by Mia Caldwell
“Oh dear, you really are a sweetheart,” Marie smiled at her and shook her head gently. “But you have to trust me on this, this is one of the best parts of being a guest here at the chalet.”
Marie clapped her hands briskly and looked at the team of women dressed in immaculate white uniforms. “Alright, time to get to work. Your services are required.”
Marie left, and Sabela placed herself in the ladies’ eager and able hands. Soon she found herself being served afternoon snacks of fresh fruits and flaky pastries, while the women gave her a thorough once over. They discussed the need for pedicures, manicures, waxing and exfoliating. They exclaimed in pleasure over her smooth complexion, and tsked at her for not moisturizing her elbows enough.
And after they plucked and poked and prodded to their satisfaction, they set up a massage table and asked her to lie across it. She wanted to clap in glee. She was getting a massage.
Sabela had never had a professional massage before, and it was heavenly. If she’d known that it was possible to feel that good, she might have made it a point to save up to visit a trained masseuse. All her stress melted away.
When the massage came to an end, she reported to the bathroom and sank into a tub already filled with warm water scented with lavender bath salts. Then a body mask. Then more bathing and soaking.
They washed and trimmed her hair, dried it straight. They applied something to it that made it glisten in the light. They oohed and ahhed, exclaiming over how pretty it was until Sabela got embarrassed from all the praise.
Body cleansed and perfumed, hair dried, she wrapped herself in a robe and reported back to the bedroom to find a chair had been set up. The aestheticians gathered around, and as a team, they worked to prep and prime her for her big night out. They gave her a pedicure and manicure, leaving her nails gleaming and so beautifully shaped, she would have thought they were fake if she hadn’t known better.
While the body team worked, other women scoured her closet and pulled out different dresses, holding them in front of Sabela, carefully analyzing each look.
They laughed and told stories, mostly in English, but sometimes they slipped into French or German. Sabela enjoyed the parts she could understand, the pithy comments about their husbands and boyfriends, the way they joked with each other. They seemed like a big, boisterous family.
Sabela thought of her own family. She wondered if Trevor even cared she was gone. She’d left messages for him, but he hadn’t returned them. Perhaps he was being taken care of by a bevy of nurses, treated like a prince the way she was being treated like a princess. If so, Trevor definitely wouldn’t care that Sabela was gone.
Eventually the topic of conversation turned to the topic of the handsome Mr. Morgan, and all Sabela could do was blush and brush off their questions. Whatever there was between her and Colin was confusing at best and nothing at worst, and so she deflected as much as she could.
The aestheticians joked that she was being secretive and laughed in good humor about how humble she was for dating such a gorgeous, wealthy man and not bragging about it.
That suited Sabela just fine.
“You’re only young once,” the woman who did her nails laughed.
Twenty-four going on twenty-five. Sabela couldn’t help but grin.
After Sabela was groomed and dressed, the crew moved her into the dressing room and set her in front of the vanity. Their collection of makeup, more plentiful than Sabela had ever seen, was laid out across the top of it.
Soon, a collision of colors and shades was all Sabela knew.
Foundation sponges, powder brushes, and mascara wands all worked in rapid succession to transform her. The women chatted half in English and half in other languages, laughing and enjoying their time with her. Sabela felt like a model at fashion week, getting dolled up to make her grand debut down the runway.
When they were done with her half an hour later, Sabela found herself blinking at her image in the mirror. Who was that stunning woman looking back at her? While it was true that she took care to always look good, she’d never had professional makeup done before.
She looked more sophisticated than she ever had in her life.
Her make-up was perfection, highlighting her smooth, youthful skin and deepening the brown pools of her eyes. Her hair was styled in a sleek chignon that served to elongate her neck.
Then they dressed her in a strapless, black silk number they’d selected. It was cut almost too low for Sabela’s comfort. Next came a pair of golden, strappy heels. They adorned her earlobes with a pair of sparkling crystal earrings and arranged a gorgeous necklace of sparkling onyx pearls around her neck.
Looking in the mirror, now more than ever she felt like a princess.
Tonight, would Colin be her prince?
The thought made her blush, and Sabela sank back into her chair to try to digest her feelings.
“You are very beautiful, Ms. Vaughn,” one of the girls told her, accent thick but voice sincere. “Mr. Morgan will be blown away.”
“Colin’s not the only one,” Sabela mumbled, stunned. She stood up and turned left, then right, to look at herself from different angles. “I think I’m blown away enough for the both of us.”
All of them laughed. One of the aestheticians hurried back into the closet and selected a faux fur coat to keep her warm. Sabela wrapped it around her shoulders and looked at herself in the mirror one last time.
Where had the diner waitress gone? Was this what she would look like if she didn’t have to worry about taking care of Trevor? Could she be this beautiful all the time?
The thoughts were poisonous, and she pushed them away for fear of them ruining her. The ’ifs’ didn’t matter. Trevor was her brother, and she would take care of him until he was back on his feet and able to care for himself.
Once that happened, she’d revisit the thought.
