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Affair of Pleasure
Lindsay Evans


The one worth waiting for… Childhood neighbors and friends turned business partners, Nichelle Wright and Wolfe Diallo make a successful management consulting team. Yet Nichelle knows charming ladies' man Wolfe too well to want anything more. Until wooing a lucrative new client requires them to masquerade as husband and wife. And with one heated glance across a Parisian hotel room, "strictly platonic" explodes in an inferno of long-denied desire.For years, Wolfe has kept sexy, ambitious Nichelle on a pedestal. Suddenly she's in his bed, and for the first time he's the one wanting more. Playing at man-and-wife is all too satisfying–until a business rival plants seeds of mistrust. Wolfe knows he and Nichelle can never be just friends again. Is this the end, or a smoldering new beginning?







The one worth waiting for...

Childhood neighbors and friends turned business partners, Nichelle Wright and Wolfe Diallo make a successful management consulting team. Yet Nichelle knows charming ladies’ man Wolfe too well to want anything more. Until wooing a lucrative new client requires them to masquerade as husband and wife. And with one heated glance across a Parisian hotel room, “strictly platonic” explodes in an inferno of long-denied desire.

For years, Wolfe has kept sexy, ambitious Nichelle on a pedestal. Suddenly she’s in his bed, and for the first time he’s the one wanting more. Playing at man-and-wife is all too satisfying—until a business rival plants seeds of mistrust. Wolfe knows he and Nichelle can never be just friends again. Is this the end, or a smoldering new beginning?


She opened her eyes to see Wolfe quietly watching her. Nichelle was overcome by a nearly overwhelming desire to touch him. It would be so easy to crawl down to the other end of the couch and bite, kiss and lick every inch of bare flesh.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His gaze did not leave hers.

She could only nod, swallowing heavily as the sweet and thick need rolled through her veins.

“I’ve wanted to come to Marrakesh since I was a kid,” Wolfe said softly.

“Why didn’t you?” Nichelle tucked her hip deeper into the couch, trying to put some space between their bodies. But Wolfe’s sock-clad foot followed her skin, tucking into her with a slight and suggestive caress. Was he doing this to her on purpose?

Wolfe shrugged. “Work became more important to me than seeing the world.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say work became more important than enjoying life,” she murmured.

They were caught in a delicate cocoon together, lulled into a gentle world made simply of their own voices, the lush beauty of the room, the faint smell of Moroccan amber that billowed up from the couch like fine smoke. It felt like blasphemy to speak above a whisper.


Dear Reader (#ulink_85a5e9b1-e7f5-515b-a674-b9c271c1b735),

Wolfe Diallo is a man of sin and selfishness, at least that’s what he thinks. His mother cheated on his father when he was young, leaving Wolfe mistrustful of long-term intimacy and of his own genetic predisposition to take rather than to give.

Nichelle Wright is a good girl, despite her love of designer stilettos and premium vodka. After all, for most of her life she’s ignored that tasty morsel, Wolfe Diallo, who had been dangling under her nose the whole time. Now, after a long look at what he has to offer, she wants to ditch her good-girl ways for a taste of what she suddenly craves.

Find out with me, dear reader, if Wolfe’s sin and Nichelle’s sweetness will end up being an explosive mix.

Decadently yours,

Lindsay Evans




Affair of Pleasure

Lindsay Evans





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


LINDSAY EVANS was born in Jamaica and currently lives and writes in Atlanta, Georgia, where she’s constantly on the hunt for inspiration, club in hand. She loves good food and romance and would happily travel to the ends of the earth for both. Find out more at lindsayevanswrites.com (http://www.lindsayevanswrites.com).


To my readers, old and new.

Thank you for sharing your time with me.


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#ulink_d0d68d9b-66a3-5b3e-8050-557a08ed3909)

This new journey of mine wouldn’t be possible without Sheree L. Greer, Angela Gabriel and Dorothy Lindsay. As my beta reader, Sheree has read more romance novels than she’d ever even thought possible, and Angela has suffered with me through many plotting sessions over dinner and ice cream. Dorothy Lindsay has simply always been there.

Kimberly Kaye Terry, as ever, thank you.


Contents

Cover (#ub33b9c71-f688-5daa-932e-2f67767a542b)

Back Cover Text (#u375464d2-5a74-50d2-bb9d-bb3e259c9d99)

Introduction (#u6b17bcbf-69a9-5982-9538-593093e83b35)

Dear Reader (#u109a518c-c1be-581f-8b8e-e583c0995086)

Title Page (#u7f2eac60-35b0-59b9-99e5-698ba364fba0)

About the Author (#u7a3a1ba1-39de-589f-b44f-0cd6493ba1b0)

Dedication (#u677b654e-a5e1-5cce-919e-d7634671c888)

Acknowledgments (#u85b11c4b-ef42-5001-a022-1bf7fe2a7a16)

Chapter 1 (#u671e12da-46b4-5bbe-b3e1-9d873fee2217)

Chapter 2 (#u38c4be18-7434-5769-b4dc-7c0e5ef9167d)

Chapter 3 (#u8c4bc120-c7c7-588b-8708-8370d983a3b3)

Chapter 4 (#u22799a18-cd18-568d-94dc-ef934328a2d4)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#ulink_f6eb1b6d-4c04-58a9-ba96-881cf123f405)

“Nichelle, wait!”

Nichelle Wright turned at the sound of her name, pivoting on the heels of her teal Louboutin stilettos. “What can I help you with, Steve?”

Steve Brooks stood in the middle of the well-lit hallway of Kingston Consulting with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, although it was just past ten in the morning. He shoved his hands in his pockets and relaxed his stance, as if he had all day to waste Nichelle’s time.

She tapped the manila folder she carried against her thigh and quirked an eyebrow, wordlessly telling him to hurry it along.

Steve finally started talking. “About the Trestle presentation you did this morning, Nichelle. Can you break something else down for me...?”

Nichelle heard a door click open behind her, far enough away that she knew it was her business partner’s office at the end of the hallway. She’d always teased him that for someone who was so friendly and sociable, he was giving mixed signals by taking the office farthest from everyone. Hers was at the opposite end of the hall, in the thick of things.

She glanced over her shoulder. Wolfe Diallo stood in the doorway, getting ready to walk a woman toward the elevators. He was dressed for a day of meetings, his solid six and a half feet clad in a gray three-piece suit. His head looked freshly shaved, and the goatee framing his mouth was crisp and on point, as always. He was a model businessman. Emphasis on model. His gorgeous looks made the men between the covers of Vogue Hommes International look like toothless hobos.

The woman with him wasn’t dressed for business, though. Her voluptuous frame was on display in a tight white dress and red screw-me pumps that gleamed with a suggestive, wet shine. Nichelle’s lips twitched.

She caught Wolfe’s eye as he walked toward her with the woman by his side. Nichelle tipped her head toward his now closed office door. He paused and said something to the woman, brushed her cheek with his and gave her a brilliant smile. A dismissal. The woman’s own smile dimmed, but she still looked up at Wolfe with a mixture of hunger and aloofness. Come get me but don’t think I’m needy. A true talent.

“Excuse me, Steve.” Nichelle returned her full attention to him. “Come to my office a little later if you want to talk more about the project. I’ll be around.” She met his eyes, daring him to push forward with his obvious delaying tactic. “Okay?”

“Sure.” He looked briefly panicked, darting his gaze to the woman with Wolfe.

Nichelle dismissed him and headed down the hallway. As she passed the woman, she nodded, but only got a cold look in return. She felt more than saw the wide doe eyes flickering over her uniform, or what she considered her uniform—white blouse and calf-length black pencil skirt. Her green heels matched her optimistic and peaceful mood.

“Good morning, Wolfe.” She walked into the office past him, her shoulder brushing the lapel of his pewter Zegna suit.

The office was cozy and warm, like his den at home, decorated with imported rugs and rust-colored walls. A large painting of Vermont in autumn dominated one wall. On his bookshelf rested a black Bose speaker dock and matching iPod. Next to them sat a vase of irises, Nichelle’s favorite flowers that Wolfe’s assistant replaced every few days.

