Anything He Wants 3: Love and War Read online

  The glittering life of the ultra-rich is overwhelming, and more than a little treacherous. Serving as the date/escort to a charity gala in Paris, France, one-time temp Lucy Delacourt must learn to navigate the turbulent waters in which her billionaire boss Jeremiah Hamilton swims. Easier said than done -- Jeremiah is keeping secrets, including a deeply possessive streak that comes out when Lucy is introduced to his enigmatic brother, Lucas. Caught in their little family war, it is Lucy's own personal discovery that she might be forming an attachment to her hard boss that really rocks her world.

  But some secrets held by the Hamilton men are more dangerous than others, and Lucy may have stumbled into a trap meant for another with potentially deadly consequences.

  Anything He Wants 3: Love and War

  By Sara Fawkes

  Copyright 2012. All rights reserved.

  This story is dedicated to the Dude and my family who were always proud of me even when I was writing crap!

  To my beautiful editor Delta again, you’re seriously a lifesaver!

  And my extended family on a certain forum, you guys get all the credit for helping me find the courage to do this. Thanks a million!

  *

  1

  Paris was as dazzling at night as in daylight, but I was too nervous to notice.

  I smoothed the expensive dress with my hands, watching through the limousine windows as the city flashed past. The flutter in my belly at that moment had more to do with fear of what I was getting myself into and less to do with the man seated next to me, one large hand maintaining a possessive grip on my thigh.

  Only forty-eight hours ago I’d been struggling to get by, worrying how homelessness was only a single paycheck away. Now decked out in a dress and shoes that cost three months of my previous salary, and on my way to a charity gala alongside one of the richest men in the world, that person seemed light-years away.

  I’d pinch myself to see if I was dreaming but, after doing that all day, I was pretty sure this was real.

  “You look nervous.”

  The softly spoken words made me swallow. I stared at the hand on my leg, watching a thick thumb lazily caress the material, but couldn’t bring myself to raise my gaze further. “I’m terrified,” I admitted, but couldn’t say more as my emotions jumbled all the thoughts in my head.

  Jeremiah made a low murmur acknowledging my answer, and we fell back into silence. The Eiffel Tower glittered on the dark horizon, a bright beacon over the still-busy city, but even that sight couldn’t shake me out of my current doldrums.

  “Where would you most like to visit in France?”

  The question surprised me. I looked up to see him watching me, green eyes thoughtful. “Excuse me?” I asked.

  Jeremiah pointed out the window at the passing city. “Most people want to see the Eiffel Tower, or visit the wineries, or any other number of activities. What is one thing you’d like to do?”

  I didn’t consider the question relevant to this particular moment, but I knew the answer anyway. I’d known it since childhood. “See the beaches of Normandy.”

  He blinked slowly, and I got the impression I’d managed to surprise him this time. “Really?”

  I smiled at the bemused question in his eyes. “My dad always loved World War II stuff; I grew up watching movies and documentaries, anything about it. Guess it rubbed off.”

  I found talking about my father painful, but strangely cathartic. I’d avoided even thinking about my parents for nearly three years, but now the memories made me smile and relax. “He loved watching war documentary marathons on The History Channel during the anniversaries of military events. My mom always called him a useless lump those weekends, but she let him have his shows. He had a picture on our mantle of him on Utah Beach long before I was born, posing next to some of the old wreckage still on the sands.”

  I looked up to see him watching me with a strange expression, almost yearning. His face closed off immediately, settling into its normal neutral mask, leaving me to ponder what exactly I’d seen. Why would a billionaire envy me my piddly little life?

  The hand on my knee crept up my leg and around my waist.Then he suddenly hauled me sideways until I sat face to face with my boss. I swallowed at the penetrating look he gave me as his fingers pushed an artfully curled strand of blond hair from my neck. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  That deep voice rumbled through me, setting my body on fire. I flushed and cast my eyes sideways, only to have him take my chin and gently pull my head back so I again faced him. His eyes searched my face then his hand followed, lightly tracing the edge of my brow line and jaw. “I’ll be the envy of every men in there.”

  I swallowed, breath stuttering in my throat at his passionate gaze. The hand behind me dipped lower, cupping my backside through the green fabric as his fingers and eyes travelled down my body to the low neckline of the dress. I sighed, body yielding to his unspoken demands, reveling in the moment.

  The day had flown by like a crazy, impossible dream. My boss had taken me to some of the trendiest (and most expensive!) shops in the city to look for a gown. It had taken three stores before we found what I thought was the perfect dress; apparently Jeremiah thought so, too, because he bought it on the spot when I stepped out of the dressing room. The green sleeveless number made me feel sexy, accentuating my curves in ways I’d never imagined possible. Afterwards, he whisked me away to a salon for the rest of the transformation. Attendants used an airbrush for applying the make-up, something I’d never experienced before. Though I would have loved to see the process, they denied me the wall mirror, and faced me away from it during the whole process. Afterwards, however, they twirled me around and, even though I never really cared much for make-up, the result impressed me. They’d lightened my hair several shades of blond, and the make-up made my skin appear flawless.

