by Ju Ephraime
She couldn’t even look him in the eye she so ashamed of the things she’d just done with him. She was fighting the tears threatening to fall any minute. How could he be so two-faced? He acted as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but then again, maybe he didn’t. This was her problem, but she’d be damned if she would carry on as if it was every day she gave herself to a married man…. No, not happening.
*****
“I had a hard time convincing Mrs. Flavene that I could carry this myself. She was insisting on following me. I almost yelled at her.” Not getting any response from her, he looked at her and was shocked at the pallor of her face. She appeared to be struggling to breathe.
“Cheri, darling, what’s the matter?”
Placing the tray down on his desk, he reached for her. That was when he noticed she was fully clothed but shaking so much he had a difficult time keeping his arms around her.
“Franchesca, what’s the matter?”
“I want to go to my room,” was all she was able to say before she broke down in tears.
Daman was at his wit’s end. He was not good with crying females. He must have gone at her too hard, too long. He was kicking himself, but when he’d left her, she seemed fine, joking and laughing with him.
What could have gone wrong from the time he’d left her to the time it took to get back to her? God, he’d have to take her to the hospital if she kept shaking. He thought of calling Mrs. Flavene to help him, but he was reluctant to let anyone else witness her condition.
He couldn’t remember a time when he’d gone from his office to the second floor in less than two minutes, but today he did. He ran all the way. Getting to her room, he went in and placed her on the bed.
This brought back to him the first time he’d brought her to the room. She’d looked so adorable he wanted to do all sorts of things to her, and even now, when she was evidently sick, he wanted to do things to her. He was indeed a pervert as she’d accused him. But taking his mind back from where it insisted on going, he was thankful to see the shaking had lessened.
Placing her under the duvet, he went to the refreshment bar in the next room and poured her a drink of water, which he brought to her.
“Are you able to drink this, cheri?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied. Taking the glass from him, she took a few sips before placing it down on the nightstand.
“What happened? Did I hurt you?”
“No, you did not hurt me, Damon. It was just a bad case of the shakes. I’m better now. I need to sleep for a bit. I’ll be better afterward. Could you send Ange to help me, please?”
“I’ll help you. That is what I’m here for. Use me. Please.”
“I want to do this with Ange, Damon. Please leave me for a bit. I want to be alone. I’ll call you as soon as I’m feeling myself again.”
Damon did not want to leave her this way, but short of making a nuisance of himself, what else could he do? He picked up the house phone and called down to the staff quarters to have Ange come up to her.
That done, he’d gone over to give her a kiss when he saw she had fallen asleep. She must really be feeling sick to have fallen asleep so quickly. After giving her a soft, chaste kiss on the lips, he walked out of the room, very perplexed and confused. Something had gone wrong between the time he’d placed her in the chair and the time he’d returned to her. He couldn’t figure it out, but something was off. He could have sworn she pulled away when he tried to kiss her just now, but it could be his mind playing tricks on him.
Walking back into his office, he couldn’t believe he’d thrown everything off his desk. He set about straightening his desk, not that he was in the mindset to get any work done, but it was something to keep his mind off the problem with Franchesca.
He had the place back in order when the house phone rang. Thinking it was one of his staff calling to tell him something was wrong with Franchesca, he almost tripped on his feet in his haste to get to the phone.
He was a bit perturbed to hear Thorpe on the other end, but he greeted him cordially enough. “What’s up?”
“I should be asking you that,” he came back with his usual flippant style.
Damon was not in the mood for any of his games. He needed to have a meeting with Thorpe, but he wanted to have all his ducks in a row before he accused him of anything. He’d better be wrong in what he was thinking. So, schooling his voice, he answered in his usual tone, saying nothing of real importance.
“I need to make some time to have a meeting with you.”
“Are you going into town today?” Thorpe wanted to know.
“No. Why?”
“Just asking.”
“Why, Thorpe? You don’t just anything. Is there something you’d like me to get you from town? Someone you’d like me to give a message for you?”
“You are in a foul mood. I’ll leave you be and will talk with you again when you’ve gotten over your mood.”
“I’m not in a foul mood, Thorpe. I’m busy and don’t have the time or the desire to continue this conversation. We’ll have to pick up from here some other time.” And with that, he hung up the phone.
He couldn’t remain in the office; the scent of his activities with Franchesca was still strong in the place. He could open the window to bring in some fresh air, but he found he liked the scent, although it only made him long for her even more. He craved her like a drug addict craved the next fix. He was worried about her, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her. He needed to know how she was doing. He called her room and was thankful to hear Ange’s voice on the other end.
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine, Monsieur Dumont. She’s enjoying a cup of hot tea and appears none the worse for wear.”
“Really? Are you certain about this, Ange?”
“Yes, Monsieur Dumont. Do you want to talk with her?”
“Yes, let me talk with her, Ange.”
He could hear a conversation going on in the background and was not surprised to hear Ange again, only this time informing him that Franchesca had gone into the bathroom and said she would call him back.
