by Diana Palmer
She turned and opened the door as quickly, and as unobtrusively, as possible.
“Phillipe likes you,” Maureen said that evening after Jolana had showered. “I think it’s because you’re so different from the girls he knows.”
“I like him, too. I always did,” Jolana said gently. She smiled at her friend. “He’s crazy, you know.”
Maureen laughed delightedly, clapping her hands. “Ah, yes, it runs in the family, you see. Jolana, I am so glad that you came. Things had deteriorated here... No matter, it is changing now, it is all changing.” She studied her friend carefully. “You are happy, too, I think. Except for that touch of indigestion.” Her eyes narrowed. “It is better?”
Jolana frowned. “I’m not sure. I just feel a general malaise.” She laughed. “Maybe it’s the difference, in the food and the air.”
Maureen nodded. “Perhaps so.” But she didn’t speak further. She only stared, her eyes falling to her friend’s waistline, her lips pursing speculatively.
“By the way, did you come in while I was bathing?” Jolana asked. “I thought I heard someone...”
“No, it was not I. Perhaps Agatha.” She grinned, naming the very formal maid who worked for the family. “She is stealthy, is she not?”
“Very!”
“I had asked Phillipe to stop by your room and mention that we were ready to eat,” she said thoughtfully. “But he would have knocked. Very much a gentleman, is Phillipe. Jolana, you do like him?”
“Very much,” Jolana said, and meant it. She stretched. “I’m so tired. Must be this winter chill that makes me sleepy.”
“Just so,” Maureen agreed, but her face was thoughtful. “You are not so sad as when you came,” she added. “A good thing, too. That man, the one you left behind you, it is for the best. At least you did not become pregnant.”
“At least.” Jolana laughed at her friend’s frankness. “I’m not even on the pill. How lucky that it was only one night.”
“Yes, it is.” Maureen took her arm, smiling slowly. “Come. We have an especially good dinner tonight. I am famished.”
They walked into the elegant dining room arm in arm, and there was the slightest inclination of Maureen’s head as her eyes met her brother’s. Phillipe smiled, and for the rest of the evening, his attention was on Jolana. She began to feel that there was hope for her at last, that she might be able to forget Nick and start again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THERE WERE STILL the nights to get through, however. The long, empty nights when she remembered how it had been with Nick and thought she couldn’t bear one more sunrise alone. But she clung to what Tony had told her. One day at a time. Get through each day, as if it were complete in and unto itself. It was like putting one foot in front of the other to take a long walk. Eventually, it got to be routine.
She wondered sometimes if Nick would find happiness with Margery. There was an old saying that you couldn’t build happiness on a foundation laid with the grief of others. But then, weeds thrived, didn’t they? Flowers had one hell of a hard time of it.
Her mind would keep going back to the way it had been in the car, to what he’d said about never feeling that kind of pleasure with another woman. But she forced herself to remember their final meeting as well, the pain and anguish. What had hurt the most was not that he didn’t love her, but that he’d used her to assuage the lust Margery had roused in him. Only a cruel woman could do such a thing, to tease a man that way. He wouldn’t be happy with Margery, she decided. Eventually, he’d realize what she was. But by then, it would be too late. He’d be married, if he wasn’t already. And trapped. Margery would smother him. Own him.
It could have been so wonderful, if Nick had loved her back. They could have shared so much, they had so much in common. She was hot-blooded, as he was, and adventurous. They were more than lovers, they were twin souls. But he couldn’t see it. Perhaps he might realize one day what he’d thrown away so easily. But when he did, it would be far too late. She thought how it would be, to have Nick at her feet, to laugh in his face. For a moment, her heart swelled with the thrill of revenge. But soon the fantasy faded and she faced the reality of being alone in the dark. She turned over on the pillow and closed her eyes. But it was a long time before she slept.
Phillipe, as they grew closer, sensed her sadness, and one evening when they were walking in the small walled garden behind the apartment, he asked the inevitable question.
“There was a man, n’est-ce pas?” he said as they stood under a cold winter sky and bare tree limbs.
“There was a man,” she said. Her dark eyes lifted to his in the semidarkness. “But I’m all right now.”
He took her slender hand in his and studied it, and his eyes were kind. “Pauvre petite,” he said. “Life has its moments, does it not? We have all loved the wrong person at one time or another. But love is inexhaustible. You will find it again.”
“If I do,” she said with a flash of her old dryness, “I’ll run like hell in the other direction.”
He smiled slowly. “Oui, I have felt the same.” He sighed, stretching his tall body as he stared out at the bare landscape leading to the Seine. “Winter. I hate it so. But soon it will be spring, and the whole world will be different.”
“I can hardly wait,” she said, smiling.
“Soon, we go to Monte Carlo, where there will be the motorcar rally and the opera,” he said. “And we will sail on the Mediterranean, and go to the film festival at Cannes. We have a villa, you know.”
She moved restlessly. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I should go back to the States...”
“Why?” he asked, turning with his hands in his pockets to study her. He wasn’t as blatantly masculine as Nick, but he had a sensuous, very sophisticated charm, and he was young and full of life and fun.
