Maeve

by Josie Riviera

  With a brief nod at Pierre, Edward puffed out a breath, wracking his brain for a way to get rid of the man.

  “Must be a busy day for you, Pierre,” he said. “I overheard a huge number of people from a cruise ship are checking in around noon.”

  The concierge gawked at his watch, and his eyes widened. “Oui, monsieur. I almost forgot.”

  “Well then, au revoir.” Edward glanced at Maeve and winked. “That means goodbye in French.”

  She smirked. “Merci.”

  Pierre’s gaze swung to her. “A staff member will check on Monsieur Newell later. May I remind you both that dinner is at eight o’clock, and Achille is serving roasted boar and zucchini beignets. Does that suit, mademoiselle?”

  “We’re brilliant here, Pierre,” she said, And I’m sure dinner tonight on the terrace will be magnificent.” Maeve continued to slice up strawberries and blackberries, combining scoops of them into a crystal bowl. “Everything is lovely, really. You should go.”

  A frown creasing his normally good-natured expression, Pierre demonstrated a perfect bow and quit the room.

  Maeve carried the luncheon tray onto the balcony. She nodded at his cellphone, which had been attached to his ear for nearly three straight hours. “Edward, I think you should slow down your activities this afternoon.”

  “You mean I overdid it with my walk from the couch to out here this morning?”

  “You should have used your crutches.” She set the tray on the wrought iron table. “Crutches aren’t doing you any good propped against the couch.”

  “I don’t need them.”

  “Because you leaned on me whenever you got up and moved anywhere.” With that laughing reminder, she went into his suite for a bucket of ice and a thin towel. Reappearing, she enfolded the ice in the towel, then gently wrapped the towel around his elevated ankle.

  “The swelling is better,” she said. “You’re a good and proper patient and do what you’re told.”

  “And you’re the first person who’s ever claimed that about me, at least the do what you’re told part.”

  Her smile dazzled him, and he could think of nothing he would rather do than kiss the mischievousness from her face. Instead, he ran his finger around the rim of his iced tea glass. “Thanks to you I’m feeling better.”

  “Thanks to Dr. Dubois.” She settled onto the chair across from him and peered at the killer-view vista of sea and sky and cliffs.

  Edward’s gaze shifted to her. “I realize employment calls, and yet you’re devoting every spare minute to me. Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.” She withdrew her fork from the folded napkin, set her napkin on her lap, and said a prayer. Then she poked at the lettuce on her plate. “You have work too.”

  “Which I attended to this morning and I’m taking the rest of the day off. But you have a boss to answer to.”

  “Right. Because you’re the vice-president and I’m a mere worker bee.”

  True, he thought, understanding what else she didn’t say. The enormous wealth gap between them that she had pointed out the day before. She was dressed in the most casual of clothes, and she’d secured her dark hair with an elastic band in a spur-of-the-moment bun at the top of her head. She certainly didn’t have the means to purchase expensive clothes or jewelry like Davinia, the raven-haired heiress he’d been dating on and off for a couple years, yet no one looked as radiantly striking as Maeve, his compassionate caregiver with the gentle mannerisms and dainty, endearing profile.

  He took a bite of his sandwich, briefly closed his eyes and sighed. “This is delicious.”

  “Thanks, I’m an expert at sandwich preparation because I’ve made hundreds in my lifetime.”

  He laughed. “Sandwiches for yourself?”

  “Aye, and my brother Owen. He’s twenty, in case you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested in anything that has to do with you. Is he attending university?”

  “He was, but he dropped out. He needs a lot of care.”

  Edward caught the word care. Instantly attentive, he sat straighter. “Why? Is he ill?”

  Her earlier smile faded. “He has cancer. Thankfully, he’s in remission.”

  Memories rushed to the fore of his mother’s battle with cancer. It had been a life changer as his family adjusted to the new situation, the daily activities, the skilled medical team eventually brought into his parents’ home. Even his stalwart father had, at times, been just as anxious and felt just as helpless as his sons.

