Coming next to her, he gently took her hand. “Cheryl, believe me, it would be better, much safer, if you forget about searching for the statue. Go back to Boston tomorrow.” Her gaze snapped up to him and she pulled her hand from his. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he quickly said. “I don’t doubt your professional capability. I am just concerned for your safety.”
Lips pinched, she frowned, walked away from him and stood on the other side of the desk, gently stroking the back of the laptop, her most cherished memento now. “You said that before. And I say, I’m staying because I have a lot to do here. If you don’t want me in the chateau, I’ll book a room at the nearest hotel.”
How could she be so stubborn? He wanted to comfort her and hug her and kiss her but she insisted on building an ice wall of disagreement between them. “Cheryl, please, the situation is grave.”
Her fingers clenched at her waist, she glared at him. “Don’t you think I realize that? My mentor is gone. Dead.”
Now was not the time to upset her more. “If you prefer to stay, then you will have to accept my protection and help.” She arched her eyebrows and he hastened to add, “All the time. Take it or leave it.”
“I don’t mind. If you think you can protect me, be my guest.” Irony laced her tone and slapped his masculine pride. She shrugged and then waggled a finger. “But don’t try to stop me from looking for the statue.”
If that was how they would be collaborating together, things were starting on the wrong foot. Talk about a difficult woman and a tricky situation. François heaved a deep breath, praying for patience. In an effort to gain her agreement, he suggested, “How about if we look together at some of the important files you have here? Unless you are too tired now.”
“I was about to browse through Doc’s files and compare them to mine when you interrupted me.”
He almost bit his tongue to avoid reminding her she was sobbing her heart out when he interrupted her. He followed her glance to the digital display of the radio-clock on her night table. “It’s already eleven thirty.”
She raked her fingers through her hair. “Yeah but…”
From the dubious way she puckered her lips and gazed with longing at her mentor’s laptop, François guessed that sleep would elude her until she felt she’d done something productive to fulfill Professor Howard’s thwarted goal. “Well, if you want to check things on your computer and start planning, do you mind if I stay and brainstorm with you?”
Without hesitating or questioning his presence in her bedroom at such a late hour, she nodded.
“Unless you prefer to chat and reminisce about the professor,” François said, determined to gain her cooperation.
An appreciative glow sparkled in the blue of her eyes. “Thank you for being so understanding.” She sat in front of the computer and clicked on a folder.
François brought a chair next to her and settled, comfortably leaning against the back as he watched her lovely profile and the silky strands of hair cascading over her shoulders. His fingers slid on the back of her chair, itching to play with the curls, streaked with gold and rust by the bright light of the crystal chandelier. Inching toward her, he stole a glance at her cleavage and breathed her jasmine perfume and the sweet scent of her skin.
Nom de Dieu, had he lost his mind? He clenched his hand and backtracked to a less tantalizing position.
The poor girl had just lost a surrogate father. She was mourning while François indulged in his shameful yearnings. Unaware of his battle to control his lust, she continued to concentrate on her task, typing the password and opening files.
Hurry up, chérie, find the damn file. Say something professional.
As if he would understand a professional theory right now, when his gaze caressed her jaw and her cheek and his mind suggested a dozen ways to taste her mouth. He swallowed and sighed and squirmed in his chair.
“I will get us glasses of cold wine,” he said as he suddenly stood to give a break to the awkward tension of his muscles.
Good God, she’d trusted him. Enough to let him stay in her bedroom.
Seriously, what was he thinking about when he suggested he work with her? He shook his head and questioned his mental sanity at staying so close to her. At midnight.
She seemed so vulnerable at the moment and she was a guest in his house, he reasoned with himself. Of course, he owed her his help and protection.
Cheryl turned her head toward him and frowned. “Wine? No way. I need something to clear my head.”
“Me too, believe me.”
“I’ll appreciate a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind going downstairs.”
“No problem. I will be right back.” After he dabbed his face with ice water.
Cheryl continued to look at Doc’s files, comparing their notes. So far nothing differentiated them much. A document titled “Recent News” attracted her attention. It consisted of articles Doc had copied and pasted back to back. She started reading and felt her jaw sag.
François’ missing statue held much more value than a simple artistic sculpture. Holy cow, Doc had never shared this information with her.
“Here is the coffee. You seem so engrossed in your reading.”
She turned her head, realizing she hadn’t heard François coming. He deposited a tray with two cups of steaming coffee on the dresser and brought her one.
“Thanks. Smells delicious. I thought you were going to have a glass of wine.”
“I… I decided coffee was a better idea.” He gave her a strange look and pushed his chair away from its original position. His awkward smile caught her attention.
“Huh?” She raised her eyebrows. What was the matter with him?
“I’d rather keep my cup away from your laptop. A while ago, I ruined my keyboard by spilling a full cup on it,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse.
“Okay.” Too much ado for a cup of coffee. He didn’t have to back up three feet as if the coffee would make a marathon jump to flood her laptop. She shrugged, determined not to waste her time pondering his weird attitude.
