“Another surprise.” He unzipped the canvas tote he carried and combined her shoes and pashmina wrap with his loafers and tan sweater. Without further explanation, they headed to the lobby.
In response to Pierre’s queries, Edward explained the location of the beachfront acreage his company was interested in purchasing.
“Ah, oui.” Solemnly, Pierre parroted the location. “The former owner went bankrupt, and the property is an excellent opportunity.”
“My resort may compete with yours once we’re up and running.” Edward inclined his head in a half-joking nod. “Can I persuade you to come work for me?”
Pierre straightened even more, if that were possible. “Monsieur, if I am honest, non. No other hotel can compare with this beautiful resort.” He swept out his arm toward the grandiose lobby, the ornate chandelier dangling above the broad staircase. “Will I leave all this? Never.”
“I appreciate your loyalty, Pierre, but my offer is always open. If not this resort, then any my company owns.” With that, he tucked Maeve’s hand into the crook of his arm. “Ready for Corsican Adventure Day Four?”
A smile touched her lips, and she pretended she had to think about it. “Perhaps.”
In all honesty, she couldn’t wait to spend every waking second with him.
As they turned to leave, Pierre enquired, “I trust your dinner last evening on the French Riviera was memorable?”
“How do you know where …” Maeve interrupted her own question with a head shake. Pierre made a point of knowing the goings-on of all his guests.
“Tonight, we will plan on you both dining on our terrace at eight?” Pierre continued.
“Sorry.” Edward held up a hand, a déjà vu of yesterday. “I’ve made other arrangements for us.”
A flutter of anticipation went through her body. Maeve glanced at him uncertainly as she tossed her jute bag over her shoulder. “You’re positive I’m dressed appropriately for our mystery date?”
He examined her patterned red silk halter top and tailored capris. On impulse, she’d donned her crystal chandelier earrings, the same pair she’d worn to dinner the night before. As his affectionate gaze returned to her face and lingered, she felt that familiar flush creep up her body.
He wore sandals, striped linen Bermuda shorts, and a kelly-green golf shirt. Utterly impervious to a gaggle of women gawking at him from the bar, he guided Maeve out the lobby’s front door.
The hotel van reached the strand of beach in the predicted twenty minutes, and Edward directed the driver to wait for them.
The area proved stunning, the azure sky fringed by dozens of precipitous mountain peaks. Out on the water, sails on colorful fishing boats snapped in the wind, and gleaming steeples atop medieval church towers crowned the nearby hills.
One by one, she and Edward peered inside a row of deserted whitewashed cottages with deep-orange trumpet vines twining up their sides.
Edward took off his sunglasses. Shading his eyes, he gazed at the sea. “What do you think of the property, Maeve?”
As always, the water was as turquoise as a precious jewel, the sand a soft golden brown.
“Ideal for a resort,” she said, “though I’m not keen on the notion of spoiling the beach with a high-rise.”
“My company will evaluate the target. I’m certain regulations are in place to preserve the natural habitat. Regardless, my intention is to enhance the Corsican character.”
“Your intention? What does that mean?”
“It means my assurance. You can count on my word, much as I can count on yours.” He gave a firm nod.
She saw the glint in his gaze, the joy of the hunt. This was another side of Edward, the keen-eyed businessman she hadn’t glimpsed before.
“And your company?” he was asking. “If the deal went through for Merrimac, you’d probably receive better bids from your hospitality supplier.”
“You mean J and J? Aye, they’d probably offer me competitive pricing on their lighting and seating, but I’ve never been involved in a project of this size. Granted, I assume Merrimac’s intentions are the same as yours.” Reflectively, she exhaled. “Still, my vote is to keep this property undisrupted. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. I’m obviously not a good businessperson, aye?”
“Development is good … sometimes.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. “Although I don’t want to be the guy who overdevelops this gem of an island any more than it already is.”
His phone buzzed, and pensive, he glanced at the text message. His mood changed, and he grinned widely, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Ready for another surprise?”
