Stolen (The Madame X School of Sex) (8 page)

Fashion Designer Extraordinaire. Italian Bad Boy. Multimillionaire. The article’s headline was deliberately sensational but there weren’t enough labels in the world to adequately describe this man. Not enough in the universe to describe the way he made her feel.

The agency she worked for handled his advertising and PR. She’d only been working the reception desk at Mirage Advertising for a few months but she’d seen him countless times. Unfortunately the majority of those times consisted of her either stuttering or doing something equally embarrassing.

“Such as spilling my coffee all over myself.”

The dark brown stain on the front of her white blouse was evidence of her humiliation. He’d been in the hallway as she was leaving the employee lunchroom that afternoon. All it had taken was him saying hello, those marvelous eyes crinkling at the corners. She’d been so lost in his gaze that she’d kept walking straight ahead.

Right into a wall.

Embarrassment swept through her all over again. Luckily he didn’t come in to the agency every day. She needed some time before she could look him in the eye without blushing.

She had to give him credit though, he hadn’t laughed at her when it happened. He’d actually been really nice, had even offered her his handkerchief. It was still in her pocket.

She wasn’t accustomed to mopping up spills with delicate squares of linen that probably cost more money than she made in a week.

The entire time he’d been muttering in Italian and she’d been too flustered to point out that she didn’t understand. So after he’d left she’d asked Milo, one of the designers who spoke Italian fluently, to translate some of the things he was saying.

Apparently
piccolina
meant “little one”, which wasn’t surprising because she knew she was short. However, the other word he’d used,
tesoro
, was something used as an endearment. Milo had given her a knowing smile when he told her it was something you’d call a lover or a close friend.

What the hell was she supposed to make of that?

“Don’t make it more than it is, Casey. He probably has a pet name for all the girls who dump coffee on him.”

She pulled the neatly folded cloth from her pocket and held it to her cheek. It smelled faintly of sandalwood, shaving soap and what could only be his cologne. She stroked the soft cloth over her skin, pretending it was the touch of his hand.

“Alright, enough fooling around. Time to get the laundry done.”

She leaned her head back against the back of the chair. She just needed to rest her eyes for a moment. There was always so much to do and so little time. Daydreaming over a handsome man in a magazine was the closest thing to a vacation she could afford. Plus it wasn’t as if he’d ever know all the wicked, dirty things she’d imagined doing with him. Things she would never be comfortable doing in real life.

The sudden peal of the doorbell yanked her straight up in her seat.

“Just a second,“ she called out.

She swiped a hand over her face as she plodded to the door. Who would be visiting now? She wasn’t expecting any deliveries and doubted any of her neighbors had suddenly gotten the urge to be friendly. She pulled open the door and stared at the man who stood with his hand raised, poised to push the bell again.

Lightning gray eyes stared back at her.

“Oh my god, it’s you,” she whispered.

All the oxygen in her lungs seized up into a knot. A few beats passed and her breath left her body in a big whoosh of air.

Andre Lavin is at my apartment
.

Keep reading for an excerpt from
Asking for Andre (The Mirage Agency Book 2)

Excerpt of Asking for Andre

CHAPTER 1

“You need to have a fling.”

Casey Michaels grinned and picked up her headset. She’d been working as a receptionist at the Mirage Advertising Agency for three months now and as cheesy as it was, she felt she’d finally found home. She could wear business-casual attire, she had plenty of free time to do the assigned reading for her online classes and the administrative assistant, Anya Petrova, was quickly becoming her best friend.

Her only friend actually.

“A fling is the last thing I need. I said I was lonely, not slutty.” Casey adjusted the headset and pulled her chair closer to the desk. Recently she’d been given some administrative duties assisting some of the executives in the afternoon while a temp covered the phones. It was a chance for her to work on some interesting projects and gain experience for her resume. It also gave her a much-needed break from the tedium of being stuck behind the reception desk.

“Having a fling does
not
make you slutty. Having a fling with a loser makes you slutty.” Anya fed another sheet into the fax machine. A second later there was a crunching sound and the paper came out the other side wrinkled and torn.

“Damn this place! I told Law we need a new fax machine.” Anya grabbed the sheet of paper and crumpled it into a ball before throwing it in the trash can under the desk. “That man can’t see what’s right in front of his face.”

Casey wisely chose not to comment. Anya had an on-again, off-again relationship with the owner, James Lawson, which caused her no end of frustration. From what Casey could tell, their boss was in love but Anya just wasn’t ready to commit.

“Even if I was a fling kind of girl, there’s no one for me to have a fling with. I’m not exactly Miss Popular.”

Casey’d always been something of a loner but since moving to the nation’s capital it had been even harder to meet new people. Most of her neighbors worked long hours. She only saw them in passing as they came to and from work. The people she saw at the grocery store and on the subway seemed to change daily.