“Anything interesting you can share?” François asked from his remote position.
“You bet.” She spun toward him. “Tell me, François. Tonight when we were on the terrace you said you had no idea about what became of the two other statues.”
“I don’t. Apparently, the three statues disappeared around the same time, according to my butler and then no one ever mentioned their existence again. Why?”
She sipped her coffee, deposited her cup carefully on the desk and turned back to face him. “Why don’t you finish your coffee and come next to me? I can’t keep twisting my neck while you sit so far behind.”
François’ gaze flitted from her to the cup in his hand and again to her. “Sure.” He frowned, finished his coffee and put the cup in the tray, before dragging his chair as if it suddenly weighed a hundred pounds.
“If you’re too tired you don’t have to stay with me.”
“Not at all.” He sat next to her, very rigid, his arms folded on his chest. “Go ahead. You were saying?”
At least, he demonstrated curiosity in what she’d just discovered in Doc’s files. “Here are articles about the two other statues. One reappeared in Belgium and was sold to the Museum of Amsterdam for thirty million dollars
“Nom d’une pipe. Thirty million?” François leaned forward, his eyes shining.
“Wait, there’s more.” She faced her monitor screen to read the article. “It was stolen while on its way to be delivered to the museum. The perpetrators have not been captured. There’s an investigation going on.”
“Interesting. And the other statue?”
“The other was acquired in an auction by an American art collector for sixty million dollars.”
“Any information about the person who put it in the auction?”
“A Sicilian who claimed it’s been in his family for many years,” she said, after a glance to the file on the screen. “To summarize the situatio
n, we have two similar statues to your missing one, each worth over fifty million US dollars. And there’s a bunch of international wealthy people interested in these statues.”
“And no doubt a bunch of international crooks even more eager to put their hands on these statues,” her host said, a scowl knitting his forehead.
“Probably.” The sinister facts slowly sank into her mind. The Malaysian student, Doc’s food poisoning—or plain poisoning—during lunch, the intruder in Doc’s office and Doc’s sudden death after he seemed to be improving enough to call her. Cheryl wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. “Oh my God, François, do you think, Doc’s death was a premeditated one by an organized crime ring?” A taste of bile rose in her mouth.
“I don’t know. Let’s not speculate about the reasons for his death until we get some concrete facts from the hospital or the detective.”
She sneaked a look at the window and blinked when she noticed she’d forgotten to pull the heavy curtains. “Damn it.”
“No one can watch you, unless they are standing in the fields or in the forest,” he said as he followed her gaze.
“That’s not very reassuring.”
He immediately rose and went to close the draperies. When he turned to face her, he focused an intense gaze on her face. “Cheryl, I promise I will do my best to protect you but you have to promise you will be very careful.”
How sweet of him to worry about her. She stared at him, a hint of a smile on her lips and hoped he wouldn’t be vexed by the surprise she couldn’t suppress. Her French count was simply gorgeous, his mussed hair falling on his forehead from raking his fingers too often through the golden brown strands. Since when had he become her count or her anything?
“Thank you. I’ll be careful. I have a goal now, much more important than publishing an article to graduate.”
Sadness simmered in her heart. Doc would not be there to hand her the Ph.D. diploma. To think about it, she might not even attend Commencement Day for fear of dissolving into tears. She sucked in a deep breath and resolutely narrowed her eyes on François. “You’re going to help me in the search for the statue. You’re going to share everything you know with me.” He’d better do it or else…she’d move heaven and earth on her own until she found the damn statue.
“I knew you would be trouble. I knew it the minute I saw you.” An amused smile played on François’ lips. “But don’t worry I will help you. We both want to find the statue. And it’s vital to be alert and careful and to avoid unnecessary risks. Really, Cheryl, we should consider everyone interested in the statue to be a prospective suspect.”
“You mean everyone’s guilty until proven innocent?” Pursing her lips, she shook her head. “We can’t do that. For instance, the grad students who are here to work on the plans of the chapel’s reconstruction are probably very intrigued by the missing statue. We can’t consider them to be prospective murderers, can we?”
He exhaled and averted his eyes to the window, hesitating. “I wouldn’t go that far…although… I don’t know, Cheryl. Maybe we should be suspicious, even of them.”
“I thought that they came well recommended, that you knew them or their references.” She frowned, wondering if he’d be careless enough to admit complete strangers on the premises of his estate.
“The students send their applications and references to an organization in charge of the restoration of historical French landmarks. This organization does the first screening and forwards the application and preference of the candidates to the owners of various chateaux.”
“I see.” Cheryl fiddled with the mouse of the laptop, sensing trouble. “This means that you don’t really know the students first hand.”
“Let’s see. I visited Juan-Pablo Rodriguez’s professor several times in Madrid, the way I visited Professor Howard. Juan-Pablo’s application was signed by his professor. Actually, Juan-Pablo is Don Rodriguez, a nobleman in his country.”
Another aristocrat. As if she didn’t have enough blueblood to watch for with François. “So we can trust this guy’s credentials?”