“Is it a good morning, or is it great?” He closed the door behind him with a warm chuckle.

The office smelled like the perfume of the woman who’d just left, something musky and warm. Not unpleasant. Nichelle perched her hip on the edge of the wide window in Wolfe’s office and glanced down to the street eight stories below.

“For me, it’s only a good one,” she said. “But it will be even better once we get on the same page about this potential million-dollar contract.” She dropped her manila folder and a thumb drive on his desk then went back to her window perch.

Instantly, Wolfe’s stance was all business—his smile more predatory, the velvet eyes hardened to something like steel. He sat behind his desk. “Tell me more.”

She started in on her mini presentation. Once she finished giving him the details of her latest project, a client she planned to go after for their management consulting firm, he grinned with all his teeth. Like a shark on the scent of fresh blood.

“Yes,” he said. “You know I want it.”

“Good.” She crossed her legs and glanced down briefly at the long line of her calf, the arch of her feet dipping into the five-inch stilettos. “The thumb drive has everything I’ve prepared, including the actual proposal. Once you’ve looked it over—today would be lovely—” She flashed him her own toothy smile. “I’ll put in our bid. There are a few others I have in mind, but this is the biggest and the one we need to focus on for now. We’re ready to grow and grow big.”

“I agree,” Wolfe said. “I trust you. That’s one of the main reasons I asked you to come work with me.”

Nichelle’s lips curled in amusement. He hadn’t really asked but rather seduced her into coming to work with him when he’d decided to leave the family business in favor of striking out on his own. Their families had been friends and neighbors for years, but instead of approaching her like a friend, he made her a business proposition. At first, he asked her to come on as a junior partner, someone to spot trends, grow and shape the management consulting firm in a way that made them money but also positioned them in the most advantageous way possible in the market. But she knew her worth and refused his initial offer.

At Sterling Solutions, the firm he’d hired her away from, her success rate was damned near legendary. Sterling had been on the verge of offering her more—a bigger office, possibly even a full partnership. Somehow Wolfe found out and raised the dollar amount and incentives with his offer. When she refused him again, he laid out the ultimate prize of an equal partnership at Kingston Consulting, plus an indecently large signing bonus.

“I’m just giving you your money’s worth,” Nichelle said with a pointed smile.

They both knew he’d made back the money he invested in bringing her on within the first quarter and tripled it by the second. So far, three years later, they were both very happy with the arrangement.

“And speaking of which.” She dipped a shoulder toward the door. “We might need to fire Steve Brooks.”

Wolfe leaned back in his chair and watched her over steepled fingers. “Of course, if you think it’s necessary. Care to let me know why?”

She shook her head, almost amused but not quite. “He was trying to stop me from coming into your office and seeing you with your latest...female companion.”

“Oh, yeah?”

There was a persistent rumor around the office that Nichelle and Wolfe were more than business partners. Even after three years of seeing nothing more intimate between them than shared laughter and a few platonic touches, nearly everyone at Kingston Consulting was still convinced they were sleeping together.

“I think under the man code, he was trying to protect you from being caught with another woman right under my naïve and unsuspecting nose.”

They exchanged crooked smiles at the thought of her being naïve or gullible enough not to know what Wolfe was up to with his myriad and varied lady friends. “He was being deceptive,” she said.

“Depends on how you look at it.” Wolfe grinned at her from across the desk. “Another CEO would give him a promotion.”

She waved a hand in dismissal. They both knew what kind of CEO Wolfe was. “The corporate version of ‘bros before hos’?” she murmured.

“That fool is no bro of mine.”

“You should probably let him know that.”

It was Wolfe’s turn to be dismissive. Steve Brooks wasn’t important enough to warrant that sort of conversation. He was a damned good software engineer, and that was the reason they both kept him around, despite his persistent attempts to date every woman in the building. The women saw him as mostly harmless, but if Nichelle ever got an actual complaint about Brooks, he was out on his ass without discussion. No matter how good he was at his job.

Wolfe’s cell phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it. “Don’t forget about dinner at my parents’ place on Friday evening.” He tapped the phone to dismiss whatever he saw on the screen. “Mama wanted to make sure you’re available and don’t have to be off someplace saving the world.”

“The only thing I’m out there saving on a regular basis is your ass.” Nichelle smiled at the thought of his mother, a petite and fashionable fifty-something woman who’d given birth to thirteen energetic kids and somehow still had the time to successfully fulfill her role as chief operations officer at the family-run Diallo Corporation. “You know I’ll be there.” She pulled out her iPhone and checked the calendar to be sure. “It’s already on the schedule.”

“Nice to know we rate a slot in your precious schedule.”

“Of course.” With a gracious smile, she stood up from her improvised window seat. “You always do.”

Wolfe came around his desk to walk her to the door. “By the way, I’ll have Kathleen in HR draw up Brooks’s dismissal letter today.”

She paused in the doorway, her head tilted in consideration. “No, don’t do that.” After all, Steve Brooks had a sister he was helping put through college. He needed the money. “I’ll keep an eye on him for now and let you know what happens.”

He nodded. “Keep me in the loop.”

“Of course.” She walked out into the hall and headed to her own office, mind already on her next meeting. “Later alligator.” The heels of her stilettos rang sharply against the hardwood floors with every step.

* * *

Wolfe very consciously closed his office door instead of watching Nichelle walk away. She was cripplingly beautiful. And those ridiculously sexy shoes she insisted on wearing every day never failed to stir his...interest.

He knew his feelings for her were inappropriate. She was his business partner, the person he trusted more than anyone else on earth. When he was eighteen, he took his father’s half-million-dollar antique Bentley without permission. He drove it all over Miami and returned it with, unfortunately, a tiny scratch on the driver’s side. His father was furious, demanding the one who stole the car to confess. Wolfe never did. The scar stayed on the car for months before his father eventually grew frustrated and fixed it himself. Nichelle saw Wolfe return the car, though. To this day, she never told a soul. After that, Wolfe trusted her with all his secrets, large and small. She hadn’t disappointed him yet.

But in addition to being the keeper of his secrets, Nichelle was also the epitome of walking sex with a genius IQ and a sense of humor that never failed to make him laugh. He’d have to be made of stone not to notice and appreciate everything about her, and he was certainly not made of stone.

At his desk, he reopened the text reminder about dinner from his mother. As always, he felt that uncomfortable mix of love and resentment whenever she reached out to him. Each overture from her seemed like an attempt to make amends for that terrible thing she’d done to the family when Wolfe was sixteen years old.

He didn’t trust her.

When he’d needed her the most, she’d packed her bags and left the family for another man, a successful painter who’d taken her away to Vanuatu. She was gone for nearly five months, having disappeared into a place Wolfe hadn’t even heard of until his father announced a sudden trip there, then brought her back pregnant and far from penitent.

It was a lapse that no one in the family talked about, not even Wolfe’s older brother, Kingsley, who must have noticed the same things Wolfe did. After his mother gave birth to her child—a child his father never treated any differently—she settled back into the routine of family life as if her five month defection had never happened.

But for Wolfe, it was the single most defining act of his childhood.

He swiped a finger across the phone screen and brought up his mother’s number, then sent her a text arranging for them to talk later that day. He was checking in on her. He knew it, and she did, too. It irritated him that after sixteen years, he still had the need to call her at least once a week to see where her head was. As if anything he could say would ever change her mind if she decided to leave the family again. Once she wanted something, there was no stopping her from getting it. That was one of the many things, unfortunately, that they had in common.

Wolfe glanced at the closed door of his office and remembered the sleek silhouette of Nichelle standing in the doorway. Her hourglass figure and sinful shoes. How she had sucked on the inside of her bottom lip as she considered the annoyance that was Steve Brooks.

Now that, he thought, was something he shouldn’t want. But he did.

* * *

At the end of a long day, Nichelle was finally getting to the last pieces of mail in the secondary pile her assistant sorted for her every morning. It was mostly junk and solicitations addressed just to her. She fanned them out like a bad hand of poker and tipped them in the recycling, reject or respond pile as necessary. She frowned at an envelope from Sterling Solutions marked “private.” There was nothing private she had to discuss with Teague Simonson, her former boss, or anyone else at Sterling. But her assistant, following protocol, hadn’t opened the envelope. She tore it with her letter opener.