  “I’m sorry.” Edward stayed silent for a moment. “I know firsthand how scared you and your mother must be.”

  “Aye.” Maeve laid down her fork. Sadness lived on the edges of her nod. “When you spoke of your mother’s passing the other evening at dinner, I considered telling you, but didn’t want to burden you with my troubles. Part of my hesitation was selfishness, I suppose, for speaking of Owen’s illness makes me sad.”

  He pondered this before treating himself to another bite of sandwich. “And your mother? How is she handling your brother’s illness?”

  “My mother … Well, she has many interests besides Owen, especially since my father walked out on us a few years ago.”

  Setting his sandwich down, Edward scooped up a handful of crisps. “Somehow I sense you’re the strong one in the family.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Truly, you’re giving me credit I don’t deserve. Anyone would do the same and take care of the ones they love.” She stabbed more lettuce with her fork. “I spoke with my mother last night, as a matter of fact, and she mentioned things are brilliant. You see, Owen moved in with her while I took this holiday. She’s enjoying his company so much she suggested he live with her permanently until he lands a job and secures his own flat. It’ll be good for them both to grow closer.” She sighed. “Still, I’ll miss not seeing him on my couch every evening.”

  Typical Maeve, Edward thought. Concerned about everyone except herself, wearing her sentiments on her sleeve, forever fair and honest. Deep in his chest, a heartrending affection blossomed, a protectiveness to keep her safe from sadness and hardships, and the emotions both bewildered and disquieted him. He chewed a crisp, swallowed, then picked up his iced tea and drank half the glass.

  For the first time, he considered that he wouldn’t be seeing Maeve again after this week. How could he return to London in a few days with only the remembrance of her lilting laugh, her pleasant ways, her kind compassion? With the afternoon sun illuminating her face, she looked so delicate, so gorgeous, she seemed almost ethereal.

  As he set his iced tea glass down, she gave him a curious look. “You said the other night that you don’t drink.”

  “Not a drop.”

  “May I ask why?” She waited. The silence between them interrupted solely by the sound of splashing waves below them.

  He sat back in his chair. “When I attended university, one of my classmates was seriously injured in a car accident. He’d been drinking heavily. We all had been. He should never have gotten behind the wheel. Then, in a blink”—Edward snapped his fingers—“his car ran off the highway. Now he’s paralyzed from the waist down. Fortunately, no one else was hurt.”

  “Oh my.” She held a hand to her heart. “I’ll say a prayer for him.”

  Edward pushed out a sigh. “I make it a point to visit him whenever I can, as he lives near London.” He disposed of the towel, now dripping wet from melted ice, that she’d wrapped around his ankle. He stretched out his long legs and glanced at her. She was frowning. “The twenty/twenty rule,” he reminded her. “It has to be twenty minutes from now.”

  “So,” he went on, steering the conversation in a different direction to lighten the somber moods of cancer and drunken car accidents, “who’s watching Crinkles this week?”

  “My mother. And your motorcycle-riding dog?”

  “One of my brothers, Justin, keeps him, and you’ll be relieved to know Justin doesn’t ride a motorcycle.” He leaned across the table
and tipped up her chin. “So no worries.”

  Their gazes locked. He kept his hand on her chin.

  Her dark eyes flashed. “Edward, remember my warning.”

  “What warning?”

  “You know perfectly well.”

  He did, but he wouldn’t be admitting it.

  “Let’s talk about your siblings.” She shoved up the sleeves of his shirt and sat back. “What are their ages?”

  “Twenty-eight, twenty-six, and twenty-four. And you know my age from my profile.”

  “Aye. You recently turned thirty. And their names?”

  “Bryan, Justin and Karen. Bryan’s twenty-six and Karen is twenty-four. She’s very hands-on and business oriented, and helps me quite a bit with the company, but she’s also unhappily married. Justin is in the middle. He was married for five years and is recovering from a bitter divorce that almost destroyed him. I learned something from Karen and Justin.”

