by Risk, Mona
She smiled. “I took cooking classes. I always loved to cook and I wanted to do it the healthy way.”
Of course. Cooking healthy was her obsession. When she married, she’d make her husband a happy man. Merde.
His jaw locked at the thought of Steve Galt eating the delicious meals she’d cook for him, or holding Mary-Beth and kissing her. “Non. Impossible.” He couldn’t allow it.
“No what?” She looked at him with a frown.
“I mean, no, I’ve never eaten such a delicious meal.” He kissed the back of her hand, and turned the delicate wrist to kiss her palm. “Merci beaucoup.”
“You’re welcome.” A lovely pink blossomed on her cheeks, but she didn’t withdraw her hand. Maybe she was getting used to his manners. “I’m so happy you let me cook for you.”
Chérie, I’d like to let you cook for me as long as I live.
Say it, you idiot. Say it out loud. Hubert had claimed he could make any woman change her mind.
His wife’s picture floated in his mind. Thin, pale, and staring at him with sad eyes. He couldn’t push her away. He couldn’t replace her in his heart. At least, not yet.
His gut writhed with a sense of betrayal as he contemplated his charming chef. Wincing, he resolutely put his distressful past away and slammed the lid on his memories.
“I’ll bring the dessert.” Mary-Beth hurried to the fridge while his gaze followed her.
The only dessert he wanted was Mary-Beth with a cherry on top. But he wouldn’t risk spoiling their good time together just because he had trouble dealing with his new chastity.
The peach cobbler with non-dairy cream and Grand Marnier liqueur turned out to be as delectable as the dinner. Mary-Beth tried to do the dishes.
“No, leave them in the sink. The dishwasher boy who helps Cook wouldn’t be pleased if you deprive him of his job.”
Yves walked her to the bottom of the staircase. “We don’t have time to take a tour of the clinic now for you to choose a place for the Health and Beauty Clinic. There is an empty room. I’ll order tables and chairs moved there. You can start in a couple of days.”
“Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. I’m going back to stay with Hubert now. Thank you for a delicious dinner. Goodnight.” He kissed her on the cheeks three times.
“Goodnight, Yves. Give Hubert my best.” She hugged him in return, her arms hooked around his neck and her forehead nestled in the curve of his shoulder.
A sweet hug that knotted every one of his muscles with want.
He needed to push her away from him, to keep his sanity and her friendship. The refreshing scent of her skin and her lingering perfume invaded his senses, and his self-control stretched to breaking point.
But he couldn’t seduce her and he wouldn’t take advantage of her moment of weakness. She was engaged to his colleague and not free to flirt with him.
He placed his hands on her arms and set her away, groaning inwardly at the self-inflicted pain. “I know you don’t want to talk about…about your relationship with Galt—” How could he tell her delicately that such a marriage would be a huge mistake?
She raised her head and stared at him with a grave look.
Merde, he had upset her and ruined a lovely evening.
“Yves, I broke off the engagement.” Her breasts heaved as she lowered her head.
“Pardon?” He arched his eyebrows. Had he heard her correctly? “You are not going to marry him?”
She shook her head. “No. I realized that we were not suitable for each other. We said our good-byes a few days ago.”
He exhaled and struggled to suppress a smile. “I see.” Relief and satisfaction swelled in his heart. Should he offer his congratulations or his regrets? Definitely no regrets here. “I assume you analyzed the situation at length before making such a difficult decision?”
“Yes, it wasn’t easy to break up with him because he was there for me when I needed help. But gratitude is not a sufficient reason to marry,” she explained in a reasonable tone that amused him. “And a marriage based only on respect and appreciation won’t last long.”
“Absolutely right.” Bon Dieu, she had definitely changed in the past month. Nothing could please him more. “So, you are a free woman now?”
“Free as the wind. Free to do as I want.”
Yves’s pulse raced and his resolve faded. She was free to do as she wanted. And he wanted her badly. Her bosom rose on a deep sigh and she smiled, a delightful smile that threatened to consume him and smother his honorable resolutions.