Nichelle,

It was a pleasure seeing you at the New York sustainability conference last month. I meant what I said about having a place for you to come back to at Sterling. I see the stellar work you’ve done with Kingston Solutions and want you to come back and work that same magic for us. Nothing less than full partnership and a corner office for you, of course. Let’s talk. I’ll run some numbers by you and see if we can’t come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Teague

Nichelle tossed the letter in the recycle pile. She’d already told Teague, at least half a dozen times, that she wasn’t interested in leaving Kingston. Now his unwanted communications were just obnoxious, no matter their tone. She wasn’t going to respond to this latest one. What was it about certain men that wouldn’t let them take no for an answer?

She sighed and glanced at her computer’s clock. It was nearly six. Wolfe had left the office an hour before for a late meeting, and most of the staff was already gone. Time for her to head out. Nichelle grabbed her purse from its drawer and reached for her cell phone. Her elbow knocked over the carefully sorted pile of mail.

“Damn!” The letters slid halfway across her desk, some falling on the floor. It was definitely time to go home.

She haphazardly scooped the mail in a pile, determined to deal with it another day. Purse over her shoulder, she quickly left for the parking garage. In her car, she turned on her favorite classic R&B station and eased out into rush hour traffic. Seconds later, her phone rang.

Her sister’s face showed up on the small screen. “Hey, Madalie.”

“What are you up to?”

“Leaving work, which I’m sure you know.”

Her sister giggled. “Yeah, I have you in the sights of my high-powered rifle now. I know exactly what you’re doing.” Madalie was currently indulging her obsession with spy novels and action movies. Everything was a gun or improbable martial arts metaphor.

“I’m at the beach kickin’ it with some nice people. You should come.”

Nichelle glanced from the slow traffic outside her window to her dashboard clock. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” It would take her at least forty minutes to get to the beach in that traffic.

“Of course. I was the one who called you after work, remember?”

Nichelle rolled her eyes. “Fine.” Madalie had been floating her way through life for a few years now, twenty-four years old and still not knowing what she wanted to do for a career. She had her own place, her own money from the dividends of the stocks her father invested in her name. But her lack of direction and resulting listlessness worried Nichelle.

“Okay. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. You’re at the usual place, right?”

“Of course. You know I don’t handle change very well.”

Half an hour later found Nichelle hiking across the sand with her high heels in hand. It was just past six thirty in the evening. The sky was hung with thick clouds while sunset burned its bright colors across the water. Her calf-length silk skirt and high-collared blouse weren’t exactly made for the beach. The outfit was perfect for her perpetually air-conditioned office, but out here, she was more than a little warm. It didn’t make sense for her to go home and change, though. For her sister, she’d endure a little discomfort.

The beach was surprisingly packed. She trudged across the sand, joining a broken line of people making their way to the oceanfront. It was a miracle she’d found parking. There was some sort of party going on. Bass-thumping dub-step music played from speakers set up around a high stage. Men and women, along with some teenagers, danced on the beach. She easily found her sister at the water’s edge, her bright blue afro a beacon she followed to where Madalie sat at the edge of a bonfire, one of nearly a dozen or so people sitting in a circle, nodding along to the music and chatting.

“Hey! This party is great, right?” Madalie stood up to pull her into a hug.

“It’s something.” Nichelle glanced around her. “What’s going on? It’s a weekday. Shouldn’t these people be in school or at work?”

“I think the work day is done.” Madalie laughed. “Maybe I should have dragged Wolfe along to make sure you had a good time.”

Nichelle ignored that comment. Still laughing, Madalie introduced her to the group gathered around the fire. Most nodded at her in acknowledgment before going back to their mostly silent enjoyment of the music. The smell of marijuana floated from somewhere nearby.

Scattered around on the sand were some blankets and a few folding chairs, abandoned while people danced to the throbbing music pouring out onto the beach. She considered grabbing one of the chairs, not in the mood to get sand and God knew what else on her black Balmain skirt. But at the knowing look from her sister, she dropped down into the sand. She only grumbled a little bit.

“Why did you drag me out here?”

“It’s fun,” Madalie said with a grin. “I invited Daddy and Willa, too. They’re looking for parking now.”

“Ah.” After a moment’s hesitation, Nichelle dropped her shoes at her side and leaned back in the sand. An impromptu family get together. She bumped Madalie’s shoulder, and they shared a smile. “This is nice,” Nichelle said. She worked so much that she didn’t see her father or her two sisters as much as she’d like.

Madalie prowled the art district at all times of the day and night instead of focusing on her life’s goals, while the youngest, Willa, was enrolled at the University of Miami, engrossed in her studies and enjoying being away from home. Nichelle barely knew what her father was up to. She didn’t know when they had started to live their separate lives. After her mother died twenty years ago, the rest of the family stayed cooped up in the big Key Biscayne house together, none of them strong enough to go out into the world. But somehow, over time, things changed. Nichelle stopped feeling as if she was the only one holding her family together. Her sisters stopped expecting her to play the mother role. Her father started dating again. She’d gotten her life back enough to go off to California for college and then work. And though she didn’t realize when exactly the transition happened, she jealously guarded the freedom she had now.

“You want some of this?” A shirtless man stumbled from his shuffling dance around the fire to offer Nichelle a blunt.

She shook her head in refusal. “Thank you, though.”

He passed it on to someone else with a happy smile.

“This is what you invited Dad to?”

Madalie groaned and rolled her eyes. “Dad was young once, Nicki. He doesn’t have a stick up his butt about stuff like this.”

True enough. Their father was firmly of the carpe diem school of life. Grab it now since tomorrow is promised to no one.

“Still, it just seems wrong. If I were into this—” she gestured to the blunt being passed around the fire “—I don’t know if I could smoke with him sitting right there.”

“You’re so uptight. Wolfe is definitely your more fun half.” Madalie glanced over Nichelle’s shoulder, and her eyes lit up. “Daddy! Willa!” She jumped to her feet and waved frantically at the two figures making their way through the growing crowd. They waved back.

Their father—serious in his Miami Dolphins cap and Wayfarer sunglasses—walked next to Willa, who kicked her way through the sand on bare feet, hands shoved in the pockets of her incredibly short shorts. Their father also wore shorts.

Nichelle greeted their father with a hug. “Hi, Dad.” The last time she’d seen him, he was sitting at an outdoor café with a woman young enough to be one of his daughters. Nichelle had driven past the café, barely believing her eyes. But from that brief glimpse, he’d seemed happy.

“I thought you’d be too busy at the office to come out this evening,” he said to Nichelle, then kissed Madalie’s forehead.

“Woman cannot live by massive paychecks alone,” Nichelle said with a teasing smile.

He chuckled and sat next to her in the sand. “My baby is growing up.”

Willa, the image of their long-dead mother with her stripper’s body and angel face, smirked at Nichelle. “Yeah, I thought you’d be too tied up in the office with Wolfe to come out and play with us mere mortals.”

Madalie snickered. “I wish it was bondage with that hot man instead of work that kept her in the office all day and night. It would at least be more interesting.”

“And way more fun.” Willa hiccupped with laughter.

“Screw you.” Nichelle flipped off both her sisters. She was so tired of them harping on the imagined relationship between her and Wolfe. When it came from anyone else, she didn’t care. But there was something about the way her sisters teased that always rubbed her raw.

Their father made a token sound of peacekeeping. “Girls...”

“Okay, Daddy.” The three chorused voices set off a round of laughter on the beach.

Fire crackled and sparked in the circle of stones, its light appearing brighter as the sun dimmed and dusk’s softening colors spread across the horizon and over the ocean.

Nichelle leaned into her father’s shoulder to watch the fire. This, she thought with a sigh, feels perfect. After a long day of conferences, meetings and negotiations, it felt good to simply be. No stress or expectations.

