The Highest Price to Pay (12 page)

He let his fingers drift over her cheek, his eyes intent on hers. “I cannot seem to keep my hands off of you.”

The crowd completely receded, the low hum of voices becoming nothing more than white noise. There was only Blaise, only his hand on her cheek, his gaze on her, full of a deep longing that echoed in her body.

She closed the distance between them, sliding her tongue delicately over the seam of his lips, tasting him, savoring him like a craving she’d been aching to partake of.

She placed her hands lightly on his chest, felt his heart raging against her palm. He gripped her wrist and pulled it back, stepped away from her.

“No,” he said, his voice rough.

“Why not?”

“Business, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

It probably wouldn’t look very good for Blaise to be making out with her in the middle of the oh-so-upscale event. Especially since he had business to discuss.

“I promise to behave myself,” she whispered.

He looked at her for a long moment, her skin burning beneath his close scrutiny. “Now, that is a shame.”

Ella felt her body get hot everywhere, her breasts heavy. She longed for his hands to cup her there, to alleviate the ache of unsatisfied longing. Not here. Of course not here.

Blaise took Ella’s hand and led her to the bar, to the purpose for his attendance. Calder Williams, owner of a very upscale chain of hotels, and the next project Blaise wanted to invest his money in.

Ella shifted next to him, her breast brushing his arm. All of his blood rushed south. His body was on fire with the need to be inside her again, to move his hands over her body, to be in her body. Two days had been more than enough time apart. It had been important to him to prove that he could conquer his need for her by staying away.

But he had proven that point, and he was done waiting. Business first, though, pleasure later.

“Calder,” Blaise said, extending his hand, his mind back on business, even if his body was still stubbornly stuck on Ella.

“Blaise—” Calder accepted his hand “—good to see you again.” His eyes were firmly fixed on Ella, the interest there obvious.

Blaise gritted his teeth. “Yes, it is.”

“And you are?” Calder said to Ella.

“Ella Stanton.” Ella extended her hand and Calder lifted it to his lips, brushing his mouth over Ella’s creamy-soft skin.

Something ugly and dark kicked Blaise in the gut. The need to stake his claim, to show that Ella was his, blotted out everything else in his mind. He slid his arm around her waist, cupping her hip possessively, stroking her idly as he brought up his thoughts on Calder’s hotel expansion project.

Calder’s eyes continued to linger on Ella, his interest clearly on her curves not on business.

His dates had always been an accessory, in his mind, and if men had wanted to admire them, he had never cared. But he didn’t want Calder looking at Ella. Didn’t want him looking at her flawless face and luscious figure, and finding her desirable. Didn’t want him looking at her scars and finding her lacking.

Ella was his.

“I think,” Blaise said, his voice icy, “we should continue this discussion in my office another day.”

A knowing smile curved Calder’s lips. “I’ll call your PA.”

“Good.”

“Nice to meet you, Ella,” Calder said.

“You, too.” Ella sounded unfazed, as though she had no idea that Calder had been contemplating having her for dessert. The thought made Blaise’s blood run hot.

“Do you have a business card?” Calder asked.

Ella reached into her bright pink handbag and produced one. “Yes, this has all the info for the boutique and how to contact me personally for info about the clothing line.”

“A fashion designer, I should have known.”

“Calder, perhaps you should try preying on one of the single women in attendance and leave my date to me.”

Ella stiffened beside him, Calder’s grin widened. “Of course,” he said, tucking Ella’s business card into the interior pocket of his jacket.

“Nice to meet you,” Ella said, gripping Blaise’s arm. “I think I’m ready to go.”

Ella released her hold on him once they got a few feet away from Calder, moving quickly to keep ahead of him, weaving through the crowd and heading toward the door.

Blaise followed her out into the empty corridor. “And what is your problem? I thought you wanted to come?”

“I didn’t know you were going to spend the evening acting like a jealous jerk.”

“Like you were earlier today?”

