Pleasure Games / Legal Attraction

“Are you hungry?” the man asked.

“What time is it?”

He flipped his wrist to check his watch. “Seven thirty.”

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled and she laughed, though it sounded false to her ears. “I guess so.”

“Come. Sit.”

She followed him into the open-concept kitchen, dining room and living room. Like the bedroom, the space was stark. Wood floors, a plain gray leather couch, white walls with dark beams overhead and the floor-to-ceiling windows that seemed to be the norm in Paris.

Jasmine sat on a gray leather barstool at the breakfast counter, leaning her elbows on the granite surface, her hand going automatically to her aching temple.

“Un moment.” The man—Luca—strode back down the hall, returning a moment later with the ice pack and two tablets. He first placed the pack against his cheek, murmuring something in French before passing it to her. “It’s still cold. It’ll help with swelling and bruising.”

“Thank you.”

Then he dropped the tablets into her upturned hand, his fingers accidentally grazing her palm.

There were those damn tingles again.

She frowned, which hurt. Still, her gaze followed him as he opened a small refrigerator, removed a glass jug of clear bubbling liquid, poured it into a tumbler and handed it to her. She took a sip of the sparkling water, which burned quite pleasantly as she swallowed the pills.

“Are you okay to sit? Do you need to lie down?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

His lips turned up at the ends—not a real smile—as he prompted her to apply the ice pack by taking her hand and placing it against her head.

“It will help.”

Jasmine closed her eyes as she iced, ignoring the tingles—and certainly not thinking about the source of the tingles. Once again, she willed herself to remember what had happened after her arrival in Paris, but there was nothing behind her lids but blackness interspersed by shards of light that flashed with each beat of her pulse. For some reason, trying to remember made her head hurt more, so instead, she simply listened to Luca work in the kitchen.

Cupboards opened and closed. The sound of a nearby drawer as it was sliding open and closed on its runners. A knife against a cutting board. Slicing. Another drawer and the sound of cutlery. The clink of glass against the granite countertop followed by the pop of a cork and the gurgling of liquid being poured.

When she opened her eyes, a glass of red wine sat in front of her, as did a plate of various cheeses, finely sliced meats, nuts and olives that he’d placed in the middle of the counter between them.

Luca was tipping his own wine glass back and Jasmine noticed the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. He had a strong neck. Lots of tendons and muscles that worked in harmony.

And then he caught her staring. “Yes?”

She cleared her throat and pointed at her glass. “Should I be drinking?”

“Just a glass. It’s good for you. But then water.” He gestured to the platter of food. “Please.”

Hesitantly, Jasmine reached for a piece of cheese. Oh, it was good, and the more she ate, the more hungry she felt.

When was the last time she’d eaten?

Glancing down, she noticed her dirt-smeared blouse. When was the last time she’d changed? Showered? Turning and tilting her chin in a way she hoped was inconspicuous, Jasmine gave her pits a sniff.

Ugh. Not the freshest.

“Um...” Jasmine began after eating a handful of nuts and three slices of meat. “I hate to trouble you, but would I be able to take a shower?”

The man turned from where he’d been pulling items out of the small refrigerator. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Excuse me?”

“Taking a shower is not recommended. If you faint, you could hurt yourself.” He poured flour onto a plate and added spices with his fingers from pinch jars on the counter. After wiping his hands on a nearby towel, he said, “Come with me.”

Jasmine eased off the stool onto her bare feet. The act of standing made her light-headed and she kept a hand on the wall as she followed Luca slowly down the hall, right to the end where there was a large bathroom tiled in slate-colored travertine. There was an ultramodern glassed-in shower big enough for two and a large free-standing soaker tub with a washing wand propped at one end.

“Don’t fill the tub,” Luca said, gesturing to it. “There are towels here.” He pulled a thick white towel out of a cupboard. “I’ll find some clothes for you and leave them in the bedroom.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Dinner should be ready in forty-five minutes.”

“Okay.”

Jasmine leaned on the counter for support and turned to find blue eyes scrutinizing her, making her already wobbly knees feel weaker.