He grabbed her hand and hailed the Bonaparte van. When they settled into the backseat, he asked the driver to take them to the Bonifacio marina.
“Edward, hold on, where are we going?” Maeve asked. “Your adventures are always special, but this time I want an answer before we arrive.”
“We’re going to a yacht party.”
Rapidly, she blinked, the concept of a yacht party as elusive as traveling to the moon. “What in the world is that?”
“People host a party on their yachts and we’re invited.”
“Please don’t tell me,” she ran a hand along her hair, which she’d styled in an elegant low bun, “you own a yacht as well as a private jet.”
“No.” His smile turned potent. “My friend Bentley, the guy who signed me up for Perfect Match, texted this morning with an invitation and he just confirmed. He’s anchored near the harbor. He wants to meet you and said he invited someone.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know. A surprise, I imagine.”
“Is he friendly with any movie stars?” Maeve’s eyes widened, and she fidgeted with the edge of her halter top. “I’m not dressed properly. What do I say, how do I act?”
“You act like yourself, Maeve. And if you’re unsure, remember you’re a professional actress.” He gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. “Believe me, just be yourself and you’ll charm the entire ship. Now, the first thing you do when you board is to remove your shoes. Or—” He held a finger to her lips before she objected. “You wear the flat shoes you brought.”
The van dropped them off at the harbor’s tip where a limo tender waited. Timothe, the tender’s helmsman, provided a hand onto the boat, pledging to deliver them dry and comfortably. A mega yacht with flashing lights was anchored in the distance.
Overcome with awe at the size of the yacht, she couldn’t utter an audible word.
She only knew Edward would stay beside her, soothing her discomfiture. The knowledge made her happy and calmed her nerves.
As the tender sped toward the yacht, they relaxed in its roomy interior with the glass roof open. The wind blew swiftly across her cheeks, snatching wisps of her hair. A filmy mist teased the fringes of the horizon as day eased to dusk. How novel this all was, every hour filled with giddy excitement and heady experiences. With Edward’s arm around her, she settled into the saddleback leather seat for the quiet, smooth ride.
When they reached the mother ship, as Edward had named it, he opened his tote, and they switched their shoes.
“Time to charm,” he said. He wrapped the pashmina around her shoulders to ward off the sea breeze and steered her onto the limo’s stern.
So much of what she’d learned about him was in his little, thoughtful gestures, his constant consideration of her comfort. The way he held doors for her, or took her wrap, or stood respectfully until she was seated. The way he paid attention to her, supportive and encouraging. All these traits were a matter of course for him, because he was a perfect gentleman.
And she recognized that every one of those qualities were the foundations of a true, loving relationship.
She took a deep breath of salt-laced air and squared her shoulders. “Aye. I’m ready.”
“Courage, luv. Remember, these people are my friends.” He took her hand as they boarded. “I assume my sister Karen will be here. This morning she informed me she’d inten
ded to snag an invitation if it was a go.”
As if on cue, a woman in an off-the-shoulder chiffon who had an astonishing resemblance to Edward walked toward them. After embracing his sister with an affectionate hug, Edward introduced Maeve. Then he excused himself to speak with an older man who had shouted “Bonjour!” to them.
“He’s one of my father’s associates in Nice,” Edward explained to Maeve. “I won’t be long.”
Karen watched her brother walk away, and then turned her crystal-green gaze on Maeve.
“He’s very attracted to you,” she remarked.
“Who? Edward?” Maeve’s mouth opened, but for a second, nothing came out. “Why would you say that?”
“Because he talks about you nonstop.”
Maeve felt her cheeks blaze with color. “We’ve only just met. We were placed together through a dating agency. Neither of us really wanted to be here.”
“Well, it’s obviously an on-target arrangement for you both. Trust me, he’s love-struck. I watched him when you climbed aboard—the way he looks at you, the heat in his gaze—” Karen fanned her face. “My brother and I talk about business every day. Since he arrived in Corsica, he’s spent maybe five minutes talking hotels, and then the rest of the time he talks about you.”
