Chapter 3
Francois whistled as he strode through the lobby with a spring in his step.
He was hopeful there was going to be a knock on his door shortly.
Little Miss America was definitely thinking about taking him up on his offer and he’d make sure she enjoyed herself.
He was not a selfish lover. He’d open her eyes to the advantages of an experienced man.
One who understood what a woman’s body needed and secretly craved.
He spotted an attractive brunette as he passed the bar and his step slowed. Older, for sure, but she obviously looked after herself.
Perhaps, if there wasn’t a knock on his door in the next thirty minutes, he’d come back down for a nightcap. The night was young, after all.
He grinned and saluted several acquaintances as he walked across the room.
Mimed going to sleep as he stepped into the elevator.
He didn’t want to ruin Daisy’s reputation, although as far as he was concerned reputations were stupid things when it came to anything except your mind and how competent you were at your job.
Who people made love to was their own business.
If sex was good, life was good. And why shouldn’t life be good?
And if Daisy Montana didn’t come to his bed this time, well, there would be other conferences, other opportunities. Yes, she was young but not that young. She was a PhD student, not in high school.
He didn’t seduce students at home, but here?
Away from the norm? Away from his colleagues?
Away from the vindictive and judgmental eyes of the administrators who were too old and ugly to gain his attention?
Here it was safe to pursue whomever he wanted to pursue and, on this occasion, that was a pretty blonde wearing half a dress.
He was, after all, French.
The human body should be shown off when it looked as good as that. She was a beautiful woman and spending a few hours naked together would be an excellent way to end a conference that had been a little on the dull side.
All work.
No play.
However, he was an optimist.
He whistled as he strode to his room. He reached his door just as the one opposite opened.
He slapped his card on the reader as a tall, bulky man with a shiny bald head exited the other room.
Francois looked over his shoulder and caught the startled expression of one of the conference delegates inside the other room.
Francois smirked then turned away.
Perhaps he wasn’t the only one taking advantage of being away from home. Well, they all had their little secrets.
He pressed down on the door handle and stepped inside, thoughts of a certain young blonde replacing those of whatever may have been going on across the hall.
Something brushed against his back and then wrapped around his neck.
A beefy arm trapped him against a solid chest as someone forced their way into his room.
Francois threw an elbow over his shoulder, connected with a solid jaw. His attacker grunted but didn’t loosen his hold. Francois dropped the wine glass but remembered the bottle he held. Swung it around like a club and caught the man’s head.
The assailant let him go.
Francois brandished the bottle, not caring that good red wine was running down his arm and drenching the pale carpet like blood.
“Get out. Get out now!” he spluttered angrily, pointing to the door.
The man wiped the blood that was beginning to drip down the side of his face on the black leather jacket he wore. A slow and terrible grin unfurled over is lips. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
His accent was Russian or some Slavic country.
“I won’t say anything. I don’t care what you get up to.”
“I’m afraid I can’t take your word for it.”
A sliver of fear moved through Francois at the cool intensity of the man’s eyes. “I don’t have any money. There’s nothing here to steal.” He thought about the contents of his laptop.
“It wouldn’t matter if you did.”
The man took a step forward and Francois swung the bottle, missed, and tried to dodge him.
“Aidez-nous ! Je suis attaqué !”
The big man grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him so forcefully into the wall that it winded Francois.
“Au secours !”
Again, and his head hit the wall hard enough to daze him.
He dropped the wine bottle and tried to wrench the powerful hands away.
The next moment he was whirled toward the balcony door that he’d left open for the cool ocean breeze.
He gripped onto the doorframe and found his voice to scream, only to have his jaw clamped shut, as well as his nose.
His heart pounded like a drum as his fingertips clung to the wood. He couldn’t breathe. Sweat drenched his body. This man was trying to kill him.
He kicked out and had the satisfaction of hearing the other man grunt as he connected with his shin.
Then he found himself ripped away from the doorframe and launched as if by a catapult, flying through the darkness, knowing with horror that these few seconds were going to be his last. He was going to die. He didn’t want to die.