After a few more sessions of hyperventilating, I took a power nap, binge-watched a few sappy French TV shows, then took a long bubble bath. I reined in my urge to touch myself while lounging in the hot water, controlling my spicy thoughts of Axel and the fun we'd had—and would never have again.

Thinking of him and his handsome face made me salivate. His godly body made me shiver. The way the light hit his deep ginger curls just right, turning them to copper, fluttered my heartbeats. His sheepish, sneaky smile made me wet for him. And those flower and dragon tattoos I'd noticed on his back—all of it made me relive that night in vivid detail.

So much detail that after fighting myself, I caved and let my fingers wander into my crevice to start pleasuring myself—

My phone buzzed with the alarm I'd set in case I fell asleep while relaxing in the tub. "Fuck," I said, unfinished, unsatiated, as I wiped my hand on a towel and turned the buzzing music off. I'd have given myself a few more minutes to come, but I knew if I didn't heed my alarm, I'd never get out of the bath.

Tonight was the introductory cocktail party in the ballroom. A night of slideshows and music, meeting friends and listening to backstories of the bride, the groom, the bridal party, the family, the VIP guests. Everyone was invited, and it would be a packed affair; close ones, socialites, and a handful of celebrities. I remembered some of the high-profile names on the list—acolytes of Violet's—and how I'd had to sign an NDA to not release those names to anyone. I'd instructed photographers and videographers ahead of time to not include those famous folk in any of the footage unless they consented to it and signed contracts permitting it.

A big deal, a huge event—and I had to arrive there before everyone else to oversee every single detail. It was a great opportunity for me to inspect the ballroom in depth, to watch the night unfold hopefully without a hitch. Like a rehearsal before the rehearsal.

Opening my closet, where I'd hung all my outfits for the weekend, I eyed the suit I'd planned for tonight—black, with a gold blouse underneath and a pair of matching gold shoes. I'd blend in with the crowd by looking expensive, though all the elements of my attire were cheap or second-hand. No one would know.

As I reached into the closet to snatch the hanger, I paused, my sight catching on one of the sexy dresses I'd brought in case I opted to stay in St. Tropez for a few days after the wedding, to party. It was a vibrant red, my favorite color. One of those super skin-tight, revealing outfits that I'd only ever put on to go to a cramped, dark nightclub to sit at a bar and sip on a cocktail while ogling the dancers.

Yet now, it called to me. Something about its soft fabric, its low-cut front, its shortness...I wanted to put it on, wanted to be seen in it. Wanted Axel to see me in it. After his teasing earlier, his frigid demeanor when facing me, I wanted to tempt him, tease him right back. We couldn't sleep together, but he deserved for me to toy with him, after how he'd acted, didn't he?

"A little reminder of what he had and can never have again." I smirked. "That ought to gently put him in his place without me risking my job, yeah?"

I heard Chi's voice in my head, encouraging me, and snagged the dress off the hanger.

I had to slip on a layer of Shapewear for this; with my belly rolls and bigger butt, it was necessary so the dress would fit me properly and not showcase my curves in unpleasant ways. I loved my body, loved its imperfections, but loved my voluptuous self more when I wore clothes that were tailored to me.

As I stood before the mirror, pressing out the wrinkles, adjusting my strapless black bra to hold up my girls, I bit on my lower lip. With my dark cherry curls framing my face, billowing down over my shoulders and dripping into my decolleté, I looked like a vixen straight out of a noir film. A sexy seductress ready to pounce; but I wouldn't pounce. I'd have to keep my claws in and bat my lashes at Axel from afar. The farther from him I was, the better.

I applied a smoky color to my eyelids and a matte red lipstick to my lips, dabbed on some powder, spritzed my favorite vanilla perfume, and as I strapped on my black high heels, I realized something was missing. Something to tame the outfit—not that I didn't wish to stand out, but I couldn't be too compelling, either.

In my closet, I found the suit jacket I was supposed to use that night; it was the same black as my shoes and would match my makeup. So I tugged it on, squared my shoulders, fetched my purse, and escaped my bedroom.

