Page 48 of Fierce

“On that note,” he said, “when are you due to leave?”

“Friday morning.” Two more days, and my Parisian adventure would be over.

“Mm. And how much of Paris have you seen?”

I was trembling a little, all of a sudden. Nerves, and fatigue, and uncertainty. What was he asking? What was I going to do? What was I willing to do? “Well, let’s see,” I said, going for breeziness and, I was sure, failing miserably. “This hotel, which is pretty nice. My hotel. Not quite as nice. The venues. And, um…the airport.”

“We should do something about that, don’t you think?”

“Uh…we should?”

“Definitely. I’ll change your ticket so you fly home Sunday. Tell Martine you’re catching a later flight, and I’ll show you Paris.”

“Unfair again,” I pointed out. “Kind of like the roses. Too dangerously tempting, so I can’t help but succumb.”

“That would be the idea.” His voice was low, deceptively soft. “And as you know, I so rarely play fair when there’s something I really want.”

No more humor. His eyes were burning into me, and the heat from them was spiraling down my body, entering through my parted lips and sliding down my throat. Setting up a delicious tingle in my breasts, then inching its treacherous way to my core, setting up a buzzing hum there, and I was shifting despite my aching feet. A shiver went straight down my spine, and I realized that I was biting off the bare remnants of my lipstick. He stood there and watched it all happen, and I could tell that he was enjoying watching.

“Um…” I cast about for something. Anything. “My hotel, though. I’m sharing a room with Kasey from Marketing. It’d be—she’d ask—I can’t—” I stopped and shook my head, tried to laugh. “I can’t finish a sentence, apparently.”

“Ah, yes. Your hotel. Check out on Friday morning with the others, and I’ll have it sorted by then.”

“Karen…”

His expression softened, just that little bit around the eyes. “How’s she feeling?”

“She says she’s fine.” Although I couldn’t help but worry. It was so hard to tell over the phone.

“Ring Debra,” he instructed, “and tell her you’ll be gone till Sunday evening. I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to stay on.”

“Because you checked that she could before you hired her.” This was going too fast, as usual. “I haven’t said I’ll stay, though.”

“Haven’t you?” He looked at me for a long moment while I didn’t answer, then inclined his head in the direction of the door. “I reckon Martine’s about to burst a blood vessel. You may want to go do…whatever it is you’re meant to do.”

Which I did. Of course I did. I needed my job. But I couldn’t kid myself that whether I went home on Friday or stayed in Paris would have anything at all to do with my job. It would have everything to do with me. And with Hemi.

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