Chapter 31
Caroline
He pulled me away from the chair and we collapsed onto the bed together, a tangle of legs and sweat-glistening skin, chests heaving in sync as we caught our breath. We didn’t speak for a long time. Words weren’t necessary, and could only ruin the perfect moment.
Eventually, he leaned over and kissed me on the temple, then got out of bed. I admired his nude form as he walked across the room and pulled his clothes on.
“Hand me mine?” I asked.
His gaze ran up my legs and over my body. “I am tempted to make you get them yourself, if only to admire the oil painting that is your body.”
It was a cheesy line, but I giggled nonetheless. “If you insist.”
I slid out of bed, then sauntered over to the pile of clothes on the ground. I walked around them until my back was turned to the man who owned this yacht, then slowly bent over to pick up my bathing suit and coverup. The groan he made was everything I could have wanted.
“Is that what you were hoping for?” I asked over my shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the back of my neck. “Everything and more. You are stunning, Caroline.”
“You don’t need to flatter me now that you’ve bedded me.”
He said something in French, then switched to English: “It is not flattery to simply speak the truth.”
I sighed and let him kiss the back of my neck some more, his palms sliding over my body. I could feel his cock hardening again in his shorts, even though it had only been a minute or two since he came.
“We should return to the party.”
“We should,” he whispered into my ear. “But I am considering telling everyone to leave at once, so that I may make love to you for the remainder of the evening.”
“Mmm, I’m tempted to let you.” I twisted around and draped my arms around his shoulders. “But that would probably be a mistake.”
“And this?” he asked softly. “Was this a mistake as well?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Unless you intend to use this against me.”
He recoiled a few inches. “Why would I use this against you?”
“To gloat to Harrison. Everything is a game to you two, right?”
To my immense shock, he looked hurt. “Caroline, I was going to ask you not to tell Harrison about what happened here.”
“You mean you’re not going to flaunt it in his face? Bragging about how you bagged his biographer?”
“Harrison and I have many rivalries,” he admitted. “But when it comes to women, and the wonderful dance of lovemaking, I never play games.”
I stared into his eyes. For some reason, I believed him.
“Please do not tell Harrison,” he reiterated.
“Okay,” I said. “I promise I won’t.”
He sighed with what seemed like relief.
I made my way back to the party first. For a few minutes, it felt like everyone was staring at me. I was absolutely certain everyone knew what had just happened below deck.
But my paranoia was just that: paranoia. Nobody was paying any attention to me. I was just a writer, a few societal levels below everyone else here.
I ordered another drink from the bar and relaxed while watching the party swirl around me.
Lucien appeared several minutes later in his swim trunks. He smiled and nodded at the guests while approaching the pool, striding out onto the low diving board. With the grace of an acrobat, he dove into the water, hardly making a splash.
When he emerged from the water, he grabbed a towel and began drying himself, giving me a private little smile before chatting up some young actor that I recognized from the new Christopher Nolan movie.
I smiled to myself. It was fun having a secret. And this one was even more scintillating than the one Rafael and I shared.
As if I made him appear with a thought, the tall head of security lightly touched my arm. “He’s something, isn’t he.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I said carefully. Did he know what had just happened, or was he making idle chit-chat?
“That’s what I like about Harrison,” Rafael said, leaning close enough for his breath to tickle the skin on my neck. “He’s more understated. He doesn’t flaunt his wealth like others.”
I snorted and looked him in the eye. “I’m not sure I would call him understated.”
“Okay,” Rafael admitted. “Comparatively understated. There are worse men out there.” He returned his gaze toward Lucien.
“There are,” I agreed, though my feelings about the French billionaire had changed in the past hour.
Harrison came over to us a few minutes later. “I think we’ve stayed for an appropriate amount of time. Shall we?”
The three of us made our goodbyes, which included Lucien softly kissing the back of my hand again. It felt like electricity sizzled where our skin touched, and I hoped the others didn’t notice that I was blushing.
Then we were returning to the island on the helicopter.
As soon as I was back in my hut, I sat down in front of my laptop and began writing.
First about the Intel deal, and how Harrison had deftly executed a corporate coup that would be talked about for years.
When the biography came out, this would be an excellent story to tease to the media.
Like throwing chum in the waters to get the sharks nice and hungry.
But then I switched gears and began writing about Lucien Moreau.
Little notes at first, jotting down observations I had made about him.
The way he carried himself. His interactions with men and women.
The public-facing persona everyone saw, compared to the softer, more personal side of his life that he kept hidden.
I wasn’t sure if I would ever agree to write his biography, but I wanted to get all of this down while it was fresh. At the very least, it might make a great piece in The Journal in the future.
One thing I had learned in my life: there was no such thing as taking too many notes.