* * * *
The next morning, Braxton sat Indian style on his hotel bed, skimming through a Paris guidebook he’d bought. “So, where do you want to go first?”
In the bathroom, Lenna had left the door hanging open while she applied the finishing touches of her makeup. “I don’t care,” she called. “What do you want to do?”
“Well, let’s see here.” He glanced through the book until something caught his eye. “We could ride on a double-decker bus and take a two-hour trip through the city. Then there’s also a boat tour on the Seine.”
Lenna gasped and popped her face into the room. “A boat ride?” she sighed. “How romantic. Does that last long?”
“Uh...” Braxton consulted the guidebook. “Seventy-five minutes.”
“Could we do that?” Her gorgeous green eyes begged.
He shrugged. “Sure.” Hell, he didn’t have a clue what to do. As long as he was with her, anything sounded appealing.
“I want to see another museum too before we leave,” Lenna added, disappearing back into the bathroom. “Oh, and I’ve always wanted to visit the market and buy fruit and stuff like that. Then there’s the Notre Dame Cathedral and...” As she named off a few more things, Braxton quietly closed the guidebook.
Alrighty then. Why bother with a paperback when he had a walking, talking tour guide with him? He tossed the book onto the mattress beside him and scooted off the bed. Strolling into the bathroom, he sat on the closed lid of the toilet, where he watched Lenna lean closer to the mirror and apply eyeliner to the base of her lashes.
Spellbound, Braxton didn’t think she could look much better than she had this morning, about half an hour earlier when he’d had her naked in the shower. Her face had been scrubbed free of all cosmetics, and she’d been absolutely breathtaking. Especially when she came. But he had to admit, it was fascinating to watch her primp.
“I know this sounds kind of morbid,” she went on, capping the eyeliner wand only to lift a tube of lip-gloss and bring it to her mouth. “But I think it would be neat to go to Les Catacombs too.”
“What’s that?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off her lips as she rubbed them together.
He hated to tell her he’d have that gloss kissed off in about five seconds because, damn, she looked good putting it on.
“It’s this underground tunnel thing that’s, like, a thousand yards long, or something, and it’s full of six million skeletons.”
Braxton paused. Skeletons? “Real skeletons?”
Finished with her makeup, Lenna turned from the mirror and took in the sight of him perched on the commode, watching her.
“Of course they’re real. Why would they put a bunch of fake skeletons in a grave?”
Why indeed? Braxton found himself grinning, but he couldn’t think what was so funny. He just felt incredibly content.
She held a hand down to him. “Ready?”
In a teasing mood, he pushed to his feet and reached toward her pile of makeup on the counter. “Well, I need to put on some blush first, and then I—”
“Ha, ha. Very funny,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and tugged him away from the mirror.
“No, really.” He resisted her pull and tried to get a peek at his own reflection. “Does my foundation look even to you?” He batted his lashes prettily.
“Shut. Up,” she stressed and lightly punched him in the arm, though amusement glittered in her eyes as she pulled her lips tight.
Braxton laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “Geez, I’m just teasing.” He tugged her to a halt so she would stop too and glance at him. “Honestly, you look really good.”
Then he bent his head and went to work destroying her lip gloss job.
* * * *
They spent the rest of the afternoon touring Paris, taking pictures, and pretty much having the time of their lives.
First, they took a boat ride on the Seine River. It was a cold trip, but Braxton didn’t mind because that only made Lenna curl close to him and snuggle her red cheeks against his chest. He sat with his arms around her and watched the mist from their breaths merge into one cloud.
Since they spent most of the day outside in the frigid air, Braxton insisted they stop at a clothing store, where he bought them both extra gloves and scarves. He even purchased a cashmere sweater Lenna had been discreetly admiring. She didn’t notice the buy until they were already a block away and, even then, it took him nearly ten minutes to talk her into keeping the silly thing.
Finally, she slipped it on over the blouse she wore and had to admit the added warmth was nice.
