Even so, her hearty appetite was refreshing. Dining with a girl who wasn’t afraid to eat was pleasing. Julian was going to enjoy the next six months.
An attendant cleared away the last of their nearly empty plates.
Julian wondered what else he could do to charm Camille. Of course, she had asked to go for a walk along the beach, but what else would make the occasion special?
The waiter approached the table. “Would the lady care for some dessert?”
Excellent idea. Julian gave Camille a ‘would you?’ look.
“Oh, man.” A smile touched her lips and her features softened. “Would I.”
She perused the menu, and as Julian anticipated, she couldn’t decide on just one, so they ordered an English Trifle and a Chocolate Crème Brulée to go. Julian envisioned a midnight picnic on the beach, complete with sweets and champagne.
He discreetly took care of the bill and they headed outside with their desserts. Camille’s laughter filled the air as they scooted into the limo. He flipped a small refrigerator compartment open and popped the containers inside.
“You still up for that walk on the beach?” he asked, leaning back against the seat.
“You bet I am.” She giggled, smiled and snuggled close to him.
“Great, I know just the place.” Julian hit the intercom and rattled off something in French to the driver.
Instantly, Sebastian navigated the car into the street. Julian glanced at the city lights streaking by as they sped down the roadway. It was a view he’d seen many times, but tonight it seemed better somehow.
Moments later, the car rolled to a stop in a deserted parking lot and Sebastian stepped out and opened the door. Julian rolled out and extended his hand to Camille. Delicate fingers latched onto his and she emerged from the vehicle.
She adjusted the wrap around her shoulders and Julian draped his arm around her, trying to offer her comfort.
“I have a surprise for you.” His voice held a rasp of excitement.
“Really?” She looked at him and flashed an eager smile.
“Yes. I think you’ll be delighted.” He let the mystery linger on his tone as he motioned to the driver.
Sebastian fiddled around in the car for a moment and then followed them with a blanket, the desserts and a bottle of champagne.
“You do this often?” she asked, half in anticipation, half in dread.
“No,” he said sharply, abandoning all pretense. Julian drew a calming breath and comforted his mind. “You said you’d like to go for a walk on the beach, so while we were having dinner Sebastian secured the blanket. I thought you might like to do a little stargazing while we relaxed to the soothing sounds of the sea.”
Julian didn’t blame her for being suspicious of his motives. He would be, too. Most people had an angle. He was no exception. But Camille sure was. He’d have to tread lightly if he wanted to win this prize. And, he prided himself on being an expert in the art of wooing a woman into his bed.
After a few steps, she stopped, used him as a prop and slipped off her shoes. She dangled them in one hand, clung to him with the other and let him lead her forward.
The beach was as deserted as the parking lot, and Julian saw no sense in journeying far. This spot was just as good as any further down. He stopped and made a grand gesture toward the water. “How’s this?” He waited for her answer. “Shall we have our dessert here, do you think?” Getting the lady’s approval was always best. That way, she never felt like she was being backed into a corner.
“Sure. This is great.” She glanced back at the car, a relieved look crossing her face.
Sebastian spread the blanket over the sand in front of them, and Julian removed his jacket and shoes. He laid lengthwise on the edge of the coverlet and patted near him on the blanket.
With a bit of reluctance, she dropped to the ground and readjusted her wrap again. She must be cold. Julian draped his jacket around her and coaxed her back against his torso.
Sebastian readied the desserts and handed plates and a fork to each of them. He popped the top on the champagne and poured two glasses. “Here you are, Miss Camille.”
She took one glass, and Julian the other.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” Sebastian directed the inquiry to Julian.
“No, Sebastian. That’ll be all.”
The driver didn’t hesitate. He backed a few steps away, turned and put his usual twenty feet between them.
“How is your Trifle?” Julian asked, trying the Crème Brulée.
