“Here look at that. The file for June 10. Two weeks before his fateful meeting Professor Howard received a phone call from a man called Lan Veer. The FBI agent gave us the name of Lee Vo for the man wanted in Amsterdam. Same initials. I wonder if it’s the same person.”
“It’s too early to make assumptions.”
“Doc refused to meet this Lan Veer. He wrote, No time.”
“Keep on going.”
“Wait here is an e-mail Doc received from an Italian professor from the University of Milan. Lan Veer may be the same man who contacted me a year ago. He was interested in doing a thesis about the statue of Lourdes and its reproductions. Unfortunately I told him at the time that you were the expert. I think I let slip during our conversation that the old count Valroux called me years ago about the statue and that I referred him to you.”
“Sacré Dieu.” François leaned forward for a second read of the e-mail. “I wasn’t aware that my father called this Italian professor.”
“And your father called Doc later?”
“No, my father was already too sick.” Leaning against the back of his chair, François tried to remember every word exchanged with his father about the statue. “He asked me to go and see Professor Howard. We discussed the statue at length three years ago.”
“I wonder why Doc changed his mind and met this Malaysian student.”
“Keep scrolling through this file.”
“Okay, here’s another e-mail from the Italian professor telling Doc about the theft of the statue of Amsterdam. Doc noted: It may be the man they are looking for. I’ll find out. Oh my God.” Cheryl cringed, her shoulders caving as she bent forward.
“I understand from this that Professor Howard suspected this Malaysian student to be the dangerous Lan Veer and he wanted to check him out,” François suggested.
“Doc’s next e-mail to his Italian colleague says, Our man called again, saying he wants to work on his Ph.D. I’ll meet him in a safe public place and I’ll try to find out what he’s after.” She turned her head toward François, her eyes a pool of sadness and regret.
He wished he could comfort her, take her in his arms and whisper soothing words. But he couldn’t. Not now when they were sitting alone in his office and temptation lurked, ready to undo his best resolutions. “Not so safe.” He rubbed his chin pensively. “During their meeting, the man must have realized Professor Howard knew about him and could identify him.”
“So, that’s why Professor Howard was killed.”
“You can’t assume things,” he said as gently as he could. “It’s the police and the FBI’s job.”
“I can feel it. Here.” She tapped on her heart and exhaled deeply. “And he didn’t tell me anything. Probably to protect me. Dear Doc.”
“He was right.”
“I could have stopped him from going to this meeting. I could have stopped him from being killed. I should have… ” She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, and opened wide eyes—beautiful eyes that undermined his best resolutions to keep his fingers clasped together and his hands locked between his knees.
“Chérie, don’t torture yourself.” Talk about resolutions. He’d just called her darling. To complicate the situation even more, he rubbed her neck. Just a soothing massage to relax her.
She didn’t protest. Closing her eyes, she leaned back into his palm. “That feels so good.” She gathered her hair on the side to give him a better access.
He stiffened, studied the pale satiny flesh, hesitated and pressed his lips below the hairline, trailing feather kisses all the way to her ear, inhaling her familiar sweet scent. She trembled. He didn’t know if it was from exhaustion, fear or…desire? But he would soon find out.
Pushing his chair out, he stood and pulled her up with him. He turned her to face him and cupped her cheeks in his palms. The smart, feisty and savvy Cheryl seemed to have lost her vivacity, the look in her eyes gone from distant to faraway. He wanted to reassure her, kiss her and tangle with her in passion.
“Cheryl,” he whispered as he drew her closer. “I can make you feel better.”
“Better? How?” she asked, her voice and her breath so soft, a fraction away from his lips.
“Let me show you.” He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip.
“Nice.” Without pulling back, she closed her eyes. As if she evaluated the benefits of his ministrations, she licked both her lips and his thumb in an erotic dance of her tongue.
“Even nicer.” His mouth replaced his thumb and his lips gently rubbed hers. Her head tilted backward welcoming the soft caress and her moan sent every cell in his body into overdrive. His blood rushed downward, his groin hardened and his brain reeled, all because of one feather-like touch and her hardly audible response. He could give her more. His mouth closed on hers and his tongue slid between her parted lips.
François’ kiss steadily eroded Cheryl’s ability to think. She hooked her hands around his neck and he responded by wrapping his arms around her waist.
She was softness molded to his hardness, her breasts sensitized by his pecs, the hardest hard-on she had ever felt pressing against her belly, while his tongue whirled a crazy dance in her mouth, licking her palate, tasting her tongue. She could hardly breathe. Couldn’t think or even moan but she reveled in his magnificent body and clung to him.
No need to think now. Just feel him, feel his raw masculinity. You’ll think tomorrow. She inhaled his clean musky scent, ran her fingers through the wavy hair at his nape and clasped her legs together, aware of her arousal and the warm wetness burning between her thighs.
When his hand crawled under her shirt and covered her breast, she snatched her mouth away and arched back. His fingers massaged, kneaded and fondled her pebbled nipples. Her hand wrapped over his, urging for more of his suave French seduction, a reproduction of her wild fantasies. But her knees buckled and he scooped her up.
