by Nora Snowdon
Still, if he stretched out their affair too long, leaving her could be problematic. She might get too attached to him and cause a commotion in the media. He should make his offer for her shares and move along. His arms tightened around her and he frowned. Why could he not enjoy her company a little longer? He deserved some pleasure along with all his hard work.
“Antoine?” She glanced up at him as the song ended. “Is anything wrong?”
“Non, ma petite. Champagne?” he asked, leading her to the bar.
“Could I have a coconut rum and orange instead?”
“Of course.” He ordered the drinks and guided her to a table in the corner. “Tell me about your life. In Brooklyn, do you live alone?”
“Yes, well, aside from the pet cockroaches. I like being able to play music late at night, or leave the dishes until the morning, without worrying about disturbing someone else.”
“Are you not lonely?”
“I have friends.” Her tone sounded defensive.
“Yet you lack someone to keep you warm at night?” He ran his finger down the side of her neck. Why was he pursuing this line of questioning? Although he did not wish her to think he was interested in her long term, he also could not bear the thought of anyone else touching her.
“I have an electric blanket. And it doesn’t snore.” She shivered as his finger traced along her collarbone.
“I do not snore, either.”
“We’ll see.” She smiled. “Of course, I’ve been told that on occasion I talk up a storm in my sleep. So I guess I can’t complain.”
Antoine’s throat constricted, but he refrained from asking who had told her. He glanced at the band gathering their equipment in preparation for their break. “I am afraid we were too slow to get another dance in.”
“Hmm, I think I’d rather dance with you in private.” Her low sultry voice erupted into giggles. “Man, that sounded cheesy.”
“Oui. But since I like the sentiment, we will pretend not to have noticed.” He grinned at her. “Would you like to try anything else while we are here or may I take you home to my personal discothèque?”
“Hey, that sounds much sexier when you say it.”
“It is more than just the words, ma petite.”
CHAPTER 6
“Time to get up. The weather is beautiful and the day is wasting away.” Antoine pulled the blanket from her body and kissed her loudly in her ear.
Helen snarled at him, but his infectious enthusiasm won her over. “Why don’t you come back to bed with me?” She pouted.
“Ah, I am sure we will return to bed soon. Right now, I am hungry. You are giving me too much exercise.” His broad smile negated his complaint.
“Oh, food! Well in that case…” She jumped out of bed and threw on a shirt from the floor for her trip to the bathroom. Silly that she still felt embarrassed walking around in front of him naked. “Where are we going for breakfast? I require something more substantial than just cheese and crackers.”
“Ah, oui. I know I should get food in here. There is a little restaurant/pub on the beach, and I believe they are open now. It is almost ten o’clock.”
“Okay. Vámonos, vámonos, let’s go,” Helen sang, rushing into the shower.
“Pardon?” He’d followed her to the door to ask.
“It’s Dora the Explorer,” she explained. “The cartoon? The younger kids at our breakfast program adore her. They’re so cute. Whenever you want to go somewhere, you sing Dora’s song.” She laughed at the puzzled look on his face. “I guess you don’t get much Dora the Explorer in business?”
“No. I do not think so. Put on your bathing suit. We will go swimming later.”
*
The breakfast became more like brunch by the time they got there. Rice and peas with chicken, purchased from behind a wood-paneled station wagon. Antoine had been easy to sway from his original choice of eggs and grits when Helen told him how good this particular cook was.
“Although, ma petite, I do not have many opportunities to eat grits at home in Paris.”
“I bet you don’t buy food out of the back of cars often in Paris either,” she reminded him with a smile.
“True. What a backward place I come from,” he complained as they walked with their food to the beach. The tantalizing aroma of grilled chicken wafted from the take-out containers and she hoped they’d find a place to sit and eat soon.
He put his arm around her shoulders. “This is one of those too big shirts. You should not hide your beautiful body.”
“It keeps me from getting burnt.”
“We have lotion for that.”
“You said we were going swimming.”
“You are right,” he admitted. “And I don’t want others to see you. Just me.” He pulled on the neck of her t-shirt and peered down her front. “Ah. Much better.”
Helen gasped and batted away his hand. “Antoine! This is a public beach. There are people around.”
He raised an eyebrow and glanced at the small clusters of sunbathers flaked out on the hot sand. “Not so many.” He kissed her nose. “I will behave—for now. Let’s eat here.”
*
It was wonderful, just eating, lounging and playing on the beach with Antoine. He insisted they build sandcastles. When he discovered the sand didn’t hold together, he suggested they build cheaper sand-apartments for the poorer sea creatures. Finally, he gave up, stating they should either sue their architects or become slum landlords. She loved this unexpected, playful side of him.
“Okay, I’m hot and covered in sand. Time for a swim.” Helen stood and took off her t-shirt.
“Mais oui. You are very hot, mon amour.” Antoine growled in appreciation of her copper bikini. “No wonder you cover yourself. You would cause traffic accidents dressed like that.” His hand trailed down the curve of her back.
She jumped away before his hand reached her bikini bottom. “This is a public beach, no lewd behavior.” She slapped his hand before running into the water.