The women remained in sociable silence for several beats while Maeve mulled this information over. Then she shook her head. “You’re wrong, Karen.”
“When it comes to matters of the heart, I am right. And you are in love with him.”
“How do you know?” Surely, Maeve thought, her feelings for Edward weren’t that obvious. Or were they?
“Because I am a woman, so I know you.” Karen enhanced her statement with a breezy smile. “And I am his sister, so I know him.”
After a brief pause, Maeve said, “The Perfect Match meter is running out.”
She tried not to think about it, because thinking caused a sadness she didn’t want to face.
Her arm through Maeve’s, Karen steered her over to a buffet table ladened with appetizers and scooped up a slice of cantaloupe. “No. Edward will continue to pursue you until he wins you. When he loves, he loves deeply—Our mother, our family …” Contemplative, she dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin and sighed. “When we lost our mother, our father’s grief was so painful to see. Our parents were very much in love, you know. Up till today, Edward hasn’t given his heart to any woman. Now he has.”
“Sometimes I don’t know if he’s joking or sincere,” Maeve said cautiously.
“Men usually try to hide what they feel most passionate about.” Karen shrugged. “He was our family’s rock when our mother got sick. After she passed, he closed up and immersed himself in business. I sense you will be good for him.” She greeted a passing friend with a French air kiss. “I’m without my husband tonight and enjoying a girl’s night out before I divorce him,” she explained to Maeve. “When I heard about Bentley’s party, I rearranged my schedule so I could be here. I was curious to meet you, and now I am satisfied.” She hugged Maeve tightly. “I hope we can become good friends. I’m the only woman in my family, floundering in a sea of males and I need another woman’s voice. I hope it’s sooner rather than later.”
Edward helped Maeve walk across the huge teak deck and through the midst of chattering partygoers.
“And how did you find my sister this evening? She’s a veritable chatterbox.”
“She’s lovely,” Maeve replied, “and very friendly. Did you know she’s divorcing her husband?”
“I’ve heard all about it. And from what she’s explained, I can’t fault her.”
“Edward!” Automatically, Edward looked up and spotted Bentley, their host. He’d noticed Bentley had anchored his yacht just far enough out to sea, so that his guests needed to board another boat to reach it. Typical Bentley and his flair for the dramatic, never to be outdone. Competition was normal between the two men, and Edward acknowledged that he often encouraged it. However, it could go on and on, and truthfully, the money, the bragging rights, meant nothing to him. He much preferred Maeve’s warm body pressed to his, her languorous gaze after he’d kissed her, the simple pleasure of hearing her melodic Irish brogue.
“And this must be your Perfect Match,” Bentley said. His pale-blue gaze leveled on Maeve, and he didn’t bother to hide his curiosity. Without warning he seized her hands, pulled her close, and welcomed her with a triple cheek kiss. “I’m Bentley, Edward’s friend from university.”
She took a step back. “Hello, Bentley. I’m Maeve.”
“Look at this beauty! Edward certainly aced this week with the likes of you, chérie. From the little I got out of him, I knew he was smitten and chose to see you for myself. I’m a twit for entering his name on the Perfect Match website instead of mine. Come with me.” Before Maeve could protest, Bentley drew her hand through his arm and started to move away from Edward with her. “Everyone wants to learn all about you.”
“Kindly take your hands off my luv,” Edward said in a low voice.
Bentley turned back. “Your luv?” His blond eyebrows rose in laughing irony. “Point taken, mate. I knew things moved fast in our circle.” He scooted back, hands up, palms out, and then clapped a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Sorry you suffered an ankle sprain. The fellows had a jolly laugh—you being an outdoorsman and a lovely, petite Irishwoman coming to your rescue. If it weren’t for her, you might still be strung on a high cliff atop Corsica.”
Standing close to Maeve, Edward felt himself stiffen at Bentley’s jibe. He stiffened further when Bentley took up two flutes brimming with Champagne from a passing waiter. He offered one to Edward and one to Maeve.
