The silence was electric. The muted music, the guests’ chatter…it all faded into the background.
‘Since then you’ve contrived to elicit invitations to the same functions I attend,’ Dimitri continued with dangerous silkiness. ‘Almost everywhere I turn, be it Athens, London or Rome…you manage to be there.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
She was good, Chantelle complimented silently. She did injured indignation to perfection.
‘It amounts to stalking, Daniella.’
‘How can you say that?’
‘Easily.’ He waited a beat. ‘If you won’t desist, I’ll have no option but to take out a restraining order against you.’
‘I don’t understand how you can be so cruel.’
Pathos was evident, and seemed incredibly genuine as the actress recoiled from what she perceived to be an unjustified attack.
‘I travel extensively on location. My visit here has been at Victor’s invitation.’
Victor remained silent. Integrity, or a desire to distance himself? Probably the latter.
‘Your inclusion at tonight’s function?’ Dimitri persisted silkily.
‘Publicity. It’s an essential part of an actor’s career.’
‘I have it on authority the venue was fully booked.’
‘So? Someone must have cancelled.’
‘And the several messages you left on Andreas’ answering machine?’
‘Why shouldn’t I look up an old friend?’
‘We’re merely social acquaintances, Daniella. Accept it and move on.’
The waiter appeared at their table and placed a delectable salad in front of the actress, who took one look, and demeaned him with attitude. ‘Is this the best you can do?’
The anger simmering beneath Daniella’s control threatened to erupt into an explosive scene.
The waiter apologised and requested the actress’s specific requirements.
‘The food is appalling. Don’t bother.’
Temperament was one thing, but nothing excused bad manners.
Chantelle picked at the food on her plate, rearranging the artistic vegetable compilation, forked a morsel of fish, then reached for her wineglass.
Dimitri calmly collected his cutlery and finished the contents on his plate.
Doubtless he was accustomed to shooting people down in flames. Maybe he did it in business on a daily basis. However, she needed a temporary escape from the tense atmosphere.
With deliberate movements, she pushed her plate aside, folded her napkin, then she excused herself.
It seemed feasible to freshen up, given the main event…a fashion show…was due to begin when guests had finished the main course.
How long could she remain absent? Five minutes, ten? It didn’t take long to reapply lipstick and powder her nose, but she waited ten minutes before entering the vestibule.
Only to come face-to-face with Daniella, whose transformation was something to behold.
‘Don’t let that little performance fool you,’ the actress vented in barely controlled fury. ‘Dimitri is mine, he always has been.’
Chantelle drew in a calming breath, hating the scene she knew was about to unfold. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said steadily, and took a backward step as Daniella moved close.
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
Oh, hell. She didn’t want a cat-fight, but she was damned if she’d remain quiescent. ‘Did it never occur that you’re delusional? Or that you possess an unhealthy obsession for a man who wants nothing to do with you?’
‘Bitch.’ Daniella’s hands clenched and unclenched with rage. ‘Just because you bore him a son—’
Chantelle held up a hand. ‘Stop it right there,’ she warned, and made to walk away, except she wasn’t quick enough as Daniella’s palm connected painfully with her cheek.
‘Don’t mess with me. I can have you taken out—’ she clicked a finger and thumb together with expressive emphasis ‘—like that.’
‘You think Dimitri wouldn’t put two and two together?’ Chantelle challenged, and felt the first stirring of fear as Daniella’s eyes darkened to emerald.
‘I can make him want me. I know tricks—’
She’d had enough. Without a further word she pushed past the actress and walked to the lift, which mercifully opened as soon as she pressed the call-button.
At Reception she had the concierge summon a cab, which appeared within seconds, and she slid into the rear passenger seat, gave the driver Anouk’s address, then focused on the passing traffic, the nightscape, in an effort to dispel Daniella’s vengeful image.
It didn’t work, nothing worked, and she alighted from the cab feeling as if she’d run an emotional marathon.
