Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  “That’s very kind of you.” His sardonic smile told her in no uncertain terms he wasn’t buying her generous motives. She decided to take the bull by the horns.

  “Also, I’m not used to saying no to my mentor. He wanted me to come here and I needed one last paper to complete my Ph.D. program. Dr. Howard insists on his grads publishing five papers and using them as part of their dissertation. I’ve already presented four. I couldn’t pass on a free trip to France and the opportunity to study the very site of my Ph.D. thesis.”

  François arched a quizzical eyebrow. “I see.”

  “I’ve already done a ton of research on the chapel and its restoration.”

  He nodded, looking speculative while he studied her. She hoped he didn’t hear her heart drumming against her chest. After four long years of hard work, graduation was so close. Time to use her trump card to convince him. “My published paper will be great publicity for your project.”

  “No.” His hand slammed against his thigh. “Let’s understand each other, Cheryl. There will be no paper and no publicity around my project and my chapel.”

  “What? Why? It will attract tourism to the area. Isn’t that what your project is about?”

  “Later on. Much later. When the chapel is rebuilt. We’ve had way too much publicity so far. It’s beginning to attract the wrong attention and too many questions.” His gaze pinned her in place.

  “But I need to publish my paper. I can’t wait till your chapel is rebuilt to graduate.” And find a good job and organize my future.

  “That’s too bad.”

  Of all the selfish oafs. But she remembered he hadn’t invited her to come and didn’t dare protest. Arguing with him wasn’t advancing her cause. She needed to settle at the chateau and start on his project and then… We’ll see. She breathed slowly, ready to compromise. “Maybe we can discuss it later.”

  His lips remained tightly sealed for a moment and then he sighed and grabbed her luggage. She hoped he didn’t notice her sigh of relief.

  François guided her through the gate and out of the train station to a shiny little sports car. “Nice car, Count François. A Corvette?”

  He gave her a half-smile. “A Lamborghini. I bought it a month ago. Can you please drop the Count? My name is François.”

  A Lambo… what? Never heard this name. But as long as they trod on safe subjects like his flashy sports car, he seemed less tense. Things will improve, she decided with renewed confidence. In time, she’d be able to get him to appreciate her.

  He was as handsome as she remembered, tall, more than six feet, with not an inch of flab under the tight polo shirt and fitted slacks. His powerful body and his brown curls had often reminded her of the god Apollo in her mythology book. How often had she daydreamed of the French count, her gaze fixed on the full-page picture, like the naïve girl she’d been three years ago.

  When he opened the passenger door, Cheryl slipped onto the low bucket seat, stretched her legs and breathed the leather smell of a brand new car. She fastened her seat belt and smiled at the thought of Doc sharing her exhilarating experience. For the eight years she’d known him, the dear old man had never driven anything but an old station wagon.

  François stowed her light luggage into the trunk, slid into the driver’s seat and turned the starter of his expensive toy. Cheryl felt suddenly cramped. François’ big frame crowded the narrow sports car. He turned his head toward her. His breath fanned her neck and heat trickled through her. She scooted toward the door. At least, as much as she could in the minuscule space. Unable to withstand the silence, she tried for small talk.

  “Have you hired a crew to work on the chapel’s ground?”

  “Only archeology students at this point, until we draw some blueprints.” His gaze intent, her reluctant host sat beside her, without engaging the car.

  “When are they coming?”

  “Three of them are here. I was waiting for Professor Howard to tell me what we would need exactly.” He continued to stare at her, his fingers tapping the steering wheel.

  She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and dropped the visor to steal a glance at herself in the small mirror. No wonder he wasn’t pleased with her presence in his top-of-the-line top-prize car. She looked sweaty and dreadful with her shirt clinging to her chest like a surgical glove. Maybe she should try to impress him with her professional knowledge, at least until she could clean up and dress more appropriately.

  “Don’t worry, François. I will supervise the students. I’ve also read a few articles about a missing statue that’s rumored to be buried under the rubble. This statue may add value to the rebuilt chapel.” Damn it, she’d do anything to secure her paper and her future.

