Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy)

by Kay, Jani

  “We won’t need that. I’ll take mademoiselle home now.”

  “She’s precious cargo, be careful with your lady…good luck.” The male paramedic winked at Maxwell.

  “Yes, I will take care of my lady…” Maxwell teased, laughing. “She’s precious, indeed.” I rolled my eyes at them both. I hadn’t broken anything, and it was just a sprained ankle. I’d be fine in a few hours.

  The Harley.

  How was I going to manage that?

  “Don’t panic,” Maxwell read my mind again. “I’ve organized a taxi. The rental company will pick the Harley up from here. ”

  Relief washed over me. As brave as I tried to be coming here, I knew I couldn’t cope going back on a motorcycle. Maxwell carried me carefully down the stairs and into the waiting taxi. He slid in next to me and placed my ankle on his thigh.

  Before I could protest he said dryly, “Keep it raised, remember?”

  It was futile to argue. I sighed and leaned back, trying to get comfortable.

  In fluent French, Maxwell instructed the taxi driver. I didn’t hear the name of my hotel mentioned, and I was sure I would’ve at least recognized that part.

  “You’re staying at my suite tonight so I can look after you. You can’t run this time, Rebecca. And there is no point in arguing.” His lips twisted into a snarl.

  I opened my mouth to say something and closed it again. I was speechless. His arrogance had crept back.

  I tried again. “Maxwell, I’ve had a really enjoyable day in spite of this mishap. And up until now, you have even been…pleasant. But, I know you are supposed to fly back home this evening. I will be fine. Please just drop me at my hotel.”

  “Rebecca, I have it all under control. It was my fault you fell, I’ll take care of you until it’s better. I’ve already postponed my flight.” He clenched his jaw, as if his patience was running really thin.

  “What about your wife?” I asked feebly.

  “What about my wife?” He answered my question with another question.

  “Isn’t she expecting you home? What’ll she say if you have another woman in your room?”

  “It’s non of her concern,” he replied, closing his eyes. He looked really tired.

  What does he mean, ‘non of her concern’? How bizarre.

  I pressed on. “If you were my husband I would definitely not want another woman in your hotel room,” I said, exasperated at trying to get my point across to him. This was a bad idea.

  “Is that so, Rebecca. If I were your husband…” he mocked me. He turned to look at me. Something very dark stirred in his eyes. I looked away quickly, pretending I didn’t see anything.

  Finally I gave up. I wasn’t going to win this time.

  Chapter 57

  We got back to Paris in no time. The taxi pulled up outside a grand hotel. Maxwell lifted me out of the back seat and unceremoniously carried me through the lobby toward the elevator. Everyone was staring at us. Maxwell grinned as if he’d just caught the biggest fish in the pond and was holding the proof. Even the bellboy winked at Maxwell.

  Men and their codes.

  He took me up to his suite, which was double the size of mine. Gently, he lay me on the oversized bed. I’d become so comfortable in his arms, that I missed his body’s warmth when I reluctantly slipped my arm from around his neck to let him go. I shivered and let out a sigh.

  The painkillers were making me drowsy—especially combined with the two glasses of wine I’d had just before the incident. Housekeeping delivered a few more pillows and Maxwell instructed them to lift my leg right up into the air, so that my ankle was above my heart. I felt totally ridiculous in this compromising position. It wasn’t somewhere I could fight easily from.

  Vulnerable and at his mercy.

  I didn’t like that one bit.

  He pulled a large T-shirt from a drawer and handed it to me.

  “You’ll be a lot more comfortable in this,” he said, as he turned away, giving me privacy to change. Wriggling on the bed to remove my jeans and muddied T-shirt, I slipped his oversized T-shirt over my head. It smelled of him, crisp and clean, with a hint of citrus.

