on the couch and tried to ignore the dull buzz that filled her ears. Shell-shocked was about all that described her this morning. Not heartbroken, which was weird. Or not weird. But angry. And she was rarely angry.
But she was now. She felt … empty. And tricked. And in some ways relieved. But also confused.
It’s you I want to spend my life with. This isn’t who I want to be.
Well, what was she supposed to do with that? Thanks for all this right around the holidays, Clint.
She fiddled with her engagement ring, a heavy weight settling on her chest.
“Where is my latte?” she asked the empty room.
Luc chose that moment to stride—yes, stride, he was big on the striding—into the seating area of the plane. Her heart did a funny little jump thing. Like it did when he surprised her. It wasn’t her fault. He was dead sexy, and no matter her current circumstances, she noticed. She noticed big-time.
From his lean, well-muscled build, to his smooth mocha skin, dark eyes and sensual lips … Oh, yes, Luc Chevalier was not a man a woman could ignore. Even a woman like her, who was ensnared in a relationship so complicated she didn’t even want to look at the man she was engaged to, and should not want to look at any other man, period.
Stupid Clint. And his stupid issues. Issues that were hers because that’s what happened when you cared for someone. When you’d loved them since you were sixteen.
Nine years. Nine years of being together, of buying into all kinds of stupid things she never should have, and now … well, she had no idea what.
Things with Clint had seemed simple at first. Then she’d started working for Luc and things had become immeasurably more complicated. She’d had a man in her life providing her with companionship, being the son her parents had never had and in general treating her like a sister while he was supposed to be her future husband. All while her boss slowly drove her crazy with the promise of lust and sex that had certainly not been a happening thing in her relationship.
Of course, Luc had never actually promised her sex. But he … exuded it. One look at him, and you knew, just knew, what those big, capable hands could do. Probably. It was all hypothetical for her. But her imagination was really good. It always had been. Heck, after all these dry years with Clint, it had to be. Honed, sharpened, etcetera.
He’d convinced her that waiting until marriage was romantic and right. And she’d felt … as if it showed how serious he was. As if it made her special. Of course, it might have been had he not been burning off his sexual needs with other people.
While she’d had nothing but fantasies. And scones. And shoes.
Lots and lots of shoes.
And complications. After this morning there were complications she’d never foreseen. Her entire life felt upended. Her family … Oh, this would destroy her family. Clint was the son her parents had never had and her marrying him was so darn approved of it was almost comical.
“Your latte will arrive after takeoff,” Luc said, sitting in the chair opposite her, his masculine scent teasing her nose and making her stomach tighten. Working with him was hard on a girl’s hormones. “Buckle up.”
She obeyed, not even bristling at his commanding tone, because hey, she was used to it.
Honestly, it was a good thing he was as grumpy as he was. That sort of helped to counterbalance his sexiness. Okay, she lied. Sometimes his grumpiness was even enticing. Because it made every smile she eked out of him an achievement. It made him seem like a locked box holding something special inside and sometimes she got little glimpses of it, and it made her want to just … wrench him open sometimes.
But that was inappropriate. One should not want to wrench their boss open.
Yet she always had. Her fascination with Luc, with his moods, and his smile, and his good looks, had been there from day one. Her ring had kept her insulated against taking any of it too seriously or too far. But there had always been a little more to her feelings for him than was strictly appropriate.
A little flutter of excitement when he walked into the office in the morning that had absolutely no business being there.
The engines fired up, and they started moving down the runway. There were a lot of perks to one’s boss having a private plane, but the efficiency and speed were top on the list. They achieved liftoff only a few minutes after she boarded, and she didn’t even have to sit next to anyone with questionable hygiene.
Luc’s hygiene was impeccable. He smelled like … well, he smelled like everything good and spicy. The man, ironically, smelled like Christmas.
“Thanks for that, Luc. So are you going to let me in on the agenda for the next couple of days and why I’m so necessary?”
“You’re necessary because you always are,” he said, his accent caressing the words like a touch. A very sensual touch. He spoke very good English but there was a French flavor to his speech that never failed to make her feel all shivery.
“Well, thanks for that. But specifically, what function am I fulfilling?”
“I need you to help keep track of things. And to give your opinion. When I decide on what I want to offer, I’d like your take on things.”
“But you’re an expert on real estate. Surely you don’t need my opinion.”
“I do. I need people to want to come and stay in a resort. Obviously, it’s being sold because it’s not profitable at the moment, or at least it’s not doing what Fleischer wants it to. Or else why would he sell? So I have to make the decision as to whether or not I can make it do what he can’t.”
“And you want my opinion for that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m flattered. Look, that’s the second time in two days you’ve flattered me. You’re losing your edge.”
“You can unbuckle now,” he said, a command, not a request. Why did it make her go all shivery?
“Okay,” she said, undoing the buckle because she wanted to, not because he’d told her to.
She leaned back in her seat, and the stewardess appeared with a red-and-white mug, and a small plate with a scone. She also had Scotch for Luc.
“Wow. That’s roguish of you. It’s early.”
“It’s evening in Paris.”
“And we’re in New York.”
“I’m still on Paris time.”
“Have you been back to Paris in four years?”
He smiled and she gave herself a mental back pat.
“No.” Then he unrepentantly lifted his glass to his lips and took a drink.
She admired him for it, if she was completely honest. He was a master at not giving a damn about what other people thought, or what the rules or conventions were. And to someone who was so bound to those same things, it was both awe-inspiring
