Page 25 of Pleasure Games

CHAPTER SIX

SHEMUSTHAVEwoken him up. He’d sat up abruptly and looked startled by her appearance. Whatever he’d been dreaming about, it must have been good, based on the noticeable bulge behind the fly of his designer jeans. God, his girlfriend was one lucky woman, because that was one sizeable erection.

Hmm. Did he have a girlfriend?

Jasmine realized—with a start—that, first of all, she was staring at the man’s crotch, and second of all, she really didn’t know anything about him, other than that he drove a motorcycle and had had a concussion before.

“So, what do you remember?” he asked, looking as though he might stand but then thinking better of it. Jasmine hid her smile.

Who was she to judge? She’d been lying in bed totally fantasizing about him—in glorious detail—when out of nowhere a memory had surfaced. A quaint little shop on a narrow cobblestone street. A lamp. A scarf. And...a thief.

She’d been caught in a robbery.

It took her a few minutes to describe what she recalled while Luca listened carefully. “And what is the last thing you remember?”

“There was this man wearing a ski mask yelling at me in French. I didn’t understand and then he pushed me...” Her hand went to her temple. “Or maybe he hit me.” She frowned. “I kind of feel like he did both. Anyway, it’s foggy, but that’s the last thing I remember.” She sat down on the edge of the couch.

Luca nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry, Jasmine. The thief must have taken your bag in the robbery.”

“Yes. Probably.” She rested her elbows on her knees.

Luca stood and went into the kitchen. “Anyway,” he called, “I am happy that your memory is returning. Tomorrow, I’ll help you figure out the next steps. You should be back in your hotel and back to your regular life in no time.”

“Ye-es.” Jasmine drew out the one-syllable word.

“Get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy.” He gestured for her to return to the bedroom.

But Jasmine didn’t want to return to the bedroom. She didn’t want to waste what could be her one and only night with this enigmatic Frenchman by sleeping it away in his bed.

Alone.

Not to mention, she didn’t want to go back to her hotel. In her mind she had a flash of the suite: the high ceilings, sheer drapes, a wrought-iron balcony—the room only served to remind her of the fact she was not on her honeymoon and that she was in Paris.

Alone.

She eyed Luca from beneath her curtain of hair. What she really wanted to do was to get to know him more.

No, what you really want to do is to ask him to take your clothes off—slowly—and do terrible—wonderful—things to your body.

“You know,” Jasmine said, getting up and going to sit at the breakfast bar. The act of standing had made her feel light-headed all evening, but for some reason this time it didn’t. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? “I don’t actually feel that tired. I feel kind of...wired.”

“Wired? I don’t understand what that means.” Luca poured himself a glass of water.

“It means I feel the opposite of tired. Is that normal, with a concussion?”

Luca tilted his head to regard her. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Weird.” Jasmine rested her elbows on the breakfast bar. “So, I gotta ask,” she began. “Does your girlfriend mind that you have a strange woman spending the night in your apartment?”

Luca blinked. “Girlfriend?”

“Yes.” She focused on her hands.

“Non. I’m not seeing anyone.”

Her head snapped up. “Really?”

“Really.”

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