Mistress for Hire (11 page)

Didiér arrived that evening with a catered dinner for those dealing with the project. They gathered in the conference room, the atmosphere reminding her of a war room. She sat down next to Gérard in case he wanted her to take notes.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?” He looked pointedly at her meager plate of sliced chicken and salad. “You need to keep your strength up,” he murmured to her in English, then stood to accept a loaded plate from Didier.

Was he joking?
Nikki took a sip of water, forcing herself to act nonchalant, and looked down the table hoping no one noticed the blush stealing over her face. Everyone’s heads were bent to their own meals as they talked amongst themselves. She positioned a notepad between her and Gérard, trying to give herself some mental distance, but his body seemed even larger, his presence pulsing against her space, wrapping around her like a blanket. He took care of her as no man ever had, tending to her every need, even as a lover. Her face suffused with heat as she thought of just how attentive he’d been in that area.

Gérard pushed his empty plate away and stood to talk to the staff. He’d yanked off his sweater, rolled up his sleeves, and surely run his hand through his hair a million times as it stood at wacky angles. Not one staff person said a word about the boss’s hair. And all Nikki could think of was how his hair had felt when she’d ran her fingers through it. How tenderly he had kissed her palm so many nights ago in the kitchen. He acted as if he couldn’t get enough of her and she’d responded in kind, as she’d never responded to another man.

He glanced at her and she picked up her pen to make nonsensical notes as her mind whirled at her sudden realization. She was falling for him. This couldn’t happen. This was dangerous territory.

“Until further notice, all funding for America’s Best Organics will be withheld,” Gérard announced.

Nikki looked up, shocked out of her reverie. The rest of the staff nodded at each other knowingly and drifted off to wrap things up for the night, leaving them alone in the conference room. She looked down at her note pad to see only sensuous curves looking suspiciously like intertwined hearts. She tore the sheet from the pad and balled it up, causing him to study her with a question in his eyes.

She nudged her mind into business-mode. “Can’t this ruin Sanford’s company? I thought you liked him.”

“This is business. When he does things our way, the money’s available. He makes mistakes, we don’t throw good money after bad. We’re investors, not hand holders.” Gérard rolled down his sleeves, clearly ending the discussion.

“That’s a lousy way to treat your friends.” She thumped her pen against her notepad.

Gérard looked up with a frown. “He’s not my friend. He’s an investment—one clearly not doing well.”

“But he’s trying to make it better.” Nikki couldn’t let it go. It seemed so unfair. But typical of
Monsieur Formidable
. How did this man co-exist in the body of the thoughtful lover she knew?

“He shouldn’t be talking to the press. I could have handled it, but his comments about my worms could ruin that business for me. You can’t have a soft heart in business, Nikki.”

Nikki looked down at the conference table, avoiding Gérard’s gaze. It seemed to her any business could afford to have a soft heart. And any man worth loving . . .

Loving? Oh, no, no, no.

When she looked up, Gérard stood at the window on his cell phone, calling Marco to bring around the car.
The fundraiser
. She had to go to the fundraiser, dressed in a beautiful, sexy gown, and pretend to care nothing for this man. Think nothing of him pushing her away. Think nothing of the possible child who would cement them together for the rest of their lives, while he would always make sure she was never a part of his.

Chapter 13

A Grecian-styled, sage-colored gown hung in Nikki’s closet, along with silver high-heeled sandals. A sheer silver-glittered thong hung from a tiny clip, along with a wallet-sized purple and silver clutch. Nikki rolled her eyes. Didiér had missed his calling as a lingerie buyer. Quickly, she took a shower and dressed, gasping at how perfectly the gown not only fit, but felt. The many layers of dusky green chiffon caressed her body as amethyst-colored straps crossed over her shoulders, under her breasts, then wound around to a deep point on her bare back.

