IntheArmsofaLover

by Madeleine Oh

  “Okay?” she asked, as she stood and reached for his belt buckle. Why hang around dithering? She wanted him and he was interested in what she offered. Very interested, if the front of his trousers was anything to go by. Before she could lower his zip, he had it open and a bulge of bright-blue silk appeared as he dropped his trousers. It was a most impressive and the bright-blue silk looked fantastic against his tanned body. She reached for the elastic band and he reached for her wrist but she evaded him and cupped his equipment. “Nice,” she said, “but don’t I get to see everything?”

  “Sit down.

  Right there and then, she perched on the end of the bed. “Okay.”

  He hesitated. Wasn’t he going to undress properly? Why not? She was starkers, he should be. What if he had some funny hangup? Was this as good an idea as she’d thought?

  Maybe!

  He picked her up, as if she were a featherweight, and that was definitely was not, whisking her into his arms and in one movement, pulled back the bedclothes and laid her back down on the bed. Smiling as he ran his hands over her belly and the tops of her thighs.

  “Poppy, my dear, you are truly wonderful.”

  She wasn’t about to disagree but if he didn’t get going properly soon, she’d go off the boil. Seemed he sensed that, as he leaned over and kissed her belly. The mattress shifted as he moved to lie beside her and his leg came over hers, pinning her to the mattress. Nice. Even nicer was the trail of kisses across her shoulder and up her neck.

  She sighed and turned to him, licking a line across his shoulder and over his chest before kissing the soft hollow at the base of his neck. His arm came around her, pulling her closer, so she continued the kisses up his neck, until he moved his head. Their mouths met and he kissed her deeply, thoroughly, and with a wildness that had her wriggling under his thigh, until she worked herself free and was on top of him.

  He wrapped his arms around her and rolled her on her back, kissing and caressing her as she reached for him, nipping his shoulder as she stroked his chest and worked her hands lower.

  As if anticipating her, he shifted to the edge of the bed and eased off his briefs, pausing a moment or two before coming back.

  He was wearing a condom—good. She should have brought it up but no need now. She couldn’t help noticing his cock—hard, long and upstanding it might be, but was a little askew.

  Oh, was this what he’d been coy about. Darn if it mattered, given its generous dimensions. She reached out, circled his erection with her hand and said, “Very nice.”

  The poor chap visibly relaxed. Not a good idea. She wanted him panting for her, but his hesitation lasted mere seconds before he was back on the bed, stroking, kissing and parting her legs with his knee. Not that he needed to make much effort, she opened her legs as he settled between them, angling his hips so his cock-eyed cock nudged her pussy lips.

  “Kiss my breasts again, please,” she asked, her voice tight and breathless. “Please.”

  He obliged, kissing each in turn before running a line of kisses down her chest to her belly. Nice, but she was ready for more than kisses. She shifted her hips as she opened her legs wider and reached for his waist, holding him above her as he moved with her. He jerked his hips and he was inside her. Just a little but she threw back her head and gasped. It has been so long and now the sensation of a lovely male cock pressing into her was sheer and utter heaven.

  “More,” she gasped, “give me more. Please, I need all of you.” Damn the man, he hesitated. She wasn’t going to. She grabbed his hips more securely and pulled him close. He came deeper but not all the way. But he took his cue from her and thrust in deep, hard and, okay a little off from the line of truth but the sensation was incredible. Different yes, but oh, what a nice variation.

  “Wonderful!” she gasped. “Wonderful!” And at that he started pumping. Thrusting with his hips, working even deeper as she let out a series of happy groans and joyous shrieks, until his voice joined her. He was gasping and grunting as she called his name.

  Her climax built, as if ignited. It had been so long and her body was in need. Poppy came with a great rush and wild cry and he continued, pressing deeper, pushing himself to come until he yelled out and collapsed on top of her.

  Chapter Four

  He kissed her. “You’re incredible,” he told her, as he stood and went over to the bathroom. He was back quite soon wearing a toweling dressing gown that really showed off his nice legs to great advantage, and carrying a red silk one.