“Do you need help?”

Jasmine swallowed.

Was he serious? Would he actually help her? She glanced at his hand propped on the side of the doorframe. Tanned. Nicely shaped fingernails. Big hands.

What would it feel like to have them removing her clothing?

Helping her into the tub?

Washing her body?

Oh, God.

The tingles she’d been feeling all evening spread from her extremities down her lower back and abdomen, culminating at the very juncture of her legs.

“Mademoiselle? Are you okay?”

Jasmine realized her breaths were coming in short little pants and she was gripping the counter like a life vest in an ocean of orgasmic waves.

“Fine,” she said quickly. “I’m totally fine.”

“Do you need my help?” he asked once again.

She met his gaze. There was concern there and nothing more. This man was not coming on to her, as insistent as her imagination was. Luca was simply being helpful. And kind.

She smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m all good.”

“Bien.” He stepped back out the door. But before he left, he ducked his head inside the bathroom one more time. “Mademoiselle? Please, keep the door open.”

* * *

Luca left the woman in the bathroom and went to the wardrobe in the bedroom. There was very little to choose from that would fit her, as the collection of clothes he’d brought was sparse. In one drawer he found a pair of shorts that could be tightened with a drawstring and one of his favorite T-shirts from the Red Bull Ring MotoGP event in Austria, 2016.

He left the items on the bed and then went to stand outside the door of the bathroom. It was partially open. He raised his hand to knock, but before he did, his glance went to the mirror, visible through the opening.

Jasmine’s back was to him—her bare back.

Merde...

Her spine swayed gracefully and there were two delightful little dimples at the top of her buttocks. Her skin was a flawless caramel color, a contrast to the dark hair that cascaded in waves between her shoulder blades. Her ass was...

Jesus, her ass...

Clenching his fists, Luca turned away from the barely opened door. What the hell was he doing? Now he was a fucking voyeur? This woman’s mere presence was trouble enough. The last thing he needed to be doing was ogling her through a semiclosed door. He certainly did not need to be entertaining thoughts of running his finger down the indent of her backbone, dipping into one dimple and then the other and cupping the glorious globes of her ass in each of his hands.

Squeezing before exploring...

Enough!

With a strengthened resolve, he knocked on the wall beside the partly open door. “Mademoiselle?”

“Yes?” Her voice sounded startled. And hopeful.

What the fuck?

“I’ve left some clothes for you in the bedroom. I can launder your clothes tonight so they are clean for tomorrow. Just leave them on the bed.”

“Oh.” Her voice sounded breathless. “Thank you.”

Luca marched down the hall without another word. He needed to focus his attention on tasks like preparing the fish for dinner. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t exactly cooperating.

It’s been a long time, Luca...and that ass...

“Silencieux!” he muttered to himself.

There was no way he would get involved with an amnesiac, concussed tourist. Honestly. It was a bad idea all around. No matter how much his libido thought differently.

Twenty minutes later, when the fish was warming in the oven, he glanced down the hall with a hint of worry. Should he check on her? What if she’d ignored his recommendation and had filled the tub with water, then fallen asleep or passed out and drowned.

Shit.

He hurried down the hall and was just about to push open the door when Jasmine came out wearing nothing but a towel. The scent of his own shampoo wafted about her and he was forced to squash the insane desire to bury his nose in her hair and breathe her in.

Before tugging the towel from her body and tasting that warm skin.

“Hi.” The woman’s eyes were wide and gorgeous, and appeared much more innocent, sans makeup. That should have quieted his libido.

It did not. Quite the opposite.

He purposefully took a step back, tipped his head and said, “Dinner is ready. I hope you like fish.”

He didn’t wait for a response but simply spun around and made his way back to the kitchen where he poured himself a large glass of wine and drank most of it before Jasmine made her appearance.

Jesus.

If he’d thought she looked good enough to eat wearing nothing but a towel and the scent of his soap, he was mistaken. The sight of her in his too-big clothes was—fuck—an instant and immediate turn-on.

