Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  Cheryl slowly came down from her cloud nine. François’ head nestled in the curve of her shoulder. If it was up to her, she’d keep her glorious lover lying on top of her for as long as she could. She remained still, afraid to move and disrupt her newly found paradise.

  She smiled, happy for the first time in years.

  For the first time since her parents died. Yeah but they were gone and Doc too. And maybe soon François would leave her.

  Of course, he’d leave her. Sooner or later he left all his girlfriends—his mistresses or maîtresses as they called them in France. She was his most recent one.

  Tears welled in her eyes and slowly rolled down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around François’ back and gripped him firmly against her.

  “Hmm, that feels so good.” François kissed her soundly on the lips and immediately jerked his head up. “What happened, chérie? Did I hurt you?” He wiped her cheek with a fingertip and tried to roll away from her.

  “Don’t move, please.”

  “I don’t want to. But tell me why you’re crying.” Mon Dieu, what a lout he’d been, sleeping with her when he was just supposed to protect her.

  “Bad thoughts at the wrong time. My parents, Doc. You know. Sometimes bad thoughts scare me. The future, even the present.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “And you.”

  He didn’t do commitment and fidelity. He couldn’t say convincing words. “Don’t be afraid, chérie. I’m here with you.”

  But he knew making love to her had been a mistake. A beautiful, unforgettable moment to treasure. Yet, he would never take advantage of her again. Even if it killed him to resist temptation. “I stayed with you precisely because I don’t want any harm to come to you. And I don’t want you to be afraid.”

  Try being sprawled naked and hot on top of the woman you’re attracted to and promise to be chaste. What a joke. Maybe Bernard’s saints should help him be as good as a monk.

  “I see. You stayed here to protect me. You’re very generous, François. Very noble.” She averted her eyes and reached for a robe to cover herself. “Thank you so much. I’ll be fine.” Her icy tone sliced through him. She turned her head away and buried her face in her pillow.

  She was upset. But he had no choice.

  Her security was his number one goal from now on. He’d take up residence in her room until they solved their problem. Just to protect her. Tonight and every night.

  He eased away but stayed in her bed as far as possible, watching her while she slept peacefully, her breathing soft and regular.

  Why was he so attracted to her?

  It was unprecedented, unexpected and maddening. Merde, it was even scary.

  Chapter 11

  “François?” Cheryl purred too tired and too languid after a long and luscious night to face the rays of sunlight filtering through the junction of the curtains.

  Was he still asleep? Sprawled across her bed, she extended her arm and patted the space on her right. It was empty. She squirmed and turned. With effort she lifted her head and surveyed the room. Empty. François was gone. She wrinkled her sheet.

  After such an exhilarating time with him it would have been so nice to awake in his arms—the logical conclusion of a beautiful and most satisfying night.

  Cheryl twitched her lips. Face it girl. There was nothing logical about her relationship with François. What was so wondrous for her simply amounted to a repeat performance for him with another partner. Even worse. A duty to protect her.

  Tears of frustration prickled her eyes and she rubbed them with a vengeance. What was she to do? Her gaze flew to the communicating door. Would he come back? Or let Luc shadow her during the day?

  He said he’d be staying with her every night until they solved the problem of the statue. She wanted him. Badly. To be honest, it wasn’t only lust or even a feeling of security in François’ arms. She loved him.

  She thought about the warmth that engulfed her when he held her in his arms. And the fire his caresses ignited in her belly a few hours ago. She dug her head into her pillow and replayed last night’s scene. Her skin tingled and heat pooled between her legs. She wanted him now. Again.

  Oh God, I love him.

  The knock on the door jarred her out of her delicious dream.

  “Come in, Simone,” Cheryl called without raising her head. The door opened and closed.

  “Bonjour. I hope I am not disturbing you.” The laughing voice didn’t belong to the maid.

  Cheryl bolted to a sitting position, remembered she was still naked and jerked the cover to her chin. “Hi.” Who the hell is she?