  The hand at my back crept up to my neck, grasping tight. He pulled me close in what I thought would be a kiss, but he stopped just short. “Tell me,” he said, his other hand sliding beneath the high slit in the side of the gown, “are you already wet for me?”

  Always. I swallowed, heart racing as his fingers crept toward my inner thigh. He played with the top of my thigh-high stockings, then up again towards the apex of my legs.

  The dark green dress had necessitated different lingerie than the white pair Jeremiah had gifted me earlier that morning. He had picked the ensemble out, then, when we returned to the hotel room later in the afternoon, had insisted on stripping me out of my clothing and dressing me in the new underwear. The whole thing had felt incredibly erotic, but Jeremiah made no demands on me despite the erection I’d seen tenting his pants. His approval, however, had warmed other parts of me; it felt good to be seen as desirable.

  The memory itself made me hotter, and I gave a panting moan, opening my legs to his questing touch. His fingers slid along my panties, pressing against me without actually touching, and I shuddered. I heard his deep chuckle as he did it again, then raised his chin to kiss my forehead. “Looks like we’ll have to wait,” he murmured, and I gave a mewl of disappointment as he set me again firmly beside him. “Tonight, however, you’re mine.” The promise in his voice made me shiver in anticipation.

  We turned off the street, heading toward a well-lit building. A milling throng of people surrounded the entrance, and I tensed up again. Jeremiah squeezed my leg, and I forced myself to relax, grabbing my purse beside my feet. The car pulled to the entrance of the building, and slowed to a stop, then I heard the chauffeur get out.

  Showtime, I thought, hands wringing my purse. While not as many people as I feared – some had already entered the building – more than enough remained to get my heart racing
.

  The door opened, and Jeremiah emerged first, holding out his hand as I scooted toward the car door. Lights flashed as I stepped out, very conscious of the clingy dress and high heels. Jeremiah’s arm was solid as he guided me effortlessly through the line of people, giving me firm ballast to which I clung. While I knew how to walk with heels, the attention we received had me feeling like a bumbling idiot. I focused on not falling or otherwise making a fool of myself, and breathed a relieved sigh when we reached the entrance and the cameras and babbling press faded into the background.

  Jeremiah had given me little information – maybe deliberately – with regards to the gala. I knew only that it took place at the Port de Versailles and would benefit charity. The sheer number of people already there, and the way they moved, gave me the impression that we had not arrived anywhere near the start of the festivities. A quick peek at the events schedule pressed into my hands confirmed my suspicion, and also that there was much more going on than what I saw. Scanning the scheduled events, I pointed at one name. “You didn’t tell me you were a guest of honor.”

  Jeremiah lifted one shoulder in casual dismissal as he guided us into the central area. A classical band played music at the far end next to the stage, and a few people swept across the dance floor, but most clustered in groups spread throughout the room.

  “Ah, my friend, I’m glad you could make our little soirée.” A short balding man stepped toward us, and grasped Jeremiah’s hand in a vigorous handshake. He was wearing a tuxedo, complete with bow tie, and had a strong French accent. “I trust you only just arrived?”

  “Hello Gaspard,” Jeremiah said in the way of greeting, a small smile playing over his lips. His approval seemed genuine; he obviously had a fondness for the Frenchman. “Thank you for the honor of the invite.”

  Gaspard laughed. “Forever modest, when so often it is you who funds these little endeavors.”

  I blinked and slanted a look at my boss. He seemed unperturbed by the praise, and I realized it was likely the truth. I didn’t know he gave to charities. Indeed, there was a lot I didn’t know about the man standing beside me, and my own ignorance was beginning to frustrate me.

  “Who is your lovely companion tonight?” Gaspard asked, drawing my attention back to the present.

  “May I introduce Miss Lucille Delacourt, my newest assistant. Gaspard Montrose is the man responsible for this whole affair.”

  “Enchanté, mademoiselle.” Gaspard took my offered hand and laid a light kiss on the knuckles. I felt Jeremiah’s hand on the small of my back clench, fingers digging into the fabric of my dress.

  “Enchantée, monsieur,” I greeted in return, then gestured to the large room. “Cette salle est merveilleuse.” This place looks marvelous.

  Gaspard’s face lit up. “Ah, mais vous parlez un français!” Ah, you speak French!

  “A peine, je suis née au Québec avant de déménager à New York.” Only a little, I was born in Quebec before moving to New York.

  “Ah, French-Canadian.” Gaspard beamed at me, obviously pleased, and I returned his smile. “Welcome to Paris, mademoiselle.”