On the other side of their father, Madalie was asking Willa where she got her shorts. Nichelle hugged her knees to her chest and tilted her head up to the stars.


Chapter 2 (#ulink_9806b5ab-175e-5e0a-846d-669c14b2ba8f)

“Pass me the rice and peas, Cheryl.” Glendon Diallo reached out to his daughter for the white serving platter piled high with the fragrant dish.

The entire Diallo family, along with Nichelle and the rest of the Wrights, sat at the large oval table in the Diallos’ dining room. Nineteen people, voices all raised in conversation and laughter. Hyacinth Diallo insisted on having a family gathering every four months that all the Diallos, no matter where they were in the world, had to attend. As next door neighbors and friends for nearly the entire twenty-four years they had shared the same Key Biscayne neighborhood, the Diallos had regularly invited the Wrights to participate in many of their gatherings, subconsciously melding the families over the years.

That melding had become even more deliberate after Nichelle’s mother died. At the time, Nichelle had thought Cin Diallo just felt sorry for them, but now, with the wisdom of adulthood, she realized that was what friends did for each other. Although she helped raise her two sisters after her mother had been killed in a car accident, because of the Diallos, she’d never been alone.

“I hear you and Wolfe are going off to Paris next week,” Alice Diallo, one of the youngest at just a few weeks past her twentieth birthday, said with a sigh. “That’s going to be so romantic.” She drew out the last word with a sly smile.

“We’re going there for work,” Wolfe reminded her as he reached for a platter of ripe plantains. He forked some onto his plate and tilted his head to listen to what his father, seated to his immediate right, was saying.

“But Paris is Paris,” Alice said. “When I went there after high school, I totally fell in love with the city and with this gorgeous boy I met there.”

“You’re always falling in love, Alice. I bet you don’t even remember that boy’s name.”

“Names aren’t important,” Alice said dismissively. “It’s about the feeling.”

Good-natured laughter bubbled around the table. She was only twenty but had been in love more times than anyone else at the table. At least according to her. Every man she dated was susceptible to her declarations of love. Once, she’d even fallen in love with a woman. The family refused to talk about it, even though she kept bringing it up and wanting the family to recognize that she was now “queer.” Just like all the others, that love affair had blown over after a few weeks.

“It’s the city of romance.” Alice pointed her fork at Nichelle. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Nichelle shook her head. “I’ve been to Paris before, remember? I spent a few days there while I was backpacking through Europe. It’s a pretty city, but I didn’t see any romance in it, just a lot of people using any excuse to make out in public.”

“You’re so cynical!” Alice made a dramatic motion with her fork, sending a piece of asparagus flying.

“Hey! Stop wasting food,” Willa called out from the other end of the table where the flying vegetable landed.

“I’m practical,” Nichelle said to Alice. “There’s a difference. When I fell in love, it wasn’t in Paris, but I think those feelings are just as legitimate, right?” she teased the young girl.

Wolfe caught her with a stare worthy of his namesake. “You’ve been in love?”

Nichelle winced, wanting to kick herself for saying anything about that failed affair. “Yes. Remember the Harvard professor I dated a few years ago?”

“That bourgie douche-bag?”

“Elia!”

Nearly the entire table exploded to scold the fifteen-year-old and youngest Diallo child.

“Don’t act.” She stared them all down. “You know none of you liked him. Especially not you, Wolfe.”

Wolfe bit into a plantain, and Nichelle noticed that the fruit left a sheen of oil on his lower lip. He licked at it, but the glimmer remained, making his mouth look plump and bitable.

“He wasn’t very interesting,” Wolfe said in his driest tone.

“See?” Elia laughed. “And Wolfe usually likes everybody.”

“You don’t have to say everything you think, darling,” her mother gently scolded.

Elia pouted and stabbed her fork into a piece of curry chicken on her plate. But she looked up at her big brother and grinned. Wolfe winked back at her, then smiled innocently at Nichelle when she took note of their exchange.

Mid-meal, the doorbell rang. Since they had dismissed the staff for the day, Glendon Diallo, Wolfe’s father, got up to answer the door. He returned a few minutes later with Nala, Nichelle’s best friend.

She grinned and hefted a bottle of wine above her head as if she’d just captured it in the wild. “Greetings, family!”

Nala looked as if she’d just stepped from the pages of a Goth magazine in a sheer black shirt flashing her sequined black bra, a black leather skirt and heavy knee-high boots, also black. She wore her hair long and straightened, the inky mass hanging over her shoulders and halfway down her back.

She made her way around the table to greet everyone with a kiss on the cheek, hug or handshake. When she made it to Nichelle’s side, she dragged a seat up to squeeze between Nichelle and Madalie.

“Why didn’t you just use your key?” Nichelle bumped Nala with her shoulder. Nala had been in the Diallos’ lives as long as she’d been in Nichelle’s, whole-heartedly welcomed into both families since she didn’t have a family of her own. Her keys to both houses were symbols of that welcome.

“I didn’t want to be rude,” Nala said.

Glendon Diallo sucked his teeth. “How long have you known us?”

Nala laughed. “Good point.”

Wolfe’s mother slid a plate and utensils in front of her. “We’re glad you could make it,” she said, squeezing Nala’s shoulder.

She thanked Hyacinth with a smile.

“I didn’t think you’d be back from Brunei so soon,” Nichelle said.

Nala grinned. “Hey, it’s free food night. You think I’d miss that?”

Nala and Nichelle met when they were both twelve years old and modeling for the same Miami-based clothing line. It wasn’t long before Nala found that she preferred being on the other side of the camera, and Nichelle realized she didn’t like any part of the business.

Nala was an orphan, a trust-fund baby whose parents had been killed in a freak shooting in Miami when she was just a toddler. She was raised by lawyers entrusted with her twelve-billion-dollar fortune until she turned twenty-one. Despite all the things she’d been through and the financial fortune that could have turned her into an unbearable person, Nala was a wonderful friend, and Nichelle felt lucky to know her. They were as different as night and day—and just as necessary to each other’s lives.

“So tell me, what did I miss?” Nala asked.

“She and Wolfe are running off to Paris together,” Kingsley, the oldest, said dryly. Nichelle frowned his way, but he only arched a teasing eyebrow then winked.

Nala giggled and looked at Nichelle. “Finally, huh?”

* * *

The dinner was wonderfully long. They spent hours lingering at the table over conversation and laughter and trading stories. As the evening stretched toward midnight, the dining room emptied and people made their way to the large family room or to the terrace overlooking the pool to share cigars and more risqué conversation.

Nichelle snuggled into the hammock at the back of the house, nearly half a bottle of merlot swimming pleasantly through her system. Nala lay on the matching hammock a few feet away, snoring softly.

Light footsteps approached from inside the house. Nichelle turned from her smiling contemplation of her friend to see Wolfe standing in the doorway. The scent of cigar smoke clung to him.

“Hey.”

He stood in the light, dress shirt unbuttoned to show the strong line of his throat, and draped perfectly over his wide chest and shoulders. He looked ready to head out on a date.

“You leaving?” she asked softly.

He looked surprised. “Why do you say that?”

She only laughed, saying nothing.

“Yes, I am.” His mouth curved in a sinful grin. “A new friend called.”

“The one who came by the office?”

“No, another one.”

She shot him a disbelieving look, then shrugged. “Just make sure you wrap it up.”

“Always.” He didn’t deny he was heading off on a booty call.

Nichelle shrugged off an unexpected twinge of unease. “Wait.” She sat up in the swaying hammock. “Are your parents asleep yet?”

He frowned. “No.”

“Then why are you leaving? I’m sure they want to sit and talk with you some more.” Although Wolfe loved his parents, he was often at work, or at play, seeing them maybe once a month tops, and sometimes not for very long. “You should stay,” she murmured. “The new booty can wait until tomorrow at least.”

She could see his eyebrow tip toward the ceiling, a considering look on his face. He was surprised by her request, she could tell.

“I’ll see,” he finally said, hands in his pockets.

Nichelle knew what that meant. “Okay.” She lay back down. “Have fun tonight, wherever you end up.”