Braxton had never seen so many manicured gardens and statues of naked people in all his life.
But Lenna had a blast taking pictures of every one of them. Then she dragged him to the market, where they bought a bag full of fruit. He found himself eating something called sanguine. Citrus juice dripped down his chin as he strolled from vendor to vendor.
When he caught sight of a quaint gift shop, he suddenly remembered his deal with Thomas Davenport. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve told Lenna of Tom’s request for him to get her a souvenir. That way, she could pick out her own gift.
But there was no way in hell Braxton was going to mention Tom’s name and ruin the rest of their weekend. They had a cheerful, relaxed mood going, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize that.
He sighed.
Sometimes, he wished her father would find out about them already. He couldn’t stand this waiting for the other shoe to drop, was tired of keeping his feelings for her quiet.
What was worse, their relationship couldn’t progress until her father knew about them, and for the first time in his life, Braxton was ready to move things along with a woman.
Possessive like he’d never been before, he wanted to publicly claim her as his—exclusively his—so no other man had the right to touch his woman. If they had to forge their way through Tom’s anger and accusations to get to that point, then damn it, he was ready for that too.
Truth be told, he’d once been tempted to come right out and ask her dad for his permission to take her on a date. He’d even waited until after work one day and followed Davenport to his car.
After calling Tom’s name, he watched Tom turn and send him a questioning look.
He opened his mouth. “I was wondering,” he started hesitantly. “If I could ask—” out your daughter some time. But he hadn’t been able to finish the question.
He looked into Tom’s eyes and realized they were the exact same shade of green as Lenna’s. He might as well have been looking at her and catching her betrayed stare for going against her wishes to reveal their relationship.
Braxton froze. He shook his head and muttered, “Never mind.” Then he waited until a frowning Tom got into his car and drove off before he pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets and groaned out his misery.
Now, however, he wished he wouldn’t have chickened out that day. At least they’d be able to move on. Except, Braxton was afraid the “moving on” part would mean she’d move on without him, and he’d lose her.
So, he took all the secrets one step further and decided not to tell Lenna about the gift from her dad.
While she chatted in French with a flower vendor, he ducked into the small shop. He scanned the shelves until he spotted a picture he’d seen Lenna admiring earlier in one of the museums they had toured.
Before second-guessing himself, he tucked the Toulouse-Lautrec print under his arm and hurried to the checkout counter. Having no idea what the salesclerk was jabbering on about, he stuck with the whole smile-and-nod routine and handed over his credit card.
She must’ve asked if he wanted the picture gift wrapped, though, because after he paid for it, she pulled out a blue bow and cream paper.
Hell, lady, he wanted to cry. Hurry it up before I’m caught and have to explain myself. But of course, even if he had said that aloud, she wouldn’t have understood a word of his language.
As soon
as she finished and slid the picture into a bag, he snatched the item from her and treated her to a tense, apologetic smile. Then he booked it out of there.
Lenna caught him just as he was exiting the store. He jerked to a surprised halt.
“There you are,” she said, coming toward him and eyeing his bag curiously. She grinned. “I’ve been looking for you. What were you doing in there?”
Braxton wanted to slap a hand over his mouth when he let out a nervous laugh. “I was just...you know.” He buried himself even more by tossing out a careless and completely guilty shrug. “Buying a souvenir for my...for my...sister. Yeah. I told Savannah I’d get her something while I was here.”
“How sweet,” Lenna answered and edged forward, trying to peek inside his bag. “What’d you get her?”
When she reached for the opening, he jerked back. Lenna’s head snapped up. She blinked in stunned confusion and Braxton’s face heated. God, if only he were a better liar.
Wishing he could sink through the ground, he forced a smile. “It’s just a picture,” he said and pulled the wrapped gift from the bag.
Okay, so she’d know where it came from when her dad gave it to her. That was fine, as long as she didn’t know now. If she found out now, she’d grow depressed about how she kept lying to her family, deceiving her father, and adding secret upon secret. Her first trip to Paris would be ruined.
