The Paris Caper (24 page)

“That’s not—”

“And as for what you said
in the bar, you can’t possibly think—”

“I meant that,” she
interrupted stubbornly, fending off a wellspring of hurt that he’d think she
could lie about her feelings for him. “Though under the circumstances, I
probably shouldn’t have said it,” she admitted. “I...I’m sorry.”

The slashing angles of
his face grew severe and his half-lidded eyes burned darkly from beneath a
scowl. Lace-patterned shadows danced on the wall behind him as he regarded her.

“Fine. You meant it,” he
said. “Prove it.”

A tingle of apprehension
wrapped her in goosebumps. “Wh-what?”

“Prove you love me. Take
off your clothes,” he ordered roughly. “Now.”

♥♥♥

Ciara’s cheeks heated as
a surge of sexual desire slammed through her body at his growled command. She
swallowed heavily, unsure of what to do. What to make of the sudden change in
him.

Or was it a change?

“Not what you had in
mind?” he asked, tilting his head arrogantly.

She took a deep breath.
She wouldn’t lie. Not about this. “Yes. It is.”

“I’ll give you what you
want, Ciara. But we’re doing it my way.”

She finally understood. Jean-Marc
was a man who needed to be in control of his world. With her, he wasn’t. He had
to reestablish his dominance. If nothing else, at least in bed.

She could live with that.

“All right,” she
whispered.

“Go on, then.”

Haltingly, she toed off
her sandals, then unsnapped her jeans and unzipped them. She hazarded a glance
at him. Not moving from his spot propping up the door, he was watching her with
a hard expression. She almost faltered completely, except he jerked his chin
impatiently at the jeans. She quickly shimmied out of them.

Dropping the blue denim
to the floor, she reached for the hem of her black T-shirt.

“Panties first,” he
ordered.

She hesitated, because
for some reason that felt far more vulnerable—her T-shirt reached only to her
navel. But his expression was growing even more impatient, so she hurriedly
slid off her panties.

“Now your bra.”

She bit her lip. And
reached for the hem of her T-shirt.

“
Non
!” he barked.
“Just the bra. Leave the shirt on.”

For a second she was
confused. “But—”

“Do it.”

She found and fumbled
with the hook of her bra. It took her a moment to slip the straps off from
under the sleeves, but somehow she managed it, even with her hands shaking
badly.

How well did she know
him? Had she pushed him over the edge by bringing him to a place like this? How
could she be so sure he wouldn’t hurt her? Her thoughts strayed briefly to
Beck, and she closed her eyes.

“Look at me!” he snapped.
“Don’t ever stop looking at me. I want you to know who you’re with.”

“I know who I’m with,
Jean-Marc. I told you that I—”

“
Arrête
!” He held
up a palm. “Do not say you love me,
mon ange
. I know you mean to betray
me, so I don’t want to hear it.”

He stood there with his
back to the wall, looking so bad-tempered she forgot all about her fears.

She walked up to him and
put her hand on his cheek. “
Mon amour
,” she whispered.

The scent of his cologne,
subtle, expensive, masculine, wrapped itself around her. She felt her body
quicken. Heat. Melt.

And that quickly she
wanted him again. That desperately. She moved closer and drew her fingers down
his chest, the silky-fine cotton of his white dress shirt hot and slippery
under their tips. Like she would be, if he touched her.

His harsh breaths
scorched over her temple. She leaned into him, rubbing her nipples against his
chest. A low rumble sounded deep in his throat. Like the warning growl of a
wolf. But he didn’t touch her.

She reached for his
shoulder holster and slid it off, laying it over his jacket on the chair. Then
she went for his shirt buttons.

Slowly, one by one, she
undid them. She could smell him now...the strong, musky odor of light sweat and
potent lust. He didn’t utter a word, just watched her with wary, carnal eyes.

Pulling aside his shirt,
she raked her fingers deliberately across his chest, sifting through the thatch
of black hair, pausing over his tight, flat nipples erect with need. Like he
would be, if she touched him.

