Chapter 15
Caroline
The sun was shining through my room’s French curtains when I finally woke up. I was usually up long before sunrise, so the bright light surprised me. I must have been more jetlagged than I thought.
There was a knock at the door, soft but insistent. Was that what had woken me up?
“Ms. Fairfax?” came the voice of a servant outside.
“Hi, um, yes?” I called from my bed. All I had on was a pair of panties.
“Mr. Blackstone would like you to be aware that you will be departing in approximately two hours,” the servant announced through the door.
I stretched in bed, catching Rafael’s lingering scent for a moment. I sighed, breathing deep, but the flash of him was gone.
I thought about last night while showering.
Sleeping with someone I worked with, even tangentially?
I never did that. I knew how messy it could get.
Especially in a situation like this where my relationship with my employer, Harrison, was tenuous.
My journalistic integrity could be called into question.
If there was ever a disagreement about Harrison’s biography, he could slander me as a reckless woman who slept with the head of his security.
It was the kind of shrewdness that had gotten him to his position as the most powerful billionaire in New York.
Yet despite that, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly happy about what had happened. It had been a few months since I last got laid—far too long for someone with my libido. Last night was a welcome change of pace, especially after the stressful events at the Ministry of Finance.
But it was probably a good idea for me to collect some information on Harrison. Not as blackmail or anything—just as protection in case he ever tried to use this against me.
I chose a delightful emerald dress from the clothes provided by the tailor, then went downstairs. Harrison was pacing in the hallway, talking quietly into his phone.
As soon as he saw me, he told the person on the phone, “One second,” and lowered his phone. “You’re looking stunning this morning. Sleep well?”
“Very well,” I replied. The compliment meant a lot coming from him, but it made me suspicious. Did he know what happened?
“Anne-Sophie’s tailor has a wonderful eye,” he told me. “You can keep everything you’ve worn, by the way.”
I flinched in spite of myself. “That’s kind, but I don’t feel comfortable. This dress must cost thousands of dollars.”
He shrugged as if I had said it cost a few pennies. Which, to Harrison Blackstone, was probably the same thing. “Consider the clothes a bonus. Like an advance on royalties for the biography, but in cloth form.”
“I’m already getting an advance,” I reminded him. “A significant one.”
Harrison shrugged again. “You’re welcome to wear the same clothes you wore on the flight over.
” He returned the phone to his ear and began walking away.
“Sorry about that. Of course. Thank you for the phone call, especially while you’re in Japan.
No, that certainly won’t be necessary. I have my own security. ”
Rafael was in the breakfast lounge, facing a window while on his own phone call. I took a moment to admire the way he looked, silhouetted against the light of the window. He had such a lovely frame, with broad shoulders that were made to wear a suit. A fortress of muscle.
I felt safe around him. Which, obviously, was his job.
But it felt like more. Especially after last night.
I went to the table and pulled out a chair, and the noise caused him to turn around. Our gazes collided, and his expression softened when he saw that it was me.
Flustered—it had been so long since the mere look from a man could fluster me!—I gave him a wink. I hoped it was the sexy kind, not the goofy kind.
His smile held a note of lust, then he turned back to the window.
The moment I sat down, a servant magically appeared at my side and asked what I wanted for breakfast. There was no menu; the chef would prepare whatever I desired. I felt kind of silly ordering something as simple as bacon and eggs, but that was my traditional morning-after-a-hookup meal.
“Oh! And two slices of French toast?” I added.
The servant smiled warmly and said, in a delightful French accent, “But of course.”
Rafael finished his phone call by the time my food arrived a few minutes later. “Sleep well?” he asked, taking the seat next to me.
“I slept amazing.”
His eyes narrowed and he smiled. “Me too.”
A servant returned with a pewter saucer filled with warm syrup. I poured it over my French toast and whispered, “Last night was nice.”
One of Rafael’s dark eyebrows rose. “Only nice?” he asked in a deep, quiet voice.
“I’m trying to seem cool by downplaying it,” I admitted. “It was excellent.”
“Excellent is downplaying it, too,” he said. “I don’t think I have the words. I’m not a writer.”
“I’m a writer, and I’m struggling to find an adequate way to describe it.” I smiled to myself and cut into my French toast. The slice was thick and fluffy, and the bite tasted perfect on my tongue.
“Want some?” I asked Rafael.
He hesitated just a second too long. “No thanks.”
“I see you eyeing my plate,” I teased.
“Not what I was eyeing,” he replied. “But sure. I’d love a bite.”
He leaned close, our fingers brushing momentarily as he took the fork. “Wow,” he said around a mouthful of food. “That’s really good.”
“Right?”
“Almost as good as what happened last night,” he added in a quieter voice.
I smiled and took the fork back. “It probably shouldn’t happen again, though.”
He nodded without hesitation. “I was thinking the same thing. It’s messy.”
“It would just complicate things,” I agreed.
“Definitely.”
“Without a doubt.”
We grinned like idiots as I finished my meal, enjoying our dirty little secret.