“Whatever it is, it smells wonderful,” she said, softly. Shyly.

Seriously, she was killing him.

“It’s sole meunière. Very simple. Just fish, lemon, butter and parsley. Oh, and potatoes.”

She sat down at the counter and shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

Luca took the plates from the oven and set them on the counter. He slid cutlery across, refilled her water glass and went around the counter to join her on the other side. Ten minutes ago he had been famished. Now, sitting within touching distance of the American woman, Luca’s senses were so enraptured by her that his hunger for food was displaced by an even stronger hunger. Her skin was still warm from the bath, so warm he could feel heat radiating off her. With the heat came the scent of his toiletries but somehow feminized when combined with her own natural scent.

Then there were her eyes.

Whenever their gazes met, he found himself captivated by her large brown eyes, as if sinking into them in a wonderful way, like Charlie at the river of chocolate in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. He wanted to stay there, drinking it in, forever.

It was Jasmine who broke his stare, turning her attention to the food in front of her. She delicately cut off a piece of fish and placed it on her tongue.

“Mmm...my God.” She closed her eyes while her fork was still aloft. “That is so good.” Opening her eyes, she smiled at him. “That’s more than just fish and lemon and parsley.”

“Non. That’s all it is. But everything is fresh, of course.”

“Of course.” She took another bite. “You French really know how to cook.”

Luca grinned. It was a cliché, and yet coming from this woman her remark pleased him. They finished their meal in relative silence—except for the odd sound of orgasmic enjoyment, which was not helping to cool his libido in the least—and once their plates were clean, Luca took them to the sink and washed them.

“Thank you.”

He looked up. “You don’t need to thank me every five minutes.”

“I know but...” She played absently with a strand of hair. “Your kindness means so much...” Her voice caught but she recovered quickly. “Particularly when I’m a complete stranger to you.”

“Really, it is nothing.”

She exhaled softly. “Can I ask you a question?”

He glanced up. “Of course.”

Her fingers strayed to the lump on her head. “Is there anything else you can tell me about how you found me?”

Luca pulled in his lower lip. His new beard felt strange against his mouth. “Non. I found you passed out on the road.”

“Where?”

“Not far from here. Maybe seven or eight blocks away.”

She touched her head. “And I was alone? No bag, no shoes?”

“Yes.”

“Was I mugged?”

“Perhaps. I really don’t know.” Liar. But something in his gut told him that the less anyone knew about this whole ordeal, including her, the better. She might be trustworthy, but he didn’t know for sure. Jogging her memory might be like opening Pandora’s box, unleashing a situation he couldn’t handle right now. He’d let her stay the night, then tomorrow morning he’d figure out his next move.

“God, I wish I could remember.”

“Mmm.” Luca cut some more slices of cheese and added them to the platter from earlier. Not because they needed more cheese or more food, but to give him something to do during this conversation.

“I’ve tried to remember, but...”

“It’s normal.” Luca pushed the platter closer to the woman. “To have a lapse in memory. It will return. Sometimes the more you try to concentrate, the harder it is. You need to rest. Tomorrow you will remember and be able to go back to your old life.”

“You speak as if from experience.”

Luca broke a piece of cheese and ate it, considering his answer. “I have had a concussion before.”

“How did you get yours?”

“I—” Luca paused, only for a second “—have ridden motorbikes since I was eight years old. I have had a few accidents.” The last of which ended his career. A ninety percent recovery wasn’t enough when it was your gear foot.

“Don’t you wear a helmet?”

“Of course. Helmets have saved my life. But you can still get a concussion with a helmet.”

She tilted her head as she gazed at him. Her brows drew together as if a thought—or a memory—had just come to her.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

Jasmine plucked a piece of cheese from the plate. She had nice hands, her fingers slim and delicate, her nails painted a neutral color.

“I remember flying to Paris. This was supposed to be—” She glanced up. “A girl’s trip with my best friend, but she’s expecting a baby—unexpectedly—and...”

Luca waited silently for Jasmine to continue.

“Anyway, I decided to come by myself.”