Night had fallen. The party was to start at nine, and it was eight-fifteen. The chandeliers dangling from the ceiling sprinkled sparkles of light on the tile as my heels clacked atop it. I crossed the lobby, empty but for a few guests who'd settled in the cozy seats to read or indulge in a night-cap. A few raised their eyebrows as I passed, silently appraising my look.

As I arrived at the Tropiques Ballroom, I marveled at the decorations, the set-up for the evening. Dark wood chairs draped with a rose gold satin, a crimson carpet forming an aisle between seats, leading up to a small podium in the rear. Atop the podium, a few hotel staff-members were setting up a large screen, and others were affixing cables and cords to a laptop where the slide-show would be operated. On the other side of the platform, I spotted the DJ booth, and the DJ rehearsing tracks.

To my right, against a wall of windows overlooking a dark forest of pines and palm trees, was a lengthy table draped in the same rose gold satin as the chairs. Servers dropped off dishes for the guests to indulge in—charcuterie boards composed of local cheeses, fruits, veggie platters, dipping sauces, the works. Bottles of champagne, plus red and white wine, were plunged into buckets of ice, and a table of crystal glasses stood in the rear corner, watched by an anxious looking woman I remembered as the hotel's catering assistant.

I was about to head over to said woman when I nearly bumped into a bulky figure I hadn't noticed walking towards me.

Shaking myself off, I held in a curse—I'd almost been knocked down, my ankles weaker than usual in these hard-to-walk in high heels—before realizing who I'd collided with.

I should have smelled him from across the room, as his spicy scent infiltrated my nostrils now, putting me off-balance. I should have detected his arrival, since any time he was in the same room as me, I felt ice and lava raging a war in my gut.

"Hey," said Axel Levine, unaffected and neutral as ever, having come from the platform. He clutched his cell phone in one hand, a half-empty glass of liquor in his other. "You're here early."

I tried not to drool at his open shirt, surprisingly in a shade of red matching my dress. His navy suit was fitted, wrapping around his muscular limbs, defining them. An eye-catching silver chain dangled between his pectoral muscles. And those eyes, like dripping, melting chocolate, caught on to mine and held me in place.

"Uh, yeah," I said, adjusting my purse strap, for a lack of anything else to do to keep my hands distracted. "I kind of organized this whole thing, so I kind of have to be here."

One of his bushy ginger eyebrows quirked up. "Right, but I didn't think you'd show up until ten or fifteen minutes before. Most planners don't get here this early if they've done their job correctly."

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "Actually, if they've done their job correctly, they never stop showing up early and overseeing every minute detail. I am getting paid a pretty hefty fee for all this, so pardon my perfectionism."

Axel choked on a laugh, then brought his glass to his lips as he scanned my figure, drinking in the outfit I'd worn to tease him. "Hm," he said, smacking his lips, focused on my cleavage. "Do they all wear dresses like this one? Because if they do," he cleared his throat, trying not to grin, "then I need to hire more wedding planners like you."

I flushed, but moved away from him to hide my pleasure at his sideways compliment. "I don't usually wear this, no." I took advantage of his gaze still stuck to my boobs to fix my bra, fidgeting with my breasts to captivate him. To my pleasure, his lips parted slightly, showing his tongue dancing with excitement inside his mouth.

Yes, it's working.

All I wanted was to get back at him for his coldness earlier, for pretending like he hadn't screamed in my ear all night. For standing there looking so handsome, so ridiculously hot, and being so out of reach. I wanted to remind him I was a catch, too, and he wasn't allowed to have me, either. So far, so good.

"Monsieur Levine," said one of the staff-members, interrupting us. "We need additional wine, but we have nothing in the cellar that fits your sister's requirements. May we drive into town to buy a few more bottles? Do we have time?"

Axel peered at his enormous, glistening gold watch, winced, then nodded. "Quickly. Don't let her see you setting them up, if they get here after the event starts."

The staff-member acquiesced and hurried off, leaving Axel studying his phone, tapping his foot to the ground. He was stressed—it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.

As much as I wanted to keep teasing him, I had a job to do. A job that he was apparently trying to do for me.

"Mr. Levine," I said, my voice coming out too high-pitched for my taste. "I could have handled that, you know. You asked me why I'm here early, but why are you here at all?"

