by Nalini Singh
“I’m not too petite?” She smiled at him with that lush mouth and gave him all sorts of ideas.
“Non. You are perfect.” And she was. In his arms, she felt so right that he didn’t ever want to let her go. Instead of pressing her close as his body demanded, he allowed her freedom. The position let him see her face when she glanced up at him.
“Why…?” she began and then fell silent.
He frowned, disliking the tone of her voice. “What is it?”
When she raised her head, those dark eyes were liquid midnight. “Why are you attracted to me?”
The question shook him with its directness. “You’re lovely, beautiful and intelligent. Even more, you’re intriguing with those secrets in your eyes, an artist with your work and you have a body that tempts me to thoughts that would make you blush. Is that enough?”
He saw her swallow. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”
“Why?”
“I suppose I thought you’d fudge—try and skim over it.”
“I never tell lies when truth will serve.” Guilt knocked again, but empowered by the feel of sweet Charlotte in his arms, he pushed it aside. “Come closer.” It was an invitation, sweet seduction under moonlight.
She smiled and permitted him to tug her just a tiny bit nearer. It wasn’t enough to turn romance to passion but it was enough to offer his taut body some relief. The distinctive scent of her skin enchanted him, part pleasure and part the sweetest pain he’d even known.
“Alexandre, this night is magic,” she whispered.
And even though he’d planned it down to the last detail, Alexandre found himself agreeing with her. There had been nothing in his plans about the peace he’d found in her arms, nor about the pleasure he’d derive from such a simple joy as dancing with his lady under the moonlight.
Charlotte spent the next morning in something of a daze. She kept smiling for no reason, and once she found herself dancing around her greenhouse pretending she was still in Alexandre’s arms. Laughing at her own giddy delight in the man, she forced herself to work.
Lured by the bright day, she rearranged her schedule so that she could potter around in her outdoor garden instead of working in the greenhouse. The smell of sunshine and growth brought Alexandre to mind once again.
Last night, he’d given her romance, such beautiful wonderful romance that she was still breathless from it. Despite his desire, he hadn’t pushed for anything more.
It was a heady feeling to know that she could arouse such passion in a man like Alexandre, but what scared her was that they weren’t just about passion. Not any longer. Not after that dance in the moonlight. And perhaps not since their very first meeting.
He was beginning to mean more and more to her. Part of her was afraid of the pain she’d have to bear when he left, but that part was overridden by her hunger to experience all she could with him. She knew herself well enough to know that this was no casual fling—no man had ever reached her as Alexandre did.
“Stop mooning and start working,” she ordered herself, realizing she’d been sitting stock-still.
As she began clearing weeds, she was overcome by the feeling that she’d forgotten something. Something important. Frustratingly, no matter how hard she tried, nothing came to her.
Finally giving up, she concentrated on her wildflowers. They were a hardy breed, designed to take the vagaries of the weather from extreme heat to frosty cold. She checked on the seedlings she’d planted to make up for the older plants she’d lost the previous year.
Today was Alexandre’s birthday.
Blinking at the sudden answer to the problem that had so frustrated her earlier, she sat down on the ground. Why did she know that? Was it true?
Determined to find out, she walked into the house and to her computer. In her first burst of hungry curiosity about the dark Frenchman who’d left her speechless with his sheer male presence, she’d read several articles on the acclaimed winemaker. One of them had been in a news magazine dealing with his vineyard in France, with a sidebar on him personally.
She found it after a single search-engine query. There it was in black and white. Today was Alexandre’s birthday and he hadn’t so much as made a reference to it last night. Then again, he was hardly the type of man who needed gifts.
But, she thought, it wasn’t the gift that mattered, it was the fact that someone cared enough to give it. Smiling at having found him out, she walked to the greenhouse and began putting together a bouquet. It made her laugh to think of giving her strong, masculine wolf of a man flowers, but she wanted to give him something simple, something joyful.
From what little he’d let slip, she could tell that he was jaded by the things he’d seen in his life, but nobody could ever be jaded by the bouquet she made him. Instead of cultured roses for her wolf in sheep’s clothing, she used wild roses in a vibrant yellow that would’ve made Scrooge himself smile.
She added several gerberas in vivid red and wildflowers in every color she could find, both from the blooms in her outdoor garden and those within her greenhouse. For a hint of mischief, she added some soft pink dahlias, velvety and lovely. Alexandre didn’t have a touch of pink in him.
Her cell phone rang as she was debating how to deliver her bouquet. Grabbing it from the workbench, she said, “Charlotte speaking.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a voice that could bring a man to his knees, ma petite?”
Look who’s talking, she thought. “Alexandre.” She grinned. “What are you doing?”
“I’m in the winery, considering the effect of the estate’s use of cultured yeast strains on the distinctiveness of its wine.” He made it sound intensely interesting. The man was clearly crazy about wine.
“Sounds like fun. Are you busy for lunch?”
There was a long pause. “Non. Is that an invitation?”
It was the pause that made her realize it was the first invitation she’d ever extended to him. “Oui,” she responded, wanting to make him smile.