  The housekeeper removed my clothing off the bed and I pulled the blanket up to cover myself. Maxwell turned back, took the ice packs from the housekeeper and dismissed her politely. He gently placed them around my ankle. I shivered. He smiled down at me and pulled the blanket up to under my chin, stroking my cheek. The last thing I remembered before dozing off was the soft touch of his lips on my temple.

  Maxwell finally had the advantage over me; I couldn’t run anywhere.

  I woke up in a daze.

  Where the hell am I?

  Taking in my surroundings, I flinched at the throbbing pain in my ankle. That jerked my memory.

  Peering toward the window, I drew in a sharp breath when I saw Maxwell spread out and fast asleep on the chaise lounge next to my bed. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, absurdly vulnerable. His brow which was permanently knitted whenever he was in my company was relaxed and he looked a lot younger than his thirty years.

  My gaze fell on the clock, it was five in the morning.

  Oh. My. God.

  I was meant to go to Alain’s chateau last night. He was probably wondering where I was, worried. I hadn’t called. I had to get to my phone and call him, regardless of the time. Alain would be frantic by now.

  I slipped off the bed to find my phone, wincing at the pain as my feet touched the floor. I tried to place all my weight on my left leg, only using the tips of my toes on my injured leg to balance myself so I didn’t fall over. Shuffling slowly, I tried to make as little noise as possible so I didn’t wake Maxwell.

  Concentrating hard on being quiet, I didn’t notice the ottoman in front of me. I tripped over it and let out a yelp before landing squarely on my ass with a thud.

  Maxwell leapt out of his chair, cursing. “Rebecca, are you OK?” He flipped on the light switch.

  “What the hell…?” he roared, when he saw where I was. “Are you trying to sneak out?” The anger in his voice was not pretty.

  “No, I was just going to the loo,” I lied.

  His eyes softened. “Oh…OK, then. Let me help you.” He bent over and picked me up off the floor, sighing heavily. “Next time, please wake me.”

  What now?

  He carried me to the marbled bathroom and set me down on the bench next to the toilet. “I’m sure you’ll manage, just call me when you’re done.” His tone was sardonic. He turned and closed the door behind him.

  May as well take a pee while I’m here.

  I sat in the bathroom for the longest time, mulling everything that happened over in my head. An impatient knock on the door had me nearly jump out of my skin.

  “Have you escaped through the window? Still trying to run, Rebecca?” He joked, but his voice was bitter.

  “I…I’m just done,” I said, as I splashed my face with water. “You can come in now.”

  He took a few long strides toward me and lifted me up again. This time he was rough, his anger still seething. My ankle hit against the basin pedestal as he turned. I let out a stifled cry as pain shot through my leg.

  “Fuck. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I hid my face in his chest, not wanting him to see the tears. I bit hard into my bottom lip.

  Carrying me to the bed, he sat down, holding me in his lap. He pulled my hair, forcing my face up toward his. His eyes searched mine.

  “God. I'm so sorry.” His face twisted in agony.

  His mouth burned down onto mine, his anguish clear as he crushed me to him.

  I couldn’t help myself. I kissed him back. I was tired of fighting.

  The kiss deepened, both of us putting everything, so far unspoken, into this one lingering kiss. Fully charged, the warmth and closeness of our bodies enveloped us. His hand snaked into my hair, keeping my mouth to his as he explored the depths with his tongue. I met him halfway, tasting the sweetness that was Maxwell’s mouth, my fingers tangl
ed in the thick hair at the nape of his neck.

  Awareness of a stirring against my hip jolted me back to reality. He was rock hard. God, no.

  This can’t happen. Not now. Not ever.

  I pull away from him, withdrawing my hands from my embrace.

  “No. Please let me go.”

  He stared at me in disbelief, his lips draw to a thin line, a vein pulsing in his neck.

  “I want you. You are my firebird.” The intensity of the lust in his eyes frightened me.

  “No, Maxwell. Never.” My voice choked.

  I crawled out of his lap onto the bed and covered myself with the blanket. I was shaking now. My body was fighting me. It hungered for more of Maxwell’s touch.

