Flawless (A Love, California Series Novel, Book 1)

by Jan Moran

  “That’s better,” she heard a male voice say, his fingers on her pulse. “Just breathe, try to relax.”

  Finally she sat up, pushed her hair back from her face and opened her eyes.

  “Verena?”

  The room swirled hazily around her. She could barely make out the form of a man crouched beside her, water dripping from his hair. How does he know my name?

  “Verena, look at me.”

  She shook her head. Her eyesight came into focus, and she could make out familiar features. Why, he looks like…but no, it couldn’t be. She remembered where she was.

  Paris.

  But he had an American accent.

  She pushed her hair from her face. “Lance?”

  He grinned, and at the same time they said, “What are you doing here?”

  Verena managed a small laugh, and then she glanced down and saw he wasn’t wearing a stitch.

  Lance became aware of her gaze, and he shifted his thigh in modesty. “My robe’s over there,” he said, nodding to the edge of the pool, where he’d clearly flung it off before diving in. It was half in, half out of the water. “I was waiting for a massage, relaxing on the chaise lounge, when I heard you go down.” He grinned again. “You’re a mighty powerful swimmer. Impressive.”

  She wiped spittle from her mouth. “Yeah, that was pretty impressive.”

  “I’ve never seen anyone head butt the pool.”

  Verena felt her face grow warm—the curse of having such fair skin. She couldn’t keep her eyes off this handsome, well-built man. And he was a sight to behold. She motioned to the other side of the pool. “I have a robe over there.”

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  “No, for you,” she said. “You must be cold, too.”

  “Never say that to a naked man,” he said, laughing.

  “No, I didn’t mean it that way.” Not at all.

  “I’m glad you’re okay.” He got up to retrieve the robe.

  She automatically turned away as he stood, but as soon as his back was turned, she couldn’t help peeking. I nearly died, didn’t I? So, a girl can look. She watched the sensual movement of his powerful hips and thighs as he crossed the room, and felt her body respond. He wrapped a towel around his hips and picked up her robe. She clamped her eyes shut when he turned around.

  “You can open them now,” he said, walking back to her, stopping to pick up several towels.

  A woman opened the door. “Monsieur Martel? Ready for your massage?”

  He looked at Verena. “Something else has come up. I’ll reschedule tomorrow.” The woman nodded and closed the door, leaving them alone.

  Verena sat up, clasping her legs, shivering.

  Lance knelt beside her. He draped her robe around her shoulders and placed a towel over her wet head. “You’re shaking. You need to warm up. Can you walk?”

  She nodded and he helped her to her feet, sliding his arm around her waist to steady her. His grasp was strong and sure, but more than that, it felt natural.

  “I know just what you need. Come with me,” he said.

  Wrapped in terrycloth, her teeth chattering, she leaned on him to walk from the pool into the sauna area, but after a couple of steps, her knees buckled.

  “I’ve got you,” he said, scooping her in his arms.

  Water droplets glistened on his skin, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you were here,” she said.

  “So am I,” he answered, his golden eyes mesmerizing her. He set her down gently when they reached the sauna. “Can you stand yet?”

  She nodded. She could stand, but he had taken her breath away.

  “They have one of the greatest hammams around.” As he opened the door to the private steam sauna, eucalyptus-scented steam billowed out.

  “This is heavenly,” she murmured, arranging herself on a broad bench covered in azure-colored tiles. Clouds of mist enveloped them, and warmth seeped into her skin. The herbal aroma soothed her rough throat and sinuses with every breath.

  “This is one of my favorite saunas,” Lance said, laying out more towels for them. He brought in two cups of cool, lime-infused water. She leaned her head against the tiled wall, grateful that he’d been there to save her. I might have drowned. She shuddered.

  They sat in silence, breathing deeply in the steamy sanctuary.

  Finally, Verena asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here for an international chef event representing the Beverly Hills Hotel. Lots of publicity, that sort of thing. And it’s a heck of a lot of fun. How about you?”

