Pearl (The Pearl Series) (15 page)

I answered, “Sophie, I haven’t felt this wide awake for years.” It was true; every emotion of mine had been stirred. Anger, jealousy, fury, passion, desire, sympathy, compassion… Pearl had done that to me. Pearl had woken me right up.

“It’s just a faze, Alexandre; you’re just in lust with her, that’s all. Mark my words… Oh look, there’s Ridley; I must go and say hello. Please, dear brother, could you kindly unleash my wrist?”

“With pleasure,” I said. And I got the hell out of her way.

I exited the kitchen and went on the prowl for Pearl. The party was in full gear. Glamorous people glittered everywhere. Champagne was flowing. A wild boar was being roasted on a spit in the garden; the aroma wafting through the open doors. Everybody seemed delighted, chatting in French or English, even Frenglish, clinking glasses and blowing air kisses. Everyone, except me, that was.

I located Pearl through a sea of floating gowns and penguin suits, marched over to her and pulled her away from the blue-eyed movie star. I nodded at him in a gallant,
This is my woman, move aside,
type of way.

I took her gently by her hand. “Pearl, we have to leave.”

She shrugged her smooth, golden shoulder. My eyes scanned down to her peachy ass, accentuated by her red silk dress.
I’d have that ass, later.

Meanwhile, I was hatching a plan in my head. We couldn’t go home because of Sophie. We’d drive to a hotel. In fact, I’d take her somewhere really special—the French Riviera, the Côte d’Azur. To a stunning place on the southern tip of the Cap d’Antibes: the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc.

And I’d fuck her senseless.

12

M
y plan to fuck Pearl out of her mind backfired. By mistake, I got her drunk. We enjoyed too many vintage wines with dinner, and by the time we were finished, I had to carry her to bed. The wine, I think, was Pearl’s way of blotting out the unpleasantness of last night: as we were leaving Ridley’s party, Sophie appeared at the doorway, vampire fangs out. Pearl hadn’t even recognized her but knew something was up when my sister practically spat at her: “Cougar!”

I felt so ashamed. Embarrassed. I suppose I hadn’t understood the extent of Sophie’s possessiveness toward me. She had attacked Laura in the same way, but when Laura and I split up, Sophie suddenly decided that the sun shone out of Laura’s ass. Very convenient. But I hadn’t felt the same sense of fury with Sophie concerning Laura that I was now feeling with Pearl. Pearl was bringing out my protective side.

I needed to deal with my sister, fast. Before she really fucked up my love life for good.

The wine, plus the long drive, made Pearl woozy. The hotel prepared us a candlelit dinner under the stars. Crickets were singing, and the Mediterranean waves lapped soporifically, inducing an intoxicating scent of sea and fresh air that had Pearl in a trance. She leaned back in her chair, sipping her Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

“Am I in Heaven?” she asked drowsily.

“I’m afraid so,” I said with a guilty smile. “I’ve got you a bit tipsy.”

“I’m tipsy on the aroma of wild thyme and lavender and France, not to mention this wine which is out of this world.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it. A good Châteauneuf-du-Pape is like a beautiful work of art that takes you by surprise. It’s not for everybody. It’s earthy and sometimes fierce, the proverbial ‘brooding’ wine.”

“Like you, you’re a brooder,” she said, pointing her finger at me, almost toppling over in her chair.

She has my number.
“Why do you think I’m broody, Ms. Robinson?”

“Oh, Mr. Broody, Mr. Moody…you think I haven’t worked you out? There’s more to you, Monsieur Chevalier, than meets the eye.”

“Honestly Pearl, I’m very basic. Boringly so.” I tipped her a wry smile.

“Yeah, right, Michael Corleone with your illegal empire.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the saline breeze as if it were her last breath.
My illegal empire? Did she know about the gems? And what lengths I would go to, to protect my loved ones?
Michael Corleone, huh?…I always did respect that man.

When Pearl opened her eyes again—her pupils dark like pools of fathomless ultramarine—she gazed at me questioningly, and asked, “Why, Alexandre, don’t you just throw in the towel with HookedUp? You have more money than you need for several lifetimes. You said you wanted to get back to being creative, not just making deals.”