  His eyes sparked at the mention of the missing statue but his scowl deepened. “You’ve heard about the statue?”

  “Of course.” She smiled, thinking about the historical statue that would soon become the main topic of her next paper. “I’ve heard about it. Professor Howard and I have brainstormed at length about its fate. In fact, I dedicated a full chapter of my thesis to that statue and I have a good plan for the search.”

  She lowered her eyelashes to suppress an ebullient excitement. If she could find the mysterious statue, she’d publish one heck of a paper, get her degree and start her career as a restoration specialist. Doc would be so proud of her.

  “We will talk about it later. When you’re rested.” François dismissed the subject with a vague gesture of his hand, revved the engine and took off in an obnoxious roar and swirl of dust.

  Propelled against the back of her seat, Cheryl checked the clasp of her seat belt and tossed a sideways glance at her reckless driver. “Are you trying to kill us?”

  A burst of laughter erased his frown. “It’s a sports car.” He mashed the pedal against the floor. The wind tousled his golden brown hair, messing it and making it fall over his high forehead. Her hand itched to smooth it away.

  She gripped the armrest as the sports car zoomed along the Loire River and then swerved onto a country road cutting through fields of flowers. Her hair whipped against her face, Cheryl heaved a deep breath and paid no further notice to her driver.

  The balmy fragrance and beautiful scenery didn’t restore her cheerful mood. Her French assignment hadn’t exactly started on the right foot with Doc suffering in a hospital room. A sense of danger crept along her spine every time she recalled the intruder leaving his office. And now François didn’t want her around, although he made a good deal of effort to accept her and put a civil front.

  But how could she let anything skew her determination to succeed in her project? She focused on the rainbow of lush colors extending on both sides of the road and breathed deeply. The bouquet of wild flowers reminded her she was in the French Loire Valley, a dream place for a summer job. Could anything disturb the tranquility of the historical area still rooted in the past?

  Disquiet simmered in her stomach. Harvard School of Architecture had been a tranquil place until two days ago.

  ~*~

  François navigated his prized car along the country road. Cheryl sat quietly beside him, surveying the fields. A hint of a smile lightened her original broodiness. Her presence stirred an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. With her lovely face, fabulous figure and sharp wit, she might become an undesirable distraction for the students he’d hired. From the corner of his eye, he followed her gaze toward the green fields spotted with blue and violet. “Those are wild irises.”

  “I can’t wait to visit the surrounding area.” Enthusiasm suffused her voice. Her mouth rounded in an exquisite “O”. Full and sensual.

  He braked suddenly, almost missing the turn. She flattened her hand against the dashboard, holding on for dear life. Huh, she was already a distraction to him.

  François angled the car through a driveway lined with poplar trees. “Valroux,” he proudly announced as his eyes settled on the majestic gray stone castle, his birthplace.

  “Wow. It�
�s amazing,” Cheryl exclaimed.

  He couldn’t agree more. It was a Renaissance castle, framed by four symmetrical towers. Bordering the marble terrace, the front yard landscaped into three superimposed levels of parterres adorned with different colored roses. As they neared the chateau, François threw her a quick glance. Satisfaction replaced his original annoyance when he recognized her admiration for beautiful structures.

  Her gaze riveted on his mansion, she tilted her head, offering a lovely profile and pink-tinted, high cheekbones. Sunrays streaked her chestnut hair with rusty glitter as the long waves swiped her shoulder. “Yes, very beautiful, très jolie.” He suppressed an eager smile.

  “Pardon, you were saying?” she asked, still surveying the castle.

  “Er… I just agree with your opinion.”

  François circled the car around the crushed gravel parkway and pulled to a stop at the bottom of the five-step marble stairway. He jumped out of the Lamborghini and walked around to open the door for her.

  “Are you expecting the rest of your luggage to be delivered later?” he asked as they crossed the terrace surrounding the castle.

