Wishing Well Read online

  I didn’t even know his name when we approached the hotel, and I’d almost forgotten it when he opened the gate and allowed me inside to see what he’d made of the place after tearing down what was once was here to construct his ‘home away from home.’

  It was as if I’d stepped out of the States directly into a French garden hidden away from the Paris streets, the lights, the wisteria, the cobblestone walkways all at my fingertips without need for a plane or a boat. Although, we ran to avoid the rain, I still caught a glimpse of the well, a large stone circle set among flowers, beckoning me to look inside.

  I never had the opportunity to explore before we’d entered the building and I stood frozen and wet, watching as Vincent’s girlfriend came rushing forward. They both spoke French and I couldn’t understand any of what they said, but it must have been words of adoration, love perhaps, or longing, because Vincent backed her against a far wall, their husky voices dropping to whispers, his lips tracing the line of her jaw as his fingers gripped her hip.

  Awkward, I wrapped my arms around myself, unsure whether I should turn away to give them privacy. Neither seemed to mind the audience and it made me wonder. Yet, for as out of place as I felt, for as confused, scared and alone, I stood staring as his hand trailed up the side of her body to palm her breast from over the skimpy French maid outfit she wore. At first, I made myself a promise to refuse the job if that’s what I’d be required to wear, but the thought dissolved as the woman’s hips pressed closer to Vincent.

  Blake had never made me move like that.

  Oh, to be a fly on this man’s wall when he made a woman moan. I was dry mouthed just from imagining it.

  Laughter filtered from the woman’s lips, a few more husky words I couldn’t understand whispering out until Vincent abruptly backed away and the woman ran off down a corridor, her shapely legs moving fluidly despite the four inch heels she wore.

  When he turned to me, I physically flinched in reaction to the hypnotic heat blazing behind his green eyes.

  Straightening his soaked jacket (not that it helped), he grinned, the same type of expression you’d assume a fox would wear while stepping away from henhouse.

  Stepping toward me, his voice was a deep vibration against my frozen bones when he explained, “You’ll have to excuse the interruption, Émilie is quite...passionate.”

  Unsure how to respond, I practically mumbled my response. “So it seems.”

  A glimmer of something flickered behind his eyes. “I’ll show you to your room, but first I’ll need a key. You can wait here while I go to the lobby.”

  Merely nodding because I was still in too much shock to think, I waited for what felt like forever, my tired legs finally getting to me as I crouched and huddled against a wall. At first, I’d believed he’d forgotten me, but then he returned with a bag in one hand and a keycard in the other.

  “Shall we go up?”

  “What’s in the bag?” I asked, fearful that he’d chosen a maid outfit for me to wear, much like Émilie’s.

  “Clothes I purchased from the boutique. We can have what you’re wearing now laundered and dried in the meantime.”

  Vincent held the bag out to me and I clenched my teeth to look inside and discover a mass of green silky material that didn’t appear as if it would cover much.

  I should have known this man would find something for me to wear that was more akin to a negligee than actual clothes.

  As he led me to a service elevator, I grew quiet, unsure. We were silent all the way to room 504 where he deposited me so that I could get a shower and get dressed. I couldn’t help but stare as he sauntered off, his soaked clothes, his messy hair, his unkempt state doing nothing to disrupt his seductive swagger.

  He peeked back at me once before entering the elevator again, the expression on his handsome face making it all too obvious that my new boss - the stranger who’d hurt me before luring me from the streets - was more trouble than I’d understood I was taking on.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The room Vincent gave me wasn’t merely some dumpy five hundred square foot space with a questionable bed, scratchy sheets and a corner kitchenette complete with dirty microwave and a small refrigerator set in a counter. This place was a full suite, a paradise to a girl who’d slept on the streets, a bastion of hope that I wasn’t sure how to interpret.