She shrugged. “Why, indeed?” Well, she had the check that Tony had forwarded from the exhibit—a very satisfying amount. It would do for expenses. She had nothing to go back to. Why not?
“Petite, in my way, I am as alone as you,” he said in a surprising moment of gravity. His soft, dark eyes stared down into hers. “I have wealth and a title and, therefore, friends. But they are for the most part the kind of friends who would desert me if my fortune ever did.”
“You have Maureen, at least,” she said, smiling. “I have no family at all.”
He took a hand from his pocket and drew it gently along her cheek. “The man from whom you ran—there is no chance that you will reconcile with him?”
“None,” she said tautly.
“May I ask you something deeply personal?” he added, and there was an oddly calculating look on his face for a moment, an intense scrutiny.
“Yes.”
“You were lovers?”
“For a night,” she agreed, feeling safe with him, safe enough to discuss it. “He said that we would be married. But then the woman he loved agreed to divorce her husband and marry him.” She laughed bitterly. “I was stupid enough to believe him.”
“He was blind,” he said, tilting her chin up to his smiling face. “Such beauty, such grace and elegance. Any man would want you, ma petite.”
Her eyes searched his. She almost asked, Would you? But she kept her silence.
Incredibly, he seemed to see the question in her eyes. “Oui,” he said softly, bending. “I would...want you.”
Theirs had been a casual relationship, full of fun. But all at once, it entered a different dimension. His mouth touched hers as lightly as a held breath. But when he felt her uncertain response, he smiled, and his arms drew her close. His lips parted slightly, parted hers, and he felt alive for the first time since she’d left the States.
“I will ask nothing that you do not wish to give,” he whispered. “Relax. This is all I want right now, just a kiss.”
She forced her taut muscles to giv
e in, and she felt the strength of his body, smelled the spicy fragrance of the expensive cologne that he wore. He smiled at the acquiescence, bent again. And this time, the kiss was neither tender nor brief. He was experienced. Very experienced. He didn’t rush her, or force her. He coaxed the response he wanted from her with warmth that surprised her into feeling passion. She hadn’t thought she would be capable of it, after Nick. But she was. She was!
A tiny gasp went from her lips into his opening mouth. He lifted his head to look at her, finding the shock of his touch in every soft line of her face.
“It surprises you that you can enjoy this with me?” he asked gently.
“I didn’t think I could,” she whispered, fascinated with the pleasure of being held by him, kissed by him.
His fingers touched her face delicately, and his warm eyes smiled into hers. “He hurt you. But I can heal you, given the opportunity. I can make you whole again.” He bent, touching her closed eyelids with his lips. “Chérie, I want so much to touch your breasts.”
Her breath caught and her nails dug suddenly into his jacket at the unexpectedly blunt remark.
“I have seen them,” he whispered, rubbing his nose over hers, “when you were in the bath, and Maureen asked me to call you to dinner the other night. I knocked, but you did not hear. So I came in.” His breath came quickly, like her own, as his hands eased to her waist, her rib cage, in slow, soft motions that were wildly arousing. “You were sitting up in the tub,” he whispered unsteadily, “with your back arched, and these,” he added, lifting delicate fingers to lightly stroke her breasts, “these were bare, pink and exquisite. Jolana, ma petite, I wanted to go to you and put my open mouth here...”
And he did, and through the fabric, she felt the heat and moistness of his mouth and she moaned aloud, giving in to the beautiful sensations he was causing, the heavy shudder of his heart making her all too aware of his hunger for her. And hers for him.
“Petite,” he breathed, searching for buttons and hooks. “Petite, please, let me see you, touch you...!”
She should have stopped him. Eventually, she would, she promised her whirling conscience. Eventually...
But right now, her body was bare to the cold and his eyes and his mouth, and he was absorbing her with his tongue and his moist lips, and she caught his fair head and held it to her body with trembling fingers.
“Yes, there,” she whispered shakily. “There, Phillipe, very hard, all...of...me!”
He took her completely into his mouth, the whispery suction making her ache, making her hungry, making her cry his name with helpless delight.
He lifted his head finally, and his hand cupped her tenderly while he searched her face. His own was dark with emotion.
“I want to marry you,” he said huskily.
That was the last thing she expected him to say. She stared at him, gaped at him.
“I want to marry you,” he repeated. His hand stroked her warm flesh tenderly. “I want to sleep with you.”
“We... We could sleep together... You don’t have to marry me,” she said, confused.
“No. It is not what I want, a dishonorable liaison. There have been too many of those already.” He drew away with a reluctant sigh and watched her fumble with her clothes. “No, it must be marriage. And I have known no other woman who could make me feel as you do. You make me whole.”
“But we don’t know each other!” she protested.
“We will,” he promised. He smiled softly. “From now on we will be together always. I will make you love me and soon you will agree to marry me. I will give you no rest until you agree.”
“But I don’t want to get married,” she protested weakly. Thoughts of Nick were still too vivid in her mind. Marrying anyone would seem a traitorous act.
“You said yourself, petite, that your lover will not come after you,” he said gently.
That was true. She had to face the fact that if Nick had been going to follow her, he’d have had her address out of Tony by now and been in full pursuit. He wasn’t coming after her. He had Margery.
