The Paris Affair (12 page)
Helmut paced the length of his room. His gut tightened into a knot, and his fingers clenched into fists. His heart thudded impatiently in his chest, blood simmering. When he’d held Claire’s body in his hands down in the reception hall, it was all he could do not to sweep her into a dark corner and free those beautiful curves from the confining little dress.
Get a grip.
He had boarded the red-eye out of O’Hare Monday night still ripe with righteous anger and buzzing from the two shots of bourbon he’d downed in the airport bar before takeoff.
The plan was simple. He would breeze into Paris and whisk the vixen with her long legs and wickedly beautiful eyes back to his hotel room, where he could douse the fire of his desire by burying himself between those legs.
Winning the bet with Ben would not be his primary objective. Hell, he’d already won, though Ben would want proof before he parted with one red cent. But the money wasn’t the problem either. Ben was right. Helmut could easily afford to take a year—or five—off. His finances were secure.
The biggest irony of this whole affair was that he spent money on women because he had so little else in his life to spend it on. And even lavishing his dates with expensive dinners and weekend getaways didn’t amount to much of a dent in his wallet.
With most of the women he’d dated over the past ten years, the passion was short-lived. Quickly snuffed once he realized that he had nothing in common with them when their clothes were on. Even damned Juliana, his longest relationship in years, had only lasted a month before they parted.
And then Claire arrived on the scene. Beautiful. Sexy. Passionate. Intelligent. And a keen instinct for business.
When he stepped off the plane in Paris, he was greeted by Claire’s face on the national news, calmly smoothing over Helmut’s sudden departure from the company. Downplaying the inquiries into their Shadow Fly negotiations. His mistakes. Mistakes that could lose the company both the contract and the chance to bid on future work. Never once blaming, or insinuating, any guilt on Helmut’s part.
He could kick himself for being so stupid. When he pursued Juliana, he was thinking only of spending a little time with a beautiful woman. He should have known that the affair could jeopardize the negotiations.
Hell, he did know. He just didn’t give a damn at the time.
Helmut had been married to his job at Sheffield and Fox for as long as he could remember. Reporting for work, for him, was like coming home. It was comfortable. Safe. And lonely. Maybe he’d been tempting fate when he dated Juliana. Daring someone to call him on his juvenile behavior, and his blatant disregard for ethics.
He hadn’t expected that whistle-blower to be Claire. He hadn’t expected there to
be
a Claire in his life. In a little under two weeks, the woman had turned his life upside down and backwards.
He had ducked the reporters as best he could, and gave only the most banal answers when he couldn’t. His schedule for the week had been full when he was still an S&F employee. Arriving as a free agent had tripled the number of invitations, despite the looming investigation. He knew he had lots of friends in the industry. And it amused the hell out of him to be blatantly courted by his competitors. No, Sheffield & Fox’s competitors. Most of them were probably hoping that if they hired him, he’d bring a little insider knowledge with him. He couldn’t blame them for the assumption. He hadn’t exactly proven himself virtuous of late.
Helmut stalked to the mini bar and yanked the fridge door open. Wine, vodka, soda. Nothing appealed. He slammed the door shut again.
He should get out. Go for a run on a treadmill in the fitness center. Call a few of the guys for a night on the town. Knock on Claire’s door and beg her for mercy. She was everywhere, with her sexy laugh and her cool poise. She attracted flocks of men at every meet-and-greet. Executives, government officials, ridiculously rich playboys posing as potential investors. All vied for the chance to stand in her spotlight.
She was a contrast in silk and steel, youth and wisdom. She was irresistible.
The pounding in Helmut’s head was not a headache. It was his door.
It was Claire. Still wearing the slinky black dress, and barefoot. And wielding a cell phone like a butcher’s knife aimed at his heart.
“Where the hell do you get off threatening me this way?” she demanded, storming into his room, leaving a trail of coconuts and sweetness in her wake.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She whirled and planted fists on her hips. Helmut’s gaze traveled the length of her. She had removed not only her shoes, but her stockings as well. He suppressed a groan at the sight of her bare legs.
“The email you sent. You’ve got about thirty seconds to explain yourself before I call the FBI.”
He wrenched his eyes back to her accusing glare. “Claire, I didn’t send any email. What are you talking about?”
“‘If you don’t cancel the demo of Shadow Fly, someone will get hurt,’” she read, her voice dripping acid. “Signed H.A.F. And sent from an anonymous Yahoo account.”
“Claire, calm down. I didn’t send any email. And I’m not ‘H.A.F.’ My middle initial’s D, not A.” He frowned. “It’s probably some kind of prank. Or spam.”
“This cell phone is new.” Claire’s voice wavered. Just a little. “I had to change the number when I added international service. The only people I sent the address to were the executive team.”
Helmut quietly closed the door to the suite. There was no need to share this discussion with the entire hotel floor. “Call the FBI. Or at least the IT department. It looks like you’ve been hacked.”
“Why now? Why target Shadow Fly?”
Helmut shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything government related is always a target. And Sheffield & Fox has been in the news this week.”