She put her nose to his
jaw, his throat, inhaled the erotic scent of his skin, the unique scent of her
lover. Her insides clenched in recognition, twisting with the nearly unbearable
desire to be united with him.

She was wet. Slick with
need. Trembling with a tumult of sensations and emotions. Wanting him. Wanting
him. She touched the button on his waistband.

He grabbed her wrists. “
Non
.”
Then with strong, powerful hands he urged her down. Down to her knees.

He was hard, the bulge in
his trousers long and thick. Excitement zinged a path through her body straight
to her center.

His cruel, sculpted lips
curled up at the corner. “Shoes,” he ordered softly. “My shoes and socks.”

With a moue of
disappointment, she complied, quickly ridding him of the nuisances.

“Now get up,” he said.
“Up on the bed.”

She blinked.

“
Now
!”

She scrambled to obey.
Tucking her legs under her on the mattress, she sat self-consciously on her
heels, awaiting his next command.

At last pushing away from
the door, he took his time closing the distance. He halted at the edge of the
bed.

She shivered, freezing
cold in the hot, close room. Terrified. Electrified. Excited beyond reason.

He put his fingertips on
her knee and she nearly jumped a foot in the air.

“Nervous?” he asked
softly.

“What are you going to do
to me?”

He smiled. The knowing
smile of a devil. “Anything I want.” He paused. Raised a black brow. “
D’accord
?”

Her pulse went into
hyperspace. What exactly did he have in mind? Did she trust him...to do
anything he wanted?

She felt like she was
about to jump off a cliff. But the amazing part was, she
did
trust him.
To jump with her.

She fought not to gnaw
her lip, and nodded. “Yes.”

His eyes glittered like
black obsidian. “
Bon
. Kneel up, and spread your knees.” She did.
“Wider.” She did.

 Even kneeling on the
bed, she was shorter than Jean-Marc. His broad-shouldered body towered above
her, making her feel overpowered and helpless. Surprisingly, it wasn’t an
unpleasant sensation. The fact was, she’d had to take care of herself for so
long, it came as an unforeseen relief...to be under his complete control. To
give herself up to his will.

Dangerous
, a part
of her warned—the sensible part.
Don’t lose yourself to him. Don’t give in.

But she was beyond reason
and beyond warning. She wanted this.

His fingers skimmed up
her thighs and she shivered harder. His touch was light, illusive, as he
explored the curves of her lower body, almost teasingly. Then they dipped under
her T-shirt, more insistent as they reached for her breasts. The fabric was
taut around her, so he had to shove his hands under it to get to them.

Her breath sucked in as
he roughly seized her. His eyes never left hers; probing, analyzing,
calculating. His thumbs rubbed over her sensitive nipples. She swallowed a cry
as he did it again. And again. All the while watching her, his devil’s lips
curved in their infuriatingly knowing smile.

“Unbuckle my trousers,”
he finally said, rolling one nipple between thumb and forefinger.

She could barely stay
upright. Moisture trickled down her inner thighs and there was an unbearable
pressure clamping her sex in a vise of craving. She wanted to be filled.

But her fingers refused
to cooperate. They fumbled with the button of his waistband and struggled with
his zipper until she nearly screamed with frustration. But at last the trousers
slid to his ankles, followed quickly by his boxer briefs.

Her breath caught. She’d
seen him before, of course. Knew intimately how large and finely-proportioned
his cock was. But today it seemed even bigger. Thicker.
Angrier
.

Her quivering hands
reached for him.

He stepped back. She
wanted to groan.

Removing his pants, he
set them aside. His smile, such as it was, disappeared. “Get down on your hands
and knees,” he ordered.

Her heartbeat stuttered.
“Jean-Marc—”

“
Do it
!”

Haltingly, she dropped to
her hands and knees along the length of the bed. Head up, she awaited his next
move. It seemed like an eternity before it came.

Coming close to the bed,
he gathered her long hair in his left hand and wound it around his fist until
the knot rested tight at the back of her head. The pull on her hair was almost
painful, the strength of his muscles as he held her there immobilizing. His
right hand he placed on her naked bottom.

