Chapter Four The Pretend Lover

"Anything," she said.

His gaze was positively lethal. His hands—they made fists. "There's something I want. Something that belongs to me. Something I must have, or I'll lose my mind with wanting it."

A shiver ran hot and cold down her spine.

He wasn't speaking of her—of course he wasn't—but nonetheless, she felt a heat bloom in her chest as though he were. What would it feel like for Henri to want her so fiercely? "I… understand."

"Do you?"

He smiled bleakly at her, then continued around his desk.

He swept up a gemstone globe from the edge and spun it. A lapis lazuli ocean blurred into a blue whirl. "Here." His finger stopped the motion, pinning a country inlaid with stone beneath his touch. "What I want is here," he tapped.

She stepped closer, longingly lifting a fingertip to stroke the map he indicated. Travel had seemed so far down the list of her priorities that she hardly gave it any thought now.

"France," she whispered.

His finger slid, his skin brushing against hers. He watched. She watched. Neither of them moved. His finger was blunt and tan; hers was slim and milky. Both were anchored over France. It wasn't even a touch—not even half a touch—and yet she felt the contact in every fiber of her lonely, quivering being.

He turned his head, their faces so close that his pupils looked like enormous black voids. A swirling vortex. He whispered, as though confessing his every desire and sin, "I'm after Gagnon Autos."

She connected the name immediately. "Your father's business?"

"Part of the business he lost."

He set down the globe and reached out again. This time, the back of his finger stroked down her cheek. Henri touching her, Henri looking so strangely at her—*oh, God.* He smelled so good she felt lightheaded.

"And you believe I can help?" she asked, taking one step away from him, then two. She had to get away from his compelling force—away from what he made her want.

He scraped a restless hand down his face. "The owner has managed it poorly and contacted me for help." A tiny muscle ticked at the back of his jaw. "I'm usually a sucker for the ailing, I admit, but things are different in this case." Disgusted, he shook his head. "I don't intend to help her, you understand?"

"Yes." She didn't understand, exactly, but rumors around the office were that no one mentioned Gagnon to Henri unless they wanted their head bitten off.

He paced. "I'm taking it hostilely if I have to."

"I see."

"I could use an escort."

Escort.

"I need someone I can count on. Most of all—" he crossed his arms, his enigmatic black gaze boring into hers—"I need someone willing to pretend to be my lover."

Lover.

Her hands went damp, and she discreetly wiped them against her skirt. "Lover." When his long steps brought him back toward her, she instinctively retreated until her calves hit a small ottoman.

Unperturbed, Henri headed toward the bookshelf, his strides sure and unhurried. "Would you be interested in doing this for me?"

Her head filled with unwelcome, naughty thoughts. Thoughts of France and Henri. "Yes, definitely." But what exactly did he mean by pretend? "So, what would you expect of me? And for how long?" An unprecedented thrill was trickling through her veins.

He rummaged through the books, moving volume after volume. "A week as my escort in Lyon, and perhaps some work after hours until I'm able to close the deal. I'll be sure to handle your… little problem."

"That's all?"

He shot her a look of incredulity. "That's not enough?"

She just smiled. And waited. And watched.

The muscles under his shirt flexed as he reached the top shelf and pulled out a huge leather-bound tome.

"Maybe your company at the firm's gala?" he continued, his dark eyebrows arching. "Would you mind? Going with me?"

She fiddled with her necklace, unable to stop fidgeting.

"You… I can always arrange a date for you."

His lips curved upward as he waved the heavy book in her line of vision as easily as if it were a sheet of paper. "I don't want a date, Miss Stone. Here. You can take this—it has some history of Lyon, if you'd like." He set it on the ottoman. He had a lovely, lazy kind of smile, and she felt it curl her toes.

"I feel like I'm robbing you blind," she said, lifting the book.

He paused in the center of the room and stared at her with deep, obsidian eyes. "If I allowed it, it wouldn't be robbery, would it?"

She saw his cool, brief smile and flattened the book tight against her chest. Her breasts pricked against the leather. Traitors. But he'd smiled three times tonight. Three. Or more? That had to be a record.

"You're an asset to my company," he continued, his voice dropping to an unnaturally hoarse register as he stalked back around the desk. "A week of your time is valuable to me. You're hardworking and smart. Loyal. You've gained my trust, Elizabeth, and my admiration—both difficult feats."

A feathery sensation coursed along her skin. She was certain he used that same self-assured tone in board meetings, but she wondered if it had the same thrilling effect on the directors.

When she couldn't find anything useful to do other than stare stupidly, she fell back on her usual defense mechanism. She set the book aside and began arranging the papers at the edge of his desk—turning a messy pile into a neat one. "T-Thank you for the compliments. I enjoy working at Gagnon FinTech very much. And for you… of course. Which is why I don't want to jeopardize my position."