Spiraling Deception (15 page)

“
Are you ready?” He strode
toward me. The small smirk that played around his mouth let me know
he had noticed the blush.

“
Uh huh.” I nodded. The
man was so breathtakingly handsome he made my chest
hurt.

Only stopping when his chest brushed against
mine, he slowly lowered his head until his soft, full lips brushed
against mine. “The dinner and show at the Moulin Rouge will be
rather enjoyable, but I must confess, it’s the later portion of the
evening I’m most looking forward to. Dessert was always my favorite
part of the meal.”

“
Uh huh.” Dazzled by all
those damn alluring pheromones of his, my eyelids drooped to
half-mast and my breaths quickened. He smelled so incredibly good.
Surely it was illegal for any man to be that plain hot.

“
Wait! What?” I shook my
head in an attempt to clear my wayward thoughts and process what
Roman had just said. “You’re taking me out to dinner and a
show?”

He slid his arms around my waist, drawing me
closer into his embrace. “I am.”

“
To the Moulin
Rouge?”

His lips curved into a panty-dropping smile.
“The one and only.”

“
Ohmigod! Ohmigod!” I
chanted, squealing in excitement. “How did you know that the Moulin
Rouge was the one place in Paris I most wanted to see? Courtney and
I wanted to go, but they were completely booked out when we
inquired.”

“
Then apparently this is
your lucky night, Princess.” He bent forward, captured my bottom
lip and drew it slowly between his teeth. I think I might have
moaned a little.

“
Thank you, Roman.” My
voice wavered from the surge of excitement I felt in the moment. I
had three burning passions in life: teaching, performing on the
aerial ribbon, and dance. The Moulin Rouge was a dancer’s
Mecca.

Releasing me, he slapped me on my ass and I
yelped in surprise. “You’re most welcome. Now come on, we don’t
want to be late.”

Moulin Rouge, the immortalized and legendary
music hall of the French capital, was as I’d always dreamed:
hypnotic, spellbinding, and sensational. Upon arrival, we were
ushered into the restaurant and toward an intimate table for two at
the very front and to the left of the stage. Once seated, the
waiter handed us both a glass of champagne along with the menu.

Quintessential French
cuisine was, of course, the theme for our dinner, with foie gras
with jelly and Armagnac for starters, followed by
Carré d’Agneau rôti à la fleur de thym
(lamb roasted with thyme) and
Nougat glacé au miel
(iced nougat
with honey) for dessert.

Although I struggled with the French
pronunciation for each of the courses, Roman had no such
difficultly rattling off each of our selections fluently in perfect
French, earning himself a series of eye rolls from me. I was then
rewarded with several eye rolls from him, when I insisted taking
photos of each course so I could text them home to Courtney. It was
a poor substitute, but I figured she would get a kick out of the
photos despite her not being here and experiencing it together.

Shortly after we finished our meals and our
champagne flutes were topped, the show began. In spectacular
fashion, a chorus line of the world-famous French can-can dancers
burst onto the stage in an eddy of lively music and dancing.
Adorned in a flurry of feathers, rhinestones, and sequins, a line
of most beautiful girls in the world sashayed, strutted, and
shimmied across the platform in a lively celebration of dance and
joviality. Their sheer exuberance and vivaciousness had me bouncing
in my seat.

Just to think, for the
past one hundred and ten years, the most legendary cabaret in the
world had been welcoming millions of admirers to their renowned
shows and tonight I was one of those lucky spectators. With my
background in the performing arts and my passion for dance, it was
truly an honor, a dream come true, just to be part of the audience.
By the end of the evening, my jaw ached from smiling so much—I
couldn’t remember when I had ever had so much fun. And, in that
moment I knew, it wasn’t all due to being at the Moulin Rouge, how
wonderful the food had been, or how spectacular the show was. It
wasn’t how wearing the dress made me feel so incredibly beautiful,
nor the heated looks Roman gave me throughout the evening. It was
simply being there…with
him
.

“
Come here, Charlotte.”
Although his tone was soft, there was no mistaking the carnal
demand in his voice. The sound instantly triggered my
arousal.