Hmmm, something was definitely up there. What had happened in the time he left her to the time he returned? It had to have been something traumatic to have such a powerful effect on her. He could speculate until the cows came home. The only one who had the answer was Franchesca, and if she believed she’d put him off with platitude, she had another think coming.
Hanging up the phone, he was livid. He had to work off some of the steam and wash her scent from his body. It was beginning to have the opposite effect on him.
Up in his room, he took a hot shower to bring his temperature down. The Chinese believed that hot showers had the exact opposite effect on your body chemistry than what western civilization believed. In his experience, this had been proven to be true, so, today, if he hoped to maintain his sanity, a hot shower it would be. And as he knew it would, it did the trick, for now.
He pulled on a pair of briefs and running shorts, and then he slipped a T-shirt over his head. He went downstairs to the foyer to put on running shoes. It was a custom in his home; no shoes that were worn outside entered beyond the foyer and certain areas downstairs.
He did twenty laps round the track, and he was still pissed when he got back to the house. How dare Franchesca treat him this way? Did she believe he was a toy to be used and disposed of at will? What the hell? He’d not done anything to her that she didn’t want… or welcome. How the hell was he supposed to deal with this?
This was all new territory for him. He’d never had this reaction from any woman before. On the contrary, it was usually the exact opposite. He’d maintained a low profile since the situation with Izzabella, but he had not been a saint, far from it. The only difference was it had just been about the sex for him. His emotions were never involved. Now this!
Returning to the house, he took a short shower and made his way up to Franchesca’s room. He wanted to spend some time
with her outside of the confines of the house. He knocked on the door before he pushed it open, only to find the room empty. Where the hell was she?
She couldn’t be on the track because she was still wearing the cast, and he didn’t think she was that foolhardy to risk a setback to her injury. The problem with the extent of the property and the house was that she could be anywhere. He returned to his office, but he was too impatient to remain still. He was about to walk out again when his gaze fell on the letter from Izzabella in the middle of his desk under a paperweight. He couldn’t recall putting it there; however, he had to deal with it soon. He could put it off for only so long. But whatever he did, he needed to talk with Thorpe. Something about the timing of this letter was still nagging at him.
******
Franchesca was thankful she was able to make it to his office unseen. She was still traumatized by the letter. She had no idea Damon had a wife. She recalled him mentioning he was married once, but he’d conveniently neglected to tell her that he was still very much a married man.
From the wording of the letter—which she agreed she had no business reading but was not sorry that she had—he had an ongoing relationship with his wife, Izzabella, and even though they weren’t living together, whatever the reason, he was married, and in Franchesca’s book, that was the end of the discussion.
She did not mess around with married men. Her brothers would kill her if they were to find out. She did not even want to think what her parents would think of her. As devout Catholics, they frowned on adultery, and even if she was not a child, she respected her parents too much, not to mention respecting herself, to get involved with a married man.
The sad thing about this was the fact that she wished she’d never become intimate with him. He had taken her to heaven, and now she was in the pits of hell. He had ruined her for any other man. From the time she’d found the letter to now, she had not been able to take a deep breath without it being painful.
What was she going to do? She had to put on a brave face until she was back in her flat and standing on her own two feet. She still had Raymond’s wedding less than a month away, and she was still determined to attend. Her focus going forward would be to get better so she could dance the night away at her brother’s wedding. She was looking forward to it, and to seeing her family.
She exited the house and went out into the grounds. She walked around to the back until she came to the garden she had seen the previous night. She was able to get around very easily with one crutch. She had taken one of the books from the collection in the room and intended to pass the time reading if she could concentrate long enough to get into the book.
She was almost out of sight of the house when she heard her name being called.
“Franchesca, Franchesca, wait up.”
She was of a mind to ignore the call, but she had stopped when she’d heard the first call, so whoever was calling her knew she’d heard him. She knew it was a man, and she had a good idea who. It wasn’t Damon. This person didn’t have the cadence Damon had in his voice, so it was Thorpe.
Out of common courtesy, she stopped and allowed him to catch up with her. She was a bit annoyed; she had been looking forward to some quiet, uninterrupted time so she could think and assess her situation in Damon’s house.
She knew it was precarious position because she didn’t think she had the strength to resist him if he came at her. She would be a goner if he came at her in the nude. She could still see him when she closed her eyes as he’d appeared standing between her legs while she lay on his desk. This type of perfection in a man was dangerous. It was almost a loaded weapon. The thought brought a smile to her lips, just as Thorpe caught up with her.
“What has you smiling so beautifully, cheri?” he said, greeting her with a kiss on both cheeks.
She knew it was a French custom that she had been trying to get out of doing. Why was Thorpe doing it? She supposed he had adopted the custom.
She had a problem with strangers in her space. If it was not family and-or close friends, she had gotten into the English handshake which was why Thorpe greeting her that way brought back forcibly why she didn’t like it. He made the custom seem dirty by somehow giving it a sexual undertone more than the simple act of just saying hello for which it was intended. She’d have to make a point of letting him know she was not comfortable with the practice.