“So what are your plans now?”
“My training, my patients, my career,” she recited. “And I hope I can enjoy life.” Her eyes glittered.
The flame burning in the violet-blue depths of her eyes stopped all thought. His lips brushed her mouth, soft at first, urging her not to withdraw.
“Yves,” she whispered as her cool assertive façade melted into eagerness. Pressing herself against him, she stroked his nape and raked his skin with her nails.
“Don’t play with fire, chérie.”
Too late. She’d already ignited an inferno in his body. He slanted his mouth over her parted lips, caressing and tasting. She moaned, and he deepened his kiss to brand her with his passion.
Suddenly he remembered the time, and groaned. “I have to go back to the hospital.” He wished he could stay with her, keep her in his arms all night.
“Yes, yes, go.” She tilted her head and licked her lips. Her hands slipped down to rest on his chest, warm and tantalizing, but her eyes widened in confusion. “Oh, God.”
“Mary-Beth?” With his finger he smoothed the frown gathering on her forehead. “I hope you don’t regret our kiss? It was spontaneous. Something we both wanted, we both needed.”
She shook her head, then straightened her shoulders, and sighed. “Well, we got it out of our system. A kiss is just a kiss. No big deal, right? Can we forget it now?” she suggested with a weak voice and bit her lip.
He wasn’t about to forget a single detail of their kiss, her warm response, or her body molded to his. His pulse drummed in his ears, and his throat went dry. He captured her gaze to read her emotions. “Is that what you want?” Lust streamed through him.
“Uh…” Her voice quivered and her eyes glittered with desire.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Forget Yves’s sizzling kiss?
Mary-Beth snorted. Why on earth had she suggested such a stupid idea? If they hadn’t been so busy last week, she’d have sat on her bed daydreaming for hours about their romantic interlude.
Unfortunately, Yves didn’t have trouble acting as if they’d never shared the most earthshaking kiss. “Dr. Drake, you can close. Dr. Drake? You can stitch here.”
“Yes, I heard.” Dr. Drake this. Dr. Drake that. Except for their time in the OR, he’d stayed out of sight. He’d probably forgotten their dinner, their kiss, and even his suggestion to take her to Paris on Sunday.
She finished stitching the patient and lingered in the OR to tidy up. After the nurses wheeled the gurney out, Yves suddenly acknowledged her existence. “We’re going to Paris tomorrow.”
Her eyes rounded. “Paris? I thought you forgot?”
“Never. I didn’t forget a thing. I hope you didn’t?”
His wicked grin sent a surge of want to her belly. Reassured, she stifled a smile. “I remember we talked about Paris. What about Hubert?”
“Béatrice will keep an eye on him while we are away. Meet me at 7:00 am in the breakfast area.”
Would she be totally depraved if she admitted she wouldn’t mind another taste of Yves’s delicious lips? You can’t blame him this time.
She worked hard and was in France for a short time. She deserved some fun. And fun with Yves would be heaven. That’s the problem, her conscience muttered.
Shut up. A little bit of fun can’t hurt. She was a free woman now. Freedom tasted good in Yves’s arms. Her body thrummed with yearning.
The next day,
Mary-Beth woke up at the crack of dawn to shower and get ready. She slipped on a black and white knit dress that stopped at five fashionable inches above the knee and slid on a pair of black patent shoes. A silver chain around her neck and a pair of matching hoops on her ears complemented the contemporary design of her outfit. In front of the bathroom mirror, she applied a peachy-bronze blush over her cheeks, a smidgen of mascara on her eyelashes, and a shimmery pink gloss on her lips.
After examining herself in the mirror, she dabbed perfume behind her ears and on her throat, collected her black purse and white blazer, then sauntered downstairs to grab a cup of coffee.
Yves laid down the newspaper he’d been reading at the kitchen table and stood. He looked smashing in dark green pants and a moss polo that matched the color of his eyes. “Perfect timing.” His gaze skated over her face, dress, legs and shoes, and reversed direction with excruciating slowness.
