“Enough, Jean-Jacques!”
Pushing away from the table, she rose. Her husband and guests followed suit.
“We will take coffee and dessert in the petite salon. And you,” she said, claiming Dev’s arm, “will tell me what convinced this delightful woman to marry you. It was the story in Beguile, yes?” Her wicked smile returning, she threw Sarah an arch look. “The truth, now. Is his derriere as delicious as it looked in your magazine?”
Her husband shook his head. “Be good, Elise.”
“I am, mon cher. Sooo good.”
* * *
“I’m good, Dee-vón.” Grinning, Sarah batted her lashes as the Hôtel Verneuil’s elevator whisked them upward. “Sooo good.”
Amused, Dev folded his arms and leaned his shoulders against the cage. She wasn’t tipsy—she’d restricted her alcoholic intake to one aperitif, a single glass of wine and a few sips of brandy—but she was looser than he’d yet seen her.
He liked her this way. Her green eyes sparkling. Her hair windblown and brushing her shoulders. Her tuxedo jacket providing intermittent and thoroughly tantalizing glimpses of creamy breasts.
Liked, hell. He wanted to devour her whole.
“You were certainly good tonight,” he agreed. “Especially when Elise tried to pump you for details about our sex life. I still don’t know how you managed to give the impression of torrid heat when all you did was arch a brow.”
“Ah, yes. The regal lift. It’s one of Grandmama’s best weapons, along with the chin tilt and the small sniff.”
She demonstrated all three and had him grinning while he walked her to her door.
“Elise may be harder to fend off when she and I have lunch tomorrow,” Sarah warned as she extracted the key card from her purse. “I may need to improvise.”
His pulse jumping, Dev took the key and slid it into the electronic lock. The lock snicked, the door opened and he made his move.
“No reason you should have to improvise.”
She turned, her expression at once wary and disbelieving. “Are you suggesting we go to bed together to satisfy Elise Girault’s prurient curiosity?”
“No, ma’am.” He bent and brushed his lips across hers. “I’m suggesting we go to bed together to satisfy ours.”
Her jaw sagged. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, ma’am,” he said again, half laughing, wholly serious.
She snapped her mouth shut, but the fact that she didn’t stalk inside and slam the door in his face set Dev’s pulse jumping again.
“Maybe,” she said slowly, her eyes locked with his, “we could go a little way down that road. Just far enough to provide Elise with a few juicy details.”
That was all the invitation he needed. Scooping her into his arms, he strode into the room and kicked the door shut. The maid had left the lamps on and turned down the duvet on the bed. Much as Dev ached to vector in that direction, he aimed for the sofa instead. He settled on its plush cushions with Sarah in his lap.
Exerting fierce control, he slid a palm under the silky splash of her hair. Her nape was warm, her lips parted, her gaze steady. The thought flashed into Dev’s mind that he was already pretty far down the road.
Rock hard and hurting, he bent his head again. No mere brush of lips this time. No tentative exploration. No show for the cameras. This was hunger, raw and hot. He tried to throttle it back, but Sarah sabotaged that effort by matching him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. His fingers speared through her hair. Hers traced the line of his jaw, slipped inside his collar, found the knot of his tie.
“To hell with Oscar Wilde,” she muttered after a moment. “The tie has to go.”
The tie went. So did the suit coat. When she popped the top two buttons of his dress shirt, he reached for the ones on her jacket. The first one slid through its opening and Dev saw she wasn’t wearing a bra. With a fervent prayer of thanks, he fingered the second button.
“I’ve been fantasizing about doing this from the moment you opened the door to me this evening,” he admitted, his voice rough.
“I fantasized about it, too. Must be why I discarded the chemise I usually wear with this outfit.”
Her honesty shot straight to his heart. She didn’t play games. Didn’t tease or go all pouty and coy. She was as hungry as Dev and not ashamed to show it.
Aching with need, he slid the second button through its opening. The satin lapels gaped open, baring her breasts. They were small and proud and tipped with dark rose nipples that Dev couldn’t even begin to resist. Hefting her a little higher, he trailed a line of kisses down one slope and caught a nipple between his lips.
Her neck arched. Her head tipped back. With a small groan, Sarah reveled in the sensations that streaked from her breast to her belly. They were so deep, so intense, she purred with pleasure.
It took her a few moments to realize she wasn’t actually emitting that low, humming sound. It was coming from the clutch purse she’d dropped on the sofa table.
“That’s my cell phone,” she panted through waves of pleasure. “I put it on vibrate at the Giraults.”
“Ignore it.”
Dev turned his attention to her other breast and Sarah was tempted, so tempted, to follow his gruff instruction.
“I can’t,” she groaned. “It could be Grandmama. Or Maria,” she added with a little clutch of panic.
She scrambled upright and grabbed her bag. A glance at the face associated in her address book with the incoming number made her sag with relief.
Only for a moment, however. What could Alexis want, calling this late? Remembering her conversation with Paul Vincent at Beguile’s Paris office this afternoon, Sarah once again felt the tug of conflicting loyalties.
“Sarah? Are you there?” Alexis’s hoarse rasp rattled through voice mail. “Pick up if you are.”
Sarah sent Dev an apologetic glance and hit Answer. “I’m here, Alexis.”
“Sorry, kiddo, I didn’t think about the time difference. Were you in bed?”
“Almost,” Dev muttered.
Sarah made a shushing motion with her free hand but it was too late. Alexis picked up the scent like a bloodhound.
“Is that Hunter? He’s with you?”
“Yes. We just got in from a late dinner.”
Not a lie, exactly. Not the whole truth, either. There were some things her boss simply didn’t need to know.
“Good,” Alexis was saying. “He can look over the JPEGs I just emailed you from the photo shoot at Cartier. I marked the one we’re going to use with the blurb about your engagement.”
“We’ll take a look at them and get back to you.”
“Tonight, kiddo. I want the story in this month’s issue.”
“Okay.” Sighing, Sarah closed the flaps of her jacket and fastened the top button one-handed. “Shoot me the blurb, too.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s only a few lines.”
The too-bland assurance set off an internal alarm.
“Send