Antoine stripped to his bathing suit and followed her. As he got close, he dove under water and grabbed her ankle. She jumped and then again in surprise when he nipped the back of her knee on his way up.
“You taste good under water, as well,” he commented with a smile.
“Thank you. It’s one of my many talents. Mmm, I love how the salt in the water keeps you afloat.” Helen lay back and let her feet rise to the surface of the water. “In New York, I can’t just float. My feet sink in the pool if I don’t keep kicking.”
“I like this too.” He began kissing up the exposed skin on her belly.
“Hey! No lewdity.”
“Is that even a word? Lewdity? I think not,” he murmured as his lips reached just beneath her bikini top.
“Antoine!” Helen felt her face flushing. She set her feet on the ocean floor. “People are nearby.”
“Ah oui,” Antoine agreed. He kissed her along her jaw and then whispered in her ear, “But if we are quiet, they will not notice us.” He lifted her up against his body and then snuck his hand down the back of her bikini bottom.
Helen squirmed in embarrassment. The water was so clear; people might see what he was doing. She glanced over, but the few other people in the water weren’t looking their way. Still, if they did… Then she noticed he’d carried her out into deeper water so she could no longer touch ground.
“Hey. This is too deep for us short people, ya know?”
“Yes. That is the plan.” He kissed her, molding her body to his.
It felt strange, floating almost weightless against his body. She glanced back at the other people in the water and lounging on the beach and realized that they were now quite far away. She ran her hand up his chest enjoying the feel of his chest hairs floating against her hand. God, he was so incredibly sexy. Helen wrapped her arms around his neck and, with a low grumble, kissed him back. “You’re being bad you know.”
“Mmm, very bad,” he concurred. His mouth continued to plu
nder hers and his hand reached behind her neck. He’d pulled one string from her top down between their bodies before she noticed. “Do not worry. It is still tied at your waist,” he whispered as his hand covered her now revealed breast.
“No.” She wrapped her legs around him to steady herself, while she grabbed the strings and retied her top. He used her distraction to slide his hand between her legs. Her body jolted with surprise as his fingers zeroed in on their mark.
“Oh my—” She gasped. “You can’t— We can’t—”
“You are wrong. We can. No one can see what we are doing, ma petite,” he purred in her ear. His fingers continued to tantalize her. “As long as you are quiet, they will never know.”
“But…” She stifled another gasp as the incredible sensations wafted through her body. The waves lifted her body up and down, working with Antoine’s talented fingers. She let out a low moan and covered her mouth in surprise.
He paused. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No.” She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “You can’t stop now. It feels too good.” She bit his ear, shifting to allow his fingers to resume their play. “Oh, there, oh my God!” She buried her lips in Antoine’s neck, her legs tightening around his waist like a vice grip as she fought to contain any obvious thrashing in the water. She’d never felt so pent up, nervous and excited. Her body imploded around his amazing fingers. He kissed her to keep her from crying out, then she clung to him as the sensations subsided.
After, Helen glanced around feeling sheepish, but it appeared no one had noticed them. She turned back to Antoine. “Wow! I’m way too inhibited for this kind of behavior. I thought I was going to have a heart attack there. Is this what happens on all those beaches in the French Riviera?”
“Non. It is too cold.” His face broke into a mischievous grin. “This is a first for me as well, ma petite.”
“Really?” She eyed him with skepticism.
“Yes. Do not be so surprised. I am cautious because of the paparazzi. You make me misbehave. Had you worn that unflattering tennis outfit from our first meeting, I might have been able to control myself.”
“Oh sure, blame my bathing suit for your lack of control. Next thing you’ll be saying my pruney hands turn you on…”
“Pruney? Like the fruit? You are inventing words again.”
“No. Pruney is when you’ve been in the water too long and your skin goes all funny.” She showed him her hands. “What do you call it?”
“I think you are wanting to make a fool of me as I discuss ‘lewdity’ and ‘pruneyness’ amongst others.”
Helen laughed at the way he pronounced the two words. “Well my name had better not come up in that discussion, buster,” she warned him.
“I would never kiss and tell. But since my hands are getting ‘pruney’ as well, maybe we should take any further discussion back to my place?” His darkened eyes indicated talking wasn’t at the top of his agenda.
“Race ya!” She dove off to beat him to the shore. He easily overtook her and pulled her by the hand up the beach to gather their clothes.
“You’re too fast,” Helen complained, trying to catch her breath. “Running on treadmills at the gym doesn’t prepare you at all for running in the sand.”
“We are making up for not playing tennis today.” Antoine smiled. “I do not want you getting fat and lumpy on me, ma petite.”
“Yes, I was worried about you, too.” Helen poked at his taut stomach. “A little too much rice and beans here. Maybe we should go back to your place for more exercise.” She skimmed her hand over his tight butt.
“Phht! None of that. You will ruin my reputation.” His eyes twinkled. “One day I will take you to a nude beach in France and you can see for yourself what happens there.”
Helen caught her breath at the thought of visiting France with Antoine. Whoa, girl. Don’t read anything into casual conversation. “What about the French paparazzi?”