Gathering her hair into a ponytail, she realized she had nothing to hold a bun into place. Spying the sparkly thong, she wound it over her hair and tied it securely. Perfect. She’d never worn a thong before and she didn’t intend to start now, even if it was mistress material. A
real
mistress would not wear any panties at all. She smiled into the mirror as she imagined what Gérard would do when he realized her naughtiness.
I can play this mistress game
. Pushing her plain silver hoops into her ears, she stepped back from the mirror.
Not bad
.

Nikki’s cell phone buzzed and she watched herself frown in the mirror, silently admitting she’d be disappointed if Gérard cancelled their evening.

“Hello, little sister.”

“Jessica! Where have you been? Where are you?” The questions rushed out of her like air from a punctured balloon.

“Never mind me. I understand you’re living in the lap of luxury these days.” The southern drawl had a bite to it.

“The job requires I live here.” She didn’t have to justify herself to Jessica. “Why haven’t you answered my calls?”

“You’re safe, right?”

“Of course. I’m fine.”

“See. I knew there was no reason to be worried. Now listen closely, because I don’t have much time. Ask your boss about the Milk for Africa campaign. And tell him when he’s ready to come clean, to talk to Colin McGowan. Colin will give him a fair listen.” She could hear a deep voice in the background—someone coaching her sister?

“What did Gérard do? You can’t leave me hanging, Jessica.” Her whole body went rigid.

“It’s more of what he
didn’t
do. I’m sure you’ll find some way to convince him to talk.” The phone went dead.

“Hello? Hello?” Nikki stared at the phone, then hit the call back button. No answer. She tossed it into her purse and wiped her sweating hands on a tissue. What was this all about? She had a nagging suspicion Gérard wouldn’t like it.

A knock startled her. Gérard entered, his bow tie undone. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, wearing it with the same ease he wore his gardening outfit. His chestnut hair had been tamed back into dark waves. Her pulse pounded as he strode toward her, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe with obvious admiration. He took both her hands in his and kissed each cheek. His spicy cologne smelled heavenly and she longed to throw her arms around him and bury her nose in his neck.

He had explicitly instructed her to let him know if Jessica called. But something didn’t sound right.

Gérard cocked his eyebrow. “Are you feeling well? You’re rather pale.”

“I’m fine.” Once again, Jessica was stirring up trouble. Always for a good cause, of course. But her sister had landed in jail before and she hoped Jessica wasn’t planning some sort of coup against Beauvais Investments. They had enough trouble right now. Nikki stepped away from him, running her hands up and down her arms at the sudden chill. “I’m just nervous.

Secretaries from Loray don’t go to very many fancy parties.” She gave him a tremulous smile.

He dipped his hand into his jacket pocket.

“Then you’ll need these. Think of them as armor.” He handed her a black velvet jewelry box.

Inside were pearl and peridot drop earrings.

“They’re lovely.” Nikki stroked the brilliant stones with her finger, sighing inside. Who knew accepting such beautiful things could make her feel soulless.
Tell him
. Her conscience nagged, but she pushed it aside. “Thank you, Gérard.”

“De rien.”

Nikki slipped off her silver hoops and put on the pearls as she watched Gérard beneath lowered lashes. His large hands made quick work of the complicated tie. Her body flushed, remembering those hands on hers. If she told him about Jessica now, it would ruin the evening. And he’d already had a very rough day. Poor excuses, she knew. Her selfishness reared its ugly head. She wanted him all to herself tonight—no work, no contracts, no mysterious phone calls.

“Ready?”

Nikki jumped up and without thinking, adjusted Gérard’s crooked bow tie. Her gaze met his as he caressed her ear lobe.

“I was right. The peridots match your eyes.”

Their bodies swayed together and Nikki closed her eyes to hide the surge of emotion that threatened to overtake her. He kissed the tip of her nose. Her eyes flew open at the tender gesture.

“I want to apologize, Nikki.”

She stepped back and he released her, his hand automatically going up to his hair, stopping in mid-motion. She smiled at his restraint.

“What do you mean?”

