Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
He doesn’t care about the city of Paris. Even I know that. They buy it, though. They want to believe that what he says is the truth, because people like to have someone to look up to. Someone they can trust.
I’m struck with the irony of that when I pull the car up to the house.
I made sure my home was located in the heart of the city but somewhat away from the main tourist attractions. Still, it’s heavily secured with gates and the most efficient security cameras money can buy. I don’t take any risks. Fabien and Thayer think I’ve gone overboard, but I know better.
I live here because Paris is the heart of France and I like to keep my finger on her pulse.
I get out of the driver’s seat and stretch. While I don’t let anyone drive for me, I want to take Cosette inside immediately, so tonight I’ll allow one of my men to park it. Six of them stand beside the car, waiting for instructions.
“Mr. Gerard, you had a visitor earlier.”
“Who was it?” It’s unusual for me to get visitors. I don’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.
“They didn’t leave a name, but we suspect it was one of Paris’s detectives.”
Of course it was. I look to Jacques, my main assistant. Sworn into our family recently, he’s loyal and adept and notices everything.
I don’t fear them. Everything I’ve done is neatly accounted for, and I’ve got alibis and justifications if anyone raises accusations against me, not to mention a team of lawyers and, worst case scenario, dirty cops on our payroll. But detectives are like pesky little flies that won’t go away, no matter how many times you swat them.
“Was he in a uniform?”
I hate anyone in a uniform.
“She, and yes, sir.”
She. I know who it was, then, and she should’ve been smarter than to come here in uniform.
“Thank you. Park my car. I have a guest I’m bringing inside.”
The slightest lift of his brow is the only indication that he’s surprised before he nods. I rarely let anyone touch my car, but I trust Jacques. “Yes, sir, right away.”
I open the passenger door. Cosette looks up at me, her lips pursed in disdain, but I don’t miss the way she’s quickly taking in every detail. I told her about my home in Paris, but she’s never been here before. I wonder what she thinks.
I shake my head and reach for her. I shouldn’t care what she thinks. It doesn’t matter. I should want her to hate being here. She’s my prisoner, and the more she dislikes it, the better.
I reach for her restrained hands but think better of it and grip her elbow instead.
God, her skin’s so soft and warm. I remember what it felt like to brush my body against hers, both of us stripped and vulnerable. I remember the way she felt, the way she tasted. I remember the way she yielded to me. I remember the sound of her cries when she came.
“Very nice,” she says, her nose in the air. “It’s very you. I suppose you have a room for all your pets?”
Fuck, she makes me hard when she spars with me. “Some have rooms, yeah. And some,” I say in her ear as I move her from the car, “have cages.”
Yeah, that struck a nerve. Cosette’s well acquainted with the room of cages at Le Luxe.
Of course those are consensual.
“Very cute,” she quips, but she can’t hide the flush of her cheeks or the way her voice trembles a little. I wonder why. Curiosity? Anger?
Arousal?
If I can still wield that power over her, my job will be so much easier to do.
My men flank our sides, weapons drawn. They walk in sync like I’ve trained them.
“Isn’t that cute,” Cosette says, rolling her eyes.
I give her hair a good pull, making her gasp in surprise.
“Watch it.”
She only smiles.
“Ah, I see what you’re playing at.” We step up the stone stairs that lead to my main door. My staff opens it. A dim light in the entryway welcomes me home, and I know if I call, more staff will come within minutes. It’s late, though, and I don’t need more of them than are already here. I’m never alone here unless I demand it.
“I’m not playing at anything,” she insists.
Like hell she isn’t.
“You forget, Cosette. I know what you like. I know what you crave.”
Her flushed cheeks deepen in color as we enter my house. “I won’t be baited into punishing you. Not the way you like.”
That woman craves an over-the-knee spanking like some women crave wine or sex. She falls apart over my lap and comes so easily I hardly have to work for it.
Though… now that I think about it… that actually could be used to my advantage…
“I’m not baiting you,” she protests, and this time there’s none of the disdain and hardness. She falters a bit.