Chapter Three
Zaine tensed up. He’d had the idea on his drive over to her place, and nothing else made more sense. Doug had mentioned Monique only had a couple more months in the country.
Zaine had to focus on his bid for the Lara Annick project, and that’d be impossible if thoughts of the French beauty kept invading his mind. She could give him sex and the release he needed to clear his head.
Sure, maybe she’d have done that anyway for the rest of her stay, but establishing boundaries for the two of them was critical. If they kept seeing each other without any kind of rules, they’d both be emotionally at risk. He had made the wrong choice in marrying Ashley, and he sure didn’t want to repeat it.
Once the blur from his separation and divorce cleared, he’d choose a woman his age, who yearned for the same things he did. A woman who had already pursued her wildest dreams and career goals, and now wanted someone to share it with—and to create a family. Monique didn’t fit in his plans, and to expect her to alter her life for him would be unfair and illogical.
Besides, if she accepted his offer, she’d be better off. Lovely Monique deserved to have enough money to truly enjoy her remaining time in the US—which, judging from the run-down place she lived in, he doubted she got around to do.
She tilted her head. “Why is sleeping with you a deal?”
Wearing jeans and a green shirt, she looked lovelier than ever. He hadn’t missed it when her nipples had pebbled against the cotton fabric, and the tips of his fingers throbbed to touch them. He was sure she had no bra on. Another bolt of arousal surged through him, powerful and invincible.
“Because I’ll pay you for sleeping with me. Look at it as a generous stipend so you can enjoy your stay in my country,” he said, almost feeling patriotic.
Anger flashed in her eyes. “I’m not a prostitute.”
His gut clenched. Shit, he hadn’t meant to offend her. If he wanted her onboard with the idea, he needed to keep going. “Of course not. You’re a gorgeous young woman I can’t get enough of. You’re also a perceptive individual who knows we can’t get attached emotionally. You have dreams to pursue, Monique, and I’m at a different stage in life. I’m thirty-six. When I get into a serious relationship and marry again, I’ll pick a woman my age. A woman who wants the same things I do.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What does money have to do with any of this?”
“Money will keep us honest. It’ll be a guarantee of the limitations of our time together.”
“So you expect to call me and I’ll just be available?”
“I expect you to spend your free time with me. We’ll have fun. I’ll show you places you never had the chance to visit. We’ll also fuck. A lot of fucking will be involved.”
She listened quietly, drumming her fingers to her sides. Maybe he had a shot. Maybe he’d get through and make her see this wasn’t about treating her like a hooker, but a fair exchange where they’d both get what they needed.
“I respect you,” he said, inching closer. “Our deal is simple and painless, the same way our affair should be. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”
“How much am I worth to you? Should I give you the numbers?” she asked, her voice acidic.
“I’m not buying you. I’m buying our time together,” he said. The tips of his fingers burned to touch her, to plant a kiss on her shoulder and hold her. Other things should have been on his mind, such as the bid to work in the brand-new hospital that could potentially help him honor his late brother. Damn it, the whole day she’d been the only thing on his mind. He needed to get his fill of her; the make-out session at Doug’s hadn’t been enough.
“How about thirty thousand dollars a month, for the next two months? Would that be enough?” he asked, imagining her course and living expenses had to cost a third of that. Still, he wanted to give her more, so she could have the freedom to buy or experience anything she wanted.
“Thirty…thousand dollars?” she asked, her eyebrows reaching her hairline. “For…sex? Are you insane?”
“That’s exactly how you’ve made me. Let me show you…” He shortened the gap between them and pulled her into his arms, thrusting his fingers into her hair. When he lowered his lips and kissed her, his entire body seared, his cock hardening. She touched his chest, her hands sliding down his pecs and abs.
A tremor rolled through him, and he lifted her off the floor, placing her on the washer. She wrapped her legs around him as a sexy moan escaped from her lips. Fuck, was she sexy. So sexy it was dangerous…dangerous for his common sense, obviously.
There he was, burning for her, to be inside her, to make her his over and over again. She clutched her legs around him tighter, and he outlined the apex of her thighs. Warmth sifted through the denim, a sigh she was ready for him to take her. When he’d fooled around with her at Doug’s he hadn’t had a plan—he’d just acted on his hormones. But now he needed to know she agreed to a casual affair with no expectations.
She bucked into him, undulating her hips, grazing her teeth on his upper lip. “Zaine…” she said in that crazy hot accent.
He withdrew his mouth from her, nuzzling her. “Say yes, baby. Say yes to the deal.”
She ran her hand down his abs until she caressed his hard-on. She cupped his rod, and he groaned. He felt the rush of blood from his veins to his dick so fast he almost lost his balance. “Seems like you’re the one saying yes, Monsieur.”
She made it so damn easy to say yes, which was why he needed boundaries, to keep himself in check.
He lifted her top, exposing her epic tits, and looked at them, beaming with approval. Then, he aimed his gaze at her, and the lust darkening her eyes arrowed a shot of adrenaline in his veins. He leaned down and circled one taut nipple with the tip of his tongue.
She whimpered, and he wished he could record the alluring sound. The hairs on his neck and arms stood on end, and he cupped the other breast. She pushed herself into his hand, rubbing into him. Monique knew all the right moves.
He took one full tit in his mouth and sucked it, feeling her intake of breath. “Monique, say yes to me.”
She shoved her fingers in his hair. “Mon Dieu…don’t stop. Please.”
Damn it. What if he screwed her one time then they figured out the rest later? Pressure built in his core, the need to be inside her shaking him. Desire fogged his brain, and his vision, the hazy blur an evidence of his madness.