Anouk met her at the door, her features creased with concern.
‘What is it, amie? Dimitri has called, not once but twice. Merde,’ she breathed. ‘What is that mark on your face?’
‘Maman—don’t ask.’
‘But of course I will ask!’ The sudden peal of the phone provided a momentary distraction. ‘That will be Dimitri again.’
‘I don’t want to speak with him. I don’t want to see him.’
‘Alors—I must answer that.’ She did, and Chantelle gathered little from her mother’s end of the conversation other than she confirmed Chantelle was home.
‘He is on his way here now,’ Anouk revealed as she cut the connection.
‘Maman, if you let him in the door, I swear I’ll take the next flight out of here.’ Stupid, angry tears threatened to spill, and she brushed at them in a futile gesture. ‘I’m going upstairs to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.’ She caught the concern on her mother’s features, and relented a little. ‘Promise.’ Then she crossed to the stairs and went to her room.
With care she removed her make-up, then slipped out of her clothes. There was a tense moment as she glimpsed the beam of reflected car-lights in the driveway, and she swiftly turned the safety lock in position.
Dimitri might get past Anouk, but she was damned if she’d face him tonight.
Within minutes there was a light tap on her bedroom door. ‘Chantelle. Dimitri insists on speaking with you.’
She took a deep, calming breath. ‘Whatever he has to say can wait until morning.’
It was a while before she saw car-lights switch on and his car reverse down the driveway. Then, and only then did she unlock the door and check on Samuel before retreating to her room to lie in bed staring at the shadowed ceiling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHANTELLE slept badly, and woke to find Samuel tugging at her arm. With automatic movements she reached forward and gave him an affectionate hug.
‘Maman, wake up. Dimitri is here, and Grandmère is waiting to take me to the beach with Jean-Paul.’
What on earth was the time?
Eight, she determined with a silent groan. ‘I need to shower and dress, mon ange. Go downstairs and wait for me. Fifteen minutes, OK?’
‘OK,’ he said happily. ‘I’ve had breakfast, and Grandmère is packing a picnic.’
Ten minutes later she donned jeans and a singlet top, slid her feet into sandals, then she caught her hair into a ponytail. Make-up? Forget it.
Subterfuge was alive and well, she perceived as she entered the dining room. Dimitri stood with Samuel hoisted in his arms as they both surveyed Jean-Paul’s cruiser moored at the jetty stretching out from the water’s edge.
Jean-Paul, his arm in a sling, looked distinctly bemused, and Anouk was slotting bottled water and juice into the portable cooler.
Dimitri turned as he sensed her presence, and gave the appearance of being totally relaxed…until she met his gaze, and she glimpsed something she didn’t care to define.
‘Maman is here,’ Samuel said at once, and looked at his grandmother. ‘Can we go now, Grandmère?’
‘Of course.’ Anouk ran a quick check. ‘Sunscreen, hat, insect repellent, change of clothes, swimsuit, towels…yes, that’s everything.’
‘Grandmère is going to show me how to catch fish.’
She is? Well, now, that has to be a first.
‘We’re going to eat it for dinner,’ Samuel informed as Dimitri released him to stand on the floor. ‘Au revoir, Dimitri. Maman.’
‘The coffee is hot,’ Anouk declared. ‘And there are croissants warming in the oven.’
‘I’ll help you with the cooler.’ Dimitri crossed to where it stood and followed Anouk, Jean-Paul and Samuel out to the car.
Chantelle poured fresh juice, drank it, then filled a cup with coffee, choosing to take it black and sweet. Her nerves were in shreds, and the thought of food repelled her.
Minutes later she heard the car start, and she steeled herself for Dimitri’s return. Even so, his reappearance in the kitchen surprised her and she almost spilled her coffee as he entered the kitchen.
For a moment he simply looked at her, and she met his searching gaze with fearless regard.
