by Nalini Singh
A smile dawned on his handsome face. For once, it didn’t immediately soften her heart. She gathered up all her fury, all her anger and waited for him to come to her.
“Ma chérie,” he began.
“I need to talk to you. Privately.” Without another word, she left the winery and headed toward the vineyard, his prowling presence a dark shadow at her back. The second they were out of hearing range, she whirled.
His expression was wary. “You’re angry.”
“Yes.” She could find no subtle way to ask this. “Did you read my journal?” It came out as a blunt demand.
The lines around his mouth went white. “Yes.”
She’d expected anything but that, expected him to offer excuses before he admitted it. “You aren’t even going to try and deny it?”
“Non. I did read your journal.”
Frustrated, she cried, “How could you do that to me? Invade my privacy that way?”
“I didn’t plan to do so. But when the opportunity presented itself, I wasn’t strong enough to resist.” He didn’t attempt to touch her, as if aware how thin her control was.
“Well you should have.” She clenched her fists. “They were private thoughts, private dreams. You had no right to read them.” No right to see the side of herself that she’d never allowed anyone to see. Except him. She’d trusted him and it had been based on a lie. “How would you have liked it if I’d done the same to you?”
His shoulders tightened under the deep green shirt he wore. “Charlotte, you’re so self-contained, so protective of your thoughts that I feared I’d never get to know you if I didn’t take the chance when it came.”
“That’s your justification?”
He shook his head, remorse in his eyes. “No. That’s simply the reason I told myself it was permissible.”
His acceptance of guilt was driving her insane. “You think I’m protective of my thoughts? What about you? You’ve got a layer of charm that’s more impenetrable than steel.”
“I’ve told you things I’ve never shared with anyone,” he said quietly.
She was too distraught to hear the depth of emotion in his tone, too angry to have paid heed to it even if she had heard. “Was this all just a game to you? Seduce the little Indian gardener in your free time?”
Those bitter chocolate eyes darkened to thunder. “I would stop before you go too far.” His tone had turned silky, terrifyingly calm.
“Why the hell should I?” She fought the urge to cry—if she broke down in front of him, it would complete her humiliation. “You’ve had a good laugh at my expense. Well the laugh is over. We’re over.”
He touched her for the first time, capturing her chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Don’t speak so in anger, ma petite.”
She jerked her chin away and began to move back. “I mean every word I say. I should be glad you’ve made it easy for me to break it off—I was beginning to worry that you thought there might be more between us than sex.” The lie almost killed her.
For a second, she thought she saw Alexandre’s body tremble as if he’d been hit with a hard blow. But when she looked into his eyes, his gaze was blank. It infuriated her that he could remain so calm while her heart was being torn to pieces.
“Now I don’t have to worry about breaking your lying heart,” she whispered. “Thanks for letting me practice on you—you went way beyond the call of duty. Next time a man seduces me, I’m sure he’ll be happy with my skills.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. Barely able to see through the haze of fury and pain blinding her, she ran to her bike. It was only as she was riding away that she realized Alexandre had made no effort to follow her.
Eleven
Alexandre lay awake late that night, Charlotte’s words slicing through him like sharp knives. Her rejection was all the more terrible because he’d told her things he’d never shared with anyone, letting her glimpse the forces that had shaped his soul.
And yet she’d rejected him with such absolute force that he couldn’t convince himself she hadn’t meant every word. Had she truly been “practicing” on him, using him because he was available? The idea dealt a vicious blow to his inherent masculinity.
Turning, he punched the pillow into shape and tried to forget the incredible anger in her eyes as she’d walked away. He’d misjudged her badly when he’d thought her a woman of too much heart. If she’d been what he’d imagined, she’d never have hurt him so.
He knew he should forget her and move on but that was proving impossible. Adoring her had become as vital to him as breathing. How could he have been so wrong about her, so mistaken as to her nature?
Suddenly, he recalled one of the very first entries in her journal.
…for me, this act is more than bodies meeting, more than simple pleasure, more than just the physical…
She’d asked him how he would’ve felt if she’d invaded his privacy. In all honesty, he would’ve been furious—furious enough to do and say far worse things than she had in that flaring burst of anger and hurt—he’d wounded the woman he so desperately needed to protect and been so blinded by his own pain that he hadn’t seen hers.
Cursing his stupidity, he got out of bed. The temptation to go to Charlotte and ask her forgiveness was hard to resist. Despite her anger, he knew she was too gentle to make him beg, knew that she’d forgive him the second she heard the sincerity in his tone and that was why he couldn’t take that road. It would be too easy and her hurt deserved proper recompense.
He’d been arrogant in reading her private thoughts but he couldn’t regret it, not when it had brought him Charlotte. Sweet Charlotte with her tenderness and her hope and her caring. Now she was feeling violated and betrayed by the man she’d trusted with her innocence.
He couldn’t stand knowing that, couldn’t bear to let the woman who’d given him flowers think that she was in any way lesser in their dance because he’d seen the sensual heart of her. To do that, he had to make her understand what he’d felt when he’d read her thoughts. And he knew only one way to do that.
