She drops the magazine on the table and gives a sympathetic smile.

  I smile back, and for the first time with her, I’m honestly not sure where we stand. From the start, we’ve been carefully circumscribed, with lines neatly drawn. But my brother’s outlandish suggestion has knocked me outside those lines, and I’ve no clue how Elise feels about Erik’s wild idea or if she even feels anything about it at all.

  “I can’t thank you enough for being there tonight. You were incredibly helpful.”

  She frowns. “I feel terrible for what happened to him. It’s awful.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, me too, and it is awful. But I didn’t want to ruin your night, even though Erik really did appreciate you being there.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything,” she says softly, and this is the new side to Elise I saw tonight. She has a caretaker in her, and I couldn’t have predicted that.

  “And I appreciate that you were with us. I needed it too.”

  She gestures to the black-and-white photographs framed on my wall, then to the couch, a table, and the few books and magazines that rest on it. “I see your home is quite fitting for you. It looks as if everything has been imported directly from Scandinavian Design.”

  I laugh and sit next to her on the couch, glad her sense of humor is still intact. “I’m not sure if you know this, but being a dual citizen of Denmark and the UK, I’m legally required to buy all of my furniture from that store or from IKEA.”

  “A treaty, is it?” she asks, and perhaps I do know where we stand. Where we’ve always been—firing off words and wit, trying to impress the other.

  I nod solemnly. “Jointly agreed upon by all of the Scandinavian countries. We can only furnish our pads with our most famous exports.”

  She points to the glass door that opens onto a view overlooking the arrondissement. “I kind of like that your place isn’t terribly Parisian, yet you have that stunning window and what looks like a balcony.”

  “I can’t complain about the view.”

  She doesn’t respond. Instead, she looks at her watch, and slides her feet into her shoes.

  Now that—that I understand. That means she’s not taking my brother’s request seriously at all. I breathe a little easier, since that means we won’t have to have a difficult conversation, but I breathe a little harder too, since it means I’ll have to find another way to sort out the mess he’s made of the business.

  But it would have been such a perfect solution. Erik keeps the company. Elise and I have three months of fun and sex, and I get to spend more than just Friday nights in her glorious company.

  No.

  I need to stop thoughts like those. All they’ll bring is complication to what is a nice and easy, linear situation. And that’s the way we like it.

  My phone buzzes. Rather insistently. Grabbing it, I check just in case it’s some crisis from someone else.

  Instead, it’s a meme from my cousin Oliver. Laughing, I show it to Elise. A gif of Will Ferrell as Ron Burgundy saying WTF. “I should answer this. It’s Oliver.”

  Oliver: Your brother, AKA my nutter cousin, just texted a photo of himself in bed with a pillow saying he’s marrying a dictionary. I’m assuming this is just an average night in Paris for you two tossers? Or does it have anything to do with the actual legal stuff I discussed with him?

  I glance at Elise. “Best that I reassure him.”

  “By all means.”

  I tap out a reply.

  Christian: We can go full legal eagle in the morning. Until then, all you need to know is this—uni-style bender.

  Oliver: Oi. Everything makes perfect sense now.

  I set the phone down, look at Elise. “Done. Didn’t want to worry the New York contingent of the family.”

  She waves to the door. “Of course not, Though I should probably go now that you’ve got him back home. Unless you want to talk . . .” Her tone is gentle, inviting, and I meet her gaze. Her brown eyes are earnest, stripped of teasing.

  “I didn’t intend to drag you into any of this, Elise,” I say, reaching for her hand. And then, because I don’t actually want her to go, I tug her close so she falls next to me on the couch.

  “You didn’t drag me into anything. I volunteered to be a part of all of tonight. And I don’t regret it.”

  I tuck a strand of her dark hair over her ear, my heart thumping a bit harder. “You don’t regret the madness you’ve been sucked into?”

  She shakes her head. “Madness is my middle name.”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m glad the Ellison brothers haven’t scared you away.”

  “I assure you, I’m not easily spooked.”

  “So . . . can we put this all behind us?” I offer, since surely that’s the only way I can manage to keep up the status quo with Elise.

  “We can put it behind us.” She takes a beat, fixing me with an intense stare. “But what if I told you I didn’t think his suggestion was absurd?”

  16

  ELISE

  I should be shocked at the certainty in my bones. But I’m strangely not surprised at all that his brother’s suggestion felt like the most right and true idea I’ve heard in ages.

  Because I’m mad. I’m brimming with righteous anger for his brother. For the most underhanded cards ever dealt to a man. I can’t let that woman—and I wouldn’t know her from Eve—win by preying on Erik’s love for her.

  I set my hand on Christian’s thigh. “I want to help you. I want to help you and Erik.”

  He drags a hand through his hair, his eyes registering surprise. He swallows and quietly asks, “You do?”

  “Yes. Do you want to help your brother?”

  He gives me an incredulous look. “Of course I do. But there has to be another way around it.”

  Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I read his nerves incorrectly. The last thing I want is to push this on him, simply because my moral compass is hugely offended by Jandy’s double cross, which poor Erik never saw coming. I know what that’s like—being blindsided by someone you thought would love you and only you forever. And this is my opportunity to save Erik from some of the pain I went through.