He paused in the doorway again, shoulders broad against the light flooding from the sitting room behind him. “Good night.”

“Don’t let the strange girl bite,” she sang out to him softly.

When he left, she heard Nala stirring nearby. Her friend sat up and swung a leg on either side of the hammock.

“Is he really going to leave his parents’ house on family dinner night so he can go bang some random chick?” The disbelief was plain in Nala’s voice.

“It seems so,” Nichelle said. “He is a man, after all. I think it’s biologically impossible for him to turn down booty.” But even as she said the words, she winced. That wasn’t quite true. Wolfe was actually a lot more discriminating than that.

As if reading her mind, Nala snorted with laughter. “If he caught every piece of ass that got thrown his way, he’d never get any damn work done. Hell, he’d never eat.”

“At least not food, anyway.” Nichelle smiled and curled up in the hammock. It rocked from the movement of her body.

“Doesn’t that piss you off?” Nala asked.

“What?”

“The fact that he’s off screwing around when he could be here with you...and his parents?”

“No. Should it?”

Nala sighed. Even in the dark, Nichelle could practically see her rolling her eyes. The assumption that she and Wolfe were, or at least should be, together wasn’t limited to people in the office. Nala and just about everyone Nichelle loved rarely missed an opportunity to tease her about him, insinuating that there was a lot more going on between them than she and Wolfe were letting on. But she’d never had any romantic or sexual feelings for him. Yes, he was the most interesting of his eight brothers. But that was all. There was nothing more to her admiration than that. He was gorgeous, but there were gorgeous men all over the place, especially in Miami.

“Go back to sleep, Nala.”

Her friend cackled and flopped back down into the hammock. “And you should wake up, Nichelle. That man won’t wait around forever.”

Nichelle snorted, a bad habit she’d picked up from her best friend years ago. “The only one waiting around here is you. For a hookup that’s never going to happen.”

Only silence greeted her declaration. Apparently, Nala had taken her snarky advice and fallen back asleep. Annoyed, Nichelle stared up at the ceiling of the verandah, the hammock swaying with her weight, her mind drifting. To Wolfe.


Chapter 3 (#ulink_cbdffe9f-a6dd-5142-9f99-c43cdc32a5e2)

Paris was beautiful, just like Alice had said. The taxi from the airport dropped them off on a breezy and warm day bright with midsummer sunshine and the smell of baking bread from a nearby boulangerie. On the steps of the hotel, Nichelle drew in a deep lungful of scented air and basked in the skin-prickling heat of the sun. Wolfe had to nudge her up the marble steps and through the gold-trimmed doors, where the doorman watched her with an indulgent smile.

“This is nice,” she said.

He laughed. “Yes, it is.”

Despite her unexpected infatuation with the city, she was more than ready when it came time to unpack and meet Wolfe in his adjoining room for a prewar conference. His narrow windows opened out on to a busy street and a view of the Eiffel Tower. Sunlight poured in like a dream.

Still wearing her travel clothes, she sat across from Wolfe in one of a delicate-looking pair of chairs near the coffee table. Nearly every piece of furniture in the room was lined with gold and perched on spindly legs better suited to effete royalty than a pair of robust Americans. But Wolfe took everything in stride, making himself comfortable in the slight burgundy-and-gold chair that only emphasized his powerful masculinity.

“Let’s go over this thing one more time,” he said.

She wordlessly handed him the tablet with her proposal and the slight changes she’d made during the taxi ride from the airport. As they talked, Nichelle’s gaze slid to the open window. Although she wouldn’t admit it just yet, she’d love to go and play outside. Alice’s glowing talk about the magic of Paris had affected her more than she realized. Even the sound of traffic flowing in through the fifth-story window, a soothing mix of cars, bicycle bells and voices speaking softly in French, was its own seduction.

She and Wolfe weren’t slated to be in Paris long, and the client they were chasing was just as likely to tell them no as he was to say yes. And it was really just peanuts compared to the Quraishi account, the one she’d given Wolfe the proposal for in Miami.

Jamal al Din Quraishi was the Moroccan head of a multibillion-dollar research and development company that also dabbled in oil. Having him as a client would be a real coup. Nichelle had it from her sources that she wasn’t the only one angling for his business. The competition would be high, and gunning for the Quraishi account was going to be a challenge. Luckily, she loved a challenge.

Nichelle stopped in midsentence when she heard her phone chiming from the other room. “One sec.”

In her room, she grabbed her cell and frowned at what she read on the screen. “Favreau doesn’t want to talk business until after three this afternoon,” she said when she got back to his room. She paused to look at the clock. “Four hours from now.”

Wolfe tossed his cell on the replica Louis XVI settee across from him with an impatient scowl. “But he did invite us to come to his restaurant for drinks and enjoy his hospitality.” Apparently, he’d just gotten the same message.

“I’m not here to socialize with people I’d normally avoid at home.” The bright sunlight teased Nichelle through the window, something beautiful and tempting she couldn’t have just yet. “I came to close a deal.”

Wolfe shrugged. “Well he’s happily stringing us along. At this point I’m not even sure if he has any intentions of doing business with us.”

“That little weasel better sit down and listen to reason. I am not in the mood.” She threw another longing glance toward the open window with its gleam of sunlight.

Wolfe caught her eye and smiled. “You keep looking out that window like you have someplace to be. You want to test out the city of romance theory for yourself?”

Nichelle looked away, not able to hide her smile. It was sometimes disconcerting how transparent she was to him. “Not quite. But if Favreau is going to jerk us around for four hours, we might as well go do something interesting that involves sunshine.”

The last time she had been in Paris was for a long trip in college. She and three friends had only stayed in the city for four days before hopping on a train to Naples. The entire four days had been wet and cool, even though it was summer, the clouds and rain retreating for only a few hours at a time before enveloping the city once more in gloom. She’d been over Paris before they even left. But now, with the sunlight creating its particular enchantment, she could see glimmers of what everyone else talked about when they chattered on about Paris and its ambiance.

“Screw it,” Nichelle muttered. “Let’s just go out. Okay?”

Wolfe chuckled. “Okay. Just give me about fifteen minutes to change and make a quick phone call.”

“Good.” She headed to her room.

Like their offices, her hotel room was just like his. No surprises, although it seemed that she was already going to be spending more time in his room than in hers. They tended to take turns monopolizing one of the other’s spaces. His room actually had the better view.

Nichelle exchanged her tights and loose blouse for jeans and a thin cotton blouse with a string tied at the throat. She tucked a few things into a small purse and was ready to leave the room within ten minutes when the open laptop caught her eye, a new message on her email screen. Then her cell phone chirped with a message. It was from Favreau.

My apologies. I have meetings for the rest of the afternoon but have the next two hours free. Are you ready to impress me? My offices in 30 minutes.

Damn. Nichelle’s fingers tightened around the phone. But she took a breath. She knew the proposal for Favreau backward and forward but dammit, she had been excited about taking advantage of the Parisian sunshine. Phone in hand, she slipped through the door between her room and Wolfe’s.

“Favreau just sent an em—” She almost swallowed her tongue.

Wolfe was naked. He stood in the middle of the room covered in nothing but the light pouring through the windows. A pair of briefs dangled from his hand, as if he was giving some thought to pulling them on, but he didn’t move a muscle when she walked into the room. If anything, he stood even straighter to give her more to look at.

Oh my God... Nichelle’s mouth went dry, and her eyes widened.

His body was angled slightly away from her, a hip and shoulder in her direction, intriguing shadows swimming over his skin. And he was breathtaking. Literally, she could not catch her breath, staring at what she’d never seen before. A man who was beautiful to look at, true. But, having him tucked firmly in the realm of family, she’d never have thought to wonder at what lay beneath his designer suits and expensive jeans. But now she knew.

After the first hot and consuming glance, she dropped her eyes.

His feet were big. The bones strong but delicate-looking at the same time. Narrow ankles, muscled calves. But instead of keeping her eyes low like she should have, she looked up.

Wolfe had solid knees with scars on them from his childhood spent climbing, and sometimes falling out of, trees. There was a mole on his muscled thigh, the blemish like a drop of cocoa on the thickly cut flesh. She lingered over it, taking her time to visually devour the body she had missed for years.