Even as he began an apology that laid his soul bare, he shied away from the reason behind his driving need to lessen Charlotte’s hurt. He wasn’t yet ready to face that powerful feeling, not yet willing to accept how hard he’d fallen for a woman whose smile alone could destroy him.
Charlotte awoke later than usual, courtesy of a sleepless night. Guilt hadn’t made a good bed-companion. Notwithstanding his own actions, she knew she’d hurt Alexandre and accepted that he deserved an apology. However, she hadn’t been able to screw up the courage last night. Would he even listen? He was so proud under that charming sophistication, so conscious of his past that her horrible words would’ve wounded him terribly.
She’d tried to convince herself that of course he wouldn’t believe what she’d said. Of course he’d know that for her, making love with a man meant something far more than physical pleasure. After all, he’d been privy to her innermost thoughts.
But she hadn’t been able to rest easy, too conscious of the fact that in spite of his strength, Alexandre had deep vulnerabilities. Vulnerabilities such as those fostered by his father’s implied rejection and his mother’s lifestyle choice.
Deep inside, her beautiful, sensual Alexandre didn’t believe he was good enough for love and loyalty. Her reckless words would’ve further cemented that impression. She’d said she’d been practicing on him! The recollection made her cringe. No, she couldn’t let him think that he’d only been a convenience. Never could she let the man who’d shown her such tenderness think that.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she opened the cottage door. Her intention to go to him turned into panic when she saw the white envelope that lay on her doorstep, weighted down by a rock. What if he’d taken her words at face value and decided to break off all ties? Picking up the envelope with trembling hands, she retreated inside.
The envelope contained several sheets of paper covered with words written in
a strong, flowing hand. Hoping desperately that this wasn’t what she thought, she forced herself to read.
Lover mine,…
Disbelieving, she collapsed in a nearby armchair. Surely, surely, Alexandre couldn’t have done this, couldn’t have given her this surrender after the way she’d hurt him?
And yet he had.
Proud, elegant, intensely private Alexandre Dupree had given her access to his most secret thoughts, his most secret fantasies.
She lowered her eyes to the page.
Lover mine,
You ask me for my fantasies, for my dreams. Yet will you believe me when I say that you are my ultimate fantasy, a woman of fire and beauty, spirit and soul, breathtaking sensuality and heartbreaking tenderness?
Your smile can bring me to my knees. Your touch leaves me at your mercy. Ah, ma chérie, would that you’d be satisfied with that and ask for nothing more. But I know you have a right to demand the same openness from me that I forced onto you. For a man who’s spent a lifetime keeping secrets, it’s a difficult thing to do. Difficult, not impossible.
So what do I dream of my Charlotte doing to me? What makes me wake hard and aching for you? What makes me sweat even on the coldest night?
Let me tell you, kitten.
Inside her chest, Charlotte’s heart was thumping at what felt like a thousand beats a second.
In my fantasies, it’s always night and we’re always behind closed doors. I’m not a man who likes to share you, though you know too well that sometimes I can’t control the urge to possess you wherever you might be. And ever since that night outside your cottage (merci, ma petite), taking you under the starry sky has become one of my favorite erotic fantasies.
Charlotte licked her lips, a small smile edging her lips at the memory of the hunger in him that night. She should’ve realized right then and there that this was no game for either of them. Lifting her hair off her suddenly heated nape, she continued to read.
In my dreams, you’re dressed in something that I’m sure would make you blush, but a man is allowed to take liberties in his fantasies and if they lead to strips of white lace and ribbon, well, I can only enjoy the sight.
White lace and ribbon?
Your clothing is so fine, so delicate, that it entices rather than hides, the silk curtain of your hair reflecting the flames in the fireplace by which you stand. Did I forget to tell you that we are in my chalet in Switzerland, snowed in?
The fire is to keep our bodies warm but I don’t need its aid when you’re standing there, looking at me like you’d like nothing better than to strip me naked and lick every inch of my skin.
Charlotte blinked and took a deep breath. Sometimes, that was exactly what she wanted to do to her charming lover with his too-sexy body and masculine beauty. She’d never admitted the scandalous desire.
I confess that I’d enjoy being caressed so by you, being seduced by each slow flick of your tongue. But, I can wait until you’re ready to give me such loving.
In this fantasy, you undress me and then my dear, sweet, Charlotte, you touch me with hands that know I’m yours, utterly and completely. You tug me to face the fireplace and sink to your knees in front of me on the creamy sheepskin rug by the hearth. I ache for the touch of your lips, the temptation of your mouth, the heated torture of your slow loving.
Smiling, you give me what I desire.
Charlotte stopped breathing. He was making her toes curl, making her want to give him everything he’d fantasized about. Her eyes widened. Was this what he’d felt when he’d read her journal? This need to fulfill his fantasies had nothing to do with power or being in control and everything to do with pleasing him—giving the man she loved exactly what he needed.
Her hand clenched on the page. The man she loved. She blinked and took a deep breath. Well, at least that explained why she’d acted so badly yesterday. In spite of her attempts to the contrary, she’d fallen soul-deep in love with the man. What was she going to do?
