Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  ~*~

  At first, the evening had proceeded according to Marilène’s plan. Cheryl could feel François’ gaze glued to her face, her hair, her dress. He hadn’t said much during the dinner, which in itself was a reaction considering his usual eloquence. Cheryl had expected him to make a move, dance with her or take her for a walk out in the gardens. Marilène had assured her he would. But François had maintained a cool reserve and finally cut the dinner short with his arrogant reminder of work.

  With Juan-Pablo and Marilène tagging behind them, she ambled through the rose garden, hanging on to Adriaan’s arm. Soon Cheryl found herself alone with Adriaan. The elation she had felt the whole evening gradually ebbed. The stroll in the moonlight and the languid chat while inhaling the roses’ perfume lost their appeal. Adriaan was courteous and funny but he wasn’t François.

  She made an effort to concentrate on Adriaan’s rambling. “We missed you today, Cheryl. We really need you in the field.”

  “Oh well, it was just one day. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “We have only a month left to find the statue. Only you can accomplish this miracle. I trust you, Cheryl. Soon we’ll be gone, my darling. I’ll miss you terribly.” Adriaan stopped and gathered her in his arms.

  Correct scenario, wrong man. For a moment she imagined the count saying those same words and sighed. Adriaan lowered his head. Cheryl squirmed to get out of his arms. He wouldn’t let go of her.

  For heaven’s sake where was François? Or even Luc her bodyguard? Not that she was in danger with Adriaan but an uneasy feeling crept down her spine at his unexpected amorous attentions. “Adriaan, stop it, please. You are a dear friend. But that’s all.”

  “Why, love, why? We’ve been having a good time together, innocent fun, for a whole month. I went berserk watching you tonight and trying to control myself. It’s time we move on.”

  “Move on what? I am not ready for a relationship.”

  He pulled her tighter against him, sticking his lips against the hollow of her neck. Damn the dress and its low cut line. “Adriaan, stop it.”

  Adriaan let go and stumbled backward. Had she pushed him that hard?

  He yelped as a fist connected with his face. François’ voice thundered. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, Mr. Van Deem. Miss Stewart is my responsibility. You’d better remember that, if you want to continue working on these premises.”

  His palm pressing against his eye, Adriaan snarled, “Damn it, François, you didn’t have to punch me. You could have mentioned you’re interested in the girl yourself.” He turned toward Cheryl. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love. Don’t let him bully you.”

  “You didn’t have to hurt him,” Cheryl protested after Adriaan disappeared in the shadows.

  “He was all over you, groveling like a sick puppy.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “If I hadn’t come in time to snatch him away from you, he would have kissed you and God only knows what else.” His palms slapped against his side, his exasperation palpable, he inhaled deeply. “Cheryl, you can’t go on dressing like…like…like this.” His finger pointed to her breasts, reached the low neckline of her dress, and suddenly curled away. He took a step back and exhaled. His gaze scuttled over the dress, halting at her waist and hips.

  She waited for a move. Nothing came. He didn’t touch her, yet her skin blazed under the soft chiffon. Disgusted with her reaction, she lashed, “My dress is not different from the ones your sister wears.”

  His hand waggled in a sign of peace. “You don’t understand. My sister has a lot of social experience. Don’t try to imitate her. You can’t tempt a man and expect him to resist.”

  Cheryl shrugged. Her chin hitched up a notch and she spun to walk away. She threw over her shoulder, “Nonsense. Adriaan wanted to kiss me because he’s attracted to me, dress or no dress. The other men present didn’t seem to care.”

  “Enfer et damnation.” His French curse stopped her dead in her tracks. His hands grabbed her naked shoulders, branding her with his touch. Cheryl took a deep breath and held it. He turned her around to face him. “Cheryl, you’re playing with fire.” He brought her close to his body and his breath fanned her face. “We may both get burned soon.”

  “You think so?” she asked her voice hardly audible.

  His hands curved around her bare arms, stroking all the way up to her shoulders and down to her wrists. He slid a finger under the spaghetti straps and continued his magical caress igniting a fiery trail over her throat and back. Cheryl was afraid to move and break the spell. She opened her eyes and stared into his.

  François read the love and passion she willingly offered. The innocent student transformed into an alluring temptress who didn’t know where the new road could lead.

  “Chérie, you can’t go on enticing me and then expect me to be sane.” His knuckle brushed against her cheek. He sighed, hanging on to shreds of decency and the remnant of his scruples.

  She smiled like an innocent child. “Why not, François? Tell me why not?”

  Oh chérie, the big bad wolf can eat you alive. Save yourself while you still can. He hesitated, giving her the time to run.

  She hooked her hands behind his neck. “Tell me why, François?” she begged and encouraged.

  “Because I am mad about you, ma chérie.” He whispered. His finger traced the contour of her lips and rubbed. Cheryl sighed and he smiled.

  There was nothing childish about the dazzling smile and the luscious lips. François slammed the door on his drowning sanity. His arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her delectable body against his.