  “Then, by all means, I’m sure you’ll find it, and you won’t have to resort to this way around.”

  He grabs my hand. “I’m not saying it would be a terrible solution. That’s not what I mean.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask evenly.

  Don’t get emotional, Elise. This isn’t your battle.

  Besides, this isn’t an emotional decision for me. It’s a practical one. At the tea salon, I didn’t think it was wise to accept his offer of help with the account, but now I can see we both would benefit from a revision to our arrangement. The truth is I’d love his insight on the travel industry, and I suspect he’d love to help his brother stave off this Machiavellian machination.

  He sighs heavily and sinks back into the couch cushion. “I can’t do that to you. After everything you went through with your ex-husband, how can I possibly put you through the ringer like that?”

  I roll my eyes, the newfound strength flowing through my veins like a surging river. “You wouldn’t be putting me through anything. This isn’t the same. This isn’t Eduardo trying to hoodwink me. This is you and me being honest and doing something that’s right. Doing something that matters for your brother, and for you.” As I voice the words, it hits me that this isn’t only practical. This is emotional. But it’s the good kind, the kind that brings a whole new round of closure. They’re right and honest emotions, born from a chance to settle the score on behalf of someone who needs it. “You said you wanted to repay your brother for how he helped you onto the right path when you were younger. This is your opportunity.”

  “But what about you? What do you get out of it?”

  I shimmy my shoulders. “I do believe there was a certain business expert who offered his help in nabbing a big travel account.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted to mix business and pleasure?”

  “Maybe now I do. I need a sharp mind. I need a fantastic analyst. And if you need something too, it won’t feel like we’re mixing business and pleasure so much as helping each other when we both need it.”

  “Elise, as much as I want to fix this shitstorm for Erik, I don’t know if I can let you do this after what you’ve dealt with.”

  I scoff. “Let me do this? You can certainly say no, but this isn’t about letting me. I’m not a delicate princess. I can handle this because I’m not interested in marriage. I’m not interested in forever. I am, however, ludicrously mad that someone’s been taken advantage of. And it seems like you and I have the power to stop it.”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I suspect he’s taking a moment to process that I’m not messing around. “You’d really do this?”

  “Not forever. But for a few months, for the time he needs, I would. I despise that she’s been tricking him. I don’t want her to get away with it. It’s wrong.”

  I watch a range of emotions cross his eyes—eagerness, trepidation, and hunger for revenge. “Why do you want to right this wrong?”

  “Because I can. I lost a few accounts when my marriage went south. It was awful, but I didn’t lose my whole business. I’m rebuilding it. And here’s your brother, completely blindsided by the love of his life breaking his heart and trying to steal the company your grandfather started more than fifty years ago. And you and I could tie the knot, and in that simple act, it would stop her.”

  He lets out a long breath. “Damn, you’re fucking hot like this.”

  I laugh. “Oh, shut up. You’re such a horndog.”

  “I know, but can you blame me? You’re so fucking brilliant and beautiful and fierce, and your determination makes me want to fuck you even more.”

  I set a hand to his chest. “No talking of screwing right now. I’m talking about making a deal.”

  He shakes his head, as if chasing away the stray filthy thoughts. “Okay, deal talk.” His eyes stray to his crotch. “Down, boy. We have other business right now.”

  I laugh at him.

  He raises his face. “Okay, so where were we? You’re going to do the absurd honor of saving my brother’s sorry arse from his lovesick stupidity because you were burned by your jackass ex, and in return all I have to do is help you win an account? This hardly seems fair. Please, let’s make it a condition that for every orgasm I get, I give you four.”

  I laugh so loudly, I’d be worried about waking up Erik, but I suspect he’s dead to the sober world now. I lean in close, and nip Christian’s earlobe. “That was always an unbreakable condition.”

  I pull back, and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Obviously. I was just testing you.” He stares at me, as if he’s trying to find the catch. “You mean this?’

  “We’ve already made it clear that our existing relationship has terms and conditions. That means it also has an expiration date,” I say, because what else could our arrangement mean? We so clinically laid out the details at the salon, and surely he wasn’t expecting it to go on forever. No man wants that.

  That’s why it’s odd when he blinks as I say those last words, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. But quickly, he rights his course. “Of course, yes. We have an end date. Like a bottle of milk. Slap a best-by date on me, then chuck me in the bin.” He finishes with a laugh.

  Since he’s laughing, I keep it light too—that’s the best way to approach a deal like this. “Toss me there too, right?”

  He nods confidently. “Both of us. When it’s done, we’ll be done.”

  “Exactly. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll find another business consultant and we can stick to the terms of our arrangement we discussed at the tea salon. I’m only offering this because we have the power to stop something utterly shitty.”

  “Oh, I’m quite comfortable with everything.” He rakes his heated gaze over me. He cups my cheeks. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

  I laugh. “Your dick is quite distracting to you, isn’t it?”

  He yanks me closer. “You’re distracting. You’re going to ruin me.”

