BIG: (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (14 page)

“I’m just that charming.” She winked at David and he chuckled.

She did a lot of nodding and smiling as Desalles showed her around the house, which she assessed could easily be split into four two-room apartments. There were a few moist patches, but nothing that suggested serious leaking. The majority of the internal fixes looked cosmetic.

David followed, making notes, not at all fazed as the conversation switched between English and French. He’d done the third year of his MBA in Marseilles, and had lived in a flat two doors down from her in Bristol in the final year of her degree. He cooked a mind-blowing spaghetti Bolognese and was as gay as a diamond-studded rainbow.

“So?” Desalles stopped at the front door and gestured around with a hopeful, inviting palm. “You will make an offer?”

“I will.” She gave him her most charming smile. “At fifteen percent below your asking price.”

The Parisian’s jaw dropped. “You are having some kind of joke with me?”

“No,” she assured him with a casual shrug of one shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ll need the extra to cover the cost of an inspection for water damage.”

She pointed to the stained ceiling.

The man frowned disapprovingly, as if judging Annalesa’s bad manners for pointing it out.

“And there’s the re-plastering that has to be done on the top two floors.”

“Humph.” Desalles’ frown deepened at her daring to mention additional problems with the property.

“I can pay cash.” Annalesa dangled this last after a moment’s hesitation, squinting at the ceiling all the while.

Desalles gave her a long stare, then finally, he put his hand out. “My client will not be happy at your price, but the cash will serve to move the deal along. Merci, Mme LaFevre.”

She was still grinning when she pulled over outside the little garret apartment she’d rented on La Rue Baron. If she’d been at home when she’d received David’s call, it would’ve taken her just five minutes to get to the property instead of nearly an hour.

She waved David off as he made his way back to his own apartment and trotted upstairs. In a burst of multi-tasking, she had her laptop and coffee machine on and the dishwasher unloaded, all within moments.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and she smiled as she opened the text message. It was from Ric, as succinct as ever.

7/21—7/25. Keep long weekend free?

She kissed her phone. She liked this new, non-presumptive Ric who actually asked if she was free, instead of just sending her plane tickets and emailing a list of instructions.

Then she remembered Elsa’s “fiftieth” birthday party and groaned.

I’d love to have you for the whole month but it’s Mum’s bday on 24th. Age-defying party in London, remember?

The little undulating grey dots on her messaging screen told her that Ric was typing a response.

I know. She cornered me into planning her party. Good for my social skills (??!!) like I don’t have a company division to run. Want you thurs-sat, then we’ll fly in to London together on sun.

She sighed, suddenly missing him terribly. Her thumbs flew over the keyboard at a speed that made her do as much deleting as typing.

What do you have in mind?

check your email in ten ;) how’s your workout going?

In truth, she’d found it more than a little daunting. She’d asked for his input, but his expectations of her fitness seemed pretty high.

Excellent. I’ll look like a US Marine in no time. But... I’ll be honest, if you could put something a tad gentler together, I’d be really grateful!

He didn’t reply to that and she found herself checking her phone and email every few minutes for the next half hour while she made herself a chicken and bacon salad and opened a box of Bordeaux red.

When she heard her inbox ping, she sprinted to her monitor. Another ping—both emails from Ric. She opened the first, which was simply titled, ‘My bad.’ It turned out he’d sent her the workout for Henrik’s operations team. The correct one was attached. She laughed. The second email was titled, ‘open attachments first’.

She couldn’t believe her eyes as the Amsterdam Hotel de l’Europe expanded across her screen. She’d enjoyed many hours at lunch on het Nieuwe Doelenstraat, gazing up at the cream awnings dipping over most of the windows, loving the way it glorified its lack of exterior modernization.

The hotel was one big triangle, one corner poking into the bend of the Amstel, the canal flowing past the suites and the restaurant on the ground floor. She’d always loved the idea of spending one night in there on an unlimited budget.

It seemed that Ric was all about making her wish come true.

The other attachments were various booking details for the Gulfstream flight from Paris Le Bourget to Schipol, and the identity of the driver who’d be picking her up from the airport.

She printed out all the necessaries as she read his very concise email.

Hope you got the properties you were looking at. Ryker business fine. Just having to stand my ground in refusing to deal with certain military factions I have no sympathy for. BTW—who’s David?