The team of aestheticians gave her the thumbs up, and Sabela knew she was ready. The women left one by one, laughing and waving as they did, and Sabela bid each of them goodbye and thanked them for their work.
Being poked at, prodded, and waxed until she was sore had never been so worth it.
She ran her hands over the silky fabric of the dress and wondered what it might feel like for a second set of hands to explore her like that. How would broad, firm palms feel tracing down her hips or down the curve of her back?
Imagining that those hands belonged to Colin sent a shiver of pleasure through her that even the faux fur coat couldn’t keep away.
Colin was rough around the edges, there was no denying that. But beyond the sorrow he kept inside that made him lash out, she thought there was something else inside of him. Something good.
She’d seen glimpses of it when they’d talked, after all. It was just a matter of getting it to the surface and easing the pain he felt away.
Like pulling a thorn out of a lion’s paw, Sabela thought. Colin would always be a lion, mighty and powerful, but he’d lose that unsavory edge that made him more of a monster than a king of beasts.
The king of beasts that wanted to take her until she begged for mercy. She shivered, squeezing her thighs together, drawing a sharp sensation of pleasure up into her belly.
Sabela was more than ready for whatever the evening would throw her way.
She hoped.
Chapter Twenty-Five
COLIN STRAIGHTENED HIS CUFFLINKS as he waited by the front door for Sabela to arrive. He had Bruno bring the car around front to warm, so it was waiting just outside the door.
The click of heels on the wood floor drew his gaze upward in time to watch her step into the main hall. She was a vision. He knew that the spa staff that he hired out from a nearby resort had spent the afternoon pampering her and getting her ready, and they did not disappoint.
Sabela looked breathtaking.
Colin’s heart caught in his throat, and his pulse raced in his ears as he took her in.
Long legs disappeared into the faux fur jacket he’d pe
rsonally selected for her. The golden heels she wore gave her extra height and added confidence to her posture that was stunning.
Never had he seen her lips look so plump and inviting, nor her eyes so spellbinding.
The sliver of bare thigh he saw was enough to redirect his blood south.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he was utterly captivated. Not even Blanca had ever been so beautiful.
He realized his reaction was visible too late; Sabela was smiling at him, obviously pleased by his wandering gaze. He mentally shook himself to remind himself that he was the one in charge.
She arrived at his side, gorgeous and glowing. The anger and hurt he’d seen earlier was gone, made better by his apology and the afternoon spent being pampered. Hurting her had never been his intention, and he was glad to see it soothed away.
Colin realized he hadn’t felt anything, himself, except for anger and pain for four long years, and when Sabela made him feel emotions outside of that, he wasn’t sure how to process it.
The revelation struck him.
Sabela wasn’t a blank tool or an emotionless pawn. She was firmly a person to him now, a person with feelings and emotions that he couldn’t ignore.
He wanted to see her smile, and he wanted to be the one to make her smile. He needed to get a grip, he told himself. Think about sleeping with her. That will fix it.
Except, the idea of taking Sabela only made him feel more … too much more.
“You look stunning,” he finally said.
“You clean up pretty well yourself.” Sabela beamed, sparkling eyes catching the light.
He offered her his arm, and she took it.
The touch reignited the electricity and sparks between them. Colin resisted a shiver and led her outside to the car. Bruno waited for them and opened the door to the sedan.
When everyone was settled, Bruno began the slow descent to Andermatt. The crunch of the tires on the snow and the howling wind was all the music they needed. Sabela mostly stared out the window, but occasionally she’d turn her head when she thought Colin wasn’t looking.
Colin was always looking.
No matter how he tried to fight it, he couldn’t deny his attraction, and he didn’t plan to. But there would be no more to it than sex.
Only when he was free of the shackles Blanca welded on his heart, would he’d be free to care for a different woman. The timing with Sabela was all wrong. But it couldn’t be helped.
He told himself there would be other gorgeous, intelligent, strong women who’d challenge him once his plan was completed.
“Where are we going?” Sabela asked.
“To a restaurant owned by a friend of mine,” he said. “You’ll be the center of attention, I am sure.”
Sabela glanced down, seeming pleased and embarrassed. Her honest innocence made his heart pound.
“I’m not used to being the center of attention,” she said. “I don’t know that I would like that.”
He leaned closer. She trembled when he broached her space. “If you want, I’ll have my friend clear the restaurant for us. Then you won’t have to worry about it.”
“Oh, no. Don’t do that. I’m just being … it doesn’t matter.”
“As you please. Tonight, we’ll just be two people having dinner. Okay?”
The jacket slipped off of her shoulder, and he saw that it was bare. He couldn’t resist. He lightly let his lips drift down and touch that bit of exposed skin. She shivered again.
“Just two people having dinner,” she whispered. “Maybe I can deal with that.”
It was as if the rest of the world disappeared. Her skin smelled of jasmine and something else, deeper and intoxicating. She was smooth and soft, and he wanted to taste every inch of her sweet flesh.
The rest of the drive disappeared in stolen kisses and hidden caresses. Colin couldn’t tear himself away from her, and he knew it was the same for Sabela. Together they were magnetic.
