Boxed Set: Rocked by a Billionaire – Vol. 1-3 (3 page)

“Is there something wrong with that contract?”

I jumped, letting out a little cry of surprise. He was there, powerful, radiating in the doorway. He had managed to surprise me.

“Um yes – I mean no, no.”

“Come on,” he said, obviously not interested in what was in the aforementioned contract.

We took the stairs down, I guess he didn't like the lift His sparkling new 4x4 was waiting by the pavement – nothing like an ordinary rental car. I went to open the door, but he got their first and opened the door for me. What a gentleman! I crawled up and settled into the leather seat. He got in, started the engine, turned towards me and said: “Boulevard Pereire, right?”

“Yes,” I breathed, blissfully. He had asked about me? He knew my address? The CEO of one of the biggest firms in New York had asked about me! I didn't dare say anything else. He obviously didn't want to keep talking either. We spent the rest of the trip in complete silence. But inside the car, the sexual tension was palpable...at least for me!

He pulled over in front of Maddie's building, got out and walked around the car. Should I get out now? Wait for him to open the door? I waited. Disappointed and finally frustrated. He just wanted to “fix” the accident from this morning. This was a terribly well-mannered man, that's all. He didn't say a word or ask a single question. Of course. What would he want to know about me? And I couldn't think of anything to say either. Oh well. I had spent the past few hours making a drama over nothing. He opened the door, I got out, and that's when everything changed. He pressed me against the door, his powerful body blocking me from making the slightest movement. He wrapped his left arm around me. His right arm tilted my head back. His eyes flashed, but I kept looking into them. He placed his mouth over mine with an incredible force. I didn't put up any resistance and parted my lips so our tongues could meet in a passion I had never, ever experienced before. I was no longer in control, not over my body nor my mind, and I responded to this kiss with a shamelessness I didn't know I was capable of. This wasn't a tender kiss, it was a sensual kiss, what did I know, probably sexual too. Every single part of me tingled with desire. I thought that I had reached the peak of excitement when I felt his hand unbutton my blouse. He grabbed my right breast, pushed aside the thin fabric of my bra (what dexterity!), teased my nipple while still kissing me passionately. My breast was completely at the mercy of the hand covering it. I arched backwards. Offered myself to him. Then I felt one last rush of...dignity? Clarity? I couldn't help but look around, an old lady was watching us, horrified. Oh no! I hope she doesn't live in my building or on my street! I stiffened. Did Sacha notice how tense I was now?

He was the one who took a step back, looking at me for a long time, satisfied.

“Alright, Ms....Elisabeth, right?”

“Yes, but everyone calls me Lisa,” I said, blushing, rushing to put my breast back in its place and button up my blouse.

“Alright Ms. Elisabeth – I'd rather call you Liz – you've arrived at your destination,” he said, still nonchalant. “Enjoy your evening, see you tomorrow.” Coming closer, he whispered in my ear: “I'm not finished with you.”

And then he left. Leaving me gasping at the door. I stood in the hall of the building and saw my bike. He had someone bring my bike back during the day.

The rest of the night was rather eventful. I didn't dream of flying penises this time – but of myself, naked, disheveled, wallowing in utter debauchery, smeared (with who knows what!) and surrounded by men (without penises) licking every part of me. I hadn't thought much about sex all my life until then (even though I was twenty-three years old!), but for those past few days, my days and nights were full of unprecedented lust.

When I woke up, I actively avoided thinking about what had happened. I also tried to forget that my brazen behaviour right outside my aunt's building certainly wasn't very flattering for a young woman from a good family! Maybe it was just some fantasy I'd dreamed up? I'd been having so many strange dreams lately! When I sat myself down next to Jess in the most boring class of the week, I didn't mention the firm at all, or Sacha, or my bike accident.

But Jess, always so intuitive, knew there was something going on. She bombarded me with questions during the ten o'clock break.

“So, my dear Lisa, this American, what's he like? An old fart? No, that doesn't seem to be the case. Otherwise you wouldn't be wearing what you've got on now.”

