Road to Destiny (Scorpio Stinger MC Book 5) Read online

  “Sorry, I was sleeping. We are six hours ahead of you, it’s two a.m. here,” I said calmly, as if reasoning with a child.

  “I know what time it is,” he barked.

  “Is something wrong?” The anger in his voice was unmistakable.

  “Yes,” he spat. “I opened the newspaper this morning to see pictures of you with your French boyfriend. Allegations that it’s a serious relationship.” He made it sound like a crime.

  He called me about pictures in the newspaper?

  “And then, tonight it was all over the Internet—pictures of you kissing the Frenchman unashamedly in his car in broad daylight.” He sounded really mad now.

  Yes, your honor, guilty as charged. And what fucking business is that of yours?

  I didn’t really know how to respond. Anything I said would sound silly. So I waited—after all he was the one who had called me.

  His gruff voice broke the silence. “I need you to come to New York tomorrow.”

  Crap, am I being fired?

  “You can just get your lawyer to talk to mine to cancel the contract. I don’t need to come to New York for that.”

  “Miss Clarke, you are infuriating in more ways than one,” he snapped, “I'm not terminating your goddamn contract. I need to discuss a few things with you, that’s all.”

  “I could Skype with you tomorrow,” I offered. Why fly all that way to just have a bloody conversation? Besides, I preferred distance between us.

  “I want you here in person, Miss Clarke,” he barked. “Not negotiable.”

  “But...the first workshop is in Paris. In two days. If I'm not fired, I should be there—in Paris,” I countered.

  “Have your assistant change the dates. I expect you in New York tomorrow. End of discussion.”

  That’s it? Obnoxious and rude.

  And, so freaking bossy.

  Still fuming, I stared at my phone.

  Who the hell does he think he is?

  Before I could steam any further, Alain stumbled in, his hair all messed up, his eyes sleepy, still naked. Adorable and sexy, I would never tire of his hard masculine body. He looked like a god.

  A very well endowed god.

  He was growing hard, his erection springing to life before my eyes. Warmness tingled between my legs.

  “Come to bed.” He held out his hand. “Come keep me warm. I miss you when you aren’t there.” His lopsided grin was irresistible.

  He missed me? That was the sweetest thing he’d ever said.

  As I placed my hand in his, I pulled him toward the bed, sitting on the edge with him standing in front of me. Leaning forward, I took his growing erection in my mouth.

  “Looking for me, big boy?” I teased, as I let my tongue pleasure him. He stood watching, mesmerized, and hissing through his teeth.

  “Ahh, this is hot,” he groaned, throwing his head back. “I like pleasuring you, but I could get used to this.” He held my head to his groin.

  My head bobbed up and down as I took him deep into my mouth, listening to his panting breath as a sign of how much he was enjoying it, and how far he was from climaxing.

  He grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled my head backwards. His heavy length slipped from my mouth.

  “But, I also like fucking you. Making you come, Cherie,” he mumbled in my ear, as he lifted me and carried me back to his bedroom. A true gentleman, Alain never took his pleasure before ensuring that I’d had mine.

  And I like you fucking me, my Frenchman.

  I also liked that he took my mind off Maxwell. My boss had a knack of giving me an instant headache whenever I had to deal with him. And right now I definitely didn’t want to think of him or what he had to say when I got to New York.

  This diversion was exactly what I needed now. I rubbed at my temples as Alain lay me on his bed.

  Chapter 36

  Alain spoiled me with breakfast in bed, again. I sighed, feeling content and cherished; no man had ever done this for me before. It was pure luxury and definitely a turn on.

  My previous lovers had never understood that it was these small things that made a difference—to spoil their woman—to make her feel special and wanted. Doing small things to pleasure her, like breakfast in bed or helping with the dishes. It was the key to unlocking a woman’s legs and libido easily. Yet so few men actually used it to their advantage.

  Instead, they just complained about the lack of action in the bedroom. If only they knew how easy it was to get more sex. They could take a few lessons—Alain was definitely on the right track here. My Frenchman was not only sexy, but smart too.

