Page 15 of Desirable

"Sometimes, you make me feel like I don't have a plan." I don't know what he means and before I can ask, he withdraws, putting physical distance between us. "The event we're going to is being hosted at Versailles, so you'll be able to see it then. I have to warn you: this party is a little…unconventional."

"Unconventional how?"

"I think I'll let it be a surprise. Now come. I need to find you a baguette, apparently."

* * *

Any planfor adventuring the morning of the gala is put to rest when I wake up to Parker yelling at someone in another language. I lie in bed, hearing the muffled sounds of his voice filter under the door.

When I emerge for breakfast, he gives me a sheepish wave as he walks toward his room. And holy soaked panties, he's shirtless.

This isn’t anything I haven’t seen before, or felt just under his tuxes, but the low light of the hotel in Shanghai doesn’t compare to seeing him in the bright morning light of Paris. His gym shorts hang low on his hips, indecently low enough that I can see more than just a happy trail. Somehow, despite regularly working hundred-hour weeks, he’s cut enough that I think I could scrub laundry on his abs.

I'm pouring coffee, admiring his back (who knew backs could be sexy?), when I overpour from the carafe. I only realize it when the hot liquid splashes on my fingers. Serves me right for objectifying this man, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.

I've thankfully cleaned up the mess I made when Parker pokes his head back out to address me.

"I've got to take calls this morning, so do what you want, but the stylist is showing up at two."

As if I needed the reminder.

CHAPTER8

The stylist wanted to pile my hair on top of my head a la Marie Antoinette, but I correctly pointed out that I would be on my own to take it down, so we settled on teasing it with ringlets of curls framing my face and a low tight bun.

The dress is complicated to get into and has matching lingerie. I'm trussed up like a present that won't be unwrapped, and I find I'm disappointed by it. I want Parker to peel off my layers to see what’s under my dress, even if he’s already seen it. Knowing that he’s not going to rip my clothes off like it’s Christmas morning feels like a letdown.

The top of the dress is a corset in powder blue, the front left open so my cleavage is on display. The sleeves are long and belled, at odds with how much skin I'm showing. The stylist has to tie the sleeves on, and as she does, she assures me that I'll be able to slide out of them easily when I take them off.

I don't believe her. Nothing about this dress is simple.

I have to step into the skirt, which is an entirely separate piece from the top. I've got on a garter that’s attached to white silk stockings that end at my midthigh. The skirt is not a complete skirt; instead, it’s crafted like a layered high-low, with the shortest layer ending just above the stockings while another layer acts as a train that comes around the front.

I’ve never been dressed in so many layers and been so exposed in my life. The stylist finishes the look with shockingly low-heeled shoes in the same blue as the rest of my getup, complete with ruffles and lace. I think I would fit in perfectly in Marie Antoinette's court.

When I finally emerge, Parker lowers his phone to drink in his fill of me. His eyes explore every bit of exposed flesh, from the inches along my thighs to the valley between my breasts. He bites on his lower lip for a moment before remembering that we’re not alone.

Then, his entire demeanor changes. His expression shutters and he looks at me the same way he looks at the stylist as he pays her, and I have to remind myself that she and I are the same. We’re providing him with a service that we’re getting paid for.

I want him for more than just a service, and that hurts the most. For him, I'm nothing more than another employee, but I find I'm falling for the man who speaks several languages and in a commanding tone.

"You look…wow." He circles me like a predator sizing up his prey, and I know when he chooses to strike, it will be devastating.

His attire is surprisingly modern–a lovely gray suit that complements the blue of my dress. There are ruffles along the lapels and the collar is high. His buttons might be pearls. It screams of the decadence that lost several nobles their heads.

"What time do we leave?" I ask, eager to change the subject and get his attention off me.

"We have to travel to Versailles, so the driver will be here in ten."

In the car, Parker is absorbed in his phone as I watch the city go by. It's why I'm surprised when his fingers thread through mine. I look over to find he's still looking at his phone while his thumb is gently rubbing the back of my hand.

"What language were you speaking earlier?"

Parker turns to face me. "Italian. We were having a problem with one of our clients and I needed to smooth it over, despite telling everyone that I wasn't to be bothered." His blue eyes reach something deep in my soul.

"And why was that?"

"Because I'm in Paris with my girlfriend, and I've got other meetings I'm dealing with. The client who is hosting this party is…unusual. He has a certain taste. It's why we're going to Versailles dressed in these ridiculous outfits. I want to make one thing very clear before we get there."