The Curvy Waitress and the Billionaire French Count (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) (3 page)

Maybe he’s just having fun at my expense. Pretending to be interested so he can make fun of the big girl.
My insides twisted—for a second, I was right back in the playground and when my eyes closed for a second I could almost hear the chanting. But, when I opened them again and studied Erard…it didn’t
feel
like that. I was paranoid about people making fun of me. I could sure as hell spot it when it happened and, unless he was the world’s best actor, that wasn’t what he was doing.

Which means this is for real.
My heart did a somersault.

There was another few minutes of normal discussion. And then Erard threw in, “This table is just the right height for fucking you on.”

My eyes bulged.

“Have you ever done it on a table?” he asked.

I shook my head. I glanced down the length of the table. Everyone was waiting patiently, but one woman was frowning. Not as if she knew what we were saying, but she seemed to sense something was going on.

Erard nodded to me as if in understanding. And then he told me to tell the others that the meeting was over. A few of them gave frustrated glances when I told them, but they forced smiles onto their faces and shook our hands. The meeting had lasted less than an hour.

“Tell the count we’ll await his instructions,” one man told me.

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The count,” he said. And he nodded towards Erard.

We stepped out into the corridor, Erard pulling the doors shut behind us with a flourish. “You’re a
count?
” I asked. “Like Count Dracula?”

“Yes. And also no.”

I waited.

“I am a count. I will not bite your neck.” He stared at me. “At least, not very hard.”

My insides went liquid. We just stared at each other for a second.

“Do you have a castle?” I asked. “With…turrets?”

“No,” he said sagely. “I do have a chateau, and it has balconies.”

This is not happening. This is so not happening to me.
“Are you royalty?” I suddenly remembered how he’d smiled when I’d called him
Mr. Vannier.
“Should I have been calling you something?” I squeaked in horror.

“Calling me something?”

“Like…” My mind went blank. “’Your Countness.’”

He looked as if he was trying not to laugh. “I believe technically it’s
My Lord.
But you don’t need to say that.
”

I closed my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to make you nervous.” And from the look in his eyes, he was telling the truth. Which meant I couldn’t get angry at him, damn him.

The elevator arrived and once again I was in a metal box with someone who was practically a stranger. And who was a
count.
And who was rich. And who seemed, against all logic, to want me.

He was standing no closer than he had on the way up, but I could feel the heat rolling off his body, the strength of his presence like a physical touch. I stared at the vertical line where the metal doors met.
I can’t look at him. I can’t meet his eyes.
I was scared of what might happen if I dared to turn and look up at those gleaming blue-gray pools. Scared of what he might do and scared of what I might do. He certainly didn’t have any problem looking at
me
. I could feel his gaze burning down into me.

Just keep staring straight ahead,
I thought. And then what? What would happen when the doors opened? Would we say our goodbyes and I’d go back to the diner?

I didn’t want that. I didn’t know what I did want, but I didn’t want that.

“They seemed a little annoyed,” I told him, just to break the silence.

“I’m not surprised,” he said mildly. “We were meant to be in there all day.”

That made me spin around and stare at him. Too late, I realized my mistake. I was pinned there in his gaze, unable to move.

He shrugged. “It was a boring meeting,” he said. “And I’d much rather be alone with you.”

My mouth moved, but no sound came out. After a few seconds, I managed, “Why?”

He frowned. “You really have no idea, do you?”

I looked down at myself. “I know I’m not…I’m not what men want.”

“Not what men want?” he echoed. “Not what men
want?”
He took a step towards me, which put us all of a few inches apart. “Holly,” he said firmly, his accent stroking my brain, “your body is exquisite. The shape of you makes me go crazy inside. I want to rip off that uniform and push you up against the wall.”

It was very difficult to breathe. The world had obviously spun off its axis and this was the end of days, because a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad was lusting after me. Next there’d be aliens and space monkeys.

“Probably not a good idea,” I said in a voice higher than I’d known I was capable of. “I think these elevators have cameras.”

“Good,” he said. “The security men will get a good show.”

And suddenly he was leaning down, his lips parted and—

My eyes bulged.
I’m being kissed!
I was so shocked that my eyes stayed open, my hands limply down by my sides. His lips were on mine, moving slowly, tasting me, and a jolt of electricity went straight down to my toes and back up to my brain.
Yep, definitely a kiss. Help! Stop! No, don’t stop! Absolutely do not stop!
The elevator, I was sure, had stopped moving because we seemed to be floating.

It occurred to me that I should probably close my eyes, so I did. And then I opened my lips and I felt his tongue sliding gently against them, probing, caressing the edges….

I groaned as his head twisted and it turned into a deeper, longer kiss, both of us moving and pressing, and now his hands were coming down to cup my cheeks, holding me there as he kissed me, and my own hands were reaching blindly for his arms, his shoulders, anything to cling onto.
This is really happening. This is really real and really happening and OhMyGod.

His tongue slipped into my mouth and pleasure rippled down through my body. You know when you put a piece of paper in the copier and hit the button and that blinding, warm light slowly glides across, blasting through the paper? That’s what it felt like, as if the pleasure of it was lighting me up from the inside. I swore I glowed.

His fingertips were sliding through my hair, warm skin against my temples. I was panting into the kiss, hot little breaths that mingled with his. The kiss changed, becoming urgent, and my hands were moving, smoothing over the rounded bulges of his shoulders—God, they felt like rock, and so
big!