She looked me up and down, with a pronounced “hum!” that was full of innuendo. I certainly didn't look anything like I did the day before yesterday. In Maddie's closet, I'd found a wool dress that hugged my figure perfectly and I'd matched it with a velvet blazer. I didn't dare try the heels again, but my ballerina slippers worked well with this dress. I'd wrapped a long satin scarf around my neck and lifted my mane into a slightly disheveled chignon, allowing a few untamed curls to escape.

“Hold on, let me guess. I'll bet you took the subway this morning! Oh, there's a man behind this, or else I don't know anything.”

“Knock it off! My boss asked me to dress better, and I want him to offer me a job, remember? So I'm making an effort. Anyway, if I want to be taken a little more seriously, I need to stop dressing like a little girl.”

“Right, well, you look like you're full of energy today, grandma. Congratulations. You're taking care of yourself. With your good brains and your –“ she looked me up and down, then opened her eyes wide “– perfect body, the whole firm will fall for you! My little Lisa, I can feel it – if it hasn't already happened – you're going to find a job AND fall in love! Maybe with an American lawyer?”

I burst out laughing!

“So that's what you're wondering about, right, little Ms. Curious? Okay, alright, yes...he's not an old fart. Much to the contrary, Sacha is a man who's just...”

“Sacha? Wow, it sounds like you're already intimate friends!” she interrupted.

“Listen, I can't call him sir. He's got to be thirty, thirty-five years old, tops!”

“Thirty-five? And he's in charge of Goodman and Brown? A rich kid, for sure! Or a genius! I hope for your sake that it's the latter. And is he handsome?”

“He's absolutely gorgeous.”

The school bell put an end to our discussion. I didn't really want to say much more, anyway. The next classes were just as boring as the first. The clock seemed as if it was paralysed, it wasn't moving anymore. The bell finally rang and I didn't wait for an invitation to leave. The earlier I got to Courcelles Investments, the better. After the embarrassment and shame, I was now full of impatience and excitement. That day I got confused in the subway and arrived twenty minutes late (oh dear, Mr. Dufresne wasn't going to be happy about that), again panting and blushing, my chignon undone. Just another stroke of bad luck – my dress got caught on a nail poking out of the seat as I suddenly stood up (I realised that I had gotten on the wrong line) which unravelled part of my dress and made a huge hole in my stockings! I wanted to make a good impression and show what an adult I was, so serious and responsible, an elegant woman. Now it was all ruined. I held my purse over the hole in my dress and climbed up to the second floor while trying to look as relaxed as possible, despite being late.

Carole, the secretary, didn't even look up from the file she was reading when I entered, saying:

“Don't panic, Lisa, Mr. Dufresne went to visit a client with Mr. Goodman. They'll be out all afternoon.”

“Really? Thanks, Carole,” I said, trying to contain the enormous sense of disappointment that had suddenly come over me.

I went back to my office feeling deflated. It was everything but the scenario I had imagined. I'd be in class all day long tomorrow and the day after. Sacha would go back to the United States. That was it. What more was there to say? A kiss, that's all it was! I'll probably never see him again. I won't even have a chance to find out what he wanted, to know if that kiss was a mistake or not, if this man meant anything to me or not (well, given my disappointment, I think I already had the answer to that one). Obviously I wouldn't talk about feelings. But right, anyway, he had kissed me. His presence had put me in such a state that my knickers were soaked! And, well, that was it. A little whirlwind, nothing more. How frustrating! I angrily flipped through the pages of the Civil Code procedure looking for part of a law when Carole entered, without knocking, and left an envelope on my desk.

“Actually Mr. Goodman left this envelope for you.”

“Ms. Elisabeth Lanvin” was written on the envelope. The handwriting was even, slightly slanted to the side. Even his handwriting was perfect!

I broke the seal, ripped opened the envelope and took out a card, blank save for twelve words:

“I'll pick you up at your place at seven pm. Be ready. SG.”