She gritted her teeth and let out a mild growl. “I didn’t embarrass you in front of anyone.”

“He was ready to devour you in front of me.”

“But I wouldn’t have allowed it, so what was the problem?”

“The problem is that this was meant to be a business meeting of sorts, and that was decidedly unprofessional.”

“Don’t blame me for your display of possessive male behavior, Blaise Chevalier.”

Her blue eyes were on fire, all but spitting sparks at him, her cheeks red with her very indelicate rage. But his eyes went straight to her lips. Full, electric-pink thanks to her expertly applied gloss. Kissable. Edible.
Necessary.

Ella had been a virgin less than a week ago. Out of deference to that, he shouldn’t follow through with the fantasies rioting in his brain. But he couldn’t stop himself.

There was a time in his life when he’d considered himself a man of honor. A man in control of his baser instincts.

All pretense of that had been well and truly destroyed three years ago, and he had destroyed it with his own hands. Tonight he would not be gaining those qualities back. He had to taste Ella. He
had
to. It was a matter far beyond simple attraction. It was elemental, bone deep and as necessary as breathing. To prove that she was his. That he was the man she wanted, not Calder, or any other. To ensure that no matter how many men brought her to pleasure after him, he would be the one she always remembered.

He captured her mouth. His body shuddering as her lips softened, parted for him immediately. He delved in, his tongue sliding over hers, his body instantly hard, instantly aching from the sweet pressure of her lips.

She kissed him back. Roughly. Passionately. Her hands moving up to bracket his face. He stepped forward and she moved with him until her back was against the wall. And he kept kissing her, like he was dying and this was the last moment he would ever have to seize the most essential experience before the end.

The kiss was fueled by desperation, a desperation he couldn’t understand or control. It was coursing through him with an intensity that rocked him to the core, driving him on with an urgency he’d never experienced before. Maybe it was his anger, mixing with hers, creating a substance that was deadly and explosive.

This was no civil prelude to an evening of uncomplicated pleasure. This was something more. Something deeper. As it had been from the moment he’d first touched Ella.

“Blaise,” she whispered.

“Ella.” He met her eyes, kissed her cheek, her neck, right on the place where the fire had marked her skin. Then he moved to kiss the other side of her neck, leaving two kisses there, as he had promised to do.

She arched against him, and he put his hand between them, palmed her breast, his thumb stroking over her hardened nipple.

She was everything he remembered and more. Her flavor richer, more intoxicating, the feeling of her against him more arousing than anything in his memory. The sounds of her pleasure, the movement of her body as she exulted in his touch, it was all so much more, and it all served to fray the edges of his tightly held control.

He moved his hand down, gripped her hips, pulled her hard against his body so she could feel the heavy length of his erection. So she would know exactly what she was doing to him.

A voluptuous sigh escaped her lips and she let her hands move down his back, gripping his butt, drawing his body even tighter into hers.

He was on the brink, in the corridor where anyone could see them, not even a convenient pillar to shield them from prying eyes, he was ready to come. When it came to sex, Blaise preferred a bedroom and privacy, but it didn’t seem important now.

Nothing did. Nothing except his need to have Ella.

There was a sharp sound as the main doors to the ballroom opened and came into contact with the metal doorstop.

Ella froze, slowly releasing her hold on him. He moved away from her, but only fractionally, keeping one hand on her waist.

A small group of people wandered out, talking and laughing, visibly intoxicated and not paying any attention to Ella and himself.

Ella dropped her head, her forehead pressing against his shoulder after the group passed by. “Oh…that was…I don’t know what just happened.”

“Lust.”

“Lust,” she repeated. “Maybe that’s it.” But she didn’t sound convinced. She didn’t convince him.

Ella’s eyes looked huge, her pupils dilated, her breasts rising and falling unevenly, along with her breathing.

“Your place or mine?” he asked, his voice strangled.

“I only have a single bed.”

Another stark reminder of how innocent she was. Of what a bastard he was.

