Adriaan and Roberto had made the evening a blast with their jokes and outrageous flirting. Roberto had twirled her around on the dance floor until her feet hurt and Adriaan had tried to make her drink a third glass of wine without success, the little jump drive in her purse a constant reminder to keep a cool head. Even Luc had acted more like an attracted suitor than a bodyguard.
“I’m glad you enjoyed your evening.” From the frown knitting his forehand, she could swear he was anything but glad.
“Yes, it was fun.” She wouldn’t give him any details. The truth was she kept wishing François was there, holding her, dancing with her, kissing her. “But now this…”
She shivered, feeling violated. Someone had entered her room, read her papers. Maybe touched her clothes. She walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer.
“Do you hide money between your clothes?”
“Only my camera.” She tugged at the second drawer and carefully examined the neat arrangement of bikinis, bras and socks. Plunging her hand through, she drew out her camera and exhaled with relief. “At least he hasn’t touched my clothes.”
“Check the memory card.”
She swiftly opened the compartment and gasped, the blood draining from her face. “Empty. He took it.” She waved the digital camera with a trembling hand. “He took my pictures,” she said unable to believe the obvious.
François jumped down from the desk and came toward her. “Don’t panic. If you are worried about losing the pictures of the chapel site, I may have the same on my camera.”
“You don’t understand. It’s not the pictures themselves. I’ve already copied them on the laptop and on my flash drive.” She threw the camera back inside the drawer and stared at the drawer—at her most intimate clothes. They’d been groped by a stranger, maybe a murderer. She rubbed her throat, about to spew. “He touched my…my underwear.” Tears streaming down her face, she dug both hands inside the drawer and hurled its content on the floor.
François wanted to hug her, soothe her pain and reassure her, but would she accept a man’s touch right now? He stood next to her and counted on soft words to comfort her. “Cheryl, don’t let that disturb you. You’ve been through worse. You are safe.”
“I know. I wasn’t beaten like Bernard or poisoned like Doc.” She sniffled and considered the lingerie scattered on the floor. With the tip of her foot, she shoved it in a pile. “I’ll wash them. But I don’t think I’d be able to wear them again. What a mess.” She opened the lowest drawer of the dresser where she kept a few plastic bags and grabbed one. “Can you hold it open, please?” She collected her clothes from the floor and stowed them in the bag François held open. “Done.” She looked at her hands and wiped them against her jeans.
“Throw everything out. Tomorrow, ask Simone to dispose of them. I’ll take you to town to buy whatever you want.”
“Thank you, François.” Her gaze collided with his. She seemed to calm down although her eyes still brimmed with tears. Fear and longing warred in their depths. He took a step forward and enclosed her in his arms. She rested her forehead on his shoulder.
He held her close, trying to infuse her with his calm and strength, while keeping a tight control on his lust. Difficult. When her nipples pressed hard against his naked chest, when his blood migrated south in a hot wave and his eager body wanted to share its own brand of comfort.
“I’m sorry, chérie. This is my fault, because of the statue.”
She tilted her head and offered him a weak smile. It was the invitation he was waiting for.
He trailed little kisses along her cheek and her jaw. The flowery scent of her perfume invaded his brain and numbed it, erasing all thoughts from his mind. He wanted her so much. His lips roamed over her exposed throat and came up to rest next to her lips.
“It wasn’t…your fault,” she said with a soft sigh that sounded like a moan.
He cradled her face in his palms and whispered against her lips, “You’re more important than a missing statue. I won’t leave you again.” He captured her lips and parted them, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She tasted of sweet wine and chocolate, an aphrodisiac potion for his starved senses.
She linked her fingers around his neck and returned his kisses with eagerness. Her fingers raked the hair at his nape and little moans escaped her. She freed her mouth. “François. Oh François.”
There was a world of meanings in her sighs.
“I want you, chérie. Badly.” He peered into her eyes expectantly.
“I want you too.”