“This is so-o-o-o good.” She made an almost erotic sound. “It ought to be illegal.” Her laughter reached out and wrapped him in a tender desire. He’d never wanted a woman quite so badly. “How’s the chocolate?”
Julian cut a small bite from his dessert and scooped it onto the fork. “Try it.”
She willingly accepted a taste of his treat. Her demeanor pleased him. She was open to his advances, yet independent enough to speak her mind. Like with the snails at dinner.
Thanks to Camille, Julian now knew he didn’t want a ‘yes woman’ in his life. Still, he’d appreciate one who followed his lead once in a while.
“Oh, man...that’s awesome,” she said, pointing her fork at Julian’s plate. “Here, try this.” She scooped the trifle onto her fork and fed him.
He let the food melt in his mouth, savoring the sweet flavors.
“Isn’t that great?” she asked with a lingering smile.
“Wonderful.” He stared at Camille. She was an absolute treasure.
Julian drew a deep breath and reminded himself of what they were doing. Pretending. Pretending to be in love so he could keep his freedom. He had to remember to act the part but not feel it. How did she do it? She looked totally enamored with him. Why wasn’t she some big-name actress making twenty million a film?
Camille sipped the champagne and studied at him with her intense blue eyes. “So, you’re going to send your brother for Tasha soon?”
“Yes. I think tomorrow.” He checked his watch. Nine o’clock. It was probably about noon or so in L.A. “You should give her a call later.”
“I will.”
“How about your parents?” Julian set his plate on the ground. She did the same. “Should we invite them over?”
Her response was a resounding headshake. Why didn’t she want her parents there? Because it wasn’t real.
“It would look more authentic if they were to attend.” The urge to caress her face overwhelmed Julian. “Besides...they’d forgive you, if it involved a trip to Europe, wouldn’t they?” Julian threw imperatives at her disguised as choices, hoping to distract her while he let his desires get the better of him. Her skin was soft. So soft.
She stiffened and inched back. He didn’t like that.
“Chéri...?” He reached out to her, risking touching her again. Risking being rejected. Again.
Camille shook her head and turned so slowly toward Julian that she seemed to be running out of steam—or hesitating. The latter was most likely the case since she avoided looking at him. “I don’t have any parents.” Her voice broke, and splintered Julian’s soul.
“I’m sorry, Chéri.” Julian paused, feeling a chip had been taken from his heart. “Your parents have passed away?”
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that.” She broke into a bitter laugh that Julian was eerily familiar with. It was the same laughter he and Andre had often used when they were trying to cover the pain of their real mother’s demise.
“My father, and I use that term loosely.” Camille dragged Julian away from his bitter memories. “Dear old Dad took off when he found out my mother was pregnant.” Her unforgiving tone filled him with sorrow. “Never heard from him. Never met him.” She avoided looking at him. “My mother...and I use that term just as loosely...the only difference was, she took the trouble to actually let me be born, rather than taking the easy route and opting for an abortion.” Her body jerked, with tears bathing her eyes. He suspected her grie
f was well on its way to escaping, and that saddened Julian. “Mommy dearest didn’t bother sticking around afterwards, though.” Camille’s empty gaze finally met Julian’s. “I wasn’t worth the time and trouble.”
The near-full moon cast a glow over Camille, emphasizing her mouth as it tightened and a tear spilled down her cheek.
Julian skimmed a hand up her arm and nudged her closer. Sitting up, he pulled her to him. “Chéri...you are definitely worth the time and effort.”
Camille was anything but trouble, and absolutely worth the effort.
She let the tears pour, and he tightened his embrace. Her head moved until their faces met. Their lips brushed, accidentally, and desire swept through Julian. He wanted, needed to shower her with kisses. To comfort her, to let her know just how much she was wanted and needed.
Camille welcomed his overtures with warm, inviting enthusiasm. Their lips met again, their tongues danced, their hunger ignited.
And then, like a bad dream, she let out a disapproving groan, broke the kiss and backed away. Avoiding eye contact, she said, “I’m sorry, Julian. I didn’t mean to...” She sprang up and moved toward the surf.
