Propositioned Into A Foreign Affair / Seduced Into A Paper Marriage

“Dinner?” she squeaked.

He didn’t push nearer this time. He simply smiled, his steely, gray eyes glinting with appreciation. “Our chef is internationally known. I will instruct him to make anything you request.”

What about a hamburger to go? Because she should run, run, run. Run back to her penthouse for more spinsterish plans—watching a chick flick with Muffin, her third in as many days. Where again she would probably cry her eyes out. Where—yet again—she would see the beautiful French sunrise all by her lonesome.

How flipping pathetic. She needed something to jar her out of that sad routine. She needed to prove she wasn’t falling apart.

She eased her grip on the dog carrier and reassessed Sam Garrison. Perhaps he could provide just the distraction she really needed tonight. And it wasn’t like there was a chance in hell she would fall for any smooth talker’s charms again. Anything that happened between the two of them would be her choice with her eyes wide open.

Bella secured her sheet and straightened her shoulders. “Does your cook make doggie treats?”

He’d lured her to his suite.

With a gourmet meal, a little persuasion and a bit of luck, he would lure her into his bed as well.

Sam sampled the remains of his chardonnay while Bella sat across from him at the intimately small table in the alcove overlooking the moonlit water. Candlelight flickered, casting an ivory glow over her face.

She’d swapped her sheet for a voluminous white robe bearing the hotel’s crest on the pocket. Clothes would show up soon—but not too soon. He hadn’t seen the need to rush and risk her leaving before he had a chance to persuade her to stay.

The leftovers of their meal remained on the table and antique serving cart. He’d sent away their server after the hotel employee had unveiled the duck in a black currant sauce.

Bella hadn’t even blinked. She’d been too busy eating. He liked a woman who enjoyed her food. He’d wondered if the world-class cuisine would be wasted on an anorexic Hollywood type who dined only on watercress and wine.

He had the wine part right.

She alternated sips of his cellar’s best with tastes from the wooden board filled with samples of cheeses and fruit. Her face bore the smile of a content woman.

Even her dog was happily snoozing on a pile of gold tasseled pillows on the sofa after snacking on the baked puppy treats his chef had whipped up.

Bella dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “This was all amazing. Far more relaxing than even a massage.” She reached for her wineglass beside the single rose in a vase. The neck of her robe parted slightly to reveal the creamy curves of her breasts. “It’s just what I needed after a real bitch of a month.”

She had mentioned that in the hall earlier as well. He knew the look of a woman burning to vent and the more she talked, the longer she would stay. Conveniently, that would give him more time to win her over.

He set aside his drink, focusing his total attention on her so she could tell her celebrity tale of woe. An unflattering photo? A former friend spilling lies for a payoff? “Why has your month been so terrible?”

She hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “You must be the only person on the planet who hasn’t read a newspaper.”

“Gossip magazines you mean?” He spit out the words. “I stay away from them.”

“Smart man. I wish my job allowed me that luxury.” She downed half the remaining fine wine as if it were nothing more than water. A bracing breath later, she continued, “My grandmother has breast cancer, my boyfriend dumped me and my uncle’s really my dad.”

He whistled low and long. Not what he’d expected at all. “That is one helluva month.”

She glanced up from her drink. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not offering platitudes that really don’t fix anything.” She set her crystal stemware back on the table. “I prefer a no B.S. attitude.”

He simply nodded, refilling her glass. He hadn’t realized the family matriarch—Lillian Hudson—was battling for her life. Lillian was somewhat of a legend around France, her homeland until she met and married a young American soldier during WWII. “This is your grandmother you made the movie about?”

“Yes. Since my grandfather died thirteen years ago, Grandmere—I’m the only one to call her Grandmere, actually, but that’s besides the point.” Bella paused to sip her wine. “She’s made it her mission to bring their wartime love story to the big screen. We were afraid she couldn’t live long enough, but with the film making its debut in a week on Christmas day, it looks like she’ll have her wish. She’s weak, but hanging on. This project has come together in time to celebrate the sixtieth anniversary of Hudson Studios. It’s perfect timing.”