My throat felt suddenly dry. Perhaps if Pearl hadn’t been so tipsy, I wouldn’t have admitted my failings so readily. “The problem, Pearl, is that making money has become addictive—the more I make, the more I feel I need. Power does corrupt, no doubt. I’ve created a kingdom, and like any king….” I trailed off. Pearl was rocking in her chair, about to pass out. I took her hands to steady her and thought about what I’d just said. I, like Pearl now, could topple. I was afraid to lose my crown. Sophie was part of my kingdom—the queen to my king, as it were. We were equal partners in HookedUp, so it would have been tricky to extricate myself. Her obsession with making money, and more money, and more, had rubbed off on me. But our relationship wasn’t healthy—we were too entwined with each other mentally, as well as being business associates. A ‘marriage’ made in hell.

I was beginning to want out completely.

I got up from my chair and walked over to my beautiful Pearl. Her red dress reflected against the glass of deep wine, like blood, glinting under the moonlight. I took the glass from her hand and set it on the table—she’d had enough to drink for one night. “And you, Pearl? Do you care about money?” I asked, scooping her up in my arms and turning in the direction of our suite.

Her head flopped back and she grinned. “If I did, I’d be doing a different job, don’t you think? Being a producer of controversial documentaries isn’t going to bring me millionzz,” she slurred. “I love what I do. I’ve had a lot of headhunters knock at my door offering me almost double but, you know, I’m not motivated by money.” She nuzzled her head into my neck and kissed me there. I took in the sweet smell of her hair, of her sun-kissed skin, and carried her, like a baby, to bed.

It was true what Pearl said. I could tell that she really didn’t give a toss that I was so wealthy. So if she didn’t care, why did
I?
I
could
wind down HookedUp. Sell my share to Sophie—go back to being more creative. Sophie was meddling with my life, and without realizing it, destroying my happiness. I’d lay my cards on the table, I decided. Tomorrow.

So the next day, while poor Pearl was suffering from a morning-after-the-night-before hangover from consuming champagne, plus two different vintage wines (each paired with a different course of the meal), I started by explaining to her a little about my past. I told her that Sophie had once been a sex worker, that she was fearful of being poor again, and that she was like a mother to me after we left home when I was seven. I didn’t get into the nitty-gritty details about her being a Dominatrix, nor about her eventually running the show and being a
Madame
with her own highly illegal ‘house,’ hiring other women to work for her. Too much information at once could have scared Pearl off. I tried to explain to Pearl Sophie’s motivations but I think it came out wrong. It sounded as if I was defending my sister, putting her before all else.

Putting her before Pearl.

The look on Pearl’s face after I’d admitted that Sophie was a sex worker made me snap, “Don’t be judgmental, Pearl. Have you any idea how tough it was for Sophie? She was only seventeen when we left home. She was doing her best.”

“I guess life has never gotten that….
tough
for me,” Pearl replied, choosing her words carefully in an undertone which said
, I would never do something like that—never stoop so low.

“
You
should understand, Pearl. Your brother, John, got involved with drugs and alcohol—it was his demise. People don’t always do the right thing for themselves or others but it’s right for them in that particular moment. You can never judge someone else’s life or their choices—the path they take, because there are always two sides to every story. Or more. Sometimes there are multiple sides to someone’s story.”

“I guess you’re right,” Pearl answered, her eyes welling up.

I hadn’t meant to bring her down by mentioning John’s death, but I wanted to put us on the same par. I held her hand and we sat there silently for a while, both of us what-if-ing about our individual histories.

I thought of my mother, what she’d done, and my own shady past and wondered if Pearl would stick with me if she knew my whole story. Probably not. She was a wholesome, star-spangled, American girl who, after the initial novelty of great sex wore off, might decide she didn’t want some screwed up Frenchman in her life. Was that why I had come inside her—to get her pregnant? So she couldn’t get away from me, even if she tried? So that we’d always have a bond even if she left me?

We went for a swim in the sea and I watched Pearl in awe. She dipped and dived, her toes pointed like a dancer, and when she swam, she sliced the water like a sharp blade. Watching her do the crawl made my chest fill with pride, knowing that she was my girlfriend, knowing that this interesting, sexy, independent American woman had chosen me as her mate.

