Page 36 of A Caribbean Heiress in Paris
“Because I think what you need, Luz Alana, is an ally.”
How did one even respond to something like that? But she guessed if they were going to follow through with this, being more forthcoming could not hurt.
“Getting this situation with my trust sorted, for one. Then selling the remainder of the Caña Brava at a good price. Getting Clarita situated with a good governess.” She opened her mouth to share the last thing that she wished for but then clamped it shut. There were many things she dreamed of, but that was not one she was ready to have crushed by the world as implausible or silly.
“How about your Dama Juana and the cordials?” he asked, snatching that little flickering flame of a dream straight from the most guarded corner of her heart. She was relieved not to be facing him because even in the shadow he’d likely see what that question did to her. She sank back, pressing tightly into him, and let free the things that she’d kept even from her father.
“I’d love to push forward with the cordials. I didn’t get very far before my father died, but I’d started selling the Dama Juana back home.” He made a sound of interest, and she could feel his head bob up and down. “Through women vendors.”
“That’s very shrewd.” His voice was full of approval. “Women have always been at the heart of selling spirits. Like my great-great-grandmother with her shebeen. Even this champagne we’re drinking—we have the widow Clicquot to thank for devising it.” It had been a surprise when he’d proudly spoken about his family’s humble beginnings at lunch, but knowing now the man was an earl...it was probably best to divert her attention back to business.
“Yes, in Santo Domingo street commerce is very much dominated by women vendors. As it is in most places, really.” Even here in Paris, there were hundreds of women street merchants, and in places like Le Bureau, the workers made a small commission on every bottle they sold a customer. Women made for a powerful salesforce. “We trained dozens of vendors on sales and how to keep their accounts. In exchange for installing small stalls for them, we asked that they place our bottles of rum where they could be seen by passersby. There was a significant increase in sales.”
He made a sound of approval at that and brushed a kiss to her forehead. “You are a born businesswoman. I may need you to help me with my own sales strategy.”
She tried to listen for traces of mockery in his voice. She couldn’t detect any. Just genuine praise for her work. She made herself continue talking before she could dwell too much on the way her pulse was racing.
“The cordials we only tested with a few of our more successful saleswomen, but they did very well. I think if we can find the right packaging created especially for women customers... Something that will appeal to the modern woman could have potential.”
Evan didn’t say anything for a long moment, and that insidious self-doubt began to creep in. Her father had dismissed her ideas for the cordials every time she’d brought them up, until she stopped sharing them.
“Liquor with women as consumers in mind from the first step...could be an untapped market.” Her throat closed from that simple but unequivocal validation. “You are right about the packaging too. You could perhaps commission an illustrator to make some art for you.” He squeezed her tight and brushed a kiss to her temple. “It’s a good idea. What are the flavors for the cordials?”
“Lime and pineapple,” she said after a long moment. “They were my great-grandmother’s recipes. My mother always talked about doing something with them, but she never got around to it. I want to do it for her, and for me. I like the idea of building a business that serves women first.”
“I think you should have the chance to at least try,” he said in a husky voice, and without any warming turned her around until their fronts were mashed together. There were only a few lights above them illuminating the tower, but this close she could see his face clearly. “You are a fascinating woman to know, Luz Alana Heith-Benzan.” He said it like she was a riddle he didn’t quite understand but was determined to decipher. She didn’t know if the prospect of that thrilled or terrified her, but then he bent down until his lips were brushing hers, and that became her sole focus.
“Should we seal our deal with a kiss?” he asked so quietly he was practically mouthing the words against her lips.
“There is no deal yet,” she reminded him breathlessly.
“Hmm, then perhaps this is where I should unleash my persuasive skills on you.”
If this was what it felt like when he was holding back, Luz feared greatly for her self-control.
“Your lips.” The two words contained volumes. “From the first moment I saw you, I’ve been mad with the thought of hearing my name escaping from them on a sigh or in a piercing scream.” He was dotting kisses along her neck now, his teeth lightly scratching the sensitive skin. Every place he touched reverberated through her. Every sensation magnified. “The things I want to do to you, to make you cry from pleasure.”
“Please,” she moaned, not even sure what she was asking for, as he teased her with more butterfly-soft kisses. It was jarring to be pressed against such a solid, unyielding body and feel such tender caresses at the same time.
“What do you want, mo cridhe?” He used his thumb to tilt her head and placed open-mouthed, wet kisses on her collarbone, on the swell of her breasts. His hardness was a brand pressed against her, making her gasp. She had the most wicked urge to touch it, trace her fingers along it. Grip it, fill her hand with it. She’d never been like this with a man, and she could now see why chaperones were insisted upon. She heard her breaths coming faster, felt her lips tingling, and still he would not kiss her. She groaned in frustration as he brushed his damn whiskers along her cheek and let out a husky, wicked laugh.
“Need something?” The man wasinsufferable.
“Kiss me, Evan,” she demanded. He made a sound of delighted approval and did exactly what she asked. He invaded her mouth with dizzying skill. His thumb pushing her mouth open as he plundered her. All she could do was hold on.
How can one feel gently cradled and utterly ravished at once?
“Can I touch you here?” One of his hands pressed at the apex of her thighs, right where she ached.
“Yes,” she moaned, eliciting a predatory sound from him. His big palm glided up the inside of her thigh, leaving traces of fire on her skin. When he reached her garter, he grinned against her lips.
“It delights me to no end to know you carry a gun under your dress,” he told her before taking her bottom lip between his teeth. Her heart pounded with breathtaking force, and her head swam, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the secret, light touch that followed his words.
“So wet. I am going mad with wanting to taste you,” he groaned as he cupped her in his hand. It felt like her heart was pulsing there, right in his palm.
“Evan,” she begged as his hands explored, fingers spreading her.
“Mmm, has anyone touched you here?” he asked, his voice like sin, pressed to her ear.