“I ask again,” he repeated, “what has you in such a good mood?”
“I’m not in a good mood, Thorpe. I was just remembering a joke someone told me once.”
“Please share. I like jokes.”
“I’m sorry. That was a joke for my ears only.”
“Oh, that kind of joke. Okay, I get it.”
“Good. What can I do for you?”
“That’s a loaded question, but I’ll ignore the implication and take it in the spirit in which it was intended. Are you going home tomorrow?”
“Why, yes. I’m having the cast removed, and then there should be no reason why I can’t return to work. Unlike some people, I’m not a woman of leisure. I have to work to earn my keep.”
“I know the feeling. I, too, have to earn my keep, but I have enough time to take you for a spin around the local area if you think you are up to it.”
“Ah, sounds wonderful, but unfortunately, I’m not up to it. I planned on sitting in the shade of that beautiful cherry tree with my book.”
“Come on, you’d prefer the company of a book to mine? You have been cooped up in the house for several days. It will do you good to get out for a bit unless you are afraid to be in my company alone.”
“No such thing, but because you insist, I’ll go along with you. It’s beautiful in this neck of the woods.”
“That it is. Meet me in the drive. I’ll get the car.”
After he walked away, seeming quite pleased with himself, she wanted to kick herself. She really didn’t feel very relaxed in his company.
He was also very much a ladies’ man, and she had an inherent dislike for his sort. However, she did need to get out of the house for a bit. She had no doubt it would do her good.
He was back in less than ten minutes and driving a classy Benz in an unusual metallic black color. It was a sedan so there was plenty of room for her crutch in the back seat. He popped the roof up, and soon they were on their way.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As they drove away from the house, she thought she saw Damon standing in the doorway, but it was so brief she could very well have been wrong. She could have sworn the door was closed when Thorpe assisted her into the vehicle, but then again, she could be wrong about that too.
Thorpe took her to the north of the town, the more rural part of the town. It was less congested with beautiful homes and lovely scenery. They came upon a fair, and he stopped the car so they could walk around and visit all the wonderful items the vendors had on display. She let him buy her a charm bracelet of hammered silver. It was an inexpensive trinket, and she saw no harm in it. He was a fun, jovial man who saw life as one big joke. He never ran out of things to say to make her laugh.
They had a meal of poached sole served with a white wine sauce and garnished with mussels and shrimp, accompanied by a bottle of Vouvray. It turned out to be a pleasant afternoon with none of the emotional highs she had been on when she’d gone to the Promenade des Angla with Damon.
Thorpe didn’t have the same effect on her, thank God. She was even more thankful he didn’t make any passes at her. She did not want to have to give him a set down. Soon they were on their way back to the house. All in all, she did not regret going.
They were driving down the driveway when he asked, “Did you have a good time?”
“I did. It was a pleasant change.”
“Only a pleasant change?” he asked.
“Stop fishing, Thorpe. I had a good time. It was just what I needed before I went back to work, thank you.”
He drove into the garage and turned off the engine. As she made a move to st
ep out of the vehicle, a powerful hand took a hold of her, and she was lifted bodily from the vehicle. She found herself looking into the stormiest pair of silvery eyes she had ever seen.
“Why the devil did you go with Thorpe when you’ve been avoiding me?”
Franchesca gazed at him, wide-eyed and breathless. She had never seen such leashed temper in one man. He was so furious he was shaking with it.
“Why, Franchesca?” Hearing his deep voice caressing her name, her body went into meltdown. The tension of forcing herself to appear indifferent to him while his hand was gripping hers so tightly was taking a toll on her. She suddenly realized her fingernails were cutting deeply into her palms. She looked at him. Damn him to hell. Why did he have to have this powerful effect on her?
“Cool it, Damon, we just went for an afternoon away from the house,” Thorpe told him, trying to diffuse the situation. He turned those eyes on him and said one word, “leave,” and still carrying her in his arms, he walked out of the garage and into the house.
“Damon, please put me down, I can walk under my own stream. You’re hurting me holding me this close.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied, but he did not put her down, just loosened his hold slightly.
“Damon, I’m not your child, nor am I your property.”
“We have to talk, Franchesca. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’ll tell me, or I’ll be damned.”
“What are you going to do, take me across your knees, Damon?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Put me down, Damon. I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”
“You are capable of a lot of things, Franchesca, but I hope one of them is talking with me because we are going to have a talk.”
By then they had arrived at her room. Going in, he closed the door behind him and pushed the bolt home. Hearing the sound the lock made as it slid into place caused her body temperature to rise, and her breathing changed. She was determined not to let him affect her. She’d expected him to drop her on the bed with the rage she could sense simmering in him, so she braced herself for the impact when her body hit the bed, but he placed her down gently as if she was a fragile piece of porcelain.