Lisa Childs - Pleasure Games / Legal Attraction

Jesus, was she psychic and able to read his mind? Did she know what he’d been fantasizing about?

“I think I remember what happened.”

CHAPTER SIX

SHE MUST HAVE woken him up. He’d sat up abruptly and looked startled by her appearance. Whatever he’d been dreaming about, it must have been good, based on the noticeable bulge behind the fly of his designer jeans. God, his girlfriend was one lucky woman, because that was one sizeable erection.

Hmm. Did he have a girlfriend?

Jasmine realized—with a start—that, first of all, she was staring at the man’s crotch, and second of all, she really didn’t know anything about him, other than that he drove a motorcycle and had had a concussion before.

“So, what do you remember?” he asked, looking as though he might stand but then thinking better of it. Jasmine hid her smile.

Who was she to judge? She’d been lying in bed totally fantasizing about him —in glorious detail—when out of nowhere a memory had surfaced. A quaint little shop on a narrow cobblestone street. A lamp. A scarf. And...a thief.

She’d been caught in a robbery.

It took her a few minutes to describe what she recalled while Luca listened carefully. “And what is the last thing you remember?”

“There was this man wearing a ski mask yelling at me in French. I didn’t understand and then he pushed me...” Her hand went to her temple. “Or maybe he hit me.” She frowned. “I kind of feel like he did both. Anyway, it’s foggy, but that’s the last thing I remember.” She sat down on the edge of the couch.

Luca nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry, Jasmine. The thief must have taken your bag in the robbery.”

“Yes. Probably.” She rested her elbows on her knees.

Luca stood and went into the kitchen. “Anyway,” he called, “I am happy that your memory is returning. Tomorrow, I’ll help you figure out the next steps. You should be back in your hotel and back to your regular life in no time.”

“Ye-es.” Jasmine drew out the one-syllable word.

“Get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy.” He gestured for her to return to the bedroom.

But Jasmine didn’t want to return to the bedroom. She didn’t want to waste what could be her one and only night with this enigmatic Frenchman by sleeping it away in his bed.

Alone.

Not to mention, she didn’t want to go back to her hotel. In her mind she had a flash of the suite: the high ceilings, sheer drapes, a wrought-iron balcony—the room only served to remind her of the fact she was not on her honeymoon and that she was in Paris.

Alone.

She eyed Luca from beneath her curtain of hair. What she really wanted to do was to get to know him more.

No, what you really want to do is to ask him to take your clothes off—slowly—and do terrible—wonderful—things to your body.

“You know,” Jasmine said, getting up and going to sit at the breakfast bar. The act of standing had made her feel light-headed all evening, but for some reason this time it didn’t. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? “I don’t actually feel that tired. I feel kind of...wired.”

“Wired? I don’t understand what that means.” Luca poured himself a glass of water.

“It means I feel the opposite of tired. Is that normal, with a concussion?”

Luca tilted his head to regard her. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Weird.” Jasmine rested her elbows on the breakfast bar. “So, I gotta ask,” she began. “Does your girlfriend mind that you have a strange woman spending the night in your apartment?”

Luca blinked. “Girlfriend?”

“Yes.” She focused on her hands.

“ Non . I’m not seeing anyone.”

Her head snapped up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh.”

“What is this ‘huh’?”

“Nothing. I’m just surprised.” With a new boldness, Jasmine leaned across the breakfast bar, pulled Luca’s sweating glass toward her and drank from the same spot he had drunk from.

His eyes followed her. “Why?”

“Because.” She examined him from the corner of her eye. It seemed impossible that he was single. He was...well, what she knew of him was all positive. He was kind to strangers, for sure. He had the nicest hands—she couldn’t look at them without imagining them on her body. He filled out his clothes in all the right ways—she tilted her head to eye his crotch again. Very nice.

And then there were his eyes.

He had “I’m going to fuck you” eyes.

And she was here to say yes to those eyes.

But Jasmine wasn’t ready to say any of that, so instead, she shrugged, turned the glass on the wet spot it had created on the counter and said, “You just seem like a good person.”

He made a deep, guttural sound. “You don’t know me.”

Jasmine glanced up. “Are you saying you’re not a good person?”

Luca shook his head and poured himself a second glass of water. When he didn’t answer, Jasmine pushed herself to her feet and wandered into the living room, running her hands along the spartan bookshelves, pulling out copies of books—novels?—in French and a guide to Paris in English. She picked up an ornamental bowl made of alabaster and weighed it in her hands before setting it down again and moving on. What quickly became apparent was that there was not one personal item in this space. No photographs. No personal papers or keepsakes. No clutter. It was completely neutral.

She turned to Luca. “Who’s apartment is this?”

“It’s mine,” he said, though it sounded defensive. Even with the sexy French accent.

“No, it’s not.”

He cleared his throat. “It belongs to a friend of mine. It’s mine for now.”

Jasmine was just about to ask why he was staying at a friend’s place, when Luca answered the question for her.

“My girlfriend and I broke up six months ago. It wasn’t...amicable. I’ve been staying here since.” He turned his back so she couldn’t see his expression.

Was he angry? Heartbroken? Something else?

Hmm. Well, he was single and his explanation made sense. Her gaze swept the room once more and she spied his laptop sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” She strode over and flipped it open.

“Attendez!”

Startled, Jasmine jumped back. Luca strode over and snatched the machine off the coffee table before taking it into the kitchen and setting it on the counter facing away from her. He tapped rapidly on the keyboard before using the touchpad, and after a couple minutes, he brought the computer back and set it on the coffee table in front of her, open to a search engine.

Interesting. What was it that he didn’t want her to see? Considering someone had been sporting a healthy erection when she’d woken him up, Jasmine could guess. Was it the head wound or just the fact that she was starting to feel like her old self that gave her the courage to blurt, “Were you surfing porn, Luca?”

“Pardon?” He reached into a cupboard overhead and retrieved two clean wine glasses.

She smiled to herself as she leaned forward to check email.

What the hell was her password?

“Porn,” she said absently as she typed some random phrase into the field. She glanced up at him. “You do know what porn is, don’t you?”

“Of course I know.” He had the good grace to look uncomfortable for approximately three seconds and then his lips twitched and a slow smile spread across his face. He poured wine into the glasses he’d gotten out of the cupboard and came to sit beside her on the couch.

With the warmth of his thigh pressed against hers, Jasmine really couldn’t think as each password she tried only resulted in an error message. She was so used to logging in automatically from her phone app—when was the last time she’d needed her password?