  “My grandmother and sisters are here on holiday, and I came for an important business meeting. Unfortunately, I won’t be here long.” She saw perspiration glistening on his chest. She had to admit, he had a nice physique. But I’m engaged. She ran her hands over her face. Then she remembered that she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring. Once I return, I’ll have it sized. She looked across at Lance. “We keep running into each other. Seems like an awfully big coincidence.”

  “I call it a really nice coincidence,” he said, spreading his arms across the tiled riser in back of him. “So, are you going to tell me what happened in there? You were swimming like a wild woman.”

  She shook her head, remembering the thoughts that had consumed her. “It’s just business.”

  “I’m a good listener.”

  “I’d rather talk about something else. Besides, you’re the one leading the glamorous life.”

  “Me?” Lance said, pointing to his chest. “You really don’t know what a chef does, do you?”

  “Besides cook for strange, wayward women?” She laughed. “I’m sure it’s a lot of work with long hours. In fact, people usually say I’m the one with the glamorous life.”

  “I’d agree with that. Look at you, jetting to Paris for a meeting. What, can’t get a phone call through?”

  “It’s an important meeting, and better conducted face to face.” Verena stopped, noticing how easy it was to talk to him. Too easy. “I’m warm now, I should probably go.” She started to get up.

  “It’s still early. How about a glass of wine? We can relax by the pool, but no more swimming for you tonight.”

  “Hmm,” she said, stretching the tension from her back. “Actually, it does sound nice. Good for jet lag.”

  “Just get in?”

  She nodded. “When did you arrive?”

  “Today, on Air France.”

  She paused, remembering. “I thought I saw you at the airport, but I figured I was imagining things.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Seeing me in your dreams, too?”

  “You flirt. Come on, let’s go.”

  “I’ll order wine while you take a shower.” He stood and opened the door for her. “Have you had dinner?”

  “We had a light supper.” She pushed the door open to the dressing area. “See you soon,” she said with a smile.

  She padded through the dressing area, stepped into the shower, and let the cool water wash over her. She should be preparing for her meeting tomorrow, but her thoughts were drawn to Lance. She could hardly believe he was here. In all her travels, she’d never been to Paris with a man. A friend, she corrected herself. Who just happens to be a man, a very real man.

  She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, toweling dry. Might be good to relax. She knew the business well. She was as prepared as she’d ever be.

  She looked around the well-appointed dressing area; it had everything she needed. She rinsed out her swimsuit, dried her hair, and then put on a fresh white cotton robe she’d found in a locker. She strolled back to the pool area and made herself comfortable on a chaise lounge, thoughts of Lance uppermost in her mind. She had to admit, his relaxed nature was attractive.

  Her mind wandered for a moment, and with a start, she found herself comparing Lance and Derrick, weighing their attributes. But there was more to this accounting than that.

  She’d felt there was somet
hing missing in her relationship with Derrick. The few times she’d seen Lance, he had stirred feelings within her that she’d never known before. Although she was engaged to Derrick, she couldn’t rest until she discovered why she was so drawn to Lance.

  There, I’ve admitted it, she thought. Now what?

  Lance sat in the intimate lounge area waiting for his order to be prepared. When he had worked in Paris, he had met the manager of the Majestic. Lance had spent a lot of time here then, and now his friend always gave him preferential rates.

  He stroked his chin, remembering the day he’d spoken to Mia Valent and Camille Dubois at the Polo Lounge. They had talked about Paris, and Mia had asked him where he was staying. He’d lay money that Mia had arranged this coincidence. He thought about it a moment and then laughed to himself. That sweet old woman was playing matchmaker.

  “Then I won’t let her down,” he said to himself. Nor would he let Verena in on the plot. Mia could prove to be a powerful ally.

