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“And don’t call me that. Otherwise, I’ll slap you.”
“Is that supposed to deter me?” I asked, giving her a partial smile. “I’ll see you at eight.”
“Where?”
“Your place.”
“You know where I live?”
I flashed her a grin before I turned away to walk out. “I’m a criminal, aren’t I?”
* * *
She lived in a modest apartment. It was in a decent part of Paris, but the building was old and run-down, and I imagined it was a one-bedroom space that was less than four hundred square feet. For a daughter of a billionaire, she was certainly living in squalor. That told me she was on her own entirely, not running up daddy’s credit cards to keep herself afloat.
I respected an independent woman.
Was a bit turned on by it, honestly.
I knocked on her door, in my military boots she didn’t like, sporting the leather jacket that made me look like a ruthless killer. She mocked my fashion choices, but she still wanted to fuck me, so I guessed I wasn’t that bad.
“It’s open.”
I stepped inside, seeing a small apartment where everything was close together. There was a small kitchen with an island, and the living room contained a single couch that faced a TV on an entertainment center. A deep red rug sat on the hardwood floor, and in the rear, I saw the door that led to the bathroom. Her bedroom must be the other door.
It was small, but her taste in décor at least made it cozy. It matched her outfits, bold but elegant.
She stood in the kitchen and uncorked a bottle of wine.
All she wore was a shiny black robe cinched at her waist. She brought the glass to her lips and took a drink, her eyes on me from across the room. They were smoky with dark eye shadow and thick lashes. Her dark hair was straight this time, reaching past her shoulders to her breasts. When she finished her drink, her red lipstick left a stain.
I loved lipstick stains—just not on glasses.
She carried the glasses to the couch and sat down, her legs crossed, the robe rising a little farther up her sexy legs. She somehow made that robe sexier than lingerie.
I took the seat beside her and reached for the glass she offered me. “You have a nice place.”
“Do I?” she asked, seeing straight through my small talk.
“I’m serious.”
“My apartment is probably the size of your closet.”
“And it’d be a shithole without your taste.”
She stilled at my candor then took a drink.
“Something you should know about me…I’ll always give it to you straight.”
“I don’t care about your honesty. I just hope you give other things to me straight…”
I took another drink as I looked at her, a woman all the more stunning because she was ruthless. Her eyes were fierce. Her mouth was brutal. I’d never met another woman like her. Camille was different from other women, but she didn’t have this fire. Inferno…that was a better description. “I will.”
My arm moved over the back of the couch, and I got comfortable, my knees wide apart, looking at her beside me.
Her eyes held mine, keeping up her look of confidence to mask her unease. She was nervous, her heart pounding under that thin robe. I could see it in the breaths she took. Her chest gave her away.
My hand reached for her knee, soft against my callused fingers. My fingers dipped to the inside of her knee, feeling the softest flesh I’d ever known. My eyes dropped to my movements because the single touch was utterly intoxicating. I trailed up slowly, my fingers opening the robe the farther I moved up her thigh. Olive skin that was as delicate as rose petals. I moved higher up, reaching the apex of her thighs.