His upper lip twitched as he snuck his phone into his pants pocket, stretching the fabric over his lower half. I did my damndest not to stare at his bulge. "I'm hands-on, remember?"

I chewed on my tongue, too many smart-ass retorts brewing in my mind. "Maybe go get your hands on something or someone else, so I can do my job?" Immediately, I smacked a hand over my mouth. "Oh, jeez. That was...inappropriate."

Axel didn't scold me, didn't even seem phased by my comment. Instead, a hint of amusement lit up his features. "No, it was accurate, actually." He licked his lips, not once removing his gaze from mine. "I tend to get a bit carried away, so thank you for the reminder."

Workers carrying trays of food and drinks shimmied past us, and one lost their balance, tumbling into Axel, subsequently pushing him into me. No one fell, but in the commotion, I had to grab on to something to not hit the floor—and of all things to grab, I ended up gripping Axel's ass.

"Oh shit," I whispered, regaining myself and yanking my hand away, hiding it behind my back. My cheeks inflamed. "I'm so sorry."

Axel straightened up, checked on the employee—no injuries, and only one glass damaged in the process—then swerved to me, his expression suddenly serious. "Are you all right?"

I opened my mouth, then frowned. "I, uh...yeah, I'm fine."

Had he not felt me groping his butt to stay upright? Or had I groped something else, instead? Had I touched his front?

He studied me, his earlier crude amusement faded. "Are you sure?"

I snorted. "Why are you so concerned? We got bumped into, I lost my balance, and I accidentally grabbed your ass—" I gasped, again getting ahead myself. "And I'm sorry."

His eyes narrowed...and then he smirked. "You did, indeed. And did you like it?"

His sudden shift in behavior sent tingles down my neck, between my breasts.

Oh, he's happy I groped him, isn't he?

"Like what?" I said out loud, feigning confusion. Oh, I'd liked touching him, for sure. But I wouldn't admit that, not here, not now, when workers surrounded us, going about their tasks while pretending to ignore their boss and the wedding planner staring inappropriately at one another.

This was bad, bad bad bad. Axel took my bait, and instead of being satisfied by his reaction, I hungered for more. And from the glisten of lust in his eyes as he basically drooled over me, I knew he felt the same way. Unlike earlier, he wasn't nonchalant; at least, his gaze wasn't as it roved over me.

"Don't play coy. My firm, rounded ass. Did you like touching it like that?" His voice was a low, throaty mumble that stirred all sorts of mixed emotions in my stomach. "Did you do it on purpose? God, I love a good butt squeeze."

His words were such a one-eighty from how he'd spoken to me this morning. His voice had shifted from blandly neutral, to steamy, saucy. Tempting.

He'd figured me out. He knew I was teasing him, getting my sweet revenge.

Shit.

I gulped, purposely exaggerated. "Oops," I covered my mouth and batted my lashes, "I didn't mean to."

His smoldering gaze and lightly parting lips stilled me in place. "Just tell me—you enjoyed it, right? Didn't it get you a little hot and bothered?"

I went rigid; yes, I enjoyed it. Had we been better hidden, had there been less people around, I might have taken longer to remove my hand from his plumpness. I might have even squeezed once or twice, since he apparently liked that.

"You know," he said, his voice barely loud enough to hear as we stood across from one another. Staff-members continued to come and go on either side of us, shielding us from the rest of the room. "I really loved it when you touched my ass last night, too. Grabbed on to it, massaged it as I was fucking you—"

I bit my lower lip, trying way too hard to act like his words weren't affecting me. Like they weren't turning my own game against me, and making me crave him all over again. I was too aroused for my own good. "Stop," I said, pinching my lips, looking askance in fake coyness.

I didn't want him to stop; no, I wanted to hear his crudeness, his naughtiness, and remember it for later that night so I could touch herself before falling asleep.

He tugged his lower lip between his teeth, eyes once more concentrated on my decolleté. "I see that look in your eyes. Your dirty thoughts are all over your face. Last night was...exquisite, wasn't it? We should," he lowered his voice, "make that happen again."

