Fling in Paris (2 page)

Not wanting to fall asleep at the table, she excused herself politely, and went out to the dance floor to get her blood moving again.

A good reggae beat was playing, and Sherry quickly worked herself into it, her troubles sliding away as she was lost to the music. She’d always loved to dance, and once upon a time she used to come to the clubs just so that she could work off her stress on the dance floor. It was good to do it again.

As she moved to the beat, she was oblivious to the man watching her with avid interest from the bar. She moved sinuously, like a harem girl, with those decadent curves squeezed into that lusciously short dress. There were other women out there dressed in a similar fashion, but for some reason he couldn’t take his eyes off this one. Oh well, he thought, shrugging and taking a drink from his glass. There was no harm in looking.

When the dance ended and she moved back toward the tables, he found himself disappointed. To hell with just looking, he thought, and drained his glass before following her.

"How was the dance?" Marie’s eyes shone in the dim light, approval stamped all over her face, though Sherry wasn’t sure why.

"Crowded.” She plopped back into her seat, and swallowed the remainder of her drink. Jean Paul had to leave?" She frowned, looking around for Marie’s handsome companion, who was nowhere to be found.

"Yeah, I told him we can hang out some other time.” Marie’s eyes twinkled, and her lips curved into an amused smile. “It looks like you impressed someone while you were out on the dance floor."

"What?" Sherry blinked.

"There is a man heading to our table." Marie’s smile widened. “And it appears he has eyes only for you.”

Sherry casually turned her head, and locked eyes with the total stud that was, indeed, crossing the distance from the bar to their table. His eyes, the color of new grass, were set in a classically handsome face, with an aquiline nose, strong chin, and killer cheekbones, all poured over with bronzed skin, and framed with a wealth of thick, black hair that just brushed his shoulders.

He finally reached the table, and Sherry was dumbstruck by how much more handsome he appeared up close. Her eyes skimmed over the broad shoulders, the lean waist, the long legs, all muscular, dressed casually in jeans and a black shirt with a black blazer on top, and she almost missed the fact that he was speaking to her. She listened closer and realized that the words were in French.

"Sorry, I only speak English."

He smiled, then switched to English. "Hi. I saw you on the dance floor earlier, and decided I should come over here. Would you like to dance?"

"Yes." How could she possibly refuse? Standing, she took his outstretched hand and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor.

She was definitely more luscious in person, he thought appreciatively as he pulled her into his arms as the dance began. Hazel eyes stared up at him out of a heart-shaped face, and her caramel skin gleamed in the dim light. The deep V neck of her dress showed off large, perky breasts, and as she began moving to the beat they brushed up against his chest, along with the rest of her body. He grew hard instantly.

As the music started to pick up speed, she turned so that her back was facing him, her curvy ass pressed up against him and he bit back a groan. Gradually, she picked up the pace, the dance pulling her away from him. He allowed it for a little while, then curled his fingers around her hips and pulled her close, wanting to feel that body up against his again.

"My name is Rob, by the way,” he whispered in her ear, and she noticed for the first time the hint of an Italian accent in his deep, rich voice. Having had a thing for Italian men for a very long time, she found it unbearably sexy.

"Oh.” She licked her lips, which had gone dry all of a sudden at the feel of his lips pressed against her ear. “I'm Sherry." It was a lame response, but with him in close proximity and the music blaring around them, it was hard to think of anything else to say. She decided not to worry about it, and threw herself back into the dance.

Shaking her head, she stretched her hands above her head and started circling her hips. Rob pressed his chest against her back, her ass against his crotch, and she could feel that he was aroused. She should have been horrified, but instead shivered pleasantly, her nipples hardening beneath her dress, the flesh between her thighs aching lightly. She closed her eyes, losing herself to the beat, unable to help but think about how good it felt to press her body up against a man who actually wanted her.

The song came to a close, and Rob gently turned Sherry to face him. They stared up at each other for a long moment.

"Can I buy you a drink, Sherry?" he finally asked her.

"Sure.” Sherry licked her lips again—she sure could use something to wet her throat.

Standing at the bar, Rob ordered Sherry a whiskey sour and a white Russian for himself, and then took a moment to study her again. Her caramel skin was flushed, and her full lips glistened wetly from when she’d darted that pink tongue out to lick them earlier. He was fascinated by that tongue, those lips. Hell, he was fascinated by the whole package. He wanted more of her. But he sensed that despite her abandon out on the dance floor, she did not want to move too quickly.

"Where are you from?" he asked as their drinks arrived, choosing to draw her into small talk instead so he could loosen her up.

"I'm from the United States, but I live in Canada.” She picked up her whiskey and took a long drink. When she put the glass down the healthy flush in her cheeks had deepened, and her hazel eyes gleamed merrily. “Let me guess, you are from Italy."

"I am.” He smiled. “How did you know?"

"Your accent," she said laughing, and downed the rest of her drink in one swallow. “Thanks for the drink. Rob, but I’ve got to get going now.” She slid off the bar stool and placed her empty glass on the counter.

"Wait.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist lightly. "Can I get your number?"

She closed her eyes tightly, a look of pain washing over her lovely face. "Rob you seem like a nice guy, but I can't give you my number, and I'm not really looking to date, so again thanks for the drink." The words rushed out, like a medicine she was trying to down quickly and get it over with.

She opened her eyes again, which were cool and composed, then turned and walked back to her own table. Rob opened his mouth, fully intending to go after her, but then closed it again—he was speechless. No woman had ever turned him down before.

