Daire St. Denis - Pleasure Games

Hugo patted his arm. “Everything will be fine.” Just then, Hugo’s phone dinged and he tapped on it. “My cab is here.” He tucked his phone into his pocket and headed for the front door.

“Hugo, wait.” Luca exhaled. He hated the fact that he had to say this. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, do you understand?”

“Of course.” The expression Hugo wore was kind. And most welcome after the way others had treated him since the sex scandal. “Give her acetaminophen for the pain. You know the drill. Rest. No TV.” Hugo reached for the door handle. “Bonne chance, mon ami.”

Luca banged his head—once, twice, three times—against the closed door after Hugo left, and then a noise from down the hall had him spinning around. The woman stood there, eyes wide, her feet bare, thick waves of dark hair shadowing half her face.

“I’m sorry.”

Her soft apology did more to diffuse Luca’s anger than he would have expected. “Why are you sorry?”

“For putting you out.” She gestured to his flat in general. “It’s obvious you don’t want me here.” She walked toward him, taking careful steps. Whether it was because her head hurt or because she was scared of him, Luca couldn’t tell. “It’s just...” She seemed to be weighing her words. “I don’t think I could deal with a hospital waiting room or the embassy right now. I’m still feeling a bit dizzy.”

Hugo was right...whoever this woman was, she needed to be taken care of. “It’s okay,” he said eventually, forcing a smile. “I’ve changed my plans for this evening.” Plans? What plans, Luc?

“Oh.” A little wrinkle formed between her brows.

“Please. You are welcome to stay the night.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She took a tentative step forward and then another until she stood right in front of him. The top of her head came to just below his chin, her face was tilted up so she could meet his gaze. Her lips were pink and full—the kind of lips Anika would have paid a fortune for—but it was her eyes that captivated him. Liquid brown, like melted chocolate, with smudged mascara that rimmed her wide eyes, only making them appear larger.

There was no fucking way he could say no to those eyes.

“My name is Jasmine. Jasmine Sweet.” Her lips trembled with an uncertain smile as she extended her hand. “And you are Luca...?”

“Luca. Luca Deschamps,” he lied.

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