The Marriage Bargain

by Sandra Edwards

  “Oh, no...I like lobster just fine.” She didn’t want to sound ungrateful. “In fact, I love lobster.” She paused, and while she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, there were consequences for eating so recklessly. “But if I keep eating like this...in six months, I’ll be as big as a house.”

  A flash of humor curled on Julian’s lips. He grabbed his champagne glass. “Make a list of the foods you’d prefer to eat and give it to Soren when we return home. He’ll relay your instructions to the kitchen.”

  “Man, you sure are accommodating.” Camille dipped a piece of lobster in fresh butter. She popped it into her mouth and the flavors, sweet and rich, engaged her taste buds and filled them with immense pleasure.

  “Well, I aim to please,” Julian said.

  They focused on their meal with bits and pieces of small talk about the weather, the Naoma Louise, and the Mediterranean around them. Afterward, Julian suggested they have dessert indoors, and they moved inside to an informal dining area.

  She followed his lead and slipped into a chair at one corner of a very large table. Jonathan brought them each a covered tray. The dish was cold. Very cold.

  “What is this?” she asked, pointing to the silver lid.

  Julian looked at her with amplified innocence.

  “Is it ice cream?” A sense of defeat swept over her. Please, don’t say yes.

  He smiled.

  Damn. She was doomed. “You know, you’ve really got to start paying attention.” She paused, trying to gulp down the lump swelling in her throat. “Big as a house. Remember that.”

  The smile spreading across his face was as intimate as a kiss. He lifted the cover, revealing an ice cream sundae. A diamond studded heart pendant on a gold chain was draped around the crystal bowl’s stem.

  “That’s beautiful.” Camille sucked in a breath filled with joy and then sorrow and disappointment. Disappointment that she hadn’t been able to find a man such as Julian for real. Her very own Prince Charming. She sighed. “But why?” She summoned the courage to look at him. Their marriage wasn’t real. Why was he baiting her with the actions of a real husband?

  “After all you put up with yesterday,” he said. “It’s the least I could do.”

  The look on his face, genuine regret, softened her concern and eased her doubt. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, tell him she was his for the taking. But that wasn’t wise. The only thing it would get her was some serious heartbreak time.

  “You’re very kind,” she said, and dropped it at that. Filling with reluctance, she unwrapped the necklace from the dish.

  Her heart pounded as Julian rose and moved around behind her. He slipped the trinket from her hand in a slow, seductive movement. Gentle strokes pulled her hair out of the way and he looped the bauble around her neck. No matter how hard she fought it, her desire for him intensified.

  Julian’s hands skimmed down her bare arms, patted them twice and then he returned to his seat. Of course he’d touch her like that, seductively, and then walk away.

  She studied him with a calculated gaze. There was no way in hell she’d survive being teased by him for the next six months. No way.

  She pulled her attention away from him and let it roam around the deck. Nothing. Not a thing to use as a viable distraction—except the inner cabin.

  She pushed herself up from the table and sauntered toward the double doors. She hurried inside, met by a blast of cool air. A wall on the far side displayed a group of family photographs. Maybe there’d be one from his childhood...that she could poke fun at. That would lighten the mood.

  She perched her hands on her hips and scanned the images. A picture of two boys sitting in a woman’s lap caught her eye. The children were nothing more than toddlers, and Camille assumed they were Julian and Andre. The woman in the picture, presumably their mother, had a wonderful smile and laughing eyes that reminded her of Julian when he got really excited.

  Pointing to the picture, she glanced over her shoulder. “Is this your mother?”

  He nodded, a pleased look crossing his face. In an instant, Julian was at Camille’s side and removing the photograph from its place on the wall. Stilling, he studied the picture, drawing a heavy breath. Finally, when he did move, he took the photograph and went to the couch on the other side of the room. Camille followed.

  “This was taken just weeks before she...” His words faded, and he looked at Camille. The memory had stolen the laughter that usually resided in his eyes.

