Fling in Paris Page 2

  "Wait.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist lightly. "Can I get your number?"

  She closed her eyes tightly, a look of pain washing over her lovely face. "Rob you seem like a nice guy, but I can't give you my number, and I'm not really looking to date, so again thanks for the drink." The words rushed out, like a medicine she was trying to down quickly and get it over with.

  She opened her eyes again, which were cool and composed, then turned and walked back to her own table. Rob opened his mouth, fully intending to go after her, but then closed it again—he was speechless. No woman had ever turned him down before.

  Sherry sank down in the chair, a smile on her face despite the fact that she felt a little guilty for turning him down. Still, there was nothing quite like an attractive man showing an interest in you to lift your spirits.

  "You are a tease," Marie told her, her voice laced with amusement.

  "What are you talking about?" Sherry frowned.

  "You were all over that guy."

  "His name is Rob. And I couldn’t help it—you know I have a soft spot for Italian men. And those gorgeous eyes of his.” She sighed. “Besides, I was only flirting."

  "It looked like an invitation to me." Marie arched her brows suggestively.

  "No.” Sherry shook her head once, emphatically. “I'm not looking for something new."

  "You need a fling to get Nick out of your system." Marie said firmly.

  "I couldn't do that.” Although the idea did have appeal—she had no doubt that Rob would be a fantastic lover with the reaction he inspired in her. “I'm a relationship junkie, and there’s no way that I could just have a one-night stand with someone like him and just walk away."

  "Come on, people do it all the time, think about it." Marie cajoled, but Sherry would have none of it. Sherry changed the conversation, asking Marie about her life in Paris.

  Unfortunately, for the rest of the night out, all Sherry could do was think about having a one-night stand.

  Chapter 2

  It was after four a.m. when she finally got to bed, and she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, exhausted after such a long day. She only had a two hour respite before the ring of the telephone woke her at six o’clock. Groaning, she wanted to pull the pillow over her head and block it out, but it wasn’t like her to ignore a phone call—the guilt would make it impossible for her to fall back asleep.

  “Hello,” she rasped into the receiver, her eyes still closed.

  "Hi, Sherry.” Her eyes popped open at the familiar male voice—it was Nick, her husband. “How are you?”

  “Hi.” She sat up; wide awake now, her heart pounding hopefully. “I’m fine—was just sleeping. What do you need?”

  “What time is it there? I am sorry to wake you." He didn’t sound all that apologetic, but Sherry didn’t let that bother her; she was happy just to hear his voice.

  “It’s six in the morning.” She yawned.

  “I wanted to make sure you arrived safely.” He paused. “And I wanted to know if you signed the divorce papers.”

  "Why? Are you in such a hurry to marry that slut you left me for?" She did her best to infuse as much scorn as possible into her voice so that he wouldn’t hear her heart breaking all over again.

  "Don't start. I just want it over,” he said coldly.

  "Well, I haven't signed them yet, which was obviously a mistake.” She was proud of the fact that her voice was steady, even though the hand that gripped the receiver was shaking. “I'll make sure to fix that. I’ll send them out to you by the end of this week."

  "Thanks.” He sounded relieved. “Go back to sleep, I'll talk to you later."

  He hung up the phone, and Sherry collapsed, weeping into her pillow.

  Eventually, she fell back into a fitful sleep that her alarm failed to penetrate, and ended up waking at 7:30 A.M.—half an hour before she had to be at work.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, tossing the covers off and frantically rushing to the bathroom. In less than ten minutes she showered, ran a comb through her curly black hair, and pulled on her black skirt suit, stockings, and pumps. With no time to grab even a bagel, she grabbed her purse and phone and left, hastily locking the hotel room door behind her.

  She walked into OS International a few minutes later, fervently thanking God that her hotel was only one block away from the building. It would be awful for her to be late on her very first day, especially since as the training coordinator she was supposed to set a good example for the other employees.

  The receptionist looked up from her computer desk; a wide, U-shaped console set in the middle of the spacious lobby. She looked streamlined and efficient in her pin-striped suit, her red hair pulled back into a smooth bun, her make-up perfectly done to enhance her milk-white skin and oval face.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, white teeth gleaming as she smiled.

  "Yes.” Sherry smiled back. “My name is Sherry Williams, and I’m the new training coordinator."

  "Ms. Williams.” The receptionist stood. “We have been expecting you. Follow me I'll have someone take you to your office.”

  The receptionist passed her off to a waiting secretary; a small, slim brunette wearing an outfit similar to Sherry’s. The secretary introduced herself as Monique and gave her a friendly handshake before giving Sherry a tour of the building, taking her through the conference rooms, the general staff working areas, the lounge and the bathrooms. Afterward, she showed Sherry to her own office, which was set apart from the general staff with a decent view of the city.

  She spent a half-hour orienting herself to her new space and setting everything up, then took the prepared materials for the training session to the conference room and waited for the Vice President of the Paris branch to arrive. Monique had told her he wanted to meet with her before she got started.

