Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  With one smooth movement, Alain grabbed her and spun her around, pinning her helplessly underneath him. Rachel shrieked and laughed with joy. The strong weight of Alain’s hard body sunk down onto her as he pushed her back against the luxurious goose-down pillows.

  “Protection,” she whispered with a mischievous smile on her lips. Alain leaned over Rachel, his chest delicious and heavy on her, while he fished a foil-wrapped condom from his jeans on the floor. Fascinated, her eyes transfixed on his hands, Rachel watched as Alain unrolled the condom over him.

  “Slowly,” she whispered when he turned to her, and he gently nipped her neck, burying his face in her hair. She searched for his hand and placed it gently on her breast, squeezing softly. Alain inhaled sharply and lowered his head to her breast, his warm mouth sucking, nibbling on her swollen nipple.

  Rachel ran her hand down his back, and as he moved above her, she traced the ripples of hard muscle that crisscrossed his back. The firm smoothness of his skin came alive under her touch, and deliberately, she raked her nails slowly down his back, enjoying the accomplishment of her action. Her hand came to rest on his tight, round buttocks and she pushed down on the smooth firmness. He arched his body majestically above her, threw his head back, and split her open with his thighs. His massive arousal was hot and hard against her skin.

  Oh, I want him — right now, inside me.

  Rachel looked up at Alain, deep lust drifting like smoke over his eyes. She hooked her limbs around his narrow hips, drawing him closer to her, into her — teasing him, laughing.

  In a swift movement, Alain gripped her wrists in one powerful hand, pinning them above her head on the pillow, leaving her exposed and vulnerable under him. She reveled at the controlled power of his grip, lying defenseless on her back, watching his dark, smoldering eyes. He lowered slowly to take a ripe, swollen nipple in his mouth, and with his other arm reaching under her back, arched her body upwards to him.

  Rachel tightened her legs on Alain’s manly body as he ground his pelvis against her, his arousal big, hard, and urgent. She tilted her hips slightly, wanting him in her.

  Teasingly, carefully, mindfully, he touched her with his hard arousal. Then, gently, he entered her wetness, shallow at first. His body froze in space when Rachel gasped sharply at his initial entry, her body tensed like steel wire at the unfamiliarity of accommodating him.

  It had been a while.

  They both waited. Quivering.

  She held her breath, waiting for her body to relax, to accept his hot, delicious shaft. The muscles in Alain’s powerful back rippled under her hand and his breathing came in ragged rasps as he hovered above her, allowing her the time to take him deeper into her.

  Rachel’s body began to relax, safe in the knowledge that he was waiting for the first, slow thrust of pelvis to come from her. Carefully, testing, she thrust her pelvis upwards, letting him drive deeper into her wet warmth. And then Alain began to move in slow, grinding circles, matching her.

  Rachel’s body tingled with anticipation, and she thrust upward to meet Alain, slowly at first, and then with more urgency, their rhythm building, becoming deeper and harder, their bodies locked in unison. Her breathing became rushed with a warm, deep desire spilling over her, blanking her mind from everything but the need for Alain to thrust inside her, deeper.

  The world began to spin, slowly at first, then wilder and faster, and she thrashed her head from side to side, willing their bodies together as they gyrated in locked passion. Her vision blurred, and she could smell the muskiness of their lust grow stronger, and then, suddenly, the need to be closer to him was so overpowering that she smashed and ground herself against Alain’s hard pubic bone with an almost frantic urgency.

  Incredibly, a forgotten, hidden sensation of pleasure, dormant for years, slowly ascended from deep inside her, lifting her, driving her body to spasm powerfully into a long, beautiful arch. Sensation tore from her body like hot, molten lava.

  Rachel’s deep inhalation burst from her lungs in an explosive gasp, and she cried out loudly at the peak, vaguely aware of the deep, roaring bellow escaping from Alain’s chest.

  His upper body shuddered with his own exploding orgasm, and he let go of her wrists, throwing his head back and lifting his powerful upper torso high, the muscles in his neck straining like oiled steel cords. Wet hair was plastered in dark curls on his forehead, and his heaving chest glistened a deep, shiny gold, like an ancient god in the soft light.

  As Alain opened his eyes, she tilted her head and watched with fascination as the focus slowly returned to his dark pupils. He gingerly lowered himself onto his elbows, taking most of his weight onto his shoulders and upper arms, and brushed a long wisp of hair from her face. A thin line of perspiration trickled down her neck, and he ran his tongue over it gently.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his deep voice a soft rumble against her ear.

  She smiled at him and laid her hand on his cheek.

  • • •

  Slowly, gently, Rachel became aware of the soft, early morning light of the rising sun and the welcome sound of mourning doves in the willow tree at the window. Her senses woke, and she opened her eyes lazily. A magnificent, bronze arm drifted slowly into focus.

  With a slight start, she opened her eyes wider.

  Alain.

  He was on his side, naked, his head resting lightly on a supporting hand under his ear. A slight, dark shadow lined his strong jaw line. He reached out with his free hand and touched her tenderly on the cheek.

  “Morning,” he said softly, as if not to disturb her.