A growl grew in my chest—one of desire or rage, I couldn't tell. "That's quite the proposition, Mr. Levine," I muttered, close to a whisper. "And while I don't disagree that it was exquisite, it's a bit indecent to want more, don't you think? We can't do that."

"Is it indecent?" He puckered his lips, cocking his head. "You're the one who just came on to me, aren't you?"

"Accidentally," I said, sensing myself growing stern. Oh, I wanted him, all right. But we'd discussed this issue that very morning, near the check-in desk, where he'd been cold and uncaring and made it evident he was my boss and this couldn't happen. It was agreed upon, wasn't it? "I may have teased you a tad, but I really didn't mean to grab your ass, Mr. Levine."

Saying his name out loud, reliving the ass-grope—I felt the lust traveling down my neck, my back, settling into my legs, destabilizing them. My eyesight grew blurry the more I tried to recall all the details of last night; the ways he'd aroused me more than anyone ever had, then cut me off by revealing he was my boss.

"If you say so." He shifted his stance, stepping backwards, though it felt like he was only getting closer and closer to me. "Whether you mean to or not, I just want you to admit it pleased you. And you know," he stroked his ginger and brown scruff, "I'm the employer. If I want to fuck you, if I say it's okay, and you consent to it...doesn't that overrule the contract?"

"No," I said, desperate for a drink to parch my drying throat, to distract myself from my wandering mind. If he kept reminding me of how easily we could sleep together again, I'd need a towel to mop up the mess of moisture happening in my underwear. "Unfortunately, the contract is law."

He shook his head, unleashing a trembling sigh. "You have no idea how difficult it is to resist you, Vivienne."

An electricity wrapped around me, making me want to get closer to him; close enough for him to reach out and touch me, if he wanted to. But I gritted my teeth and remained rooted to the ground, ignoring the sensation. For both of our sakes, and our careers. "And how difficult it is for me to say no to you."

He grimaced. "And how difficult to pretend like seeing you dressed like this isn't making me," he mouthed the next words, "hard as fuck."

I shuddered, perfectly picturing his erection. Craving it, salivating over it.

This man is going to cost me my job, isn't he?

But it was up to me to resist. He didn't have as much at stake; I needed my job, contrary to him. I wasn't born into wealth, and he was.

"Very well, then," he said, tucking a hand into his pocket.

I thought he might have been stroking the side of his dick through his pants. The bulge was there, and if I wasn't mistaken, it was growing. The more I fought the desire to ogle it, the more my eyes hurt.

Then he became suddenly serious, his eyes like brown stones, his lips straight and thinned. "It's a shame."

We were exposed, out in the open, standing at the edge of the aisle, right in front of the platform; but at the vision of his disappointment, I wanted to approach him, grab his chin, kiss him. I wanted to show him I wished, truly wished I could bend the rules.

He snickered at me, instantly reverting to his cold persona, his professional facade. "Back to this, then."

"Ah," I said, folding my arms, glowering, "this being the rude asshole who barely acknowledged me this morning?"

One of his eyebrows perked up. "You're openly calling me an asshole, are you?"

I knew I should have bit my tongue, but it was all spilling out now—the frustration he caused, his hot and cold moodiness. "Can't we be civil and professional without you being a brick wall? You're allowed to smile, to be nice to me without it looking like you want to," I hurried to lower my voice, "fuck me."

Axel removed his hand from his pocket and checked his watch. "I'm not a brick wall. I'm not cold or cruel. This morning, my sister was right there," he narrowed his already intimidating gaze, "and I didn't want to risk her picking up on any tension between us. There were guests all around us, definitely listening. I had to maintain a grumpy demeanor. You understand that, don't you? Discretion. I know you do."

Rage bubbled up inside me. The same rage I'd felt this morning, this afternoon, recalling his tricks.

"Discretion, yes. Cruelty and coldness? Not so much. And speaking of sister," I took a few steps back, breaking the little bubble of lust we'd been fueling with our cravings, "it's her wedding. How are you not more stressed? Instead, you're having one-night-stands with," I switched to a loud whisper, "wedding planners? Then playing hot and cold with them to get them into bed again? No." I clutched my purse tight and side-stepped, heading towards the DJ booth. "Not tonight. Not ever."

☼☼☼