by Ju Ephraime
God, he thought, I’m never going to survive this.
Not if he had to get charged like this with no release. He was hurting like hell.
“I’m going to send Ange up to help you get ready for dinner. I’ll come and take you down after she’s done. Just have her call me on the house phone.”
She turned away from him, her arm coming up to cross over her breasts, as if they were painful. She looked as if she’d just been punched in the stomach. He made to move toward her, but she stopped him with her raised hand.
“You don’t have to trouble yourself to come get me, Damon. I’ll make my way down using the crutches.”
“Whatever you decide, it’s okay with me. I’ll see you downstairs later.”
And just like that, he walked out of the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Franchesca couldn’t help wondering why he’d walked out. Playing into her insecurities, she thought he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her. She had to try to keep her distance from Damon, much as it would kill her to do so. She was drawn to him like a moth to an open flame even if she knew he’d probably hurt her.
She had no experience dealing with men of his caliber. She should try her best to maintain a professional relationship with him, but she seemed to lose all self-control the minute she was alone with him. This behavior was so unlike her that she was seriously beginning to think there was something wrong with her… maybe the hit she suffered on her head when she fell. She did not know. All she knew was she had to stay away from Damon.
She was dying to know what was in the envelope, but she didn’t know him well enough and didn’t want to overstep her boundaries to ask him. If he wanted to discuss it with her, he would have told her.
She was lying there hugging herself, just as she had been when he’d walked out, when she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. She turned before she could hide the tears that were running down her cheeks.
“Miss, did you hurt your foot again?”
“No, Ange. I wish I had hurt my foot, but I’ll be better soon. Are you here to help me?”
“Yes, Monsieur Dumont said you might need a bath.”
“Yes, I definitely need a bath,” she agreed.
After she took a bath, she changed into her sleep clothes; she had decided she didn’t have the stomach to see Damon again that night. So she had Ange ask the housekeeper to fix her a dinner tray, and that was how she ended her second night at Damon’s home. She remained in her room with the door locked and a heavy heart. She remained in her room with the door locked the next day, having her meals on a tray which Ange brought up to her.
She was not bored. She made use of the small library in the sitting room, so she had some reading material. The selection was a bit limited, but she was able to find two of her favorite romance authors, Solange St. Brice and Lisa Kleypas. There was even a selection of murder mysteries.
The only problem she had was her world centered on the suite. It was a good-sized space, but her self-imposed isolation was having a very negative effect on her. After one day, she was ready to climb the wall. This sitting around was not working for her, being a very active person. Thank God, the cast would be removed the next day. She would go out of her mind if she had to spend one more lonely night in her room.
She had had her dinner, read almost halfway through the book, and still she couldn’t seem to get to sleep. She wondered if she could venture into the hallway for some much-needed exercise. She thought this was an excellent idea. So, after struggling to get out of bed without banging her injured foot, she armed herself with the crutches, and leaving the room, she stepped into the hall. She hadn’t realized how long a hallway it was, or maybe it seemed that way because she was not very good at maneuvering with the crutches. It didn’t matter; she was determined to take a walk.
She walked down the entire length of the hall outside her room until she came to a window that looked out on the back garden. A thin shaft of moonlight filtered through the canopy of trees, giving the place an enchanted atmosphere. She stood there taking in the extent of the grounds. What she wouldn’t give to be able to walk out into the garden and enjoy the cool, balmy night air, but she didn’t want to trip the alarm if the home was armed. So she stood still, admiring it from a distance, thinking she would ask Ange for directions to the garden.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there when she sensed she was no longer alone. She turned and looked around, but there was no one there. This happened on more than one occasion, and then it began to spook her, so she made her way back to the room. She got back into bed and was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
She did not wake until Ange was knocking and calling at the door. This was the first time she’d overslept. She must have needed the exercise. Ange was also surprised to find her still in bed.
“Are you unwell, miss?” she asked.
“No, I feel fine, Ange. Why?”
“Well, you’ve never been in bed when I come to you. I was just about to go fetch Ms. Flavene or Monsieur Dumont when you didn’t answer your door.”
“I’m sorry, Ange. I went for a walk last night, and it tired me out a bit.”
“You went for a walk last night? That’s good. Where did you go?”
“Just down the hall and back, but I caught a glimpse of the garden, and it looked beautiful in the moonlight.”
“Yes, the gardens are beautiful.”
“Gardens? There are more than one?”
“There sure are. Three, to be exact. There’s the front garden, the side garden which is mainly herb and vegetables, so it’s close to the kitchen, and the back garden which is the one you saw last night.”
“Oh, that makes sense. The grounds are indeed extensive. How do I get to the back garden? I’d like to go for a walk there today.”
“Oh, I’ll take you when we are done here.”
“No, I don’t want to be taken there. I want to use the crutches and go under my own steam. This way I get to use my legs a bit. My cast is coming off tomorrow.”