  Staring out at a living room with white carpets, white sofas, and white gossamer curtains that hung to the sides of floor to ceiling windows, I felt like I’d stepped into heaven, as if I’d died and Vincent had been the angel to whisk me from this life and deliver me into paradise without mentioning I was now a ghost. The confusion I felt mixed with elation, my light feet creeping to an open door, a gasp escaping my lungs as I stared wide-eyed at a bed that could comfortably fit three people or more. Much like the living room, the bedroom was all white with touches of pastel colors, the wallpaper a tasteful pattern touched with silver. Remembering my wet clothes, I panicked and glanced behind me, thankful to find I hadn’t tracked mud across the pristine floors.

  Kicking off my shoes, I hopped on one foot then the other as I peeled the sodden socks from my feet, running again to peek inside a bathroom that would make the designers of Roman baths jealous.

  In a matching theme of white and silver, the fixtures gleamed beneath a small crystal chandelier hanging delicately from the ceiling, the large bath and glass encased shower beckoning me forth with the promise of warmth for my frozen bones. Soft rugs covered the tiled floors, thick towels perfectly folded and hung for my use. A vanity with a large mirror and huge bulbs like those in an actor’s dressing room sat off to the right, the bathroom itself larger than the small apartment I’d shared with Blake before he left me.

  I would have believed I was dreaming if not for the way my body shook from the rain and cold. Outside the windows, the storm raged on, but in here - in this paradise - I was safe from the thunder and rain, from the lightning that cut across the sky.

  Dropping the shopping bag on a plush chair as I passed, I struggled out of my soaked clothes, letting them fall in place as I made my way to the shower. Water and steam billowed out of multiple heads, my muscles relaxing the instant I stepped inside. I would have remained beneath the spray if not for my time limit before Vincent returned, and with a promise to take a long bath before falling asleep that night, I reluctantly climbed from the shower, wrapped a large towel around my body and discovered a slight problem I hadn’t considered until that moment.

  Everything I owned was soaking wet, including my underwear, my bra and shoes. I had nothing but a slinky dress to cover my body, and just the thought of slipping on anything I’d worn prior made my lip curl in disgust.

  Pulling the dress over my head, I glanced in the mirror, my breasts bulging against the soft material, the length of the green silk falling to my knees. This was not the impression I wanted to give to a man I barely knew. When I heard a light knock at the door, I knew I had no other choice.

  Opening the door, I held an arm across my chest, my knees clinging together for fear Vincent would be able to see I wore nothing underneath. “Hey,” I said, my voice soft, my cheeks heated with embarrassment.

  His eyes traced down my body, goosebumps erupting over my flesh. “Hello,” Vincent answered, his words dark...gritty. “I see the dress fits.”

  Unlike me, Vincent’s appearance was impressive, his hair brushed back, the ends dusting the collar of his black suit jacket. Beneath his suit, he wore a black shirt, the top buttons loose, revealing a triangle of tan skin, a hint of the strong pecs across his broad chest. He appeared larger somehow, the intimidation I felt pervasive and elusive, the tremor of nervousness foreign after having survived several weeks on the streets with nothing but my wit to protect me.

  “I have a problem,” I confessed sheepishly, unable to raise my voice above a whisper.

  Taking the opportunity to lean closer, as if he couldn’t hear my teeny tiny voice, his eyes swept down the neckline of my dress, my ar
m tightening over my breasts in response. I hated that my body reacted, my thighs clenching together as a chill coursed down my spine.

  “Perhaps I have a solution,” he whispered back. Somehow he sounded even more dangerous when his voice was barely a breath.

  My cheeks flamed more. “I don’t have anything to wear with the dress, as in anything ...” Eyes widening, I tried to convey what I meant without actually saying it.

  Vincent’s eyes scanned down my legs to land on my bare feet.

  “I see,” he commented, a sly grin stretching his mouth. “Normally, I would find the information alluring, an invitation to find out more, but seeing as we’ve just met...”

  “Stop being a perv,” I blurted out, censure thick in my tone.

