Second Chance with the Best Man

by Katrina Cudmore

  He grinned and Hannah almost melted at the playfulness sparkling in his eyes. ‘I asked him why he accepts your help and not mine.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  Laurent crossed his arms on his chest, the teasing smile intensifying. ‘That you’re a whole lot prettier.’

  Hannah could not help but giggle. ‘I guess it was a start at least in you two talking.’

  Pointing down the corridor, Laurent moved away. ‘Come on, I think we both deserve a drink.’

  He led her in the direction of the kitchen. Daylight was starting to flood the downstairs rooms, light birdsong filtering in from outside. As she walked by his side, lazy, happy tiredness washed over her.

  ‘I mentioned Nicolas Couilloud’s threatened price increase to him.’

  Entering the kitchen, she asked, ‘What did he say?’

  ‘At first he asked me what I had done to cause the increase.’

  Hannah winced. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Precisely.’ He moved away from her and opened a cupboard teeming with drinking glasses. ‘What would you like to drink—wine, spirits or a soda?’

  Hannah shifted towards the countertop and, lifting the electric kettle, popped it under the tap to fill it. ‘This time of the morning I can only face tea.’

  Laurent closed the cupboard door. ‘I’ll join you.’ Taking some teacups from a cupboard, he placed them on the countertop before leaning back against it. ‘My father eventually accepted that Nicolas’s increases were unwarranted. He’s pretty incensed about it all.’

  ‘So you don’t think he was involved?’

  ‘No.’

  Pouring hot water into the white china teapot Laurent had placed on the countertop, Hannah asked, ‘Had he any ideas on how to resolve it all?’

  ‘He offered to talk to Nicolas. I was tempted to say no but, seeing how important it was to him to take it on, against my better judgement I agreed.’

  ‘And his affairs, did you speak to him about those?’

  ‘No. I’m not sure what there is to be gained.’

  ‘I think you deserve to have your father understand what impact those years had on you.’

  He just shrugged at her comment and brought the teacups over to stand beside the teapot. Hannah expected him to back away but instead he stood looking down at her. ‘I never got to dance with you tonight.’

  Heat exploded in her belly at his nearness and shot all the way up onto her cheeks. She looked towards the kitchen door. ‘I should really go to bed. I have a busy week ahead. I need to fly to Edinburgh first thing Monday morning.’

  He backed away a fraction, studied her for a moment, then, reaching for the teapot, he poured tea into the cups before passing one of them to her. ‘Before you do go to bed, tell me something—the hope you spoke about yesterday during the ceremony, was that what got you through your early years?’

  Thrown by his question, Hannah ran a finger around the rim of her cup before answering. ‘I guess. I was very young, my memories are hazy, but I remember hoping for small things, that they wouldn’t leave me alone in the house, that one day I’d be able to bring my friends from school home with me...but then I stopped going to school.’

  ‘It kills me to hear what you went through.’

  By the anguish reflected in his eyes, Hannah could see that he really meant what he’d said. She reached out, touched his forearm, her breath catching at the warmth of his skin. ‘Those years were tough but then I was taken in by the most amazing parents anyone could ever wish for. I’m so grateful I had them and Cora and Emily. They taught me so much about love, about trusting in others, about being honest about my feelings and owning them.’ She paused, the sudden realisation that she’d never been honest about how she felt about Laurent mocking her. But that was an act of self-preservation; surely she was right to keep those feelings to herself.

  She looked out of the window over the sink and nodded towards the ceremony chairs that were stacked by the walled garden and ready to be collected later today. ‘You’ll be glad to get back to normal after the chaos of the past few days.’ The thought of leaving pinched her heart. ‘And poor Bleu must want to get home. I still feel so guilty that you had to send him away.’

  ‘Bleu regularly stays with Phillippe when I’m travelling and he loves spending time with Phillippe’s spaniels. You have no reason to feel guilty.’ Pausing, he considered her for a moment before asking, ‘Your fear of dogs—did something happen when you were with your birth parents?’

