Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy) (15 page)

Safely back in my hotel room, a long sigh of relief escaped my lips. Utterly exhausted, all I wanted was to crawl into bed and fall into a deep sleep.
I certainly didn’t want to replay the evening in my mind. 

I’d hardy stripped, when my phone rang. Rolling my eyes, I guessed it was Maxwell and that I was in for another tirade.

Didn’t the man get the hint?

Already formulating sarcastic responses in my head, I glanced at the screen. But to my surprise, I recognized Alain’s number. I let out a long sigh, momentarily disappointed that it wasn’t Maxwell. Damn. I could fight back a lot easier now there was a safe distance between us.

“Alain. What a lovely surprise.”

“Cherie, I miss you so much, you have no idea. My bed is empty without you in it. Come home to me soon?”

My heart melted. It was so nice to be wanted so much by a man. “I miss you, too. I’ll be back in Paris in two days. It’s not long to go.”

“Yes, but you will be in Paris while I am on the Estate. It’s a whole week before I see you or hold you
again.”

My heart sank at the revelation. A week was longer than I’d expected to be separated from Alain.
Trying to distract him, I asked about the big deal he was working on—a deal so lucrative that it should’ve had his undivided attention.

“I can’t think straight when you aren’t here. It’s so hard to focus on anything else. Nothing else matters.”

Whoa, those were strong words.

I wasn’t sure how to handle them.

“I’ll be back soon. I promise,” I whispered, touched by the emotion in his voice.

“I hope the American isn’t trying his luck with you. I’ll have to kill him if he does.”

I laughed at the outrageous statement. “No. He’s
been the perfect gentleman. No hassles.”

Alain snorted. “I find that hard to believe. He must be up to something, I don’t trust him and neither should you.”

And, he doesn’t even know about the night in my hotel room in Paris.

“If you were here right now, you know what I would do to you, don’t you?” Alain’s voice was raspy, filled with innuendo. 

“What’s that, Alain? Show me the sights of the wine valley? Or teach me how to cook?” I teased.

“Are you flirting with me, Cherie? It’s giving me a hard-on. You know I want to make slow sensuous love to you till you are moaning with delight.”

“Moaning, huh?” I let out a soft moan, building to an orgasmic high—something like in the movie ‘When Harry met Sally’.

Alain cursed. “You’ll have me coming in my pants, you sound so fucking hot. Let me pleasure you over the phone.”

“What?” I gasped. I had only been teasing him.

“Listen to me, Cherie, do as I say, then
tell me how it feels.”

I’d never done anything like this before. Liquid pooled between my legs in anticipation. 

“What do you have in mind?” I asked softly, hardly believing that I was willing to play along. Sure I owned a vibrator, which I affectionately referred to as BOB, my
battery operated boyfriend
, but it was never as hot as this: being told what to do, knowing he was getting himself off at the other end, thinking of me.

“Lie naked on the bed. Tell me when you are ready.” He was as turned on as I was
; his voice had become thick and husky. “I’m going to record this so  can listen to it again later.”

Following his instructions, I lay on the bed, propped by pillows.

“Now lick your fingers and rub your nipples,” he said. Even though there was no one to see me, a warm glow spread over my skin. It felt like the temperature in the room had risen by several degrees. My skin burned. My breathing labored.

“Hmm, feels good, baby,” I moaned softly, as I closed my eyes and imagined it was Alain teasing my nipples.

“Now, open your legs wide,” he grunted. “Start rubbing your clit. Imagine it was me, Cherie. Imagine I have my tongue on you, lapping your clit.” His voice was hardly audible as the blood rushed through my veins while I fantasized about Alain’s tongue.

I had the phone pinched awkwardly bet
ween my shoulder and ear, so I put it on speaker and lay it next to my head on the pillow. I raised my hips and did as I was told, moaning softly into the phone. “It’s so swollen— ”

“And, so wet. I know how wet you get.
God, I wish I was there to lick up your juices.”

My mind went into overdrive. “Yes. I want your head between my legs. I want to fuck your face.”

Alain drew in a sharp breath. “Fuck, that’s sexy as hell. Now, gently sink two fingers into your warm little pussy,” he instructed.

I moaned, louder this time.

“Imagine it’s my fingers, fucking you. Faster, Cherie, faster.”

Could he hear the slurping noises my greedy little puss
y was making? I was panting, my chest heaving as I fucked myself with my fingers, listening to Alain’s hissing and cursing at my ear, edging me on.

“
Fuck. I can hear how wet you are. You’re soaked. It’s driving me wild.”

“Oh Alain, I think I am going to explode.” I let out a gasp as my body started convulsing. “I’m coming,” I moaned, “oh God, it’s so good, I wish you were inside me, baby.”

“Fuck, I wish I was there,” he rasped. “Sweet Jesus, I’m coming, too—I’m coming for you, Cherie.” Hearing his words intensified my orgasm; it was so hot knowing he was pleasuring himself thousands of miles away. Because of me. Because of what I’ve done to him.

Fuck, that’
s so sexy.

“Next time I come, I want to be inside you,” he said gruffly.

“Yes. Next time,” I whispered, contentment washing over me. I stretched out and yawned.

“You are going to sleep well now.
Good night. Dream of me.”

“Good night.”
I was slowly coming down from my high. “Thank you, Alain. You even please me when you are far away. You are so good to me.” I smiled as I remembered his words, “Seems my pleasure really
is
your pleasure.”

“Correct. I will be dreaming about you and your sweet little pussy. Of eating you when I see you again.”

“Alain,” I breathed, “You’re insatiable!”

He chuckled, low and sexy.
“When it comes to
you
, Cherie, I am. I can never get enough of you.”