His thighs were big enough for her to sink her fingers into. Spread wide, they allowed a clear view of his long and heavy sex. Nichelle swallowed and blinked as his body started to respond to her gaze, thickening even more before her eyes, rising toward the slats of muscle in his belly. She yanked her gaze up to his wide chest, pectoral muscles, tiny button nipples that she suddenly imagined flicking with her fingers then soothing the brief hurt with her tongue. His arms bulged with muscle. His shoulders were firm enough to easily take the weight of her legs, her thighs.

Nichelle gripped her phone and apologized stiffly past her throat that was dry as a desert. “Favreau wants us at his office in thirty minutes.” Then she very carefully turned and walked back to her room.

* * *

Wolfe stood with his briefs clenched in his hand long after Nichelle went back to her side of the door. His whole body was a fist. Tight, hard and aching. He’d been frozen while she looked at him, aware of her cool gaze on his body that suddenly felt too hot. He had hardened helplessly under her intense scrutiny, the blood rushing inexorably south.

He called himself ten types of fool for allowing her to see his physical reaction to her. But that was what he got for not taking advantage of what had been offered to him a few days before they’d left for Paris.

Anise, a woman he’d met while on a business lunch in the Gables, had texted him with a classic booty call invitation. He’d wanted it. He’d wanted her. But when, at the family dinner, Nichelle looked at him with disapproval, as if it would have been the worst sin for him to leave his parents’ house to sleep with some woman he’d only just met, he reigned himself in. He ended up spending the rest of the night and most of the next day with his parents.

Since then, he’d been too busy with work, getting ready for the Paris trip and working with Nichelle on the Quraishi proposal. He hadn’t made time to seek sexual relief from anywhere else, and by the time he’d gotten on the plane for Paris, his body was more than aware that it was suffering through an unintentional dry spell.

He stumbled to the nearest open window and breathed deeply of the cooler air flooding over his bare skin. He had to get it together. They had a meeting in less than half an hour.

Somehow, he got dressed and met up with Nichelle in the hallway outside their shared rooms. Wearing her business clothes like a suit of armor, she acted as if nothing had happened. They made it to the meeting with Favreau on time and worked together to convince the idiot to spend his money with them, then they left for the hotel.

Strangely enough, it wasn’t awkward. They talked business in the taxi on the way to the meeting and back. Then, at the hotel, they went their separate ways. There was no more talk of them exploring the city together. Nichelle went for a walk, and Wolfe left for the hotel bar and a double whiskey.

He’d been to Paris before, each time on business. It was just another city for him, with none of the magic that most of the women in his family thought it held. The Eiffel Tower was nice. The brie was pretty good. That was it. Still, he’d been looking forward to sharing the city with Nichelle and learning more about it. But his erection had perked up and ruined any chance of that.

At the bar, he quickly knocked back his first glass of whiskey. The second glass went down even easier than the first, and after the third he was feeling relaxed, easygoing. He reached for his phone and dialed a familiar number. It only rang twice before his best friend picked up. It was still morning, just after nine, in New York.

“Hey,” Garrison greeted him. “I thought you were in France this week.”

“You thought rightly, my friend.” He kept his voice low, aware of the French dislike of audible public conversation. Even though it was barely three in the afternoon, the hotel bar was far from empty. “I’m calling you from a very French hotel right now.”

“Everything going well there?”

Wolfe grunted. “Yeah. Well enough. We got the client we came here for at least.”

“You don’t sound that pleased about it.” Faint noises came through the phone, a low voice from nearby.

“The guy is a prick but— Wait, am I interrupting something? If you and Reyna are still getting your honeymoon on—” Wolfe named his best friend’s new wife, a woman he’d met a handful of times, the most recent being at their wedding where he was best man.

“Then I wouldn’t have answered the phone,” Garrison cut him off.

Wolfe smiled, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “I would’ve been disappointed in you if you had. The grapevine says wives don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

“For once, the grapevine might just be on to something.” Garrison paused. “You doing good?” A hint of worry crept through the phone. “You seem a little agitated.”

Was he agitated? Wolfe shifted in his chair and tilted his head back to stare at the ornate ceiling with the pale cherubs and half-naked goddesses, the European idea of public art. He swept his tongue across his front teeth, tasting the question he was about to ask. “When did you know you wanted Reyna?”

A huff came through the phone, Garrison’s version of a laugh. His friend was restrained to a fault. When they were younger, and hell, he couldn’t lie, he did it now, Wolfe often made a game of trying to make Garrison literally laugh out loud. A full guffaw was as rare for his friend as oilfields in Florida.

“What’s going on with you? Did you meet a woman over there?”

“Stop deflecting. I’m serious. When did you know you wanted to take her to bed?”

Garrison breathed a sigh into the phone. “The day I met her.”

“Really?”

“Of course. You feel the same way about nearly every woman you end up dating.” If that’s what he wanted to call it. The unsaid words made both men laugh. One more than the other, obviously.

Garrison’s laughter trailed off. “If you haven’t met anybody over there, what’s going on? Did you accidentally drink the water?”

“I’m in France, not Nicaragua, Garrison.” Wolfe avoided the more important question.

“You never know what those French people are up to. First it’s snails, then before you know it, you’ll be stuck in one of their miniature bathrooms with something explosive like Bonaparte’s Revenge.”

Wolfe almost choked on his whiskey. “Right.”

A waiter, crisp in a white shirt, black slacks and a long apron, served the high table next to his. The table full of business people, most of them Canadian by the sound of it, clinked their glasses in a toast punctuated with a round of celebratory laughter once the waiter left.

“So what’s got you thinking and drinking at three o’clock in the afternoon?”

Wolfe didn’t bother denying he was at a bar. “Does a man need an excuse to enjoy his favorite whiskey?”

“Not every man needs an excuse, but you do.”

He dropped his head back with a slow sigh. “I didn’t used to be this predictable.”

Background sounds came from Garrison’s end of the call, the creak of leather, the tap of glass on wood as if he was having an appropriate drink of his own, probably coffee, at his desk. He didn’t say anything, just waited for Wolfe to break the silence.

Wolfe stroked the whiskey glass with his thumb. “You know what I’ve always thought about Nichelle, right?”

“That she’s too important to sleep with. Yes, I remember.”

“Well, today I might have had a slight change of heart.”

“She’s not that important to you anymore?” That was Garrison’s idea of funny.

“Keep it up, Kevin Hart.” He gripped his nearly empty whiskey glass. “Today, things got a little messy.”

“You slept with her?”

“You’re just making all the wrong guesses right now.”

“I know you want to sleep with her,” Garrison said. “I’m simply making the logical leap here. So, if I know you, something happened that made her more appealing than usual, and you’re fighting your typical pleasure-seeking impulses.”

“Something like that. I want her, you know I do. But now she knows, too.”

“What, she saw you staring at her shoes again?” Garrison knew that Wolfe had a thing for women in high heels. Especially Nichelle in high heels.

Years before, when Wolfe had the idea to bring Nichelle over to Kingston Consulting, he’d set up an appointment to meet with her. They communicated by phone and email for weeks before he saw her in person, all grown up, for the first time in nearly two years. She stepped into the restaurant where they’d agreed to meet for their business lunch, breath-stealing in black and white, an outfit that made her look like a fifties pinup model but that he later found out she thought of as business attire, some version of a uniform. The dress caught his eye first, but as his eyes went lower, he damned near swallowed his tongue. Her shoes, electric blue stilettos, fit her feet as if they were custom made, creating an elegant silhouette of the already beautiful contours of her feet.

His heart thudded loudly in time to her footsteps as she walked through the restaurant, attracting the stares of nearly everyone she passed. Nichelle looked as if she’d stepped straight out of his fantasies, deep burgundy lips, hourglass figure and shoes he immediately imagined her wearing in bed. His bed. He reined in his thoughts before they could go any further and had even managed, he hoped, to get through the meeting with his mind strictly on the business proposition he wanted to make her. Although it was hard, he kept his eyes firmly on her face for the entire two hours.

