Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy) (6 page)

Mr. Grant rose from his chair as I approached, a warm smile on his face as his gaze raked over my body, slightly nodding his head as if approving. He was taller than I imagined him to be; his muscular body filled every inch of a navy blue pinstriped suit, even straining slightly across his chest. My gaze followed as he casually undid the jacket button. His angular jaw was relaxed, but instinctively, I knew it would become tightly set if he weren’t pleased.

My first impression: Maxwell Grant was not a man to be messed with. But that didn’t stop me from being pissed off that he had the upper hand at that moment.

“Miss Clarke.” He held out his hand as I approached him.
“Very pleased to finally meet you face to face.” His warm smile reached his eyes.

I narrowed my eyes, my voice cool. “Mr. Grant.”

Still peeved at being outsmarted, I raised my chin as I placed my hand into his. He squeezed softly, yet raw power radiated from him. Maxwell grinned at me, cocking his head slightly as he held onto my hand longer than I was comfortable with. I squirmed under his intense gaze, something about him made my skin tingle.

“Maxwell,” he offered. I’d wondered about that. What were his parents thinking when they chose a name that could be confused as a surname? Grant Maxwell made perfect sense too. I wondered how many people got it
wrong?

Before I could respond, he drawled, “Is it OK if I call you Rebecca?”

“Of course,” I replied, withdrawing my hand from his. He indicated to the chair and I sat down, relieved. I didn’t like the way he completely overshadowed me with his sheer enormity. So much for the killer heels.

He waived at a man standing to the side and ordered two martinis without asking me what I wanted. The man jumped to life, as if he was waiting for the signal. Either Parisian
waitstaff were extremely competent, or this man was seriously important to have someone waiting in the wings at his beck and call.

Money can buy just about anything.

I smiled wryly to myself.

“Something amuses you, Rebecca?” I squirmed in my chair. He wasn’t meant to pick that up. Apparently Maxwell’s eyes missed nothing.

Intelligent. Powerful. Arrogant.

What a combination.

I didn’t care much for powerful or arrogant. This was going to be a painful dinner.

Purposely evading his question by making a neutral observation about the lovely spring weather, he backed down and played along for a while. We made small talk until the waiter arrived with our martinis and a platter of nibbles, even though Maxwell didn’t request those.

“I’m a regular at this hotel,” he explained. “They know what I like.”

Crap. How awkward. My boss and my new lover were both staying in the same hotel as I was.

We finished our drinks and Maxwell pushed to his feet, and held out a hand to help me up. The smell of his cologne filled my nostrils. Clean and fresh. As I rose to my feet, the heat radiating from his body overwhelmed me. Intensely aware of every inch of his closeness, my palms were clammy, and my heart beat too fast. I felt dizzy.

Get a grip, Becca.

Sensing my discomfort, a half-smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “Dinner time.”

His eyes were those of a wolf—hungry.
With me as dinner. My mouth dried as I stepped back and grabbed my purse, avoiding his gaze.

Please don’t let him be a goddamn
lech.

I’d seen pictures of him in celebrity gossip magazines with his very beautiful wife. She was a famous model who commanded thousands of dollars to wear designer brands on the catwalk. With such a beautiful wife, why would he have a wandering eye?

Men.

They didn’t appreciate what they had, always playing the chasing game, always wanting to make a new conquest.

I hoped I was wrong. All that sexing with Alain had my libido and imagination in overdrive. Was I reading the signals incorrectly? Compared to the beautiful creature he was married to, I paled in comparison. So I couldn’t imagine why on earth the very powerful and very wealthy Mr. Grant would be interested in someone like me, when he had perfection waiting for him at home.

Although I was pretty, I wasn’t a classic beauty. My flaming auburn hair was the single defining characteristic I’d cursed at school. I was constantly teased and called cruel names because of it. The one positive thing though, was that I became tough and knew how to stand up for myself. I didn’t suffer fools gladly. Along with the fiery hair came a fiery temperament. Rebecca Clarke wasn’t afraid of challenges.

I didn’t like men who cheated on their wives. I had no proof that Mr. Grant was indeed a cheater, but the way he had devoured me with his eyes was inappropriate. Was he on the lookout for something on the side? I was familiar with ‘the look’. Usually it wasn’t long before it was followed up with a proposal of a ‘no strings attached’ affair. It riled me. Just because I was single didn’t mean I was available as a plaything. And I certainly wasn’t going to be Mr. Grant’s new toy. I was not for sale.

Maybe I was just oversensitive and imagining things. Maybe it was because I’d been in this situation before that I was so easily worked up about it. I was prejudiced. But it was the very reason I had to escape my world, and escape Julian. Somewhere deep down, it was against everything I believed in, to be lovers with a married man.

