11. Leia

Chapter 11

I rolled over, not quite ready to wake up but also not still sleepy enough to drift away again. I tucked my nose back under the thick comforter and prepared to just rest, but something in the luxurious room felt different.

Something was out of place.

It was completely quiet, but a presence lingered on the periphery of my mind. I didn't feel alone, and I slowly opened one eye, finding myself peering through slightly blurry vision at Nicolas, who was sitting in a chair close by, revealed by the half-light making it past the edges of the curtains.

I stifled a gasp and opened the other eye, then just watched him for a moment. He didn't move; his eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell steadily. It was safe to surmise he was asleep and unaware of my perusal. Well, scrutiny was more accurate than perusal, especially with the way his unbuttoned shirt revealed the beginning of a tattoo over his left pectoral muscle.

He was still in last night's clothes, and tousled was a good look on him. I hadn't really taken an opportunity before now to study him closely, but this was like a free pass. He actually looked peaceful without the usually-present lines of tension around his mouth and eyes. Sleep had smoothed him out.

I shifted and bit back a groan as my body protested the movement, a series of aches echoing through me. When had the truck come rumbling through the bedroom and run me over?

Had I had too much to drink in New Orleans? I could just about remember the restaurant, but then things got a little fuzzy. Why was Nicolas here looking all rumpled and uncomfortable…and actually kind of sexy?

That tattoo drew my attention again. It disappeared under the black fabric of his shirt in the most tantalizing way. Made me want to follow it…with my tongue. I closed my eyes against the unexpected thought and the image it conjured.

Carefully, quietly, so the rustling covers didn't disturb him—and so none of my movements hurt—I shifted my legs until I was sitting on the edge of the bed. Then I held my breath as uncertainty seized me. What the hell was I thinking?

For a few moments, I just sat and watched Nicolas, and lust unfurled lazy fingers low in my abdomen. My gaze wandered to his tattoo again and again, the dark ink against his skin more tempting to explore than I'd have believed possible.

I flicked my tongue over my lips and stood, reaching behind myself to the mattress as I found my balance. Releasing a long, slow exhale, I waited some more, convincing myself he'd wake and find me watching him.

But he didn't, and my desire to know what his tattoo was overrode all of my misgivings and my common sense. I took a step closer, between his spread legs, and I rested my palm on the chair behind him as I gently teased the open front of his shirt from his body.

Then I frowned. It was a shield and some sort of… I squinted, taking in the delicate lines that formed a…fleur-de-lis, only it was so ornate, the top petal almost resembled a vulva. And below that delicate script drifted across his skin. Ego So…

"Good morning." His low voice seemed to vibrate through me, and I let go of his shirt as my knees buckled and I sat in his lap, directly on his right thigh.

My breath whooshed out of me, and his arms wrapped around my waist until we were face to face and he opened his eyes, suddenly pinning me with a soft gray gaze. And it wasn't stormy like usual. It was gentle and comforting.

"Shit," I gasped. "Fuck. I… Sorry. I'm sorry. I—"

The corner of his mouth lifted in an amused smirk, and his arms tightened almost imperceptibly.

Too close. He was too close. Oh, fuck. I burned for him. My body was on fire, heat whipping over my skin and right through me, my clit pulsing like a second heartbeat.

I pressed my hand against his chest to push away, create some space between us, but his body heat seared my palm. "I…" But I had nothing to say. I wanted to do bad things to this man, and my throat dried as I imagined all the places I wanted to touch him and him to touch me, and I looked away in case he saw all of that in my eyes.

One month. That was the contract I'd signed. Just one month. And I'd been the one to state no sex. There could be no sex. No bad things, no matter how needy my body turned out to be.

My fucking traitorous body.

But I sucked in a breath, hoping to find both oxygen and resolve in the air. I just needed to keep up my end of the deal. One month. Then I'd be free and clear. Homeowner, business owner, and able to reclaim and rebuild the legacy of my family. Of Mom.

My future was so close I could almost touch it. I couldn't ruin it.

Nicolas began to draw circles on my back, and despite myself, I relaxed against him, craving more of his touch.

Wanting him.

I wanted his hands lower, on my ass. Higher—on my breasts, teasing my nipples. My eyes slid closed, and I parted my lips, barely smothering a moan before it escaped and revealed too much about my state of mind.