  “Well, it’s nice of Claudette not to complain about your mother’s pictures being displayed here.”

  “While Claudette has been a wonderful mother-figure—” He almost laughed. “—This is not the family’s boat. It’s mine.” He glanced around. “Much of what you see here...the décor, the photographs...it all belonged to my mother. These were her personal items.”

  “Wow.” A frenzy of sudden, spinning sorrow toppled her poise. The tribute to his mother said something about what Julian valued in life. “This is a great way to honor your mother and keep her memory alive.”

  “Papa thinks I’m spending too much effort on the past,” he said trivially, setting the framed picture on the coffee table. Julian shrugged and leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms along the back.

  Camille relaxed, crossed her legs, and folded her arms over her chest. “I wouldn’t say that.” Phantom tears stained her heart. “It shows a devotion to your mother’s memory. And that’s a very appealing quality.”

  A lonesome sort of smile gave way to lips skewing into a tight pucker on his face. Clearly, the hurt over losing his mother was getting to Julian.

  Physical need and a longing drove Camille toward him. A knot rose in her throat. She felt like a breathless teenager. The notion that this might be a bad idea slipped into her mind, but she cast it aside in favor of an inherent craving to comfort him—something she thought no one had ever attempted.

  Camille snuggled up to Julian and trailed her soft, silk-like fingertips over his face. Her touch was affectionate and soothing and on the verge of becoming too powerful to resist. Julian closed his eyes and skimmed his hand up her arm.

  She dropped her forehead on his chest and let out a pleasurable sigh. His hands trailed over her shoulder, as if they had a mind of their own, and explored the hollow of her back.

  “If you’re going to stop me,” he whispered into her hair, “please have mercy and do it soon.”

  She lifted her head slowly and implored him with her eyes before leaning in and kissing him with a hunger that contradicted her outward composure. “I’m not going to stop you.” Her lips brushed against his as she talked.

  Julian caressed her untamed hair out of her face. “Chéri —” He traced his fingers along her cheek. “—if you become uncomfortable at anytime, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

  “I want to be with you. That’s all I know.” She said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my whole life.”

  Julian led her down onto the couch and trailed soft, sensuous kisses across her face and down the length of her neck. His hand brushed against the patch of fabric covering her breast. She sighed.

  He grazed his pelvis against her thigh and felt himself growing hard. She turned herself toward him as if she wanted the contact.

  Julian watched his own actions intently, pushing the triangles of fabric away from her breasts, first one and then the other, exposing her nakedness. He swallowed hard; he’d been wanting to do this from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Cupping her breast in his hand, he leaned down and teased her playfully, running his tongue over her nipple. She moaned and arched her back, trying to find him.

  “Patience, Chéri.” He gave her a smile born from affection, wanting to taste her lips now. He seized her mouth, kissing her hard and long. Watermelon. She tasted like watermelon.

  Breathlessly, she locked her arms around his neck and pressed her naked breasts against his chest. Her nipples brushed firmly against his
own bare skin. Urgent desire swept through him, catching him off guard.

  He drew a deep breath, the sweet scent of her perfume—the Dior he’d bought her—invaded his senses. Julian grazed his fingertips over her stomach and down between her legs.

  Camille let out a delightful gasp and a slight moan escaped her lips as his fingers touched her. She arched her hips, encouraging him to explore further. He danced playfully and she moved quickly trying to match his pace.

  Encouraged by her, Julian’s own desire throbbed inside his briefs, desperate to be let loose. As if instantly aware of the bulge pulsating against her thigh, she reached out and touched him, running her hand along the outside of his boxers.

  She quickened her pace under his touch. She was too close to the edge. He stopped abruptly, pulling away.

  He stood and removed his briefs. Her eyes sprang open and her surprise got tangled in her throat, escaping in a gritty groan.

  Julian climbed back on top of her and paused, gazing down upon her angelic face. She flushed crimson. Their eyes locked and their breathing merged in unison.