Although our situation was completely different to this, the fact remained that Julian was married and therefore out of bounds.

Julian.

A pang went through my heart as I thought of him, wondering how he was coping without me. I had run. I had deserted him. But, I did it for me. And even though he wouldn’t understand now, I ultimately did it for him, too. At this moment he probably thought I’d abandoned him when he needed me most. But, one day, he would realize that it was best for us all. And he may just begin to understand how much of my strength it took to walk away from him and our fucked-up situation.

“Rebecca.” Maxwell nudged me gently, bringing me back abruptly to the present. “You are so far away.
Anything wrong?”

Startled, I gazed into sapphire-blue eyes, his concern reflected back at me.

“You look so sad,” he said, and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. I was shocked by his gentleness; it was as if he could see right through me.

“No, of course not,” I said a little too brightly. He cocked his head, not taking his eyes from my face, as if deciding if he were going to believe me or not. He let it go, and drew my attention back to the contract.

“So, as I was saying. You’ll do one seminar and related workshops every six weeks, in each European country we have branches in. Five in total.” I nodded to show I was listening. He continued, “The last two months you’ll spend in New York, at head office. There you’ll brief the board and set new training  in motion. We’ll renegotiate your contract at that point. Let’s first see if there is mutual benefit in extending the contract.”

He watched my face closely, ensuring I was following him. “I will be in touch, regularly, checking your progress. Of course, if necessary, you may be summoned to head office at any time.”

Wow. Summoned.

Just like that.

His eyes bored into mine, his jaw locked. A shiver ran up my spine. “And I expect you to be there within twenty-four hours. This is not negotiable.”

I raised a brow and scrutinized his face. Was he serious? His reputation as a ruthless businessman was known far and wide. I’d known he was a tough player before I agreed to take the position. There was no way that he could maintain his position at the helm of a global company thirty-three, without being smart and tough—brutal even. But to be on twenty-four-hour standby for whenever he summoned me?

Beyond fucking ridiculous.

The less I saw and heard from him, the better.

“And in return, I’ll look after you well. Your flight and hotel room are to your liking, I hope?” he said with a sneer.

My cheeks burned as I realized I hadn’t thanked him for the extravagance already bestowed on me: first class flight, exceptionally luxurious hotel room with a view to die for, and those gifts on my pillow…

“Er, thanks so much for… ” I began. Truthfully, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “The pen was a bit much,” I blurted, without thinking.

His eyes widened for an instant and a vein ticked in his jaw. I guessed his other employees didn’t question his behavior much.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he said coldly.

Had I managed to upset my new boss already? I wasn’t doing too well and the eight-month contract had only just begun today. I didn’t want to give my boss the impression that I was ungrateful, but then again, I was certainly not going to be a pushover.

He had the wrong girl if that was what he wanted.

I’d already made up my mind that I didn’t like Maxwell Grant. Even though I had only just met him, arrogant and condescending were the first two words that came to mind to describe my boss.

My worst nightmare became reality. Halfway through dessert, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Ma
cherie, there you are.” Alain was standing beside my chair, his hand possessively on my shoulder, and he looked to be challenging Maxwell.
Oh, no. This couldn’t look good.

I gasped.
“Alain. You said you would call.”

“I did. Check your phone.
It’s twenty-five minutes past nine. You didn’t pick up. So I decided to come and find you instead.”

Maxwell’s eyebrows shot up and a grim expression settled on his face. He threw his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair, and rose to his feet. He didn’t offer his hand in greeting. Even though Alain was tall and slender, Maxwell practically towered over him.

Awkward.

Wanting to diffuse the situation, I scrambled to my feet.

I glanced at Alain from under my lashes. He was dressed in tight black jeans and an open-neck shirt, his jacket casually hooked over his shoulder. His dark hair hung over his forehead as he peered down at me, bestowing the most panty-wetting smile I’d had the pleasure of receiving that day.

“This is my friend, Alain,” I said in a shaky voice.

Maxwell clenched his jaw. “You didn’t mention you had a friend in Paris.” His voice was cool, his eyes like fire and ice.

“Oh, we met on the plane. Alain was seated next to me.”

Alain was grinning from ear to ear, his hand possessively on the small of my back, stroking it slowly with his thumb. I felt the blood rise to my cheeks at the intimate gesture. Didn’t Alain have any shame?
It was if Alain
wanted
Maxwell to think we were lovers.

Maxwell looked as if he were going to have a coronary. He stiffened, his lips drawing into a thin line as he worked his jaw.

The eight-month contract meant he owned me during working hours, but outside of that, I could damn well make friends with whomever I pleased. Including incredibly hot Frenchmen. One of whom, currently sent delicious shivers down my spine as he kept caressing my back, in full view of my seemingly furious boss.