“That’s what Monsieur Dumont said. You must be excited.”
“I am. When did Monsieur Dumont tell you about my cast?” she had to ask.
“Oh, I just saw him in the hall, miss. At first, I thought he was coming from visiting with you, but when you didn’t answer the door, I realized I was wrong.”
“Well, I haven’t seen Monsieur Dumont. I need to use the telephone to confirm my appointment at the hospital. My cell is dead. I don’t have the charger.”
“I believe Monsieur Dumont has already done so, miss. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“I won’t pay Monsieur Dumont any mind. I’ll make that call myself, Ange, just to be certain that it’s done.”
“Not at all, miss. Do you need the number?”
“Yes, but I can’t seem to find my discharge papers. It has the number on it.”
“I’ll get it for you, miss. I put it away with your things in the drawer. I’ll go get your tray now.”
“Thanks, Ange.”
*****
Ange thought something was definitely up between Monsieur Dumont and the miss. She appeared to be very upset with him. Every time she so much as mentioned his name, the miss crunched up her face as if she was in pain. She wondered what was up with them. But it was not her place to meddle in things she has no business meddling in.
She hurried down to collect the tray from the warming board and was just in time to see Monsieur Dumont walking away from it. Thinking nothing of it, she collected the tray and was on her way back to the miss.
She didn’t have to knock; the door was ajar. So she walked in and deposited the tray on the table and set up the juice, water, and silver for the miss. She didn’t see the miss when she walked in so she assumed she was probably in the bathroom, but after calling out twice, she opened the bathroom door, only to find it empty. Where could the miss be? She was just about to pick up the house phone to call dow
nstairs when she heard the clip clop of the crutches in the hall. Ange went to the door to watch Franchesca walking up the hall. She appeared to be doing splendidly and appeared to be putting her weight on her foot as she walked along.
*****
Franchesca was excited to find she was able to put her weight on her foot. Now she was impatient for the cast to be taken off. She was almost to her room before she noticed Ange hovering in the doorway.
“I’ll be right there,” she called out to her.
“Don’t rush on my account, miss,” Ange responded.
She was happy to make it back to her room. She didn’t like using the crutches. But c'est la vie.
Franchesca was just about to close the door after herself when she felt that strange feeling as if someone was watching her. She turned quickly and was able to spot a head disappearing around the bend in the corridor. She wasn’t certain, but she could have sworn it was Damon, but without seeing him clearly, and not being able to race down the hall, as she would have done prior to damaging her foot, she would have to have a conversation with him after she’d had her breakfast. So he might as well stop trying to avoid her, or was it she trying to avoid him? At this point, she was no longer sure. He had her all bent out of shape.
She sat down to breakfast, and as much as she told herself she didn’t miss sitting across from Damon and even listening to Thorpe’s silly attempts at being a comedian, she could not shake the air of sadness that seemed to hang over her like a pall.
No matter the number of times she told herself to shake out of it, it was not happening. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that her life had changed, and she was no longer the same person she’d been almost one week ago, six days to be exact. After playing with the food for another fifteen minutes, she gave up the pretense and set about making the call to Damon.
CHAPTER NINE
Damon was sitting in his office feeling like shit. He had not been able to get anything done since the time he’d last talked with Franchesca. It would have been tolerable had he been able to talk with her, but she had been avoiding him. She kept her door locked when she was in her room.
He knew; he’d tried to get in there too many times to count. Not one time had he found the door unlocked. He had hovered outside her door to get a glimpse of her as she left her room. He was happy to see she was able to get around much more comfortably on her foot. Tomorrow, he had to take her to the hospital to get the cast removed.
He was not looking forward to this. It was not that he didn’t want the cast removed; it was that the removal of the cast meant her time in his home had come to an end. There would be no reason to keep her there. And then there was the question of the situation between him and Izzabella. He’d been fit to be tied from the moment he’d received the note from her. He’d not heard from Izzabella for the better part of two years.
He had exhausted a lot of money and effort seeking to end their brief marriage, but she flat-out refused to sign the divorce decree. After allowing it to consume him, he had left it alone, thinking she would approach him when, and if, she wanted to get married. He, on the other hand, had no desire to go down that particular road again. That had been two years ago. Now his feelings about remaining married had changed and, like a bad penny, her note had arrived, taking him back to one of the most painful times of his life.
How did she know to contact him now? He did not believe in coincidences. He believed a lot of the things that appeared to be coincidences were sometimes manipulated by man. Call him a skeptic, but it took a lot to convince him otherwise. But if this theory was true, then the only person who could have told Izzabella to contact him was Thorpe. This question was immediately followed by another … why? If Thorpe was in touch with Izzabella, enough to discuss Damon’s affairs with her, what did he hope to gain from it, because Thorpe did nothing without thinking of Thorpe, first and foremost.