  “I have all I’ll need with me.” To his surprise, she pointed to the trunk of the car where he’d deposited her tote bag and backpack.

  He stifled a gasp. All her needs for two months in these two small bags?

  His present date, Edith Blaise, would have dragged at least four suitcases for such a trip, one exclusively dedicated to her beauty ingredients. But Cheryl’s face, free of make-up, was a far cry from Edith’s model-like appearance. And yet, up close, he couldn’t help but notice the natural appeal of the American student.

  She reminded him of a raw gem deserving careful cutting and polishing, or better a wild iris more tempting than the thorny roses adorning his chateau. If he had the time he would indulge in composing poem about her lovely features and deep blue eyes.

  He ushered her up the stairs, toward the massively ornate front door and banged the gong.

  Bernard, his butler, opened the door and surveyed their young guest. Consternation underlined his greeting. “Bonne arrivée, Mademoiselle.” He craned his neck outside the door, searching.

  Irritated, François arched a brow. Bernard’s stiffness unfortunately reflected his own ungracious attitude from a moment ago. “Mademoiselle Stewart’s luggage is in the car. Take it to the blue room.”

  “But, Monsieur le Comte, I thought… You don’t mean Mademoiselle Edith’s room? Some of her things are still there.”

  “I don’t want to disturb anyone,” Cheryl protested.

  “You aren’t, Cheryl.” François waved with his hand. “Bernard, how about the green room for Mademoiselle Stewart?”

  “Mademoiselle Marilène’s room?”

  “Yes, the green room. Ask one of the maids to help Mademoiselle Stewart.” François’ tone brooked no discussion.

  “Oui, Monsieur, as you wish.” With a glint of scorn in his eyes, Bernard dragged his feet to the car to retrieve Cheryl’s luggage.

  “Cheryl, I’ll see you for dinner at eight o’clock.” François noticed her self-conscious look as she glanced at her jeans. She might not have brought an evening outfit. He wouldn’t embarrass her by specifying that they usually dressed for dinner. An idea formed in his mind. “It’s nice today. We’ll eat outside on the terrace. No need to change. It’ll be casual, just you and the young men I’ve hired.”

  She nodded without answering. Bernard returned with her luggage.

  “If you need anything, please let us know,” François added.

  “I’d like to call Boston to check on Professor Howard.”

  “Of course. Come downstairs as soon as you’re ready. I want to talk to him too.”

  “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  François’ gaze lingered on her slender figure. Her sigh wafted behind her as she proceeded up the marble staircase with a natural, mesmerizing sway. With a sudden tightening in his groin, he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. There was more to the pretty bookworm than he remembered.

  True to her word, she appeared on the landing a few minutes later, in a blue blouse that matched the color of her eyes—huge eyes, now that she’d taken off her glasses and probably replaced them with contact lenses. Her hair neatly brushed cascaded in smooth waves down her back. As she went down the stairs, her sandals clicked on the marble.

  Waiting at the bottom of the stairs, François helped her down the last step. “Come. We will call from my office.” Reaching past her, he opened the carved wood door, leading to his office.

  “Have a seat, please.” François gestured to one of the maroon leather chairs and settled behind his desk.

  “Nice desk.”

  He almost choked as she lovingly stroked the top of the Louis XV cherry wood desk with brass decorations and he imagined her delicate hands repeating the gesture on his back, his chest, his…

  “You know I recognize your desk. I saw the same one pictured on the center page of my reference book on Style and Interior Design.” She stopped caressing his furniture.

  He cleared his throat and struggled for composure. “You want to call?” he asked hoping his voice didn’t sound strange.

  “Can I?” She reached for the phone.

  He moved it closer to her. She dialed Doc’s cell phone and let it ring for several minutes. “No answer.” With a frown, she glanced at her watch. “It’s too early in the morning in Boston. I’ll try the hospital number.” She fumbled in her purse, searching for the paper where she’d noted the hospital number and clicked it. She waited for the dialing tone to stop. “I hope he’s feeling better.” She tapped the desk while biting her lip, her nervousness visibly escalating. “Hello… Hi, can you please connect me to the room of Professor Howard in the cardiac unit?”