  What the hell was going on with me?

  I wanted Maxwell. My core was wet and throbbing.

  I fucking wanted him.

  “Please pass me my phone, I have to go…” I whispered.

  Maxwell rose to his feet, running his hands through his hair. He stared at me, adjusted his cock in his pants, and swore loudly.

  “Sweet Jesus, when will you stop running?” he growled. “You want me to fuck you. I want to fuck you. It’s that simple. When will you understand?”

  He turned and strode to the lounge. Seconds later he returned and wordlessly passed me my phone. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear to see his face. I would crack if I did.

  Chapter 58 - Alain

  I was worried sick. All this week I’d been looking forward to Rebecca returning to the chateau. I was meant to be picking her up myself. I couldn’t wait to see her, to hold her, to make love to her, again. I doubted we would even make it to the chateau before I possessed her. I was so hungry for her.

  When I arrived at the hotel, the pretty brunette informed me that she hadn’t returned from her outing earlier today. Her outing with a tall gentleman on a motorcycle. I cursed the heavens. Who the fuck was the man she took off with?

  On a motorcycle?

  Rebecca had told me she hated them, and I understood why.

  Surely they’re wrong. They must be mistaking my Rebecca for someone else. The fear I saw in her eyes when she told me about the death of her high school sweetheart was very real.

  Explaining my situation to reception, using my persuasive techniques and flashing what I hoped was a killer smile at the brunette, she finally allowed access to Rebecca’s room. I looked around; nothing was packed for her stay at the chateau.

  Has she run off with another man?

  My mind played evil tricks on me, I imagined her being fucked by another man and I felt rage tear through my veins.

  I should have come sooner. I should’ve insisted that she give up her contract and come to the chateau with me, where I could have her under my wing. I’d take care of her, in every way possible. She didn’t need this ridiculously demanding job, or to work for that fucker of a boss of hers. I was over it and planned to tell her.

  If she comes back.

  The little voice in the back of my head tormented me.

  No. I wouldn’t lose her now. Not after finding the one woman who quickened my pulse just at the thought of her. She had crept under my skin and into my heart. She was mine.

  It was time Rebecca knew what I had known for some time now. I needed to tell her that I loved her. That she was mine and mine only.

  I paced the room, looking at my watch. It felt like hours had passed, but my watch had only moved on five minutes. I shook the goddamn watch. This was not the time for the battery to go flat. My gaze fell on the bedside clock. There was nothing wrong with my watch.

  Exhausted by these weeks of searching for her, then finally finding her and waiting with anticipation for her return to me, had totally wiped me out.

  My phone buzzed next to me, waking me from a fitful sleep. Even her pillow smelled of her, it managed to calm me. I grabbed the phone. Rebecca. Relief washed over me.

  “Cherie.” I had to control my voice, I felt like screaming. “Where are you?” Followed by silence.

  “Fuck. Answer me. Are you there… ?” Panic rose in my chest.

  Is this some cruel joke? Has something happened to Rebecca?

  “Alain. Please could you come and fetch me?” Her voice sounded as if she was in pain.

  “Are you OK? Are you hurt? Where the fuck are you?” I was losing my self-control, fear gripping at my insides.

  “It’s a long story. I’m at Maxwell’s hotel. Please fetch me?”

  “What?” I roared. My heart was going to jump out of my chest at any moment. “You’re in Maxwell Grant’s fucking hotel room?” My voice was booming in my ears. “Tell me where—now.”

  She gave me the name of the hotel. I’d stayed there before, I knew exactly where it was. If Grant fucking touched a hair on her head so help me God—. I couldn’t bear to think what she was doing in his room.

  Had he fucked her? Rage seethed through my body. I was becoming a madman. For the first time in my life I understood the expression ‘crime of passion’. I’d kill Grant with my bare hands.