  Her head snapped up at the perceptiveness of his question. She arched her neck and lifted her shoulders to ease out a kink, only now realising that her whole body was aching with tiredness. She wanted to go to bed. She glanced out again at the ever increasingly bright morning sky, grimacing at the realisation that she wanted to go to bed with Laurent. She wanted to lie next to him. Have him hold her. Hear his breath as he slept. She shook herself. That type of thinking was crazy.

  ‘I don’t remember exactly what happened. I just vaguely remember a man and a woman coming to the house with a dog. He was huge, dark coated. I must have gone to bed because the next thing I remember is waking to find him next to my bed growling. Every time I went to move, he growled even more, baring his teeth.’ She brought her cup to the sink and rinsed it, thrown by how upset she felt. ‘I have no idea how long it took for my mum to come in and find him. I tried calling but there was music playing too loudly downstairs. I tried not to cry. I thought that would only make him angrier. I remember pushing myself against the wall and pulling my duvet against myself, hoping that would protect me if he attacked.’

  When Laurent came to stand beside her she gestured that she would wash his cup too. But, shaking his head, he placed the cup out of her reach and, laying his hands on her shoulders, he gently turned her around to face him.

  ‘I wish I’d been there to protect you.’

  Her heart tumbled at the intense care in his voice, emotion welled in her throat, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the threatening tears. He pulled her into him, his long arms tightly wrapping around her. His body enclosed hers as though he were trying to protect her from shellfire, his shoulder tilting to form a sheltering hollow for her forehead to rest on. His hand ran along her spine, light movements that had her fall even harder against the strength and shelter of his body. She didn’t fight him. Her need to have his care right now was far greater than her need to protect herself.

  Fully aware of what she was doing, she pulled back, and even though her heart was racing, her voice was surprisingly calm and assured. ‘I don’t want to be on my own when we go upstairs.’

  He studied her for a moment, as though trying to decide if he’d heard right. Then in a tender voice that had her want to cry all over again, he said, ‘You know why that’s not a good idea.’

  ‘Just hold me. I want to be with you.’ There was so much more she was desperate to say, to explain why she wanted to be with him—her confusing mix of elation and loneliness at seeing Lara so happy, her dread at leaving later today, all the bittersweet memories this weekend had unearthed. But she couldn’t tell him any of that because to do so would expose what he meant to her.

  Laurent took a step back. Dizzying disappointment crashed over her.

  But then his fingers trailed softly against her cheek, his gaze moving from concern to understanding acceptance. Taking her hand in his, he led her upstairs to his bedroom. He left her staring at his king-sized antique bed, the imposing headboard and curved footboard made of wood and cane, ornate roses carved into the pale painted wood, the crisp white linen and mountain of pillows making her sway with tiredness...and the dizzying anticipation of lying there with him.

  Her gaze shot to the adjoining bathroom. What if he was about to change his mind? She heard the sound of running water and then he was back out in the room with her, opening a drawer in the three-door armoire that match
ed his bed with the same carved roses along the woodwork and garlands on the cane. Lifting out a grey tee shirt, he handed it to her. ‘The shower is running for you.’

  For a moment she hesitated. Suddenly having second thoughts.

  ‘I’m going to hold you, Hannah, be there for you. No more. I’ll keep you safe, but if you want to go back to your bedroom then I’ll walk you there.’

  No. That was not what she wanted. She shook her head firmly and on a shaky breath turned for the bathroom. Knotting her hair up into a bun, she allowed the warm water to ease the tension in her body and wash away her racing thoughts.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, he was standing in front of the bed wearing only bed shorts, running a towel through his damp hair.

  ‘I didn’t mean to throw you out of your own bathroom.’

  Walking past her, he threw his towel into a linen basket. ‘I used the bathroom in the guest room next door.’

