“Blyss,” he repeated, not addressing her, more feeling the taste of her on his tongue.
She dipped her lashes before looking directly at him and dragging the diamond cuff link across her kiss-me-now lips. “Oui?”
Oh, man, those lips said things he wanted to be true. He breathed her name again. It was so appropriate. Every pore on his body inhaled her perfume and imagined her sugar-flower taste as her silken skin glided against his body.
Before he could claim the cuff link, she strode off. Long legs moved her swiftly, high heels clicking the marble floor. The hand behind her back toggled the diamond cuff link, allowing it to catch the light teasingly. She didn’t reenter the crowd, but instead veered toward the curved marble wall where he had earlier seen the waiters coming and going.
Before walking through an open doorway, she cast a look over her shoulder at him. The cuff link was in her mouth, glinting between those luscious lips.
Stryke’s jaw dropped open. He didn’t need an interpreter to guess what she was saying.
Come claim it. If you dare.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_23916c72-f04d-58cd-9f22-1e2a87151bd1)
Stryke Saint-Pierre was one gorgeous man. And polite. While he could have copped a feel when they’d been tangled out on the museum floor, he had remained the consummate gentleman. Too bad for her. Blyss wanted to feel his deft fingers smooth over her derriere. She wanted to lose herself in the rugged smell of him, the roughness of him.
And she wanted to feel that now.
She strode down the dimly lit hallway toward the back office. It was her office, but she shared it with Lorcan, her assistant, and used it principally for paperwork, business calls and the occasional make-out session with a sexy man. It was what she did. She saw an attractive man. She wanted him. She won him. The winning part gave her immense satisfaction. And sometimes a sparkler for her finger or ear. She was choosy, most certainly, and discreet. And never greedy.
Tonight the win was born of necessity.
“You live in Paris?” she called back.
“Staying for a week or so, then heading back home to Minnesota.”
Perfect. He’d be gone and out of her hair as soon as she had accomplished her task.
Minnesota? Blyss vaguely imagined a tundra with blowing winds and snow and—not of interest to her.
As she unlocked and opened the door and strode into the office, she surreptitiously glanced over a shoulder to catch the strut of the man’s long, confident strides. Following at a distance. Smart man. Well, she did have something of his that he wanted back. The cuff link was too small to sell for any worthwhile amount, so she would give it back.
But first, to enact part two of tonight’s plan.
Stryke closed the door behind him.
“Lock it,” Blyss cooed. She stood across the room and turned, back against the wall, one leg bent and a black patent leather shoe heeling the wall.
The man’s long fingers flicked the steel door lock. Something about those sexy, strong fingers. She needed to feel them on her body. And she would. And the man’s name was Stryke. So bold and macho. Everything about him screamed alpha—yet to think that term gave her a shudder.
She eyed the small drawer at the corner of her desk. Inside was the key to securing her future. She must concentrate on the task at hand. Not on his virile attraction or her increasing need to surrender to that virility.
“Where are you staying?” she asked, because it was important.
“On that little island behind the big church.”
The man was quaintly rustic. But that smile of his was dangerous. It said to her, “I like to have fun, and if you’re lucky, you can go along for the ride.” Blyss couldn’t remember when last she’d had fun with abandon. Had she ever?
“Île Saint-Louis?” she guessed, keeping her growing desire for his touch under control by pressing her palms against the wall behind her.
“That’s the one. My grandfather owns one of the buildings and my entire family is staying there. We’re in town for my aunt’s wedding. The apartment I’m staying in is right above a candy shop. In the mornings I wake up to the smell of chocolate.”
“Oh, I know that one. About center of the island.”
“Yeah, exact center, I’d guess. It’s a neat little neighborhood. I haven’t done much exploring since arriving, but I hope to walk the city tomorrow. So...”
His eyes followed the lines of her body, up the slit that exposed her leg, which was darkened by a sheer black stocking. A red bow teased at the top of the stocking. All carefully planned, of course. Blyss thrived on male attention. It fed a part of her soul. If not her bank account.
He strode toward her and she smiled and placed the cuff link between her lips. He wanted her. She wanted him. Too bad this was to be a business engagement.
“Quickly,” she said around the cuff link. “I can’t be away from the event for too long.”
“Is that so?” He stepped before her and plucked the cuff link from her mouth. They matched in height, but that was only because of her heels. She tapped his long blade of a nose, gliding her finger down it and to his lips, which were firm and, over the upper, topped with stubble. His tongue lashed her finger and she pushed it into his mouth for him to suck. “You want me?”
He pressed closer so she could feel the fabric of his suit brush against the lacy dress, yet he didn’t push his body against hers. Teasing? Or not so daring as she had hoped?
“You are like those diamonds displayed out in the gallery,” he said. “Pretty to look at, yet a man could never dream to possess them.”
“Good boy. So you know you’ll not be walking out of here tonight with me on your arm.”
“I get your game. A quickie with a stranger?”
“Quickie is a vulgar term. I prefer an amorous liaison.”
“I like the sound of your French words, glamour girl. Then I guess I’d better get to it. Quickly,” he whispered against her ear.
The brush of his mouth along her jaw made her sigh and tilt her head back, wanting him to paint his warm breath along her skin and to, for one moment, feed her the warmth she sought.
Stryke’s hands glided up her thighs. One stopped at the ribbon that topped her stocking. The tickle of his finger shimmered a delicious hum through her mons and core.
“Mustn’t tug,” she admonished. Placing her hand over his, she again claimed the cuff link.
“Let me guess. You don’t like to be mussed.”
She slid her hands down to his fly and unzipped him.
“No mussing, it is,” he groaned tightly.
He was hard and ready. Just the way she wanted him. But before they began, she lifted his wrist and stuck the cuff link through the buttonhole. “I’ll let you keep this trinket.”
And gliding her hands inside his coat, she slid them up his back between the crisp dress shirt and the silk coat lining. So many pockets lining the interior. Excellent. And then back around to unbutton his trousers and push them down.
“Take me,” she insisted, defiantly holding his wondrous gaze. She did love it when they seemed shocked, the treat of a stolen liaison so unexpected to them. “Fast and hard.”
His swallow was audible. But he didn’t balk. Pushing up her dress, he lifted her against the wall at the same time. She wrapped her legs about his hips. His erection fit like a hot steel rod against her mons.
“You’re soft and you smell great, and you’re so hot,” he babbled as he found his way inside her.