  “Want to borrow this?” Here was where she was at a bit of a loss. She hadn’t expected to stay the night. Hadn’t wanted to but what next? “Okay.”

  He put it around her shoulder, the silk soft and warm against her slightly sweaty skin. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I can make you an omelet, and I have some wine.

  Now he mentioned it, she was ravenous. And sweaty.

  She made a quick nip into the miniscule bathroom, where she longed for a nice shower but it seemed a bit presumptuous, so she settled for a quick wash over the bidet, and pulled on the clothes, she’d gathered up on the way.

  On her return Didier was busy cracking eggs. He’d already poured her a glass of rosé and, as she settled on one of the two high stools, she raised the glass. “Santé.”

  He paused in whisking to raise his glass to touch hers. Although his smile seemed totally sincere, his whole demeanor genuine and the look in his eyes very flattering, Poppy was seized by a wild need to go, get out, scram. But he was now pouring beaten eggs into a warm frying pan and she could hardly walk out while he was busy cooking for her.

  It seemed even worse after she tasted the omelet, one of the best she’d ever eaten. Okay, that could just be post-coital hunger. He’d filled the middle with slices of Brie that had melted into a wonderfully gooey creaminess that had her wiping up every last little bit with chunks of bread. And he’d generously refilled her glass and offered her another coffee after they finished.

  “Thanks, but no thank you. I should be going. It’s been pretty marvelous.”

  He seemed relieved at that but he remained as gracious as ever. “Let me drive you home.”

  She wasn’t sure why but she definitely didn’t want him knowing where she lived. “I’ll take the tram. It’s not far.”

  But when he walked her to the nearest stop, hers was only two stops away and the same conviction not to let him know her whereabouts came back more strongly than ever. What if he offered to ride back with her? He didn’t, but she told him she lived in the opposite direction and took the next tram that took her away from her rooms, getting off a few stops later and doubling back.

  Stupid, really, irrational and downright silly but she walked at a brisk pace from her stop and shut and locked the door behind her with relief.

  Why? She kept asking herself as she made a pot of tea and settled down to think back on her actions. He’d been pleasant, a considerate and pretty skilled lover. He’d offered her wine and even cooked for her and she’d run away like a scalded cat.

  It didn’t make sense but her instincts felt right. She’d used him. Or had she? If she had, it had been mutual. And unless he made a habit of prowling the flower market, with luck she’d never run into him again. Damn! Hadn’t she told him she worked near there? What the heck? She wasn’t about to quit her new job. If she ran into him again she’d cope. Maybe he was even more relieved than she that she’d scarpered.

  She lay awake hours, subjecting herself to an endless post mortem over her actions, the evening…and the sex.

  Maybe that was it. Good as the sex had been, it wasn’t what she’d been used to, or yearned for. On the other hand, no way in creation would she have asked a virtual stranger to tie her up or spank her.

  She missed Tommy more than ever.

  * * * * *

  Poppy stared at the text message and bit her lip. This was either a wonderful chance or a big scam. Meet for lunch, Wed? Might have job. No promises. It was from the American woman, Helen, wh
o she’d met a couple of weeks ago. Back when she’d first encountered Didier. Who, thankfully appeared to have no more desire to find her than she to be found.

  Poppy was torn whether to respond or ignore. It was all a bit confusing. The lunch bit was clear enough and company for lunch would be pleasant, eating alone in crowded restaurants or even the seclusion of her rooms rather palled at times. But what did Helen mean about a job? Didn’t she already have one? Did the woman mean a job for her, Poppy? In which case, she also already had one. Of a sort.

  Poppy texted back, Not Wednesday. Is Thursday ok? What time and where? She was working Wednesday and it wouldn’t impress anyone if she asked for time off this soon. Until she knew for certain what Helen was talking about, Poppy was going to hang on to the job she had.