“I should never have spoken to you as I did the other night, accusing you. You had the courage to apologize and I should have done so, also. I was as responsible as you for what occurred. Will you forgive me?” He took her hand, giving it a slight squeeze.

“Of course.” Her heart fell. It sounded as if Gérard was tying up all the loose ends. Pushing her away with a clear conscience.
Tell him
, her own conscience screamed.
No.
She would deal with her sister. She would not let Jessica hurt him.

He kissed her hand. “You did a wonderful job today handling Sanford.”

“Thank you. He’s heartbroken, you know.”

His face hardened. “He’ll get over it. Are you ready?”

She went cold at the ruthless dismissal of a colleague. She would do well to remember the steel under his flesh. Gérard swept a white fur stole around her shoulders as they left the house and she had to bite her lip to not remark about the extravagance. He lived in a life so very different from hers.

They sat thigh to thigh in the car, studying dossiers of Gérard’s party contacts on the screen of his electronic tablet. Their hostess, a former fashion model, was a current client and an important conduit to future investors. Why couldn’t he have more unattractive investors? Jealousy tugged at her like a demanding child while the heat of his thigh seeped through the delicate fabric of her gown. He casually scrolled down the electronic screen, his voice low like the night ocean whispering over the sand, until she no longer heard the words, only his comforting tone. Streetlights illuminated the interior of the car. Nikki noticed the golden tips of his dark lashes and longed to caress the sharp plane of his cheekbone. The same cheek she’d grazed over with her lips. Her fingers rose of their own accord to stroke him. Suddenly realizing what she’d been about to do, she clenched them together and brought them up to her mouth as if remembering something.

Gérard gave her his usual cocked-brow look, but she only shook her head, not wanting to be caught vulnerable in some failed tender moment. The man’s heart was granite and she would be smart to remember. She needed to be practical. After all, she couldn’t make him love her. But she could certainly enjoy his company for one fantasy night before he left.

“You’re not paying attention,” he chided her.

“I’m sorry. You have a bit of a smudge.” She wiped at the imaginary smudge on his cheek, his skin smooth from his recent shave.

He captured her hand with his large one, pressing a kiss on the pad of her thumb.

“Were you considering letting me walk into the party with dirt on my face?”

“Of course not.” She smiled and turned back to the screen, not daring to look him in the eye and risk giving anything away. The fur fell off her shoulders and she left it on the seat, already too warm, telling herself it was merely from the overly efficient car heater.

When they arrived at the ball, Gérard handed her wrap to one of the attendants. “You don’t like it, do you?”

“It’s fine.” And it was, but she felt horribly guilty for his largesse and imagined someone like her sister throwing red paint on her in protest. Her conflict must have shown on her face.

“You can use it for your trousseau. Do women still do that?”

“That’s for women getting married. I’m only hired help.”

He wouldn’t be baited. “And what a delightful help you have been,” he said deadpan and she wanted to poke him.

They were interrupted by the hostess, a tall woman with perfect blond ringlets and a designer dress that stood out from her bosom like a tightly folded napkin. Rosalind Gallais, the epitome of high style, made Nikki feel unsophisticated. Maybe she should have spent more time on her hair. She could take the girl out of Loray, but Loray was still very much a part of her.

“Gérard, I’m so glad you could make it. You’ve been traveling a lot, I understand.” Rosalind clasped Gérard’s hands and pulled him in for a kiss on each cheek.

As he turned to introduce Nikki, a tall man, only slightly shorter than Gérard, appeared at the hostess’s elbow. Instead of tuxedo pants, he wore a kilt. The jaunty angle of his hat gave him a rakish air. His brown eyes studied Nikki as if she were one of the canapés.

“There you are, darling.” The hostess put a proprietary hand on the man’s forearm. “Gérard, you know Colin McGowan, right?”

Nikki’s brain went on high alert. This was the man Jessica had mentioned.

Gérard’s hand tensed against Nikki’s bare back. She looked up to see him give McGowan a curt nod. “McGowan.”