Still, there were undulations of bad feeling about Sophie, rippling between us. I sensed that Pearl had reservations; that there would be only so much she could take. I needed her close to me. Needed to be buried inside her. So after the swim, I took her to our suite. The more hooked on sex she was, I reasoned, the more likely it would be that she would never leave me, despite my crazy family history, despite Sophie’s uncontrollable jealousy. Despite my dark side. I’d fuck her senseless. Literally. Make it so she couldn’t see straight
.
Couldn’t think straight.

Outside our suite, the cicadas were singing their summer song, thick in the pine trees. From our open balcony, the blue sea glittered beyond, and an aroma of pine and oleander, sweet as cake, wafted into the room, blowing perfume in the air. But the view that caught my attention was Pearl, herself. We Europeans are used to seeing topless women on the beach. So when Pearl took off her bikini and revealed two vanilla breasts, begging to be sucked they looked so tasty, I was instantly hard—instantly aroused by the forbidden, American fruit.

I gazed at my beautiful Pearl lying on the sumptuous bed, as she teased me—trailing ice cubes about those full tits; making the nipples pucker up into stiff buds that I wanted to stroke with my rock-hard cock. Yes, I wanted to fuck those tits.

“You’re asking for it again, Pearl Robinson,” I said.

She lay there seductively, her lips curved into a knowing smile, her smooth legs splayed open. She slid the ice cube down her stomach, then up and down her slick cleft, slowly inserting it inside herself. She gasped. My dick flexed, as it prepared itself to fuck her, throbbing with desire. I took off my swim-shorts—there was no more room and they were getting uncomfortable. I could feel how big I was—huge. I sauntered up to her, my cock proud against my abdomen, and straddled her on the bed, pinning her beneath me. She had hunger in her eyes; a look of lust that matched mine. I took a sip of champagne, and fed her with the liquid, letting it trickle into her luscious mouth.

I studied her oval face. Her blue eyes shone the same color as the Mediterranean Sea, with glints of turquoise, and faint freckles had appeared about her nose and cheeks. It gave her the air of a teenager. I still couldn’t believe that she was forty—she looked so young, so fresh. And, as I appeared several years older than I was, we were an ideal match. We must have looked exactly the same age to anyone seeing us walk about, arm in arm.

The perfect couple in love.

“You’re so beautiful, Pearl. So, so exquisitely
beautiful
. Your eyes…”

“
My
eyes? What about yours? They’re green, but not really green, at all. They’re like tiger’s eyes with flecks of gold in them.
You’re
the beautiful one, Alexandre. You take my breath away—every time I wake up with you next to me, every time you catch my eye, and when you touch me?”—she whispered in my ear and licked my lobe. I shivered, electricity coursing through my body, making my dick swell even more—“I can hardly—” she continued, with another swipe of her tongue—“function. And when you fuck me?”

Her attention switched from my earlobe to the rest of me. First, my mouth, which she kissed with fervor, exciting me so much that I couldn’t take the ache in my groin anymore. I edged my way up the bed and slipped my throbbing erection between her lips. It was as if I were entering the twilight zone. Having her pouting mouth suck on me was the most erotic thing in the world. She flickered her tongue, moaning as she licked off my pre-cum, and I pushed my hips forward, rocking slightly, languidly, fucking her mouth. Damn, it felt good. I could smell her sweet taste of sex as it lingered in the air with the scent of pine and sea. I needed to lick her all over; explore every crevice, every secret place. So I did.

I started under her arms, then I swirled my tongue about her breasts and aroused nipples. I listened to her groan as I trailed my tongue over her salty, tanned body, down her pretty stomach and then between her legs, fluttering my tongue on her clit, but taking it away again so I knew she’d be begging for more. I sucked her toes, licked her delicate ankles, up her calves, behind her knees and along her thighs…up, up, up to her core, pale against her tan because, like her tits, that part of her had been hidden from the sun. She was writhing on the bed, wet and wanton, her pussy glistening like the little pearl it was. I circled my tongue around her engorged nub and tasted her nectar.