CharmaineLouise Books — CharmaineLouise Books Coterie on Ream Sneak Peek!
CharmaineLouise Books — CharmaineLouise Books Coterie on Ream Sneak Peek!
Glitzy. Glamorous. Steamy.
The First Chapter in Entice My Desires Luc & Blair: A Billionaire Age Gap Romance
I want to live again—for my best friend’s daughter.
In the world of trillion-dollar finance, I’m accustomed to getting all I want—except for the much younger daughter of my best friend. Blair Thomas gives me reason to live again after the tragic deaths of my wife and son during childbirth. And she re-ignites my Daddy Dom kink… Can the flames of our forbidden love flourish or will they dwindle?
Luc Montaigne—the sexy Silver Fox and the last Duke of Blois—lights a fire throughout my body with his smoldering gaze. But the sadness lingers, and I want him to live again. For me, his little girl, despite my real father’s disapproval. Can I have my cake and eat it too?
The Men of STEELE World is a series of standalone, interconnecting Billionaire romance novels set in the STEELE International, Inc. world with the LEVELS BDSM clubs as the backdrop. Follow these Doms as they fly around the world chasing the subs they love and their happily ever afters. Get ready for glitz, glamour, and steamy romance stories. What's better than that? The Jet-set Lifestyle has never been hotter…
Read on for your Sneak Peek of chapter one of their sizzling off-limits romance. Then click here to read the complete novel on Ream today.
Enjoy! xoxo Charmaine Louise
Chapter 1
7 Years Ago
Luc
Each clump of dirt buries my heart deeper.
Until I suffocate.
But I cannot move my eyes from the sight of the silver casket that holds my love and my long wished for heir—my wife and my son.
Carole died as Lucas slipped from her womb, not breathing. Instead of the robust cries of a newborn baby, the birthing room filled with silence. Neither my wife nor my son issued a sound. She passed on a sigh. The umbilical cord snaked around his tiny throat, choked the life from him with nothing uttered.
Between cries of agony, her last wish was for me to care for our son. To never let him forget his Maman. And I couldn’t do that. In the end, she will care for him.
I placed them in the same coffin. Fitting since they left this world together. My son will spend eternity wrapped in his mother’s loving arms. No more pain for either of them.
But for me, unimaginable agony continues.
And I wish I were with them.
We’ve always wanted children. A son to carry the Montaigne name and the title as Duke of Blois into the future.
Now there’s nothing.
No wife.
No son.
Gone before we could live as a family. Watch Lucas toddle and grow into a fine young man. Give him a sibling or two, as Carole and I planned. Love my wife long into our years together on this Earth.
All gone.
My heart constricts with a shudder through my body and a strangled cry past my lips. But my eyes remain on the casket.
“Come, Monsieur le duc. It will do you no good to stand in the rain and watch anymore. Madame la duchesse and Marquis de Blois rest in peace now. They will always be with you. However, the mourners left for the château. You should be there, Monsieur le duc. Please come with me.”
Thoughts interrupted, I start at the sound of Éloise Belrose’s voice.
She cared for me since birth and was to be Lucas’ primary nanny. But that’s not happening now, is it?
Without glancing away from the grave, I respond.
“Nounou, let me be. I will return to the château when they bury my wife and my son properly. Have Henri deal with the mourners. Now, leave me in peace.”
I angle my body away from her to emphasize the point.
She places a hand on my arm and murmurs her apologies.
The light touch shreds the last thread holding my composure intact.
A heartrending cry rises from the depths of my soul. Shoulders hunch as my body curls in on itself.
Tears blur the vision of gravediggers as they heap more dirt on the casket. The thuds match the pounding of my heart as it slams against my rib cage.
I fall to my knees, lifting my face to the sky.
“Why God? Why?”
The wail reaches the steel-gray clouds above. Rain fills my open mouth until I choke. Fists clench as I sputter, cursing the god who took my life from me. Such evil cannot be good. I renounce all ties and vow to never love another.
* * *
Present
“Your office, Monsieur le duc.”
I glance up from my laptop where the screen splits to display the international stock markets to find we arrived at Banque Montaigne. So engrossed in the numbers, I didn’t realize my chauffeur Armand Giroux stopped the Rolls-Royce Phantom Extended in front of the headquarters.
“Merci, Armand,” I respond as a security guard strides towards the sedan. “I expect to finish at the usual time.”