“Ahh. I will be clothed. Just you will be naked.” Antoine laughed at her expression. “For now, you had better hurry or I will have to ravish you before we get to the privacy of my house.”
*
Tuesday passed by like a dream. After leisurely making love in the morning, they’d walked hand in hand through the Straw Market checking out the souvenirs. Helen tried, without success, to convince Antoine to wear a straw hat. Then he’d snuck back and bought her a tropical print, wrap dress. The dress was a practical purchase, he’d explained, because with just undoing one knot, the whole dress could be shed in two seconds. He was a busy man and appreciated such time-saving devices.
Helen enjoyed listening to him bantering with the local artisans. He treated them politely and with humor, no matter how hard they pushed their goods. And a few of his purchases seemed driven by a desire to help the seller, rather than a hankering for the trinkets. Later Antoine had made phone calls and sent faxes, while she wrote postcards. She couldn’t remember a time when she felt happier.
Her only worry during the day had been when she called Edward to see if her father had left any word yet. It wasn’t anything Edward had said, but he’d sounded different, almost distant, kind of like her father when distracted by business. Edward couldn’t be concerned about her virtue, could he? Helen had asked after Bettina and she was fine. Probably it was nothing.
CHAPTER 7
Wednesday morning came early. Helen woke to the sight of Antoine dressed and standing beside the bed with a steaming cup of coffee. Fresh shaven, with crisp white cuffs peeking from beneath his cream suit, he could’ve strutted off a fashion runway.
“Bon matin, mon amour. I made you a café but you do not have to drink it.” He placed it on the bedside table. “I am sorry. I must leave you and go into town for a meeting. I will be back in the afternoon. You may stay here, relax, use my computer, whatever you desire. Or if you go out, please call my cell and I will come for you later.” He smiled as he brushed her hair away from her eyes. “Ma petite. You look so warm and cozy. I wish I could sneak back into bed with you.” He kissed her forehead and turned toward the door.
“Okay. See you later,” she mumbled. It seemed odd seeing him dressed in his suit while she lounged in bed. She tried to fall back to sleep, but the smell of fresh coffee soon won her over. Hmm, what to do today? She should arrange something with Jordana. She didn’t want to. Jordana would pry about her relationship with Antoine and then dissect his motives for choosing Helen. It wouldn’t be pretty. Maybe she could drop by the estate and check in.
Hard to believe it was three days ago that she’d told Edward she’d be “staying with a friend.” It felt like a lifetime or like she was a different person. She’d adapted so fast to staying with Antoine. Although, now that he was gone, his house didn’t feel as comfortable. She sipped her coffee and planned her day.
It would be good to check her e-mail. The Wi-Fi at the mansion was often unreliable. She never knew if it was an island problem or her old desktop computer to blame. She opened Antoine’s laptop and it sprang to life. She was looking for the web browser icon when an e-mail popped up. She glanced around feeling guilty but it wasn’t as though she meant to snoop.
Then she did snoop.
Antoine.
Just checking on how you’re doing with the American dog. Has she fallen for your Gallic charms and signed over her Dunhill shares? We’re counting on you, old chap. And Laurenne is eager to help you get rid of any tacky aftertaste after your slumming. Wash carefully, so you don’t pick up any diseases.
Oh, and the Beeb wants that live interview on December 17. Call me for more details.
Cheerio.
Winston
Helen tried to absorb the message. She reread it. Then it hit her. She was the American dog! And what the hell were her Dunhill shares? She didn’t have any shares.
She reread it again, unable to draw air into her lungs. She’d known Antoine was out of her league, but could he have thought her such cheap trash that he worried about
getting diseases from her?
Her stomach twisted as she recalled him making love to her; the reverence with each caress and every glance he’d faked. She’d wanted to believe so badly he was attracted to her, that she’d let him fool her. And God, what a fool she’d been!
Anger propelled her as she packed her belongings. How long had he planned on stringing her along? How could anyone be that cruel? Or maybe he thought he was being nice to the American dog. Pay her some attention, throw her some crumbs, and she’ll lick your hand and roll over for you. And she had.
She called Edward and asked for a lift. Then she washed her face and did a thorough search of the house to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything—God knows she couldn’t come back. Minutes later Edward arrived. He took one look at her puffy eyes and red nose and didn’t say a word during the drive home. Bettina was much more emotional when she saw Helen coming into the mansion.
“Oh, my poor girl.” Bettina enveloped her in a bear hug. “I feel so terrible. We knew something was wrong, but we couldn’t say anything.”
Helen glanced at Bettina with alarm. How could they know? Surely Antoine hadn’t blabbed about her to everyone?
Bettina led her to a chair in the living room. “Sit here. I just put on a nice pot of tea. Did the police find you at your friend’s home?”
“The police?”
“Well, we didn’t have a phone number for you, so…” Bettina glanced at Edward in alarm and then back at her. “Didn’t the police talk to you?”
“About what?” Helen shook her head. Was she going nuts?
“Your father.” Bettina blanched, her dark skin appearing gray tinged. “You did hear about his… accident?”
“My father?” Helen shot out of her chair. “What are you talking about? What happened to him? Is he okay?”