Claire wrapped her arms around her chest and took a visible breath. Good. She looked like she was calming down.
“Call your IT folks. Where’s your assistant? She seemed pretty sharp. She could follow up on this for you.”
Claire shook her head. “Steph is in Chicago. Couldn’t get her passport updated on such short notice.”
Helmut glanced at his watch. Six p.m. “Call her. It’s noon in Chicago. Sit, Claire, and call. You won’t relax until you do.” He motioned toward the navy blue sofa. To his relief, she sat.
He busied himself at the wet bar, pouring two glasses of plain bottled water. He might have preferred the wine, but between the cocktail hour and jetlag, Claire already looked on the verge of collapse. He waited until he heard her say goodbye and click off her phone.
She had tucked her feet up underneath her, and it reminded Helmut of the first night they met, when he brought her Chinese food to her father’s office. Her office. She looked just as young now, and ten times as vulnerable. But now he also recognized the titanium that ran through her spine.
“What is this?” she asked, accepting the glass.
“Plain water.” He eyed the expanse of upholstery next to her, and pictured her lounging across it. Naked. He turned back to the bar to retrieve his own glass. Putting several feet between them didn’t help.
She raised one eyebrow. “You’re pulling out all the stops.”
“You’re too trusting.”
“Oh?” She raised the water to her lips and took a small sip.
“You thought I was threatening to harm somebody, so you came rushing to my room. Alone. Unarmed. And barefoot.” The thought sent chills down his spine.
She flushed a deep pink, the color creeping downward across her chest.
“I guess I...” she stammered, shifting her feet so that one calf dangled down over the edge of the chair. “I didn’t really think you wanted to hurt anyone. I thought it was some kind of...”
Helmut set his jaw, and walked past her to the suite door. “Some kind of what, Claire?” He opened the door, and motioned toward it.
She stood, setting her water down on the small ebony-colored sofa table behind her. “I thought it was some trick to get my attention,” she said quietly, stopping in front of him. “I’m sorry.”
Helmut gulped. She stood just inches from him. He could hear her quickened breath. Without those sexy heels she had on earlier, he could look down and see the top of her head, soft blond hair in slight disarray.
“If I’d wanted to get your attention,” he said thickly, “I wouldn’t have sent an anonymous email.”
She looked up and their eyes met. “What would you have done?” she asked.
“This.”
He snaked one hand around her waist and pulled her hard against him for a kiss. The other hand slammed the door shut and then wrapped around her bottom, sliding down until he found the hem of her dress and gently tugging upwards.
Claire moaned against his mouth, their tongue meshing as she stood on her toes and pressed herself against him. Helmut reached his other hand down and ran both of them up those delectably bare legs until they found equally bare hips. His thumbs found the skimpy fabric of a thong and with a swift tug slipped it down and to the floor.
“My dress,” she moaned against his mouth.
“Mmmm... It’s lovely,” he said as his fingers found her hot center.
She mewled as he stroked the damp opening and she gasped as he slipped one finger inside her. She clasped both arms around his neck and arched her head backwards in pleasure as he stroked her.
Helmut’s cock strained against his pants as she ground her hips upwards, urging his hand deeper. He trailed kisses down her neck, and she lifted one thigh up and wrapped it around his back.
“The dress, Helmut,” she gasped as he nibbled the sensitive spot behind her ear.
“Would look better on the floor,” he said.
He withdrew his hand and silenced her protest with another searing kiss. Then he supported her bottom with his arms and lifted her other thigh up to wrap around his waist. He tucked her chin onto his shoulder as he carried her into the adjoining bedroom.
He let go of her. She slid her legs down to the floor, and then turned her back to him.
Claire lifted her hair from the nape of her neck, and Helmut kissed it. He wrapped his hands around under her arms to cup her breasts and gently squeeze.
“Zipper,” she said, panting.
Helmut grinned and kissed the bone at the base of her neck. He found her nipples through the layers of fabric and gently pinched them between his thumb and forefinger. “Ask nicely,” he asked, loving the feel of her naked bottom against his groin.
“Please.”
He obliged, slowly lowering the zipper down the center of her back, licking every newly exposed inch of skin along the way. He had to kneel as he exposed the small of her back. Finally he pulled the short sleeves down over her arms, and lowered the dress and allowed her to step out of it. He unhooked her bra with a quick flick of his fingers, and tossed the garment aside.
Claire tried to turn around, but he held her hips still. “I like this view,” he whispered, and nudged her knees apart.
He could feel the shiver that ran down her spine as he trailed his fingers up the insides of her thighs. “Lean forward for me.”
She bent forward and rested her hands on the side of the bed in front of her. “Like this?”
“Perfect.” From his knees, he could easily see her lips, swollen and wet, spread before him. He found her clit with his fingers and stroked, until she was panting again and thrusting her hips against him. He kissed the smooth skin of her buttocks as he slid one finger and then two inside of her.
Claire whimpered and moaned, her fingers twisting in the sheets, her hips undulating against his hands. He held her still as he felt the contractions ripple over her.
Carefully, he let go of her.
“Helmut?” she whispered with a groan.