“It must have been tough playing your grandmother in the movie, especially now.” He didn’t keep up with Hollywood bios, but he seemed to recall that while Bella Hudson had made great strides in independent films she’d yet to achieve a breakout role.

She toyed with her napkin, twisting it tight. “People think my casting was some kind of family gift, but I had to fight to get that part. And I’m so glad I got the chance. Making a movie about my grandparents’ World War II romance was an honor—all the more fitting since the movie itself is called Honor. Are you familiar with their story?”

“Only what I’ve read in news releases about the movie.” He lied a bit, but hearing her sexy voice stoked his senses. And talking about her grandparents softened the strained edges around her eyes.

He suspected the telling would relax her far more than any wine and he most definitely wanted to make Bella feel at home.

She eased back into her chair, toying with the stem on her wineglass. “My grandfather was a U.S. soldier when he met my grandmother here in France. She was a struggling cabaret performer. They secretly married. After the war, he brought her back to the States. My grandfather Charles founded a movie studio so Grandmere Lillian could bring her talents to the big screen. He made her a legend and she made his fledgling studio a huge success. It’s a fairy-tale story.” Her eyes sparkled more than the crystal in the candlelight.

“Sounds like you have romance in your genes.”

Her smile faded fast. She rose from her chair, taking her drink with her as she turned her back to him and crossed to the window, boats bobbing in the busy French port outside.

“My belief in romance took a serious hit recently.” Her voice trembled. “My mother had an affair with her husband’s brother. My parents have split up as a result. I always thought they had such a great marriage and now everything has come crumbling down.”

He shoved back his chair and walked over to her, stopping an inch shy of touching her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, fiery spirit replacing any tears in her eyes. “I’m not sure why I’m spilling my guts to you this way.”

“Maybe you just needed to tell someone rather than having the press tell it all for you.”

She tossed her head, her hair a flame-red contrast against the white robe. “Perhaps.”

The exotic perfume of her shampoo mingled with the scent of the massage oil slicking her skin. His body stirred in response, but he could control himself.

The payoff would be worthwhile for both of them if she decided to stay—and it needed to be her decision. “I’m afraid I don’t have any reassuring words to offer you, Bella. My Garrison cousins are all jumping on the marriage bandwagon, but I’m still a cynical soul when it comes to tying the knot.”

She laughed low, her eyes lingering on his face a second longer than casual interest. “Did your parents have a crummy marriage, too?”

He slid around to stand beside her, leaning one shoulder on the picture window overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. He normally didn’t roll out his life story for strangers, not that his private life was any secret after the way the press raked his mother over the coals. Anything he said, Bella could find out on her own.

So why not use those same facts to wrangle his way a little closer to her? It wasn’t like any of the information upset him anymore.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her too soon and risk spooking her. “My parents never had a marriage at all. My father was a scam artist looking to hook up with a wealthy Garrison. Mom fell for him at first, got pregnant, but wised up before actually tying her life to the jerk.”

Her hand fluttered to rest on his arm. “I’m sorry, for your mother and for you.”

“No loss on my part. He’s an ass. He tried to get custody of me once, but everyone knew he was only interested in the trust fund that came with me. The courts threw out his case once three women showed up with marriage licenses bearing my dad’s name.”

“He’d been married before?”

“But never divorced.”

“Ouch,” she gasped. “Your father was a bigamist?”

“Big time.” This wasn’t something he talked about, but if sharing it would gain him traction in winning over Bella, then why not? He’d long ago hardened himself to the facts that made up his parentage. “Mom was forty-one, single, pregnant and hounded by the press.”

Her eyes went wide. “Your mother was forty-one when she had you? From the way you told the story I thought she was younger.”

His mother had once told him that she hated being a cliché most of all—the old maid taken in by a younger Lothario. Sam hated most of all that the press had hammered home that image to his mother. They’d made her life miserable to the point she’d become a recluse, living in a barrier island bungalow off the coast of Southern Florida.