Goddamn, he could make me blush from thousands of miles away.

“That is so sweet. Sleep tight.”

I hung up exhausted, pulling the bed covers over me, still naked. I loved what my French lover did for me. Even though we were miles apart, he still managed to satisfy me, and I him.

I closed my eyes and relaxed, still basking in the afterglow, enjoying the warmth that spread through my body, when the phone rang by my ear. I fumbled sleepily for the phone.

“Alain, you’re so naughty—” My voice was low and husky. What was I going to do with my sexy Frenchman?

“It’s Maxwell Grant.” Ice chilled my veins. “I just wanted to hear if you got home safely.”

“I…I did…thank you,” I stammered like an idiot.

“I’ll let you go, so you can talk to your boyfriend.” The phone clicked.

Twice rejected.

How was I going to face him tomorrow?

I turned over onto my side, wanting to sleep, but I was haunted by two pairs of blue eyes: one, calm grey-blue waters, the other, tempestuous stormy-blue waters.

I was drowning.
Fast.

The next day in the boardroom, I tried to contribute as much as possible to the discussions. But, my mind kept wandering as I attempted to analyze my
muddled emotions. My mind was churning—it was all over the place instead of focusing on work issues. Unease settled in the pit of my stomach. I’d never allowed my emotions to affect my work before.
This is bad.

Just as I thought I found a solution, something else threw everything off
it’s axis. Fuck.

Why the hell is my life always so fucking complicated?

To top it off, Maxwell was cold as steel. He hardly addressed me or even looked in my direction.
Guess I deserve that.
Doubt crept into my mind.
Maybe it was all in my imagination—maybe there hadn’t been a spark between us last night. Were we just caught in the moment? However fleeting that was... And, what
was
that strange look in his eyes?

His booming voice brought me back to the present.

“Dr. Clarke, do you agree with that strategy?” His steely eyes were boring into me, his lips pursed into a thin line as if he had lost his patience with me. We were back to
doctor
Clarke, now.

Kiss my ass.

I tried to make a coherent argument for my point of view, keeping it as professional as I could, occasionally stumbling over my words under his intense gaze.

Goddamnit. 

Why did he have this effect on me? Few people ever unnerved me. Yet, Maxwell
steely-face Grant had the knack to turn me into a blubbering idiot. I took a deep breath to compose myself and looked him squarely in the eye. It took every grain of my strength to keep cool and calm. Redheads weren’t particularly well known for being biddable.

I didn’t have the mental capacity for playing games right now. The only way I could answer, was being straight up.
“No. I don’t agree at all with your strategy, Mr. Grant. In fact, that’s asking for trouble. It will most certainly fail. The strategy needs to be re-worked.”

My jaw nearly hit the floor. The man had the nerve to start laughing. I was expecting a fight, and here he was
laughing
, a full guttural laugh into his belly. I was speechless. Something else that seldom happened to me.

“Point well made, Dr. Clarke; that’s exactly why I pay you such an exorbitant amount of money.” He continued laughing as if it was the joke of the century.

I was steaming now—all this time he’d been testing me. Testing to see if I knew what I was doing and if I would make the right decision, even if it meant opposing him.

“Always fighting me, Dr. Clarke,” he said, with a sparkle in his eyes.

Screw you.

The door swung open and his secretary entered, and silently handed him a note. He opened and read it, a frown knitting his brows together.

“We will break for lunch, now,” he announced, his tone icy, as he turned and left the room. If only I could see what was written on that
damn
note that changed his mood so drastically.

A break was really welcome and just what I needed to freshen up and recover my composure. I filed out of the boardroom with my colleagues, rushing off to the loo. And I needed a caffeine fix—urgently.

I stopped dead in my tracks seconds before colliding into the huge frame of my boss. Hung around his neck was the most exquisite creature I’d ever seen. His hands rested on her hips, holding her thin frame steady.

Gaping openly, I took in her strawberry-blond hair that fell to her tiny waist and the scrap of a mini skirt she wore, making her legs seem to go on forever. Her hands were tangled in Maxwell’s hair and she was pulling him toward her.

It was amazing how much information I managed to absorb in only a few seconds. I recognized her from pictures I’d seen in the latest magazines. She was even more beautiful in real life; photographs didn’t do her justice.

“Aren’t you glad to see me, darling?” she purred. “My assignment finished early and I have time off. We have a whole week to spend together.”

She kissed him, pressing her small firm breasts against his chest. Maxwell kissed her back. His gaze locked onto mine over her head. I stood there—frozen—glued to the ground, seconds morphing into what felt like decades. My heart sank to my stomach. I forced myself to break contact with his gaze as cold sweat beaded on my skin. If only the ground would swallow me up.

Why the hell was it bothering me so much to see her hanging off him? I knew he was off limits. Fuck, I wanted him to be off limits.
Didn’t I?
Then why was I flustered and why was my fucking heart squeezing in my chest, making it hard to breath?

Mrs. Perfect
Grant turned to me. Her luscious lips curved into an arresting smile, showing two perfect rows of ultra-white teeth. She held Maxwell’s tie in her petite hand, establishing her ownership over him in no uncertain terms.

Skinny bitch.

“And you are…?” she drawled, looking me up and down, measuring me up. Compared to her beauty, I was the ugly duckling. I cringed as I held out my hand.

“Dr. Rebecca Clarke, Management Consultant to your husband’s company.” She placed an excessively bejeweled, cold, limp hand in mine. “Excuse me. I was just off to lunch.”

I dropped her hand like a hot potato, quickly sidestepped Maxwell and pushed the door to the ladies washroom open.

Two pairs of eyes burned into my back.