  Those words reverberate in my heart. I’ve already been ruined. Surely I can’t ruin a man like him, and he can’t damage a damaged woman like me. “I don’t think that’s possible,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head and murmurs as he loops his fingers through my hair. “You’re going to ruin me, Elise,” he repeats in a sexy rasp. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known, and nothing in my life will ever be hotter than you wanting to save my family’s business, all riled up, while you’re dressed in that skirt and those heels, after I’ve had you coming on my hand at a tea salon.”

  His words light me up. They must ignite him too, because he tugs me closer, peppering kisses along my neck. “You’re stunningly gorgeous and completely brilliant.” His mouth slides down my throat. “And I want to marry you for three months, and I want to do everything to ensure you win that new account.” His lips reach the tops of my breasts. “And I want to take down that cow who broke my brother’s heart.” He flicks his tongue against my skin, and I shiver as he raises his gaze once more, meeting my eyes. “And most importantly, I want you to come all over my face before I fuck you.”

  Heat sweeps through me like a fire, and I can barely take this closeness, this rampant desire in his eyes.

  “Yes,” I murmur since I can’t form any other word right now. Everything with him is a yes.

  He groans as he claims my mouth, planting a searing kiss on my lips. It’s harder than he’s kissed me before. It’s possessive and demanding at the same time, as if he needs my lips bruised and bee-stung.

  This is the first time we’ve kissed in private. We’ve kissed on the steps of the design show, outside the metro, and in the salon. But this is a kiss for behind closed doors. It’s a kiss before clothes come off.

  Yet I’m keenly aware his brother is in the next room.

  He breaks the kiss. “This is what you do to me,” he says, taking my hand and putting it between his thighs so I can feel his hard length.

  He’s beyond aroused. He’s thick and hard and hot even through his jeans, and I want to climb on top of him, slide down on him, and ride him right here on the couch in his living room.

  Only we can’t. “I’m not going to sleep with you for the first time when your brother’s drunk in the other room.”

  “I know,” he moans, and it sounds like sad resignation. “But I’m very patient, and I can wait for you.”

  “There are some things you don’t have to wait for though,” I say, and my gaze drifts to his balcony.

  “You want to see the view?” His tone is curious.

  A hint of a smile crosses my lips. “I want to see the view from my knees.”

  “Let me get this straight,” he says as we step onto his balcony on the fifth floor of his flat. Below us is a cobbled street. Across the way are gorgeous apartment buildings. “You’re going to give me a blow job in exchange for me agreeing to let you marry me to save my brother’s company?”

  I look at him and flash my most wicked grin. “You are correct.”

  “That hardly seems fair.”

  I drag my nails down his shirt and cup his bulge. “It’s only unfair if you’re assuming that you’re the only one getting pleasure from the blow job.”

  He groans obscenely. “You’re perfectly fucking dirty.”

  “I wouldn’t assume that until your cock is in my mouth.”

  “Christ,” he mutters, his voice already husky and rough. He grabs a cushion from the chair on the balcony and sets it on the ground. I kneel on it as I work open his zipper, tug down his pants, and free him. His cock says hello, and it’s my chance to murmur my appreciation. He’s long, thick, and velvety steel to the touch. I wrap a hand around him, and he takes a sharp breath.

  “Fuck, that feels better than it should.”

  “You should feel spectacular. That’s the point of our arrangement. Isn’t it?” My tone is firm, brooking no argument. I look up at him. He gazes down at me. Understanding passes between us. We are on the same page. We get orgasms and profits from this—nothing more, nothing less.

  “Yes. Our deal is quite possibly my favorite I’ve ever struck.”

  I stroke him. “You look better than in your pictures. I like you right-side up and rock hard.”

  He laughs. It’s cut short when I flick my tongue over him. His sounds turn into heady groans as I draw him in, running my tongue along his shaft.

  His groans intensify as I savor his cock with my mouth. He ropes his hands through my hair, curling his big palms over my head, and I open my throat for him. He tastes clean and dirty at the same time. But the good kind of dirty, born of lust. It’s the scent of a man turned on—turned on because he’s already pleased his woman.

  It’s the scent of desire.

  He finds a rhythm, thrusting into my mouth as I wrap my lips tight around his length. I might look subservient to anyone watching—and anyone could watch if they peeked through their curtains across the avenue—but as I wrap my hands around his hips so I can grab his ass and pull him deeper, I’m keenly aware I have all the power.

  And I need it terribly.

  I need the power play. I need to make all the choices, to enter this deal with my eyes wide open.

  Neither one of us believes in marriage, but we both believe in honesty, and in honest pleasure. Giving it, rather than giving away my heart.

  And soon, as he rocks deeper into my mouth, nearly robbing me of my breath, I’m awash in pleasure too. I am in its throes, completely gripped by it, loving this almost as much as he is.

  He grunts that he’s coming, and I dig my nails in tighter, and make sure I drink down every last drop that he gives me.

  The sounds he makes are so intoxicating that I’m aching for him when he finishes and pulls me up. He kisses me madly, his hand slinking under my skirt once more, his groans guttural and wickedly thrilled when he finds I’m slick and hot.