“Mine then.”

B
LAISE’S
apartment was a brilliant reflection of the man himself. Hard, cool, with smooth lines and nothing that betrayed a clue about his true inner workings.

Not a family photo. Not even artwork that went beyond generic, modern prints that Ella was certain an interior designer had selected for him.

It reflected what he showed the world, but it didn’t reflect what she knew about him. Blaise was Malawi. The lake, the sky, the sense of beauty that hadn’t been, and never could be, tamed.

But this, this slick, cool environment, was what he wanted the world to believe. Was what he was comfortable with.

“Lovely view,” Ella said, gesturing to a wall of windows that revealed the Paris skyline, the brightly lit Eiffel tower glittering prominently.

Blaise shrugged, flickering the windows a disinterested glance. “I hardly notice it.”

Ella nearly choked. “Then why…I mean, this didn’t come cheap. Why have it if you don’t appreciate the location?”

“Oh, I do appreciate the location. This penthouse was a good investment, because of the view, mainly.”

She cleared her throat. “That’s…well, it’s very you.”

“You have the soul of an artist, Ella,” he said, his tone indulgent. “I have the soul of a financier. You see art, I see monetary value.”

“That’s your passion then, money?”

He shrugged again, discarding his coat carelessly on the couch and loosening his tie. “Not money itself. Making it. The challenge, the risk.”

“So, you’re a gambler?”

“Hardly. My risks are all very carefully calculated. I don’t take chances.”

“You don’t consider your association with me taking a chance?”

“
Non.
You have talent, Ella. It has been confirmed by everyone I’ve spoken to on the subject.”

Ella took a deep breath, continuing to survey the vast, empty feeling space. Everything was so unnaturally clean, so strangely organized.

“I’m not home very often,” Blaise said, answering some of the questions that were rattling around in her head.

“Ah.”

Blaise crossed the room, his eyes intent on her, and the sterile background faded away.

The moment his lips met hers, the fire was reignited in him, and he was consumed by it. Consumed by his need to have her. It had never been like this before. Not with any woman, not in any fantasy.

It managed to reach in past the walls he’d built inside himself, managed to make him feel the full force of his need, the full force of his arousal, without the protective shield that he prized so much.

And he didn’t want to stop her. Didn’t want to do anything that might dampen any part of what she made him feel.

Her hands went to his chest, fingers working the buttons of his shirt without any finesse. She made a small sound of frustration when she stumbled at one of the buttons, and he laughed, finished the job for her and consigning his shirt to the floor.

“You’re perfect,” she whispered, her hand skimming his bare chest.

His heart squeezed tight. She meant his body, because if she could see inside him, she would know what a lie that statement was. Would know just how far from perfect he was.

“My bedroom is upstairs,” he said, moving it all into safer territory. To bed. He could give her everything there. All of his desire, all of the pleasure that was possible for her to have.

It was the only place he could give her everything she deserved.

She smiled wickedly, parting from him and sauntering up the curved staircase that led to his room. Her backside swayed back and forth in an enticing rhythm and he was powerless to look anywhere else.

His room had the same view as the living area, the Paris skyline, the
Tour Eiffel.
A view that represented nothing to him. Nothing but broken promises. Marie’s and his own. It was a view he had purchased at Marie’s command.

The view was all that remained the same. After she’d left, gone off with the new love of her life, he’d brought in a decorator to eradicate the feminine frills his ex had brought into the penthouse. He had made a valiant effort to erase every reminder of her. What he hadn’t been about to do was sell a valuable piece of real estate at a bad time, not even when he was—or so he’d believed then—heartbroken.

So he’d spent three years ignoring the view. But now, when he looked out his windows, he would see Ella’s silhouette in the foreground, the lights glittering behind her, as he did now. She was looking at him with stark longing on her face, none of the coyness some of his other lovers liked to employ.