“Spread your knees,” he
ordered her again. This time she spread them wide apart, desperately wanting
him to touch her there.

Which he did. With almost
clinical interest, he moved his hand down her bottom and along her cleft.
Touching her with his palm and his fingers, gliding, squeezing, probing.

“
Dieu.
Tu es en feu
.”

She was panting by now.
Definitely on fire. “Jean-Marc—”

A sharp slap stung on her
backside. “
La ferme
!” Quiet!

A cry escaped before she
could stop it. Not so much of pain as pure surprise. And shock. He had spanked
her!

His palm rubbed over the
sore spot, soothing the sting on her derrière. Then his long finger slid into
her, making her gasp in pleasure. She moaned, undulating against his hand.

“
C’est bon
?” he
asked, his voice like the crunch of gravel under a car tire. “You like that?”

Though barely able to
move her captive head, she decided just to nod, mindful of his last command.
She was looking down at the pillow and wished she could see his face, but he
stood too high above her back.

He withdrew his finger.
She whimpered. He shoved her T-shirt up, tugging it off her breasts so they
hung down ripe and begging for him. She had never felt so completely exposed in
her life.

At least until he exerted
pressure on her neck and urged her head to lower to the pillow. She wanted to
drop her bottom too, but his hand between her legs prevented it. Her pulse
thundered at her position.

“Stay like this,” he
said, voice low. “I want you just like this.”

“Jean-Marc,” she began,
and again a sharp slap stung across her ass. “Unh!” she cried.

“Do you understand?”

She swallowed and nodded
quickly. But he spanked her anyway. Not hard, but fast and stinging. And again.
And again. Her ass burned and she cried out to him. But all at once she
realized she was crying out in pleasure. It didn’t hurt, it felt...arousing. He
spanked her, and every agonizing sensation shot straight between her legs and
throbbed there, increasing her desire for him.

Suddenly her hair was
released, the bed dipped, and she felt him behind her. His fingers gripped her
and his thumbs spread her apart and in one powerful thrust he mounted her.

His roughened voice
caught on a roar as his cock pushed deep inside.

She came apart. She
shuddered and shook as he scythed in and out twice, then swiftly joined her. He
wrapped his arms around her and pressed his chest tight to her back as he
spasmed, his hot essence spurting into her with each jerk.

He swore. Even before he
was finished, he swore.

She was too wrung out,
too sated, too filled with heated pleasure, to wonder why.

When he stilled, he held
her even tighter, groaned, and whispered, “
Merde

. I forgot the condom.”

Ciara didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” Jean-Marc
murmured, his addled brain swamped with consternation. “I don’t know what
happened. I
never
forget.”

Collapsing onto the bed,
he turned her in his arms, gathering her into an embrace. She wouldn’t look at
him. Twin flags of scarlet dotted her pleasure-flushed cheeks. She appeared
slightly shell-shocked.

Inwardly, he called
himself every kind of name.

“Ciara,
mon ange
,
I swear I’m— Don’t worry, I haven’t given you anything.” At that, her eyes
darted to his. “Except...” he added with a blown-out breath, “of course, maybe,
depending on if you...” He braced himself. “Do you take the pill?”

The flags grew redder.
“No,” she whispered.

Merde
.

He wanted to curse long
and hard. But then something very peculiar happened. A sudden feeling of
intense pride blazed through him, and for one stark, unreal moment he wanted
nothing more than for her to be carrying his child.

“You
spanked
me,”
she whispered incredulously, breaking the uncharacteristic spell.

He cleared his throat,
more than a little embarrassed. “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he
murmured, a bit defensively. The woman brought out things in him he’d never—
Dieu
.

“Is this some kind of
clever new law enforcement strategy?” she asked with obvious pique, but settled
her head on his shoulder. “Confess or I’ll spank you...”

Thank God she was
regaining her sense of humor. Sort of. She seemed more dazed than upset.
Denial? Denial worked for him.

“Well, you
have
been very naughty...” he ventured, testing the less daunting waters.

She didn’t whack him, so
he raised her chin with his fingers and kissed her.