Yeah, Garrison knew all about that and had laughed at him, another one of his rare belly laughs, when Wolfe told him about the meeting a few days later.

“She definitely caught me looking,” Wolfe said. “But this time, she was looking, too.”

Garrison hummed a response that was all doubt. “Are you sure you weren’t having another one of those dreams again?”

Wolfe dropped his head back against the seat and groaned. “Oh, come on...”

He finished up the call the same time he finished his whiskey, urging Garrison to go back to whatever he had been doing while he tried to do a better job of not lusting after his business partner.

But nighttime came and tore all his resolutions to shreds.

A dream brought him right back to that moment in the room: Nichelle in the doorway with the phone in her hand. Her slender but curvaceous body in jeans and a high-collared white blouse that would have been virginal except for the fact that it was completely see through. In real life, he remembered that she had worn a black bra beneath the blouse and that it was more than the wisp of material it was in the dream. But reality and dream blurred, then the dream became what he wanted.

In the dream, her eyes flickered over him, warming his body, pumping blood rapidly through him, filling him with hard intention. But instead of leaving, she closed the door between their rooms and came closer. Wolfe began to shake. He dropped the underwear from his hand and watched her walk to him. The sinuous dance of her body across the carpeted space between them; the twitch of her hips beneath the thick fabric of the jeans; her slightly parted lips as she stared at his body, then finally, finally at his face.

She may have said something, the dream Nichelle. Or it may have been Wolfe’s desire to see those lips part, to hear her call his name. He turned and she touched his chest, tracing the line down the center of his body, down his belly that tightened hard from the light stroke of her fingers. Those fingers skated lower as she met his eyes and held them. His throat was too tight for him to swallow, his lungs incapable of holding or circulating enough air. She touched his intimate flesh.

“Nicki...”

He groaned her name while her hands clasped him, caressed the tip of him with her thumb. A flash of mischief crossed her face.

She sank to her knees in front of him. Her breath stroked him, then her mouth, then her tongue. Her fingernails dug painfully into his thighs, a counterpoint to the humid heaven of her mouth. She hummed her delight around him, and Wolfe exploded with pleasure. He woke up gasping, his belly wet with evidence of his release.

* * *

Nichelle was furious at herself. One look at Wolfe’s naked body, and she had reacted just like every other empty-headed woman who’d ever seen him, damned near leaping across the room on top of him. Women literally came on to him every day. To get laid, all he had to do was point a finger or nod his head.

And because of this, Wolfe dismissed those women as if they were nothing. He shared a night or three of physical gratification with them, sure. But at the end of it all, they were forgettable, and he could and often did replace them every few weeks. Nichelle didn’t want to be like that. Ever.

After the meeting with Favreau, she left to wander the city alone. Instead of going back to change into more suitable walking clothes, she attacked the city in her business blouse and skirt matched with her favorite sunshine-yellow heels.

The heels weren’t the most comfortable to walk in, but they forced her to move slowly and take in all the city had to offer. She strolled through the Louvre’s courtyard to the Pont des Arts, one of the bridges festooned with locks from people who thought they were in love. The wooden slats of the bridge felt precarious under her high heels, even more so when she looked down and saw the water of the Seine wavering beneath the dark wood.

She wondered if all those couples who’d put their locks on the bridge were still in love and still together. A few feet away, an Asian couple, the woman in a lacy wedding dress, the man in a white tuxedo, posed for a professional photographer. Did they think their love would endure if they took wedding photos framed in the locks of other people’s love?

“I bet they won’t last a year.”

Nichelle nearly jumped out of her skin at the intimate voice near her ear. She turned. It was a Frenchman, or one who looked stereotypically French in close-fitting designer jeans, a T-shirt and a light scarf draped around his neck. His eyes were gray, and his mouth was framed by a sexy, well-trimmed beard.

“I won’t take that bet,” she said in response to his earlier comment. “They might end up lasting longer than we live.”

“True,” he said, but hardly looked repentant. “And maybe every fool who latched a lock to this bridge will end up dying happily next to the one they came here with.”

“You’re awfully cynical for someone who lives in the city of love.”

“It’s the City of Light, thankfully. The other name is just a dreadful rumor.” He flashed her a smile and crowded close to her against the railing. She could smell his cologne, something musky, mixed with his body heat and clean sweat.

Nichelle knew what he was doing. He was handsome, and she was single. She didn’t have a lover waiting for her at home and didn’t need anyone’s permission to enjoy someone of the opposite sex. But even though the strange Frenchman seemed nothing like Wolfe—he wasn’t as handsome, and his smell was almost too sweet—Nichelle looked into the teasing flicker of his gray eyes and only thought of the man she’d left behind at the hotel. The man who had stood tall, wrapped in light and kissed by shadow, his virile nakedness stirring a hot ache in the center of her. Nichelle stepped back from the stranger. Her spine connected with the railing of the bridge.

“You’re right,” she said. “Who needs love?”

His pale eyes sparkled down at her. “Definitely not me.” His gaze dropped to her mouth before connecting with her own. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”

She didn’t even have to think about it. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

He moved back a step, a gentleman. The sparkle in his eyes did not dim in the least. “You’ve broken my jaded heart today, mademoiselle.”

“But I’m sure you’ll be better by tomorrow at the latest,” she said with a soft laugh.

The stranger brushed her arm with warm fingers. “I hope whoever you’re pining for will adore you as much as you deserve.” Then he took another step back, still smiling. He winked at her then nodded in parting, deliberately stepping between the photographer and his subjects on the bridge.

Only after he disappeared did his words register. Pining? Hardly. But without prompting, images of Wolfe from the afternoon came back to her in brilliant color. His body, readying itself for sex, the firm muscles under light. His face, frozen in concentration as he stared at her. No, she was definitely not pining.

Nichelle left the bridge and the crowds to dip onto a side street. Yes, the city was magical in the sun. What she had missed while in college seemed a bit of a tragedy now. If someone like that flirtatious stranger had tried to pick her up back then, she’d have much better memories of Paris.

Maybe you can make some better memories now. With Wolfe.

The thought froze her on the sidewalk, hissed sudden breath into her lungs. Someone bumped into her, a woman who begged Nichelle’s pardon then kept walking and chatting on her cell phone. The sound of her own phone ringing shoved her back into motion. She answered without looking at the display.

“How is Paris treating you?”

She sighed at Nala’s voice. “So far the business aspect is going very well.”

Her friend immediately pounced on what she wasn’t saying. “And the personal?”

Nichelle sucked the inside of her bottom lip. “I just saw Wolfe naked.”

“Oh! I wasn’t expecting that.” Nala sounded positively delighted.

“Me, either.”

Nala’s impatient sigh fluttered through the phone. “So what the hell happened after the naked sighting?”

“Nothing happened. I walked out.”

“But...?”

She drew a trembling breath. “He’s hot, Nala!”

“Welcome to the world of eyes that see.” Nala huffed in amusement and exasperation. “I can’t believe you’re just now realizing that.”

“You know I don’t...didn’t see him like that.” She didn’t want to. She’d be damned if she would allow something as petty as sexual attraction to ruin the effortless business relationship she and Wolfe spent over three years building.

“Are you going to do anything about it?” Nala asked.

“No.” Nichelle shook her head. “Definitely not.”

“Hmm. Okay. Um...” A pregnant silence pressed between them. Nichelle could almost see Nala swelling with curiosity. Despite the gravity of the situation, she smiled.

“Okay. Out with it. I know you’re dying to ask something.”

A breath of relief came at her over the phone. “Oh, thank God!” Nala giggled. “Is he big? Cut? Interested in you?”

Nichelle strolled down the sidewalk, slipping past two women who walked side by side, smoking cigarettes and talking in rapid Spanish. A bicycle bell trilled from nearby as a biker warned a pedestrian who had wandered into the bike lane. She thought about not answering Nala’s questions then decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable aggravation.

“Yes. Yes. And I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean you don’t think so? Did he or did he not get hard for you?”