It seemed to have become very important to her to make Alexandre smile. There was darkness in him, darkness that hurt him. While she didn’t yet know the details of what haunted him, she sensed enough to know he needed smiles and laughter, teasing and play.
He chuckled. “Then I shall be there in an hour. Do you wish me to bring anything?”
“No. I’m all set. Don’t tell anyone but we’ll be drinking Louret wine.” Spencer would’ve had a fit if he’d found a bottle of the “enemy” wine on his property. But, she liked Louret’s signature chardonnay and if she couldn’t afford to escape the estate in reality, at least she could do so when she indulged her senses.
“Your secret is safe with me.”
After hanging up, Charlotte rushed back into the house and began preparing a quick lunch. Throwing some mini pizzas into the oven, she tossed together a salad, created a cheese board and found some fruit to add to it.
She frowned and decided that it wasn’t enough. He was a bit larger than her, her wolf. Pursing her lips, she rummaged in the freezer and found some corn dogs. Grinning, she put them into the oven. She wondered what he’d think of those unsophisticated items of food. The final touch was to add a loaf of crusty warmed bread.
She’d just put everything on two large trays that they could carry outside when she heard a golf cart arrive. Alexandre’s voice called out a moment later. “Charlotte?”
“In here.”
He prowled into her kitchen, enticing her with nothing more than his walk, his eyes, his sheer male sensuality. Before she could say a word, he kissed her. Slow and deep, it said he had all the time in the world to love her.
“Bonjour.” It was a husky rasp against her lips.
“Hello.” She smiled, fascinated by the way he looked at her. No man had ever seen such sensuality in quiet, shy Charlotte Ashton.
“Shall I carry these out for you?” He nodded toward the trays she’d put on the kitchen counter.
“Thanks
. I put the blanket down there.” She pointed out the sturdy old tree behind the cottage.
Nodding, he picked up both trays. “Corn dogs?” His grin was unexpected and startlingly beautiful. “I haven’t eaten one for years.” Apparently happy, he headed out.
Following him with the wine that Louret had named Caroline in honor of their matriarch, she felt pleasure suffuse her. They’d had kisses and dances in the moonlight, passion and romance, but what shimmered between them this time was something just as rare—friendship.
Alexandre was in a good mood and their picnic was full of teasing and laughter. Charlotte found herself completely at ease with him, her shyness undone by his open enjoyment of her presence. She was, she thought, very close to adoring sexy Alexandre Dupree.
That awareness dawned as she was taking the remains of their lunch inside, having refused his offer of help. It didn’t startle her—her feelings for this man had run shockingly deep since the moment they’d first met. If they hadn’t, she could’ve brushed aside that first kiss instead of being so hurt by what she’d seen as Alexandre’s game-playing.
Shaking off the melancholy that threatened to darken her mood at the thought of how soon he’d be leaving the estate—and her—she sneaked out to her greenhouse from the front door. After retrieving the bouquet, she walked around the house to surprise Alexandre.
He was sprawled against the tree, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows and his sand-colored jacket discarded carelessly to the side of the blanket. Eyes closed in relaxation, he looked very much like a large predator sunning himself after a good hunt. It wasn’t until she knelt beside him that he opened his eyes.
“What’s this?” He looked at the bouquet.
“Happy birthday, Alexandre.” She placed the flowers in his arms and kissed him softly on the cheek.
He couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d tried. “Ma chérie,” he began and then seemed lost for words. When he met her gaze, she saw a vulnerability in him that tore her apart. “No one but you has ever given me flowers. I feel as if I’m holding sunshine in my arms.”
She fell another step closer to adoration at the way he cradled the flowers, careful not to bruise a single bloom. “I wanted to give you a smile. You don’t do it enough. Why is there such sadness in your eyes?”
“Ah, Charlotte,” he murmured instead of giving her an answer. Placing the flowers aside, he held out his arms.
She went into them without hesitation, sitting herself on his lap when he tugged her up. Arms around his neck, she looked into a face softened by tenderness. “You should’ve told Lilah it was your birthday. She would’ve loved giving you a party.”
He shuddered. “Non, thank you. I prefer not to spend my time with people who know nothing of me.”
The implied statement had her heart thudding. “You’re a hard man to know.”
“We all have our secrets. Even you. Sometimes, I glimpse such sadness in your eyes that it’s almost a physical wound. What hurts you so?”
That penetrating gaze looked at her and there was more than command in them, more than the certainty of a strong man used to getting his way. Those things, she could’ve resisted. But how could she resist the unhidden care, the open need to protect?
“I was three years old when I came to live here,” she said quietly. “Walker was eight. We were orphans.”
“Does the memory of your parents haunt you still?” His arms tightened around her.
“In a way.” The pause was a chance to take a step back from this relationship. “We were told that both our parents died in a car accident, but…”
“But?”
“Even Walker doesn’t believe me. He thinks I can’t handle the truth—he doesn’t say so because he loves me, but I know that’s what he thinks.”
Raising one hand, Alexandre cupped her cheek. “I don’t know what it is that you believe, but you don’t strike me as a woman who chases after fool’s gold.”
