Spies and lies bring a deadly twist to the City of Lights.
Interpol agent Claudette D’Laquois is trapped in the hellhole of life and unable to trust anyone. Desperate to regain control, she flees to the safety of her uncle’s rundown chateau on the French Riviera. But Claudette soon learns the countryside has its own dangers when she finds herself alone with a sexy foreigner.
Uptight accountant Donald Hobbs ditches numbers for dirt to oversee his friend’s orchard for three weeks. His well deserved vacation is perfect until a seductive mademoiselle drags him into a dangerous world of intrigue and erotic fantasy.
Illegal drugs and Russian mobsters take a back seat to a lethal night of sinful pleasure for Claudette and Don.
About the Author
Award-Winning author Sloane Taylor is a sensual woman who believes humor, sex, and good food are healthy aspects of our everyday lives and carries that philosophy into her books. She writes spicy romance. Being a true romantic, all her stories have a happy ever after.Taylor is also an avid cook whose recipes are featured in Divine Magazine. Taylor was born and raised on the Southside of Chicago. She and her husband now live in a small home in Northwest Indiana and enjoy the change from city life. Learn more about Taylor and read excerpts from her books on her website, blog, and all popular vendors. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.
Read an Excerpt
Claudette walked out of the bathroom in style, the ends of a thin towel clutched around her with one hand and her clothes in the other. She'd strapped her stilettos back on in protest over the stained hallway carpet. Donald sat in the faded brocade armchair across the hall.
He looked up, his hair spiked in a maze-like pattern as if he had been raking his fingers through it.
"Baby, I'm not the enemy here." He stood, but came no further, an anemic coral rose dangled from his hand. "I've only known you a short time, but you have the look of a woman who either passed bad checks or ran out on her landlord. A blind man could see you need help. Talk to me."
She shook her head. He would never believe her if she recounted the last three years of her life. There were days she thought it all a horrible nightmare, prayed that were true, and would wake like a normal person. She looked into his eyes, wanting to believe in him. Harsh experiences had taught her to trust no one.
He took a step closer and extended the pathetic blossom. A withered petal drifted to the worn runner. She could not remember when a man had ever brought her flowers.
"It was the best I could do on short notice." His sheepish grin touched something deep inside her, but she refused to acknowledge it.
"It is too difficult to explain." Her heart ached with the effort to hold it all inside, but the less he knew the safer he would be.
"Let me help you." He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if he, too, were frustrated.
The towel slipped when she reached for the flower. Their fingers touched, reigniting the flame she could not extinguish alone.
Maybe this once it would beright for her to feel like a woman, find real satisfaction. Then reason took hold.
"Non." She shook her head and turned away, prepared to regain her sanity until a chill skittered across her naked rear. A shiver raced up her spine and she stopped short. He bumped into her, his hard penis poking against the crease of her butt.
"I swear I didn't touch your towel." He clumsily draped it over her shoulders.
Laughter bubbled from her throat. C'est la vie! The decision had been made for her.
"Donald, we have fait accompli." She turned to him. His cheeks, a delightful shade of pink, flushed red as she let the towel and clothes fall to the floor, garment by garment.
Standing in front of him wearing just a smile and her red stilettos heightened her awareness. And need. The dingy hallway seemed brighter; the stale air fresh with his unique scent of spice and lime. She sensed his desire as if it had life of its own, and knew this was right.
Her nipples pebbled, the shower fantasy fresh in her mind. Her gaze locked with his as she undid the oversized metal clip from her hair. With a toss of her head long strands cascaded below her shoulders, the ends tickling across her breasts.
His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled inward and knuckles white. An impressive bulge tented his slacks. She swiped her tongue across her dry lips and raised her head. His eyes were opened wide, intent, watching her, encouraging her to be bold.
In her mind a sensual melody began. She hummed softly, swaying her hips to the beat, watching him through half closed eyes to see him swallow. Hard. She glided a hand upward along her ribs, each movement slow and seductive to shock the uptight accountant into action.
His skin grew taut over high cheekbones as she traced her fingertips along the curve of her breast, allowing her index finger to graze a rigid nipple. The tight bud puckered more as she made small swirls around her areola. A familiar ache began low in her abdomen, intensifying with each stroke.
Dieu, how she wanted him.
He stood there as if transfixed, the sound of his breathing loud.
She walked a few feet closer to him, her breasts swaying with each step. Juices trickled onto her thigh as she smiled and brushed the rose along his cheek, then across his parted lips. All the while her other hand massaged her other nipple, the fingers separated so he could watch it harden.
He sucked in a sharp breath and scanned his eyes slowly down her body, resting for a long moment on the apex of her thighs. She slid her hand down between her breasts, wishing it were his, gliding it across her abdomen until she covered her mound.
"Come with me." She wondered if he understood her pun.