we come inside?”
“Yes, of course, please come in.”
When Dominique stepped past him, he leaned in and inhaled her scent. Mesmerized. That was how he felt when her fragrance drifted over him. Marcel was drawn to her, intrigued, filled with feelings he thought died when his ex-girlfriend, Sarita, had callously dumped him. But as he admired Dominique’s perfectly coiffed hair and French manicured nails, he realized she was way out of his league. A woman like Dominique King would never look twice at a guy like him, so the quicker he dealt with his attraction to her, the better off he’d be. “Can I interest you ladies in something to drink? The bar is fully stocked with water, juice and beer.”
The women smiled politely but shook their heads.
“This is a lovely home,” Dominique said, glancing around. “Did you want us to set up in the living room or out in the backyard?”
Marcel thought for a moment. He wanted the groomsmen to have a good time, but he didn’t want anyone pushing up on Dominique. Getting into a fistfight over a woman he barely knew would be juvenile, but he’d fight to the death before he let Kevin or Raheem steal her out from under him. “How about half of you stay here and the rest work outside?”
Dominique shared a confused look with the brunette standing beside her. “Okay, I guess that would be all right. Aja and Heather will stay here with me and…”
Marcel heard someone behind him, but he didn’t turn around. Dominique was speaking, and she deserved his undivided attention, which he planned to give her plenty of.
“My, my, my, what do we have here?”
Dominique trailed off when a man in blue swimming trunks swaggered into the room. Today must be my lucky day, she thought. It’s raining men! First, she’d met Marcel Benoit and now another cutie was bounding toward her. This guy in blue trunks had a nice smile, but he wasn’t nearly as handsome as Marcel. While Suzette made the introductions, Dominique discreetly checked out the soft-spoken millionaire she’d spoken to twice last week.
Marcel was the clean-cut, athletic-looking type. His skin was the shade of Hershey’s Kisses, and she suspected his lips tasted just as sweet. He spoke with a slight but distinct French accent, and if that wasn’t enough to excite her, he had the sexiest mouth she had ever seen. Though dressed modestly in shorts and a T-shirt, Marcel had a distinguished, almost regal bearing about him. Add to that his staggering wealth, and he was a perfect ten. His mansion was a bold, lavish display of his riches, and she was thoroughly impressed. Inside the garage, she’d spotted three luxury vehicles, a pair of jet skis and enough antique furniture to beautify the Vatican church. Marcel Benoit was exactly her type—established, accomplished and successful—and she was determined to get to know him better. Mixing business with pleasure was never a good idea, but Dominique wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of her spending quality time with the attractive millionaire.
“Why don’t I show you ladies to the pool?” said the guy in the blue trunks, his pearly whites blinding. “The groomsmen are all chilling out back.”
Marcel cleared his throat. “I thought it might be too crowded outside, so some of the women are going to work in here.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of room.” Kevin motioned with his head toward the French doors. “Besides, it’s much too nice outside to be cooped up in here. Don’t you agree, ladies?”
Behind her, Dominique heard her coworkers giggle.
“Would you like something to eat before we get started?” Marcel addressed the group, but he was staring right at her. “I could show you to the food tables if you’d like.”
Heart pulsing, mouth dry, she combed a lock of hair away with her hands. Dominique would like nothing more than to have some one-on-one time with the wealthy businessman, but the guy in blue trunks seemed intent on spoiling her plans.
“Marcel, you’re in charge of the barbecue, remember? You finish grilling the steaks, and I’ll help the ladies set up out back. Don’t worry, man. I’ll handle it.”
The matter decided, Kevin took Dominique by the elbow and led her out unto the patio.
Fingers splayed, Dominique kneaded the muscles between the groomsman’s shoulder blades, applying more pressure as she inched down his spine. Lying flat on his stomach, his eyes closed and his head cocked to the side, Tobias Carlson complained bitterly about his court-ordered child support payments and the financial toll his divorce had taken on him.
Dominique hated working bachelor parties, but since the clients were willing to pay more for the in-home service, she’d canceled her blind date and reported to work. As Tobias droned on about his twelve-room vacation home in Bel Air, Dominique searched the backyard for a distraction—a tall, toned distraction with a titillating French accent. Her gaze fell on Marcel Benoit, and time stopped. His arms cut powerfully through the water as he swam the length of the pool. The wind blew warm against her face, intensifying her already sweltering temperature.
Watching him, she wondered why he wasn’t already married. Her friends all liked bad boys, but she’d always been attracted to quiet, respectable guys. Good manners were a definite turn-on, and Marcel was polite and gracious. He wasn’t the life of the party, but he didn’t need to be. He was the best-looking man there, and although he hadn’t tried talking to her again, Dominique was confident he would. They’d been sneaking covert glances at each other, pretending to be uninterested, but when their eyes met she felt a rush of divine pleasure.
With extreme interest, she watched as Marcel trudged up the steps of the circular pool. His body was overrun with taut muscles, and seeing his bare chest made her mouth water. To regain control of her loose mind, Dominique forced her eyes away. But as she glanced around the yard, she noticed that her colleagues were ogling him, too. Back off, vultures! He’s mine!
“Your hands are magic,” Tobias praised. “Are you available on Wednesday mornings? I could use a good rubdown after my weight class.”
Dominique didn’t answer. The extra money she made working weekends helped pay the bills, but she wasn’t going to jeopardize her position at First Centennial Trust for anyone—not even a high roller like Tobias Carlston.
“Sorry, but I only work weekends.”
Turing onto his side, he propped his head up with his elbow. Not only was he failing miserably at appearing cool but it looked like he was posing for a trashy magazine. “Then, we’ll have dinner instead. Eight o’clock sound good?”
Dominique retrieved a cloth from her bag, and cleaned the massage oil from her hands. With as much sympathy as she could muster, she slowly recited the line she fed all of her clients who hit on her. “Call me next week, and I’ll try to see what I can do.”
His frown spoke of his disapproval. Breathing heavily through his nose, he reached into his pocket and offered her a wrinkled fifty-dollar bill. “This is for you.”
“Thank you.” Without touching him, Dominique slid the money out from his fingers. Her cell phone rang, and she fished it out of her purse. “I have to take this call. See you later.”
Tobias eased off the portable bed and stood with his hands splayed on his hips. He looked pissed, but Dominique didn’t care. Her sister was calling, and his massage had officially ended five minutes ago. Wanting privacy, she rushed inside the house, ducked into the main-floor bathroom and locked the door.