He stared back at young and vibrant but too vulnerable Bella. Would the media wear her down? Or would she develop Teflon defenses over time?

And speaking of relationships and breakups…“You mentioned an ex-boyfriend.”

She looked down and away, out the window again. “My costar in Honor. Ridley the Rat.”

He stroked a strand of her hair back over her shoulder, leaving his hand there, caressing the inside curve of her neck. “Ridley the Rat, huh? I’m glad he’s out of the picture.”

Bella studied him through narrowed eyes, but she didn’t pull away. “Your empathy factor is sadly lacking.”

He slid his fingers into her hair, cupping her head. “But my attraction factor is not. Ridley the Rat is an idiot.”

“Oh.” Her pupils widened and she swayed closer toward him in unmistakable attraction.

Enough dancing around the subject. Time to let her know how much she affected him and see if she felt the same. He dipped his head and skimmed his mouth over hers. Her breathy sigh, and the downward glide of her eyelashes encouraged him.

He traced the seam of her lips until she parted for him and finally her hands slipped up his arms to rest on his shoulders. A jolt of desire shot through him, instantaneous. Undeniable. He deepened the kiss, stroked, searched, learned the taste and feel of her.

She edged closer to him, returning his kiss with an enthusiasm that made him hard with desire. Her soft curves grazed his chest, her fluffy robe warm from her heat. He could keep pushing the point and he was fairly certain she would follow him all the way into his bedroom a simple door away. Her response indicated as much. But he needed to hear her total, unreserved surrender.

Sam eased his mouth from hers, his hands sliding down her back to loop loosely around her waist. He watched her, waiting for her to open her eyes again.

Finally, her lashes fluttered open again, her blue gaze passion glazed. “Wow.”

Yeah, “wow” pretty much summed it up. He wasn’t sure what it was about her kiss that sent him so high so fast, but this woman packed a hell of a punch to his libido. He didn’t want to think overlong how much a simple kiss rocked him. He gathered up his shaky control and focused on winning her over for what he wanted most.

More.

More of her.

Tonight.

“Wow,” she said again, her voice steadier this time.

He glided his knuckles along her jaw, the silky feel of her skin making him ache all the way to his teeth. He wanted to discover if she felt this good all over. “My eyes followed you more than once at parties we both attended over the years. But you don’t need me to tell you what a gorgeous woman you are when there are magazine covers devoted to stroking your ego.”

“I hardly know you.” Yet her face dipped toward his touch. “You’re polite and this dinner was lovely, but I’m not even sure I like you.”

“Ah, but do you want me?”

Three

Bella gripped the edge of the winter-cool windowsill to keep from falling straight into Sam’s muscular arms. Even the romantic Marseille skyline twinkling beyond the pane seemed to be special-ordered for seduction. With the power of his kiss still zinging through her veins, she couldn’t deny the obvious to him, much less to herself.

She wasn’t sure why he affected her so much, so quickly. She didn’t like to think of herself as shallow, falling into bed with a man because of his looks. But then hadn’t she done just that with Ridley?

God, even thinking of how easily he’d tossed her aside still hurt. Ridley had said he loved her. He’d even discussed getting married. All lies, lies she hadn’t seen through because she’d been too caught in the romantic air of filming her grandparents’ story. She’d been ripe for the picking when Ridley showered her with his flowery charm.

Apparently he was an even better actor than she’d given him credit for.

She scrubbed memories of him from her brain. Thoughts of him now, while she was with Sam, felt disloyal somehow. For tonight, in this moment, she would be totally with this man, a man who issued bold, blunt statements of fact rather than fake, empty, flattery.

Yes, she wanted Sam. Yes, she needed something to ease the pain inside her and it seemed being with him might help her forget for at least a night. But no way could she let him think she was a total pushover.

She tipped her chin, the heat of his touch still tingling. “You’re certainly not lacking in the ego department.”

He trailed a finger along the lapel of her bathrobe. “I’m only stating facts here. You’re a gorgeous woman. I would have to be dead not to notice.”

