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“Saint Barth?” Camille cocks her head. “I think I heard about it on the radio. Isn’t that the island where sleazy old billionaires are flown to rape minors?”
The other woman chokes on whatever banality she was preparing to say.
Those who heard Camille’s comment freeze up. And a stunned, uneasy silence fills the room. Those who were too far to catch it look around, wondering what just happened.
Angie pops up by my side and throws me a panicked look.
I was right to fear the worst, her mien says.She did it. She ruined your reception.
With nothing left to lose, I plant myself by Camille’s side and stare down the attaché.
She meets my gaze as if challenging me to fix my wife’s misstep.
Wrapping a gentle arm around Camille’s shoulders, I address her rather than the attaché. “No, darling, that’s a different island you’re thinking of. Saint Barthélémy is popular with the elites who aren’t depraved.”
I’d never known what a room full of people exhaling sounded like. Now I do.
Everybody’s faces relax. Quite a few guests look pleased, perhaps thankful for being pigeonholed with the decent folks. I know for a fact that not all of the people present here are upright. But many are. And some are secretly just as disgusted at the moral corruption of our social milieu as is Camille. Only they’ll never admit it because that would amount to announcing they’re uptight. And uptight is for the yokels.
After the “Saint Barth incident,” a curious thing happens. I stop caring if Camille commits another gaffe and how our guests will react to it. The truth is, she’s done great so far, much better than Angie had feared. People are drawn to her. Some, like that obnoxious attaché, hope to provoke or ridicule her. But most simply enjoy her conversation. I’ve now watched enough diplomats and their spouses respond well to her sense of humor to make that statement.
That she’s magnetic hits me like an epiphany. It shouldn’t, though. On some level, I already knew this about her. Her charisma has been staring me in the eye since the day we met.
Not to mention her secret, luscious hotness.
CHAPTER21
CAMILLE
Louis turns the key and pushes the door open. The apartment is quiet. Marianne must’ve gone to bed. He fumbles for the switch by the door. With the lights on, he helps me out of my coat.
While he’s removing his, I head to the staircase leading to the upper level. “It wasn’t as awful as I’d feared.” I climb the first steps. “And thank you for—”
Suddenly, he’s at my side. I feel his warmth before I see him. He leans my back against the wall, caging me in with his body. I look into his eyes. There’s nothing in them but want. His pupils are dilated and his breathing is fast. My gaze slides down to his broad, well-muscled chest that his elegant jacket can’t quite domesticate. I’m burning to touch him. I’m dying for his touch. My heart is racing in anticipation of it.
But I shouldn’t.
I’ll regret it. My resolve was so strong! It was supposed to hold…
Louis plants his palms on the wall, encasing me—no, imprisoning me to be exact. He’s so close that his scent makes me dizzy. I feel the heat of his breath on my skin. He still hasn’t touched me, though.
Is he hesitating? Is he struggling with his better judgment, just like I am with mine?Who’s winning?
I glance down, below the waistband of his pants.
Satisfied and flattered with what I see, I shift my gaze to his face once again. “Has the Trailer Witch cast a spell on His Grace?”
“She’s driving me mad.” His voice is thick with lust. “I want you, Camille. I want you so much I can’t think straight anymore.”
“I want you too,” I whisper.
Honesty deserves honesty.
He lowers his head, and his mouth crashes down on mine, hard.
I stand on tiptoe, nearly moaning with joy as our tongues meet and dance together. His hands grasp my hips and pull me flush against him so that I can feel his hard length pressing into my stomach. One of his hands travels up my back to cup my nape and tilt my head for a deeper kiss. His other hand roams across my silk wrapped body, as he explores my every curve and plane.
My own arms come up to wind around his neck. My fingers tangle in his wavy, thick hair. He seems to like my new hairstyle very much, but I doubt he likes it as much as I like his hair. And his handsome face. And his strong, masculine body.