  Cheryl stared. The hippest model straight out of a fashion magazine faced her, in a green suit, short skirt and matching jacket. Tanned legs and feet strapped in high-heeled pumps—at nine in the morning—while she probably looked like a hellion with her mussed hair, her glazed eyes and her tell-tale cover pulled up to her chin.

  “I am Marilène,” the cherry-red lipped beauty said with a wide smile.

  “François’ sister.” Cheryl didn’t miss the huge green eyes with hazel sparkles, shadowed by mascara-painted lashes, so similar to François’ unforgettable ones. “I should have guessed that much.”

  The young woman laughed. “Ah the resemblance with my brother.”

  “I’m Cheryl Stewart. I bet you need your room back. I’ll collect my stuff and will be out in a few minutes.” Cheryl slipped a foot from under the cover and reconsidered. She needed her pajamas. Her fingers gripped the cover even higher as she scanned the foot of her bed. Where were her pajamas?

  Darn, in the bathroom hanging behind the door. You didn’t need your pjs last night. Remember.

  Oh dear, she remembered too well, the intruder, François half-naked, the mess she made last night, her underwear and bras on the floor, and then… Good thing she picked them up and still had them in the bag. With Marilène in the room, she’d need them right now, before Simone had time to wash anything.

  Every drop of her blood must have rushed to her face. She closed her eyes and struggled for a more dignified attitude to carry on a conversation with François’ sister.

  “Non, non, non.” Marilène waggled her well-manicured hand. “I am here only for a couple of days. I don’t need this room.”

  “Are you sure?” To hell with dignity. Right now Cheryl was about to beg Marilène to get out and let her dress, or at least wear a robe, pajamas, anything.

  “This room is mine in name only. I moved to my own apartment five years ago. Albert brought my luggage to another room. Right now, Simone is unpacking.”

  Cheryl stared at Marilène with admiration. Beautiful, elegant, noble. A true countess—or whatever her title was. Like her brother, the young woman oozed self-confidence. Cheryl lowered her gaze to the cover she’d wrinkled.

  “I’ll open the curtains and wait on the balcony while you shower and dress. And then we’ll chat,” Marilène said with a gentle smile.

  “Thank you. I won’t be long.” The moment Marilène disappeared on the balcony Cheryl made a beeline to the bathroom, closed the door and exhaled in relief. After a quick shower, she wrapped herself in a towel and padded back to her closet to collect a pair of jeans and t-shirt. She threw a look at the balcony. Marilène still contemplated the view, her figure as elegant from the back as from the front. Cheryl hung back her work clothes and grabbed her only skirt and matching shirt.

  Once dressed and combed she examined herself in the mirror and sighed. No one would ever confuse her with a fashion expert. She shrugged at her image in the mirror and called her unexpected guest.

  Marilène stepped back in the room and settled in an armchair. She flipped her shoulder-length hair and tilted her head. “So my brother hired you as his architect?”

  “I am… I am not…” From where did Marilène get her information?

  “François explained a little bit about the project. How are les fouilles, you know, the digging progressing?” The stunning beauty completely at ease
crossed her legs.

  “It’s coming. We unearthed the remnants of a statue. I… I’ll try to patch it.” Cheryl paced to her desk, recovering her self-confidence as the conversation focused on work.

  “My brother told me about the statue so dear to Bernard. The one his maman liked to pray before. François must be thrilled by this discovery.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Cheryl shuffled some papers then fidgeted with the pencils.

  “You don’t seem pleased with your accomplishments.” Apparently, Marilène was in no rush to leave. “Why is that, Cheryl?” The sweet voice filled with sympathy triggered a prickling in Cheryl’s eyes. She batted her eyelids.

  “The project is interesting. I love my work.” Please, go away, leave me in peace.

  Marilène came to stand next to her. A soothing hand patted her shoulder. “Only your work, Cheryl? You’re too young to bury yourself in work.”

  “I’ll get a great publication out of it dedicated to my late professor.” For the first time, her own statement of faith in her future didn’t convince Cheryl. It mustn’t have convinced Marilène either.