Ella wanted him, and she did not bother to hide it. Her honesty was stunning, more than he deserved. And yet he wanted it. Wanted her. All of her.

She looked behind her, at the open windows.

“It is privacy glass. Even with the lights on, no one can see in,” he said.

Ella nodded, reaching behind her back. “Good. Because tonight—” he heard the rasp of her zipper “—I want the lights on.”

He could see she was nervous, could see the slight tremor in her hand as she eased her sheath dress down her body, shimmying to release it over the curve of her hips.

His body hardened to the point of pain at the sight of her, her gorgeous curves on display, barely covered by a nearly sheer bra and panty set. This was the first time, during a sexual encounter, that she had revealed her body to him in full light.

Ella Stanton was the bravest woman he had ever met. A combination of softness and strength, insecurity and confidence. A woman who had endured such pain with no support.

She threw the vapid nature of his life, of the lives of the people he associated with, into sharp relief.

His mind went clear of everything but the sight of her as she unhooked her bra and revealed her breasts. Soft and pale, light pink tips that looked like the sweetest treats. Treats he couldn’t resist.

He moved to her, brushing his fingers lightly over her collarbone, down around the outside curve of her breast to her ribs. She whimpered slightly and he repeated the motion, not touching her where he knew she longed for it.

His own body pulsed in protest. He didn’t want slow. He wanted now. He wanted immediate satisfaction. He also wanted to savor her. To give her everything he had to give. This was it for him, the beginning and the end of what he had for her.

It wasn’t enough.

She wiggled against him, tugging her panties down and kicking them to the side, along with her spiky heels.

He reached between them, rubbing his fingers over the intimate heart of her body, dipping one finger into her, drawing out her moisture and slicking it over her clitoris. He did it again. Again, until she was weak in his arms, desperate sounds of pleasure escaping her lips.

He pushed another finger into her, searching for the point inside of her body that would bring her to the heights faster. He continued moving his thumb over the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

She clung to his shoulders, and he welcomed the bite of her nails, the pain distracting him from the force of his arousal, helping him hold on when he was so close to slipping over the edge into oblivion without giving her satisfaction.

“Blaise, I can’t…” she panted.

“Come for me,” he said roughly, driven to feel her climax around his fingers, to experience her pleasure that way.

She bit her lip, pink color flooding over her skin, spreading across her cheeks, down over her breasts. When her orgasm hit, she shuddered against him, her body trembling, growing heavier as she rested her weight on him.

“Ma belle,”
he whispered, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. He gently placed her in the middle, working at discarding the rest of his clothes before joining her.

She took his erection in her hand, her eyes locked with his as she squeezed him, pleasured him. This was no practiced move performed for hundreds of others; this was simply for him. He owed her the same.

He pressed his lips to her neck, nibbled the delicate skin there before moving on to her breasts. “You are like a dessert,” he said, running the tip of his tongue around the outside of one hardened nipple. “Strawberries and cream. But much better, much richer.”

He sucked the tightened bud between his lips and she arched against him, abandoning her attentions on his body, her focus solely on her own satisfaction. As it should be. As he wanted it to be.

“I want you, Blaise,” she said, her fingers skimming over his biceps, his shoulders, his back. “Only you.”

His body pulsed with the need to be inside her, the need to take her, but he held onto the last shred of his control, moved his attention to her other breast.

“Please,” she said. “Now.”

His control shattered, all thoughts of drawing things out, of bringing her to peak after peak, dissolved. His mind was blank of everything but his need, his need to be in her, to be sheathed in her tight body.

Ella’s body.

With shaking fingers he took a condom from his side table drawer and ripped open the packaging. Ella held out her hand. “Let me.”

“No,” he ground out. “If you touch me, I’m going to come.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, a wicked smile playing over her lips.

“Not like this, Ella.”

“Yes,” she said, taking the packet from his hand and setting it on the bed. “Like this.”

She leaned forward, running her tongue over the length of him. His stomach seized tight, every muscle in his body locked, frozen, as she explored him with her mouth, her lips, her tongue.

