9

"Dad? Are you even listening to me?" Chase’s voice drifted down, sounding annoyed. "I’m talking about the future of the company here!"

Richard didn't break eye contact with her. He squeezed her hand once with a firm, possessive pressure before finally pulling back. He could not explain what drew him to her, and he wasn’t fighting it either.

"I’m listening, Chase!" Richard called out, his voice perfectly steady as he stood up. He offered a hand to Giselle, pulling her to her feet with an effortless pull. "I was just helping your wife save the rug. You should be more concerned about your clumsiness in the boardroom than a little spilled Cabernet."

Giselle stood there, her legs feeling jelly like. She clutched the stained napkin like a lifeline.

"I... I’m going to go get some soda water from the sideboard," she stammered. "To make sure it doesn't set."

She hurried toward the sideboard at the far end of the room, her back to them. She leaned her forehead against the cool wood, trying to catch her breath.

A moment later, she felt a presence behind her. “Dear Lord, why are you testing me with temptations far bigger than me” she muttered under her breath as she tried to make sure their body did not collide.

She would die if Richard remembered half of whatever went down between them, so as much as she liked the session they had, anything that would remind him of that night was to be avoided at all cost, but she didn’t see how that would fare well considering how close he was now.

"If Sterling wants five percent, give it to him," Richard’s voice was closer now. He had followed her to the sideboard under the guise of refilling his glass. Chase was still at the table, stabbing at his fish and muttering to himself.

Richard leaned over her shoulder, reaching for the soda water. His chest brushed against her back. It was brief, but it was enough to make her gasp. A momentary image of when he had penetrated her from behind flashed through her mind, causing her to shiver.

"It’s worth the price to get what you want, don't you think?" Richard whispered into her hair even though he was talking to Chase.

Giselle couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She just watched as his hand reached past her to grab the bottle.

"Here," he said aloud, handing it to her as Chase turned around. "This should do the trick with the cleaning."

"Thanks," she managed to say, her voice trembling, wondering if he was teasing her with the close ups on purpose.

Chase watched them for a moment, his brow furrowed. "You two are acting weird. Is it the jet lag, Dad? Or is Giselle finally losing her mind from the stress?"

Richard turned around, a cold, wry smile on his face. "Maybe we’re just both tired of hearing you talk, Chase. Sit down and finish your dinner."

Giselle stood by the sideboard a little longer, the bottle of soda water cold in her hand, watching the two men. One was her husband, a man who didn't even notice the fire burning right in front of him. The other was her one time lover, a man who was fanning the flames and had all it takes to make her feel like a woman, as much as she believed she loves Chase, she could not help her attraction to his dad.

And for the first time since the divorce papers were served, Giselle didn't feel like a victim. She felt like a catalyst for destruction and it all boils down to how she handled whatever flames brewing inside her for Richard Hemingway.