Her heart tumbled. “I have no proof…but I don’t think my mother was dead when Spencer took us.”
Seven
“I see.” Alexandre was silent for a while. Charlotte wondered if he thought she was crazy. Sometimes, even she thought she was delusional. “Have you ever tried to find out the truth?” he asked at last.
“I’ve done some research on my roots.” Self-consciously, she touched her raven black hair, as straight as an arrow and as glossy as polished jet. “I mean, my mother’s roots.”
“Then, of course, they are yours. No one can steal that from you, no matter where you were raised.”
That he’d read her anxiety so easily brought a lump to her throat. “You know my mother was Lakota Sioux,” she said. “I didn’t remember that, but Walker did.”
When Alexandre didn’t interrupt, she continued, “I decided to ask Spencer about it when I was about fifteen. He said my mother came from a reservation in South Dakota.” His exact words had been “some two-bit reservation in South Dakota”—scathing, but for once, not malicious. He’d been distracted by business papers when she’d asked him the question and his answer had been instinctive.
“Were you able to trace the reservation?” There was no disbelief in Alexandre’s tone.
Reassured, she decided to share what she knew. Though she’d found herself mentioning her belief to Jillian last month, she hadn’t discussed it with anyone in depth. Now, held in the arms of a man she trusted and who was willing to listen, she found herself tripping over her words in an effort to convince him that she wasn’t grasping at straws.
“There’s a really big one called Pine Ridge—it’s in South Dakota, but borders Nebraska. The people there are part of the Oglala Lakota Nation.” She paused to take a jerky breath.
“I think my mother was from Pine Ridge. Spencer was born and raised in Nebraska, so it makes sense to think that my father, too, would’ve been in Nebraska in his youth—close enough to meet my mother.”
When she looked at him, he nodded. “Oui, it’s logical to assume this from what you know. Do you know where your parents lived after marriage?”
She shook her head. “No. Walker said that at the time of the accident we had a farm, but he couldn’t remember the name of the town. All Spencer would say was that it was a dot somewhere in the middle of Nebraska—he hadn’t bothered to remember the name.”
She was certain that Spencer knew exactly where her parents’ farm had been. Maybe he was afraid that if she learned too much, she’d expose his lies and alienate her brother from him. Walker was closer to his Uncle Spencer than their cousins were to their father, and it would destroy their relationship if she was able to prove her suspicions.
“You have a right to know where you came from.” Something in Alexandre’s voice told her that he understood her emotional hunger far better than she could’ve imagined. “I’d like to help you in your search if you’ll let me.”
Charlotte’s huge eyes focused on him, full of heartbreaking joy. “No one’s ever believed me before,” she whispered. “No one’s ever listened.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face against him.
Clenching his arms tight, he held her close, suddenly aware of the vulnerability hidden behind her cool, dark gaze. “Ah, Charlotte,” he murmured, rubbing her back. Distressed at her pain, he whispered soft words to her in his native language, gentling and coaxing.
After a long while, she relaxed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I thought,” she began, “I might be able to trace it through her…death certificate.”
“Of course.” He was impressed by how far she’d come on her own. “Have you applied for a copy?”
“No,” she said, shame in her tone. “I couldn’t bear to be wrong. Walker is right in one sense—I don’t want to admit that we lost everything. I want someone I can call Mama and have her call me daughter.” Her eyes glistened with withheld pain. “I don’t want her to be d-dead.”
He was undone by her sorrow. Keeping Charlotte happy had become of vital i
mportance to him. Unlike other women he knew, her emotions were never false illusions, her desperately fought tears as honest as her laughter. In mere days, he’d found himself unable to live without one and shattered by the other.
He cuddled her against him, dropping kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her stubborn little chin. When he moved his hands, her unbound hair flowed like cool water over his arm. “But,” he spoke against her lips. “I think the not knowing hurts you more than the truth ever could.” He believed that, though the truths he’d learned as a child had hurt him unbearably.
“I…you’re right.” The determination in her gaze awed him.
“I’ll be with you if you need me.” Though he wanted to do everything for her, find out the truth before it could hurt her, he understood her need to finish this on her own.
It was late that night when Charlotte realized Alexandre had never answered her question about what made him so sad. Caught up in her own emotional upheaval, she hadn’t pressed. But, she decided, next time she would.
He was an extraordinary man, and she wanted to know all of him. It was wonderful to have someone who believed in her, but what touched her heart was that Alexandre had urged her to go after the truth. Whatever that might be.
Instead of dismissing her claims or giving her false hope, he’d just offered her a shoulder to lean on. It was startling to realize how much that meant. Taking a deep breath, she booted up her computer despite the late hour and logged on to the Internet.
It took only a minute to find the Web site for Nebraska’s vital records office. Births, marriages…and deaths. She decided to request the death certificates of both her parents, printing out the forms to post. Though it would’ve been faster to order them online, she needed something tangible in her hands, proof that she was no longer cowering in fear, but moving forward.
According to the Web site, it would take a few days for the certificates to be sent to her. But what were a couple more days compared to the lifetime she’d waited to learn the truth?