She cupped him, took him deep into her mouth. The feeling of her tongue on him so intense he nearly lost it. He speared his fingers through her hair, planning to protest, to stop her, unable to bring himself to do it.

When she pressed a hot kiss to him he jerked away.

“Ella,” he said. “I can’t…”

She looked at him, her blue eyes hot. “Come for me, Blaise.”

She turned her attention back to his body, back to his pleasure, taking very little effort to bring him past the point of no return and push him over the edge. He was no longer in control. She had taken it from him.

In a graceful movement, she came to rest beside him, her hand on his chest, her cheek on his shoulder.

“I love the contrast of your skin against mine,” she said, her voice muffled.

“You do?”

“Yes. It’s like art.”

“As I said, you have the soul of an artist.” And the lips of an enchantress.

She sighed, a soft sound, filled with emotion he couldn’t guess at. “I’m sort of exhausted,” she said.

“You are?” If anyone should be exhausted, it was him.

She smiled at him, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Very.”

He’d never been in tune with the feelings of his lovers, he’d been told that very thing by several of them, but he knew that something was wrong with Ella. Sensed some kind of deep sadness in her. Felt it echo in his chest.

He shouldn’t be surprised. It was all he’d ever given to those in his life that meant the most to him.

Ella’s eyes fluttered closed, her breathing becoming deep and even. Blaise laid his head back on the pillow, his eyes wide-open. Sleep wouldn’t be coming for him tonight.

Ella’s entire body ached. In the early hours of the morning, Blaise had finished what they’d started, taking her to heights she hadn’t imagined possible. Showing her things about herself she hadn’t realized.

Ella rolled over in bed, her hand coming to rest on the cold spot where Blaise had been. She blew out a breath.

She didn’t know how it happened, when it had happened, but at some point last night, after she’d lost her patience with his slow, controlled seduction and she’d taken it upon herself to shatter his control, as he’d shattered hers, she realized that she loved him.

She was in love with Blaise Chevalier. Notorious womanizer, the man who had stolen his brother’s fiancée, the man who had commandeered her business loan like the pirate that the press said he was.

In her mind, she knew he was all of those things.
Every word they’ve printed about me is true.
He’d said it. He’d meant it. But she didn’t see it in him.

He was the man who traced her scars. The man who had held her while she’d told him all of her darkest secrets, tears streaming down her face. The man who believed in her talent, her visions. The man who thought she was beautiful.

He hardly seemed like he could be the same man the press wrote about. The man the people of France loved to hate.

The question was, what did it mean for her?

She’d known his darkest secrets from day one. But it hadn’t stopped her from falling in love with him. Couldn’t stop her. He was a bad bet, no question. Falling in love with him was akin to begging for heartbreak, and yet…she wasn’t afraid, or sad, that she loved him.

Because last night, she had felt like a whole woman. A whole person. Someone who could be with the man she loved, do whatever she pleased, with the man she loved. There was nothing holding her back, no voice telling her she wasn’t good enough or pretty enough.

Her effect on Blaise was obvious. He wasn’t lying about his attraction to her. And that a man like him, a man who epitomized masculine perfection, could find her beautiful was something that made her rethink everything she’d ever thought about herself.

She wasn’t in the waiting room of her own life anymore. She was living it. And she was very likely going to get her heart broken. But she wasn’t hiding anymore.

Blaise came back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets running down his impressive chest. She just wanted to lick them off. She was seriously starting to wonder if she was insatiable.

“Tell me about Marie,” she said, the words slipping out of her mouth before she had a chance to think them through.

He froze for a moment, then undid the towel and let it drop before moving over to the large, dark armoire in the corner of the bedroom, totally unconcerned with his nudity. “Why?”

“Because. Shouldn’t I know?”

She saw his jaw tighten, a fractional movement that someone less in tune with him would have missed. “Look it up on the internet.”