“Sometimes traveling alone is the best way.” Luca had enjoyed a few trips to Greece on his own. Just to get away from...everything.

Jasmine took a sip of water. And then another. She had one more before finishing. “Anyway, I drank a lot on the flight. And...” She massaged her neck. “I may have drunk a lot in the twenty-four hours before that.” She glanced his way. “Not sure I ate a whole lot during that time.” She rolled her shoulders and sighed. “I also haven’t slept very much. So it’s possible my head injury was simply a result of me passing out from exhaustion, hunger or the world’s worst hangover. Likely a combination of all three.”

“It is possible,” he said slowly. “But by the look of the bruise, it was probably more than that.” What was wrong with him? Why didn’t he simply agree with her, put her to bed and get rid of her in the morning?

Jasmine shrugged. “Maybe. Which would explain my missing bag. And shoes.” Her frown deepened. “Shit. What am I going to do?”

“You will have to go to the embassy. Apply for an emergency passport.”

“How can I do that when I don’t have any identification?”

“What about in your hotel room? Is there anything there? A copy of your passport? Other ID?”

The woman narrowed her eyes as she thought and then slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe. But...” She laughed awkwardly. “I don’t even know where my hotel is.”

Luca stood. This conversation wasn’t helping. “You said you didn’t sleep much.”

She nodded.

“You should get some rest. Sleep is important.”

“Let me help clean up, first.”

“Non, merci.” He indicated the hall. “There is a new toothbrush in the drawer in the bathroom. Please.”

“Okay.” Jasmine stood and Luca could see that her balance was off because she grabbed the countertop. After a pause and a couple of breaths she made her way down the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door this time.

Damn.

No, not damn. What was he thinking?

When he heard the door open a few minutes later, Luca called, “Jasmine?”

“Yes?”

“I will be waking you up throughout the night. To check on you. Please, don’t be alarmed.”

CHAPTER FIVE

I WILL BE waking you up...to check on you.

There was nothing sexual about that comment. Absolutely nothing. In fact, it was the opposite of sexual; it was merely a statement made by a man who had been forced to take care of a strange American woman he’d found passed out on the street.

So why did she feel turned on?

She stood in the bedroom doorway, staring at the kitchen. Luca stopped working at the sink to glance down the hall, and even from a distance, Jasmine was immobilized by his gaze. After an indeterminate amount of time, he looked away and the spell was broken. Jasmine hurried into the bedroom, pulled the covers back and crawled between the sheets. The cotton was cool and welcoming to her overheated body. The bed was soft, and for the first time in days, Jasmine relaxed.

Even the throbbing pain in her temple had mellowed to a dull ache.

She turned her head and breathed in. The subtle fragrance of Luca’s aftershave clung to his pillow. Spicy. Masculine. Delicious. Lying on her side, she stole the other pillow and hugged it, burrowing her nose into the faint scent. God. What would it be like to have sex with him? To feel the scruff of his unshaven jaw against her sensitive skin? His hands—those strong hands—touching her body? Exploring. Squeezing. Penetrating.

His mouth—oh, yes, she’d sneaked glances at his mouth during dinner. Full lips. Expressive. The kind of lips that were made for kissing.

French kissing.

And maybe more.

Weren’t French men known for enjoying kissing a woman...everywhere?

Jasmine rubbed her knees together.

She’d never experienced that.

Apart from some serious groping in high school with a shy cowboy, Parker had been her first and only. He had wooed her with romantic dinners and expensive gifts. He’d complimented her all the time, but with words, never touch. When he’d told her he wanted to wait until marriage to have sex, Jasmine had put her foot down and nixed that idea. She’d read an article in one of Parker’s men’s magazines about the importance of being compatible in bed and had even shared it with him.

The following night they’d had wine with dinner—lots and lots of wine, now that she thought about it—and that had been their first time. Her first time, period, so she hadn’t had anything to compare it to.

Well, except her imagination.

But she’d been too uncertain to ask for what she wanted, at first, and later Parker had been so busy with work they could never find the time. And he was so generous about everything else, she didn’t want to pressure him.