His words soothed her wounded ego. People complimented her often enough, but so many of them were sycophants and suck-ups, she discounted much of what they said. She couldn’t miss the straightforward sincerity in Sam’s eyes.

Still, a wounded part of her needed to push. “A person’s worth is about more than looks.”

“Of course.” He stepped closer, the tangy scent of his aftershave tempting her to breathe deeper. “But initial, animal attraction shouldn’t be discounted.”

“Is that what’s happening here?” she asked, even when she already knew the answer to that one.

She was completely out of her depth, wavering on weak-kneed hunger for him, and it was a feeling unlike any she’d ever experienced. Animal attraction sounded just about right for her instinctual need to touch him.

“What do you think?” He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, broad palms gently massaging away her tension.

And self-control.

“I’m thinking that maybe you believe sleeping with me might make for good publicity, or that you want the novelty of sleeping with an actress.” Had she actually said that? She hadn’t even known the fear existed until the words fell out of her mouth.

“Damn, lady, that’s a hefty load of insecurities.” He gave her shoulders a final squeeze before pulling his hands back. “Let’s unpack that one issue at a time.” He held up one finger. “First, I don’t need you or the damn press in order to be successful. I’m managing quite fine on my own. In fact, I could buy your family business twice over.” He ticked off a second finger. “Second, if I wanted novelty, there are other women I could turn to who wouldn’t accuse me of chasing them for their money.”

Her eyebrows shot upward. “You really aren’t lacking in ego.”

“Women chase me for my money. That’s nothing to be proud of.”

A hesitant smile tipped her mouth. “I really don’t have anything you need.”

“Now, there you’re wrong.” He stepped closer, his body totally flush against hers, his hard muscles a sweet temptation against her.

“I am?” she gasped, the musky scent of him swirling through her with that one breath.

“Since the second I saw you running down that hall, I have wanted to get closer to you. So much so that I’m damn near about to explode if I don’t get my mouth on some part of you soon.”

The intensity of his rumbling voice stroked her senses as artfully as his touch, his kiss, everything about this moment drugging her, dragging her away from any good intentions.

She knew he had a reputation with women, and in a strange way that made this encounter somehow safe. She didn’t have to worry about risking a relationship. Her heart wouldn’t be in jeopardy.

Casual affairs had never been her style, but then her life had never been this upside down. Why not take what she needed? What he so clearly wanted, too.

Maybe she’d been hoping for a little adventure when she’d taken the elevator up to his private suite tonight. But then, perhaps being wrapped in Sam Garrison’s arms was the balm her wounded spirit needed. And who better to seek this moment of mindless pleasure with than a man who knew all about the joys of hot, one-time encounters?

“Birth control?” she asked, that issue the last hurdle between her and jumping into his bed.

“In the other room.” His hand slid behind her back, anchoring her against him. “Is that a yes?”

She touched his face, her fingers testing his raspy five-o’clock shadow. “Yes, definitely yes.”

A low growl of appreciation his only response, he scooped her off her feet and carried her across the sitting area to the door ajar, leading into his bedroom. Dim lighting from the crystal chandelier showcased the king-size bed with a large painted panel of the French countryside over the bed.

The burgundy-and-gold brocade comforter was turned back invitingly. Champagne waited in a bucket by the bed along with chocolate-covered strawberries.

She thumped him on the shoulder lightly. “You were planning this all along when you placed the order for supper?”

“What can I say? I was hopeful as hell from the second you slammed into my chest wearing nothing more than a sheet.”

So he’d been hopeful. Yet he’d still given her plenty of chances to say no. He might be a player, but he was a player with honor.

Time to stop thinking.

Time to feel and forget.

Raising her face for his kiss, she smoothed her hands over his hair, finally allowing herself the indulgence of feeling its texture. Soft along the top, a bit bristly as his hair tapered off at his neck. She savored the pleasure of being kissed by a man who knew how to do it so beautifully well.

Beside the sprawling king-size bed, he lowered her to her feet, her toes nearly disappearing in the carpet. Her hands roved his back, the fine fabric of his shirt soft against her fingers, a thin barrier over the hard muscled expanse. A thin barrier she quickly unbuttoned and stroked away to reveal the cut of muscles, more defined than she’d imagined. And her imagination had been darn impressed.