  “Cheryl, don’t make too much of a minor ailment,” François said.

  “Hold on… I can’t hear well. Just a jumble of words.” She brought her mouth closer to the phone. “Nurse…nurse? Damn it.”

  “Calm down, Cheryl. He’ll get better.” François bent and pulled the thumb she was chewing on out of her mouth.

  “Yes, doctor… Dr. Brown.” She listened to the far away voice, closed her eyes with a sigh and hung up.

  François reached for her hand and squeezed it. “What did the doctor say?”

  “Professor Howard had trouble breathing. They moved him to intensive care and are doing more tests. It may be a heart attack. And he’s all alone. A nightmare.”

  François wished he could take her in his arms and calm her worries. The way she flicked her eyelashes to suppress her tears struck a sensitive cord he didn’t know he possessed. Cheryl was so different from all the elegant women he’d dated. She exhibited a tough and assertive façade but her inner vulnerability had just surfaced at the news of her dear mentor’s failing health.

  “I’m sorry, Cheryl. But he’s in a good hospital. He’ll get better soon. You’ll see,” he said with a reassuring smile.

  Her gaze fixed on the telephone, she didn’t answer.

  Had she heard him? He pushed his chair and moved around the desk. “Cheryl,” he said softly as he laid a careful hand on her head to caress her hair and soothe her in a fraternal way.

  She lifted her huge blue eyes to him, staring blankly. His fingers continued their light skating over the silky mane.

  Merde. There was nothing fraternal about the way his blood rushed downward.

  She sighed and dropped her head forward, hitting his shoulder. His arms automatically closed around her waist. “We will call the hospital again tonight, after dinner. Meanwhile, I want you to take a nap and relax. Promise?”

  She sighed, raised her head and gave him a strained smile. He gently pulled her away from him and sucked in a deep breath. Her jetlag exhaustion and emotional turmoil might send her to sleep but he would need a cold shower right away to cool his blood and clear his mind.

  Chapter 2

  Sitting at
his desk, François pondered the phone call to Boston. He hoped Professor Howard would recover soon, although a heart attack didn’t bode well for the workaholic professor who never paid attention to his health.

  François heaved a deep breath, cursing his bad luck. First, the professor’s absence had deprived him of a most valuable consultation and now Cheryl seemed so disturbed she probably wouldn’t be much help on the chapel’s restoration or the search for the statue.

  Not to mention the instant and aggressive response of his body. François grimaced, furious at his intimate lack of control.

  A few minutes later, Bernard strode down the stairs as fast as his arthritic legs would allow him.

  “What happened?” Bernard scowled, his gray eyes matching his hair. “Why hasn’t the professor come?”

  “He’s sick. Mademoiselle Stewart will replace him.”

  “This young woman?” He turned his head toward the door, his eyes squinting with displeasure. “Would she know how?”

  “She’s quite knowledgeable,” François said without conviction.

  “I hope so, Monsieur le Comte. I want to live long enough to see the chapel restored in all its magnificence, with the statue adorning the altar again.”

  “You will, Bernard. You will.” If he only had faith in his own words.

  “I know the statue is there…somewhere.” Bernard insisted. His tired gaze flew to the bay window and lingered on the woods hiding the ruins.

  “Somewhere? Maybe but where? Broken or intact?”

  “I saw my father and your grandfather, holding a box in the chapel. It was so long ago. I wish I could remember. But Monsieur, the students you hired will dig and find it.”

  François wished he could share Bernard’s optimism. “It’s not that simple. We are not going to advertise our search. I don’t want greedy collectors around here.”

  “Of course, Monsieur le Comte. Your grandfather often said this statue is the most valuable heirloom of Valroux.” The old butler protected the land and chateau where he grew up as fiercely as if they were his own patrimony. “It will also be nice to see little ones running in the chateau. It has been too quiet here,” Bernard added with a sly smile.