sits.

From the moment we meet, I feel this strange kinship with her. It’s like I’m looking at a younger version of myself. We’re about the same height, both fair, with blonde, shoulder length hair. Noelle’s curvier than I am. She’s got the kind of figure that may not be portrayed in the pages of fashion magazines but that men go completely gaga over. Noelle’s also got an air of innocence about her, though I’m not sure if it’s put on or legitimate. When her gaze meets mine, I feel some strange, latent sisterly gene kick in, like I’ve got an urge to protect her or something.

“It’s funny,” she says as she opens her purse and withdraws her cell phone. “On the way over here I had the strangest feeling that you weren’t going to show.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Noelle, I’d completely forgotten about the interview. Thank God for smart phones and reminder apps."

"No kidding." She nudges her phone. "I don't know what I'd do without mine."

The server comes by and takes Noelle’s drink order and after he’s gone, she points at her phone. “Do you mind if I record this?”

Yes
.

“No.”

“Good. I’ll send you a copy of the recording and the article before it goes to print. Does that work for you?”

“Sure.” I take a sip of wine to cover the fact that I’m not sure at all. For some reason, this young, sweet-looking girl is making me nervous.

When the server returns with her white wine, we order. Salad for Noelle and a croissant with cheese and meat for me. We make small talk, I mention an article of hers I’d recently read (like last night as I looked her up) on the pressure of female body image on models/actresses.

Once our food arrives, she taps the screen on her phone and starts the recording app. “Do you mind if we get started?”

“Not at all.”

She recites the date and my name, then says, “The Most Influential Woman in Business Who You’ve Never Heard Of.”

“Tell me that’s not the name of the piece,” I say, cringing.

She shrugs and smiles. “It’s a working title. I like it though.”

“So, that’s the angle you’re going with?”

“Every story needs an angle.”

“Okay, well, if no one’s heard of me, how did you hear about me?”

“Eli Kent. CEO of Kent International.”

I nod as I cut a piece of cheese. I did some work for Eli a couple of years ago, helping him restructure his European offices.

“Do you want to know what he said about you?”

“I don’t know, do I?”

Our gazes meet and I see something in Noelle’s eyes. A flash like a hard, steely edge. It’s there and then it’s gone. Hmmm. Maybe the innocent aura is a ploy. Or maybe not. I guess I’m about to find out.

She laughs and flips open a notebook I hadn’t noticed sitting on the table. Using her manicured nail, she points to a page. “Based on Tessa Savage’s business acumen, she could be successfully running her own corporation. She’s the biggest thing in business that never happened.”

I laugh. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means he respects you and thinks you’re crazy for not running your own enterprise.”

“I do run my own enterprise. Savage Business Solutions.”

“But you’re a sole proprietor. You have no staff.”

I eat my cheese, wondering what Noelle really wants from this interview. As far as the business world is concerned, I’m really not that interesting. “I have an assistant in New York and a long list of professionals I contract work out to when needed.”

“Why don’t you expand?”

“I do perfectly well on my own. Expanding isn’t necessary.”

“Where’s your home base, then? New York?”

I tap my chest. “It’s right here.”

She tilts her head to one side, studying me. “I don’t understand.”

“I travel all over the world for work, so my home is wherever I am.”

“But,” she squints at me. “Where do you keep your things?”

“I don’t really keep things.”

She sits back in her chair. By now, I’m used to the response. In a world focused on material possessions, having none makes me a bit of an anomaly. Or, as one friend put it, a freak.

“So you just travel from place to place? No home, no commitments?” She chews the side of her lip and doesn’t meet my eyes.

Aha. So, this is what the interview is about. She doesn’t care about what I do for a living, she wants to write about my personal life. The proof is in her next question.

“What about friends? Lovers?”

“Relationships. That’s a completely different thing. I’d much rather get attached to people than to things.”

Noelle looks at me strangely. “How do you maintain relationships if you’re always moving?”

“I’ve learned how to form friendships quickly and to keep them from a distance. It’s easy to keep in touch these days. When you don’t have a lot of things to worry about, it’s much easier to focus on relationships.”

“Do you have a special relationship at the moment?” She chews on the end of her pen and the glint of steel in her gaze is back.

“I thought this interview was supposed to be about being a modern business woman. Not my personal life.”

“Oh, come on, Ms. Savage. Our readers are women. They want to know about how you balance it all. Work, lovers, relationships, travel.” Noelle taps her pen against her lips. “So...are you? In a relationship, that is?”

Wow. Nice segue. She is good.

“I don’t care to discuss my personal life.”

"Look, I know our readers. I know what they want."

"What do they want?"

"They want something different. They want to read about women who call the shots. Who know what they want and aren't ashamed to ask for it. Whether it's in business or...relationships."

"Why me?"

She smiles and there is no innocence in it whatsoever. "How many lovers do you have?” Her smile tells me I’ve been conned.

“None of your business.”

Narrowing her gaze, she asks, “So, would it be correct to say you’ve got a lover in every port?”

I roll my eyes. “No.” I laugh at how gullible I am to be taken in by her innocent pretense. The girl wants details. Instead, I say, “Believe me, there are times when choosing to be with no one is the best option.”

“Really?” She taps her fingers on the tabletop. “Interesting you say that because—”

“Mademoiselle Savage?”

“Yes.” I look up eagerly at the man standing beside the table wearing a dark suit jacket and black shirt. I do not care who he is but I am so thankful for him interrupting us. I am not liking the way this conversations is going.

