Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 2(58)

We took in several of the famous Rive Gauche monuments—The Panthéon, The Sorbonne, Notre Dame to name a few. To be honest, I had never really gone sightseeing in Paris before. My trips, always rushed, were strictly for business—be it to catch a fashion show, explore new trends, or visit the Champs-Elysées store. Having this god-like tour guide beside me added to both the beauty and my enjoyment of the City of Light. As we strolled along the Seine, arm in arm, en route to The Louvre, I couldn’t help noticing how many female heads he turned. I stole a glance at his face and could understand why. His profile with its strong dimpled chin, manly straight nose, and thick-lashed eyes was gorgeous. He still hadn’t shaven—the thicker than usual layer of stubble making him even sexier. My heart fluttered. No man had ever had this effect on me. He had made me fall apart. And now, I was falling for him. In just one week, this man had captured me, both physically and emotionally. He was in my bloodstream, bringing me to new levels of sensuality and self-awareness I’d never known. Unable to get enough of him, I was worried about working with him professionally. The uncertainty of the future and the challenges ahead sent a shiver skittering down my spine. I had to admit—I was afraid of getting hurt, and the threat that both Victor and Vivien posed didn’t help. I wished I could share everything with Madame Paulette. She’d know what to do. Her last words to me swirled around in my head. “It eez better to have loved…” I still wasn’t sure what I felt. Just enjoy the moment, Gloria, I told myself, taking a deep breath as we approached the majestic Louvre.



Experiencing The Louvre with Jaime was something else and not just because every female tourist from eighteen to eighty had eyes for him as if he were some rare Greek statue. As we glided from one gallery of paintings to another, Jaime, who was truly more beautiful than any of the museum’s god-like male sculptures, came alive like I’d never seen before. His blue eyes glistened, and his voice was animated as he explained the significance and details of each masterpiece.

“How do you know so much about art?” I asked him, in awe of his knowledge. It actually turned me on, but I wasn’t going to share that with him.

“My father.” His voice was coated with melancholy. “Though he never fulfilled his dream of coming to Paris, he took me to museums in Los Angeles and had tons of art books that he shared with me. He would play games with me—make me guess the name of a painter or race with him to find a particular painting. Or show me tricks.”

“What kind of tricks?” I asked as we stood before the Mona Lisa.

“Look at the Mona Lisa’s eyes. They’ll follow yours.”

I gazed at the painting and shifted my eyes to the right. Sure enough, the iconic beauty’s eyes followed mine. “Wow! That’s incredible!”

We continued to study the hypnotic painting.#p#分页标题#e#

“Who were your father’s favorite painters?” I asked.

Jaime smiled wistfully. “He loved so many, but his favorite was Van Gogh.”

“Why Van Gogh?”

I think he connected to his tortured life…his inner demons.”

The paintings I’d seen in both his office space and hotel suite flashed into my head. They had actually reminded me a lot of Van Gogh’s work, with their vivid colors and turbulent strokes.

Seeking confirmation, I queried, “Those paintings in your office and at the hotel…did your father paint them?”

Jaime’s smile widened. Pride washed over his face. “Yes. I’m glad you noticed them. When he died, I secretly gathered all his paintings and hid them in storage until I could display them. One day, when I have time, I’m going to exhibit them. I want my father to have the glory he deserved.”

“They’re pretty amazing.”

“You’re pretty amazing, Ms. Long.”

Gripping my shoulders, he spun me around and crushed his beautifully etched lips onto mine with a bruising, passionate kiss. A moan escaped my throat as he deepened the kiss with his velvety tongue. Oh, God, he tasted divine! Our tongues danced, swirling together in figure eights. Tingles shot down my body, from my head to my toes. I swear if we weren’t in a public place, I would have let this masterpiece of a man fuck me right here and now and let the Mona Lisa watch with her magic eyes.



After a late lunch at a nearby café and another long, delicious tongue-driven kiss, Jaime and I went our separate ways. He to visit that client, who I still didn’t trust, and I to visit the Gloria’s Secret store on the busy Champs-Elysées.

I was happy to see that our first Paris store was bustling with customers. I took special satisfaction in knowing that even Parisian women were gobbling up our reasonably priced American-made lingerie when they had the most exquisite underwear in the world at their fingertips. I found Sandrine quickly. Dressed in head to toe black with the exception of a colorful silk scarf knotted around her neck, the slim, spiky-haired woman epitomized French chic. She was showing a young attractive sales girl how to re-stack bikinis and bras after they had been mussed up by customers. I found it so annoying that customers were often such slobs, with no sympathy for the low-paid, hard-working sales assistants who had to clean up after their damage.