My heart leapt in my chest. My vision blurred. I read and re-read the sentence dozens of times. Was this a joke? No, impossible. Nobody in the office knew what had happened between us the day before. And besides, this was totally his style. The mysterious Sacha Goodman strikes again. I could have been upset or angry, after all, I wasn't at his disposal. His “invitation” was rather lacking in politeness. I was not his little puppet, a young French woman who obeyed his every command just because he was rich, incredibly rich, and handsome, extremely handsome. But I was flattered. Yes, flattered. And relieved. I would see him again. I didn't know where this was going to lead me, I didn't know what he wanted, or even what I wanted, I didn't know if this was bad or good, but nevertheless, my entire body cried out “Yes!” Yes, yes, yes! My heart beat even faster in my chest, shivers travelled down along my spine, a blush immediately came to my cheeks, all this betrayed the extreme excitement caused by the announcement of my date with Sacha Goodman, the man who kissed like a god and who had succeeded in making me forget my first name with two lashes of his tongue. No, really, I didn't want, not one bit, our bodily contact to be strictly limited to him pressing me against the car. Even if it was intense, I wanted more, much more.

At six pm on the dot I got on the subway. I didn't have a moment to spare, especially because I didn't have the slightest idea of what I should wear. Where was he taking me? A restaurant, probably. But what type? A really chic place? I'm sure he only eats at the best tables. I needed the right kind of outfit. Something elegant but not too stuffy, either. I might be able to find the right solution in Maddie's closet, but I needed a little time to shower, get dressed, put on makeup. And Sacha was the punctual type, the kind of guy who didn't like to wait. No, no makeup! I never put on makeup. I didn't want to come across like a high-maintenance girl. And besides I wasn't into war paint. After all, Sacha didn't seem to be put off by my 'natural' side. Alright, that's one less thing I'd have to do. But I needed to do my hair. And that's no five-minute job, either. My heavy mane of red wavy hair is probably an asset when it came to seduction (at least, as long as the guy liked redheads) but I needed to tame it.

Oh no. Completely absorbed in my thoughts, I forgot to get off at my station. Me and the subway just don't get along. I quickly ran home, got out my keys and burst through the door. Maddie wasn't there, she was at her bridge club that night. Well at least I wouldn't have to answer any questions about Sacha. On the other hand, she would have helped me a lot with the outfit, now I had to figure all that out without her precious advice. I went into my room and saw, placed on the bed, a black dress and a pair of matching shoes. A little note written in Maddie's handwriting informed me that a courier had delivered “this” during the afternoon and that she hoped I had a “good evening”.

I carefully picked up the dress as if it was a precious jewel. I didn't need to look at the label, the fabric and the finish immediately tipped me off that this piece came from a major couture house. I couldn't get over it. He had this dress delivered to my house. With the shoes, thank you very much.

I put on the long sheath and wasn't even surprised that it fit perfectly. Sacha Goodman wasn't the kind of guy to get the wrong size! I took a few steps, the dress was incredibly comfortable, just low cut enough. On the other hand, I had a harder time with the shoes. High heels weren't my forte, that was for sure. I walked around the room several times, more confident with every step. They should work.

I could have howled out my disapproval, kindled up the feminist fire that had been instilled in me, found another outfit in Maddie's closet to show Mr. Sacha Goodman that I wasn't the type to be ordered around or bought off. But I was floating in the clouds. He had sent me a dress, and so he had been thinking about me during the day, he had prepared this evening, our evening. I didn't want to rebel. The only thing I wanted to do at that moment was please him.

Showered, dressed, hair styled, I admired the result in a long mirror, but I didn't have the time to dwell on it since the doorbell rang. I didn't need to check the time, it could only be seven pm!

I took a deep breath before opening the door. He stood there, gorgeous, wearing a tuxedo over a white open shirt. Both dressed up and casual at the same time. His brown hair was slicked back. How could he have so much class? His jade eyes hypnotised me, I felt flustered and could only croak out an awkward “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Liz,” he said in his warm voice. “You look splendid! Listen, I think the spring evenings still get a little cool here in Paris.”

He put a stole around my shoulders and led me towards the lift, his arm around the waist. There was no 4x4 waiting for us below: instead, a car with a driver. Did he always put on a big show with girls he liked? He liked me, right?

We got into the back and the car started. I tried to maintain my composure while watching the streets of Paris go by. I would have liked to talk, engage him in conversation but I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. Were we going to spend the entire time without saying a word? Then that was it, our physical attraction – obvious and almost tangible – boiled down to a...physical attraction. He probably didn't really care what I was all about! Did he even want to hear the sound of my voice?