I step out when the guard opens the door and nod my thanks.
As always, I take a moment to glance up at the modern fifty-story mixed-use skyscraper in La Défense. The early morning sun glints off its blue-tinted glass exterior. Until the 1960s, the center of Paris served as the headquarters. Originally the financiers to the French kings and the nobility, Banque Montaigne grew into a centuries-old, multitrillion-dollar banking empire with offices and branches around the globe. Each generation leads the privately owned company with me as the current CEO and Chairman of the Board.
My father groomed me for the role from the time I could walk through the headquarters’ front doors until he passed shortly after my thirtieth birthday. Twenty years later, I walk with pride into the spacious lobby. Although saddened, I don’t have an heir to prepare as my successor. Nor one to carry the title of Duke of Blois.
I shake my head to clear the melancholy line of thinking. Although the ache remains, tears no longer sting my sapphire blue eyes at the thought of Carole and Lucas. They are forever in my heart.
Fortunately, my focus on work keeps me distracted. For the past seven years, I spend fourteen hours of my day at the office. In by five in the morning and out at seven in the evening. Mid-afternoon sessions with my personal trainer keep my body and mind in peak performance. Some nights I attend business-related or social events as necessary. The brutal schedule affords me little time in my mansion located in the ritzy seizième arrondissement. I can forget about its emptiness if I’m only there for a few hours to sleep.
One aspect of my life I can’t ignore is my Daddy Dom/little girl kink.
Carole understood my need for the dynamic of BDSM age-play. She was not only my wife but my sub and my little. Many confuse the power exchange for something seedy. It is not, and Carole enjoyed it as much as I did.
I believed I lost that part of my life, too.
However, three years ago, a spark of a permanent little girl re-ignited. I had a moment without suffering from grief. A blink of pleasure. Again.
But I continue to tamp it down. My best friend would not appreciate me being in a relationship with his daughter, who’s seventeen years my junior—more than a roleplay age gap. And damn sure not in a DD/lg one. Not that I’d ever tell Roderick Thomas. That’s for me and—
Again, I shake my head, this time to clear the erotic taboo line of thinking and remind myself to focus on the day ahead.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Montaigne.”
My administrative assistant—Estelle Gauthier—greets me with a warm smile and a cup of coffee.
“Merci.”
I thank her as I continue into my office. Hours later, I receive a phone call from a business associate with an excellent tip for my project outside of Banque Montaigne—Lola’s Coterie.
Another young woman who literally fell at my feet six years ago is the owner of the eponymous luxury lingerie company. We met a year after Carole and Luc passed away. Lola Lewis became the fresh air I needed to get through my darkest hours. I saw the potential in her business dream and helped her to achieve it. Thus, becoming her mentor and the Vice Chair of her newly founded company.
A smile spreads across my face as I recall our initial encounter one evening when I was leaving Banque Montaigne’s headquarters. The parcels in her arms flew in the air and landed on the sidewalk when she tripped over a trail of fabric from a bolt of lace. Fortunately, I caught her before she too landed on the asphalt. The curses in English and in French that rushed from her mouth were explicit enough to redden even a sailor’s face.
After she regained her footing, the words worsened when Lola realized she broke the heel on her shoe. I heard her mumble the expletives under her breath as we collected her packages and bolts of material.
“Mademoiselle, let me help you. You can sit inside to situate your shoe,” I said, hands full of packages as I showed with a tilt of my chin the front doors of my bank’s headquarters.
Mesmerizing, hazel eyes gave me the once over. With a nod, the petite beauty—apparently, I didn’t seem threatening—allowed me to guide her into the lobby.
“Monsieur Montaigne!” Called one of the security staff, “Laissez-moi vous aider.”
I handed the packages to him and to the other guard before I took her by the elbow and led her to one of the lobby sofas. The scent of her alluring perfume stirred my once-lifeless loins.
“Merci, Monsieur Montaigne,” she said, holding out her hand.
“You’re very welcome, mademoiselle,” I responded, surprised that she caught my name. As I took her small hand in my large one, she surprised me once again with a firm shake.
“Once I fix my shoe, I’ll be on my way.”
“My dear, your shoe is beyond fixing,” I laughed, and she joined in, holding the two pieces of her shoe in both hands.
The sound of her laughter was like a breath of fresh air I hadn’t experienced in over a year. Before allowing my mind to drift as it so easily did in those days, I asked her where she planned to go with such an assemblage of goods.