  “Not that I’m complaining about my delicious surprise last night, but who were you talking to on the phone? Is everything OK?”

  I averted my gaze, masking my eyes, and tried to sound as casual as possible. “It was my boss. He wants me in New York tomorrow.”

  Alain let out the now familiar French curse. “The man is crazy. Doesn’t your workshop start in two days?”

  “Yes, but he said to reschedule. He called a meeting in New York.”

  “Mon Dieu. I can’t come to New York. I have to get back to the Estate. I was hoping you’d join me there at the end of the week. I don’t trust that man. He wants you. I’ll fucking kill him if he lays a finger on you.”

  I giggled nervously; no man had ever wanted to kill another man for me. “Don’t worry, Alain. Maxwell will never touch me. Of that I can assure you,” I said, flashes of our last encounter in my hotel room fresh in my mind.

  I sure put him in his place. He won’t touch me with a barge pole. Probably hates my guts now, anyway.

  The relationship between Maxwell and I became more strained with each interaction. Why would it bother him so much that I was with Alain? And why was he constantly trying to break up my new romance? It didn’t make sense. I was entitled to love and happiness as much as anyone else. And this time I was grabbing it with both hands. Alain and I were good together. God, we could hardly keep our hands off one another.

  That has to be a good sign, right?

  “Then, we better get back to Paris tonight, so you can prepare for your journey. We must make the best of the time we have before we go. Today we’ll drive to Monaco. I have another business meeting there.”

  Chapter 37

  “You don’t understand,” Maxwell said, deep lines furrowing his brow.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “What’s to understand, Mr. Grant? You’re married, right? It’s really simple. You’re married and I'm not available.”

  He groaned. “It’s the Frenchman, isn’t it?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Are you serious about him?”

  “Well, that’s none of your damn business. But I don’t have anything to hide. So yes, Alain and I are seeing one another.”

  “I see.” His eyes were glacier cold now, his jaw muscles clenched and released a few times.

  What’s it to him who I’m seeing?

  He stroked his chin. There was a faraway look in his eyes. “I wanted to...explain a few things to you.” He swallowed hard. His eyes met mine and I caught my breath. There was a vulnerability I had never expected to see in Maxwell’s eyes.

  It lasted all of maybe three seconds before a mask slipped over his face.

  What the hell was that? Maxwell has a soft side? I must be fucking dreaming.

  “Explain? About what?” My curiosity was piqued. I narrowed my eyes as I tried to fathom Maxwell. The man was an enigma. Would I ever understand him?

  Alain on the other hand was easy to understand and easy to please. He said what he thought and asked for what he wanted. Which was usually to feed or fuck me. I could deal with both.

  Maxwell, on the other hand—he made me feel inadequate and a blubbering mess in his presence. Sure, I managed to keep it together most of the time, but only by the skin of my teeth. And only because I’d been practicing faking it for a very long time.

  Maxwell sneered. “Never mind. It’s irrelevant if you are involved with someo
ne.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. What the fuck did that have to do with anything? I wasn’t about to justify my actions to my boss. My private life was my business. As long as it didn’t interfere with my performance at work, it was none of his frigging concern.

  “Anything else, Mr. Grant?”

  Impatient to get out of this conversation, I tapped my foot. If it wasn’t going anywhere, there was no further point in continuing. I’d had enough of his interrogation about my whereabouts and time spent with Alain.

  Mr. Grant tugged at his collar. Seemed both of us were struggling to remain civil. Yet I still had no idea why my life choices would annoy him as much as it did. Was he like this with all his employees?

  He rounded the desk and came to stand directly in front of me. I had to tilt my head backward to meet his eyes. For a split second I panicked. I preferred something between us.

  There was a magnetic field around Maxwell that somehow drew me to him. Something I could not resist. He wasn’t touching me—his hands were safely in his pockets—yet my body automatically wanted to lean toward him.

