Free Legacy of Lies by Joann Ross Page A

side by side in the slow, creaky elevator, had always been inevitable. With the single-mindedness that had allowed her to achieve, at the relatively young age of twenty-six, so much of her dream, she couldn’t put aside her belief that she and Debord were destined to be together. In every way. The elevator finally reached her floor. The ornate brass door opened. Alex walked with Debord down the hall, her full skirt swaying.
    When she went to open her apartment door, the key stubbornly stuck in the lock. She twisted it viciously. Nothing.
    â€œAllow me.” Alex could have wept with relief when Debord took over. The door opened, as if by magic.
    â€œWould you like something to drink?” Suddenly horrendously nervous, Alex found her arsenal of feminine allure had mysteriously deserted her. “Some wine? Cognac? Coffee?”
    â€œCognac will be fine.”
    â€œCognac it is.” Although it cost far more than she could comfortably afford, Alex had purchased the expensive Rémy Martin that afternoon. Just in case.
    She poured the dark brandy into two balloon glasses, handing one to Debord. His fingers, as they curved around the glass, were long and tapered. The thought of those fingers stroking her body sent a jolt of desire surging through her.
    As they sipped their drinks, a pregnant silence settled over them. Debord was the first to break it. He put down his glass on the table in front of him, took hers from her nerveless fingers and placed it beside his. Then he turned toward her.
    â€œYou are beautiful, Alexandra Lyons.” He trailed his fingers up her throat. “And so very talented.”
    They were precisely the words she’d been hoping—longing—to hear. “Do you really, honestly think so?” she whispered.
    His hands were warm and strong and gentle as they cradled her head. His smile warmed her to the core. “Bien sûr.”
    Desire clouded her mind even as his words thrilled her. Warmth seemed to leave his fingertips and enter her bloodstream, flowing through her, down her legs, through her arms to her fingertips, waves of shimmering, silvery light.
    His lips captured hers in a devastatingly long, deliriously deep kiss that left her drugged. She felt hot. Feverish. She wanted to melt into him, she wanted to feel his naked body next to hers, she wanted to immerse herself in the scent of his flesh. Never had Alex known such need! She pressed herself against him. She felt his hardness and wanted him deep inside her.
    He stood up and looked down at her for a heartstoppingly long time, his expression unfathomable. When he finally extended his hand, she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
    Very slowly, he unzipped her dress. It fell to the floor in a gilt-and-jet puddle at her feet. Alex stepped out of it.
    She was wearing a lace-trimmed, strapless, gold satin teddy, and a pair of thigh-high gold stockings. As he carried her into the adjoining bedroom, Alex clung to him mindlessly, eager to go wherever he took her.
    She didn’t question how her underclothes were whisked from her. She only knew that they disappeared, as if by magic.
    And then Debord’s clothes were gone as well. He stood beside the bed, blatantly aroused. The ancient bedsprings creaked as he lay down beside her. “You are so voluptuous, ma cocotte .” His fingers closed over her full, aching breasts. “So hot.” His tongue laved her burning flesh.
    He touched her, kissed her, licked her all over—her neck, her breasts, the backs of her knees, her stomach, on the insides of her thighs, in the furrow between her buttocks, even her toes.
    He lay bare all her feminine secrets, all the while murmuring seductive suggestions in French that thrilled her.
    It was torment. Torment mingled with escalating pleasure. The exciting, feverish floating feelings built even higher. Her body flushed strawberry pink.
    â€œPlease.” Alex wanted him wildly. Madly. She begged him