The man smiled as if the rude gesture pleased him. “Beauvais,” he acknowledged, with a brief tilt of his head. “And who is this wee bonny lass?”

Gérard’s hand curled around Nikki’s side. “This is Nikki Sommers, my fiancée. Nikki, may I present Rosalind Gallais and Colin McGowan.”

Nikki looked up at Gérard, startled.
What was he up to?

Apparently, he got the hint as he leaned down and said sotto voce. “I know we said we’d wait, but I think we should share the happy news.” He winked at her and straightened.

“My congratulations to you both,” Rosalind said, her eyes narrowing in speculation.

McGowan lifted Nikki’s hand to his lips for a lingering kiss. “Such a shame I am only now meeting you. When is the happy day?”

“A year from now,” Nikki blurted between numb lips. “There’s so much to plan.” Her mind reeled at Gérard’s lie.

“If you’ll excuse us. I promised Nikki a night of dancing.” Gérard swept her onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms, his hand caressing the small of her back.

She gave him a withering look. “So, now I’ve been promoted? Sounds like more work for less pay.”

He smiled and brought his mouth to her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine. “McGowan’s a reporter. He’ll leave you alone if he knows you’re mine. Otherwise, I don’t trust him.”

“I’m perfectly capable of keeping my mouth shut. We don’t need to go through this charade. What will people think when there’s no wedding?”

Gérard gracefully turned her, then pulled her back into his arms, his powerful thighs brushing against hers. Her body responded as her mind tried to rebel.

“They’ll think you’ve come to your senses and realized what a beast I am.” He kissed her hand, grazing her knuckle with his teeth as if marking her after McGowan’s touch.

She shivered at the possessive kiss. Clearly, what he’d said before about marriage was simply bluster. A pang of disappointment slivered through her and she stiffened her spine. “This is foolish. I’m not going to talk to any reporters. Although, I’ve heard McGowan is considered fair.”

Gérard gave her a sharp look. “How would you know?”

Nikki’s gaze swept the ballroom, her heart thumping with indecision. Jessica had to be wrong about whatever she thought Gérard had done. But Jessica had good instincts. So good, she’d started a blog about charities mismanaging their funds and other problems in non-profit organizations. But the blog hadn’t been updated since Nikki had arrived in France. And there never had been any mention of Beauvais Investments or Gérard.

“Nikki?” Gérard’s hand tightened on hers.

“I’m sorry. What?” She inwardly cringed at the dizzy blond attitude, but she had to put him off.

“How would you know anything about Colin McGowan?”

“Jessica mentioned him before.” She hoped Gérard didn’t catch the slight falter in her voice.

“When?” Gérard stopped abruptly. Nikki fell into him.

Nikki cracked like an egg under Gérard’s steely look. “Th-this evening. Before you came into my room.”

He took her arm and led her forcefully off the dance floor, out to a balcony overlooking the Seine. Lighted tourist boats glided along in the water. She shivered, more from Gérard’s demeanor than the cold air. Backing her into a corner, he trapped her there with one hand on either side of her, hiding their conversation from the crowd. Any passersby would see a lovers’ assignation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t make any sense. And you’ve already had a bad day.” She touched his sleeve lightly, then let her hand drop when he didn’t respond. “Something about Milk for Africa and talking to Colin McGowan. That if you talked to him, he would be fair.”

“Like hell, he would.”

She jumped at his vehemence. He straightened, jaw clenched, hands fisted.

“I tried to find out where she was, but I lost the connection.”

He looked past her as if she wasn’t there, his mind on the problem at hand.

“Stay here,” he barked.

Of course she didn’t, but she gave him a few seconds lead, then followed his broad back into the ballroom. His tense posture and clenched fists were the only hint of his displeasure in front of the buffet table before he hustled McGowan into one of the rooms off the back hallway. Nikki dawdled in the hall, but couldn’t hear anything. She even pressed her ear to the door for a moment but could only make out deep rumbling tones. The door flew open and Gérard gave her a thunderous look.

“I thought I told you to stay put.”