  “By the way, I haven’t seen my brother yet. Do you know where I can find him?”

  Cheryl’s breath caught in her throat. A few hours ago the brother in question could be found in her bed. Warmth invaded her cheeks. Talking about François was the last thing on Cheryl’s agenda. “No. I really don’t know.”

  “What’s wrong, Cheryl? You can trust me.” Cheryl’s head lowered. “Are you falling for my brother?”

  “Of course not.” The direct approach hit her below the belt. She sniffled to suppress tears of frustration. “I’m leaving in a month.”

  “Too bad. Now that I’ve met you, I can tell you’re totally different from the women he dates. I never approved of them. Not that my opinion makes a difference.”

  Cheryl shrugged. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not his type.”

  “That’s your asset. You’re different. You’ll bring him to his knees and he’ll thank you for that. Maybe you could try to compete with the other women. Dress the part. Trust me. I know something about beauty and fashion.”

  Only something? “I didn’t bring anything fashionable.” Her lips puckering, Cheryl admitted, “I don’t think I own any nice clothes.”

  “Great.” Marilène clapped her hands. “I’m kidnapping you for the day. There’s nothing I love more than shopping.”

  She pulled Cheryl’s hand. “While you finish getting ready, I’ll check on Bernard and I’ll tell him I want a formal dinner for tonight to celebrate my presence.” She burst into laughter.

  Cheryl smiled at her new friend’s exuberance. “Thank you, Marilène. You’re amazing.”

  “Too bad, my brother didn’t take after his little sister. But don’t worry we’ll convert him in no time.”

  ~*~

  François waited in the Grand Hall to greet his guests. Bernard had informed him that Mademoiselle Marilène had arrived this morning. Of all mornings. Last night he had asked her to call their mother and convince her to end her friendship with Edith. As usual Marilène heard only what she wanted to hear, interpreted it her way and came to meddle in his personal life.

  His sister had her heart set on a formal or semi-formal dinner at the least. François couldn’t understand that new whim. He wondered if the students had brought a suit or a blazer to wear at dinner. And he could swear Cheryl had carried only jeans and t-shirts or blouses in her tote bag. For a whole month, he hadn’t seen her wearing anything else.

  What did he know? At eight sharp, Karl arrived wearing a blue suit and Juan-Pablo a beige one. Adriaan was smart in white pants and navy blazer with golden buttons. Roberto exhibited the latest fashion of Milan, according to him, a pair of black trousers, black shirt and black tie. Roberto’s hair smoothed with pomade made Francois twitch his lips. Chuck hadn’t bothered to change his daily kaki pants and shirt. Bernard sitting in a corner of the Grand Hall with the bodyguards Charles and Luc, supervised the waiters who circulated with flutes of champagne.

  François heard feminine voices and giggles. He raised his head toward the dimness of the second floor. Through the marble banister, he glimpsed the figures of two women as they descended the curving staircase.

  As usual, his sister was attired in the latest fashion in green, her favorite color. But her friend took his breath away with her blue fitted dress, low-cut décolletage and spaghetti straps. He moistened his lips. His gaze traveled up the high breasts and then down the curve of the hips. The hem of the short chiffon skirt hiked high enough to reveal a dream-come-true pair of shapely legs.

  No wonder Marilène had insisted on a formal dinner. Good girl, she wanted to introduce him to her friend. This time François was ready to forget her meddling. His cup of champagne in hand, he strolled to the bottom of the stairs. The huge crystal chandelier illuminated the lower part of the staircase full blast. He choked on his drink.

  The blue clad siren smiled. His sister giggled. He slammed his gaping mouth shut. Aware of his rounding eyes and shortening breath, he kept staring, unable to utter a word. Questions galloped in his mind. But Adriaan preceded him.

  “Cheryl, is that you?”

  “Madonna mia,” Roberto exclaimed. “Amore, you are a dream come true.”

  Even Karl smiled his appreciation. “My compliments. You’re certainly stunning, Miss Stewart.”