  My breath hitched as I became aware of his scent. Strong and masculine. My brain was tripping out.

  Don’t stand so goddamn close to me.

  I took a step backward.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  Maxwell blew out a long, slow breath and jingled some coins in his pocket. He narrowed his eyes. “Well, Rebecca, I still expect you to accompany me to the function tonight.”

  Seriously? I scrutinized his face for answers.

  His eyes narrowed, shutting me out. “My...wife...is out of town. It’s all business. You have nothing to panic about.”

  Nodding, I realized I didn’t really have a choice. Not if I wanted to keep my job. And I did. On what grounds could I refuse? Nothing came to mind. I’d drawn a blank.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven fifteen sharp. Don’t be late.” He gave me a knowing look and I was reminded of what’d happened last time I was supposed to meet him at seven fifteen in Paris.

  A warm flush spread over my neck up to my cheeks. By the grim expression on his face, he remembered it too.

  The night I rejected him and told him to never touch me again. He’d never attempted to touch me after that, not even shaking hands to greet me when I arrived from Paris. In fact, his hands were still firmly stuck into his pockets.

  Trying to ignore the uncomfortable silence between us, I said in my bravest voice, “Of course I will be ready, Mr. Grant.”

  “Maxwell...please,” he said with a sigh. He shook his head wearily. “I’ll get you a cab back to your hotel.”

  He turned and left the office.

  I guess that discussion is over.

  Chapter 38

  I wasn’t sure what to wear to the function. How much did New Yorkers dress up for industry awards? I chuckled to myself, wishing I could call Sarah Jessica Parker and ask her; after all, she had an apartment in Manhattan. She’d know; she always looked immaculate. Trying to connect with my inner Carrie Bradshaw, I asked myself what she would wear. Something fabulous, no doubt.

  Not expecting to have to go to a function, I hadn’t brought anything suitable with me, which meant I’d have to fit in a quick shopping spree this afternoon. I decided to take a stroll up Fifth Avenue to see if anything caught my eye. It was a quick walk from the historical Algonquin hotel on West 44th Street I was staying at.

  When the going got tough, there was nothing like a bit of retail therapy to lift the spirit.

  Time to spend some of my large paycheck.

  Just thinking about it put a smile on my face. I peeked into Versace first, browsing their beautiful new collection. My eye fell on a long white one shoulder dress which was feminine yet had a fierce edge to it.

  Exactly what I need.

  I didn’t want to look sexy tonight. I wanted my boss to get the message that it was hands off—I was taken.

  The assistant helped me into the dress. “It fits like a glove.” For once it wasn’t just sales talk.

  No cleavage on display.

  Ticks box number one.

  The sheer fabric on the sleeve was scattered with crystals, it was beautiful and feminine. I grinned when I turned to appraise the other side. It was edgy, studded in a rock chick way and not showing much leg either.

  Ticks box number two.

  I’d found the perfect dress.

  I had to rush to get to the hairdresser on time for my appointment. I decided to go for a simple look so I simply had my hair straightened. It made me look very different to when my hair was in soft waves—it was more severe, in keeping with the image I wanted to portray to my boss tonight.

  I’d melted my credit card enough for one day, so I headed off to the nail parlor as my final treat and sat back, relaxing while I had my hands and feet manicured. I opted for something different to my usual French tips, having my fingernails squared off and painted in midnight black.

  Fierce.

  Relaxed and pleased with the afternoon’s shopping spree, I headed back to the hotel.

  As I entered the hotel, Kevin, the friendly doorman, helped me with my parcels. Matilda, the beautiful ragdoll cat and the hotel’s most famous resident, stretched herself out before strolling over to inspect my purchases. Usually she lazily observed the comings and goings of hotel guests from a luggage trolley, so Kevin assured me I was special when she rubbed up against my leg.

  “Matilda has the run of the house.” Kevin laughed. “A resident cat at Algonquin is an old tradition—since 1930, when a scraggy-looking cat wandered into the hotel searching for shelter and food. The owner, Frank Case, being a very hospitable man, welcomed the feline traveler into the hotel.”