Sherry sank down in the chair, a smile on her face despite the fact that she felt a little guilty for turning him down. Still, there was nothing quite like an attractive man showing an interest in you to lift your spirits.

"You are a tease," Marie told her, her voice laced with amusement.

"What are you talking about?" Sherry frowned.

"You were all over that guy."

"His name is Rob. And I couldn’t help it—you know I have a soft spot for Italian men. And those gorgeous eyes of his.” She sighed. “Besides, I was only flirting."

"It looked like an invitation to me." Marie arched her brows suggestively.

"No.” Sherry shook her head once, emphatically. “I'm not looking for something new."

"You need a fling to get Nick out of your system." Marie said firmly.

"I couldn't do that.” Although the idea did have appeal—she had no doubt that Rob would be a fantastic lover with the reaction he inspired in her. “I'm a relationship junkie, and there’s no way that I could just have a one-night stand with someone like him and just walk away."

"Come on, people do it all the time, think about it." Marie cajoled, but Sherry would have none of it. Sherry changed the conversation, asking Marie about her life in Paris.

Unfortunately, for the rest of the night out, all Sherry could do was think about having a one-night stand.

Chapter 2

It was after four a.m. when she finally got to bed, and she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, exhausted after such a long day. She only had a two hour respite before the ring of the telephone woke her at six o’clock. Groaning, she wanted to pull the pillow over her head and block it out, but it wasn’t like her to ignore a phone call—the guilt would make it impossible for her to fall back asleep.

“Hello,” she rasped into the receiver, her eyes still closed.

"Hi, Sherry.” Her eyes popped open at the familiar male voice—it was Nick, her husband. “How are you?”

“Hi.” She sat up; wide awake now, her heart pounding hopefully. “I’m fine—was just sleeping. What do you need?”

“What time is it there? I am sorry to wake you." He didn’t sound all that apologetic, but Sherry didn’t let that bother her; she was happy just to hear his voice.

“It’s six in the morning.” She yawned.

“I wanted to make sure you arrived safely.” He paused. “And I wanted to know if you signed the divorce papers.”

"Why? Are you in such a hurry to marry that slut you left me for?" She did her best to infuse as much scorn as possible into her voice so that he wouldn’t hear her heart breaking all over again.

"Don't start. I just want it over,” he said coldly.

"Well, I haven't signed them yet, which was obviously a mistake.” She was proud of the fact that her voice was steady, even though the hand that gripped the receiver was shaking. “I'll make sure to fix that. I’ll send them out to you by the end of this week."

"Thanks.” He sounded relieved. “Go back to sleep, I'll talk to you later."

He hung up the phone, and Sherry collapsed, weeping into her pillow.

Eventually, she fell back into a fitful sleep that her alarm failed to penetrate, and ended up waking at 7:30 A.M.—half an hour before she had to be at work.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, tossing the covers off and frantically rushing to the bathroom. In less than ten minutes she showered, ran a comb through her curly black hair, and pulled on her black skirt suit, stockings, and pumps. With no time to grab even a bagel, she grabbed her purse and phone and left, hastily locking the hotel room door behind her.

She walked into OS International a few minutes later, fervently thanking God that her hotel was only one block away from the building. It would be awful for her to be late on her very first day, especially since as the training coordinator she was supposed to set a good example for the other employees.

The receptionist looked up from her computer desk; a wide, U-shaped console set in the middle of the spacious lobby. She looked streamlined and efficient in her pin-striped suit, her red hair pulled back into a smooth bun, her make-up perfectly done to enhance her milk-white skin and oval face.

“Can I help you?” she asked, white teeth gleaming as she smiled.

"Yes.” Sherry smiled back. “My name is Sherry Williams, and I’m the new training coordinator."

"Ms. Williams.” The receptionist stood. “We have been expecting you. Follow me I'll have someone take you to your office.”

The receptionist passed her off to a waiting secretary; a small, slim brunette wearing an outfit similar to Sherry’s. The secretary introduced herself as Monique and gave her a friendly handshake before giving Sherry a tour of the building, taking her through the conference rooms, the general staff working areas, the lounge and the bathrooms. Afterward, she showed Sherry to her own office, which was set apart from the general staff with a decent view of the city.

She spent a half-hour orienting herself to her new space and setting everything up, then took the prepared materials for the training session to the conference room and waited for the Vice President of the Paris branch to arrive. Monique had told her he wanted to meet with her before she got started.

She didn’t have to wait long before a tall, man strode into the room. He looked every inch the corporate figure, dressed in a black suit which showcased a powerfully built body, yet for some reason there was something familiar about him. He turned to greet her, a smile on his face, and she gasped as she understood why—it was Rob, the man she’d danced with last night!

"Hi, I’m Roberto Zanetto the Vice President of the Paris office.” He held out a hand, and from the expression in his eyes it was clear that he hadn’t been expecting to see her. “It's my pleasure to meet you again."

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Zanetto.” Sherry stood and gripped his hand, flustered. A flash of awareness jumped through her body at the contact, flustering further. Oh, this was much unexpected, and Sherry wasn’t at all sure it was a good thing that the man she’d been so attracted to at the club was turning out to be her boss!

Roberto hadn't touched her hands at the club, and marveled now at how soft her hands were. She smelled wonderful, like jasmine perfume, and he had to restrain himself from leaning closer to take a good sniff at her neck. He was getting hard already, so he dropped his hand and walked around the table, putting some professional distance between them for both their sakes.

"Did you find everything you need, Mrs. Williams?"

"Yes, I did." She smiled, but he noticed she was twisting her fingers together—clearly she was uncomfortable.