When I looked at him again, his eyes were almost sleepy, and he watched me, his gaze kind and expression unguarded. I leaned in closer as if there was a magnetism between us that I was powerless to resist.

Shit. I needed to get up.

Like, I really needed to get up, not lean so close to Nicolas that our lips almost touched.

But I couldn't.

I waited, not even a breath away, without knowing what I was waiting for. Or what I was hoping for.

I shouldn't have been hoping for anything.

He pulled back a little, and I didn't know whether to sigh in relief or disappointment. Then his fingers touched my neck as he brushed my hair over my shoulder and looked at my skin. A shiver ran through me.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" His voice was low and soothing.

I tilted my head. "It's all a bit fuzzy." That was an understatement. I could barely remember a thing. A sensation here and there, Nicolas's face, but nothing else.

He grinned, but it was endearingly lopsided as he swept hair from my forehead, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "You had a drink or two too many and danced the night away. I spent most of the night watching your body sway to a beat only you could hear."

His grin lifted a little, but heat burned my cheeks.

He chuckled softly, his gaze suddenly searching as he looked at me, then he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. Immediately, I wanted more, but he was gone, already changing his position to clutch me against him as he stood.

Practically against my own will, I snuggled against his chest, not finding the words to say anything before he lowered me carefully to the bed. I helped him draw the banket over me, ignoring the way my body still hummed with awareness for him, and I pressed my thighs together, but that just made me want him more.

"I need to shower and get ready for work." He kept his voice low. His tone was almost regretful, and I couldn't look at him because if I did, I might invite him to stay. Or to use my shower. With me inside it.

He walked to the door, and I made an artform of not directly watching him. But I was aware of every movement he made. His fingers curled around the door handle, and he half-turned, not quite looking at me as he spoke. "We have a party to go to tonight. It's formal. I'll send people to do your hair and makeup."

Just when I thought he was about to leave, he spoke again, like he'd remembered something. "Oh, and Jason will be your guard until further notice."

"What?" I lifted my head off the pillow. "Why?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, no real reason. Just had some trouble with a couple of clients who don't like some of my rules. Extra precautions, and I'll have it all ironed out soon."

I nodded. Spending time with Jason didn't bother me, and I planned to get some more sleep anyway. I was suddenly really tired again. I allowed my eyes to drift closed and couldn't quite keep the smile from my lips as Nicolas closed the door behind him. His scent lingered all around me from where he'd held me against him, and it comforted me.

When I finally woke again, showered, and changed, I left my room and Jason pushed himself off the wall next to my door and fell into step behind me.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he muttered, and a loud stomach rumble punctuated his sentence.

I covered my mouth. "I am so sorry. I had no idea you were standing out here. Haven't you even had breakfast?"

"Nicolas told me to guard, and I can't guard you from either of the dining rooms." He didn't sound disgruntled—just amused.

I huffed a sigh as I descended the stairs, my hand trailing on the smooth, wooden bannister. "Seriously? We're in Nicolas's house. I think you could have had your breakfast, though, especially as I believe Chef is making beignets this morning."

"Sounds good to me. Any food sounds good to me." Jason lowered his voice. "It's been a while since I've eaten."

I glanced back at him, and his eyes caught the light in a way that made them glow a little red.

Mr. Baldwin stepped forward from his position by the dining room. "Miss Boucher." He nodded at me. "Jason."

I stopped. "Have you all just been waiting around for me to get out of bed?"

Mr. Baldwin smiled faintly then gestured into the dining room. "I'll let Chef know you're here."

Breakfast was a lazy affair, although watching Jason eat was funny. It was like he didn't do it often and he'd forgotten how. Baldwin approached him with a drink, and I raised an eyebrow.

"Wine for breakfast?"

Jason huffed a laugh. "Hardly. After being on guard duty most of the morning, I need an energy recharge with a super berry cordial."

I wrinkled my nose. "Think I'll stick with coffee."

And immediately Mr. Baldwin was at my side, offering me a refill of coffee like I'd never tasted. It was smooth and dark and had an almost caramel taste. I was going to be well and truly spoiled after a month of drinking this coffee and staying in this house.

But as I thought of home, my heart lurched. I missed the people there. "What's Benedict like?" I asked suddenly.

Would he be good to my people? I almost laughed at the thought that Harry and Pierre were my people, but I'd pretty much gone ahead and adopted them as uncles—whether they wanted that or not.

