Asha held her gaze. “Alone.”
Lexi flushed. “Oh,” was all she could say.
So maybe the sexy supermodel hadn’t spent the night with Quentin. That didn’t mean he hadn’t slept with her. Maybe she’d sneaked into his room for a quickie early that morning. And maybe she’d been sound asleep, or in the bathroom, when Quentin sent his coded message to Lexi.
Asha was studying her, a calculating gleam in her dark eyes that made Lexi want to squirm. She remembered Samara once telling her about Asha’s uncanny ability to ferret out people’s darkest secrets without them uttering a word. Unless Asha had witnessed what transpired on the terrace last night, there was no way she could know that Quentin had kissed Lexi.
Or could she? Lexi wondered uneasily. Was the truth written all over her face?
As she stared at Asha, the other woman’s full lips curved in a quiet, intuitive smile. “I’m hoping you’ll take my New Year’s toast to heart, Alexis,” she murmured.
Lexi eyed her warily. “What do you mean?”
“With all due respect, chère, my words weren’t intended for those of us who are already having plenty of hot, mind-blowing sex.”
Scandalized, Samara gasped. “Mom!”
Michael and Marcus groaned at the thought of their sixty-something father having sex, let alone steamy sex. But how could he not when he was married to Asha—a tall, voluptuous, stunningly beautiful woman who oozed more sex appeal than most women half her age?
As Sterling chuckled sheepishly, Samara muttered in exasperation, “When other moms make toasts, they wish people health, happiness and prosperity. But not my mother. My mother tells a roomful of her guests to get laid.”
Asha smiled unrepentantly. “Oh, relax, darling. At least you didn’t have to cover any small ears this time.”
“Where are the twins?” Lexi asked, as much to change the subject as out of curiosity. If her face got any hotter, her head would combust.
“The boys already ate.” Samara chuckled wryly. “They were up at an ungodly hour this morning, pestering me and Marcus to take them exploring around the property. Mom’s gardener was kind enough to do the honors.”
Lexi grinned. “Given how huge this place is, you won’t see your offspring for a while.”
The two parents shared a conspiratorial look. “We know.”
Laughter went around the table.
“Don’t start the party without me,” came an amused drawl from the doorway.
Everyone turned as Quentin sauntered into the room with his lazy, rolling swagger. He was dressed in dark jeans that hung low on his hips and a hunter-green turtleneck that molded his wide shoulders and broad, muscular torso. As Lexi stared at him, she remembered the strength of his arms wrapped around her, the hardness of his chest pressed against hers. They’d hugged countless times before, but last night was the first time she’d ever wanted to cling to him, to rub her aching breasts against his body. She wondered if she’d ever be able to look at him again without reliving those heady, forbidden moments in his embrace.
As he approached the table, Michael wagged his head at him. “’Bout time you got here. My wife was seconds away from marching upstairs and dragging you out of your room.”
Quentin chuckled. “Damn. My bad.” He leaned down to kiss Reese’s upturned cheek. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, baby girl. Forgive me?”
Reese grinned at him. “You’re forgiven.”
Lexi did a mental eye roll. It seemed that no woman was immune to Quentin Reddick’s charms. Not even pregnant, blissfully married women.
Quentin rounded the table and lowered his long body into the chair across from Lexi. As their eyes met, a strange ripple of awareness raced down her spine. The color of his shirt brought out the green flecks in his eyes, making them appear even brighter than usual. Piercing.
When he winked at Lexi, her heart fluttered like the wings of a caged bird. Mortified, she could only muster a feeble smile.
A team of servers bearing hot, fragrant platters of food appeared. Asha’s chef had prepared a lavish pancake breakfast, a New Year’s Day tradition in France.
As the meal got under way, Lexi found her gaze straying to Quentin as he conversed with Marcus beside him. As though she were seeing him for the very first time, she mentally catalogued heavy black brows, hazel eyes shaded by long straight lashes, a strong blade of a nose, ruthlessly hard cheekbones, a sculpted mouth and a square jaw. His face was far too masculine to ever be considered pretty, though his glorious golden complexion could inspire poetry when it gleamed in the sun—as it did now. He kept his black hair cropped close to his scalp, but whenever it grew out a little, you could detect the wavy texture he’d inherited from his late biracial father.
As her gaze returned to his lips and lingered, Lexi wondered how she’d never noticed just how lush and sensual they were. Her flesh heated at the memory of them moving slowly and possessively over hers, melting her body until she was nothing more than a quivering jumble of need.
Quentin turned his head then, meeting her gaze. An electric current of awareness passed between them.
“What happened to your friend?” Lexi blurted before she could think better of it.
Those glittering eyes narrowed on hers. “Who?”
“If you’re talking about Giselle,” Asha interjected in an amused voice, “I sent her back to the hotel with my driver.”
Although the château was spacious enough to easily accommodate a royal family and a fleet of their servants, Asha had reserved a block of rooms at a local hotel for her overnight guests, most of whom had traveled three hours from Paris to attend the masquerade ball. She’d made no apologies for limiting her houseguests to family members, which, by extension, included Lexi and Quentin.
Taking a sip of her café au lait, Lexi murmured, “Giselle must have been disappointed to leave.”
“Perhaps.” Asha gave her a meaningful look. “But no woman likes to be a third wheel.”
Lexi faltered, wondering whether she or Giselle would have assumed the unenviable role. Considering that it was Giselle who’d sashayed out of Quentin’s bedroom that morning, it was a safe bet that Lexi would have been the odd one out.
Unsettled by the thought, she returned her attention to her delicious plate of crêpes, making a mental note to pay her compliments to the chef after breakfast. As a graduate of a renowned French culinary school, Lexi could always appreciate a well-executed crêpe—even when she suddenly had no appetite for it.
“I’m so delighted you were able to join us this weekend, Quentin,” Asha said warmly. “We were terribly disappointed when you called to say you wouldn’t be coming. Alexis took the news especially hard. Not even a day of shopping and sightseeing in Paris could pull her out of her funk.”
“Is that right?” Quentin’s eyes glinted with amusement over the rim of his coffee cup.
Lexi