“See,” Braxton said, rattling the frame like a kid would shake his Christmas gift. “You can’t even tell what it is.”
She stared at the cream-colored paper and the bow for what felt like forever. Then she slowly lifted her face. Braxton almost reached for her she looked so hurt.
“Oh,” she said in a small voice and turned away.
His heart stopped for a whole second. He opened his mouth to tell her the truth, but she’d already moved away.
“I’m going to check out the pottery they’re selling over there.” She pointed and sent him a smile over her shoulder that reassured him, making him believe she wasn’t as upset and suspicious as he’d feared.
Sighing, Braxton followed, relieved he was off the hot plate.
* * * *
Lenna knew she shouldn’t let it bother her, but that stupid wrapped present plagued her for a good portion of the afternoon. She wouldn’t be this apprehensive if Braxton hadn’t acted so strangely when she’d found him buying it. But he’d frozen like a deer in the headlights and gaped at her when she’d caught him stealthily exiting the gift shop.
An irritating little voice in her head kept repeating, “It’s not really for his sister.”
But who else would it be for, and why would he lie about it? It wasn’t for another woman. She refused to believe that theory. Braxton was not cheating on her. Then again, little niggles of doubt kept nibbling at her subconscious.
What if she was wrong?
Her lover was an insatiable man. He wanted sex non-stop. Lenna told herself that was just because they were so utterly explosive together.
She wanted it all the time when she was with him too. But maybe this kind of reaction wasn’t so uncommon for him. Maybe he was just that virile.
Maybe he needed a hoard of women to keep him satisfied.
Or maybe she was losing her mind.
Regardless, Lenna held him just a little tighter when they reached the hotel room and he tackled her onto the bed. When he pushed inside her, she drove him just a little wilder, forcing him to see what they had together. And afterward, she clung to him just a little bit longer, hoping she was the only one for him.
He glanced at her with glazed and astonished eyes as he wiped a bead of sweat off his brow and panted out a steadying breath. “Not that I’m complaining, but wow, what got into you?”
He looked so shell-shocked she decided there was no way he could be seeing anyone else behind her back. This was just as amazing and abnormal for him as it was for her.
Ashamed for thinking the worst of him, she sent him an innocent shrug. “What can I say? France just...turns me on.”
He laughed. “We’re definitely coming back then.” He covered her with loving kisses, nibbling and licking his way across warm skin. “At least once a year. Possibly on a monthly basis.”
* * * *
Except for her small worry over Braxton’s fidelity, Lenna loved France.
He took her to another fancy restaurant Saturday evening, and then they spent the rest of the night in bed. On Sunday, they spent the return flight back to New York, once again in the company jet’s bed.
It was ten a.m., Paris time, when they departed. But after their seven hour flight, it was only eleven when they landed.
Braxton drove her home. After he walked her to her door, carrying her luggage for her, he turned to meet her gaze, looking extremely reluctant to leave. Lenna could relate. She’d grown accustomed to being with him. She really liked Braxton’s company, even when they weren’t ripping off each other’s clothes.
It was Sunday, however, and she needed to see her family before they suspected the truth. The Davenport clan had already begun asking questions because she hadn’t visited as much in the six weeks since she’d started her clandestine affair with her dad’s boss. Her mother teased and asked if she’d lost interest in them. Lenna was running out of excuses. Ergo, tonight she’d make it to family night come rain or shine.
So, she sent Braxton on his way and unpacked.
By four o’clock, she was exhausted. Her internal clock had shifted her totally off whack, and her body seemed to think it was bedtime. So Lenna decided to take a quick power nap.
But she slept through her alarm clock and didn’t wake until a quarter ‘til seven when her phone rang and wouldn’t stop.
It was her mother.
“Honey? Are you okay?” Maxine Davenport’s concerned voice filled Lenna’s ear as soon as she answered the phone.