Without hesitation, he carried her in his arms and lowered her onto the middle of her bed. As he crossed the room with Cheryl snuggling in his arms, his gaze fell on her closet and the gap in the inner wall leading to his room. “Oh mon Dieu, the secret door.” He froze in his tracks.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He let her slide to the floor, the sight of the open wall dousing his lust and conjuring crazy thoughts. There was a similar door between his room and Edith’s. And Cheryl insisted she’d locked the glass door before leaving. What if Edith…
No way. She wouldn’t have come through his room to peruse Cheryl’s papers and drawers only to annoy a detested rival. Would she?
What would Edith do with a digital memory camera card containing archeological pictures of stones and ruins? Still he scowled at the closet. “I need to check something. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He passed through the secret door and strode to the opposite wall in his room. He raised the tapestry of the unicorn covering the other secret door. The lock was in place exactly as he left it when he locked the communicating door to Edith’s room after dinner. He exhaled with relief. It couldn’t be Edith. It must have been someone who came in from outside. On his way back to Cheryl’s room, he paused in front of his night-table and smiled wickedly. He pulled out a drawer and grabbed a foil packet. He re-entered her room through the secret door, closed it and locked it behind him.
“Where were we, chérie?” He opened his arms wide to her, his fingers carefully hiding his precious package.
With a snort, she crossed her arms on her chest. “Now what was all that about? Care to explain?”
“I guess I spoiled the mood?”
“For the moment.” She sat in the middle of the bed, legs crossed under her.
He’d better explain things to her. “For a crazy moment I thought it could be Edith going through your things, just to annoy you.” He chuckled. “You’re not her favorite person right now.”
Cheryl lifted her chin in a most regal hitch. “The feeling is mutual. I can’t wait for her to leave. And I, too, thought she was capable of breaking into my room. But I don’t see how she could have done it.”
“There is a secret door between her room and mine.”
“Oh my. The counts of Valroux like to indulge themselves. Is that how it happened in the previous centuries? A mistress on the right and another on the left?” Her clipped tone suggested he’d better heed her warning—or her accusation.
“Cheryl, please let’s not digress into my ancestors’ tastes. Edith could have come into your room through two secret doors. But she didn’t. Because I locked the one connected to her room right after we had dinner.”
“Why? She wanted to visit you?” Cheryl’s lips twitched into a sarcastic smile.
“Yes, and I didn’t want her to.” He wasn’t going to allow Cheryl’s imagination to play useless games that would hurt both of them in the long run. “So I locked the secret door from my side.”
“I see. How about coming from the hallway?”
“Your door was locked, right? Edith wouldn’t try to break in, with Bernard and his bodyguard a few doors farther down the hall. That is if she even knew how to pick a lock. Which brings us back to the theory of an intruder breaking in from your balcony.”
Cheryl shrugged. “Adriaan and Roberto were with me and Luc. All the time. Juan-Pablo left for a meeting in town before us. That leaves Karl
and Chuck. The usual suspects.”
“You don’t like Karl. I think you’re too prejudiced.”
“He always seems to sneak up on me. I wonder why?”
“But he has never tried to question you.” He wouldn’t tell her that Karl suspected her of dishonest intentions as much as she did him. “That reminds me. We’d better call the police and our FBI agent.” He walked to the night-table and dialed the number he knew by heart now. After explaining the new development to the FBI agent, he focused an assessing gaze on her.
“What did the FBI agent say?”
“He said he’ll hold me responsible for your safety. I must not leave your side for a second. I wasn’t planning to, anyway.” He sat on the edge of the bed.
She backed up. “You don’t have to take him literally. Nothing else is going to happen tonight. You can go back to your room,” she ordered him with a firm tone.
He arched an eyebrow, shook his head and lay down on the bed, surreptitiously hiding the foil packet in his hand under the pillow. “I’m not moving from here. Make yourself comfortable. Feel free to undress, wear your nightgown or pajamas.” Supporting his head on his flexed arm, he smiled broadly. “Unless you sleep without constricting clothes as I usually do.”