  His grin widened, his hand splaying over his chest as if he’d actually been offended by my words. “I am but a man, ma chérie . You can’t hold it against me.”

  Not knowing how to respond to the charm that was like a second skin wrapping this man, I muttered, “Maybe I should order room service and stay in.”

  “Or,” he countered, “you can give me your wet clothes, I can send them to be cleaned, and we can return to the boutique where we can purchase whatever else you need to complete your outfit. Shoes, perhaps.”

  My eyebrows pulled together. “I’m not as concerned with shoes as the other things.”

  “And I’m not as concerned with the other things as you are.”

  Rolling my eyes, I opened the door and waved my hand for him to walk in. “I need to grab my other clothes.”

  Soft laughter filtered through the room. “Take your time. Our table in the dining room has already been reserved.”

  Taking a seat on the sofa, his arms spread out over the backrest, his posture that of a man who owned the place. I quickly ran into the bathroom, hating how my breasts shook beneath the dress, grimacing at the tell tale draft whispering between my legs. I’d always been a modest girl, the jeans and T-shirt type that spent more time hiding her figure than showing it off. My twin sister had always been the fashionable one, had enjoyed the attention she received for her looks that were identical to mine. In contrast, I’d felt exposed if my shirt was too tight or if my jeans weren’t baggy enough to hide the curve of my hips, the weight of my bottom when I walked within a crowd.

  Blowing out a breath in an effort to steady the beat of my racing heart, I shoved my wet clothes into the shopping bag that once held my dress and returned to the living room where Vincent remained seated, his head tilting back, his eyes closed. It was ridiculous to think that he looked like a man receiving a lazy blowjob on a warm, sunlit afternoon.

  “I’m ready to go, I guess.”

  Without bothering to open those stunning green eyes, he spoke slowly, his accent a film coating his words. “You guess? Or you know?”

  Despite the laziness of those words, they sounded like an admonishment, a ruler against the knuckles, a reminder that I wasn’t as classy or educated as him. I’d only known Vincent for two hours and already I wanted to avoid him as much as possible. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde seemed better balanced in comparison.

  Hot and then cold. Gracious and then cruel. Friendly and then unnerving. Vincent Mercier was a puzzle of opposites, the type of person that constantly kept you on guard. “If it’s an issue, we could just call this off for tonight.”

  His eyes opened, the fan of his dark lashes framing observant green orbs. “Why would you suggest that? I was only asking a question.”

  “It just seems like...” My voice trailed off.

  Canting his head to the side, he stared at me. “Seems like what?”

  Like you’re judging me...

  Like I’m worthless to a man like you...

  Like I’m some stupid mouse caught in a maze you built with a deck of cards...

  “Like you’re tired,” I lied.

  Sitting up, he stretched his long legs out over the floor in front of him. “I assure you, I have much more endurance than a man needs. Endurance that is often complimented. I won’t be tired until late into the evening.”

  Why did everything he say sound like a reference to the bedroom? Vincent was a natural flirt, and I didn’t want to see too much into it. “Okay,” was my simple response.

  At some point in the conversation, I’d forgotten I wore nothing beneath my dress. Vincent’s eyes found the evidence of that slip of mind, appreciation rolling behind the green glimmer before he crooned, “You wear the dress well.”

  I may as well have been naked for as uncovered as I felt. Glancing down, I realized it was slightly cold in the room, two peaks poking at the material of my dress. Quickly, I attempted to shield my breasts with my arms. If I weren’t so desperate for food, shelter and cash, I would call off this agreement I’d made with him. Even now, it felt like I’d sold my soul to the devil.

  Thankfully, my stomach grumbled, two days without food causing the complaint to be clearly heard across the room.

  “We should go,” Vincent said, the heat behind his gaze dying off as he stood from the couch and stepped toward me. Instinctively, I backed away, but he grinned and reached out a hand. “I was only going to offer to carry your bag for you. Chivalry isn’t entirely dead.”