  I loved how the history of the early twentieth century had been preserved throughout the hotel. The Gatsby-styled rooms reminded me of a bygone era, when this had been the center of the literary and theatrical way of life in New York, welcoming actors and writers alike.

  Pictures on the walls were testament that a few famous women flocked to the hotel as well, including Gertrude Stein and Maya Angelou. Thrilled to be staying in one of America’s great historic hotels and a New York landmark, Kevin assured me that I was in good company. The Algonquin had accommodated single female guests long before it was conventional to do so.

  Chapter 39

  I was ready at 7.05 p.m. Even my makeup matched my fierce mood—dark smoky eyes and nude lips. I grabbed my clutch purse and headed to the hotel lobby.

  Maxwell stood close to the elevator, looking somewhat irritable.

  Is he thinking I’ll stand him up again?

  I suppressed a chuckle, wondering if he would have the guts to come knocking at my door again.

  My boss cut a fine picture dressed in a suave black evening suit, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Again, his sandy-blond hair reminded me more of a surfer dude’s hair than that of the illustrious CEO of Grant Industries. The modern short cut with the flicked up front, looked great on him.

  He took a step forward and held out his arm, grinning like a schoolboy. My breath hitched as I hooked into his arm gracefully, feeling the raw power in his taught muscles beneath my fingertips. His sapphire eyes were beaming. I put it down to the fact that he was nominated for an award at the ceremony.

  His head dipped to the soft skin below my ear. With his lips barely touching, his warm breath skimmed over my skin. I suppressed a shiver.

  “Can I ask a huge favor? Can we call a truce tonight? Please?” His voice was husky and sincere. How could I refuse his request tonight of all nights?

  I nodded.

  I didn’t trust myself to speak. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I might have been a bit harsh on him in the past. Maybe I’d cut him some slack tonight.

  “Hope I’m not being too forward. You look...breathtaking.”

  That wasn’t the reaction I wanted from him.

  Or was it?

  A little voice nagged in my head, and in spite of
my best intentions, I couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Completely taken aback when I realized how much I enjoyed his compliment, and the feeling of pleasure that had just washed over me, I snorted, quite loudly.

  Remember he’s married, Rebecca. Don’t go there.

  Besides, I had a red-hot lover waiting for my return to France.

  Pretending he didn’t just witness my unladylike behavior, he held open the door of a black Maserati. The sexy little sports car suited Maxwell. I sank into the soft leather seat, thankful there wasn’t any bum slapping—Americans weren’t into that like European guys.

  We didn’t bother making small talk as Maxwell weaved through the traffic. I’d never seen so many yellow taxis in one night. Every now and then, he cursed, before accelerating and slipping through the congestion. I held my breath, exhilaration coursing through my veins, watching how man and machine melded, enjoying the power of both.

  With a sideways glace, I peered at Maxwell. He was in his element. He didn’t waiver for a second when he saw a gap. The man had killer instincts. Confidence oozed from him and I felt just a little turned on by it.

  I shrugged it off. I’d always found confidence and intelligence a huge turn-on. There was even a word for it—I was sapiosexual. One who finds intelligence the most sexually attractive feature. And I did. Chloe had teased me about it when I had a crush on my professor at university. A tight ass and bulging biceps could only hold my interest for so long. If a guy were incapable of intelligent conversation, it would be a deal-breaker for me.

  So. It wasn’t Maxwell himself that caused these feelings and the knot in my stomach. No, it was merely the characteristics he was portraying. Nothing more or less than my professor.

  Yet I did avoid his eyes when he opened the car door and held his hand to help me out.

  Let’s not give him too much credit...

  With his hand in the small of my back, Maxwell steered me toward a table near the stage. Placed with other CEOs, who were also nominated for business awards, I was glad I’d gone to the effort of shopping and splashing out on a striking outfit. I noticed that every other woman was dressed to the nines, dripping with expensive jewelry, and looking fine in designer frocks.