Page 33 of Pleasure Games

Luca opened the sliding doors off the living room to the balcony and peered down at the street below. Something was going on because Jasmine heard the cacophony of a crowd even from where she stood.

“Non, non, non, non,”Luca said, slamming the doors shut.

Okay, she understood that. It was a lot of no’s. Definitely indicating something was making Luca unhappy.

When Luca finally hung up, he slammed the phone against the counter, which surprisingly did not break it, and growled like a caged beast before pacing some more. His head was down and he gripped his hair as he moved back and forth across the small space.

Finally he stopped, turned to her and said, “Okay. Change of plans.” He marched to the wardrobe in the front hall and came back with two helmets, two leather jackets and a leather bag. “Put this on,” he said, shoving a helmet and jacket at her. “We leave in five minutes.”

Jasmine stood barefoot at the front door, stunned by this change in events. Luca stomped down the hall muttering angrily and returned moments later stuffing clothes into a leather satchel and slinging the strap over his shoulder. Then he donned his helmet, took her hand and dragged her out the door and down to the parking garage.

When he started up his bike, she stood beside him with her visor raised and said, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to ride.”

“You’re fine. Now get on and wrap your arms around my waist.” He flipped down the passenger foot pegs and waited.

As soon as she’d done as he asked, he put the bike into first, opened the garage door and ripped up the ramp and onto the street, narrowly missing a van and then another one before skirting a group of people that were milling about between the vehicles, toting microphones and cameras.

What the hell was going on?

“Hold on tight,” he called over his shoulder as he changed gears and wove between cars as he headed for a main street.

Jasmine leaned against his back, her toes curling painfully around the teeth on the metal pegs as she watched Paris slip by at high speed.

Holy shit! Was that the Louvre? She’d seen so many pictures of the palatial landmark, but now, as they roared by the building, weaving in and out of the tourist traffic, it seemed surreal. But the building and crowds were gone before she’d had a chance to really take it in, then Luca turned onto a street that paralleled the Seine.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered to herself a few minutes later. With hands gripping the leather waist of Luca’s jacket, she sat up so she could get a better view. They were on the other side of the river from Notre Dame Cathedral. The central spire, the ornate stonework, it was such an impressive, distinctive Gothic structure, and even though she’d seen hundreds of pictures of it, seeing it in person took Jasmine’s breath away.

So did the speed at which they were traveling.

Luca drove like a madman, changing lanes at speeds that were certainly illegal and highly unsafe.

She’d never felt more thrilled in her life.

When a car driving in the opposite direction turned on its lights and siren, and then spun around to pursue them, Jasmine felt something else she’d never experienced. A tingling at the base of her spine that spread out across her lower back and into her abdomen.

“Hold on,” Luca commanded for the third time.

She leaned into him and closed her eyes. This could very well be the last day of her life and if it was...she didn’t care.

She was having an adventure!

* * *

How the hell had the fucking paparazzi found him? Luca had no idea. François said they were out in full force at the front of the building milling about, waiting for him to emerge. Did they know he was in the company of a concussed, shoeless American woman?

He hadn’t had time to think about who might have leaked his whereabouts, he’d been too busy driving and trying to get the hell out of Paris. His adrenaline had kicked in, causing him to drive like he would in a race. It was the best fucking feeling in the world—next to an orgasm, of course—because it was the closest thing to flying that you could get while still staying on the ground. Time moved differently, like breaking speed limits actually broke the veil of physics and hurtled him from the laws of this world into the next.

It was a spiritual experience.

So when the police siren had started up behind him, Luca barely noticed or cared, other than realizing he’d never be able to take Jasmine directly to the embassy while the police were on his tail. He’d taken the corner onto Boulevard Périphérique so tightly an amateur would have spun out, and Jasmine had screamed behind him, burying her hands in his pockets as she mashed herself against him.

He continued speeding along Périph, headed toward the A6 that would take him south of Paris. It wasn’t until he was on the A6, the police lost somewhere in traffic, that Luca had had time to think about who might have exposed him—once more—to the press. Had Hugo said something to someone?

No, his friend wouldn’t do that.

Who else could have known? Had Anika had him followed? What about Marcel? Maybe Marcel had overheard his conversation with François and alerted the press. Or had Jasmine told someone when she used his computer last night?

He pulled the clutch and changed gears, rage feeding his need to push the bike to its limits. There was only one problem; something in his boot, a rock or something, was driving him crazy. He’d noticed it as soon as he’d put his boots on but hadn’t had time to stop and shake it out. He wouldn’t be stopping, either, not until he got to Nemours, where he planned to drop Jasmine off at a train station before he traveled another hour south to his final destination in the Loire Valley.

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