  “Let me guess. You vowed never to marry.”

  “Guys like me are better off single. My parents worked nonstop to develop our business and I intend to continue the expansion. I’m married to my work.”

  “As well you should be, with all you own.” She set her napkin on the table and glanced at her watch. “Well, it’s more than time for me to leave. Thanks for a brilliant lunch.”

  “You’ve barely eaten.”

  “I’ve consumed more these past couple days than I normally eat in a month. For now, I should head back to my suite and input a couple hours’ worth of reports before dinner. I can’t afford to lose my job. Owen’s medical bills are staggering. He has insurance, though it’s not enough. Fortunately, I was able to assure my manager, Mrs. McShea, that I’d be effective this week. So far, I haven’t managed to get an ounce of work done and don’t even know if my computer works.”

  Right away, Edward felt remorseful. He was keeping her from her job and monopolizing her. His injury didn’t require her to wait on him because the efficient hotel personnel were more than delighted to accommodate his requests. He simply wanted her to stay because he liked being around her.

  She came to her feet and began stacking plates. “What about your work? After all those phone calls this morning, I’m thinking you’ve probably got paperwork to catch up on.”

  What work? What paperwork?

  He stared out at the ocean, the sheer vastness that stretched to the horizon, the waves taking their cue from a sea breeze. What was truly important? Work? Family? Marriage and children as his father claimed?

  He’d made a fortune following his father’s lead, inputting his own grit and perseverance, along with solid investments. What did he have to show for it? Well, he’d purchased a palatial estate in Surrey in a million-dollar suburb outside London. The six-bedroom home was perched on the banks of a river and surrounded by acres of green space. He rattled around in the hollow house and seldom entertained. He was too busy working.

  A golf course was nearby, but he’d never golfed in his life. He preferred a more energetic sport like soccer. To him, golf was a mental game and not physical enough.

  In truth, he was too busy … working.

  Seconds ticked by. He noted Maeve watching him.

  “My job is challenging,” he finally said.

  Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “Really?” She broke into a smile. “How do you manage such a huge conglomerate of resort hotels?”

  “We employ an exceptional staff. Several smaller chains fall under the Penelope and Edward International umbrella as well, so not every hotel is a large resort. In addition, more than half are franchised.”

  His cell phone buzzed with a text message. He glanced at it and smiled. “Tomorrow we’re going deep sea fishing.”

  She lifted a delicate eyebrow. “Are we now, knowing I can’t swim?”

  He grinned. “Our itinerary—”

  “What about the Bonaparte Museum, the only tourist site on my wish list and the main reason I wanted to come to Corsica?”

  He put on an expression of horror. “A museum? And here I thought you came here for me.”

  “If you recall, I didn’t even know who you were.”

  Employing his most charming grin, he said, “Bonaparte Museum is on our schedule for Friday when it rains, remember? On Thursday, I’m interested in exploring the stretch of beach I pointed out to you. Are you okay with that? I’m sure Pierre can provide transportation.”

  “Aye. Although I’m warning you, I’ll be sending a report to my boss too, especially if there’s an existing hotel on site.” She put on a haughty expression. “And I’ll be getting the most excellent prices on the lighting and seating because I drive a hard bargain.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment of her superiority. “Which companies do you acquire from?”

  “Mostly J and J Hospitality.”

  “An excellent supplier.”

  She laughed. “So, on Thursday we may be at war over a stretch of beach.

  “I’ll never be at war with you, Maeve,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “And if I ever am, with your knowledge of battle history, you’d win.”

  “Your resources are stronger than mine. Wealth, power—”

  “That means little when it comes to you.” He hobbled to his feet, grabbed the plates from her hands and set them on the table. “Stay a while longer.” He sat down again. “It’s quiet and private here.”

  “Being alone with you isn’t necessarily a good thing for me.”

  “Why not?” He captured her wrists. When she didn’t pull away, he drew her down on his lap. Her scent was floral with a hint of citrus, adrift on the warm summer breeze.