  Verena Valent. What an incredible woman. He’d known a lot of pretty women, sophisticated women, wealthy women, but he’d never known anyone like her. She was completely unaffected, and yet, she could rise to any occasion with grace. The first night he’d ever seen her, he had stopped by the ballroom at the Beverly Hills Hotel to observe his banquet team in action. She was speaking at the podium and accepting an award. But he hadn’t caught her name. Who was she?

  It was as if he’d been struck—not by lightning, but by enlightenment. He had stood in the back of the room, transfixed by her melodious voice and the passion in her words. Instantly he understood the passion she had for her profession; he felt the same about his cooking. It was as if she was the woman he’d been waiting for. He had to find out who she was. He’d even made a note to ask the banquet manager.

  He remembered the dress she wore that night, a silver-colored evening gown that set off her pale golden hair. The meeting at the pool later that evening really had been a coincidence, yet he was quick to seize the opportunity to cook for her and learn more about her.

  A young man carrying a tray of food emerged from the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry this for you?”

  “No, I’ve got it,” Lance said. He took the tray, and then punched the elevator call button. The doors slid open, and he stepped in.

  When he opened the door to the pool area and saw Verena, he could hardly speak. He ached to have someone like this in his life—no, he corrected himself. He wanted her in his life. Seeing her lounging in her robe, her hair freshly washed and her face devoid of makeup, made him imagine what it would be like to wake with her in the morning. Have patience. His gut tightened.

  “Your order, mademoiselle,” he said, placing the tray on a small table between their chaise lounge chairs. He poured a small amount of golden-colored wine into a crystal glass and handed it to her to taste.

  She took the glass by the stem and sipped the wine. “Marvelous,” she said. Her hand quivered in a slight motion.

  “Chateau d’Yquem. Some call it liquid gold. It’s one of my favorite wines with dessert, or foie gras. Its magic is derived from botrytis cinerea, or noble rot.” He grinned and finished pouring the wine. He removed a cover from a plate, revealing a selection of colorful macaroon treats arranged in a checkerboard pattern, with rolled white chocolate straws separating them. Blueberries and raspberries garnished the plate. “I thought you might like to have something festive to celebrate your survival.” He selected a raspberry macaroon for her.

  She beamed at him and seemed to relax more. “They’re lovely, and yes, I am hungry. My stomach hasn’t adjusted to the time change yet. I don’t know if it’s time for breakfast or dessert.” She took the macaroon from him and bit into it. “Hmm, definitely dessert.”

  Lance watched her lick the delicate, creamy filling from her fingers, and felt himself fall for her even more. She has no idea the effect she has on me. He poured more wine into her glass, and then filled his own. It was going to be a beautiful evening after all.

  Against the rippling sound of the pebbled waterfall and the low illumination that cast lilting shadows across the shimmering pool, they sipped wine and nibbled, sharing stories of Paris. Soon they were talking and laughing with the ease of good friends.

  At one point, Verena stifled a yawn. “I have no idea what time it is,” she said.

  Lance gazed into the deep sapphire blue of her bright eyes. “Does it matter?”

  A smile lit her face, and then slid away. “My meeting is tomorrow morning.”

  He sighed. “You need sleep,” he said with reluctance. He stood and took her hand to help her from the chaise lounge. As she rose, their bodies naturally came together and Lance bent toward her, pausing for only a moment before his lips brushed hers, softly at first, as if in question, and then, as she responded, with increasing fervor.

  Lance was transported to a new dimension, and he wrapped his arms around Verena, deepening their kiss, their connection. And then all thought left him as pure sensation coursed through him, full and loving and urgent. He ran his hands through her loose, fragrant hair, stroked the warm length of her neck, and then, as her robe parted, the smoothness of her shoulders, the firmness of muscles beneath her skin. He caressed her, longing filling his soul, their lips moist and yearning.

  Verena was the first to pull away, demurely shifting her robe to cover her shoulders. “Oh, Lance, I never imagined….”

  “I did,” he said, kissing her again.