“Let’s go to my room.” His eyes darkened with desire, he gave her a wicked smile. “We will continue there.”
“Continue? In your room?” she repeated, her fuzzy mind having trouble to grasp the simple words.
“Chérie, I want to make love to you in a comfortable bed.”
She swallowed. “In your room?”
He nuzzled her ear and sent a frisson of desire in her belly. “Yes, my room. The one next to yours.”
Your room is on his right and Mademoiselle Edith’s is on his left. The little maid’s words chimed in Cheryl’s ears and doused the heat of the moment. How could she have forgotten about that convenient arrangement?
One on the right and one on the left. Not on your life, Count de Valroux. “Put me down,” she ordered, her voice chilly.
“Cheryl, what happened?”
“Put me down.” She pushed at his chest with her fists. “I’m not Edith, François.”
“What…” He froze and let her slide to the floor. “Sacrebleu. Of course, you’re not… Whatever made you think of Edith now?”
“Better now than afterwards. When it’s too late.”
“Cheryl, I never compared you to anyone.”
“You don’t have to, but her room is next to yours.” She tipped her head, throwing him a sarcastic glance.
“It’s just the room that Bernard prepared for her, not a room I gave her.” He raised his hands in exasperation. “She’s my mother’s friend.”
“Whatever.” Cheryl shrugged and rearranged her blouse, sweeping her hand over her chest to banish the feel of his touch.
“Cheryl.” François touched her shoulder but she squirmed away without answering.
She’d gladly welcomed his comforting flirtation until she realized it was going too far too soon. Her room on the right, his official mistress’s on the left. Too much.
“I’m vulnerable now because of my mentor’s death. Kindly avoid taking advantage.”
“How can you think I would ever take advantage of you?” He walked to the door separating the library from his office and leaned a
gainst the wall, crossing his arms. He scanned her face. “I was just trying to cheer you up, show you I care about what you are going through.”
“You don’t need to. I had a moment of weakness but it’s gone now.” Ignoring François’ scorching gaze, she looked at the monitor screen, seeking strength from her mentor’s files, Doc’s last gift to her.
Her invaluable files should be protected. She searched her purse for the extra jump drives she’d brought and made another copy of Doc’s files—just in case. When she switched off the computer and turned around, both drives in her hands, François, still rooted in place continued to observe her, his expression somber and impenetrable. He hadn’t protested much about his relationship with Edith. Would she have let him convince her and carry her to his room?
Be real. The aristocratic Frenchman was way out of her league. Tonight, he’d have done an excellent job of comforting her and tomorrow she’d bite her nails to the root when he went back to Edith. Being his mother’s friend hadn’t prevented Edith from falling into his arms as most women did, if Cheryl was to believe the Harvard gossip about him. She squelched the little tremors lingering in her belly and stole a look at him. Honestly, she believed every piece of gossip about the playboy count.
Had she hurt his feelings with her tough rebuttal? Probably his pride.
“François, I appreciate what you were… No, I mean I don’t… I’m not used to… Darn.” She’d made a mess out of her explanation.
His frown relaxed and a smile played on his lips. “I’m glad you appreciate… I mean you don’t resent my effort to help you relax. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Yes. I appreciate… I mean I don’t resent you.” She’d better shut her mouth before saying the wrong thing—or the right one, considering the way her heart still fluttered from his touch.
“Good. Now may I have one of the two jump drives? I will lock it in a safe place.” He extended an open palm.
She gave him the flash drive. “Good idea. We may have to browse through it again. I want to make sure I haven’t overlooked anything.”
“You’re absolutely right. We’ll need to study the files again,” he said with a serious tone as if he’d already forgotten their torrid exchange of kisses.
Why couldn’t she do the same?
Think of Edith. That should help. Jealous?
Never.
François was a man who could have all the women he wanted and would never let a woman possess him. She’d better engrave that thought on her mind and heart and stop fantasizing about him.
She walked through his office. He turned off the lights and locked the doors behind them. In the hallway, she yawned and shivered. “It’s getting cold here. I’m going to bed.”
“I’m going to bed too. “He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and gave her a wicked grin. “I can warm you and I promise you’ll feel hot.”
“François!”
He burst out laughing. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you upstairs, give you a brotherly hug and leave you to your chaste bed.”
The thought of his brotherly hug and her chaste bed sent a high-voltage surge zapping to her belly. Her cheeks felt instantly too warm. She accelerated her pace up the stairs. His chuckling threatened to undo her again. As she reached her door, she murmured a quick good-night and placed her hand on the knob.
He held her shoulder and turned her toward him. “Still friends?” he asked.
Amazing how he wanted to befriend her and how he did everything to break the budding friendship, from kissing her to ignoring her during their supposed team work. She raised an eyebrow, assessed his innocent gaze and nodded. She’d play his game until further notice. He kissed her on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, Cheryl.”
“You too.” She entered her room and locked the door behind her.
How long would it take him to break the friendship pact this time?