Soft denim jeans and a polo shirt did little to minimise his impact on her senses, and, unless she had it wrong, it didn’t appear he’d slept any better than she had.
‘Would you care to tell me why you walked out last night?’
His voice was silk-smooth and sent shivers scudding across the surface of her skin. ‘I gather Daniella wasn’t forthcoming?’
He thrust a hand into each pocket of his jeans. ‘She denied speaking to you. At first.’ The memory of his confrontation with Daniella still had the power to anger him, and he clenched his fists in silent frustration.
‘I can take care of myself.’
He moved to stand within touching distance, then he lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. ‘You have the beginnings of a bruise.’ He brushed a thumb-pad gently over her cheekbone.
Beneath his touch she felt strangely helpless. ‘Dimitri…’
He cupped her face and tilted it so she had to look at him. ‘From the moment I met you, there has been only you. In the past four years no one—nothing—has come close to what we shared together.’
He lowered his head and brushed his lips to her cheek, then trailed a path to the edge of her mouth. ‘I want you in my life.’
‘You can’t always have what you want.’
His mouth covered hers in a kiss so incredibly sweet it made her want to cry. ‘Yes,’ he said softly, ‘I can.’
‘Because of Samuel.’
He was silent for a few seconds, and she tried to wrench away from him, only to be held fast where she stood.
‘That requires a yes and no qualification. Yes, because I want to be part of my son’s life. And no, because you are more important to me than anything or anyone else. Without you, I merely exist.’
Love…what about love?
‘You want me to spell it out?’
His gaze held hers, and she couldn’t look away.
‘I fell in love with you within days of when we first met. It never changed, even after we went our separate ways.’
Daniella had contrived to poison what they shared then, and now, with manipulative effect. Except this time it hadn’t worked.
‘I won’t allow it to happen again.’
Dared she believe him? She wanted to, desperately.
He pulled her close, one hand holding fast her head while the other slid down to cup her bottom. Then his mouth closed over hers, and she became lost in the taste and feel of him.
It was magical, mesmeric…a passionate intoxication of all her senses.
When he lifted his head she could only look at him, and her bones began to melt at the raw desire apparent.
‘This is one level on which we communicate,’ Dimitri said in a husky groan, as he slid his hands beneath her singlet top.
Her skin was like satin, so smooth and silky, and delicately scented. He wanted to taste every inch of her in a long, slow loving that would drive them both wild, bury himself inside her and watch her spiral out of control, then join her in the ride.
‘I need you. Dear heaven, you can’t begin to believe how much.’
‘I don’t think—’
His mouth possessed hers, and any thought of resistance was lost as her hunger matched his.
She couldn’t get enough of him as instinct ruled, and she made no protest when he swept her into his arms and made for the stairs.
He entered her bedroom, and she retained little recollection of dispensing with her clothes, his. There was only now, the heat and the passion in a fast and furious lovemaking that tore the breath from her body and left them slick with sensual sweat.
Dear heaven. She felt as if she’d been consumed by an emotional storm so intense she burned from it.
All her senses were on high alert, and she could feel every inch of her body…inside and out.
Dimitri cupped her chin and gently turned her head towards him. ‘I love you.’
The warmth of his smile melted her bones and she offered a tremulous smile.
‘Marry me, Chantelle.’ He dropped a kiss at the edge of her shoulder. ‘I want to share your life.’ He nibbled a path across her collarbone, then slipped low to nuzzle at her breast. ‘And have you share mine.’
He trailed his lips to her navel, dipped the tip of his tongue and teased the hollow there before moving to one hip and kissing a path to her knee.
He knew where to touch, the location of each sensual pulse-beat, and he explored them all with such excruciating slowness she was almost begging when he sought to gift her the most intimate kiss of all.
She cried with the pleasure of it, and reached for him, exulting in his quickened heartbeat, the thudding of his pulse, and he entered her to indulge in a long, slow loving that left them both sated and sensually replete.