“Ravissante. You’re ravishing, gorgeous.” He came toward her, held her shoulders and gave her three kisses.
“Thank you.” Was it her licentious imagination or had his mouth feather-brushed her lips by accident on its way from one cheek to the other? Her pulse raced, as it always did, but today an unbearable heat singed her throat and skidded down to collect in a fiery ball in her belly. She inched away from him, sat at the table and relieved the sudden dryness of her throat with a sip of coffee.
A whole day in Paris with Yves. Was she awake or still dreaming?
“Mary-Beth?” She jerked out of her reverie. Yves peered at her, his eyebrow arched. “Aren’t you going to eat something?”
“I’m not hungry this early in the morning.” At the moment, she wouldn’t be able to squeeze a single bite through her constricted throat.
“In that case, let’s go. We will have breakfast at a sidewalk café in Paris.” Yves folded the newspaper and swallowed the rest of his coffee.
She quickly finished hers and followed him to the back terrace. The fragrant scent of the roses wafted through the breezy morning air as they strolled through the backyard. Silence drifted between them.
Why was he so quiet? They’d never run out of conversation before. She needed to calm down, say something, and stop ogling the man next to her. “Why is the garage so far from the main building?”
“It was an old barn that my grandfather turned into a garage. Later, my father had a small stable built to house three horses.” He opened the door of the Ferrari for her. She slid inside and he sat behind the wheel.
Keep talking. Anything was better than the awkward silence that amplified her heartbeat to a loud drum. “Do you ride often?”
“Not often enough. I don’t have time. Would you like me to teach you?”
“I know how to ride. I had a horse that was stabled at a farm, and I used to ride every weekend. Of course, I stopped after I went to med school. No time as you said.”
“We will make time for horseback riding together. There are paths through the fields and the adjoining forest.”
Oh, so he wanted more outings with her. Elation fluttered in her stomach. She leaned against the back of her seat. “That’d be cool.” Any activity would be cool if shared with Yves. To think more than half of her training time had flown past in the blink of an eye.
He backed out of the garage, drove through the grounds, and then zoomed along the road. “We’re going by the expressway. The country roads are picturesque, but would take too long.”
Yves turned on the radio to French songs. Two hours later, the high-rises of the French capital and the top of the Eiffel Tower broke the horizon. She pulled her camera from her purse.
“Acting the tourist today?” he asked with a chuckle.
“I want to bring back a lot of souvenirs.”
“You will.” He gave her a strange smile. “Today you will discover Paris through the eyes of a Frenchman, although we won’t have time to see much in one day. First a panoramic view.”
“From the Eiffel Tower,” she said without hesitation.
“Not yet. Be patient. You’ll see.”
He wound through narrow streets and large avenues, and zigzagged up a hill to a huge church. He parked and opened the door for her. “This is the Sacred Heart church built by Napoleon. Come and look at the view.”
Stepping out of the car, she gasped in amazement. Paris spread at her feet like a map. “There,” she pointed with enthusiasm. “I see the Eiffel Tower.”
“Exactly. And there the Arc de Triomphe.”
She raised her camera and took her first picture.
“May I have it?” Yves held out his hand. “I’ll take a picture of you with Paris as a background.”
Just as he was getting ready to click a passerby approached them. “I can take a picture of both of you, if you want.”
“Merci.” Yves handed him the camera and moved closer to her. His arm stretched behind her shoulders, he said, “Smile,” as the benevolent photographer snapped a couple of shots.
The gentleman had barely walked away before Mary-Beth took a few more from pictures different angles. Then Yves led her to the church. “Light a candle and make a wish,” he suggested with a smile.
“Will it come true?”
He shrugged. “Some people believe it does.”
“I’ll take a chance.” She lit her candle and prayed for time to stand still, for her training in France to never end.
