Chapter 11
Laurent
She was out cold.
Slumped in the seat across from me, lashes resting against flushed cheeks, her breathing slow and steady. One hand curled in her lap like she’d fallen asleep mid-protest. Her glass still held a smear of her lip gloss. My champagne. Her mouth. It was all I could think about.
I reached for my jacket and draped it over her. Not for her comfort. No, this was a claim. A mark. A way to wrap her in my scent—something that would linger in her skin when she woke up.
She sighed in her sleep, nestling into it. Into me.
She didn’t know, but everything had changed the moment she stepped onto my plane. The second her ass hit that seat across from me, the story was rewritten.
She was no longer just an employee.
She was mine.
Lucia Hart—smart mouth, sharp brain, soft curves—had been driving me slowly, exquisitely insane since the first day she walked into my office with those goddamn eyes and that too-innocent smile.
Now here she was, laid out before me like a gift. Trusting me enough to fall asleep while I schemed every inch of her future.
My child in her belly.
My name carved into her brain.
My hand buried in her hair while I fucked the obedience into her.
She thought this was a work trip.
She thought she was safe.
But there was no escape from me not at 30,000 feet and not in Paris.
I shifted in my seat, adjusting my hard dick within my trousers. No point pretending. My cock had been rock-hard for the last twenty minutes.
She moaned softly in her sleep, pressing her thighs together beneath my coat.
Lucia didn’t know it yet, but by the end of this trip, she’d belong to me in every sense—mind, body and womb.
?? ?? ??
When the plane touched down, Lucia’s eyes fluttered open. She looked around, confused, until her gaze landed on me.
That’s when the panic set in.
She clutched my suit jacket like it was some kind of shield between us.
“Calm down,” I said, voice low. “You didn’t let any of your secrets slip.”
I leaned closer, letting the smirk curve my lips.
“Although… you did call me the Dubois devil.”
Her pupils blew up. The longer I stared into her eyes, the stormier they became, and the brilliant blue seemed to darken. She owed me months of torment.
Payment I intended to collect in full.
I eased back into my seat.
I heard her draw in a slow breath through her nose, steadying herself before she spoke.
“I’m sorry, Mr Dubois,” she whispered, voice still heavy from sleep.
I leaned forward, keeping my tone low and deliberate. “You’ll call me Laurent when you’re alone with me.”
I peeled my jacket away from her.
“Now say it.”
“Laurent,” she breathed, soft and raw.
“Good girl,” I praised, letting a slow smile tug at my mouth.
Her little whimper made me clench my jaw. I wanted to hear every sound she could produce—especially when she was in my bed.
Garrett moved behind us, silent as always, and I unclipped my belt.
It was time to disembark.
?? ?? ??
I waited until she opened her room door before dropping the bombshell.
“Dinner’s been cancelled tonight,” I said casually, already turning away. “But since I don’t want the reservation to go to waste, be ready for seven.”
She was still sputtering when I was halfway to my own door.
I whistled as I slid the keycard in.
It wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door.
Perhaps she’d come to me.
I sauntered over, already half-smiling—only to find Garrett standing there with the luggage.
“Expecting someone else?” he asked, rolling my suitcase in with zero shame.
I ignored him, but my mind flicked to what I’d packed.
“Leave it in the bedroom,” I said, already heading for the shower.
?? ?? ??
I adjusted the cufflink on my shirt—subtle gold, sharp against the black fabric. My reflection was crisp, cold, controlled. The kind of man people didn’t question. The kind of man she still hadn’t figured out.
Good.
I checked my watch. One minute to seven.
Right on time, a soft knock landed at the door.
I exhaled slowly and walked over, already anticipating that slight tremble in her voice when she realised we’d be alone again.
But when I opened the door—my hand froze on the handle.
There she stood.
Lucia.
Hair twisted and pinned high in some elegant arrangement, wisps escaping to curl like gold-dipped threads along her cheeks.
Her dress was sleeveless, modest—almost conservative—until your eyes reached the skirt.
A perfect ombré fade, gold to dark and gold again, pleated like something out of a dream. Regal, flowing, yet dangerous.
She looked like she belonged on a private pedestal. Or on her knees, in my suite.
My tongue pressed against the back of my teeth.
She clutched a small bag and shifted slightly, unaware of the storm she’d just triggered.
Her lips parted. “Hi.”
That voice. Soft. Controlled. But I saw the flicker of nerves in her eyes. She’d dressed to kill—but she didn’t expect to have this effect.
She didn’t realise that she’d just sealed her fate.
I stepped aside without a word and let her pass, inhaling the faint trail of whatever perfume she wore. Floral. Feminine. Designed to ruin me.
When I finally shut the door behind us, I let myself look. Really look.
“You wore that,” I murmured, voice low.
Her brow creased. “Is that… a problem?”
I crossed the space between us in three slow steps.
“No,” I said, letting my eyes drop to the curve of her waist. “It’s not a problem. It’s just going to make dinner… difficult.”
Her breath caught.
I offered my arm.
“We’re dining with a view of the Eiffel Tower. I suggest you eat everything they put in front of you. Savour the taste of Paris.”
Of us.
She’d need her energy. We both would.
She hesitated before taking my arm.
Smart girl.
But not nearly smart enough.
Not tonight.
And not looking like the way she did.