by Risk, Mona
“What are you talking about? I love you, Mary-Beth. I adore you.” He held her shoulders, and stifled the urge to shake her when she turned her head away.
“No, Yves. You always professed your absolute refusal to get married. We even agreed that we both enjoyed having no strings attached. You changed your mind after my fall.”
“Yes, because when I saw you on the ground, hurt, bleeding, and almost dying, I was so terrified of losing you I realized how much I love you, how much I need you in my life.”
“You proposed only because you felt guilty, because you think you caused my fall. Rest assured, you didn’t.” Looking at him straight, she clenched the sheets. “I shouldn’t have turned my head when riding. My bad.”
“Mary-Beth, listen to me carefully.” He held her shoulders to make sure he had her full attention. “I felt guilty because I should have asked you to marry me earlier.”
Her chin tilted in a determined set. “Once before, I accepted a proposal for the wrong reasons. I won’t repeat that mistake.”
“Bon Dieu, you are driving me crazy.” He racked his fingers through his hair. “Someone up there is having fun at my expense. The big mistake here is that the woman I want to marry is rejecting me.” He enveloped her in his arms. “Mary-Beth, ma chérie, we love each other. We deserve to be together.”
Trailing kisses against her temple and cheek, he waited for her to digest his words and trust him. When she sighed and didn’t pull away, he brushed her lips, then deepened his kiss as she hooked her fingers around his nape and responded to him with her usual passion. He wanted to brand her with his touch, with his kiss, with his love. “Can’t you see we belong together, mon amour?”
“Yves, as long as I limp, I can’t—”
He covered her mouth with his palm. “I want you to tell me, ‘yes, I will marry you’. Or I won’t let you out of my arms, understood?”
She squirmed and chuckled. “Stubborn aristocrat. Yes, I’ll marry you if you still want me by the time I finish my therapy.”
He scowled. “With or without a limp, you are beautiful.”
“Now you listen to me, Yves. I’ll stay in France, at your chateau, and I’ll go through therapy, but I won’t walk down the aisle until I can walk straight. Without a limp.”
“Thank you.” His heart lurched with relief. He bent over her and sealed their commitment with a deep kiss. “You make me a very happy man. I know you will be back to normal in no time.”
She threw away her blanket. “Help me up. I’m going to therapy.”
“Let me get you a wheelchair. You have been in bed too long to walk on your own all of a sudden.”
“I—”
“Shush. A good patient should listen to her doctor,” he said with a smile.
She burst out laughing, and her eyes sparked with joy.
His heart hummed with happiness. A minute later, he came back, scooped her up into his arms and carefully lowered her into the wheelchair. He cradled her face between his palms. “I am proud of your willpower. But I love you as you are, slim or heavy, limping or not.” He sealed his words with a kiss. “I will always love you,” he whispered against her lips.
EPILOGUE
Two years had passed since the night Mary-Beth had spent with Yves in the Pompadour room. A night she’d remember as long as she lived. A night with so many incredible and unexpected repercussions.
The legend that claimed couples who made love in the historic room found happiness had turned out to be true. Yves had never looked at another woman and their initial no strings involvement had morphed into the strongest commitment.
Mary-Beth stood stoically in the small room in the old Gothic church of Marancourt while Beatrice re-arranged her veil and Sophie fretted with her bridal train. A bang on the door saved her from her overzealous bridesmaids.
“Are you ready?” Hubert’s voice bellowed through the closed door.
“Just a moment, mon chéri.” Beatrice answered her husband before adding one more pin to secure the white tulle expanse around Mary-Beth’s high chignon.
“We can’t wait forever, Dr. Galt and I.”
“Hurry,” Mary-Beth ordered. “Steve has been at the door for ten minutes now.
“Oui, oui.” Sophie opened the door wide to allow the bride to pass without brushing her gown against the doorframe.
“As expected, you look gorgeous, sweetheart.” Steve nodded with an appreciative smile.
“Thank you for coming all the way to France,” Mary-Beth said as Steve placed a careful kiss on her forehead.