  She tugged unconsciously on his tee shirt she was wearing, wishing it smelled of him rather than some unfamiliar fabric conditioner. His expression tense, he went and closed the shutters of the room, plunging them into darkness. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust enough to be able to see him remove some pillows from the bed before he came and released her hair from the band holding it up and, leading her to the bed, gestured for her to lie down. When she curled on her side, he curled in behind her, his thighs skimming against the backs of hers, his arm lying on her waist.

  He whispered, ‘Dors bien. Sleep now. I’ll be here.’ His hand shifted up, first to skim over her arm, and then over her hair, the soft reassuring pressure, the comfort of his huge body lying next to her having her eyes droop with tiredness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LAURENT SIGHED, DROWNING in a sea of happy confusion. He shifted his body, an unwelcome ray of awareness intruding on his dreams, telling him to fight against the bone-tired contentment that was dragging him back towards sleep and oblivion.

  A deep shiver ran the length of his body as a warm weight passed over his chest. His abs contracted as the weight continued moving downwards over the band of his shorts. Adrenaline surged through his body. And then he was awake, leaping up in the bed and pulling away from Hannah.

  She was awake. Just about. She considered him through drowsy eyes, her sensual smile slowly fading away.

  Had she even been conscious of what she’d been doing? Of where her hand had been travelling towards? He closed his eyes for a second, trying to control the need drumming through him, trying to get his body under control. Which was nigh on impossible with Hannah lying there, looking sexy and cute and irresistible, with her huge soft brown eyes holding the same need that was pulsing through him. He tried not to stare at her pale pink lace underwear where her tee shirt had ridden up, or at the outline of her breast, a hardened nipple visible beneath the grey cotton.

  He collapsed back down onto the bed, keeping a safe distance between them. He knew he should get out of the bed. But it felt as if he’d had only an hour’s sleep, and in truth he wanted to lie here with her.

  For long minutes they stared at one another, the quietness of the early morning, the low light in the room casting an intimate, dreamlike air to the moment.

  He longed to reach out and touch his finger to her lips, plump with sleep, touch the warm silkiness of her flushed cheeks. She shifted her hips to turn fully onto her side, the tee shirt riding even further up so that the inch of lace on her hip was exposed along with the soft wave of her hip bone.

  He pulled in a long deep breath as blood pounded in his ears. A year of sleeping alone, of dreaming about her, was catching up with him.

  Her hand moved out, rested on the expanse of sheet between them. Her gaze met his. ‘I want to be with you.’

  He sucked in some air at the soft surety of her voice. ‘We can’t.’

  She tipped her head, her skin flushing even more. ‘Are you saying you don’t want me?’

  He gave a disbelieving laugh, shifting fully onto his back, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the ceiling before turning his gaze back to her. He’d known when he’d taken her to his bedroom that this was the most likely outcome, but he also had wanted to lie down with her and simply hold her, have her forget all the things that she’d told him about her past. ‘Nothing has changed, Hannah. I don’t want to hurt you again.’

  ‘I know all of that. But last night, when I told you that my parents taught me to be honest, I realised that I’m not being truthful with you.’ She paused, bit her lip, her hand pulling down the tee shirt over her hip, covering the delicious curve of her bottom. ‘I’m deeply attracted to you... I need you physically. I have no expectations or wishes or hopes other than to have sex with you.’ She smiled, a beguiling smile that was both sexy and shy all at once. ‘We were always great in bed together.’

  He could not help but smile back. ‘On that point I can’t argue with you.’ Taking hold of her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers. ‘Are you certain this is what you want?’

  ‘I want sex with you. Is that clear enough?’

  He laughed at her teasing tone that also held a hint of frustration. ‘You were never patient when it came to sex, were you?’

  Her eyes lit with mischief. ‘I never thought I’d complain about having too much foreplay.’

  He lifted her hand and one by one kissed each finger before flipping her hand over to kiss the palm. ‘You need to slow down when lovemaking, cherish every single moment.’ His tongue ran a circular path around the soft skin of her palm.