They returned to the car and drove through the heart of Paris. Yves pointed out monuments and palaces, and explained their history. Pride oozed from his voice. He parked his car in an underground parking lot and led her up an old stone staircase. As soon as they exited on to a crowded sidewalk, Yves waved to another huge cathedral.
“That’s Notre-Dame de Paris,” she exclaimed.
“Bravo. You recognized it.”
Mary-Beth could have spent endless hours admiring every column and sculpture, but Yves pulled her out after a brief tour of the Gothic cathedral. “I’m starved. It’s time for a brunch.” They sat at a sidewalk café overlooking Notre-Dame. Yves ordered a typical French breakfast of baguettes with ham, marmalade crepes and coffee.
An hour later she finished her crepe and licked her lips. And blushed furiously when he focused on the slide of her tongue.
“Ready to walk again?” he asked as his gaze lingered on her mouth and his hand closed over hers on the table.
“Rested and ready. Let’s go.” She stood, unable to cope with the heat radiating from his touch.
They strolled along the bank of the River Seine and stopped to look at exhibits of old books arranged without any particular order on wooden tables set on the sidewalk. “These are the bouquinists, the secondhand booksellers where you can find real treasures sometimes.”
Mary-Beth rummaged through the various displays and discovered a fifty-year old French-English dictionary. “I’ll take this one.”
When she fumbled through her purse for money, Yves stalled her hand. “Please, let me take care of that. You are my guest today.” He ignored her protest and paid the bouquinist.
“Thank you.” She smiled and held the dictionary against her heart. Her only gift from Yves. The musty scent of old paper smelled like heaven.
They drove down the Champs-Elysées and parked along a side street. Like thousands of tourists, Mary-Beth enjoyed the leisurely walk to the Arch of Triumph where she lingered to read the inscriptions about Napoleon’s battles.
The day passed too quickly. She took more pictures than she could count. The best were those shot by passersby of Yves standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders or waist. They would go into a special folder on her laptop to become her screensaver.
“It’s already six o’clock. We haven’t seen the Eiffel Tower yet, and it’s getting cloudy,” Mary-Beth complained.
“Be patient. I won’t let you miss it. It’s open until midnight.” He stopped at a store and insisted on buying her a red T-shirt with a big I Love Paris embroidered on the front.
A book
, a shirt, and dozens of pictures would remind her of her visit to Paris with Yves. Before she could stop herself, she tiptoed and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Yves.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled slowly, and then pointed to a street ahead. “Now, we walk to the Eiffel Tower. Look to your right. You can see it from here.”
“Oh, my God.” So that was the Eiffel Tower. “I didn’t realize it was so high. Impressive. How do we go up?”
“By elevators. We will stop at each of the three levels.”
The view was incredible from the first level, and even more beguiling from the second, but she winced as the third elevator began its spectacular eighteen-meter ascent. Yves, always attentive to her comfort, grabbed her hand as they stepped on to the outdoor level. Mary-Beth stared awestruck at the breathtaking scenery. The sun slowly dipped down, and soon dusk hovered over Paris. “It’s so beautiful.”
Yves stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. She closed her eyes for a second, and made a wish—her one and only wish—as she leaned into him, and he tightened his hold.
“I am glad you are enjoying your day.” His husky voice against her hair sent tremors down her spine. She turned to face him. Yves’s eyes held her captive more surely than his arms, her lips dangerously near his.
He didn’t come closer, and she didn’t ease away. They just looked at each other. She sighed and averted her eyes, only to glance at one couple hugging and another kissing. A curse of frustration escaped her, and she focused her gaze on Yves, on his lips, his aristocratic nose, and hard jaw. He wasn’t smiling as he peered into her eyes, waiting.
Luscious memories of their last kiss shivered through her. She didn’t want to wait anymore and waste their precious moments together. She tilted her face higher, her chin a mere inch from his, and inhaled his masculine scent and lemon aftershave mixed with the crisp freshness of a Paris night. Her pulse quickened, raced, slowed, and almost stopped before resuming its erratic pace.
“Yves,” she whispered, her lips gliding against his throat. “Kiss me.”