“Don’t rush me,” Jolana said quietly.
Phillipe smiled. “But of course. I will give you all the time you wish. For now,” he added with a rueful sigh, “I think it would be wise if we went back inside. And much safer, for you.”
She peeked up at him through her eyelashes. “Afraid I might seduce you?” she teased.
He touched her short, disheveled hair gently. “Afraid I might back you up against the wall and take you, ma petite.”
“How exciting,” she said with a slow smile.
“Yes, even in the cold, it would be.” His eyes narrowed. “If you marry me,” he said softly, “I will take you out into the middle of the Mediterranean and make love to you under the sun.”
She could almost see that. Her eyes wandered over his tall body. It would probably be muscular, because he was an athlete. Muscular and smooth, she thought, mentally comparing him with Nick’s powerful, hair-roughened body. When they made love, Nick’s hair had tickled her breasts and her stomach, until it had become a delightful abrasion and finally a harsh, arousing tingle...
“I’ll have to carry my art supplies with us to Monaco,” she said after a minute, forcing herself back to the present.
He put an arm around her shoulders. “Of course. Come, we will have a glass of wine together before you go to bed.” He led her back into the house, and Maureen looked up from her book. She smiled slowly and her eyes twinkled. She could already see the future, if her wicked glance was anything to go by. Jolana only smiled. She was alive, and she wanted Phillipe. Even as they moved apart to sit down, she knew that every step they took from now on would bring them closer together. It was as inevitable as the step that had brought her here from New York. And this time she was going into it with her eyes open and her mind clear. Phillipe was attractive and rich and compatible with her. It would be an advantageous marriage, and having a well-known artist for a wife wouldn’t hurt Phillipe one bit. Yes. It was going to be a good life. And if once in a while her mind went back to Nick and she savored the idea of putting herself forever out of his reach, there was no one to know.
Monte Carlo was fascinating. The small, hilly kingdom was gloriously beautiful, and its casinos were places of incredible wealth and elegance.
“We usually go to Saint Moritz for the skiing during the winter,” Phillipe told her. “But this year, I felt no such urge, nor did Maureen. So we agreed that we would come here, to the villa. It was fortunate for me that she decided to invite you along, petite,” he added with a grin. “I would have been alone.”
“With all your women, comte?” she teased.
He shook his head. “Only one woman, now. Have you forgotten? I am chasing you!”
“I’ll have to work on slowing down,” she laughed, smiling up at him. He was so handsome. So blond and tanned and utterly perfect. She wanted very much to paint him. And on their third day in Monaco, after the first qualifying race for the motorcar rallye was over, she talked him into it.
He wore slacks and an open shirt as he sat for her in the garden. She sketched quietly, hating her involuntary comparison as she imagined Nick in the same pose. Nick, with his massive body and hard muscles, with dark hair covering his body. After all this time, she still missed him so much, despite all her efforts to give her heart to Phillipe. Despite all her denials and resolutions. It was almost a physical agony. Her breasts were sore, and she was tired all the time. It was a mental thing, she told herself. She’d have to get under control or she was really going to make herself ill. Already her period was late, surely a result of her turbulent emotions.
“So thoughtful,” Phillipe said with a grin, brushing away a lock of sun-bleached hair from his brow. “What are you thinking about?”
She peeked at him through her long lashes. “Of what you look like under your clothe
s,” she teased.
He cocked an eyebrow and his hands went to his shirt. “Shall I show you?” he taunted.
“Maureen would be shocked.”
“Maureen is unshockable, but I think that is not the case with you. Although you try to hide it, I can see you are not a worldly woman. It is part of your charm.”
“You have some of that yourself,” she told him, and meant it. “Phillipe, you’ve done so much for me. I want to be able to do as much for you.”
“Then marry me,” he persisted, and his dark eyes laughed into hers. “Say yes.”
She pursed her lips as she worked. “Not today.”
“Soon,” he said, leaning back with a sigh. “Soon, I will make you say yes. I will seduce you.”
“Not if you warn me first,” she laughed.
“Will you wager something on that?” he asked drily. “Because it will happen before the week is out.”
“Silly man,” she said. “Now be quiet, please, and let me work.”
“As you wish. But you are caught, ma petite. You simply do not know it yet.”
She ignored him and kept drawing, aware of his eyes examining every inch of her. He hadn’t made any more passes, but she knew it was coming. It seemed inevitable now. Part of her was oddly excited by the prospect of belonging to an appreciative man. And she loved Maureen dearly. If only she could forget Nick!
Just before the rallye was run, Phillipe took her to the casino and introduced her to the roulette wheel.
“This is my game,” Phillipe told her in a low whisper. “I know it like the back of my hand.”
He’d bet several of the chips in his hand on red thirty-six. And as black sixteen was proclaimed the winner, he made a very French gesture with his shoulders. “It appears,” he observed, “that I need to reacquaint myself with the back of my hand, n’est-ce pas?”
She laughed, beautiful in the white dress she’d worn for Nick, which was the only appropriate one in her wardrobe. Phillipe’s eyes touched her body possessively.