“As you well realize, I don’t drink,” Edward said shortly.
“And the lady?” Bentley demanded.
“While I can’t speak for her, I know she is exceedingly fond of Champagne.”
Maeve hesitated, a quiet longing in her gaze as she eyed the crystal flutes. “Not tonight. Sparkling water is fine.” As she declined, she glanced at Edward.
Bentley caught the glance. “Surely, Maeve, you don’t ask this Ivy League bloke for permission?”
“I assure you, Bentley.” She slanted Edward an impudent smile and brushed her hand across his. “I can speak for myself.”
Edward grinned and wrapped his arm around her. “And I can verify that fact.”
“So, Maeve.” Bentley gulped down half of one of the glasses of Champagne. “Edward mentioned you’re in the hotel business. What’s the name of the chain you own?”
She laughed. “I’m merely one of the purchasing agents for the Merrimac Company in Ireland.”
“A purchasing agent?” Bentley frowned, and then turned to look over his milling guests.
The well-dressed men and women, in a dazzling display of the moneyed at ease, snickered and chattered, toasting each other with champagne flutes in one hand and plates of shrimp cocktail in the other.
“Follow me, Maeve.” Bentley turned on his heels, seemingly assuming Maeve would join him. When she didn’t, he looked back at her, frowned again, and started forward anyhow. Over his shoulder, he hollered, “There’s plenty of liquor. I’ll catch up with you two later.”
“Thank you, Bentley, but we don’t—” Maeve inclined her head, although Bentley was well past them.
Several nearby guests turned to study her, no doubt wondering who she was, and Edward tightened his hold around her. He felt her push out a breath and set her shoulders straight as she sent the curious group a straightforward smile.
His heart gave an unexpected lurch. She might be taken aback by all this, but she would never cower. Not his Maeve.
Completely unassuming, she was a natural in his oftentimes unnatural world of excessive abundance. In a world where being seen at all the right places with all the right people was more important that a person’s character or deeds, she was the opposite, preferring to carry herself with modest dignity and grace.
“We’ll find an open spot by t
he railing and I’ll fix you a plate of food,” he said.
“Always the gentleman.” She beamed at him. “Even with a hurt ankle that doesn’t seem to bother you in the least anymore.”
“It still hurts a little, so you can continue to fuss over me.” He grinned and was rewarded with her smile in return. “Notwithstanding, I’m a new man because of your judicious care.”
“Notwithstanding and judicious in one sentence? You’re beginning to sound like Dawson Yates.”
He laughed out loud. She looked gorgeous tonight. Her beautiful face and radiant smile brought a surge of longing, crumbling his world weariness. There was an irresistible charm about her, an effortless sparkle that beckoned men closer.
His quick look around confirmed that men were, indeed, staring at her.
Well, he’d make sure each one of them realized that Maeve was his and his alone.
A nagging thought brushed the corners of his mind.
Since when? Hadn’t he declared that first night at the hotel that Perfect Match was a game that would end when their allotted week did? Yet when he held her and she snuggled against him, he knew she fancied him. And he fancied her.
Silently, he shook his head.
Fancied was such a trite term.
He wanted her, more than anything or anyone. He wanted to hear her engaging laugh every day of his life, to banter and talk seriously, to fill her days and nights with the same pleasure she gave him.
He wanted her to care for him as much as he cared for her.
Because he loved her.
Love?
The thought swung him impressively back on his heels, so much so that Maeve turned to peer at him.
Love? Absolutely not. No man with a milliliter of sense fell in love with a woman he’d known for less than a week.
But here she was, beautiful and alluring, and he couldn’t deny his feelings when his heart skipped a beat every time he looked at her. He was completely and utterly in love with her.
“Edward, are you all right?” Dark with concern, her gaze held his. “Does your ankle hurt, just after you’ve finished telling me you’re okay? I won’t be telling you that you should’ve brought your crutches, although you should have.”
Maeve (Perfect Match Book 6) Page 9