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It shatters through me, tiny peaks of light spiraling from my core throughout my body. He continues to make love to my breasts with gentle kisses as I drift down from my peak. The soft press of his lips against my skin makes my eyes grow hot. I hadn’t imagined such gentleness from him. It shouldn’t matter.
Can’t matter.
As the pleasure slips away, intrusive thoughts try to break through. Reminders to keep my guard up, to not let this become a habit and risk sliding in deeper. I shove them away as he eases me back to rest against the back of the couch. A lazy smile curves my lips as I recline against silk. For right now, I’m going to focus on feeling. Enjoying.
My eyes fly open as Gavriil pulls my robe back up. I look up to see him watching me. For a moment, there’s something in his eyes. Something that kindles a different spark deep inside my chest.
And then it’s gone, replaced with his usual languid expression of superiority.
“Should I take this as your agreement to amending the contract?”
I stare at him. Humiliation burns away the lingering tendrils of desire. For one horrible moment, I think I might cry.
No.
He’s not worth it. He might not be the lawbreaking bastard I had suspected him of being. But he’s still a bastard, incapable of anything but arrogant humor and pompous pride.
I stand, taking vicious pleasure in watching his eyes slide down to the bared skin of my chest. I take my time pulling the lapels of the robe closed and belting it, never taking my eyes off him. I run a hand through my hair and give him a cool smile.
“I don’t think what just happened counts as anything meaningful. So, no.”
His face tightens. Perhaps in anger or chafed pride. I don’t really care. His ego deserves a beating.
“Enjoy your coffee.”
I walk to my room and close the door softly behind me, not bothering to lock it. He won’t come after me.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I insist on it even as tears burn the backs of my eyes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Juliette
ISTANDINfront of the mirror and smooth my hands over the skirt of my dress. I’ve always paid for good quality clothing. But I’ve never indulged in luxury before. I never understood why people bothered to spend hundreds or even thousands of dollars on a shirt or dress that would end up with a stain on it the next day.
But right now, standing in front of the oval mirror with the lights of Paris at my back, I understand a little. I was walking down the Champs-Élysées earlier this morning when I passed a boutique store. It was so unlike the other gilded storefronts lining the historic road. The dresses in the window were simple yet elegant.
The dress I’m wearing now, with a Queen Anne neckline that adds a touch of regalness to the simple silhouette, was front and center. Colored a periwinkle blue, with a full skirt falling from the waist and a deep V in the back that bares my skin. Combined with the pearl studs I brought from home and my own hair twisted up into something as close to a chignon as I could get, I feel beautiful.
Beautiful.
The word flickers through me, brings back that moment this morning when he whispered that word and it pulsed through me like a heartbeat.
My eyes grow hot and I turn away from the mirror. When he kissed me, when he...touched me, I felt alive. Sensual.
The bastard had ruined it all with one of his casual quips. A reminder that what happened between us had been simple pleasure. Yes, he obviously found me attractive. But I have no interest in going to bed with someone who treats sex so casually. I most definitely have no interest in sleeping with someone who doesn’t trust me and, I suspect, doesn’t even really like me.A mutual feeling, I remind myself as I move toward the door. I don’t trust him either. How could I when he moves in the world he does, with money ruling his decisions? When he’s made it clear his bank balance is the pinnacle of his existence?
My father thought the same thing in the last year of his life. His obsession pushed away the two women who would have loved him to hell and back.
I wasn’t trying to be sneaky when I read that file. I’d glanced down as I’d reached for a spoon. The name at the top of the paper had jolted me into action.
Louis Paul. The same man who had been staying at Peter Walter’s mansion in an exclusive gated community outside Dallas seven months ago when my investigation led to a raid on the warehouse. A raid that resulted in the rescue of nearly half a dozen human trafficking victims.
Paul came out clean. He’d known Walter for years but had never done business with him. There was no evidence of Paul being involved. Even though I hadn’t been actively investigating Paul, I’d kept an eye on him and noted two more trips to Dallas in the past year. Those trips, however, were much more discreet. Paul flew commercial, arrived and left in taxis instead of his usual limo and disappeared into the Dallas suburbs instead of a ritzy hotel downtown.
Yet I couldn’t connect him to anything. And then Lucifer had passed away and Paul faded to the back of my mind. Seeing his name on a possible business deal with Drakos North America was jarring. I thought about telling Gavriil when I saw Paul’s name on the file. That is, until he stormed in and accused me of using our marriage as an espionage tactic.
Fine.If he doesn’t want to bother digging into the backgrounds of people he does business with, then he can suffer the consequences. Just confirms what I suspected all along, too. Gavriil doesn’t care who he does business with so long as it gets him what he wants.