  I rang Gaston to bring the car around immediately. I paced the lobby impatiently for five minutes before he arrived. Gaston’s eyes widened when he saw my face, but he knew better than to say anything.

  Gaston sped through the streets, fortunately it was early morning and there wasn’t much traffic. We reached the hotel in eight minutes. I didn’t wait for Gaston to park, as soon as the car stopped, I flew through the entrance of the hotel, and made my way to the elevator. My fists were clenched, my jaw aching.

  Room 1804. My knuckled rapped on the door. Open the door, motherfucker.

  Seconds later, the door opened. I brushed past Grant, not looking at him or I’d rip him apart. First, I had to find my Rebecca.

  Lying on the bed, her leg raised and her face pained, she looked so vulnerable. Every cell in my body cried out to protect her.

  “Alain.” My name had never sounded sweeter on her lips. Even in moments of ecstasy.

  “Cherie, are you OK?” I quickly scanned her body—taking in her scraped skin and bandaged ankle. Had she been in some sort of accident?

  Wearing only a large T-shirt, her beautiful legs bare, she nodded, tears in her eyes. I closed the distance between us and leaned down to kiss her. I didn’t give a fuck that Grant was staring at us with puppy-dog eyes. I’d deal with the fucker later.

  A blush spread over Rebecca’s cheeks as I pulled back to search her eyes. She looked so vulnerable yet beautiful, her hair spread out on the pillow. I couldn’t be angry with her. But Grant... . He stood glued to the doorjamb, his gaze burning into Rebecca.

  “I’ll take you home now,” I said brusquely, as I wrapped her in the blanket and lifted her off the bed. “Hush. I will take care of everything.”

  I gave Grant a murderous look as I strode past him. Rebecca had closed her eyes and buried her face in my chest. It felt so good to hold her in my arms again. I’d learn what happened and deal with Grant in my own time.

  Gaston smiled broadly, I could see the relief on his face as I approached the limo. Then, he noticed Rebecca’s injuries and started clucking like an old woman. He held the door open as I stepped inside, holding Rebecca tightly in my arms. I didn’t ever want to let her go. The anguish I’d experienced the last twelve hours had shown me in no uncertain terms, how smitten I was with this woman.

  “Home, Gaston.”

  I buried my face in her hair. She smelled so sweet, just like I remembered. My mouth possessed hers hungrily. I couldn’t get enough of her.

  After a while she gently pushed me away. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Alain.” She sighed against my chest as she closed her eyes.

  I had to know the truth, it was tearing me apart.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She bit her lip, shaking her head. I pressed on, I had to have answers. “Did he fuck you?”

  Her eyes flew open, colliding with mine. I saw panic in her eyes.

  No.

  Merde. Bast
ard.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said with a sob. Tears were running down her cheeks, I wanted to stop the pain in her eyes even though I didn’t understand what it meant. I kissed her face, her cheeks, her lips. “No, he didn’t,” she repeated, as she shuddered, closing her eyes again. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

  What was she hiding?

  Jealously ate me up from inside. I wanted to trust her, yet I couldn’t believe Grant did not try his luck. She was so vulnerable, lying there injured—an easy target for a man like him. Out of my own fear and fucked-up jealousy, I had to learn the answer for myself.

  Not wanting to hurt her ankle, I lay her gently on the bench next to me. I had to know with absolute certainty. She stared at me with her big doe-like eyes, biting her bottom lip as I lifted the T-shirt, Grant’s fucking T-shirt, at the hem and ripped her flimsy panty off with one hand. I parted her legs and dove down into her pussy.

  My rage was boiling over, I darted my tongue into her forcefully, tasting her, searching for traces of him. She pulled back in surprise but I gripped her hips tighter and explored every inch of her cunt: sucking, licking, tasting—all the time, tasting.

  “Alain, wait…” she cried, tugging at my hair to lift my hungry mouth off her. I lifted my head long enough to see panic in her eyes.