“Barbara and I enjoyed our honeymoon in the Loire Valley so much that when Malroux invited us to stay at the chateau, we couldn’t wait to come back here. And I wouldn’t have missed your wedding for the world.”
“Oh, Steve, you were my mentor and you’ve always helped me. I’m so relieved you didn’t resent me for—”
“Forget the past, sweetheart. We are both happier now. I’m glad to see you in control of your life. I’m also thankful you allowed me to play surrogate father and walk you down the aisle.” Steve hooked her hand in the hollow of his elbow. “Let’s not make the groom wait longer. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Her voice wobbled, and then firmed. “Yes, I’m more than ready.”
“He already waited two and a half years.” Hubert chuckled. “Justice poétique. The man who claimed he would not marry for five or ten years has spent two years begging Mary-Beth to set a date for the wedding.”
“How could I marry? I was limping and had to go through intensive therapy and additional surgery to recover the flexibility of my hip.”
“Hurry up. The bishop is here and the church is full,” Roberto called.
“Oui, mon chéri. My husband is so impatient,” Sophie said as she collected the bride’s train. They followed Hubert through a corridor leading to the sacristy where they gathered.
Yves had invited all the residents of Marancourt to share his happiness. Dinner would be served to family and intimate friends after the ceremony. Tables had been set around the downtown fountain for the reception that would follow the wedding supper.
Mary-Beth peeked at the interior of the old church through a crack in the door. Elegant French aristocrats occupied the front pews and the countess of Marancourt sat enthroned in the first row, with Steve’s wife on one side and Kate in nun’s habit on the other. Behind them, Jennifer and her husband Greg chatted together. A hundred villagers in Sunday suits crowded into the back of the church and many times more stood outside on the village plaza.
The wedding march of Lohengrin filled the high cupola of the church as Mary-Beth proceeded toward the altar on Steve’s arm, her eyes fixed on her groom.
“You are so beautiful.” Yves held her hand between his warm fingers.
“You, too.” She smiled, and his green eyes glittered with admiration and love.
The bishop came to stand in front of them while the priest intoned the French equivalent of dearly beloved.
Later, the bishop blessed the rings. Yves slid a gold and diamond band on her finger and brought her hand to his lips. “Congratulations, my lovely countess. Now I should kiss my bride the American way.” Without waiting for the bishop’s permission, Yves drew her into his arms. The congregation burst into applause and the priest cleared his throat.
When he released her, her knight in an Armani tuxedo rearranged her veil and whispered, “I will love you forever, mon amour.”
THE END
2011 EPPIE Award Finalist.
2010 Best Contemporary Romance at Readers Favorite
Praise for No More Lies...
“No More Lies was a fantastic read. The plot was also very well thought out and the pacing on target. The wonderful healing that took place in this book also made it a very sweet read.” Recommended Read ~ Night Owl Romances
“Such a charming story. Keeping the reader entertained with the twists and turns in the plot.” ~Got Romance!
“Full of emotion, suspense,
intrigue, good intentions and determination.” ~The Long And The Short Romance Reviews
“A wonderfully written book about true love and the rarity of second chances.” ~Happily Ever After Romance Reviews
CHAPTER ONE
“Olivia, why didn’t you tell me you knew Dr. Toulon-Chatel?” Bypassing morning greetings, the Chairman of Psychiatry, Dr. Herb McMillan, never wasted precious minutes on the phone.
“I don’t.” Tapping the faded, old desk in her windowless office, Dr. Olivia Crane scoured her mind to put a face to the name. “Never met him. But I read his articles, the ones you passed on to me. He seems like a brilliant psychiatrist. I’m sure he’ll be an excellent addition to our department.” Maybe she’d be able to sleep a little more than four hours with the French doctor on board for six months.
Doc cleared his throat then paused as if to choose his words. “When I sent him your enthusiastic report last Thursday, he e-mailed back on Friday that he’ll be here on Sunday. And voilà, as he said.”