Annalesa smiled, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She’d wondered how he’d take the appearance of a guy standing with her outside the house on Rue DuLong.

David’s a Bristol Uni buddy. Son of a property magnate so plenty of experience already. You’ll like him.

She didn’t mention that David had a boyfriend.

I’d like him better if he didn’t look like that kid from Breaking Bad—you know, the meth head? ;)

She chuckled and dug into her dinner with a voracious appetite brought on by her laborious, and apparently erroneous, workout.

The flight and drive couldn’t have gone much smoother. Annalesa’s only complaint was that it probably wasn’t necessary for the driver to escort her all the way up to the reception desk at Hotel l’Europe.

She rubbed the back of her neck as she waited to be seen, caught between the delicious anticipation of seeing Ric again for the first time in weeks and the need to lie down and go to sleep for a few hours.

She’d traveled light, as instructed, only bringing a backpack with basic necessities and a small selection of clothing. The air on the Gulfstream had chilled her through her tight white t-shirt, jeans and navy blazer.

“Kan ik u helpen, Mevrouw?”

Annalesa realized that the irritable Brit at the head of the line had moved away and she stepped up to the desk. “Goedemiddag, ik ben Annalesa LaFevre. Kunt u zien als mijn broer, Meneer Ryker, is aangekomen?”

“Natuurlijk, Mevrouw.” The receptionist gave her a friendly little smile for attempting the Dutch, and tapped her fingernails on the marbled desk while she checked the computer. When she spoke again, it was in flawless English. “He’s in a meeting, but he left instructions. He wants you shown straight up to his room when you arrive. One moment...”

Annalesa startled when a porter swept her bag off the floor and steered her towards the elevator. Only when she was inside the gilded enclosure did the driver give her a wave and head out of the foyer, back to the car.

Why hadn’t the receptionist given her a keycard? Too dazed to ask, the elevator doors opened at the top floor to another ornately decorated foyer.

She had to step back as a group of four disgruntled, suited men walked into the elevator, muttering in what sounded like North African French. She tipped the porter with a twenty-euro note and he gave her a nod as the elevator doors closed. There was only one door and she tried it, finding it open. She let herself in, looking around for Ric.

The room wasn’t really a room—it was a full suite with a kitchenette, lounge area, and three doors, which suggested two bedrooms and a bathroom. From her viewpoint, she could see into one of the rooms. It had a bed so big it had to be a size above King—whatever that was. Supreme Ruler of the Universe, perhaps? The bedding was a beautiful azure with white throws arranged over the back of a pine or oak split headboard.

“There you are.” Ric’s smooth voice made her jump.

She turned and saw him emerge from a little room off the front door. He was jacketless and seemed on edge. She took a step forward, biting her lip and feeling oddly nervous, but the tension drained away as he gathered her against him. It was like coming home. He held onto her hard, burying his face into her hair, against her neck, breathing in her scent.

“You okay?” She put her arms around his neck, the solid feel of his body against hers a sheer delight. “Who were those guys?”

“People I don’t plan to do business with, and they’re not happy about it.” Ric froze, pulling back to look down at her, his jaw set. “Did they see you?”

“Well, yeah. I was right by the door. But they didn’t really pay much attention to me.”

“You sure?”

“They were too busy talking.”

“Sorry.” Ric exhaled, a long breath. “I’m still in the paranoid phase of management.”

“You’re an arms manufacturer. Paranoia’s part of the job description, isn’t it?” She reveled in his embrace, his thumb working that tingly patch at the back of her neck.

“I’m a little pissed at the staff. I told them to send you up, but I thought they’d call me first, seeing as I booked the penthouse for the day.”

“Just for the day?” She looked up, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she glanced toward the room with the big bed, imagining one of her fantasies crumbling before her eyes.

“I have different plans for the nights.” Ric bent and brushed a kiss across her lips, making her heart stutter in her chest. “I love this place, but what we need is...” He left off and deepened the kiss, leaving her breathless and tingling. He touched his forehead to hers and breathed, “Total privacy. Somewhere I can get my mouth on you and run my hands all over you and make you scream...”

A little sigh escaped her throat as she pictured him kissing a path up her inner thigh, sliding his fingers inside her as he teased her with his tongue. The crotch of her jeans was suddenly on fire, the seam making them far too tight.

“And where would that be?”

“How do you feel about yachts?”