Moments before, we had entered his hotel
suite, and after what could only be described as the single best
night of my life—notwithstanding the day I had—I was walking on
cloud nine.

Inhaling deeply in an effort to steady
myself, I walked slowly toward him. My gaze never wavered from his.
When I stopped several inches away, I rose one brow in silent
question, despite knowing exactly what he wanted. To be honest, I
wanted it too. The whole evening had virtually been a foreplay
marathon and I was eager for a repeat performance of the night
before.

“
Turn around,” he
commanded and I smirked playfully before I obeyed.

My heartbeat picked up and butterflies took
flight in my belly as I did what I was told and turned, placing my
back toward him. Immediately, I felt the heat of Roman’s body
pressed against my back and I let out a little moan of delight.
Slowly, his fingers brushed softly against the exposed skin of my
shoulders before they drifted leisurely up to my neck, gathering my
ponytail over to one side.

“
Let’s get this beautiful
dress off you, shall we?” he murmured against my ear. His warm
breath sent tingles down my spine. Deftly, his fingers unclipped
the clasp of the dress’s halter neck and then released the zipper
until the material pooled at my feet.

“
Hmm…” he mused, his voice
barely a whisper as he glided his warm palms over the bare skin of
my lower back before settling between my shoulder
blades.

“
We won’t be needing this
either.” The strapless bra fell to the floor and joined the dress.
“And these, we’ll use for later,” he hummed, drawing the lace thong
over my hips and down my legs. When they hit the floor, I tried to
kick them away but Roman scooped them up and placed them into his
pants pocket.

Without warning, he spun me around to face
him, my breath catching at the sudden movement, and then his mouth
slammed down hard over mine. Eagerly, I opened up for him,
feverishly meeting each stroke of his tongue. With our mouths still
locked together, our tongues battling each other’s for control, he
lifted me up; my legs, just like the night before, instinctively
wrapped around his lean hips and he strode toward the bedroom.

Once we reached the bedroom, he tore his
mouth from mine, nipping my bottom lip as he drew back, and laid me
facedown on the mattress. Naked and completely vulnerable, I was
sprawled, bent over the edge of the bed. Both feet were still
encased in the gorgeous beaded sandals and barely just touched the
floor, but my stomach and chest were prone against the bed. Lifting
my arms above me, Roman bound my wrists tightly with the delicate
lace of my thong he’d pocketed earlier, and then with a satisfied
grunt, he leaned back. “Now this is promising.”

“
Roman,” I hedged. “What
are you doing?” My voice came out all breathy and husky.
Apparently, the man had a definite kinky side to him and although
I’d never thought of myself as the overly adventurous type in bed,
I was fast becoming a convert.

I called to him again but he didn’t reply
and soon I heard the rustle of his clothes being removed.

Before I could say anything else, he
returned. His bare chest was lightly pressed to my back as both his
palms slid down either sides of my waist, then over my hips and
lower down my thighs; the heat of his hands blazed a trail along my
skin. Lifting my ass up and back toward him, he parted my legs, and
then moved his hips between them. One of his hands skimmed up the
center of my spine, resting between my shoulder blades, and held me
in place while the steel length of his erection nuzzled teasingly
at my entrance.

First I moaned, and then I whimpered as his
talented fingers explored the folds of my labia with leisurely,
teasing strokes. With each pass, his fingertips lightly glided over
my clitoris, barely touching it, but the effect it had on me was
utterly maddening.

“
Roman, please,” I
pleaded. The tone of my voice was so raspy with desire, I barely
recognized it as my own.

“
Shh…quiet, Princess.” As
he said the words, his hand on my back pressed down more firmly,
holding me completely immobile as his fingers continued their
assault, this time around homing in with more precision and intent,
until I was panting, embarrassingly groaning like a cat in heat.
The beginnings of a climax surfaced, and I knew it was going to be
good; it was going to be earth-shattering, so I squirmed and pushed
myself back against his hands, reaching for it.