But doubts had crept in and she’d started to wonder if she was somehow inadequate.

She rolled onto her back, the pillow lying un-hugged on top of her. How had she not seen what was going on with her ex-fiancé?

Jasmine had found there were only two ways to alleviate her unsatisfied arousal. Masturbation and fantasy.

Highly detailed sexual fantasies.

They had been her form of counting sheep every night after Parker had nodded off.

She wrapped her arms around the pillow on top of her, letting her mind drift, calling up her latest fantasy involving a sexy space crime fighter, an outlaw in an intergalactic universe.

In this reoccurring fantasy, her hero rescues her from an evil alien’s harem and whisks her away to a secluded tropical planet on the outskirts of the galaxy. Her outlaw takes it upon himself to teach her to enjoy sex again. He starts slowly, touching her—only touching—every fucking inch of her body until she is moaning with desire. Then he leaves her wanting on a bed made of some super-awesome alien material that heightens a person’s sexual desire when they simply lie on top of it. He returns the next day, this time kissing and licking her entire body.

In her mind, everything was crystal clear...

He’s lying between her spread legs, his strong hands pushing her thighs wider, his dark hair—almost black—brushing her belly. A firm tongue nudging her clit one way and then the other. When her hips buck, he holds them down, pressing her into the mattress that sends blasts of arousal across the surface of her skin and into the very depths of her body. When next she raises her hips, he lowers his mouth until he’s sucking on her most vulnerable parts, her ass in his hands, kissing, licking, sucking until she can’t stand it...

Jasmine’s hand roved down beneath the sheets. She wasn’t even aware of untying the string at the waistband of the shorts until her fingers delved into her wet heat, mimicking the tongue of her fantasy lover.

God.

You like that?

“Yes, oh, yes,” Jasmine murmured against the pillow.

You want this?

“Yes.” The word was said on a gasp as she rubbed her clit with the pads of her fingers.

Oh, baby...another lick, another suck, You’ve got the sweetest pussy. I can’t get enough...

Jasmine lifted her hips off the bed as her fingers penetrated her slick channel. The man in her fantasy looked up from what he was doing. Dark hair. Dark brows. A week-old beard. The bluest eyes.

This wasn’t the man from her fantasy.

It was Luca.

Her orgasm hit her like a rogue asteroid, knocking her out of orbit, shattering her as she pressed one hand on top of the other between her legs lest she literally explode.

* * *

Luca stood outside the door. The woman was moaning. In pain? Should he go in? He put his hand on the doorknob and was about to turn the handle when she cried out.

Then everything went quiet.

That was not good. He didn’t want to walk in to find her passed out. Or worse. He waited a few seconds before knocking.

“Jasmine? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” she called in a high-pitched voice.

“Bien. I’ll wake you around midnight, okay?”

“Yes. Okay. Perfect. That’s good. Thank you.”

Luca’s hands lingered on the door before he moved to the bathroom to wash up. It was early, yet, for him, only nine thirty, but he should try to rest if he was going to rouse the woman every four hours.

“What else do you have to do?” he asked his reflection. “You’ve got two more weeks to wait before returning to work. You should be glad for the distraction.”

Distraction was fine, but this distraction was a little too...distracting.

He dried his face, the image of Jasmine’s naked back burned into his irises.

“She’ll be gone tomorrow,” he muttered, then he hung up the towel and turned the light off.

On his way to the living room, he paused outside her door, listening. No more moans. No more sounds. He hoped that meant all was well. He moved past and settled his frame onto the sofa, reaching for the laptop that sat on the coffee table. Like every night for the past week, he navigated the web to the Legrand website.

When Myra Monte took over the estate’s publicity, she convinced Luca to auction off one of three remaining bottles of the Legrand Goût des Rubis. The exclusive rosé blend had been commissioned for the marriage of Grace Kelly to Prince Rainier in 1956, and the bottle included a two-carat ruby in its label. While the bottles were meant to be passed down through the family, Luca had readily made the decision to give one up for the auction if it meant he could maintain control of the estate.