without having cooked them. Two, the bakery lifestyle is perfect for Madame Guiscard. How do you know it will be perfect for you?” He held up one finger to stop the argument sputtering out of her mouth. “And three, once we go up those stairs, things change. Are you ready?”
Nikki gripped the paper towel so hard she ripped it. The arrogant SOB . “After two days, you think you know me.”
Gérard stalked over to her side of the island and leaned against the counter, his body seemingly in repose, but more like a lion on alert. She took a slow sip of whiskey. To keep her hands busy or for courage, she wasn’t sure.
“I know you’re smart. It goes without saying that you’re beautiful.” His finger stroked the top of her hand, circling her knuckles.
Nikki’s toes curled against the rung of the stool.
“You would get bored after six months at the bakery. All of the jobs you’ve had before this one kept you interested for only a while, then you left. For bigger and better things. Could you learn pastry? Yes. Could you run a bakery? Absolutely. But you’d hate it. It’s repetitious, back-breaking work. You like adventure.” He ran his finger over her wrist. “Excitement. Taking risks.” He picked up her hand and kissed her palm. Meeting her gaze, he nipped the fleshy pad at the base of her thumb, making her shiver. He released her and stepped back—she tried to hide her disappointment.
“I want to make love to your properly. Not in the pantry. Not on the kitchen floor.” He extended his hand on the counter, palm up. “Will you come upstairs with me?” Her nostrils flared, smelling the slight scent of apricots. Her peaked breasts rubbed against her tee shirt, throbbing for his touch. She wanted to fling him against the counter and tear off all her clothes. And his. This job was necessary. He was her boss. And he could probably break her heart in two like a day-old breadstick. She didn’t have any future with him. Girls from Loray, Georgia didn’t have any business sleeping with French billionaires. But he was giving her the choice, not dictating.
She placed her hand in his.
Gérard led her upstairs, not carrying her, as she’d expected and half hoped. If she were carried, she couldn’t change her mind. His room was at the top of the stairs—the opposite end of the hall from hers. Her feet sank into the plush oriental carpet as she crossed the threshold. Like her room, it was a suite, with a sitting area, whose wide windows overlooked the garden. A multitude of closed doors which she imagined led to closets and a bathroom. Dominating the space was a huge canopy bed with gold-fringed bed hangings. It made her feel overwhelmed and she was glad when he sat down on a large, red velvet wingback chair. With its gold swirls and brass tacks, it looked like a throne. Nikki had only a moment to appreciate the softly-lit reading nook, stacked with gardening books, before Gérard pulled her down onto his lap.
She’d never made love in a chair before, not being as adventurous as he might think.
He smiled as he turned her so she straddled him. Running his hands through her hair, he splayed it over her shoulders, the thick waves falling past her breasts. “Lady Godiva,” he murmured.
“The chocolate?”
He laughed, tugging her down until she lay snuggled in his arms. “No silly goose, the seductress. Like Lady Godiva’s husband, I find I would do anything to see you naked.”
“Anything?” She teased, but he stiffened underneath her and she wondered how many women would use this opportunity to make demands. Or how many had? He was probably a constant target for gold diggers. But where she was sitting now, how could any woman think beyond the warmth and strength of his embrace? She sat up to see a frown marring his sexy mouth. “You first,” was all she could think to say.
His face completely changed with his sudden laugh. Full and rich, it sounded like wood smoke and whiskey. His gaze met hers as
Nikki gripped the paper towel so hard she ripped it. The arrogant SOB . “After two days, you think you know me.”
Gérard stalked over to her side of the island and leaned against the counter, his body seemingly in repose, but more like a lion on alert. She took a slow sip of whiskey. To keep her hands busy or for courage, she wasn’t sure.
“I know you’re smart. It goes without saying that you’re beautiful.” His finger stroked the top of her hand, circling her knuckles.
Nikki’s toes curled against the rung of the stool.
“You would get bored after six months at the bakery. All of the jobs you’ve had before this one kept you interested for only a while, then you left. For bigger and better things. Could you learn pastry? Yes. Could you run a bakery? Absolutely. But you’d hate it. It’s repetitious, back-breaking work. You like adventure.” He ran his finger over her wrist. “Excitement. Taking risks.” He picked up her hand and kissed her palm. Meeting her gaze, he nipped the fleshy pad at the base of her thumb, making her shiver. He released her and stepped back—she tried to hide her disappointment.
“I want to make love to your properly. Not in the pantry. Not on the kitchen floor.” He extended his hand on the counter, palm up. “Will you come upstairs with me?” Her nostrils flared, smelling the slight scent of apricots. Her peaked breasts rubbed against her tee shirt, throbbing for his touch. She wanted to fling him against the counter and tear off all her clothes. And his. This job was necessary. He was her boss. And he could probably break her heart in two like a day-old breadstick. She didn’t have any future with him. Girls from Loray, Georgia didn’t have any business sleeping with French billionaires. But he was giving her the choice, not dictating.
She placed her hand in his.
Gérard led her upstairs, not carrying her, as she’d expected and half hoped. If she were carried, she couldn’t change her mind. His room was at the top of the stairs—the opposite end of the hall from hers. Her feet sank into the plush oriental carpet as she crossed the threshold. Like her room, it was a suite, with a sitting area, whose wide windows overlooked the garden. A multitude of closed doors which she imagined led to closets and a bathroom. Dominating the space was a huge canopy bed with gold-fringed bed hangings. It made her feel overwhelmed and she was glad when he sat down on a large, red velvet wingback chair. With its gold swirls and brass tacks, it looked like a throne. Nikki had only a moment to appreciate the softly-lit reading nook, stacked with gardening books, before Gérard pulled her down onto his lap.
She’d never made love in a chair before, not being as adventurous as he might think.
He smiled as he turned her so she straddled him. Running his hands through her hair, he splayed it over her shoulders, the thick waves falling past her breasts. “Lady Godiva,” he murmured.
“The chocolate?”
He laughed, tugging her down until she lay snuggled in his arms. “No silly goose, the seductress. Like Lady Godiva’s husband, I find I would do anything to see you naked.”
“Anything?” She teased, but he stiffened underneath her and she wondered how many women would use this opportunity to make demands. Or how many had? He was probably a constant target for gold diggers. But where she was sitting now, how could any woman think beyond the warmth and strength of his embrace? She sat up to see a frown marring his sexy mouth. “You first,” was all she could think to say.
His face completely changed with his sudden laugh. Full and rich, it sounded like wood smoke and whiskey. His gaze met hers as
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