  * * * * *

  On Thursday, following Helen’s directions, Poppy drove up the Moyenne Corniche to Eze, parked outside the village and followed the narrow, winding cobbled lanes up to the Nid D’Aigle, where Helen sat waiting for her with a carafe of rosé and two glasses.

  “This is a gorgeous spot,” Poppy said, looking around the shady arbor that surrounded the courtyard. “Quite a climb up here but worth it. So peaceful and secluded.”

  “Most of the time,” Helen agreed. “I often come up here and read. But take it from me, you want to avoid it when there’s party up from one of the cruise ships. They take over the place like a ravening mob.”

  She sounded as if she spoke from bitter experience. “I’ll remember that.” Not that she’d be coming up here often, perhaps to explore the village one day but… “So, you wanted to talk to me about a possible but uncertain job.” Vague wasn’t the word for it, and she’d come all this way to hear this?

  “Yes, sorry to sound so wishy-washy but it’s a bit involved. Let’s order, then I’ll explain.”

  Fair enough. Poppy ordered a croque monsieur and a bottle ofSan Pellegrino. While she was waiting for it to arrive, she might as well sip on the wine Helen had poured for her. It was delicious, chilled and just a little bit sweet. She took another sip and waited for Helen to start. She’d called her after all.

  “Okay,” Helen began. “Bear with me, as I’m leaving out a lot of details but in a nutshell, my employer’s mother has this land above Eze. It was once planted out as a lavender farm.” Poppy’s sprits lifted hearing that. “But has been abandoned for several years. But she really wants to put it back into production and right away. I thought about you. Would you take it on?”

  “Put land that’s been neglected for years back into production at a moment’s notice?” Or as good as. “That’s a pretty tall order.”

  “Luc, my employer, realizes that and will pay well.”

  “Then why are you telling me all this and not him?” Seemed a bit fishy. On the other hand it would, or might, be a big step up from selling tablecloths and gewgaws to tourists.

  “He wanted me to take you up to look at the land and see if you think it’s feasible to get it going again but it must be done right away.”

  “How soon?”

  “Within weeks.”

  If she had her head screwed on properly, she’d say no and drive back to Nice and selling tourist trinkets. “Let’s go and see.” Obviously her head wasn’t screwed on at all.

  She did insist on following Helen rather than driving with her. If it all turned out to be a fool’s errand, she could turn around and leave under her own steam.

  It was quite a climb up toward the Grande Corniche until Helen turned off along a rough track that gave superb views of the Mediterranean to Poppy’s right—if she dared more than a glimpse as she drove along the narrow, unmade track.

  Just as Poppy was beginning to wonder where, in the name of sanity, Helen was leading her, they turned a sharp bend and the trail ended. In front of them were several stone buildings in various stages of decay, field upon field of overgrown lavender bushes strangled by weeds, heaps of rubbish and rubble dotted around between the buildings, and right in front of them, was parked a dark-green Italian sports car.

  “What do you think?” Helen asked, as Poppy got out.

  That it was a hell of a drive up a terrible road, but that wasn’t what Helen was asking. “I need to look around a bit first.” Actually she needed several hours but suspected Helen didn’t want to give her that much time. Looking across the sloping land, she was tempted to take it anyway.

  The position was incredible. With this view, even that dilapidated house would sell for gazillions. Leaving Helen beside her car, Poppy walked on toward the first field, wishing she were wearing walking boots instead of sandals. The soil was rocky, not surprising up here, but well drained and the bushes had, once upon a time, been maintained. Now they were in a sorry state but actual dead ones were few and far between. After twenty minutes traipsing over the plantations, Poppy turned toward the buildings.

  Talk about a mixed bunch. The house had windows. New ones it looked like but several panes were broken and inside it looked as if squatters had been in residence and left all their rubbish behind. Some of the outbuildings were still roofless but the largest, presumably the original barn, had a new roof and even electrical wiring and water pipes, but not much else. Although two large tanks lying on their sides might have been part of a still.

  Talk about neglected. It was a total ruin. Only an idiot would take it one.

  “What do you think, Madame Gordon?”