  “Do you want me to go on?” He gave her one last opportunity to back out, to be sure this was what she really wanted.

  She smiled, pulling him closer. “Don’t you dare leave me hanging now,” she whispered, opening her legs.

  Clearly an open invitation, Julian ripped the bikini bottoms away from her body and pushed his way inside her. She wrapped her legs around him, and he began gliding in and out, slowly at first, until his desires took over and he pumped faster.

  Wave after wave of her delight burst rhythmically around him. “Chéri...” Julian muttered the endearment as he filled her instantly with his own satisfaction.

  Feeling as though she’d claimed every ounce of energy that he had to give, he relaxed lifelessly on top of Camille.

  “Wow...” she said softly, breathlessly.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He genuinely hoped he hadn’t.

  “No.” She giggled slightly. “You didn’t hurt me.”

  “That’s good,” he said with a bit of aloofness. He knew he should get up, but she felt so good. So right.

  His manhood pulsed and slipped out of her as if it knew retreating was the best course of action. She moaned, as if disappointed.

  “I’m sorry, Chéri.” He paused for a moment, drinking in the striking afterglow shining on her face. “I shouldn’t have let it go that far.” He pushed himself off the couch, torn between culpability and contentment. “You’ve been more than vocal that this wasn’t to be part of the bargain.” He scooped his shorts off the floor and slid into them, positioning them comfortably around his waist. “Just say the word and it won’t happen again.”

  “Look, I know this is not real. It’s a business deal.” She acknowledged. “But there’s no reason why it can’t be a business deal with benefits.”

  That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, and once he realized it, he found it disturbing.

  Not to worry, though. In six months, he would have had his fill of her and be happy to see her go.

  Julian had breakfast brought into their stateroom the following morning. He’d anticipated, and was pretty sure Camille was in complete agreement, that they’d spend much of this day in bed. Not having to venture far for food was advantageous.

  She been eyeing the plain black box, larger than the average jewelry case, with its gold ribbon tied around it in a neat little bow. It’d come in with the breakfast cart.

  “Come here.” He scooted his chair back and motioned her over with a lazy wave.

  She sauntered around the small table and straddled his lap, awakening his loins.

  He slid the box toward them and presented it to Camille. “This is for you.”

  She took it, giving him a narrowed glance and eased it opened. Finding a wallet-sized leather-bound checkbook and a credit card, both stamped with the name Camille de Laurent, she shot him a twisted smile. She opened it and fanned the checks before stopping to look at the check register.

  Camille’s mouth dropped open and she stared wordlessly. He’d guess she’d seen the amount on the liberal credit line.

  She looked at him, her face etched with shock and surprise. “What is this?”

  “You’re going to need some cash at your disposal.”

  “A credit card isn’t cash.”

  “It’s pretty close.”

  “Why do I need this much cash available to me?” She paused, her look of surprise giving way to suspicion. “This has nothing to do with last night, does it?”

  “No.” He adjusted her in his lap, running his hands beneath her satin robe. She was naked underneath it. He enjoyed the feel of nothing but his silk boxers between them. “It has nothing to do with last night, this morning, or tomorrow.”

  “Good.” She panted, her chest heaving. “Because I don’t want to start feeling like a kept woman.”

  “Kept women aren’t, by definition, wives,” he said, exploring further beneath the soft, silky robe.

  “What am I supposed to do with the checkbook and credit card?” Her arms enfolded him.

  “Whatever you want. It’s your money to spend.” He pressed her against him. “I’m sure Claudette and Lecie will insist that you accompany them on regular shopping sprees. Buy whatever you want.”

  It’s what was expected of his wife. And above all else, Julian couldn’t forget the marriage needed to look authentic.

  That’s all it was. It just needed to look that way. And the sex? Well, like she’d said—it was a business transaction with benefits.