  Rachel smiled and laid her hand on his, enjoying the warmth on her face.

  “Hi,” she whispered shyly.

  His dark eyes probed hers, deep and intense.

  “What?” she asked and cleared her throat, suddenly thirsty.

  Alain turned to face her squarely, his mouth set in a serious line.

  “What?” she repeated.

  “I’ve never said this to a woman. I don’t think I knew what it felt like before.” She watched while Alain gathered his thoughts once more. “Rachel, I really love you — more than I ever knew possible.”

  Rachel closed her eyes to the warm tears of joy welling up.

  Once again, Provence had been good to her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rachel paced through the refurbished chateau in slow, measured steps. The muted click of her heels on the reclaimed, wide-plank hardwood flooring echoed from the high, vaulted ceiling. Her gaze went over the carefully restored interior to take in the polished marble staircase, the heavy, crystal chandeliers, and the beautiful, ornate ceiling plaster moldings. The restoration work had been completed to such precision and high standards that, even subjected to her most critical inspection, she couldn’t spot any defects.

  Two large trucks rumbled noisily down the road and made their way toward the service entrance on the north side of the main building.

  Satisfied, Rachel swirled one last time to take in the expanse of the impressive ballroom and then made her way to the front entrance, where she opened the heavy carved wooden door.

  Alain’s low-slung DB6 was slowly making its way up the newly paved driveway, flashes of bright sunlight reflecting off the sleek bodywork through the dappled lane of leafy plane trees. On his lap sat Iain, small hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel and his face drawn into a tight ball of concentration. In the passenger seat next to them, Mia sat, waving regally when they drove past an appreciative Eugene. She leaned her head lightly against the doorframe and smiled lovingly as her mind drifted to the events that led to this beautiful day.

  Rachel was cautious in answering Alain’s love at first, and watched with some trepidation as the bond between Alain and her children grew stronger by the day. With time, she had realized that Alain’s love f
or her and her children was true and deep, and that she could trust him.

  During the final weeks of the renovation project, she had some of the best days of her life. She and Alain had shamelessly neglected the project, sometimes for days, to enjoy the last of the warm summer days with the kids. Alain’s long string of excuses to take the kids on excursions such as swimming at Baie De Pampelonne, or picnic lunches on Porquerolles, or endless boat trips on his yacht, still made her smile.

  Then, as soon as the first snow covered Mt. Blanc, Alain insisted they spend a week at his chalet in Megeve, where he enlisted the services of the world’s finest ski instructors for the kids. After lunch, he would devote the afternoon to skiing with them, beaming at their progress. It was endearing to watch Alain on the gentle bunny slopes, skiing backwards in slow, wide turns, as he encouraged and urged Iain and Mia in their efforts.

  Megeve would always have a special place in her heart. It was here, watching Alain with the kids, that she declared her love for him.

  Finally, in early February, they finished the renovation project. Exactly two days after the completion of the renovation, Alain approached Rachel with a suggestion to join him for a couple of days “away from it all.”

  “Where would we go?”

  “Oh, maybe somewhere in northern Europe,” he replied vaguely.

  “In February? Won’t that be too chilly?”

  “Wait and see.” The mysterious smile on his face convinced her in a heartbeat.

  To Rachel’s surprise, she had increasingly found signs of Alain’s mysterious hand in a number of the arrangements involving her life and that of the kids. When she called her parents on the Wednesday, she learned that they were on their way to Gatwick to catch a flight to Marseilles.

  “Alain arranged it,” her mother’s voice echoed over the phone, heavy with conspiracy. Next she overheard Tina requesting Arianne to ready the guest cottage. “For your parents’ visit … Alain arranged it.”

  Later that week, after their private flight had left Marseilles and leveled off at 33,000 feet, Rachel reclined her seat and turned toward Alain on her left.

  “You’ve been so secretive,” she sulked. “You’ve arranged all the travel plans, flew my parents down to take care of the twins — I only found out where we going a couple of minutes ago.”

  “That’s all part of the element of surprise, isn’t it?” Alain laughed, and nodded toward his trusted air hostess to serve the chilled champagne.

  “But you would hardly let me pack any clothes … ”

  “ … and by packing, you’ve now spoiled my plans to surprise you with a new wardrobe,” Alain replied and shook his head in mock frustration.

  From Marco Polo airport, a limousine scooted them to a wooden Spencer runabout waiting with running motors to skirt them over the water canals to their presidential suite at the luxurious Hotel Palazzo Vendramin.

  Shortly after their arrival, Alain accompanied Rachel to a personal costume fitting where they selected and fitted their period costumes for the world famous Il Ballo del Doge. She could hardly contain her excitement, and Rachel’s animated babbling raised much tongue clicking from the dress fitter as she struggled to get her job done.

  That Saturday evening, Alain and Rachel arrived by private water transfer at the sumptuous Palazzo Pisani Moretta on the Grand Canal for the Venetian masked ball. A low buzz came from the admiring crowd as they stepped into the fairy-tale world of costumed jesters, dancers, acrobats, and daring fire-eaters. Rachel and Alain struck a regal pose in their lavish costumes as they gracefully descended the wide staircase. Hidden behind her mask, she could afford a quiet smile at the stir they had caused, and with her hand hooked into Alain’s elbow, she silently pinched him on his arm.

