by Nalini Singh
Charlotte blinked. “What?”
“She didn’t want to—how do you say—put all her eggs in one basket. The only thing she cared about was hooking a rich man. One of my former friends wasn’t as fortunate as me. He’s now her husband.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. At the time, of course I was devastated. It passed. And I was able to see the fate I’d escaped. Raoul never knows where his wife is—I would’ve never tolerated such a marriage.”
She chewed over what he’d revealed. “Is that why you keep your attachments so short and simple? Because you don’t trust women with commitment?”
His eyes darkened. “What do you know of my attachments?”
“Only what I’ve read in the magazine articles I could find on the Internet,” she admitted. “You don’t seem to have long relationships.”
“I see that you’ve taken my advice and are questioning me after we’ve made love.”
It took her a moment to recall his teasing words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t trying to be manipulative.” She was genuinely afraid that he’d suspect her of such base motives.
He tugged at a strand of her hair. “How can I believe such a thing when your big brown eyes are so honest?” Sighing, he shifted their positions so that they were lying side by side, face-to-face.
She put her hands on his chest and cuddled closer. “I’m glad you know that. I wouldn’t want anything to spoil this night.”
He smiled and wrapped his arms around her. “That would be impossible. There is magic in the air tonight.”
Seduced by the warmth in his eyes, she playfully scraped her teeth along his shoulder. He jerked in surprise and then narrowed his eyes at her. “So, kitten, you want to play?”
Delighted by the passionate look in his eyes, the husky timbre of his voice, she tugged one of his hands to her mouth and delicately nibbled on his fingers. He let her have her way for perhaps a minute before a rumble sounded deep in his chest and he switched positions again, placing her atop his body.
“Come, let us play.” Then he grinned and ran the nails of his hands very gently up the outside of her thighs.
Shivering, she sat up on his body, a little shy but not enough to forego the experience being held out to her by her sexy lover. “Yes,” she whispered. “Let’s.”
An hour later, Charlotte was lying on her back, smiling dreamily and getting dozy, when Alexandre spoke. “Celeste didn’t really change the core of the man I am. I’d learned my lessons long before then.”
The realization that he was answering her earlier question had her drowsiness replaced by alert concentration. “Who taught you?” she dared to ask, wonder blooming in her. Alexandre wasn’t a man who trusted lightly.
His answer was oblique. “My maman is very French, very sophisticated.”
That sensually accented voice slid over her body like a physical caress. She couldn’t help the tiniest of shivers.
“You’re cold.” Sitting up, he pulled a spread over them. The sight of his gloriously muscled back had her gulping. She could barely believe she now had the right to touch this magnificent male.
He lay down beside her, slipping his arm under her head and pulling her close. Wanting to see his face, she shimmied up until her chin was resting on his sculpted chest once again. That gorgeous face looked down at her with a distinctly proprietary glint in his eyes.
“What do you mean, sophisticated? Is she one of those elegant Parisian women they always show on the fashion shows?”
He smiled, his cheeks creasing. “Oui, she is most certainly elegant, Maman. But, I think you’d like her. She is a strong woman.”
“What about your father?”
“My papa is a very rich man, well-respected and highly sought after in society. His wife is a British blue blood.”
She didn’t know how to understand what he was telling her. “Your mother was his mistress?”
“Not was, is. She has been with him for the longest time. As I said, Maman is very sophisticated and so is he. So am I.”
Despite the silky charm, the world-weary tone, she heard the pain. “Did you always know?” She wanted to hold him, soothe his hurts, but knew that a man as strong as Alexander Dupree would never accept anything that blatant.
“Oui, ma petite. As a child, I knew Papa had to leave us to go to another family. I also knew never to call him Papa if we should meet in public.” He slid his hand down her body and she moved to accommodate him, aware that the touch was no longer sexual.
“Of course his wife knows of me and so do his other children. I’m an open secret—we French are so very mature about such things.” His lips curved. “I believe his wife has a younger lover.”
“Why did they ever marry?” She blurted out, unable to understand. Spencer was a bastard of a man, but at least his marriages and affairs had had some reason, be it wealth or lust.
“Money, sweet Charlotte. Money. It was understood that their families must merge to create an empire.” His hand tangled in her hair.
“Does your mother…?” She stopped, aware that she might be going too far.
“I’m not offended, chérie. Your questions have honesty—that has never caused any harm. Maman was born poor. I can’t fault her for choosing the life of a pampered mistress over that of working menial jobs until both her beauty and spirit died.
“We’ve never spoken of it, but I believe she enjoys her life. Not only does she have a lover who dotes on her, a son who respects and loves her, she has wealth and more importantly, she has freedom.”
“I just—I’m afraid I have trouble understanding such lives.”
“Ah, I’ve shocked you. I forget that you see the world through a lens I have lost.”
She frowned. “Will you be as sophisticated in your marriage?” Why was she asking this when she knew that what they had would end as soon as Alexander’s time at the vineyard was over? A woman like her couldn’t capture a man like him, whatever feelings they’d both admitted to. Yes, she was special to Alexandre, but not special enough to hold him. How could she be, when none of those other far more experienced beauties, had ever succeeded?