  Yes. That’s all it was.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CAMILLE WAS SADDENED when their honeymoon cruise ended. She had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t real, even if they had spent the last ten days having some incredible sex.

  And, returning to Pacifique de Lumière under the cover of night felt like they were sneaking back in. But she refused to buy into those insecurities and fears. Instead, she let her mind wander to a place filled with possibilities as she followed Julian upstairs to their new suite, just a few doors down from Tasha’s room.

  Next morning, she realized she’d taken too much for granted when Soren gave her the news.

  Camille charged into Tasha’s room. Raw nerves bore down heavy in her gut at the sight of her only friend packing.

  “You’re leaving?” Camille’s voice cracked. “Why are you leaving so soon? Did somebody do or say something to upset you?” Her fear of being abandoned gave way to suspicion. She wouldn’t be surprised to find that Maurice or Madeleine, or both, were responsible for Tasha’s decision to leave.

  “When have you ever known me to shy away from a challenge?” Tasha said, as if that notion was the most ridiculous thing in the world. “It’s just time for me to go home.”

  Camille didn’t say anything, lost in a moment of deep pessimism. Somewhere deep in her psyche she wondered if she could will Tasha into staying.

  “This is your world now, but it’s not mine.” Her words cut through Camille like a sharp dagger.

  Guess not.

  “Mine’s in L.A. Where I need to find work soon, or I’m screwed.” She laughed as if it wasn’t that big a deal, but Camille saw the worry in her vivid green eyes.

  Julian had given her a “spending account” with a generous endowment. If she was going to use it, why not splurge on something worthwhile. She grabbed Tasha’s hand and pulled her out the hallway and into her suite of rooms.

  Tasha waited in the doorway, as if entering would have some ill-effected consequences. Camille grabbed her leather-bound checkbook from a desk drawer and used a nearby table to issue her first check. It ripped from the book with relative ease, and she waved it in the air at her friend.

  “What’s this?” Tasha’s eyes danced anxiously.

  “Just in case L.A.’s on a mean streak when you get back.”

  Tasha slipped the check between her fingers and glanced at it, her eyes widening. �
��Wow. Ten grand.” She struggled with the silence for a moment and finally said, “I can’t take this.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “I doubt I’d ever be able to pay it back.” She shook her head. “I can’t take it.”

  “It’s not a loan. It’s a gift. From one friend to another.”

  Tasha shook her head again, her mouth tightening. She closed her eyes. “No. I don’t want to get you into trouble with Julian.” She paused, and slowly raised her gaze to meet Camille’s. “What’ll he say when he finds out you’re giving away money?”

  “Julian gave me the money to do with as I please.” Camille shrugged. “I choose to give it to you.”

  Tasha moaned and tapped her foot. “You let me know if he makes a fuss and I’ll send it right back,” she said, with a bit of reluctance. “Whatever I’ve spent, I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Camille said, taking her arm and leading her to the door. “He said I could spend it any way I wanted.”

  “I’m so afraid I’m never going to see you again.” Tasha’s words were drenched in angst.

  “Oh, you’ll see me again,” Camille blurted out without thinking. “I’ll make sure of it,” she added, trying to cover her blunder with a well-meant declaration.

  “Well, I guess so,” she said, almost bitterly, following Camille into the hallway. “Your husband does have a fleet of private jets and he can take you anywhere you want to go.” Immediately, regret cast a shadow over Tasha’s face.

  But Camille knew Tasha was feeling abandoned. She was losing her best friend to a husband half a world away. And Camille knew a thing or two about abandonment. There was no way to spin it to make the one left behind feel better.

  “You know,” Camille said as they descended the stairs, “You can always ‘act’ in France.” She put it out there to see if Tasha would bite.

  She didn’t. “Are you kidding?” she shrieked. “Like they want to see some American on their TV screen.”

  “Jerry Lewis.”

  “Huh?”

  “Jerry Lewis,” Camille repeated. “He’s an American. And the French love him.”