Julian followed her to the warm, soothing water’s edge. “Chéri.” He struggled with the urge to touch her. Embrace her. Comfort her.
But the girl was truly troubled, and he couldn’t in good conscience take advantage of that. Nor did he want her thinking she’d have to spend the next six months enduring unwanted sexual overtures from him. He needed a wife. One that was temporary and make believe. He needed Camille.
“It was just a heat of the moment kind of thing on both our parts. No worries.” He tried to sound reassuring and unaffected. “And besides, if Papa’s watching...and he probably is...our kiss, however impromptu, was a good thing.”
Julian smiled, kissed her forehead and drew her back into his arms, having found the perfect excuse.
Papa was watching.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Camille awakened to bright sunshine and the chaos of loud voices filtering in from Julian’s adjoining room. Although muffled, she was able to identify the voices and their words.
“Julian, how could you do that to your father?” a woman said. Camille thought it might be Claudette.
“How could I do that to him? How could he do this to me?” If Julian’s tone was any judge, he wasn’t holding back, even though it might have been the gentlemanly thing to do.
Camille shoved aside her fledgling concern over his insensitivity.
“What exactly has Maurice done to you? Except provide you with a caring and stable home?” Her scolding tone was just as passionate as Julian’s. “Let’s not forget the birthright your father’s built for you. A legacy that most of Europe envies.”
Julian’s laughter traveled through the walls but nothing about it indicated amusement. “The whole of Europe might not envy me quite so much if they were privy to the strings that come attached to father’s legacy.”
“Oh, Julian.” Her voice blasted Camille with its impatient tone. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Dramatic...?” Julian rumbled like a volcano. “Papa brought Madeleine here. Why would he do that, knowing I’m coming home with the woman I’m about to marry?”
Camille leaned against the wall separating her room from Julian’s. A touch of the old childhood fear washed over her, leaving her with feelings of abandonment. Again.
“Tell me, Julian...” The woman’s voice softened. By now, Camille knew it was Claudette. “Who are you more upset for? Madeleine’s feelings or your new bride’s?”
Yeah, Julian? He’d kissed Camille last night like nobody’s business. But she wanted to know right now if she was getting dumped.
His response came through in low, barely audible, muttering. He had an opinion but damned if Camille heard what it was. She sighed and wandered to a plush chair facing the window.
God, this place was beautiful. It was impossible for the view not to calm her insecurities—at least it overshadowed them for a moment or two. Camille understood why Madeleine wanted to be mistress of Pacifique de Lumière. Between the house, the grounds, and Julian’s to-die-for kisses...a girl could get swept off her feet.
Under ordinary circumstances. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. Camille could never let herself forget that. The world was not her oyster. Maybe somebody like Madeleine’s, sure. But not Camille. She’d had one painful reminder after another since birth that she had not been smiled upon by fate.
Oh well. She did have a contract with Julian. One that’d make her a multi-millionaire. She might never be truly content, but she’d bet she’d be a lot happier with five million bucks than without it. Money might not buy happiness, but she wagered it’d soften the blow.
A strong knock at the door between her room and Julian’s invaded her thoughts. Camille straightened in her chair. “Yes?”
“Chéri...” His voice was strong, but calm. “May I come in?”
“Sure, Julian.” Her voice rattled and she checked herself, staring down at the knee-length Mickey Mouse jersey-type nightgown. Not the sexiest garment she could’ve been sporting. She made the most of it, leaned back in the chair, pulled her stomach in and crossed her legs.
He strolled in like he owned the place, wearing a pair of dark trousers and a dark blue pullover tee. The tailor-made clothing looked like it’d been molded over his body. Perfection. The man was aesthetically faultless and his manners weren’t too far behind.
Julian smiled and closed the door behind him. “Good morning, Chéri. I trust you slept well?”