She jerked her head toward him. “You…have some nerve. Get out of my bed and go play your sexy games with the woman next door.”
“Cheryl, I’m not going to leave your side tonight or tomorrow or after that. Get used to it.”
“Well, I need my bed to sleep.”
“It’s a huge bed. I’ll just use this edge. You can stay as far away as you want.” Too bad the romantic moment they’d shared a short while ago was lost.
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.” He struggled to hide a victorious smile when her gaze assessed the bed, measuring its width.
“Well in that case, go get your own cover. We’re not sharing a cover.”
“I don’t need one.” He rubbed his hand over his chest and gave her a devilish grin. “I don’t like covers.”
She waggled her finger at him. “And don’t you dare undress more.”
He burst out laughing. “I promise I won’t, unless you ask me to.”
Breathing out an exasperated sigh, she played with a lock of her hair and kept twirling it around her finger. “Seriously, you’re planning to spend the night here, with me?”
There was so much wonder in her widened eyes, so much sweetness in her puckered mouth, he instantly sobered. “I would love to spend the night with you, chérie.” He stretched his arm, extending his hand to her. “Come. I’ll keep you warm and secure.”
Cheryl studied his open palm. It was strong and elegant, with long fingers. A hand that could take but promised to give.
She needed stability and love. Could he give her that too?
He could but he probably wouldn’t because he didn’t believe in love and commitment. He used secret doors like his ancestors.
Not true in her case. He hadn’t crossed the one on her side until she’d opened the door. She trailed the deep lines in his palm, hesitating. He could give her passion and pleasure and make her feel special. For a few hours. Her internal debate escalated and her pulse raced.
He waited, his gaze following the little dance of her fingertip. She wanted to feel special to him. She wanted his passion.
She raised her eyes and smiled.
He smiled back, wrapped his hand around her finger and tugged her toward him. Her smile broadened. She wanted that man so much. She slid across the bedcover and lay on top of him, her breasts peaking against his naked chest.
His arms enclosed her and pressed her head down to meet his kiss. She parted her lips and welcomed his tongue for an intimate ballet with hers. He tasted of wine, power and man. Her man now. He cupped her buttock and pulled her against his body. She was hot, on fire, panting.
Snatching her mouth away, she moaned and threw her head backward to gulp air. He slid his hand up her spine and under her shirt and squeezed it between their bodies to close over her breast. As he gently kneaded, shivers of pleasure raced across her skin. “Too hot.”
“I can help.” He rose to a sitting position, pulling her onto his lap. “You’re overdressed.” He peeled her shirt away, unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms. He licked one nipple, blew air on it and chuckled. “Better?”
She laughed and wriggled. “Stop that. It tickles.”
“Let’s try something else.” He circled the rounded little pebble with his tongue and lapped at it while fondling the other.
“Is that acceptable?” he whispered without interrupting his tender ministrations.
More than acceptable. Soothing, exciting, divine. She could spend hours sitting in his lap, enjoying the pleasure provided by his hands and lips. She moaned and raked her fingers through his hair, curling the strands at his nape.
Too soon he released her and raised his head. He caressed her cheek, skating down her throat and skimmed her breasts with a tantalizing feather-like touch.
“You haven’t answered. Still too hot? It must be your jeans.” He grinned wickedly.
“No. Yes.” She didn’t want him to stop the delicious ache he inflicted on her sensitive nipples. But he pushed her back and she flopped down on the bed. In one swift movement he slid down her pants and bikinis.
He looked at her with a fiery gaze that made her burn and blush. “You are so beautiful.”
Delighted, she shivered at the anticipated pleasure of being in his arms soon. Skin to skin.
“Thank you. But it’s not fair.” She scrambled up and tilted her head. “You can’t be dressed while I’m naked.”
“You call this dressed?” He looked down at the silk boxers that molded his hard and ready erection.
“You can see all of me,” she said as she inserted her fingers under the elastic band of his boxers.