  I could feel the weight of Jeremiah’s gaze, but ignored him, scanning the schedule. The booklet listed various charity presentations during the day but it was winding down for the evening, leaving only dinner and the final ceremonies.

  “Ah, before you go in, Jeremiah, there’s one thing you should know.” Gaspard leaned in close to the taller man, and said in a low voice, “Lucas is here tonight.”

  Jeremiah stiffened, and when I looked up his face was like stone. Gaspard looked apologetic about the news. “I don’t know how he received an invitation, but it was legitimate and he was allowed attendance.”

  I busied myself with my dress, curious as to who they were talking about but trying not to seem nosy. Jeremiah’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek, then his face smoothed out. “Thank you for the news Gaspard.”

  The Frenchman nodded, and turned to another arriving couple as we swept past. Now that we were no longer in front of the press, I felt much more comfortable walking normally but still had to work to keep up with Jeremiah. His long strides carried us into the hall, and I could feel the sudden weight of eyes on us.

  “You never told me you spoke French.”

  I’d been expecting a comment on my exchange with Gaspard and, despite a nervous flutter in my belly, managed a small smile of triumph. “You never asked.”

  My reply was cheeky, but I looked up to see him contemplating me, a bemused look on his face. “So during your interview when you said you had passports...”

  I nodded. “I have two: one Canadian and the other American.”

  Again I saw the approval on his face, and it warmed me to the tip of my toes. I had a feeling surprising him was both a difficult and risky proposition, but this time I came away unscathed.

  I felt eyes watching our movement through the room, but nobody approached us, which I found odd. Jeremiah seemed to know exactly where he was going, and I tried to keep up. Our pace didn’t allow much time for anyone to approach, and I wondered what was so important.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t given the chance to find out. We stopped near the dance floor, surrounded by groups talking and laughing amongst themselves. He took my hand, the same as Gaspard only moments before, and laid a soft kiss across my knuckles. Unlike the Frenchman, however, this one sent tingles through my body; his eyes captured mine, and I knew he was aware of my reaction.

  “I need to speak to someone in private,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the ambient noise. “I won’t be more than a minute; stay here until I get back.”

  Then without another word he turned and walked away, disappearing through the cluster of guests.

  2

  When in fifth grade, I received my first, and last, major role in a school play. I practiced my lines at home and with the other students until I knew them forward and back. Even the dress rehearsals in the large gymnasium went without incident, the empty area safe from critics. I’d been proud to get my part, small but crucial, right up until the night of the first performance. Faced with a gym full of strangers, I froze, my lines disappearing from my head, unable to move or speak under what felt like a condemning tide.

  Suddenly alone in that great exposition hall, in a foreign land not knowing another soul, I felt the same freezing terror turn me to stone.

  The beautiful hall, with its well-dressed patrons and high-class atmosphere, took on an almost sinister quality now that I was left to my own devices. The schedule crumpled in my hands as I peered about, trying to decide where to go. Staying put as Jeremiah said wasn’t an option; I needed to get out of that sudden crush of bodies the same way I’d needed to leave that stage all those years ago.

  “Lucy Delacourt?”

  Hearing my name startled me out of my turbulent thoughts. Looking around to see who had spoken, I saw a dark-haired woman in a long yellow gown approach me. She seemed familiar, then a surprised smile tilted my lips as I recognized her. “Cherise?”

  “Oh my God, it is you!” The smaller girl clapped her hands together in delight, beaming at me. “I thought I saw you come through the doors, but couldn’t be sure until I got closer.”

  Still amazed to see someone I actually knew, I threw decorum to the wind and pulled the girl into a quick hug. Cherise had shared dorms with me for our first two years of college at Cornell, and while we hadn’t seen much of each other during classes - she was pre-med and I was pre-law - we’d still hung out on weekends with the other students. I didn’t question what providence brought her here, just thanked whoever was watching over me for a familiar face.

  “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed as we parted.

  “I’m here with David actually.” Her big smile widened in pride. “We help run a clinic down in Borneo and he’s here trying to raise donations.”

  “You two finally got married?” When she nodded I just grinned. Cherise and David had been h
igh school sweethearts when I’d met them in college. Both had big dreams of saving the world, and they seemed to be on their way. “So you’re both doctors now?”

  “No, I actually switched to business when David went into med school. It worked out well as I now help him run the business side of the whole operation. I get to be out in the field with him anyway, so it works great for me!”

  Cherise brought with her the upbeat, infectious joy her friends had always luxuriated in. Her obvious pleasure in seeing me lifted my somber mood from moments earlier, and I finally relaxed. The bubbly brunette got an impish look to her eyes. “So spill: was that really Jeremiah Hamilton with you at the door?”

  I flushed at the question. There’s no reason this needs to be awkward, I admonished myself. “He’s my boss,” I replied, shrugging my shoulder as if it were nothing.

  “So are you two...?”