“This is for you.”

“Excuse me?"

The man hands me an envelope. It’s beautiful with the texture of heavy silk. It’s got a wax seal like some medieval correspondence. I'm so curious I want to open it right away but not in front of Noelle.

I go to put it away and Noelle says, “You’re not going to open it?”

“I’ll open it later.”

“You receive a mysterious envelope while dining out in Paris and you’re not going to open it? Are you kidding me?”

“This is not typical.”

“So open it.”

I lean over and stop the recording. “Only if this is off the record. This,” I hold up the envelope, “is not part of the story. Not even the arrival of it. Is that clear?”

I expect a look of regret but that is not the expression on Noelle’s features. Curiosity? No. That’s not it either.

I break the seal and open the flap. Inside is a heavy card with beautiful gold illumination. Noelle leans forward to get a better look. She manages to read the swirly logo upside down before I do.

"Oh my God. You've been invited to Eden." Her words are matter-of-fact.

“What?”

“Eden. Wow.”

“What’s Eden?”

“It’s a resort island. By invitation only. Totally exclusive."

“Never heard of it."

“It’s owned by...” She puts a hand to her mouth. Hiding something. A smile? “He’s some mysterious billionaire. No one knows who. Everyone’s talking about him...it.”

“Really?” I look at the invitation again, flip it over and find detailed instructions on the back for how to get to the island.

Flipping it back over, I’m about to read the invitation when it slips from my grasp and flutters to the ground. When I go to pick it up, a wind gust picks it up and steals it from me, carrying it toward the busy Rue Voltaire. I jump out of my seat, trying to catch it before it flies out onto the street, but I’m too late. The wind carries it, spinning it so that it pirouettes between cars and busses before disappearing on the other side.

“Well, that’s that.”

Noelle is staring open-mouthed. “You can’t just leave it.”

I shrug. “I’m not in the mood for a tropical holiday.”

“It’s not just a tropical resort. The island is magic—” She stops talking mid-sentence as she notices me pulling my wallet out of my bag and paying the bill. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I’ve got a flight to catch. This interview is over.”

“Wait.” She stands. “We’ve barely started. I have a bunch more questions.”

“Maybe some other time.” I wave and head off down the street.

I
had planned to stay the night in Paris, to go out to one of my favorite restaurants and then take an early morning flight to New York, but for some reason I’m not in the mood. Strangely, I don’t feel like being alone tonight. Yet, I also don’t feel like calling anyone up. It’s a weird place to be.

A transatlantic flight is the answer. So now I’m sitting in the waiting area outside my gate, about to board when I get a call from one of my very favorite people in the world, Wade Messing.

“Tessa Savage,” he drawls. The phone crackles. It’s a bad connection and I miss the second half of his sentence.

“What did you say?”

“I said we were just talking about you.”

“Oh? Good things, I hope.”

“Always. Connor wants to know if you got our invitation.”

“The invitation?”

“Yes. Things have changed and we weren’t sure where to find you so we sent out a couple of invitations—” the phone beeps in my ear and then goes dead.

I go to phone back, but my battery is completely drained.

Damn.

There’s no time to plug it in because my flight is called and boarding begins for first class. Yes, okay, Tessa Savage is a princess when she flies. Believe me, you’d fly first class too if you could afford it and you flew as much as I do. Airports are not fun and they are getting less and less fun every year.

The complications and annoyances of flying aside, at least the mystery of where the invitation came from is solved. It came from Wade and Connor. That’s interesting. I wonder what’s going on. Oh! I bet I know. They’ve probably ditched all their wedding plans and have decided to elope at some tropical resort.

Though I have a really hard time picturing my best friends—the Marlboro Man look-alike and his badass boyfriend—getting married anywhere other than their ranch, I can’t say I blame them. Weddings can be a bitch to plan.

At least that mystery is solved. After stowing my things and accepting the mimosa the flight attendant offers me, I close my eyes and drift off into a semi-doze. Why my mind wanders to Christophe, I don’t know.

Okay, I’m such a liar.

Of course I know why it drifts off to Christophe.

There’s something about the man that intrigues me. Whether it’s all an act or whether he really is deeper and more interesting than I’d originally thought, I don’t know, but I am intrigued—grudgingly intrigued.

I can hear his voice—his deep, sexy accent—in my head, describing how he would remove my clothes.

The daydream begins with the conversation in the Buddha Bar but suddenly (as in all good dreams and daydreams) we are no longer in the private room but in a lushly appointed penthouse suite that is very similar to the one I shared with Talal.

Christophe hands me a glass of scotch and then turns me toward a mirror.

“Watch,” he whispers very close to my ear.

Standing behind me, he begins to undo the buttons on my shirt. One by one. Slowly. His fingers graze the newly exposed skin, first the hollow at the base of my throat, then the hollow between my breasts until finally he reaches the hollow of my belly button.

“Smell the alcohol. Breathe in deeply.”

As I do this, he untucks my blouse from my skirt and somehow the whisper of silk from beneath my waistband skims my skin in such a wonderfully sensual way, I catch my breath as tingling feathers of pleasure radiate over my belly and up my back.

Taking the glass from my hand, he slides the blouse off my shoulders and arms and drops it to the floor.

“Look at yourself.”

I do. Kind of. I look at where his hand is resting at my waist, moving gently against my skin. I gaze up the length of my body and past to meet his gaze in the mirror. His eyes have a soft, sensual look to them as they briefly meet mine and then return to my body.