Alexander rolled them both until he was braced over her, lips curved in a half smile. She couldn’t read the look in those enigmatic eyes. His hand slid over her torso to enclose one breast.
“I’d never tolerate such a marriage. If my wife touched another man, I’m afraid I’d be most unsophisticated.” A warning flickered in his eyes. “Some might say I’d react primitively.”
She licked her lips at the wild air about him, extremely sure that a wife who strayed on Alexander Dupree would learn the very meaning of danger. “What about you?”
“Hmmm?”
“Does the same rule apply to you or are you free to keep a mistress?”
His thumb plucked at her nipple. “To ensure that his wife doesn’t stray, a man must spend much time ensuring her pleasure. I intend to be very diligent in my husbandly duties. It would leave no time for distractions.” Leaning down, he placed a wet kiss on her neck, nibbling his way up to her lips.
The hand on her breast continued to play with the exquisitely sensitive bud of her nipple. “Maman says I have a primitive nature—possessive and loyal. She doesn’t know where I get it from, when neither of my parents know the meaning of possession.”
Charlotte understood it absolutely. Right now, it was blazing in his eyes. It would be a challenge being married to this man, for he’d demand complete surrender at times and complete loyalty always. But, she thought, he’d give so fully to his woman that those moments of submission would be gifts from his wife to him, a pleasure for both, a meeting of equals.
She ached to have him belong to her, this man who touched her with tender heat and looked at her with passion in his gaze. Yet, behind the passion was pain. Alexandre had been hurting his whole life and his charming facade couldn’t hide that from her. Not when she looked at him with eyes full of a blossoming love.
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Tonight, she’d hold him in her arms. Tomorrow, she’d think about how to go about healing his hurts until he began to believe in love and forever and commitment.
Alone in her greenhouse the following day, Charlotte mulled over what she’d learned about the man she was falling in love with, though she’d tried so very hard to keep her heart from jumping headfirst into pain.
He hadn’t ever had a father who was proud to call him son. Instead, he’d been schooled from a young age to never expect the man who’d fathered him to acknowledge him in public. In effect, he’d been taught that he was shameful.
What had that done to a man of Alexandre’s pride and heart? What had it done to the boy he’d been? Charlotte wanted to strangle his parents. Alexandre was loyal to his mother and she could understand why, but there was cynicism in his eyes when he spoke of her. He might be loyal to her, but he wasn’t blind to her flaws.
Not only had his childhood been a mockery, the only other woman he’d trusted, Celeste, had betrayed him. Alexandre had never indicated that he didn’t trust a woman’s loyalty, but she could read between the lines. From what he’d seen of women, he didn’t think that they could remain true to a man.
He’d said that his mother had been with his father for the longest time. So who else had she been with? Who else had a young and vulnerable Alexandre seen her with? Then there was his father’s wife, with her younger lover.
Putting down the secateurs she’d been using to trim away dead leaves, she moved to the workbench. As she sorted through the heavily scented blooms she’d placed there, she knew she had to make Alexandre see that things could be different. But how could she, a woman who barely knew herself, reach the heart of this magnificent man she found herself entangled with?
“Ma petite, you have a most serious expression on your lovely face.” Alexandre’s body pressed against her back, his arms slipping around her waist. A kiss on the side of her neck sent goose bumps whispering along her arms.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were with Trace and James?” Her heartbeat accelerated at his nearness—as always, she was ultimately susceptible to him.
“We’ve finished our discussion and I’ve come to take you to lunch.”
Disappointment weighed down her floating sense of euphoria. “I can’t. I have to finish this.” She gestured at the blood-red roses before them. “It’s a special order from Mrs. Blackhill for her daughter’s sixteenth birthday.”
Personally, Charlotte had thought the requested flower arrangements too heavy and sophisticated for a sixteen-year-old’s party, but after encountering Trina Blackhill, she’d realized that there was a big difference between the sixteen-year-old girl she’d been and the heavily made-up teenager she’d met.
“Can you not take a break with me for an hour?” His fingers tangled with hers. “I find myself missing your company, kitten.”
She bit her lip, undone by the husky reference to their night of loving. “I can squeeze out forty minutes.”
“Then it’s just as well that I brought a picnic basket, is it not?”
“Alexandre!” She turned in his arms, delighted. “How do you know me so well?”
Something that was almost guilt danced in his eyes. “Because I adore you.”
Alexandre looked down into that lovely face and wanted to tell her about reading her journal, his nature protesting against continuing the lie of omission. But he had a feeling that if he admitted what he’d done, she’d retreat from him faster than he could think. Charlotte was an intensely private woman and he’d taken that privacy away from her.
And yet, he didn’t regret it, not for a moment, not for an instant. If he hadn’t found her journal, she’d still be backing away from him, refusing to let him inside that shell she’d grown to protect herself.
“Come, I’ve brought a wonderful wine for you to taste.” He held out his hand.
“One of ours?” She let him lead her from the greenhouse to the golf cart he’d parked outside.
“Of course not. This is the best wine in the world.” He gave her a smug smile as he picked up the basket from the passenger seat. “It’s one of mine.”