  She didn’t have to wait long before a tall, man strode into the room. He looked every inch the corporate figure, dressed in a black suit which showcased a powerfully built body, yet for some reason there was something familiar about him. He turned to greet her, a smile on his face, and she gasped as she understood why—it was Rob, the man she’d danced with last night!

  "Hi, I’m Roberto Zanetto the Vice President of the Paris office.” He held out a hand, and from the expression in his eyes it was clear that he hadn’t been expecting to see her. “It's my pleasure to meet you again."

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Zanetto.” Sherry stood and gripped his hand, flustered. A flash of awareness jumped through her body at the contact, flustering further. Oh, this was much unexpected, and Sherry wasn’t at all sure it was a good thing that the man she’d been so attracted to at the club was turning out to be her boss!

  Roberto hadn't touched her hands at the club, and marveled now at how soft her hands were. She smelled wonderful, like jasmine perfume, and he had to restrain himself from leaning closer to take a good sniff at her neck. He was getting hard already, so he dropped his hand and walked around the table, putting some professional distance between them for both their sakes.

  "Did you find everything you need, Mrs. Williams?"

  "Yes, I did." She smiled, but he noticed she was twisting her fingers together—clearly she was uncomfortable.

  "Should we talk about last night?" he asked, wondering if perhaps putting it on the table would ease her mind.

  "No.” She raised her chin and spoke firmly. Her hands stilled, coming to rest on the back of the chair nearest her. “I don't mix my personal life with my professional life."

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I understand that. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do to make you more comfortable here.” He waited a second before she nodded. “If you're not too tired after the training sessions on Friday, we are having a party to celebrate the opening of this branch. Since this is a rather small office, we’re hosting it at my country home. I hope you will come."

  She moved some papers around and looked at Mr. Zanetto. As the
new training coordinator and a member of HR, she couldn’t afford to turn it down—she needed the opportunity to get to know the employees better. “I would love to come. Thanks for inviting me.”

  "Great. I will have a car waiting for you after the training session is over on Friday to bring you to the party.” He walked around the table again and smiled at her. “I will be looking forward to seeing you."

  She watched him walk out the door, his stride confident, and wondered what the hell she’d just gotten herself into.

  *****

  The week passed quickly, despite the fact that the daily training sessions were both grueling and frustrating to both her and her students. The French did not understand anything she was trying to teach them; she wasn’t sure if it was the language barrier, or if they were used to another style of teaching, or if they just did not like her. She thought she would only be there for one month but at this pace, she would be there at least three or four.

  She probably should have voiced her concerns to Mr. Zanetto, but she’d barely seen him at all since Monday. Despite his assurance that she could come to him if she needed help, she felt as if he was avoiding her—perhaps he felt uncomfortable. Sherry knew she sure as hell did. Under the dim lights at the Rex Club it had been easy to lose herself for a few minutes in the arms of a handsome stranger. But in the light of day, in the real world, it was dangerous—and he wasn’t just a handsome stranger, but her boss.

  It was Friday now, she was finished with her workday, and the car was waiting for her just as Mr. Zanetto said it would be. It was the same Black Mercedes-Benz that had picked her up from the airport, and the chauffer greeted her a bit more familiarly as she slid into the leather interior of the back.

  “Would you mind taking me back to my hotel?” she asked. “I’d like to change my clothes before we head over.”

  A few minutes later she was back in her room, mulling over several clothing choices. Eventually she narrowed it down to two dresses— the black Rhinestone corset gown or the black choker-style halter dress. She opted for the second one, and pulled it over her head, enjoying the sensation of the silky material as it slid against her skin. She brushed her curly hair and pulled it up into an elegant bun before fastening a rhinestone clip in front of it for decoration. She touched up her make-up, smoothing bronzer over her cheekbones and painting her lips with a plum-colored lip gloss.

  Stepping back, she studied herself in the mirror, admiring how the halter-top gown lifted her bust and accentuated her curves.

  Maybe she was heading straight into a potential disaster, but damn did she look good.

  *****

  The gates opened and the driver pulled up to the front steps of a charming French-style house, characterized by the gabled roofs and limestone walls. Warm light spilled through from the dormer windows and onto the cobblestones of the circular driveway, lending the house a welcoming atmosphere. The chauffer opened the passenger door and she walked up the wide steps and through the front entrance.

  The inside of the house spoke of old wealth with its marbled tile floors, gleaming oak furniture, and silk-papered walls. Art adorned the walls and tables—a painting here, a vase there. Chatter and music filled the air, and the house was practically crammed to the rafters with guests. Though many of them were employees that she worked with, Sherry found it difficult to relax and get into the party mood— she felt out of place because she was the only African American female, and she could tell that the guests she approached were slightly resentful that they had to switch from French to English when they spoke to her, though they hid it behind polite words and friendly smiles.

  Finally, she heard a familiar voice to her left. “Mrs. Williams, how nice to see you.”

  She turned to see Rob, wearing a suit, it was a dark brown one this time. She found the color complemented his green eyes. He cradled a glass of champagne in one hand, his other hand tucked into his jacket pocket. A small smile played at his lips, which she noticed were firm and sensual. Her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips—a mistake, she realized, as his eyes gleamed as they watched her tongue.