What other pleasant surprises waited for her? He had far more clothes on than she did and she did not intend to be the only one naked in this room.

Desperation gripped her with a frantic need to soak up everything she could from her time with him. This was her amnesia drug of choice. A way to forget everything. A way to relieve the tension Henri had said riddled her muscles. She couldn’t imagine herself in a relationship anytime soon and she couldn’t see herself indulging in a string of meaningless encounters. This, Sam, could be her last chance for the sweet pleasure of a man’s bold stroke for quite a while to come.

He kissed his way down the sensitive curve of her neck, nudging aside her robe with his chin, only an inch. She’d expected him to whip away the belt quickly. Instead he took his time, lavishing attention in the curve of her shoulder.

“Faster,” she said, unbuckling his pants frantically as he toed off his shoes and socks.

“Slower,” he commanded, lowering her to the bed, sinking her into the downy fullness. Her robe parted. He froze for an instant before he exhaled hard. “I knew you were beautiful, and it’s obvious you have a great body, but damn. Just damn.”

Maybe he was only dishing out flattery to win her over…Hey wait, he didn’t have to win her over anymore. She was already naked and ready in his bed.

Unwilling to wait any longer, she arched up and hooked her thumbs in his waistband. “How about we get rid of those pants so I can enjoy you, too?”

His hands covered hers as she swept away his trousers and boxers, the bristly hair on his muscular thighs sending a shower of awareness stinging through her. She let her eyes rove him in a “wow” moment all her own. His broad shoulders spoke of strength beyond the boardroom, a strength she’d experienced firsthand when he’d so effortlessly carried her. She glanced back up to his angular face—handsome in a stark way—softened by an intriguing dimple in his chin.

In a flash of insight, she realized she’d chosen Ridley’s opposite. Other than dark hair, Sam shared little in common with her more wiry, smoothly good-looking ex-lover. She shoved away thoughts of another man.

No one and nothing else would intrude on this.

Sam tapped her on the shoulder lightly, encouraging her to fall back on the mattress. He snagged a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket beside the bed. Deftly, he popped the magnum, angling it over her body so the frothy overflow splashed along her stomach.

“Sam!” she squealed at the cold kiss of bubbles against her overheated flesh.

He dribbled champagne along her stomach. Cool droplets gleamed on her skin, sending a shiver through her. He dipped his head to taste and tease her with his tongue. Lower, lower and lower still he slowly dribbled a thin trail of amber liquid between her legs.

Wicked determination lit his eyes as he tasted her. Carefully, again and again, just enough to tease her higher without sending her over the edge.

He glanced up at her with heavy lidded eyes. “You make me drunk.”

“We didn’t have that much wine with dinner.” She wouldn’t be able to delude herself later that this had been an alcohol-induced mistake.

He gripped her hips, his naked body sliding up and over hers. “You misunderstand. I said ‘you make me drunk.’”

“You flatter me.”

“I am known for being brutally honest.”

His undisguised admiration numbed her bruised ego more effectively than any bottle of champagne. Bella flipped Sam to his back, leaned toward the silver tray by the ice bucket and plucked up a chocolate-covered strawberry between her teeth. She brought her mouth to his and shared.

He nipped at the fruit, closer and closer until their lips met. His kiss tasted of strawberries and champagne, and she couldn’t deny the power of his touch along her skin. His touch brought the perfect forgetfulness.

Sam held her kiss while reaching to the bedside table for protection. He sheathed himself before she even had time to totally register what he was doing, but grateful all the same that he’d possessed a whisper of restraint enough to do so.

He gripped her hips and positioned her over him, nudging against her as he stared up into her eyes. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, taking him, letting him take her with bold strokes that scattered any remaining rational thought.

Heat rose and she threw herself into that swirl of sensation. Total oblivion. Complete forgetfulness of all the things that had driven her here in the first place. Into his bed.