  By midnight, while the dancing was still in full swing, Alain took her by the arm and led her from the ballroom. It was surprisingly mild outside, and Rachel leaned her head happily against Alain’s shoulder while they strolled down quiet, narrow streets. She sighed, satisfied at the feeling of happiness that cloaked her like a warm blanket as they walked along the water canals. Alain paused when they crossed the Rialto Bridge, and they turned to take in the sight of the full moon over the Venice skyline. For minutes, they stood in silence, taking in the image of the bell tower of St. Mark’s Basilica in the distance, painted in a soft blue hue.

  Then Alain turned and looked into her eyes.

  “You happy, Rachel?” he asked, his dark eyes intense, searching her face.

  “Very,” she answered, not sure where he was going with this. He stood, quiet for a moment, his eyes still on her face.

  “What?” she asked, trying the fathom his behavior.

  Alain reached into his pocket, and when he opened his hand, he held a small, square box. Then, with infinite care, he laid his hand on her cheek. Rachel’s heart fluttered wildly as she realized what was about to happen.

  “It is impossible to love someone more than I love you.” He paused for a moment before he continued. “Rachel Swift, will you marry me?” His words came to her over the soft gurgle of water under the Rialto Bridge.

  When they returned to France two days later, Tina arrived in a cloud of dust at her front door within the hour, her excitement bordering on manic. They had a million arrangements to make in a very short time, and for Tina, nothing but absolute perfection would be acceptable. The venue was set at the newly renovated Chateau Léon.

  • • •

  Rachel pushed herself from the doorframe with a happy sigh and walked to meet Alain and the kids where they were parked in the shade. Iain saw her, and happy laughter rang out as he sprinted toward her open arms. She lifted him high in the air and swung him in a wide arch before setting him down. Arianne stepped from the chateau, and Iain ran up the stone steps to meet her. Mia, on the other hand, approached her in her newfound, more sedate, ladylike fashion.

  “Mommy, I love the flowers.” Mia pointed to the large, wooden arbor on the manicured lawn under the old willow tree, decorated with garlands of honeysuckle and willow. Large bouquets of fresh white lilies and long-stemmed roses framed the arbor to create a large, floral arch. Set along the center aisle were neat rows of pristine white wooden benches for the wedding guests. A thick-piled, red runner led to the polished mahogany pew in the front. Tina’s hand was to be seen everywhere.

  Inside, she had transformed the grand ballroom to its former glitzy splendor, and the massive room brimmed with stylishly decorated dining tables, heavy with crystal champagne flutes, white porcelain, and silver flatware. Massive bouquets of white roses and lilies competed with the elaborate silver candelabras and printed menus to decorate the tables.

  A low stage had been erected on the far side to accommodate the five-piece band Tina had flown in from Vienna — it was the single aspect of all the wedding arrangements Tina simply refused to negotiate. It had to be this specific band.

  At last count, Rachel had tallied just over six hundred confirmed guests. A small, Venetian glass replica of the chateau, neatly wrapped in white and silver, was placed at each seat as a token of thanks and goodwill.

  Behind the high double doors leading from the ballroom, Chez Du Pont had annexed the dining room and most of the lounge to accommodate the row upon row of entrees, main courses and dessert that would be coming from his small army of staff in the kitchen.

  Eugene had thrown open the ancient doors to his impressive wine cellar, and the twenty wine stewards, under the critical stare of Chateau Léon’s head sommelier, eagerly awaited the event, dressed in their royal blue and white uniforms.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be manicured, or styled, or something?” Alain questioned and reached to give Rachel a long, warm hug.

  “I just wanted to take one last look,” she said, her voiced muffled against his chest.

  “Nothing more to be done, Angel — it’s all
ready for the big moment.”

  She sighed. “And I wanted to see you.”

  Alain hugged her closer. His view drifted out toward the azure blue of the ocean in the hazy distance.

  “Oh, no, what have I done wrong?” he asked lightly.

  “I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for loving me, and thank you for loving my kids.”

  She pushed herself back in his embrace to look up into his laughing dark eyes. “You’ve restored my faith in love.”

  About the Author

  Lieze Gerber is an emerging novelist who writes contemporary romance. Born and raised in South Africa, Lieze now calls Vancouver, Canada home. She studied law in South Africa, but lately, her love for writing has won the case against her practical side.

  Lieze currently lives in France with her husband and two rather spoilt Scottish Terriers, where she is working furiously on the Love Restored trilogy. In her spare time, she likes to relax with her canvas and paintbrushes, or jump on her bicycle and hit the closest trail.

  You can visit her online at www.liezegerber.com.

  A Crimson Romance Sneak Peek

  Text Me by Shelley K. Wall

  Once Upon a Wish

  Pam Andrews Hanson

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Barbara Andrews and Pamela Hanson

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5234-7

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5234-2

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5233-9

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5233-5

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.