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See? I, too, can do snark.
She holds my gaze.“I’m sorry.”
Her reaction takes me by surprise.
“It wasn’t to undermine you,” she says. “My reasons had nothing to do with that. But I was too self-centered. I neglected to consider my choice from your perspective.”
She backtracks into the boutique. I stand under the suspended Christmas tree, lost for words as I watch her return her purchase.
CHAPTER20
LOUIS
The reception starts in an hour and a half, and we need forty-five minutes to get to MINDFUCH. Camille is still in her room, being dressed and styled by Marianne. I asked the maid to coax Camille to wear some makeup. She said she’d do her best.
Seated around the coffee table, Rudy, Angie and I exchange another nervous look.
“On a more positive note,” Angie says, standing up, “how do you like my outfit?”
She pivots slowly, letting Rudy and me admire her cascading curls and the beautiful gown that fits her tall, slim frame like a glove.
Rudy gawks. “You’re so beautiful!”
Ignoring him, Angie strikes a pose for me.
“You look great,” I say somewhat flatly.
Hey, I’m not an idiot. I know that my PA has been unobtrusively trying to seduce me from day one on the job. But I’m not my father. I’ve never slept with a maid, or a secretary, or any woman who’s in any way my subordinate.
The funny thing is that despite the social and financial chasm between Camille and me, she’s never been my subordinate.
There’s no way I’ll touch her again, though. It was a terrible idea to begin with, and then her inhibitions transformed it into a radioactive minefield. The question is if I—a healthy male in my prime with a sexual appetite that goes with it—can abstain for an entire year. And it’s not just Magdalena, but also the women I’ll meet at various functions are now off-limits. Grandpa’s detectives are seeing to that. Rudy and I keep spotting them wherever we go. I don’t think they’re even trying to hide. Their brief seems to involve keeping me on my toes as much as surveilling me.
That makes Angie the perfect candidate for indiscretions. Sex with her wouldn’t require me leaving the building or her coming in. She’s already in! Grandpa swore there are no bugs inside our apartments. I have no reason to believe he lied.
Should I disregard my own rules and encourage her?
Objectively, it would be the easiest way out of my quagmire.
Subjectively… It’s complicated.
The door to Camille’s bedroom opens. Marianne appears first and draws aside. Another young woman steps out. Marianne asks her to turn around slowly, which the woman dutifully does.
She’s petite but not dainty. Quite the contrary, in fact. The woman before me is a yummy, sensuous little thing with firm breasts, a slim waist and marked hips. Her ass is to die for. The gown hides her legs and arms, but I’ll bet they’re sinewy. She’s breathtakingly sexy in that trim, impish, Tinker Bell meets Betty Boop way that never fails to light my fire. Hell, I might get a hard-on if I keep ogling the flare of her hips!
I force my gaze upward to her face.
Fuck, I know her!It’s my wife, Camille.
She’s wearing lip gloss, a bit of blush, and her new, almost invisible, spectacles. The light makeup, paired with her minimalistic haircut, brings out the natural beauty of her face that’s liberated from the horrible glasses. It also offsets the shimmery, body-hugging, ultrafeminine gown that’s been messing with my mind for the past minute or two.
I want her to wear it always and everywhere.
At the same time, I want her to take me upstairs to her bedroom, shut the door, and let me peel it off her.
For the life of me, I don’t know which of those desires would prevail if they were thrown into the boxing ring. But inside my head, they somehow manage to coexist. More than the gown itself, I believe it’s the contrast between her pixie face and her luscious body that I’m responding to so strongly.
I exhale a shaggy breath. To be honest, I had a hunch Camille was my type. More than a hunch. It’s been a working theory ever since we made out in the royal palace. But now that theory is a scientific fact.