“I like all of you.” He cupped her breasts and seemed to weigh them in his hands. She’d never been so conscious about their being size D until now. “Beautiful. Perfect.” She searched for an answer but her brain was too fuzzy, her throat too dry. His hands glided down, sculpting her body and he voiced his expert opinion. “Tiny waist, round hips. A stunning figure. And what a pair of legs.”
“Oh.” Her fingers froze inside his boxers as his hands wrapped around her thighs and crawled toward the apex in between. “No, your boxers first.” She slid off his lap and onto the cover and crossed her legs when his hand cradled her, forbidding her to move further away. She threw her head back, closed her eyes and focused on the feel of his hands, the left kneading her breast and the right one playing a mad dance in her wet folds.
“My boxers? You’re right. They have to go. Like you I’m too hot in my clothes.” He raised his hips. “Pull them, chérie. My hands are busy.” As if she didn’t know that. As if she didn’t feel those expert hands with every fiber of her body.
With one shove she pulled his boxers down while he wriggled to help. She threw them on the floor and leaned forward, contemplating his massive, throbbing manhood. She curled shaky fingers around it. Her gaze flicked to his fingers that delved a little deeper in her folds and she matched his tempo, stroking him until his eyes darkened and his groan echoed her moans.
He lifted her hand away from him. “Stop, chérie. Let me take care of you first.” He lowered her to the bed, flipped away the bedspread and withdrew a foil packet from under her pillow. Her pillow? “But when did you—”
He clamped his mouth on hers while sheathing himself.
Oh well. Who cares? As long as she was in his arms. She laced her fingers around his nape and returned his kiss, wondering how she’d been living without kisses for so long—François’ kisses.
But he freed her mouth and trailed his lips down her throat, nipped at the sensitive flesh and then lingered on her breast, twirling his tongue around the hardened nipple and sucking. “The other now,” she ordered playfully as she raked her fingertips along his spine a
nd cradled his buttocks, reveling in the feel of him stretched alongside her.
His lips traveled south, licked at her belly and drew a wet line to her pubic hair. His knuckles grazed the soft flesh between her thighs but he raised his head to silently question her. She shivered and her jaw slackened. His smile promised her a world of pleasure. She sighed and spread her legs, inviting him. He opened her folds with his fingers and lowered his mouth against her.
She wriggled and moaned and dug her nails in his shoulder. She spread her legs wider and tilted herself up. Wanting more but… “François. Oh François.” It was more than she could bear. The wild move of his lips inside her. The gliding of his finger in and out. The tip of his tongue pressing against her swollen flesh.
“Fran…çois,” she whispered, her voice husky. Her pelvic muscles flexed around his fingers. Her thighs tightened. “Please.” Please stop. No don’t stop. Don’t…
He increased the pace of his caresses, his finger and tongue assaulting her pleasure bud. She was close to losing her mind. She was too hot. Too wet. Too…
She screamed and jerked up and shuddered.
He slowly eased away and propped himself up on the bed. He caressed her cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. When she opened her eyes, she saw his smile, a tender smile she’d never seen before. “You are wonderful, ma chérie.”
“And you are superb. My turn to give you pleasure.”
He chuckled. “Trust me I’m more than ready. If I don’t have you now, I’m going to explode.”
His body sleek with perspiration, he stretched on top of her and captured her mouth. She tasted her juice and her scent in his mouth.
Oh Francois, I think I have fallen in love with you. What am I going to do now?
He didn’t allow her to wallow in thoughts. He slid inside her and moved slowly at first, then faster, pressing inside her burning core. The need and ache within her came back, escalating.
Was she insatiable?
Her body ready to combust again, she wrapped her legs around him and rocked with him. He increased the rhythm of his thrusts, covered her breast with his hand, driving her wild with want. She matched his tempo, shuddered again and again and almost stopped breathing. A rainbow of colors arched behind her closed eyes and exploded in a sparkling rain of stars as she climaxed. He convulsed on top of her and squeezed her tightly against him.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 88