‘You haven’t said yes,’ Dimitri ventured as he drew her in close against him and pillowed her head into the curve of his shoulder.
‘Not fair. You have me at a disadvantage.’
‘Agape mou,’ he murmured against her temple, ‘I plan to keep you at a disadvantage on a permanent basis.’
She lifted a hand and teased her fingers through the swirling hairs on his chest. ‘You do realise it’s the middle of the day?’
‘And that makes a difference, because?’
‘We should get up.’ She made a slight effort to move, and thought better of it.
The warmth of his smile reached down and touched her soul. ‘Soon, hmm?’
‘Anouk and Jean-Paul—’
‘Won’t return until after four.’
‘A conspiracy, huh?’
‘Good management,’ he corrected.
Chantelle lay quietly, exulting in the languid warmth of a woman who had been thoroughly loved. This was where she wanted to be, with this man, for the rest of her life.
‘Yes,’ she said simply.
Dimitri stilled. ‘Is that yes, it was good management, or have you agreed to marry me?’
A light laugh bubbled from her lips. ‘Both. Besides, we’ve just had unprotected sex. Twice. The last time we did that, I fell pregnant. I think I should make an honest man of you.’
He tunnelled his fingers through her hair and settled his mouth over hers in a long, evocative kiss that almost made her weep.
‘Soon. Very soon,’ he promised. ‘We’ll organise a licence and get married before we leave for Paris.’
‘Whoa, not so fast,’ Chantelle protested. ‘Paris?’
‘You need to give notice and pack everything you want to transfer to New York.’
‘We? You’re coming with us?’
‘Pedhaki mou,’ he assured with musing indulgence, ‘I don’t intend letting you out of my sight.’
It was an hour before they rose and shared a shower, then, dressed, they went down to the kitchen and raided the refrigerator for a late lunch, choosing to eat out on the terrace overlooking the sea.
Chantelle sat quietly as she sipped chilled white wine, and became lost in reflective thought.
If she hadn’t returned home for Christmas; if Dimitri hadn’t
chosen this particular festive season to visit his father…They might never have met again, never had the chance to experience the joy, the passion of two people so perfectly in tune with each other.
‘I love you,’ she said gently, turning towards him.
‘Cristos.’ The word emerged with heartfelt warmth. ‘Now you tell me.’ He rose from the chair and pulled her to her feet.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Taking you inside.’ He threaded his fingers through her own. ‘I don’t want to shock the neighbours.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘MAMAN, we are home. Grandmère helped me catch a fish.’
There was a moment’s silence as the child absorbed the scene in front of him. Slowly he turned towards his grandmother. ‘Grandmère, why is Dimitri kissing Maman?’
‘They are standing beneath the mistletoe, mon ange, are they not? It is a Christmas tradition, oui, for adults to kiss beneath the mistletoe.’
‘Only adults?’
Dimitri lifted his head and turned towards his son.
Then he swept wide an arm as he beckoned Samuel to join them.
Samuel ran, and was lifted high into his father’s arms. He wriggled a little, pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek, then impulsively gifted another to the man who held him.
‘This is nice.’
‘Nice enough for you to share Maman with me?’
Samuel looked thoughtful. ‘Are you going to be my daddy?’
Chantelle held her breath.
‘Would you like that?’ Dimitri queried solemnly.
‘Oui. Maman doesn’t know how to catch fish, and she won’t let me have a proper bicycle. But I’m getting big, and I won’t fall off.’
Anouk smiled and caught Jean-Paul’s hand. ‘In this case, three isn’t a crowd, but five definitely is. Let’s go look at the garden for a while.’
Christmas was the season for family, with love, laughter, gifts and giving.
For Chantelle it held special meaning, for from this moment on she’d always connect the festive season with being reunited with the love of her life.
Three weeks ago she would never have imagined in her wildest dreams she’d be planning her own wedding. Or that she would reveal to her son his real father’s identity.
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