What an asshole.
Luca Legrand can tie me up anytime.
Anika deserves better than that sadistic pig.
He should be thrown in jail...
With a growl, he snapped the laptop lid closed, pushed the computer back onto the coffee table, got to his feet and paced the length of the small living room. What his surfing had confirmed for him was that he could not afford another scandal. He needed to get rid of the American woman first thing without her or anyone else finding out about his involvement.
He could drop her at the embassy—but she had no money and no one to vouch for her.
He could take her back to the street where the shop was to see if she would remember anything. Maybe her bag was still at the shop. Or, more likely, it was at the police station.
He opened the French doors onto the small balcony and went to stand at the rail, breathing in the night air, considering his options. The woman’s memory was faulty and she didn’t know his real name. Even if she tried to describe him to the police, what were the chances they’d find out it was him? He could vacate the flat, go somewhere else, maybe head south of the city to the villa he’d avoided for twelve years. Perhaps if he just dropped her off at the police station and then drove away...
No. The possibility that someone local would see him and recognize him was too much of a gamble. Once again, it was François’s voice in his head telling him it was too risky.
He leaned his elbows on the rail and gazed out.
Wait.
He stood up straight.
Maybe he should call François and get him to help. François was as intent on keeping things quiet as Luca was.
That wasn’t a bad idea.
Why hadn’t he thought to call the lawyer sooner? He’d do it first thing in the morning.
With the decision made, Luca went back inside and settled onto the sofa, his bed for the night. The ride and fresh air this morning had tired him out. Worrying about the woman had taken the last of his energy and he was tired. However, instead of sleep, images of Jasmine’s sweetly curved spine appeared behind his closed lids. Why he let his mind wander in that direction, he couldn’t say. Maybe because she’d be gone by morning.
Luca saw himself kneeling behind her, hands on either side of her sloped hips, his tongue tracing the indent of her spine at the top of her ass. Circling those delicate dimples, kissing high up on the globes of her cheeks.
Luca?
“Hmm?”
Will you kiss me? Please?
She turned herself around, presenting the front of herself. There was a silky patch of hair over her mound, so soft and glistening he had to stroke...with his cheek. “Where do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, gazing up at her.
Everywhere.
“It would be my pleasure,” he mumbled quietly.
“Luca?”
Luca’s eyes popped open. Jasmine was standing above him, gazing down at him with a—smirk?—on her face.
Fuck.
Sitting up quickly, Luca hoped to hide his raging erection from the woman who had caused it because she’d been starring in his fantasy only two seconds ago. “Jasmine?” He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and then winced. “I’m fine. But I was lying in bed...” For some reason her cheeks turned pink. “And... I...” Her gaze met his. Her eyes sparkled.
Jesus, was she psychic and able to read his mind? Did she know what he’d been fantasizing about?
“I think I remember what happened.”
SHE MUST HAVE woken him up. He’d sat up abruptly and looked startled by her appearance. Whatever he’d been dreaming about, it must have been good, based on the noticeable bulge behind the fly of his designer jeans. God, his girlfriend was one lucky woman, because that was one sizeable erection.
Hmm. Did he have a girlfriend?
Jasmine realized—with a start—that, first of all, she was staring at the man’s crotch, and second of all, she really didn’t know anything about him, other than that he drove a motorcycle and had had a concussion before.
“So, what do you remember?” he asked, looking as though he might stand but then thinking better of it. Jasmine hid her smile.
Who was she to judge? She’d been lying in bed totally fantasizing about him—in glorious detail—when out of nowhere a memory had surfaced. A quaint little shop on a narrow cobblestone street. A lamp. A scarf. And...a thief.
She’d been caught in a robbery.
It took her a few minutes to describe what she recalled while Luca listened carefully. “And what is the last thing you remember?”
“There was this man wearing a ski mask yelling at me in French. I didn’t understand and then he pushed me...” Her hand went to her temple. “Or maybe he hit me.” She frowned. “I kind of feel like he did both. Anyway, it’s foggy, but that’s the last thing I remember.” She sat down on the edge of the couch.
Luca nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry, Jasmine. The thief must have taken your bag in the robbery.”
“Yes. Probably.” She rested her elbows on her knees.
Luca stood and went into the kitchen. “Anyway,” he called, “I am happy that your memory is returning. Tomorrow, I’ll help you figure out the next steps. You should be back in your hotel and back to your regular life in no time.”
“Ye-es.” Jasmine drew out the one-syllable word.
“Get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy.” He gestured for her to return to the bedroom.
But Jasmine didn’t want to return to the bedroom. She didn’t want to waste what could be her one and only night with this enigmatic Frenchman by sleeping it away in his bed.
Alone.
Not to mention, she didn’t want to go back to her hotel. In her mind she had a flash of the suite: the high ceilings, sheer drapes, a wrought-iron balcony—the room only served to remind her of the fact she was not on her honeymoon and that she was in Paris.
Alone.
She eyed Luca from beneath her curtain of hair. What she really wanted to do was to get to know him more.
No, what you really want to do is to ask him to take your clothes off—slowly—and do terrible—wonderful—things to your body.
“You know,” Jasmine said, getting up and going to sit at the breakfast bar. The act of standing had made her feel light-headed all evening, but for some reason this time it didn’t. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? “I don’t actually feel that tired. I feel kind of...wired.”
“Wired? I don’t understand what that means.” Luca poured himself a glass of water.
“It means I feel the opposite of tired. Is that normal, with a concussion?”
Luca tilted his head to regard her. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Hmm. Weird.” Jasmine rested her elbows on the breakfast bar. “So, I gotta ask,” she began. “Does your girlfriend mind that you have a strange woman spending