The decision was far easier than she’d thought it would be. He’d never lied to her about his intentions. Though he felt more for her than she’d ever believed he would, he was going to leave her one day soon. All she could do was love him for as long as she could.
Shoving aside the incipient pain, she focused instead on the depth of commitment implied by the words he’d written.
By the time she finished reading, her face was flushed and she knew a few things she hadn’t before. Best of all, she knew that she was the only lover Alexandre thought capable of fulfilling his most scorching fantasies. Some of her earlier sorrow dissipated at the realization, and she let herself be drawn fully into his world.
The man had sensual eroticism in his blood. With nothing more than his words, he’d seduced her. And with his final confession, he’d conquered more than her body, he’d stolen the last pieces of her heart.
All this and more, I’d like you to do to me, ma chérie, but my deepest fantasy, the one I’d most like fulfilled, is to be allowed to fulfill every one of yours. Nothing pleases me more than your pleasure. Nothing.
Forgive me for any hurt I caused you, Charlotte and let me adore you as I ache to do.
Alexandre hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything since the moment he’d left the letter on Charlotte’s doorstep. It was just as well that the work that had originally brought him to the estate was almost complete.
“I’ve helped you as far as I can,” he told Trace, as they stood outside the winery. “There is only so much that I can do in the short time I’m here, particularly given that you’re not currently processing the harvest.
“I can point out areas of improvement and suggest strategies, but to build a reputation as a premier winemaker, you must devote long-term attention to every step of the process.”
“Beginning with the grapes themselves,” Trace said, a touch of humor in his tone. “Inferior, mass-produced grapes equal inferior mass-produced wine.”
“Ah, I see I’ve beaten you over the head with that particular point too many times.” Alexandre smiled but his heart wasn’t in it. Where was Charlotte? Had he ripped open his soul and still been unable to win her back? What would he do if she didn’t forgive him?
“James and his assistants are good at what they do,” he continued, “but you need to hire someone whose goal is not mass production, but fostering distinctiveness—someone who isn’t afraid to experiment and innovate. One team can’t do both and produce great wines, not given the scale of this vineyard and your production levels.”
“Are you happy to keep consulting for us?”
What if he’d lost Charlotte forever? Would he want to return to this place that held so many memories? “I will, of course, provide several reports arising from this visit, but beyond that, I can’t promise anything. You’re welcome to contact me and if the timing suits…” He shrugged.
“Can I try to make you an offer you can’t refuse?”
Alexandre looked into the man’s intelligent face. “You couldn’t make me such an offer.”
Trace gave a good natured nod. Before he left to walk back into the winery, he hesitated and then said, “I know you’ve been seeing Charlotte. I just want to say I’ve never seen her happier. Good luck sorting out whatever it is that’s happened.”
Alexandre knew he’d need more than luck. Charlotte had to be feeling betrayed and hurt, and more than anything else, that tore at him. Fists clenched in his pockets, he decided to walk off some of his excess energy. He wouldn’t push Charlotte, even though he was dying every moment that she didn’t give him an answer. Shoulders set, he’d taken no more than three steps when his cell phone rang.
Frowning, he pulled it out of his pocket. His frustration disappeared the second he saw the caller ID. “Charlotte.”
A pause. “Are you free to come to the cottage?”
“Oui. I can be there in a few minutes.”
“Well…I’ll see you then.”
Alexandre hung up and walked to the golf cart s
omeone had parked by the winery, his jaw clenched. Charlotte’s tone of voice had given nothing away. He wondered if she’d asked him over to tell him his letter meant nothing to her. His fingers tightened painfully on the wheel of the vehicle he’d commandeered.
Charlotte opened the door the second she heard Alexandre arrive. As she watched him cross the short distance between them, she rubbed her palms on her wraparound skirt, her heart beating triple time. Could she really do this? Trust this man so much?
He reached her, those dark French eyes coolly emotionless. Not so long ago, his calm elegance would’ve intimidated her. Now, she thought wonderingly, she could see beneath the surface and the man she saw had her heart tumbling. There was a strange vulnerability about Alexandre, and suddenly, she knew that he thought she was going to mock his confession and reject him.
And yet he’d come.
“Good morning,” she murmured.
“Is it?” His voice was rough, husky.
Tugging at his hands, she pulled him inside and shut the door. “Mine started out very nicely.”
His lips curled faintly upward. “And why was that, ma petite?”
She hadn’t been aware that she’d been waiting for the endearment. Putting her hands on his chest, she leaned in close. “I discovered that a gorgeous hunk of a man finds me irresistible.” A flush streaked his cheeks. Her eyes widened. “You’re embarrassed!”
“Non,” he refuted, scowling at her. “Alexandre Dupree doesn’t get embarrassed.”
It touched her that her compliment had done this to her urbane lover. More importantly, it gave her the courage to propose what she was about to. “Do you have to be back at the winery soon?”
“Non. All the practical work is done. I have to write a few reports but that can be done anytime within a month. There is no urgency.”
Her heart slumped. So soon, he’d be gone. But, she decided, she wouldn’t think about that, not now. If this was all she was ever going to have of the man she loved, then she’d take hold of it with both hands. “I’m so sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean any of it.”