Jason took another sip of his drink then nodded. "He's a good guy. Like me, Nic trusts Ben with all aspects of his life—including what belongs to him."

He gave me a slightly pointed look, but irritation flared in my chest.

"The bar will soon be mine." Only a month. I just had to stick this out for a month.

Jason swallowed again then dropped his napkin onto his half-finished beignet. "What's next? You have some time before you need to be party ready. Movie? Video game? There's a cinema in the basement."

"Popcorn, too?" I lifted an eyebrow.

Jason chuckled. "You just ate breakfast."

I laughed too as I stood and tucked my chair under the table. "I know, but popcorn can persuade me to do pretty much anything."

"I'll be sure to let Nic know that." Jason's words floated over his shoulder as he headed to the door.

"That and pizza," I called, and Jason rewarded me with another chuckle.

"Noted."

We spent the rest of the morning combing through Nicolas's extensive movie collection, barely watching anything except for the odd scene here and there as we compared our favorite movies and Jason did bad impressions of various characters.

Lunch was pizza delivery, and I laughed. "Beignets, popcorn, and pizza. Fantastic."

Jason smiled. "I think the party later might be better than slumming it here with pizza and a movie. Nic's family knows how to throw a party."

I froze for a moment. His family? I'd thought maybe business associates. Hoped for that, anyway. Family felt strangely intimate. But he'd mentioned that in our negotiations, so I shrugged it off. I could handle a bit of family.

"Will you be there?" I asked. Weirdly, Jason was the closest thing I had to a friend in this big, museum-like house. "This morning has been a lot of fun."

Jason's eyes were gentle. "You won't need me there to guard you while you're with Nic, among his family."

But his words were hesitant and seemed to be laced with apprehension, and that sent a shiver of forewarning through me, reigniting the desire I'd felt when I first arrived here—the one that made me want to know more about Nicolas Dupont so I could release myself from the deal.

If Jason thought Nicolas's family was dangerous, that meant Nicolas was likely dangerous too. I'd become too relaxed since I got here. Too focused on lasting the month when I could probably break the contract earlier and still get what was promised to me.

My mind wandered to the perpetually closed doors of the west wing, but before I could ask Jason anything, Mr. Baldwin appeared.

"Miss Boucher." His usual clear tones rang across the room. "The stylists have arrived, and I've requested they set themselves up in your suite."

"Thank you." I turned to wave at Jason, but he was already on his feet.

"I'll come and stand outside your door again," he said by way of explanation.

I waved him away. "Oh, you don't need to do that."

"Nic said I do." His face was expressionless, and there was clearly no point in arguing with him, so I turned to leave again, Jason trailing behind me.

Upstairs, my room was a flurry of activity. One lady was setting up makeup on a table, and another was plugging in various tools for styling my hair. A third woman popped her head out of the huge closet and squealed when she saw me. "Ooooo! She's here! Isn't she adorable? This is going to be so much fun!"

A smile crept across my face, awkward and halting at such enthusiasm and attention. Part of me had hoped to slip into my room almost unnoticed, but that hope was quickly gone as the other women started to speak.

"Hair or makeup first?" The lady with all the styling devices held up a curling iron.

"Bathroom," I murmured. "Want me to wash my hair?"

I grabbed a robe the woman in the closet held out to me, and at a nod from the hairdresser, I escaped behind a locked door. This was a lot. It was almost too much. Aside from last night, I'd never spent more time in a salon than it took to trim a couple of inches off the bottom of my hair, and even those visits were irregular.

When I walked back into the bedroom, the robe wrapped tightly around me, the hair stylist beckoned to me. "Hair first," she said. "Are we doing loose with big curls or up?"

I sat in her chair, and she played with my hair, forming it into a twist and lifting it into a pseudo updo before her gaze drifted to my neck.

"You know what? I think those big loose curls might work nicely, after all." She quickly positioned some rollers and turned on the hairdryer, removing the need for conversation as she teased my hair and positioned it just how she wanted it.

"You must be such a temptation," she murmured as she worked. "I wonder what the family will say when they meet you?"

"She was certainly the talk of the casino guys." The makeup artist giggled.

"Yes, well, they know the rules. Nothing too challenging." The hair stylist shot her an odd, warning look and the makeup artist glanced away, suddenly busy examining the label on a small pot of moisturizer.