Damon was well aware of this, but he knew how to handle Thorpe, and over the years, Thorpe had never given Damon any reason to doubt him. He didn’t want to start now, but this letter from Izzabella was too timely. He had yet to bring himself to read through the entire thing. After the first few opening sentences, he’d crushed it and thrown it on his desk. He thought about throwing it in the trash.
He knew it was not about the divorce. He’d been waiting for two years. But his curious nature would not allow him to throw it way. So it sat on his desk like a white elephant in the room. Every time he sat at his desk, it was there, reminding him that he was not a free man.
He’d been working for a few minutes when the phone on his desk rang. He thought it was an outside call, so he picked it up at the first ring. He almost dropped it when he heard Franchesca’s voice on the line.
“We need to talk,” she began without any greeting.
“Yes, we need to do more than that,” Damon said grimly. He had been in a depressed state ever since he walked out of her room. He found himself doing all manner of crazy things, such as lurking in the hall to catch a glimpse of her. A lot of good that did him. He became more frustrated.
He’d not had one good night’s sleep. It was as if he had no control over his body, which was one pounding, pulsing need. Now that he had her on the phone, he was going to try to get her to come to him. The constant interruption when he was in her bedroom would not happen here. No one came to his office uninvited. That was why he’d installed the house phone, but how to get her down here? He knew she could walk, with a little support from the crutches. Then his eyes landed on her hospital release papers.
“We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to, Damon. I only wanted to know if you can take me to the hospital or whether I should call a taxi.”
“What do you mean, Franchesca? You know I’ll take you to the hospital. What absolute nonsense.”
“This is not nonsense, Damon. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
“This is crap. Can you make your way down here? I’ve some things I have to get through this morning, and I want to show you something.”
“Okay, I’ll be down in thirty minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”
Part of him was ecstatic that she’d agreed to come to him, but there was also a part of him that was warning him to be cautious. He knew this was as a result of the letter he’d received from Izzabella. That letter had taken him back to a place he didn’t want to go.
He thought he’d moved on, but there she was intruding on his life once again. He had not pursued a relationship with any other woman before Franchesca. One reason was because of the history he had with Izzabella and the other because no other woman had this effect on him before.
Despite these fears, a part of him realized he needed Franchesca desperately. He needed someone to call his own. He was tired of his self-imposed solitary lifestyle. And it scared the bejesus out of him to find that he could possibly want another human being so much. He found he craved his connection to her. He needed her. Not only physically, but emotionally as well. How it had gotten to that point so quickly, he didn’t know, but so it was.
After hanging up the phone, he began pacing impatiently in his office. Even if he told her he would be doing some work in his office, he was too tightly wound up to concentrate on doing anything. The nature of his job demanded complete concentration, and that he didn’t have at the moment. Wait, who was he kidding? He had not been able to concentrate for days now. He knew it was not time for a drink, but he needed to do something to pass the time.
Walking to the well-stocked bar in his office, he took out a bottle of Cuvée 1888 cognac and poured himself a generous serving. As he took the first sip, the smooth rich taste of the cognac wrapped itself around his taste buds, and he felt his body immediately start to relax… that is all except the one part he wanted to stand down. However, it was not happening. Just anticipating her arrival had him in the grips of a massive erection. If he did not want to scare her, he’d do well to remain behind his desk. Speaking of which,
he’d better do so now.
*****
The door to his office shook with the force of the bang. Damon was rudely brought back from his musing as he launched to his feet to go to the door. As he pulled the door open, he felt as if he was hit by a tornado. Franchesca threw herself at him, and before he could react, she had her mouth over his and was kissing him with a savage mastery that had him at full attention until he was pulsing.
She had somehow managed to free his shirt out of his pants, and her hands slid eagerly over his skin, molding the taut muscles of his stomach as she worked her magic with her mouth. She went from his mouth to his ear, and he almost came out of his skin when he felt her warm breath on him and then the wetness of her tongue as she thrust it inside his ear, taking his earlobe into her mouth at the same time. She loved his ear until he was hissing a soft sibilant sound between his clenched teeth.
His hands tangled blindly in her glorious hair, and he coaxed her back to his mouth, intending to take control of the situation. She was not willing to relinquish control as her eager tongue flicked into his mouth, and he was once again hissing in pleasure. Damon was now on sensory overload and beyond thinking rationally.
Grabbing hold of her hips, he brought her body forcibly against his, letting her feel him. He burned with heat from head to toe as he kissed her with long, lapping strokes of his tongue, enjoying the feel and taste of her mouth. She was making a humming sound in her throat, which was driving him crazy.
He reached down to the pulse beating erratically in her neck, working his way to her luscious breasts. She removed her hands from his body long enough to undo the fastening of her blouse, and she took his head in her hand and offered them to him, then he was surrounded by the heavy weight of her breasts in his face.