Sweet Filthy Boy - Lauren Christina (лучшие книги читать онлайн бесплатно .TXT) 📗

I pull him down on the couch next to me and he complies, but his posture tells me he’s only here for a minute. He’ll get up and return to his computer instead of following me into bed.

I run my hand down the front of his T-shirt and find myself looking forward to seeing him dressed for work tomorrow, and then immediately feel a tight knot of guilt form in my stomach. “Do you wear a suit and tie in the courtroom?”

Laughing, he bends and says into the skin of my neck, “I don’t go to court, but no, in court they wear a traditional robe. I’m the equivalent of a junior associate here. Corporate law in France is maybe a bit different from the States, though both are different from criminal law. Here, maybe more proceedings happen across a table.”

“If it’s different from the States, and you’re licensed to practice there, too . . . why did you come back here after law school?”

He hums, shaking his head a little as he kisses my jaw, and it’s the first time he hasn’t answered a question. I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or fascinated.

“I hope you’ll be done soon,” I tell him, pressing my hand to his face and, unable to resist, stroking his bottom lip with the pad of my thumb in his signature, soothing move. “I hope it won’t always be like this. I like it when you’re here with me.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly as he smiles. “You sound like a real wife when you say that.”

Chapter FIFTEEN

I’M ALMOST RELIEVED that he goes into the office Monday so I can go back to the tiny shop in the alley, holding my breath in the hope that it will be open. I think the role play is fun for Ansel; at least I hope it’s as fun for him as it is for me. We get to know each other in these tiny glimpses, revealing ourselves while we pretend not to.

And tonight, I want to get him talking.

The store is open, and the same saleswoman is there, greeting me with the warmth of her smile and the familiar scent of iris. She takes me by the hand, drawing me toward the lingerie, the props.

“What are you today?” she asks.

It takes me several long seconds before I find my words, and even then, I don’t really answer her question. “I need to find a way to rescue him.”

She studies me for a beat before selecting a sexy soldier uniform but it isn’t at all what I mean. Instead, my eyes trip on a negligee so vibrantly red, it looks like it could burn my fingers.

Her laugh is throaty and loud. “Yes, today you rescue in that. This time when you come in, your chin is higher, your eyes a little wicked, I think.” Reaching for the wall, she hands me a single accessory and when I look down at what she’s given me, it seems to vibrate in my hands. I would never have picked this on my own, but it’s perfect.

“Have fun, cherie.”

I’VE DONE MY makeup for the stage enough that I can really layer it on, making my eyes smoky and dark, my lips even fuller and siren red. I put just enough blush on my cheeks to look like I might be up to no good.

Stepping back, I examine myself in the slim mirror mounted on the bedroom door. My hair falls straight to my chin, black and sleek. My hazel eyes have more yellow than green lately. My bangs need to be trimmed; they graze my eyelashes when I blink. But the woman staring back at me likes the shadow they give. She knows how to look up from beneath her lashes and flirt, especially with the red horns barely poking out from a slim, black headband hiding in her hair.

The negligee is made of lace and layered, soft macrame tulle. The layering gives the illusion of coverage, but even in the dim candlelight I’ve set up throughout the apartment, my nipples are clearly visible beneath. The only other thing I’m wearing is a small, matching red thong.

This time I’m not nervous when I hear the elevator doors open down the hall, and the steady pace of Ansel’s feet walking to our door.

He enters, dropping his keys in the bowl and sliding his helmet beneath the table before turning to where I sit in one of the dining room chairs I’ve placed about ten feet in front of the entryway.

“Christ, Cerise.” Slowly, he slides his messenger bag over his head, carefully setting it on the floor. A heated smile starts at the corner of his mouth and lazily stretches across to the other side as he notices the horns. “Am I in trouble?”

I shake my head, shivering at the way his accent scratches trouble into my new favorite word, and stand, walking over to him. Letting him take in the entire outfit.

“No,” I say, “but I hear you’re in a situation you’d like to see changed.”

He stills, brows slowly lifting. “A situation?”

“Yes,” I say. “A work situation.”

His eyes turn playful. “I see.”

“I can help.” I step closer and run my hand up his chest to his tie. Loosening it, I tell him, “I’ve been sent here to negotiate a deal.”

“Sent by whom?”

“My boss,” I say with a little wink.

He looks me over one more time and reaches up to drag the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. It’s a familiar touch now, but instead of opening my mouth and licking him, I bite.

He pulls back with a little gasp, and then laughs. “You’re irresistible.”

“I’m powerful,” I correct him. “If everything goes well tonight, with just a snap of my fingers I can finish this horrible, time-sucking lawsuit.”

I pull his tie loose and blink up to see his amused expression straighten into something more earnest, more pleading. “You can?”

“You give me your soul, and I make your problems go away.”

His smile returns and his hands slide forward, framing my hips. “When you look the way you do, I don’t think I have much use for a soul.” He leans in, runs his nose along my neck, and inhales. “It’s yours. How do we negotiate this transaction?”

I push his hands away, and slide his tie off, draping it around my neck instead. “I’m glad you asked.” Unbuttoning his shirt, I explain: “I’ll ask a few questions so I can determine the value of your soul. If you’re pristine, I’ll end this tonight and make you look like a hero who broke down the other side. If you’re sullied, well . . .” I shrug. “It may be messy but the lawsuit will be gone. And then I take my payment.”

His dimple makes a cameo. “And what kind of questions do I need to answer?”

“I need to see how bad you’ve been.” Lowering my voice, I add, “I hope you’ve been very bad. My boss doesn’t like to pay very much, and making you look like a hero is pretty expensive in this business.”

He looks genuinely confused. “But isn’t my soul more valuable to you the more corrupt I am?”

Shaking my head, I tell him, “I’m only bargaining to lure you away from the angels. I get you for a better price if they’d be unlikely to want you anyway.”

“I see,” he says, wearing an amused smile.

Silence slides between us and the threat of tension looms just outside the little circle our bodies form, standing so close together. For once, the rules are all mine, the game all mine, and still I feel power in this, too. My fingers shake against his chest with the reality of this full circle, closed. I’m his equal. I’m his wife, wanting to save him.

“I suppose I’m at your mercy, then,” he says quietly. “If you can do what you say, I’m game.”

Tilting my head, I say, “Get undressed.”

“Completely naked?” Amusement returns to his expression.

“Completely.”

He pushes his fancy checked blue shirt off his shoulders. I struggle to keep my attention on his face, knowing that the skin he’s slowly revealing is quite possibly my favorite thing about France.

“How did you get into this line of work?” he asks, unfastening his belt.

“My boss found me, alone and wandering the streets,” I tell him, unable to resist reaching forward, running my hands lightly down his chest. I love the way his breath hitches, his skin seems to tighten beneath my fingers. “He thought I’d make a good negotiator. When I found out I’d get to play with pretty boys like you, how could I resist?”