He unzipped his jeans, then—
The sound of voices nearing their cocoon of naughtiness made him raise his head. She was still grinding herself on him, giving herself to him in the best way a woman could to a man. He blinked and tilted his head, checking he wasn’t hearing things. That’d certainly be the last shred of sanity.
“Monique,” he said, standing upright. “People are coming.”
He pulled down her shirt, hiding her breasts from view. Such a crime, but he didn’t want to share Monique’s many assets with anyone. She opened her eyes with a start, then shifted on the washer, sliding down before he helped her.
Seconds later, the door opened and two women entered, each carrying a plastic hamper filled with clothes. They were talking to each other about what had happened the previous night at a club, and one of them acknowledged them with a quick smile.
He sighed and glanced at Monique, who smoothed her shirt. She lifted her chin and a mischievous glint flickered in her eyes. A wave of newfound affection washed over him. Affection? He cleared his throat. Lust had zero to do with affection, though unrealized lust certainly made someone crazy. The weeks without sex definitely had taken their toll on him. “Two-month fuckfest. Yes or no?”
She chewed her bottom lip, then smiled. “Yes.”
He swallowed.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow we’ll celebrate our deal.”
…
Monique brushed her hair for the tenth time. She glanced at her watch. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him to pick her up at her place, but she didn’t want him to show up at her doorstep again.
The previous night they’d made out in the laundry room, and she’d agreed to his insane proposal. She’d had the good sense to ask him to meet her tonight, almost twenty-four hours later, to rethink her decision.
Now, she couldn’t run. He’d wired thirty thousand dollars to her account, and she’d already paid her rent. Do I want to run? Her stomach knotted, anxiety moistening her palms. No. I want this.
She put the brush in her room, then hurried out of the apartment. Her determination only grew stronger during her walk to the parking lot. Why couldn’t she be bad and sleep with her boss for money? She’d sleep with him anyway, so why not make some money to send to her family? Her mom had mentioned her youngest brother needed braces, and her other two brothers could use new tennis shoes and sports gear. They loved running, and every so often needed sneakers.
He drove his Lamborghini into the parking space next to her and came out. Moisture evaporated from her throat. Oh la la…
Dressed in an unassuming dark gray shirt that clung to his thick biceps and black jeans, Monsieur Zaine looked like a delicious entrée.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey, beautiful.” He opened the door of his Lamborghini and she stepped in. She liked that he treated her as though they were on a date. Older men knew how to court a woman, supposedly. Maybe he just wants to get into my pants faster and is outdoing himself. Though if she were honest, didn’t she want him? She hadn’t had sex in months. Between studying and working way more hours than she had expected to, at the end of most days she fell facedown on the bed and slept.
“Where are we going?”
“My place.”
His place? He chose to take me to his house because no one’ll see us. After all, why would he waste time taking her out to eat if sex was a sure thing? Really, the only thing—he’d been clear about it. When the time came, he’d choose someone who wanted the same things he did. Rich men preferred marrying a successful woman who came from a good family. Whatever that meant.
She nodded, trying not to show her true feelings. Maybe he was embarrassed to be seen with her. Like her father had been of her and her brothers. An old insecurity clawed its way back, but she shook her head, not wanting to believe it. Choosing not to.
“You know, I was thinking… I wish I’d been there while you stripped in front of Paula and the staff and told her off.”
Monique rolled her eyes. She refused to apologize for her behavior. If he wanted to scold her, then so be it. “Sad to say, but she had it coming.”
He gave her an apologetic smile. “She was unfair to you, and I know I didn’t help. I’m sorry.”
Relief streamed in her veins. “Thanks.”
He glanced at her sideways, and she caught herself grinning. He flicked on the satellite radio until a soothing jazz song filled the air. For the rest of the drive, she enjoyed the misleading serenity of the sultry, melodious ballads invading her eardrums. They’d never shared a quiet moment like this, not talking or kissing, since, well, the beginning of their…how to call it? She shifted in her seat, equally excited and worried about the prospect of sleeping with him. He’d been her boss. Correction: had been married to her boss. What if she fell madly for a man she couldn’t keep?
After all, as a recently separated male, he sought adventure for now—and she didn’t blame him. And as for her, she’d head to France, hug her dear family, and if all went well and she got accepted as a teacher in the nonprofit program…she’d go to Senegal for work.
The car came to a halt, and she blinked, quickly realizing he had just parked it inside his garage. He got out first then opened the door for her. Don’t overthink. Just have fun. You’re entitled to a little adventure or two.
When she walked into the kitchen, she couldn’t help but notice the vases of red flowers on top of the granite countertops and large island. The formal dining room seemed less cold than when she’d last cleaned it; a dark red tablecloth covered the oak table, and plates and glasses of different sizes were set for two people.
“You hired a caterer?” Whoever he hired scrambled to pull off a nice intimate atmosphere at a moment’s notice. She hadn’t seen any evidence of females in his house, ever since his separation.
He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of wine. “No. I cooked.”
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
He placed the wine on the counter and produced two glasses from the cupboard. “I haven’t in a long time, which is why I have the Thai place on speed dial in case I screw it up or you’re allergic to seafood.”
“I’m not allergic.”
He stopped moving for a moment and shot her a lingering look that seared her insides. “Good.”
Her heart flipped foolishly in her chest. It all made sense now…he was waiting on her and offering her something she usually did. When he served her wine, she bit her lip. This man was trouble, and for the first time since she could remember, she had no witty comeback. Merde. I’m so screwed.