His smile touched some untapped portion of her psyche. He was always concerned about her comfort. At least, that’s the way it appeared.
“I slept fine, thanks.” She lied. She hadn’t slept well. She’d tossed and turned all night. Ridden by dreams of him—maybe desires was more like it—because his kiss had affected her, a virgin. A virgin who was quickly turning into a wannabe sex kitten.
“I hope my disagreement with my step-mother didn’t alarm you.”
Step-mother? Camille wondered how to tackle that one delicately. Of course it bothered her, the argument and the revelation that Claudette was his step-mother. But did she want to say so? No. “Well, I’m not really used to family arguments.” For one awful moment she let the past consume her. “There was always just me and Granny Mae. Arguments can only go so far when there’s just two people in the mix.”
A relieved look crossed his face and he stepped toward the door leading to the hallway. “Then you’re going to think it’s pretty noisy around here. But don’t let it get to you. We’re mostly harmless.”
“All talk and no action, huh?” She tried to lighten the mood, but the possible repercussions wouldn’t leave her alone.
Julian chuckled and reached for the door. “If there’s anything special you’d like to do today, talk to Soren. I’ve got business to attend to.” He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “I’m sure Claudette and Lecie will commandeer your time regarding the wedding.”
With a pert smile, he was gone. No mention of last night. No regrets. No promises.
The kiss meant nothing to Julian. It wasn’t worth talking about.
There’s nothing like a little dose of eye-opening reality to put things into prospective. Camille gave herself an imaginary kick in the pants. She couldn’t fall for Julian. It wasn’t smart. Even if he was her husband.
Julian made his way down the hallway. He’d wanted to say something about the kiss, but Camille was already uncomfortable as it was. She’d blamed it on her inexperience with a large family, but Julian suspected she was trying to be polite. Clearly, she didn’t feel the same way about the kiss.
There was plenty of time to change her mind, if Papa and Madeleine didn’t run her off. He’d nip that in the bud, though, starting with Papa.
Julian jogged down the stairs, dashed through the first floor hallway and didn’t stop until he reached his father’s study. He hesitated,
holding his fist in the air before knocking.
After a triple tap, his father’s voice filtered through the door. “Come.”
Julian readjusted his posture and entered the lion’s den. He doubted Papa was happy about last night, but he hoped the charm he possessed over his father hadn’t diminished.
Papa groaned as Julian crossed the spacious room and settled into one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Groaning couldn’t be good. Julian forced himself to raise his gaze.
The senior de Laurent’s icy glare sliced through Julian and hung on the silence between them. Papa’s attention dropped to the desk and he leaned over. A rattling told Julian he was unlocking the drawer, the one he always went for when faced with a situation he couldn’t control.
Three. Two. One.
Papa withdrew a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. The bar had been removed from his father’s office five years ago, on Claudette’s orders, after he’d suffered a heart attack and the doctors advised him to stop drinking. Sometimes, Julian thought Claudette knew about the drawer, but if she did, she wasn’t talking.
The liquor bottle clinked as he set it on the desk, the sound resonating in Julian’s head. This undoubtedly meant an argument was about to ensue. He didn’t see why skipping last night’s dinner party was such a big deal.
Papa cleared his throat and poured the amber liquid into each glass. He remained silent on purpose, knowing it unnerved Julian.
“None for me, thanks,” Julian said, in that same old weakened tone his father had a way of commanding.
Papa bellowed and sat the bottle down with a thud. “Your restraint is ill-timed.”
He was making jokes. That was a good sign.
“What did I restrain at the wrong time?” Julian struggled to regain his composure, but Papa had a way of making him feel like a wounded lion. “And when exactly was that?”
“This is not funny, Julian.” Papa’s glare cut through him as he raised the glass and dumped the liquor into his mouth.
Julian’s shoulders jumped as he tried to come up with witty words that didn’t leave him looking like a fool. He couldn’t find any, so he shook his head.
The Marriage Bargain Page 9