  Poppy jumped and turned. A tall, downright good-looking man stood in the doorway. The owner and Helen’s employer she presumed. “And you are?” Poppy asked once she got over the shock.

  “Luc Prioux at your service, Madame.” He gave a little smile as he advanced and held out his hand.

  Seemed rude to do anything but shake it. “Good afternoon. An interesting site you have here.”

  “What do you think of its potential?”

  “Soil is well drained. Not sure about water up here though.” Was there a well or stream higher up? “Plants are mostly still alive but not exactly healthy or productive and the buildings are a shambles.” She felt quite pleased she’d managed all that in French without hesitation.

  “In your opinion, could it be put back into production?”

  “If you have unlimited money, yes.” Blunt but why lie? Just fixing up the buildings and repairing the approach road would take several hundred thousand euro. To say nothing of buying equipment and hiring workers. There was a limit to what she could do on her own.

  “Money is not a concern.” He was lucky man. “Helen explained the time constraints?”

  “More or less, you want this done in a matter of weeks.”

  “Could you do it?”

  “No, and I doubt anyone could. It would take a crew of men working all out for a couple of months to get things into proper order.” He obviously hadn’t expected that. “However, are you serious about money not being a concern?”

  “I am indeed. Is it truly impossible?” He sounded as if he’d never encountered impossible before.

  She walked past him to stand in the sun and look down at the lavender meadows that sloped toward the road below. Only a total nut case would take it on. It was a close to overwhelming job. Or was it? If he really had the money he claimed.

  “If you can get that house, at least the downstairs, habitable in the next two weeks, and I mean windows re-glazed, the filth and mess removed, the place cleaned, water and electricity working and a usable kitchen and essential furniture so I can move in and if you agree to hiring the staff I’ll need, I’ll have a bash.” She was a total and unmitigated nut case. “But bear in mind, in four or five weeks, it can be started but it will take months and, depending on the state of fields, maybe two or three years, or even longer, before it starts paying for itself.”

  He brushed that last aside as if of no consideration. “But to an observer, it will look like a working farm?”

  “Yes.” That wouldn’t be hard. “But I’ll need a team of men.”

  “You wi
ll have them and the house will be ready.”

  In that case… She held out her hand. “I’ll take the job.”

  He grasped her hand in both of his. “Wonderful.” He was beaming. She’d obviously made him happy.

  “I’m so thrilled!” Helen had her arms around her hugging. “Thank you! See,” she went, on looking across at her employer. “I told you she’d be perfect.”

  “So you did, Helen. Let’s see what happens.” He shook Poppy’s hand again and handed her a business card. “My notaire will call you next and he’ll draw up our agreement. Tell him what you need at the same time. And in two weeks, you say?”

  She had, expecting him to say it was impossible. In fact she still suspected it was, despite his confidence and assurances. So what? If he didn’t have the house habitable, it would be back to tablecloths and souvenirs. She’d had worse jobs.

  * * * * *

  The next Wednesday Poppy walked up the steps of a townhouse off Place Garibaldi and into Maître Poulain’s waiting room, still not entirely convinced she hadn’t lost her mind. Out of curiosity, she’d driven up to La Turbie the day before and seen the parked vans and teams of workmen. The windows had been re-glazed and electricians, plumbers and painters were busy at work. The road was still a lattice of ruts and potholes, but fair enough, that could be done next.

  “Madame Gordon? Maître Poulain is ready for you.” Poppy nodded to the receptionist and walked through the open door. What a room. It was spacious and high-ceilinged with windows that looked onto the square outside and what a solicitor. Maître Poulain stood as she entered and came around his antique mahogany desk to offer his hand. Poppy shook his hand and smiled. It would have been hard not to. The man was gorgeous. Utterly so. Just the right height, tanned skin from a lifetime in the Cote d’Azur, eyes as blue as the sea and a smile to leave strong women weak at the knees. Good thing she was super strong since she was here to talk business, not indulge herself. And she was pretty certain they had several wrinkles to iron out before she was ready to sign any agreement.