François heard the lock and frowned. Merde, Cheryl didn’t trust him. Although, it was better that she started applying some safety measures to protect herself.
Which maid was responsible for interrupting his sweet seduction? He should have a talk with Bernard about enforcing the no-gossip rules in the chateau. On second thought, he wouldn’t. Bernard was inflexible and would fire the inadequate servant on the spot. François knew the background of his staff. Each of the three maids employed at the chateau supported an ailing parent or a fatherless child. He wouldn’t have a poor woman ousted just because her gossip had thwarted his latest flirtation.
After a few seconds hesitation, François passed his door and continued to the one on the other side to enter Edith’s room.
The room was as elegantly decorated as the others. A huge wall tapestry hid a secret door that led to his room. A convenient arrangement for the unfaithful counts de Valroux. François loved beautiful women as much as his ancestors but in his case there was no wife to upset or hurt with the cheating arrangement.
And there would never be if he had his way.
He went to the grand armoire and opened it. Feminine clothes hung there, a frilly nightgown, a black dinner outfit and a sophisticated evening dress that he remembered too well on Edith. It revealed more than concealed and she’d let him explore every apparent or hidden slit. He snorted with disgust at himself. How could he have been attracted to the manipulative woman whose obvious agenda was to ensnare a titled and rich husband?
Turning around to leave, he stared at the tapestry. A similar door existed in Cheryl’s room, discretely hidden in her closet. He promised himself he’d never use it. A secret door didn’t agree with Cheryl’s honesty and directness. He visualized her delicate profile and beguiling mouth. The next time he kissed her he didn’t want the image of another woman looming in the background.
Tomorrow he’d tell Bernard to remove Edith’s clothes from this guestroom. He’d already told her he wasn’t interested in a relationship but the woman didn’t seem to take no for an answer.
As he opened the door to leave and switched off the light, the brightness of a full moon filled the room. He walked to the window and gazed at the fields, searching for the man he glimpsed from his office a few hours earlier. A twinkling light played on and off among the darkness of wild bushes. Yes, the man was still there. Was he watching Cheryl’s room?
François gritted his teeth, determined not to let anyone harm his pretty consultant. He left the guestroom and padded down the hallway and the stairs. He stopped in his office to collect his gun, retreated to the kitchen and left the chateau through the kitchen door, then locked it as quietly as possible. It wouldn’t do to alert Cheryl and see her coming down like a fury claiming he ignored her and their team’s rules.
But how could he tug her along when he held a gun in his pocket and was determined to use it if necessary to drag information out of a prospective killer? Anyway, the house was quiet and Cheryl must be asleep by now. François resolutely strode toward the bushes where he saw the light, halting from time to time to listen. The rustling of the breeze and the far-away howl of a dog interrupted the dark silence of the night.
At some point he thought he heard a metallic click. A cigarette lighter flicking or a gun being loaded? He fingered the handgun in his pocket. Bending low, he proceeded in the direction of the noise, in a big curve away from the chateau. The silence resumed, laden with mystery. Who was the prowler keeping watch?
Suddenly, François stiffened at the sound of rambling steps behind him. He spun around and peered through the darkness. Again a thudding echoed ahead of him. Were there two people hiding in the fields?
Now he couldn’t mistake the sound of someone running toward the chateau, toward the South Tower. He followed, his gun clutched in his hand and heard a door open and close. The mysterious predator disappeared.
Inside the South Tower.
Should he go and confront the five graduate students? What would he gain in doing so? Let them think he’d lost track of the stalker for the time being. Tomorrow morning he’d call
the police and request an armed security guard to inspect the area at night.
Tucking his gun into his pocket, he walked back down the path that led to the kitchen door. As he strode toward the wall of the chateau, a shadow projected on the door. He instantly pulled his gun and froze at the crystalline laughter.
“You’re not going to shoot me. Are you?” Cheryl stepped away from the wall and moved to block the door entrance, her arms crossed on her chest. He approached her, biting back a curse. Couldn’t she for once stop running in front of danger?
Her sharp angry breath fanned his face. She was beautiful standing in the moonlight in her leggings and sports bra like an offended Amazon warrior. His blood raced but it wasn’t the right time and place to take her in his arms.
“Cheryl, what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Listen—”
“Let me guess. You came out here to protect me from a big bad wolf. Right?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Right. And you, what are you doing outside at this hour?”
“The same thing. I’m protecting your back.”
“Protecting my back?”
“Of course. You were running blindly ahead without watching what was happening behind you. But this is the last time I’ll do it. From now on you’re on your own and I’m doing my own thing.”
“Cheryl, I thought you were asleep. We are still working together as friends, a team—”
“Stop here Monsieur le Comte. I don’t buy that team thing anymore. Friends when it suits you, when you want information or when you feel like kissing me. No more,” she said as she entered the kitchen.
“I feel like kissing you right now.” Word of honor, all he wanted was to taste her luscious lips so expert at spitting irate words at him.
“That’s too bad.” She tilted her chin up. “If you can’t restrain yourself, run to Edith.”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 82