“Well, he’s a man. Of course he did, but that doesn’t mean anything.” Three boys in hip-hop gear boldly looked her over as they walked toward her. She held the phone against her ear, paying them little attention even as they leered in an obvious way, one of them saying something mildly obscene to his friends. Nichelle walked past them.

Nala chortled. “What happens in Paris, stays in Paris.”

“Nothing is going to happen between us. You know how I feel about this business partnership.”

But it wasn’t just about business. She’d known Wolfe since they were children. From practically across the street, she’d watched him grow from an energetic kid to an awkward teenager and now into a gorgeous adult male. In all that time, she hadn’t felt a flicker of attraction. Why now, after all these years? If she had a type, it was the over-educated man with an extensive vocabulary, articles published in obscure journals and a track record of romantic stability and fidelity. Not this worldly man who didn’t take anything seriously other than his family and work, who had a different woman every other week and didn’t seem inclined to settle down at all.

“I know.” Nala made a soothing noise. “But don’t beat yourself up over this, Nicki. Things happen. Feelings change. It’s just another one of those things.”

She sighed. “Okay.” The dam had already broken. There was no going back. All she had to do was get her unexpected attraction to Wolfe down to a manageable level so she could still effectively do her job. “Thanks for talking me through it.”

“What are best friends for?” Nala paused. “But if you change your mind and decide to get down and dirty with Wolfe, you have to tell me everything. Seriously.”

“Goodbye, Nala.”

She hung up on her friend’s laughter.


Chapter 4 (#ulink_e86c7137-cb25-5226-99b9-fe6268354e77)

When Nichelle and Wolfe returned to Miami, she tried and eventually succeeded in pretending the charged afternoon in the Paris hotel never happened. And it seemed as if Wolfe had, too. He never mentioned it, never asked to talk about it.

On an early Monday morning, Nichelle sat behind her desk with Wolfe distractingly at the back of her mind. She scanned an email from Teague Simonson at Sterling Solutions. He wanted her to come in for a meeting and see if there was anything at Sterling that would “sate her appetite for bigger and better.” She hit the delete button. The only thing she wanted from Sterling was for them to leave her alone.

Someone rapped on her door.

“Come in.”

Her door opened and Wolfe walked in with Clint, their general counsel. Wolfe closed the door behind him, his eyes resting easily on her, before heading to his usual seat in her office. Nichelle looked away from him after a single flickering glance.

Nichelle moved from behind her desk to lean against the front of it. She crossed her ankles and her arms. Wolfe sat on the small sofa and kicked his feet up on the small hassock. He sipped his hot chocolate Nichelle’s secretary had left for him.

“Tell us the news, Clint,” Nichelle said.

The attorney paused in the process of swiping a finger across the face of his tablet. “Nice shoes, Nichelle.” He blinked down at her lavender Alexander McQueen pumps, a thoughtful look on his face, before going back to his tablet.

“Thank you, Clint.” She smiled at him then glanced at Wolfe. He only sipped from the large mug and gave her a speaking glance, head slightly tilted, body relaxed yet predatory in the Tom Ford suit.

“Tell me something good.” She looked at him but directed her words to Clint.

“I don’t know about good,” the lawyer said. “But I can give you some information you can work with.”

“I’ll take it,” she said.

He nodded. “You know the Quraishi proposal is sound. You did an impeccable job, as always.”

“But...?”

Clint grimaced, looking as if he’d had a bad attack of indigestion. “You might have to let this potential client go.”

Nichelle abruptly straightened. She propped her hands on her hips and planted her feet wide. “Why? This contract could bring in over five point three million dollars to the firm over the next two years alone.”

“I know the numbers, Nichelle.” Clint leveled a pleading look at Wolfe. “But I really think we might have to just give up on this one.”

Wolfe tipped his head toward Nichelle. “Whatever she decides is what we’ll do,” he said to Clint.

Over the years, Wolfe had learned to leave the business of client acquisition to her. He was the money and brawn of their operation while she was the seer and fortune builder. It was because of her that the company was as successful as it was now. Everyone knew it. Although it sometimes took other men in the company a little while to know the power structure, and they usually turned to Wolfe for most decisions, she quickly showed them who held the reins.

Clint sighed. “Quraishi is a devout Muslim and family man. You already know that. He won’t do business with Kingston because its partners—” he jerked a stubby finger at them “—the two of you, are not a married couple.”

“Excuse me?” Nichelle didn’t think she’d heard him right.

“Quraishi would think it’s improper. You’re a heterosexual couple working closely together in business, spending long hours building a company from the ground up. It’s very intimate work. He’s a traditional guy and won’t simply accept that your relationship is platonic. You see how people here at Kingston act. They just think you’ve been incredibly discreet all these years.”

Nichelle didn’t give a damn what anybody thought about her and Wolfe’s relationship. It was none of their business. She clenched her jaw. “How can we change Quraishi’s mind?”

“Aside from getting married to each other, you can’t.”

“Isn’t that a little extreme?” Wolfe’s voice rumbled with annoyance, an echo of what Nichelle was feeling.

“This is not the eighteen hundreds!” she snapped. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I think it’s stupid, but that’s the way he runs his life and his company. There’s no morality clause when you work for him, but I hear that if he ever discovers any infidelity or improper sexual dealings among his employees, they are immediately fired.” Clint dropped his intense stare to tap out something on the tablet. “You can approach him with your proposal anyway. It’s a really good one. But know that once he finds out the two of you are unmarried and working so closely together, you won’t get past his secretary.”

Nichelle crossed her arms, her nails digging into her elbows through the thin silk blouse. She had done her research on Quraishi and reached a similar conclusion. But she’d been hoping that another perspective would prove her wrong. She wanted the Quraishi account. Badly. It was the key to the future she and Wolfe had discussed when he first brought her to Kingston Consulting. She stalked across the room to sink into the couch at Wolfe’s side.

“I want that account, Clint.”

The lawyer shrugged and gave her a helpless look. “You could always pretend to be married.”

“No,” Wolfe said immediately, an indecipherable emotion flashing across his face too fast for her to see it. “That’s unacceptable. As fun as it would be pretending to be Nichelle’s man for a week, absolutely not.” His jaw tightened, and a muscle ticked just under the skin. “I’m not going to jump through some ridiculous hoops just for a little money.”

A hint of hot chocolate marred the firm curve of his lower lip. The wet smear caught Nichelle’s eyes, making her want to stroke it away with her thumb. Or her tongue. She tore her glance away and pulled her mush brain back to the conversation.

“A little money?” Nichelle quirked a brow at Wolfe.

“Okay, a lot of money.” He flashed her an annoyed look and a smile at once.

Their eyes met and held. A fluttering awareness took wing in Nichelle’s belly.

She licked her lips. This was getting a little ridiculous. Damned near every time she looked at Wolfe now, she was ambushed by the feelings that had taken her over in the French hotel room. “Clint, could you give us a few minutes?”

“Take as long as you like. I have another meeting in about an hour.” He left and took his tablet with him.

The door barely closed behind him before Nichelle turned to Wolfe. “I want this to happen.”

“Easy, tiger.” His smile was warm and teasing, but there was a hint of seriousness there. It was obvious he wanted her to really consider what she was going after.

“I have,” she said, as if he’d spoken those words out loud.

Nichelle was competitive to a fault. She knew that and most days tried to channel it for good versus evil. This was for good. For both hers and his.

She leaned into him, a hand on his thigh. “Just say yes to this fake marriage, Wolfe. I can make Quraishi come to us. Kingston Consulting needs this. You know we do.” She felt the big thigh muscle jump under her palm, and her thoughts derailed.

Damn.

Wolfe didn’t speak. Early afternoon light tumbled through the wide windows to fall over his shaved head and the goatee framing the lush and slightly pink firmness of his mouth. In one breathless moment, Nichelle was pulled back to that hotel room in Paris. The Eiffel Tower peeking over his bare shoulder, the low hum of the air conditioner beneath the heavy thud of her pulse as she watched him and realized how easy it would be to cross the room and touch him. Then taste and allow herself to be tasted in turn. She pulled her hand from his thigh.




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