  After a few more moments, their lips parted again and she raised her eyes to him. He melted into the twin orbs of endless blue that shimmered with emotion. Savoring every detail, he fixed each movement in his mind to recall and relish again. The clean smell of her skin, the taste of her tongue, the fullness of her rosy lips. She’s incredible, he thought, wondering how he could make her his own.

  Wordlessly, they walked to the elevator, hand in hand.

  She pressed the call button, and as they waited, Lance turned her face up to his, drinking in the lovely angles of her face, her slightly quivering lip. As the door slid open, she touched his face and kissed him with the softness of butterfly wings.

  When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

  As the elevator rose through the floors, Verena stood with her eyes closed, wishing the moment had never ended. She touched her lips, tasting him on her mouth. Had Derrick ever brought forth such emotion in her? She couldn’t remember, didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the passion Lance had ignited within her. A feeling I never want to lose.

  A soft murmur escaped her lips, as she realized the intensity of her feelings for Lance. What have I done? She was aware of the complications their actions would pose, and yet, she had been a willing partner.

  A vision of Lance floated through her mind, his lean nude body bending over her beside the pool, his strong arms around her. She recalled the sweet smell of his wet hair and his salty perspiration in the hammam. Despite the strange turn of events, tonight had turned into the perfect evening in Paris.

  Warmth flooded her body, along with an almost overwhelming urge to return to him. The elevator slowed to a halt at her floor. An elegant chandelier-lit hallway loomed before her, sparking questions about the pathway of her own life.

  12

  “Enchanté,” Henri Becaud said, greeting her. “It’s nice to meet in person. You have your grandmother’s lovely eyes, I see.”

  “Merci, monsieur,” Verena replied, as they exchanged kisses on the cheeks. Verena detected a discreet parfum emanating from his neck and recognized it as one of Rose Beauté’s classic masculine fragrances. She was glad Mia had brought a feminine perfume from Rose Beauté for her to wear today.

  “Let’s sit here,” he said, motioning to an antique inlaid table surrounded by four chairs.

  Verena sat down, draping her cape over the polished arm of the chair, and smoothing her black lace shift dress. Fianna had supplied her with just the right ensemble for this important meeting.


  The private office was spacious and orderly, yet comfortably appointed. Verena couldn’t help but admire the original artwork on the walls. Degas, Picasso, Manet.

  A slim middle-aged woman clad in black entered on silent feet and placed a coffee serving before them. She poured coffee, asked Verena how she liked it, and then completed her task and left the room.

  Henri and Verena exchanged pleasantries and sipped their coffee. The tall, silver-haired man was as elegant as his office, Verena noted. She’d observed his hand-stitched custom suit, understated black shoes with a small Louis Vuitton emblem, and slim wristwatch that shone discreetly from beneath a fine cuff. His courtly manners reminded her of her grandfather, Emile, Mia’s husband. As she spoke, his inquisitive eyes never left her face.

  “Mia mentioned your expansion into Asia,” he said. “Tell me about your plans.”

  This is it. Henri’s comfortable manner put her at ease, yet she knew that he was weighing every word she said. He’s brilliant, Mia had told her. And he had a pristine professional reputation in the industry.

  “We’ve been working on this deal for more than two years,” she began. “The initial inventory has shipped, and we’ve committed to marketing, advertising, and public relations for the debut, as well as continuing market support.” She went on to explain their plans for the future, quoting figures with confidence when he asked for specifics.

  Henri nodded. “You are quite prepared. Mia mentioned that you have financing needs.”

  “Our bank withdrew its commitment, and we need working capital to fund the launch and ongoing support.”

  A slight shadow crossed his face. “Do you wish to be acquired?”

  That question again. “No, it’s a family business.”

  “At some point, it’s a good idea for families to diversify their holdings.” He sat back and crossed his legs. “When we spoke previously, I told you that we would have liked to acquire your company,” Henri said. “But when America catches a cold, the rest of the world is at risk for pneumonia.”