Her laugh was infectious. “Does Trace know you say that?”
“Why do you think he asked for my help in raising the profile of this winery among connoisseurs? You’re commercially successful, especially with your Brute Cuvee Sparkling, but in this region, Louret is far ahead of you in terms of wines of distinctiveness.”
Charlotte’s lips twisted. “I hope they keep beating Spencer.”
Alexandre’s felt his brows rise. “You’re not behind the Ashton Estate label?”
“I have nothing against it. I just like it that Louret is a big thorn in Spencer’s side. After what he did to…” She paused. “You don’t want to hear all this.”
He led her to a sunny spot by her cottage, next to the tree where they’d previously picnicked. After spreading a picnic blanket on the ground, he set the basket on it and tugged her down to sit beside him. “Of course I do. Anything that concerns you is of great interest to me.”
She let him hold her. “Oh, it’s nothing new. Thanks to the recent scandal, most people know that Spencer married Caroline Lattimer and basically stole this place from her.” She blew out a breath between her teeth. “I don’t want to talk about him. He always makes me lose my appetite.”
Alexandre chuckled. “Then we shall talk about other things.”
They had a wonderful time. Charlotte was overjoyed by the pure happiness on Alexandre’s face as he spoke to her without any hint of reserve. “You’re not worrying over things?” he asked.
Trust him to remember the papers she’d posted to Nebraska today. “No. I’ve done what I can—I have to keep living life no matter what happens.”
With pride in his eyes, he nodded.
All too soon, it was time to say goodbye. “I’ll ride up when someone arrives to ferry over the flowers for the birthday party. Maybe you can sneak me a kiss?”
“When do you think you’ll come up? I would certainly not want to miss a chance to kiss you.”
“Aim for around six-thirty.”
Just before six-thirty that evening, Alexandre drove a golf cart up to the estate house, intending to return to the winery after he’d claimed his kiss. There was something he wanted to finish looking at. His smile of anticipation died as he glimpsed Charlotte standing in the drive, talking to a young man.
Behind the boy, he could see a flashy red car. From the gift-wrapped package in his hand, he surmised that the boy was a party guest who’d arrived early. He caught the last of their conversation as he walked up from their blind side.
“Are you sure?” the boy asked, a smile on his face. “I could show you a good time.”
“I’m afraid I’m involved with someone.” Charlotte’s tone was firm. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“Well, when you get sick of the other guy, give me a call.” He pressed a card into her hand.
Jealousy was not an emotion Alexandre was familiar with, but as he reached Charlotte and turned her in his arms, it gripped him by the throat. “She won’t be needing that.” Taking the card from Charlotte’s hand, he slid it into the pocket of the boy’s jacket. “I believe you have somewhere to be.”
Without another word, the boy turned and left. Alexandre had a feeling that it had something to do with the look in his eyes.
Charlotte’s soft chuckle had him glancing down. “Well, you’re handy to have around. Thanks for the help. He was a tad persistent.”
“An admirer, chérie?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just another playboy guest.”
“You get such invitations often?” He was feeling very, very edgy but kept his tone amused through sheer effort of will. If he let her see the effect a little harmless flirting had had on him, she might begin to guess at the depth of his feelings for her. And he wasn’t even ready to admit those to himself.
She shrugged. “They don’
t matter. Now, kiss me.”
His kiss was just this side of ravenous, his hunger held on the tightest of leashes. He wanted to possess, to brand, but he let her go with a caress that left her breathing deeply, eyes shiny with desire.
“Will you come to me tonight?” Her voice was soft.
He shouldn’t go to her in his current mood. “I’ll come.”
Ten
Alexandre had seduced and coaxed and given Charlotte the kind of loving she’d fantasized about. But tonight, only a day after their first night together, he felt anything but gentle, anything but tender. He felt raw and hungry and his arousal was almost painful.
If he went to her as he’d promised, he knew that he’d scare her. She was a sensual woman, the most wonderfully responsive lover he’d ever had, but she wasn’t ready for the wildness driving him. Neither was he. He’d never felt this raging need to brand a woman as his, to drive into her so deeply that he was embedded in her psyche, buried in the molten core of her.
He knew his jealous possessiveness was without foundation—Charlotte wasn’t the kind of woman who’d encourage another man while involved with him. But the fact was, that guest had been hitting on his woman. Coldly discouraging the youth’s advances hadn’t been enough to calm the marauder he was at heart, turbulent and domineering.
He hungered to go to her. He wanted to strip her naked and rub his beard-roughened jaw across her sensitive skin. Not hard. Never painfully. Just enough to mark her a little, just enough to calm himself. Except he knew that even that wouldn’t be enough.
This time, he needed absolute surrender.
Compliance.
Obedience to his every sensual desire.
Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to give you such complete trust that I’d do anything you asked, without question…without hesitation.
Yes, she’d dreamed of playing an intimate game of control and submission, but if he went to her, it wouldn’t be about fulfilling her fantasy. Tonight, he wanted to take for himself, to indulge his needs and not hers. He would of course ensure she found pleasure, that wasn’t even a question, but it would be on his terms.