I studied my fingers as I twisted them in my lap, hiding my expression from the women in the room. What rules? It felt like everything that was said around me was spoken in some sort of code. What was Nicolas involved in? For the second time of the day, I pictured the west wing doors. The only place I wasn't allowed to go. Those were my rules apparently, the ones I had to follow.

But perhaps I could choose not to. Next time I was left alone, maybe I could ditch Jason if I needed to and find my way in. It wasn't like the guy followed me to the bathroom.

The hair stylist proclaimed me done soon enough, although she couldn't resist a last teasing touchup of a few of the curls before passing me to the makeup artist. For the second time in as many days, I looked flawless. That had probably never been true in my life before.

And when the stylist emerged from the closet, practically humming a fanfare as she walked toward me, an incredible dress in her arms, I didn't know what to say.

"Holy shit, that can't be for me." Yeah. I really didn't know what to say, so I just blurted out words.

The women with me laughed. "Nic has really good taste, right?" The stylist lifted an eyebrow, but I remained silent.

"He chose you, you know, so your answer should always be yes." The makeup artist put her lotions and potions away as she spoke, and I pulled a face she didn't see.

If calling in a debt was choosing, then yeah.

But I didn't say anything. I simply watched as the stylist laid the dress on my bed and then produced another fancy lingerie set, this time including thigh-high stockings. Holy fuck, I was going to look like a porn star under my dress. Thank God high-rolling casino owners and their families didn't come equipped with X-ray vision.

Self-consciously, I lowered my robe, my hands shaking a little as I revealed my body to three women I didn't know before stepping into the new panties and allowing the stylist to fasten and position the bra just right for under the dress. Then I drew the stockings on before she could even attempt to help with those.

She picked up the dress and held it out for me to see, and I swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. It was a beautiful shade of emerald green, with a structured bodice, nipped-in waist, and tiny black crystals that had been stitched in a floral pattern and glittered as they caught the light.

"I think I'll look like a queen," I blurted.

"Nic's queen." The makeup artist sighed dreamily as she leaned on the vanity, her hand cupping her chin as she watched me step into the dress.

The bodice was surprisingly modest, only just revealing the swell of my breasts, but it was backless, and the stylist reached into her bag.

"Just one last thing." She produced a necklace studded with what looked like tiny rubies and which had a huge ruby-colored pendant dripping from the center of it. She motioned me closer and fasted the clasp at the front of my neck so the pendant hung between my shoulder blades and the smaller gems glittered all the way down the base of my neck, looking for all the world like tiny droplets of blood.

"Stunning," she whispered as she motioned her finger for me to do a twirl.

I glanced over my shoulder to a floor-length mirror. Wearing a necklace backward wouldn't have been something I would have thought to do, but the unexpected effect of it against my skin was incredible.

"You're ready, Cinderella." The makeup artist choked on a giggle, and the hair stylist shushed her and sent her yet another warning glare.

"We hope you have a lovely evening, Miss Boucher," the hair stylist said, her voice so reverent I almost expected her to curtsy.

I made my way to the top of the stairs, pausing with a hand on the bannister as I glimpsed Nicolas below, staring upward expectantly. When he saw me, his lips parted and his eyes widened. As I walked slowly toward him, his gaze seemed to wander all over me, practically searing through the dress, and heat flashed over my skin as electricity sizzled between us.

When I reached the hallway, he stepped toward me, his gray eyes molten with desire, although his face held the tension of a predator. It wasn't a look I'd inspired in men before.

My chest tightened as I tried to inhale, but I was caught in some kind of spell. Nicolas's spell.

"Like the dress?" I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice cracked, and my chuckle became sharp as he leaned toward me, his breath warm against my ear.

"I've never seen anything as beautiful," he murmured in low words meant only for me. "And you tempt me to forget the party and remove that dress right here so I can see the rest of you." He moved back again, his gaze still hot and hungry as he watched my face.

I opened my mouth to reply, but there were no words. I just breathed out a small puff of air as lust wound delicate threads through me, tightening into a coil low in my belly, and I grew wet with need.

Mr. Baldwin cleared his throat discreetly from the corner, and Nicolas grabbed my hand, suddenly galvanized into action.

"We need to go before I fuck you on the hardwood," he murmured.