Page 4 of Sex, Lust & Lingerie

CHAPTER 3

Gloria

Morning couldn’t have come fast enough. Showered and dressed, I was ready to go back to Los Angeles. I needed to get back to work and away from this man who had worn me down both emotionally and physically. Taking a break from packing, I glanced at him, still asleep in bed. He looked so peaceful—a sharp contrast to the tense, conflicted me. And oh so beautiful. Sleeping on his back, with the covers draped low on his hips, he offered me a bird’s-eye view of his toned pecs and arms, washboard abs, and that magnificent V that led to the tent beneath the sheets that told me he had a hard on. And oh, that gorgeous chiseled face with its morning shadow and kissable dimpled chin. My heart fluttered; my body pulsed. I couldn’t help it. I forced myself to look away.

Folding up the lingerie that he’d rummaged through and made a mess of yesterday, I silently cursed the soreness between my inner thighs. Not because I found the pain uncomfortable but because I found the memory associated with it unbearable. He had fucked me silly on the Grande Roue, sending me orbiting, and then had put my emotions into a tailspin.

Jaime Fucking Zander had gotten under my skin and then into my bloodstream. And somehow, he’d gotten into my heart. Both my beloved late mentor, Madame Paulette, and good friend, Sandrine, were right. I’d fallen in love with him. Except this complicated, commitment-phobic man, whose name meant “I love” in French, was incapable of loving. I was just one of his many conquests. I glanced down at the ring on my middle finger. Caught in the ray of sunshine that beamed through the French doors of our charming hotel room, its sparkle was blinding. Once again, my thumb involuntarily skimmed over the two magnificent kissing diamond hearts. Toi et moi. He probably gave this kind of ring to all his women. I just wanted to go back to being moi. Gloria Long, the cool, confident CEO of Gloria’s Secret, the world’s leading retailer of lingerie. The powerhouse of a woman in control of her life. Yes, heading up a billion dollar, global empire came with its share of challenges and headaches, but it didn’t come with lust and heartbreak. My eyes snapped back to Jaime and I silently cursed him. He had made my emotions spin out of control. I couldn’t focus on anything but him. Even light packing was an effort.

My unrest was compounded by my fatigue. I was eager for my coffee to arrive. While he had slept like a baby, I’d tossed and turned all night. Even after moving to the spare bed, I didn’t sleep a wink. There was only one good thing about insomnia—you can’t have nightmares—and at least, my monster, Boris Borofsky, stayed out of my brainwaves. I kept replaying the events of the past week in my head. My first encounter with Jaime in the elevator of The Walden in New York. Our swim in the hotel pool and our sensual shower in the men’s locker room. Dinner in his room where he feasted on me. His pitch for my account after which he blindfolded me and fucked me senseless on his conference room table. Then, after I caught him heatedly kissing my assistant, Vivien Holden, he followed me to Paris to tell me the truth. That Vivien was his manipulative stepsister and her father, Victor, Gloria’s Secret Chairman of the Board, his abusive stepfather. He had rescued me from Victor’s drunken, sexual assault, and from that moment on, we were inseparable. Two lovers who couldn’t get enough of each other.

Jaime Zander had consumed me. Awoken places and feelings deep inside me I never knew I had. The truth: I couldn’t get enough of him. But as I folded the red chiffon dress I’d worn last night, I knew in the end I was only going to get hurt. Once a player, always a player. Having won our account with his brilliant BDSM-inspired pitch—Gloria’s Secret. Let yourself be carried away—I now dreaded having to work with him. How should I proceed? There was only one answer: I had to go back—and keep it pure business. One of Madame Paulette’s favorite songs had been Edith Piaf’s “Je ne Regrette Rien.” The intoxicating scent of him was still on my dress and caressed my senses. Tears stung my eyes. I suddenly regretted everything. Everything that had to do with Jaime Zander.

“Hey, Angel, what are you doing?” a raspy voice from behind me called out. My skin prickled. He was up.

Without turning to look at him, I said, “Packing. I’m going back to LA, and you’re going back to New York.”

I heard him climb out of bed. “Where’d you go last night?” he asked with a sleepy yawn. “I reached for you, but you weren’t there.”

“I went to sleep in the other bed. I had insomnia.”

“Did I keep you up?” His voice was getting closer.

“Yes.” That was a fact. I didn’t elaborate.

As I zipped up my overnight case, two strong bare arms slipped under mine and circled my breasts. He cupped the full mounds in his palms and massaged them. My tender nipples peaked beneath his touch. How quickly he could make me ache. Damn him! I whirled around and faced him. The effect his bedroom eyes and bedhead hair had on me was unraveling me. Collect yourself, Gloria. Don’t let him do this to you.

“We need to have a serious conversation,” I spluttered, thankful he was wearing pajama bottoms.

“Seriously?”

His deliberate or not play on words got under my skin.

“Yes.” I hissed the word.

He ran his long fingers through my still loose hair. He was doing everything that got me all riled up. “About what?”

I jerked away. “About toi et moi.”

He let out that deep, sexy chortle that always undid me. “Your French accent is perfect, Gloria. Just like you.”

I tried hard not to react. Just tell him what’s on your mind. Keep your heart out of it.

I sucked in a lungful of air. “I think we need to keep our relationship strictly business. There’s too much riding on the line.”

He cocked a brow. “What do you mean by that?”

What I mean is that you’re taking me down a collision course. There’s only disaster at the finish line. I can’t afford to be a car wreck.

What I said: “I’m under a lot of pressure to take Gloria’s Secret to the next level. With all the competition springing up, Wall Street is scrutinizing us. There are a lot of people out there who want to see me fail…including Victor.”

His jaw tensed at the mention of his stepfather’s name. “So…”

I jumped right in. “I think you should stop fucking me, and we’ll pretend that none of this happened.”

Jaime knitted his eyebrows as if in deep thought. He spoke sooner than I thought he would. “You’re the client, Gloria. And the client’s needs always come first. Except I think your needs are different than what you think.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, echoing his earlier words.

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