It was such a stark contrast to the small Virginia town she’d come from where everyone knew each other and crime was almost nonexistent. The entire atmosphere of city life was different. When she’d first arrived she’d thought everyone was talking to themselves until she realized they all had tiny cellphone earpieces in. Some of the women in the office even wore those in the bathroom. Casey couldn’t think of anyone she wanted to talk to
that
badly.

It was no wonder she had trouble fitting in.

Anya looked pointedly at the clock on the wall. “No one to have a fling with? That will not be a problem, trust me.”

The doors to the agency opened again. The man who walked in wore a tailored, gray pinstriped suit with a black turtleneck. His black hair curled over his collar, the perfect complement to his thickly lashed gray eyes.

She sighed softly. Calling his eyes gray was like calling sunshine yellow. His eyes were sharp and penetrating, as shocking as a bolt of lightning. He was elegance personified, a woman’s walking wet dream.

Andre Lavin was, quite simply, the best part of her day.

He pulled his cell phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, holding it up as if trying to get better reception. The move made his jacket ride up. All the blood left Casey’s brain as he turned, giving her an award-winning view of his ass.

She gulped and looked away for a moment. What if he turned around and caught her staring? But like a homing magnet, her eyes were drawn back again and again.

God that man can wear a suit.

She licked her lips as her eyes roamed over his lean arms and broad shoulders. The same arms she imagined holding her down as his body powered over hers. The shoulders she hooked her legs over in her dreams every night. How many times had she woken in the early hours of the morning, damp with sweat, her breasts tight and aching? There were nights she could have cried from her desperate soul-stirring obsession.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her pulse racing in anticipation, her panties damp from the erotic images her brain couldn’t hold back. It was useless thinking of him this way, the worst form of torture her sick mind could conjure. There were few things more futile than imagining the most amazing sex she’d never get to have.

When she opened her eyes again, Andre stood directly in front of the reception desk.

“Mr. Lavin!” She jumped to her feet. Her headset flew off, knocking over a small container of pens on the counter. They rolled in every direction, a few falling over the far edge where he was standing.

She raced around the desk and scrambled to collect the mess. As she snatched the last offender from near his foot, she looked up. Her position put her directly in line with his crotch. She was hardly an expert but whatever was behind that zipper looked big enough to do some damage.

“Oh dear god.” Her voice was barely above a whisper but he must have heard because he made a choking sound that could have been laughter. She glanced at him warily, to find him watching her, his eyes stormy.

“This is quite a welcome, Cassandra”. He hesitated before extending his hand to help her up, his eyes roaming over her in a way that made Casey shiver.

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

He still held her hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. The gesture would seem contrived coming from anyone else but was as natural as breathing to him. When he flipped her hand over to kiss the inside of her wrist, she sucked in a shocked breath. How could any culture consider this a polite greeting? His lips dragging over her skin roused feelings that were anything but proper.

“There is nothing to be sorry for. I can’t say the sight of you in any position is something to apologize for.”

With that shocking statement, he inclined his head to her in a half bow before turning and walking away. She stood staring after him, watching as he was met by the owner of the company with a hearty handshake.

The sight of you in any position…

His scandalous words of course had her imagining just what she could do to him in that position. She’d always been awkward and self-conscious during sex. She couldn’t imagine kneeling before a man, boldly taking him in her mouth while he watched.

Just the thought of Andre watching her do that brought enough heat to her cheeks to light a match.

Behind her, Anya cleared her throat. “You know, there’s a trick to a successful fling.”

Casey pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks, hoping to cool the blush that lingered. She smoothed down her skirt and went back behind her desk, dropping down in her seat with a weary sigh. “Is there?”

“You have to pick someone who won’t expect any messy romance or complications. Someone sophisticated.” The other woman nodded pointedly in Andre’s direction before turning her attention back to the fax machine.

Casey let out an exasperated breath. Despite his flirtatious nature, Andre would never see her
that
way. He was a paparazzi favorite, regularly photographed with actresses and starlets.

So far out of her league he was orbiting in his own galaxy.

Over the past few months, they’d shared off-hand conversations about books, current events and her desire to travel. He was an unusually good listener and seemed to remember every detail she’d ever shared with him. Once he learned how much Casey wanted to visit Italy, he’d brought her pictures of his villa in Positano, told her stories of life growing up there and encouraged her to plan a visit.

Despite the fact her agency worked for him, Andre never treated her like an underling. He was courteous, respectful—everything a gentleman should be. He’d had ample opportunity to make a move on her but never did. He might flirt a little but she suspected that was just an ingrained part of his personality. Considering the type of women he was known for dating, she doubted he meant anything by it. She was hardly supermodel material.

Which was just one more reason she needed to get over this stupid crush before she ended up embarrassing herself.

Anya pulled a brown paper sack from her bag on the floor and held it out to Casey. “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought beignets from that place you like.”

Casey squealed and ripped into the bag immediately. She popped a beignet in her mouth, where the soft pastry melted on her tongue like butter. “Man, these are better than sex. Who needs men when you have melt-in-your-mouth French pastries?”