“Hey, Mom,” she mumbled as she closed her eyes and yawned. “I’m fine. Just jet lagged.” A second later, she realized what she’d said. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up so fast she made herself dizzy.
Oh, Crap.
“You’re just what, dear?”
Lenna swallowed. “I’m...I...I’m just...just lagged. I’m really tired for some reason.” She winced at the feebleness of her own lie. Man, she hated deceiving her innocent mother.
“Goodness,” Maxine answered. “Do you think you’re coming down with a cold?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Lenna latched onto the neck of that little scapegoat and rode the hell out of Dodge. “My throat is scratchy.”
“Then maybe you should stay home tonight. I don’t want you out and about, making yourself worse.”
“But...you wouldn’t mind?” Lenna bit her lip, hating herself.
“Of course not.” Her mother’s voice soothed. “We’d much rather you be healthy. Just stay in bed and gargle a glass of salt water. Get yourself some rest, okay, sweetheart?”
Lenna nodded. “Okay, Mom. Thanks. I...I love you.”
“I love you too, dear. Now, go take care of that throat.”
Lenna disconnected and stared at the receiver for ten seconds before she burst into tears.
She didn’t want to hide anymore. She wanted the world to know how crazy she was about Braxton Farris. It wasn’t fair her dad would condemn their relationship if he knew. He’d probably disown her, never talk to her again, and sell her off to some middle-eastern goat-herding family. But that was nothing compared to what he’d do to Braxton. She knew Brax would bear the brunt of Thomas Davenport’s wrath if he ever found out she was sleeping with his boss. The bad thing was, she had no idea exactly what it was Tom would do. She just knew she didn’t want to find out.
So she would keep up the distressing subterfuge. For Braxton.
CHAPTER 16
Braxton strolled into Farris Industries Monday morning, whistling and sending a greeting smile to every employee he passed. Most of them paused to gape after him, frowning in confusion over his unusual
ly good mood.
He found Davenport in the break room, pouring a cup of coffee.
“Hey, Tom,” he called, making the man turn and eye him with a leery frown. Lifting the wrapped package under his arm, he held it out. “I got that thing you wanted from Paris.”
Tom stared down at the cream package and blue bow. “What thing?” he asked blankly.
Braxton hesitated and glanced at the other two people in the room. Ben Hendricks and Braxton’s secretary, Tasha, watched in open curiosity. He turned back to Lenna’s dad. “Umm...you wanted me to pick up a souvenir...for your daughter,” he prompted.
“Oh!” Tom took the gift from Braxton and frowned down at it, turning it over in his hands. “What the heck is it?”
“It’s an art print. By some guy, Too Loose La Track, or something like that.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Len—” He stopped quickly to clear his throat. His face turned purple as he coughed and pounded on his chest. “I mean, the lady...in the store...said he was famous.”
Tom nodded slowly. “I think you’re right. I’m sure I’ve heard Lenna mention that name.”
He continued to stare at the wrapped picture, making Braxton antsy. “Is that okay? I mean, was there something else you had in mind? Because you didn’t specify—”
“No!” Tom quickly cut him off. He lifted his eyes to Braxton and sent him a solemn look. “No, this is...perfect actually. I just assumed you’d buy a miniature Eiffel Tower figurine or the like. But, no. I think she’d prefer this. It’s more...Lenna.” Then he shocked the snot out of Braxton and said, “Thanks.”
For a moment, Brax couldn’t respond.
After clearing his throat again, he gave the man a brief nod and turned to leave.
But Tasha stopped him. “How was Paris?”
Braxton paused. “Paris,” he murmured and exhaled a breath of air, “was amazing.”
“So...business went well?” Tasha pressed.
“Oh!” Shit. For some reason, he hadn’t known she’d been asking about business. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes, as a matter of fact, our contact with Renault, Richard Trousseau, seemed very impressed with our product. He signed on with us, and I have a good feeling he’s not just going to renew his contract at the end of our term, but he might become one of our biggest buyers before long.”