  “I can manage,” I answered, hating the squeak in my voice as my fingers tightened over the plastic handle. Shaking myself of the nervousness I felt in Vincent’s presence, I rolled my shoulders back (as much as I could while still guarding my breasts) and remembered that I wasn’t the type to be intimidated. Maybe he had enough energy to last the night, but I was exhausted. That had to be why I felt so small. After a good night of deep sleep, I’d be back in prime form, ready and willing to cut this man off at the knees if it was necessary.

  Without arguing, Vincent moved to the door, opened it and paused in the hall to hold it for me. I approached and was about to walk through when he let it slip from his fingers to close in my face. My nose almost collided against its surface.

  Slamming my palm down on the handle, I wrenched the door from its frame and glared at the gorgeous man on the other side.

  “You’ll have to forgive me. I’d forgotten that you didn’t want a man’s assistance.” His expression was a blank page upon which I could scrawl any emotion or meaning. I could have allowed his taunt to anger me, could have stalked off to the elevator, left the building and returned to the rainy streets, but I wanted the food I knew he would give me. I was desperate for a soft bed and warm sheets. If the job he offered wasn’t something I could stomach, I’d at least take his kindness for tonight and leave in the morning.

  “It’s fine,” I answered, turning right to head toward the elevator and leave him standing behind me.

  Reaching the doors, I noticed the lack of footsteps at my back and glanced over my shoulder to see Vincent’s eyes planted firmly on my butt. With a snappish tone, I asked, “See something you like?”

  His responsive grin was deviant. “Oui. J’ai envie de te croquer, ma belle .”

  Annoyed by his use of French, I resisted asking him what he’d said. I was sure it didn’t matter...or that I didn’t want to know.

  If I did accept his job offer, I was positive that working for a man like Vincent would be a lesson in patience.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  (Faiville Prison, 11:15 a.m.)

  Vincent locked his eyes on Meadow, his stare unwavering, his lips crooked at the corners as if he harbored some secret he would never tell. “Why would you do that, Meadow? And just as we were beginning this dance?”

  Humor edged his voice, silk and fur a caress against Meadows skin in the indolent pace of his tone. Unsurprised at how this man used every tool at his disposal to lure her in, she resisted the natural temptation, brushed aside the desire she couldn’t help but feel.

  Vincent was a gold medalist in attraction, temptation personified, a weapon of cruel seduction that had been honed until wickedly sharp. It was through desire that he distracted and addled the mind, unrepentant for the cheap us
e of human instinct.

  “Why would I do what?” She finally managed to utter.

  “Give away a portion of the story I hadn’t yet told,” he answered, his brows rising ever so slightly in challenge. “I assumed you came here to learn what I believed happened, to dissect the details you didn’t discover in your sister’s private thoughts.”

  Letting out a breath over barely parted lips, Meadow noted how his gaze traced the line of her mouth. Two could play at seduction, the truth of Vincent’s longings recorded within the hastily written diary. Penny had become his obsession as much as he had become hers.

  Purposely rolling back her shoulders, Meadow allowed her eyes to become heavy, enjoyed they way he couldn’t resist studying the hint of her breasts where they peeked above the neckline of her shirt. “I didn’t think the part I told was of much importance. You picked her up from her room, challenged her independence by showing her how a man could choose to be gracious or rude.”

  His eyes never left her chest, the tip of his tongue peeking out ever so slightly from between his full lips. How long had it been since he’d sat in the same room as a woman? Meadow would use that to her advantage.

  Distracted, he asked, “She remembered what I said to her in the hall?” His gaze lifted. “Enough to write it down? She never did learn to speak my language.” A bark of soft laughter shook his shoulders. “Well, at least that particular language of mine. She was a better student in others later on.”

  “So I read,” Meadow answered as she leaned forward, her voice soft, her shoulders dropping forward, intentionally allowing the material of her shirt to fall lower and give Vincent a better view. “Penny wrote all about that particular language in her diary.”

  Masculine pride flashed behind his eyes. “Did she?”