Back in my hotel room, Alain removed a bottle of wine from the mini bar. I watched in silence as he expertly filled two glasses. He raked his fingers through his hair, gazing at me pensively. Finally he spoke. “He wants to fuck you.”

My mouth dropped open. “Didn’t be ridiculous, he’s married.”

The corners of his mouth twisted into a terse smile. “You’re so naïve. That won’t stop any man if he really wants a woman.”

“Well that stops
me
,” I said, raising my chin.

“He definitely has his eye on you. This I know for a fact.” The serious tone in his voice assured me he wasn’t joking.

“Why would he want me if he has a gorgeous model for a wife? You’re being ridiculous, Alain.”

“Ah, it’s clear you don’t realize the allure you have…that’s partly what makes
you
so fucking sexy.” With three steps he closed the distance between us and pulled me against his rock-hard chest. His breath on my neck was coming hot and fast.

“A man knows when another man wants to fuck his woman,” Alain growled. Hot wet kisses trailed from my jaw to the hollow at my throat.

His woman?

“Yes, you are mine,” he rasped, as he covered my mouth with his; his tongue plundering my mouth possessively.

Pulling the pins out one by one, my hair tumbled from the restraining chignon. My breath hitched as he tousled my hair so that it fell loosely around my shoulders.

Finally.
I’ve been waiting for this.

“Ah, so damn beautiful,” he said, as the corners of his sculptured mouth curved into a wicked smile. Hot kisses scorched my flesh where my breasts rose, as he deftly tugged at the zipper of my dress and slipped it off my shoulders, trailing his lips over my naked
shoulders.

For a second, we both froze, as a sharp rap on the door startled us.
“Our champagne. Don’t move,” he commanded. With wide eyes I watched him take three steps back toward the door, undoing the top buttons of his shirt at the same time. Not taking his smoldering eyes from me, he jerked the door open.

Over Alain’s shoulder, my gaze collided with cold blue eyes. Maxwell’s mouth hung open as he took in my tousled hair, undone zipper and swollen lips. His eyes blazed with rage, boring into mine, ignoring Alain.

“You forgot your pen.” He placed it on the entrance table. “I just wanted to check if you were OK.” The acid in his voice was unmistakable.

“I…I am fine
… , ” I stammered. Talk about career-limiting moves. I shuddered.

If Maxwell Grant could have my head on a plate…

Alain stepped between us, consciously claiming me. “Mademoiselle Clarke is fine. We were just in the middle of… ”

“I can see,” Maxwell spat, his voice booming. His steely eyes narrowed. “I expect you to be ready bright and early, Miss Clarke.” He turned on his heels and slammed the door behind him.

Shaking, I sucked in a breath.

Who the hell is he to tell me what to do?

In two quick steps Alain was by my side, rubbing up my arms. “Are you OK?” he said, concern lacing his voice.

“Y…yes,” I stammered. “I…I’m tired. Must be jetlag. I’d like to go to bed now.”

Alain cocked his head, his disappointment clear. “Good night,” he said gruffly, as he kissed each of my eyelids gently, holding both my hands in his. He brushed his lips over mine as he whispered, “Dream of
me.”

The door clicked softly behind him.

What the hell just happened?

My body burned with desire. I wanted my Frenchman to ravish me, yet here I stood, feeling like a naughty child.
Alone. My new boss was goddamn infuriating.

After a long hot shower, I slipped into the over-sized bed. My body was tired, my eyelids heavy. I sighed as I sank into the soft mattress.
Pure bliss.

The shrill ring of the phone jerked me from drifting off.

What now?

“
Hello?” I croaked. Every muscle in my body ached from exhaustion.

“I will meet you at eight a.m. sharp.
In the lobby.”

I sucked in a breath.

Fucking Maxwell Grant
.

“Be ready,” he grunted. The steely command in his voice remained unwavering. “Good night, Miss Clarke.”

The man was unbelievable.

Go home to your wife and leave me the fuck alone.

I wanted to shout at him, but the words froze in my throat.

The phone clicked in my ear. Was
Alain right?
Did my boss have lascivious ideas? How absurd. I was simply not interested, the sooner he realized it, the better for us both. All I wanted was a delicious romance with my hot Frenchman.

Maxwell fucking Grant could go to hell.

Arrogant bastard.

Sleep would probably evade me for the rest of the night. I punched my pillow in a rage, imagining him trying to force himself onto female employees just to show them who were boss. Just because he was powerful and good looking, didn’t mean I would succumb to him. He could take his contract and shove it.

I tossed and turned, and as I finally drifted into a fitful sleep, I felt the heat of those angry dark-blue eyes boring into me.