Page 68 of Pleasure Games

Luca found Jasmine at the front door. She wore the same outfit she’d been wearing that first day, the leather bag sat at her feet and she stared at him with a strange expression on her face.

“Are you ready?” It was a stupid question. She was clearly waiting for him.

“Luca?” she said, moving toward him.

“Yes?”

“What happened on the day you found me?”

Her question took him by surprise. It’d been a while since they’d talked about that. Luca simply reiterated the story he’d told all along about how he’d found her on the street.

“Are you sure?” she asked, gazing into his eyes, as if testing him.

“Of course I’m sure. Why?”

“It’s funny. I seem to remember—vaguely—trying to sell a ring of mine.” She turned her head to the other side, regarding him. “And I was wondering if you had any idea what might have happened to it?”

Fuck.

He’d forgotten all about the ring. Where had he put it? In his wallet, maybe? Luca couldn’t remember. He checked his watch. It was eight thirty. It would take them two hours to get to Paris, which didn’t give him much time to spare before the press conference. He didn’t have time for this conversation. Particularly for the lengthy explanation that the conversation would entail. Once life got back to normal, he’d track Jasmine down and send her the ring.

Anonymously.

But right now? They had to go.

“Sorry,” he said as he picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I don’t know anything about a ring.” He waved Jasmine out the door and locked it behind them. His bike sat waiting for them and he passed her a helmet before putting his on. She slid hers on without another word, and when she climbed on the back behind him, she held onto the leather of his jacket. Not him.

Something was up. Probably the fact that things were over and he was being distant. But what choice did he have?

The two-hour ride back to Paris was uneventful, apart from some wet roads from yesterday’s storm. Yet how different it felt from the ride out of Paris little more than a week ago. It felt more like a month, a year, a lifetime ago.

At the exit to Nemours, he slowed, turned and asked Jasmine if she needed to stop for any reason, but Jasmine just shook her head so he drove straight through. She’d been quiet the entire ride, not that they could talk while riding a motorcycle, but she seemed different. Detached.

Well, so was he.

Even when he turned onto the Avenue de la Grande-Armée, which led to the famous roundabout circling the Arc de Triomphe, Jasmine remained quiet. Barely holding on to him.

It shouldn’t matter to him, he was going to be saying goodbye to her in a matter of minutes.

Yet it did.

He took Avenue Kléber to Rue de Longchamp. The 16th Arrondissement Police Commissariat was only two blocks east. Luca pulled his motorcycle up to the front of the commissariat and stopped.

“What are we doing here?”

“This is a police station. I’m dropping you off.”

Luca engaged the kickstand, removed his helmet and stood. Then he took the satchel off his shoulder to pull his wallet out before handing the bag to Jasmine, who’d also gotten off the bike.

She’d taken her helmet off along with the leather jacket he’d loaned her, and she hugged the bag against her chest, as if it were a shield. “So that’s it?” Her lower lip quivered. “You don’t have anything else to say to me?”

What the hell was he supposed to say? I care for you more than I should? I don’t want to leave you but I have to if I want my life back?

This last week with you has been the best time of my life?

Luca simply shook his head. “Non. I have nothing to say.”

Pain flashed across her face.

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