“
Uh-uh,” he scolded. “No,
you don’t. You’ll come when I’m ready for you to come. For now,
let’s just talk.” His fingers slowed their ministrations,
effectively staunching my climax, and my body deflated.

My answering growl only made him chuckle.
“Talking! You want to talk? Now? You have got to be kidding
me.”

“
Charlotte.” His breath
fanned against my cheek as he placed a quick kiss there. “Spend the
next three days with me.”

My body stilled. “What?”

He didn’t answer straight away but ran the
tip of his tongue along the shell of my ear. “Spend the next three
days with me in Venice and then I’ll take you home.”

My brain was still trying to process his
words when abruptly he thrust into me, all the way to the hilt, in
one powerful stroke of his hips. My answering cry was part surprise
and part glorious ecstasy. And then…nothing—he didn’t move.
Although the sensation of being completely filled of him was beyond
amazing, I wanted more. I wanted him to start moving. This time, my
cry was in frustration. “Why aren’t you moving?”

“
Because you haven’t
answered me.” His tone was so calm and so matter-of-fact, I blinked
several times, trying to comprehend what he said.

“
Venice? You’re asking me
to come with you to Venice. Now? While we’re in the middle…” I
couldn’t even finish the sentence. The sexual frustration was
literally melting my brain cells.

“
Yes, Charlotte. I’m
asking you to come to Venice with me while I’m fucking you.” Each
word sounded as if it was spoken through clenched teeth while
desperately trying to hold onto his self-control.

Then his hips moved—out-in-out-in-out-in.
With each measured, determined stroke, Roman obliterated what was
left of my rational mind. “Roman!” I screamed, his name an urgent,
frantic plea to take me over the edge.

“
Say yes to me, Princess.”
He grunted and thrust his hips harder.

“
I…I…” Stuttering, I shook
my head back and forth. “Oh God!” I could feel the rise of my
release, the tightening of muscles and the synapses of every nerve
ending in my body firing up like a Fourth of July fireworks and in
that very moment, I would have agreed to anything.

“
Say yes, Charlotte,” he
demanded once more. The sound of our bodies slapping together in
frenzied joining, relentlessly driving in and out, drove out all
reason and rhyme.

“
Charlotte,” he growled in
warning.

“
Yes!” I shouted. The word
echoed around the room. “Yes, yes…anything, but please don’t
stop!”

Rigidly I tensed; my toes curled as the
climax crashed brutally through me, wave after glorious wave,
shuddering and racking me from head to toe.

Moments later, Roman cursed loudly, gave one
more mighty thrust of his hips, and ground against my center as his
own release tore savagely through him.

Chapter Ten

~Venice, Italy ~

“
He what?”

I winced, pulled the phone away from my
ringing eardrums and rolled my eyes at Courtney. This was one of
the reasons I didn’t like sharing too much with people. However,
Courtney had always been the exception to the rule. But damn it—the
girl had been and always would be a drama queen. Still, I loved her
dearly.

“
While he was…like
inside
, inside
you?”

“
Yes Courtney, while we
were having sex. That’s how it usually works…the man puts
his—”

“
I know the mechanics of
sex,” she snapped.

“
Ohmigod!” Another scream.
“That’s sexual coercion,” she said, with what sounded like
admiration. “Got to give it to the man—he is one slick
operator.”

Sexual coercion.
Those were the exact words I had used last night
with Roman after we finished having sex. Indignantly, I’d accused
Roman of sexually blackmailing me into going to Venice with him.
He, in return, argued my acquiesce was binding regardless the
circumstance. Then a very heated and very loud discussion ensued,
which led to angry sex…lots of angry sex. It was not pretty—there
was groping, biting, and scratching (all me) and kissing, petting,
and licking (all him) until I found myself once again agreeing to
go to Italy with him.

It was the morning after; I had awoken to an
empty bed and an empty hotel suite—no Roman. He did, however, leave
a note on the nightstand by the bed and in bold, slashing
handwriting stated he’d left for a business meeting but would be
back early in the afternoon to collect me. In his note, he advised
me to pack, as we would be leaving directly for the airport on his
return and we’d retrieve my newly issued passport on the way.