I seemed to fall, and it was only when my back hit the wall of the elevator that I realized he’d pushed me backwards into it. His body crushed against mine, my breasts pillowing against his pecs, and I could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt and my uniform, the thin fabric seeming suddenly very flimsy.

He broke the kiss for a second. There were about a million things I wanted to gasp, but I came out with, “You don’t even know my last name!”

“What’s your last name?” he asked with a growl, and the growl did all the things to me I’d thought it would.

“Donahue.” I was panting.

He slammed his lips back onto mine, his hands cupping my face again. We were open-mouthed now, mouths hungry and searching, and he was laying kisses all around my mouth as well as on it. His hands slid down my neck…my shoulders…my upper arms. My eyes opened as I realized where he was heading, but I didn’t stop him.

His palms smoothed over the fronts of my shoulders…the tops of my breasts. I held my breath. His eyes were open too, staring into mine as he kissed me. And then—

I drew in a shuddering breath through my nose as his hands cupped my breasts, kneading softly through my thin uniform, lifting and squeezing them together as his tongue explored my mouth. A deep, hot need was throbbing through me, now, shooting tendrils of energy to every part of my body, making me gasp and tremble.

We reached the lobby. I had a feeling that he would have kept right on kissing me, completely unconcerned about what anyone else might think, had it not been for my panicked expression. He stepped reluctantly back as the doors slid open.

Stepping out into the marble lobby and then into the afternoon sunlight was like awakening from a dream. Part of me wondered if it had really happened, if the whole thing had been a daydream…but my nipples were rasping against the fabric of my bra, achingly hard, my breasts still tingling from his fingers. And down between my thighs I could feel the slick moisture that had started back in the meeting and had only increased when his body pressed against mine.

I almost staggered across the sidewalk. The sun was still beating down, although there were gray clouds moving in fast. A car was waiting for us, parked half on the sidewalk and probably violating a thousand different statutes. Erard turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders.

“Let me buy you lunch,” he said.

I gave him a long look. God, he was gorgeous. And the memory of the elevator, the feel of his body against mine as his tongue had explored my mouth….

This is never going to work. He has money and I don’t. He stayed in college and I didn’t. He buys companies and I buy—
I couldn’t remember having the money to buy anything notable in a while
—instant noodles.

But he kissed my hand. And he seems to actually like me. And he’s so hot I want to lick his entire body.

“Just lunch?” I said, staring into his eyes.

“Just lunch,” he said solemnly.

***

The limo was like a bubble of luxury, sealing us away from the city streets. The fawn leather seats were practically armchairs—we could have been in an upmarket bar.

Then he completed the picture by opening a wood-fronted cabinet in front of us and taking out a bottle of champagne.

“It’s eleven am,” I said automatically.

He looked utterly bemused, as if he couldn’t see the relevance of that at all. “Yes?” he asked politely.

I shook my head. “Is this what you
do?”
I asked. “You travel around the world, drinking champagne in the backs of limos at eleven in the morning, propositioning waitresses?”

“Propositioning waitresses I only did twice before,” he told me. “Once in Moscow and once in Berlin.”

My jaw dropped open.

He passed me a glass of champagne. “Oh, Holly.” His finger brushed my cheek. “I’m kidding.”

I flushed. “You don’t do this to every waitress you meet?”

“No. Normally they don’t assault my translator.”

I flushed more and he laughed. I drank some champagne to cover my nerves, glancing out at the street. The limo rode so smoothly I’d barely noticed that we’d started to move, but we were speeding through the city. The champagne fizzed on my tongue, crisp and perfect. I looked sideways at Erard and, just as he had in the meeting, he looked perfectly at ease lounging there. This was his world.

“You’re a playboy,” I said suddenly. “Oh my
God,
you’re an actual playboy. I didn’t know they really existed.”

“I’m not a playboy. I run quite a large company. Well, I own it. Other people do most of the running.”

“I bet you have a jet.”

“I
charter
a jet.”

“And a yacht. In Monte Carlo.”

He paused and thought about it. “I do have one of those.”

I sucked in a huge breath. “I knew it. Are you
really
a playboy, or is it just a cover for being a superhero?”

“I have to disappoint you there. I don’t fight crime.”

“Probably a good thing. I’d worry about you if I was your girlf—“ I bit my tongue.

“Girlfriend?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said quickly.

“You nearly did.” He did his twinkling eyes thing again and it was all I could do to stop myself leaping across the car towards him. But this was all happening way, way too fast. I needed thinking time.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked.

“I’m taking you to lunch at a nice little place I know,” he told me. “But first I was going to buy you something to wear.”

I started to protest, but then looked down at my waitress uniform. I nodded tentatively.

We pulled up outside a boutique with an Italian name I couldn’t pronounce and price tags my brain couldn’t process.

“Whoah,” I said. “You said
something to wear.
”

“Yes,” said Erard. “Something nice.”

I shook my head. “I know how this works. I’ve read the books. It starts with the rich guy buying the girl an expensive dress. Before you know it, she’s being tied to the bed and spanked, naked and helpless, and he’s all ‘
I will teach you how pain and pleasure are one, my love,’
and
—“

I broke off, realizing I’d gone on for longer than I’d meant to. Erard was looking at me with one eyebrow raised.