  With a groan she shifted onto her back, her hips wriggling against the mattress. ‘But it feels like torture.’

  He trailed kisses up the inside of her arm, his cheek brushing against the side of her breast, and then his mouth found her neck, her back arching as his tongue licked against the soft skin behind her ear. He moved along her jawbone and at her mouth he hovered over her parted lips, his heart tripping over at the wonder and passion and need in her gaze. ‘Are you certain this is what you want?’

  She made a noise of annoyance. ‘Will you quit asking me that?’ And then to cement her answer she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her mouth.

  His pulse rocketed, his body tightened, all thought left him as her mouth explored his with a frenzy he understood and responded to, her legs wrapping around his, her entire body moving upwards to press into his.

  * * *

  For a brief intoxicating moment, as he moved towards where she lay in his bed asleep, Laurent saw the long seductive length of Hannah’s back, but then, as though she’d sensed his approach, she twisted from her side onto her back, pulling the sheet up. For a moment he considered giving in to the temptation of lying back down beside her and losing himself again in the cocoon of her warmth and musky scent.

  He placed a teacup and a plate with a freshly baked croissant and an apple on the nightstand, smiling when she gave a faint snore. He’d never told her that she snored. For some reason he’d wanted to keep that a secret to himself. Just as he’d never told her how he’d watched her every morning before he’d left for work as she’d slept, her contented form grounding him for the day ahead, her warmth and beauty making the world a whole lot brighter before he’d even stepped out into the day.

  He sat on the side of the bed, his eyes trailing over her dark arched eyebrows, her nose twitching ever so slightly in her sleep, her cheeks still flushed from their lovemaking. He buried his head into his hands. How was he going to manage the next few hours before she left for London? When she woke, despite her insistence that she’d wanted to be with him, would she be upset, angry, regretful over their lovemaking? Would she look at him with the same hurt and bewilderment as she had in London before he’d left for France?

  He inhaled a deep breath. Feeling more rattled than he’d ever been in his life. Their lovemaking earlier had been intense—a yea
r of absence and regrets and affection all spilling out into a confusing but beautiful act of passion, connection and tenderness.

  Making love with her, having spent the weekend together, the intimacy of what they had shared with one another about their pasts, all added up to the inescapable fact that today was going to be even harder than London. He needed to tread carefully, make saying goodbye as painless as possible for them both. His gaze moved back to her. Tonight he would lie here in this bed without her. He closed his eyes. Hannah leaving for London was for the best. But somehow, and he was still not sure how, he wanted to show her before she left that he cared for her even though he would never be able to give her the love and commitment she deserved.

  He bowed his head for a moment, recalling his mother’s shouting, his father’s silence. Recalling the night he’d watched his father dump suitcase after suitcase into his car and drive away. The awkward telephone conversations in the months that had followed when he’d been at first too confused and then too angry to speak to his father, who had demanded to know if his mother was poisoning Laurent against him. And then, months later, when his father had returned to the château, his foolish, excited, naïve relief that it was all over. Only to have to endure it all again when his mother had left the following year. And then his father’s frequent absences in the years that had followed when he’d left to continue his affairs. He’d stopped trusting in others, stopped allowing himself to be vulnerable by loving them. He cared for Hannah. But he could never love her.

  He laid his hand on the warmth of her shoulder, his thumb stroking the oval birthmark below her collarbone. The first time they had gone sailing together, he’d seen it when she’d changed into her red swimsuit. Dumbstruck by the gorgeousness of her curvy body, he’d wanted to maraud his way down the boat to where she was sitting chatting with Lara, and throw all the other males on board who had also been staring in her direction overboard. Instead he’d bided his time, waited for Lara to invariably be drawn back to François, before he’d gone and spoken to her. Spotting her birthmark, he’d told her that it was a kiss from the gods. She’d folded her arms and looked at him suspiciously, rightly knowing that he was trying to charm her, but as she’d turned away to stare out to sea, he’d seen a smile lift on her mouth.