“I’m an apprentice for a lace maker and was returning to his atelier with supplies,” she responded, her eyes shining with exuberance.
It was then that I noticed how much younger than me Lola was, at least eighteen, maybe twenty years.
“I see, your dedication is admirable to carry so much, so late in the evening.”
“Yes, well, his work inspires me… Anyhow, I must go, thank you, again.”
She stood and made to lift her packages.
My gut told me to not let her go so quickly. Her apprenticeship, dedication, even her tempestuous little mouth, noticeably a lush and kissable one, intrigued me. My reaction shocked me, but not enough to stop me from offering to give her a ride.
“My car and driver are out front. Please allow me to take you to the atelier. Your shoe and those packages are not a pleasant combination.”
I paused and held my breath for her reaction.
Again, she appraised me, then nodded. With a perfectly arched eyebrow raised, she responded, “Well, I know who you are. I’ll text Monsieur Thibault to let him know that you’re bringing me to his studio now.”
Now, I think of how our chance encounter became the catalyst for the carnal fire smoldering inside of me. As I tamp down the forbidden desire for that particular young woman, I send a text message to Lola to meet me for dinner.
* * *
“Bon soir, Monsieur Montaigne,” greets the maître d’ at Arpège. “Comment ça va ce soir?”
“Bon soir. C’est bien, je vous remercie,” I reply with a smile I’m fine this evening.
The three Michelin star restaurant is buzzing with the sounds of patrons chatting while they dine on the award-winning food.
This is Lola’s favorite restaurant in Paris. I first brought her for dinner almost five years ago to celebrate the opening of her flagship boutique on the Champs-Élysées. A year later, we returned for the anniversary of our initial encounter.
I settle at the table and peruse the menu.
“Sorry I’m late!”
With a blink, I look up and see Lola leaning down to double kiss my cheeks in greeting.
Her pretty, heart-shaped face flushed from rushing to the restaurant. Her wavy, black hair flowing down her back is in stark contrast to the cream silk blouse tucked into a black leather pencil skirt. I laugh to myself when I notice that she’s wearing shoes similar to the ones she had on that long-ago evening, this time paired with black fishnets.
“Oh, petite chérie, no need to apologize. No doubt Leonie took longer than expected,” I joke.
The Parisian megamodel Leonie Beaulieu is the utmost professional who never displays a diva attitude. Yet another young woman I’ve encountered over the years and played a part in her professional growth. I introduced her to Lola. Leonie signed on as the spokesmodel for the lingerie company and became best friends with Lola. So many beauties, however, only one taunts me.
“Of course,” Lola winks, going along with my jest. “She’s infatuated with the new collections and coerced me into giving her most of the samples!”
The server arrives to take our order, and Lola requests her favorite dishes.
Once we’re alone, I sit back. With a stern tone, I ask, “And if Leonie has all the samples, how do you presume to present them to the president of STEELE International’s Retail Properties Division the day after tomorrow?”
Lola nearly chokes on her sip of wine as her gaze flies to mine, eyebrows hitting her hairline.
“What?” She sputters, delicately wiping her lips with the linen napkin.
“Mmhmmm,” I respond, pulling on the cuffs of my custom-tailored dress shirt.
“What do you mean… What are you saying, Luc? Tell me!” Lola demands, mouth agape.
I smile at my protégée.
“A business associate of mine has a partnership for his stores with STEELE. He told me word was out that they’re looking to make up for a poor deal and need to move fast with one that will offset the loss.”
Intrigued, Lola leans forward.
“So, what does that mean?” She insists, eyebrows scrunched.
“It means, petite chérie, that now is an excellent time to negotiate boutiques in New York and Las Vegas where STEELE has several properties. Rents on Fifth Avenue, on Prince Street, and in their premier Vegas shopping mall are not inexpensive. Lola’s Coterie can benefit from long-term leases set now when STEELE is not in the best position to play hardball,” I finish with a relish.
“Oh, Luc”—Lola jumps from her chair and pulls me into her warm embrace—“you are incroyable!”
Again seated, Lola turns all business. The smart, feisty woman I met six years ago resurfaces.
“When do we leave?” Her hazel eyes twinkle with glee.
“I take it Blair will attend the meeting?”
“Of course,” Lola responds, unaware of the reason for my question.
Despite how much I deny the attraction to my best friend’s daughter, my cock rouses in my trousers.
Merde.