  “All this is make-believe, Edward, not real life. You and I both know where it ends.”

  For a long while, he stared at her. “I’m sorry you feel that way. These past few days have been some of the most enjoyable of my life. And I think you’re the prettiest, most captivating woman I’ve ever met.”

  Silently, she scanned every inch of his face. “You must say that to every female.”

  “No, just one Irish lady who has me wanting to spend every minute with her.” He traced his fingers along her high cheekbones. “When I’m with you, I forget about conglomerates and franchises and high-pressure meetings. You have a sense of serenity about you, Maeve.”

  She looked down, rerolling one of the sleeves of his chambray shirt. “And now, after all this flattery, you’re waiting for an excuse to kiss me, I suppose.”

  “I don’t need an excuse.” He gathered her closer. “Although truer words have never been spoken.”

  Her gaze lifted to his, silently enticing.

  It was all the encouragement he needed.

  His mouth slanted over hers as he kissed her greedily. She circled her arms around his neck and kissed him back. For an eternity, their lips merged as she molded herself to him. Strands of hair fell from her loose bun, and the fine dark strands brushed against his cheek.

  He deepened the kiss, cradling her face, whispering how exquisitely she fit into his arms. When his lips left hers, she drew a ragged breath and snuggled against him.

  They stayed that way for an endless moment, and when she began to stir, he tightened his arms around her. “Wait another moment, luv.”

  The thought that they could stay like this forever, in this halcyon place, her body fitted so perfectly to his, filled him with a joyful spirit, one so happy, he hardly recognized himself.

  Somewhere close by, a turtle dove cooed on a bough.

  He looked out again at the ocean and the sandy shore, the smudges of royal-blue sky on the horizon. He imagined the waves tumbling over seashells and snatching them back into the ocean.

  “Edward.”

  Her voice drew his gaze back to her. She was looking up at him, desire smoldering in her brown eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “I should leave. I have my job.”

  “If you insist on staring up at me with that expression …” His lips strayed to hers. “I
guarantee you won’t be getting a morsel of work done today.”

  She twisted from his arms and leapt to her feet. “Shall we put more ice on your ankle?”

  With that, she boosted him to the living room couch. While he dried his foot with a spare towel, she made another ice compress and then wrapped it around his ankle. He dragged a sock over it to hold it in place.

  With no more warning than a knock on the door and a “Anybody home?” Carissa pranced into Edward’s suite holding the hallway orchid portrait. “This fell off the wall. I’ll let Pierre know.” She gestured to the cameraman who’d stepped in behind her. “I’m hoping for a brief shot of you two today since we missed last evening’s photo shoot on the beach.”

  “Carissa, I’m a fright.” Maeve ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging the elastic that held it in its untidy bun. “Tell Mr. and Mrs. Yates to wait until tomorrow for better promotional material.”

  Fright was not the word Edward would use to describe Maeve. Her silky waves of hair teased her shoulders. Her lips, he noted, were the color of an enticing plum wine, and she looked like a woman who had just been thoroughly kissed.

  “Nonsense, Maeve,” Carissa said, “you’re always gorgeous. Just stand together near the couch. And Edward—” Carissa clucked at his jersey shorts, then brushed crumbs from the neckline of his T-shirt. “You’ll have to do. Sorry about your ankle calamity, by the way.”

  “I’m recovering nicely.” He grinned as Maeve helped him stand.

  Carissa regarded them intently, then frowned. With practiced actions, she snagged the orange lilies from the crystal vase set on the coffee table. “Maeve, hold these, and Edward, brace yourself on your crutches or you’ll knock Maeve over.”

  Carissa stepped back, reassessed, still frowned. “Let’s prop the orchid painting on the shelf behind you for color interest.”

  The cameraman shot multiple images until Carissa, apparently satisfied, pivoted on her ruby-red pumps, and headed for the door. “Tomorrow is deep-sea fishing,” she reminded them. “And tonight, dinner is at …”