  Marilène threw her arms around François’ neck. While hugging him, she whispered in his ear. “Such a pity. Some people turn dumb and blind with old age.”

  “Careful,” he threatened as she pulled back, a sarcastic smile lingering on her lips.

  Ignoring him, his sister spun toward the students. “I’m Marilène de Valroux. My brother forgot I never met you, gentlemen.”

  Juan-Pablo stepped forward and raised Marilène’s hand to his lips. François harrumphed. It was typical for his fair sister to strike a man’s heart with the first bat of her heavy eyelashes. The Spaniard seemed quite affected. Marilène shot her most dazzling smile and hung onto Juan-Pablo’s arm. The poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

  François’ gaze focused on Cheryl and he struggled to digest her metamorphosis. She’d learned quite a lot from his sister in a few hours. Before he could recover from his daze, Adriaan offered his arm to the new reigning beauty and escorted her toward the dining room.

  His lips thinning in a threatening line, François followed with Karl. The German brought François’ endurance past the boiling point by adding his two cents. “I guess there is more to Miss Stewart than meets the eye, as our Dutch friend here has just discovered.”

  François froze at the door of the stately dining room where the oblong table had been set for a formal dinner. He pulverized Karl’s back with a glare but he didn’t have time to dwell on his present frustration.

  Edith sashayed in, glowing in a red sequin dress molded to her sexy figure. She hooked her fingers in the crook of his elbow. “Mon cher François, how nice of you to wait for me.”

  Wait for her? To be honest he’d completely forgotten her existence while staring at the new-look Miss Stewart.

  Marilène headed one end of the table, with Juan-Pablo and Roberto sitting on her left and her right. Adriaan helped Cheryl to the chair next to his. Was he determined to monopolize her? He’d better not. François slumped at the other end of the table. At least, Cheryl was next to him too. Unfortunately, Edith was on his left.

  With the full chandelier light shimmering above them, François glanced at Cheryl’s alabaster neck revealed by the high chignon. A few tendrils of silky hair played on the translucent skin and tantalized his itching fingers. “Did you have a good day with my sister?” he asked to attract her attention away from the damn Dutchman.

  Cheryl turned her face toward him. “Excellent. I explored a new side of France with Marilène.” She eyed him, with a challenge in the iris-violet eyes rendered huge by a subtle brush of mascara. He recognized his sister’s touch here
. She was an expert in the art of make-up.

  “I bet you did. Marilène wouldn’t waste the soles of her high-fashion shoes in museums. Unless of course, it’s for a special exhibit attended by the Tout-Paris and who’s who.”

  His sister burst out laughing. “Exactly, we toured all the boutiques and had a blast. I put my professional discount to good use.”

  “The result was worth the day’s effort,” Adriaan claimed. His gaze lingered on his lovely neighbor and boldly traveled down her décolletage. Under the tablecloth, François’ fists clenched. You, my friend, better watch those meandering gazes. One too many and you’ll have my fist right in your eye.

  In spite of the loud conversation and laughter, the dinner lasted an eternity. By the end of the dinner, Adriaan brought his guitar from the South Tower and entertained them with music and songs. They all seemed to have the time of their life. Not François’ type of fun.

  Marilène might call him a party pooper but who cared. It was for a good cause, Cheryl’s safety and his peace of mind. François pushed out his chair and announced, “It’s been a long day. Tomorrow, we’ll have a lot of work. Marilène, please don’t distract Cheryl from her duties. She can go shopping with you in the evening. During the day she has a lot of work to do. Good night, ladies and gentlemen.”

  They all stood and sauntered behind him to the Grand Hall, hopefully to their own quarters. To his surprise, his sister and Juan-Pablo kept strolling to the terrace. Adriaan pulled Cheryl out of sight. François was left behind with Edith hanging on his arm for dear life. Merde.

  Marilène, my dear, I’ll have two words to tell you, if I don’t throttle your pretty neck first.

  She hadn’t helped him solve his problem with Edith and had messed up his relationship with Cheryl.