The car pulled up to the curb outside the restaurant. Bruno got out and made his way around to open the door for them, without comment on their teenage behavior.
Composing himself enough to stop at last, Colin exited the car and walked around to Sabela’s side. He extended his hand to her.
It was like a scene from an old movie, how she extended one gorgeous leg and rose from the car like a starlet with the world at her feet. Where was the paparazzi? A woman this fine should have had crowds swarming her, dying to hear whatever pearls of charm might fall from her rose-blush lips.
“What kind of a restaurant is this?” Sabela asked.
He tucked her close against him to keep her warm. “French. The chef is my friend, François Beaudoin. He was the head chef of a two star Michelin restaurant in Paris, but gave it up for a quiet life here in Switzerland. Now he runs this establishment, and you can tell how happy he is with it by the way the food tastes.”
“I’ve always wanted to try French food,” Sabela whispered, as though it were a secret between them. “He’s lucky to get to follow his dream.”
Colin’s heart slammed in his chest. Yes, François was lucky, unlike Sabela, who worked herself half to death for an unworthy lowlife. “You’re going to love it, I’m sure. François believes in a comfortable atmosphere and comfort food. Nothing uptight and overly fancy.”
Sabela held herself straight with her head held high as they entered the restaurant. Her projected confidence in denial of her secret insecurity bewitched him. Even when facing difficulties, Sabela pulled herself together and showed her true strength.
It was one of the sexiest things about her.
They checked their coats at the coat check, and Colin was struck yet again by how lovely she was now that he had the full view of her dress. The slinky, strapless dress hugged her hips and drew his attention to all the right places.
Screw dinner, he thought. He wanted to turn around and go back to the chalet to make good on what he’d been promising himself all day.
But of course, that would be the move of a man who wasn’t in control of himself, and Colin Morgan was always in control.
Their table was the best in the house, just as he’d requested. It was located at the back of the restaurant in a romantically shadowed corner. From where they sat, they had an excellent view of the restaurant, but it would be hard for others to see them. A single candle, small and white, burned at the center of the table and cast flickering light across Sabela’s beautiful face.
Some of the control Colin fought for waned.
She turned him wild just by existing. What had he gotten himself into?
Once they were seated and Sabela was comfortable, he handed her a menu a young man brought when he filled their water glasses. She accepted it and opened the black leather cover to look at the dishes listed inside. There was a pause before she looked up and across the table to him.
“I don’t know what any of this says,” she admitted. “Can you help?”
The menus were all in French, and with the Swiss population familiar with the language, no translations were provided.
“Bien sûr,” Colin replied. When Sabela glared at him, he smiled. “I mean, of course.”
“You speak French?”
“Marie’s been teaching me. I like to think I’m good, but any local would probably disagree.”
“If you can read the menu and explain it to me, I’ll be impressed enough,” Sabela replied with a playful touch to her voice that he adored.
“I am a man of exceptional talent.” Colin grinned. “The longer you stick around, the more of them you’ll discover.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
ONE BY ONE, HE BROKE DOWN the items on the menu for her. There were only a handful of course options, each of them including complex flavors and top notch ingredients.
“Foie gras torchon with pickled pear and —”
“Wait.” Sabela shook her head. “I still only understood half of that. What is a foie gras torchon?”
�
��Well,” Colin found himself at a loss for words. “A torchon is a descriptor, used to distinguish how the foie gras is cooked. In this case, traditionally, it would be cooked in a hand towel in order to give it its distinctive shape.”
“But what is a foie gras?”
Before he could go down that rabbit hole, the waiter arrived. Colin recognized him from the last time he’d visited, and the man recognized him, as well.
“Welcome back, Mr. Morgan,” he said in a thick French accent. “We’re delighted to see you again. I’ve informed Chef Beaudoin that you are here, and he is very pleased, I assure you. Will you be having your usual this evening?”
“Bring us a bottle of the Bordeaux,” Colin said. “Then I think I would like something different this evening.”
“Something different?” Sabela asked in a low whisper. Colin could only smile.
“Tell Chef Beaudoin that we would like him to prepare us something off-menu. Something to warm the soul. What he thinks we’d like best.”
Sabela looked surprised, as if ordering off-menu was a concept she’d never considered. And she probably had never heard of such a thing. Colin winked at her.
It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled some strings with François in order to make an impression with a guest, but it was his first time doing so outside of business hours.
The waiter took the menus.
“Very good, Mr. Morgan. I’ll inform Chef Beaudoin of your request. Would you like me to check back with his recommendation?”
“No, I trust François. Thank you.”
The waiter bowed his head and left.
Sabela sat up straight in her chair, her brown eyes wide and sparkling in the candlelight. “You can do that? Just have the chef make you something that isn’t on the menu? I think the cook at Pinkie’s (that’s Bud, by the way) would have my head if I came back and told him someone wanted a dish to warm the soul.”
Colin laughed. “There are a surprising number of things you can do when you’re friends with world-class chefs. Well, so long as you’re willing to pay those chefs handsomely. François will be expecting a great reward for his efforts tonight. And well he should. He’s an artist.”