“I would assume yes. Adriaan Van Deem is from Amsterdam. I didn’t know him or his mentor but he was recommended by Edith.”
“By who?”
“Edith Blaise. A friend and lawyer. Mostly a friend of my mother.”
“Got it.” The woman was probably his latest girlfriend or ex-girlfriend. Cheryl scrunched her nose. Not a great reference. If she was in François’ shoes, she wouldn’t trust a man recommended by a girlfriend. Cheryl glanced at his proud profile. François was way too noble and generous. She didn’t know if her down-to-earth side would consider that a quality or a weakness.
As far as Adriaan was concerned, Cheryl’s balance leaned toward suspicious, to be kept under surveillance. “What about the German student?”
“Karl Boderman came with good recommendations. But I didn’t personally know his references.”
“Great. In other words, we shouldn’t trust him blindly.”
“Two more students are due to arrive tomorrow. One from Italy, Roberto Cantari and one a British citizen of Chinese descent.”
Cheryl’s head spun toward François at the word Chinese, as Doc’s mumbled words echoed in her mind. A Malaysian student. “Are Malaysians of Chinese descent?”
“Thirty percent of Malaysia’s population is. Why?”
“Because Doc went to lunch to a Chinese restaurant with a Malaysian student when he felt sick.”
“Let’s not rush to conclusions. Was the student the one who called the ambulance and took him to the hospital?”
“I don’t know who helped him at the restaurant. The police will probably find out.” She had a bad feeling about the Malaysian student. Women’s intuition. How could she explain it to François? He’d laugh in her face. “You’re right. We shouldn’t speculate yet.” She averted her eyes, determined to continue her private investigation on her own.
“Cheryl,” François said in a tone revealing he wasn’t duped by her too fast and too easy capitulation to his suggestions. “Is there anything else you can share with me? I mean anything at all that triggers your suspicions?”
She bit her lips, debating whether to tell him about the intruder she caught coming from Doc’s office.
“Come on, Cheryl. We are a team. Friends. Remember?” He ran a soothing hand over her hair, cupped her chin and turned her face toward him. His fingers burned and her heart stumbled to her toes.
Friends? Oh dear. Was the light stroke of his thumb on her jaw a friendly gesture? Were the tightening and dryness of her throat at his touch normal friendly reactions? She stole a glance at his eyes and he captured her gaze, his breath fanning her lips.
“No,” she whispered as she sighed and squirmed to disengage herself. The last thing she needed now was an affair with a self-admitted womanizer she’d seen in action three years ago in Boston.
Doc had warned her enough against people who didn’t believe in commitment. Once he confided his own wife took off years ago. And then he never opened the subject again.
A deep scowl formed on François’ forehead. He let her go, straightened and paced to the opposite side of the room. With a sidelong glance, she followed his movements and wet her lips. Where had she faulted? She thought she’d maintained their discussion strictly professionally. How had it shifted to that out-of-control, dangerously sweet moment?
His arms crossed, he leaned against the wall. “Well, do you have any more information to share?” he asked his voice suddenly crisp, his back stiffly pressed against the wall.
“Okay, the information…” She almost stuttered, trying to clear her mind and focus on something other than his lips. “I took Doc’s laptop and spent sometime in the grads’ studio and then just as I was leaving I saw someone coming out of Doc’s office.”
“Is it so strange for other students to have a key to Professor Howard’s office? You obviously had a key.”
“He trusted me. No one—absolutely no
one—but me and security have a spare key to his office. Besides, I didn’t recognize that man. He lowered his head and scurried away the minute he spotted me at the end of the hallway.”
François took two steps forward, his eyes narrowed. “Did he see you?”
“As much as I saw him. Not enough to make out the features.”
“But enough to see his general appearance.”
“I guess.” With his continuous questioning, François had managed to worry her again. Maybe it was better. Being anxious would make her forget she came close to falling into her host’s arms. Falling for François was as hazardous to her heart’s safety as the intruder who saw her in Boston but had vanished at the moment.
“Was he tall or short?”
“Short,” she said without hesitation. “Shorter than me.”
“Hair?”
“Dark. I’d say black.”
“Can you remember anything about his clothing?”
“Gee, you’d make a mighty fine FBI investigator.”
“We are in France here.” He shrugged and continued with the thread of his questions. “So what’s your answer?”
“He was neatly dressed. No blue jeans or sweatpants like most of the students. A well pressed pair of pants and a white button-down shirt.”
“See, you had one quick look and you are able to describe him. He probably saw as much about you. Tall, pretty, brunette lady.”
“I don’t think he’d use pretty in this situation. He’d be more likely to think easy to catch and knock out.” She laughed, a nervous giggle that broke the tension in the room.
François nodded. “Unfortunately true.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s already one in the morning but we’ve covered a lot. I’d better leave and let you sleep.” His gaze shifted to the windows and he resolutely strode toward the heavy draperies. “Do me a favor. Switch off the lights for a moment and don’t turn them on until I tell you.”
She understood he wanted to peek outside. “Can you see in this darkness?”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 78