“Voilà, what?”
“He arrived last night.”
“Already? He wasn’t supposed to be here for two more weeks.” With her busy schedule, Olivia hadn’t had time to check the visiting physician’s website yet.
A soft chuckle sounded on the other line. “The first thing he told me was he couldn’t wait to see you.”
“To see...me?” Why? Olivia blinked, annoyed by a situation she didn’t understand.
Doc kept mumbling in her ear as she pulled one of their visitor’s articles from the pile on her desk and punched his website into her computer.
The name Toulon-Chatel flashed on the screen, along with a photo that stopped her heart. A perfect, amazing picture of Luc.
Her Luc.
The picture didn’t make sense. How had Luc ended up with such an incredibly long and aristocratic name?
Olivia zoomed in on the photo by two hundred percent.With the cursor, she traced blue eyes framed by dark lashes, chiseled nose and smiling lips.
“Dr. Lucien...de...Toulon-Chatel.” Squinting at the screen, she studied Luc’s handsome features. Hewas here? In Cincinnati? “Oh no.”
“Yes,” Doc replied, his voice excited. She heard a faint, “I’ll bring him over.”
The phone slipped from her sweaty palm and banged on the desk.
Olivia had welcomed the opportunity to co-author an article with a brilliant psychiatrist to further her career. But she was expecting an older, distinguished physician, Dr. L. de Toulon-Chatel, probably graying or bald.
Not drop-dead gorgeous Luc whose image was woven intimately into her most sensual dreams.
Darn. Luc might imagine she was behind the decision to invite him back to the Cincinnati University Hospital. Too late now for the chairman to politely withdraw the invitation.
An insistent beeping caught her attention. She reached for the receiver and put it back in its cradle.
Ten years was a long time. Maybe he was married. Her throat constricted. God, I hope he doesn’t come here with a wife and family.
Her gaze frozen on the screen, Olivia couldn’t tell how long she remained at her desk, staring at the monitor where Luc’s picture smiled at her.
Someone knocked. Her office door opened. She bolted out of her chair, took a step, and stopped in her tracks. Doc came in, and towering behind him...Luc George.
Her pulse raced, her knees wobbled, her head swam. She stared at him, hands clenched behind her back to conceal their trembling.
With confident strides, Luc passed Dr. McMillan and circled her desk. A wide grin on his face, he halted in front of her, his hair mussed with a strand across his forehead, his eyes as bright as a cloudless sky. She recognized the amber and spice scents of his favorite cologne. The evocative fragrance transported her back to a time when she still believed love could work miracles.
“Olivia.” His voice was hoarse. Different.
Awareness clicked in her foggy mind. She had to welcome him, a physician greeting a visiting colleague. She stiffened and extended her arm for a handshake.
Ignoring her hand, Luc cradled her shoulders. In a swift motion, he brought her against him and kissed her three times on the cheeks—right, left, and right again—in the French way. His lips left fiery spots where they touched her face, and her heart skipped a beat. She stepped back.
“Olivia,” Luc repeated with a devastating smile.
“Luc?” Heat radiated to her throat, her chest, her belly.
Beyond the desk, Doc cleared his throat a couple of times.
Good grief, what was happening to her? Ten years of perfect control threatened to crumble in a few minutes.
What a mess. Lord, what a gigantic mess.
Luc’s sparkling smile faded as he released her.
“Welcome to Cincinnati,” Olivia said for the sake of saying something until she could recover her mental faculties.
“It is such a pleasure to be here again. I appreciate the invitation.” Luc’s baritone voice sounded natural now, tinged with eagerness, in spite of his formal stilted English. She’d forgotten how he pronounced the R from deep in the throat and avoided contractions. “Merci.” He inched closer.
“You’re welcome. Our department needs your expertise.” She retreated a few more steps and flattened against the wall, unable to move or breathe. Luc held her gaze as if he’d come all the way from Paris to indulge in this agreeable pastime. Would he stop invading her space? “Excuse me.”