  “Hello. Mr. Zanetto,” she said calmly, trying to keep things formal.

  “Please call me Roberto or Rob.” His smile widened; he was deliberately challenging the boundaries she was putting into place.

  “I will if you stop calling me Mrs. Williams,” she countered, arching her brows.

  “Touché.” He lifted his glass to her, then took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. The feel of his warm lips—firm yet sensual—against her knuckles sent shivers down her spine. This gorgeous Italian man made her feel wanted, desirable; something she had not felt in a long time. It made it hard for her to stay away from him, but she knew she had to. She simply wasn’t a one-night stand kind of woman, and she couldn’t afford an emotional entanglement with a man who was her temporary boss.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, drawing his lips away from her hand. Sherry missed the contact, but allowed her hand to fall back to her side anyway.

  “No, I’m fine,” she lied, even as her stomach was twisting itself into knots.

  "Yes,” he murmured, his eyes scorching her with a smoldering look that had her breath catching, her heart tripping. “You most certainly are."

  “What did you say?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly. Was he hitting on her?

  “You heard me.” He took her hand again, but tugged on it this time instead of kissing it. “Follow me. I want to talk to you about something important.”

  Sherry allowed Rob to lead her down the hallway and into a room she quickly realized was his library. There was a large mahogany desk facing away from one large, triple-paned window, and to the left was a fireplace and several low-backed, comfortable looking leather chairs and a couch. The rest of the walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of books, and she completely forgot Rob for a moment as her fingers itched to touch them. She loved books, both fiction and non-fiction, and she wondered what kind of reading material a man like him would keep in his personal library.

  Instead, she lowered herself onto the black leather couch, pressing herself as far into the left side as possible. Clearly not taking the hint, he sat next to her, as close as possible without actually touching her.

  “What is on your mind?” she asked, trying not to sound like she wanted to bolt from the room.

  “You are on my mind.” His voice was husky, his eyes intense on hers. “When I saw you that night in the club, I knew I had to have you." He picked up her hand, his finger rubbing the center of her palm gently and sending shivers of pleasure down her forearm. “When I found out that you were the new training coordinator I tried to put some distance between us out of respect for our professions and your feelings, but I realize now that it’s impossible. My feelings haven’t changed a single bit. I want you.”

  Sherry was speechless for a moment, then panic had her blurting out an instant denial. “That’s crazy!” she all but shouted, trying to stand, but his grip on her hand kept her in her seat. “There’s no way that this can happen—you’re my boss! It’s highly inappropriate for us to have a relationship.”

  “I know,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “But I will not be your boss for very long. Why not try, and see where this could go?”

  "I can't--” she tried, desperately tried to explain why she couldn’t afford to get into a relationship with him, but the thought of Nick had the words clogging in her throat.

  "Just give me one date." His fingers, warm and strong, began to stroke gently up and down her arm, sending more pleasurable shivers through her nervous system, making it awfully hard to concentrate.

  She took a deep breath, struggling to marshal her thoughts together into some kind of defense to refuse him. Instead, she found herself asking, "One date and you will leave me alone?"

  He grinned at her. "Yes… if you want me too." The smug tone of his voice clearly indicated his confidence that she would not, and her back went up
automatically. She could resist him. She could. One date and then she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.

  Lifting her chin, she met his eyes squarely. “Alright. One date, and that’s that.”

  “I will pick you up from your hotel tomorrow at seven.” His grin widened, and she knew that he viewed her statement as a challenge. “Now let’s go enjoy the rest of the party.”

  They left the room and parted ways as though nothing had ever happened. Sherry tried to enjoy the party, she really did, but everywhere she went she could feel Rob’s eyes on her, even though they didn’t make contact for the rest of the night. Even so, she managed to be sociable and stayed until the party ended, at around three o’clock in the morning.

  She pulled out her phone to call the chauffer, when Rob laid a hand on her arm. “It’s late. Why don’t we let him rest, and I’ll drive you back instead.”

  It was hard to argue with that, so she agreed and waited outside on the steps like he told her. A few moments later, he pulled up in silver Maserati, and she smiled—of course he would drive an Italian sports car. Even though she knew this was her ride, she touched the handle very hesitantly and lowered herself very cautiously into the leather interior before closing the door and strapping the seatbelt on.

  “The car’s not going to bite, you know,” Rob told her, sounding amused.

  “I have a tendency to tread cautiously around cars worth twice my yearly salary,” she responded dryly, and he laughed.

  He drove for awhile in silence, and Sherry took the time to stare out at the window, admiring the scenery. The country side, away from the heart of the city, made it easier to see the stars twinkling in the night sky. A tiny sigh escaped her lips; she could easily see herself living here, even though Canada was her home.

  Roberto mind was occupied with thoughts of running his fingers up and down her leg that was exposed by the slit in her dress. Damn, but this woman looked exquisite. He’d kept his hands stuffed in his pockets the entire night in an effort to hide the hard-on that just wouldn’t go away as he tried his damndest to mingle and be sociable with the guest—after all, he was the host. All that had been on his mind tonight was getting her out of that dress.