Luc backed up and turned. He paused as his gaze fell on her computer screen displaying his enlarged picture. His lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Oh chérie.”
Oh cripes. Her gaze flicked to the monitor screen and then settled back on Luc, a warm blush invading her cheeks.
A knowing grin spread across his face, and he squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he whispered. “I missed you too.”
No, please. The words lodged in her throat as she studied the man she’d once loved. The mischievous twinkling in the blue depth of his eyes, the contented smile, and the confident stance showed her in no uncertain terms Luc believed she’d called him back.
Standing so close to her sexy visitor did strange things to her usual composure. Unwelcome tremors fluttered through her body.
“Wait.” She steadied herself, not wanting to convey the wrong signal. “You don’t understand.”
Dr. McMillan cleared his throat. “I haven’t had my morning coffee yet.” Her mentor’s inquisitive gaze flipped from her to Luc. “Care to join me?”
“Avec plaisir. My pleasure,” said Luc.
“Olivia?” Doc’s eyebrow rose in an arch. “I’m sure you can use a freshly brewed cup. Strong. The way you like it.”
Yes, she badly needed coffee. Grateful for the distraction, she nodded and squared her shoulders, eager to escape Luc’s proximity and familiar scent.
****
When Olivia held the door open for him and Dr. McMillan, Luc suppressed an amused grin. His gaze rested on her hands. No ring there. She was still unattached, an independent, efficient woman, but her gesture defied his sense of chivalry.
“Après toi.” Luc indicated she should pass in front of him. She glanced at him, her lips parting in an adorable smile, but she didn’t question his good manners as she waited for him to follow her and then locked her door.
He’d wondered if he’d find her changed. Her perfume had. Still French. But heady and mature. Probably Arpège, stronger than the Chanel he’d given her years ago.
And her hair was different. She’d cut the long dark ponytail he used to wrap around his hand. Shoulder-length curls with blond streaks framed her face now. She was as lovely as he remembered, in a black pantsuit and light-green silk blouse that matched the aqua color of her eyes. A cool, serene Grace Kelly beauty. An impossible dream suddenly materializing. Olivia had been worth the wait. When would he be able to take her in his arms and taste the passion he’d missed so much?
“You guys go ahead.” M
cMillan’s voice snapped Luc out of his pleasurable contemplation. “I have to stop in my office. I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Let’s walk outside. It’s so gorgeous today.” Olivia preceded Luc toward the hallway and the front door. She strolled out into the narrow road joining the School of Medicine to University Hospital.
Luc adjusted to Olivia’s quick step. He’d walked this path so often, ten years ago, fingers entwined with Olivia’s, on the way to clinical rounds at the hospital or to breaks in the cafeteria.
The flowerbeds along the sidewalk overflowed with red, pink and white roses. Breathing the delightful autumn freshness, he glanced at Olivia. Was she sharing the same nostalgia?
“It is so good to be in Cincinnati, away from the grayness of Paris.” And even better to have been called here by Olivia Crane, the woman who’d filled his fantasies for so long. He hoped this invitation was Olivia’s graceful way to bring him back into her life. “I was happy to have finally heard from you after such a long time.”
“Huh? I didn’t...I mean I wasn’t the one who wrote the invitation.”
“I know, but you evaluated my articles. Thank you for the first-class recommendation.”
“Oh.” She glanced at him, then shrugged and appeared to study the roses. “The articles were very good.”
“To be honest, I was hoping you would write or call sooner. You have only e-mailed me three times. And that was more than three years ago.” He snorted. “Do you realize, Dr. Crane, that your last notes were mostly medical reports without a personal comment or question?” He gave her a sidelong glance.
Had she even noticed that his last name had changed two years ago? Probably not. She’d never questioned him about it and used the same address. Her e-mails had eventually stopped. To think of it, she’d also conspicuously missed the medical conferences he’d attended in the U.S.
She shook her head and sighed. “Come on, Luc. We exchanged e-mails for seven years before we decided to quit.”
“You decided.”