  “You’re beautiful. Gorgeous.”

  “You didn’t like my dress,” she said with a delicious pout.

  “I love it. I love every angle and curve it covers. Every inch of flesh it uncovers.”

  His hand splayed on her bare back and reveled in the smoothness of her skin. For a change he didn’t mind her hair wrapped high above her head, exposing her neck and shoulders. He bent his head and nuzzled her collarbone, trailing kisses along her throat, up to her jaw, over her cheeks.

  “François, please.” She squirmed and twisted her head. Was she changing her mind? Too late, my love. His blood already boiled. His muscles had painfully tightened and his groin pressed in her softness.

  “Too late, I can’t let you go.” His palm cupped the back of her head holding her still for his kiss. He bent his head and brushed her lips in a feather-light caress. Molding his mouth to hers, he deepened the kiss. His tongue teased her lips, tracing and licking, until she opened them and he invaded her mouth. She tasted sweet and wine, exactly as he expected.

  Forgetting his resolutions, François’ mouth hardened on hers. He wanted her badly and crushed her pliant form against his taut body.

  Cheryl lost track of the time. Her eyes closed, she stopped thinking and started feeling. The warmth of his palms skimmed over her back. Heat engulfed her. His fingers slithered along her spine and she shivered. Firm lips fondled her mouth, his tongue explored and teased and stroked. He played with every fiber of her body, wringing out vibrant notes as if she was a well-tuned violin. She didn’t mind. She loved music and she was in good hands, an expert lover’s hands.

  His hand cradled her breast, gently squeezing. She moaned in his mouth, gasped for air, and clawed at his shoulders. When his fingers twitched around her nipple, she plastered herself against him and wriggled.

  Snatching her mouth to gulp a breath, she groaned with pleasure and pain, “François, oh François, I love you. I—”

  He silenced her with his mouth. His hand slid and rested over her hip, scorching her skin, the flimsy material no protection from his smoldering heat.

  To think she’d lived twenty-nine years ignoring such bliss. What a waste. But then, she’d just met François, the perfect lover in a perfect setting. She sucked in a breath and held it while his lips pressed over hers. Never had the roses, lilies and irises smelled so good. His cologne
mingled with the flowers’ fragrance for the right scent, a potent elixir of love.

  Her fingers plowed through his hair and curled around the silky strands. She loved his hair. She loved his mouth and his hands and his hard body pressing against hers. If only you knew how much I love you. Following his lead, her tongue darted into his mouth and she returned his kisses.

  He released her lips and nuzzled her neck sliding the spaghetti strap over her arm.

  “Hellooo,” Marilène sang in the silent night. Hanging on Juan-Pablo’s arm, she slowly advanced toward them. “Here you are big brother. You decided to join our stroll after all.”

  François sprang away from Cheryl. In a swift gesture, he raised her strap in place. “Why do you always drop by unannounced?” he groaned.

  Cheryl felt her face on fire, her pleasure doused by the sight of the young couple.

  Marilène’s throaty laughter chimed in the night. “I called you but you obviously didn’t hear me. As usual my timing is perfect.”

  “Watch it, little sister.” His uneven breathing attested to his frustration. “Stop interfering in my business.”

  Cheryl was grateful for the interruption. Without Marilène finding them, she would have never been able to collect herself and stop him in time.

  Her racing heartbeat slowed down to a regular pace.

  Had she lost her mind? The count was true to his reputation. Last night, he admitted he’d stayed with her to protect her. And tonight her sexy dress transformed her into a beautiful woman, the type François couldn’t resist.

  As the moonlight bathed the rose garden with silver light, Cheryl caught Marilène’s wink and relaxed. Her new friend chided her brother. “You should thank me, you big lout. I helped you see beyond the tip of your aristocratic nose. It’s too early to go to bed.”

  François arched an eyebrow but Marilène didn’t let his forlorn expression intimidate her.

  “Why don’t you bring your car and drive us to Amboise. I want to dance with Juan-Pablo. Maybe you can chaperone us,” she suggested with a new burst of laughter.

  “For a change, my sister has a good idea.” François took Cheryl’s hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. “Let’s go to the garage.” They strolled ahead of Marilène and Juan-Pablo.

  “Aren’t we supposed to get some rest for tomorrow’s work?” Cheryl said, not sure she could cope with another amorous onslaught on her senses. The Valroux siblings were masters in the art of seduction. She would never stand a chance to win at that game.

  Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, François lowered his voice, “Forget work, chérie. I was trying to get the Dutch jerk off your back. Marilène had guessed my feelings when I talked to her on the phone.” His hand caressed her shoulder sending warmth to her throat.

  She gasped and stopped dead. “You talked to her about me?” She couldn’t control a tingle of happiness.

  François squeezed her shoulder and sent her such a beguiling smile she handed him her heart on a silver platter. She rose hear head and glanced at the moon. Happiness danced in her heart.

  It was the right scenario and the right man.

  They drove to a lounge with Marilène and Juan-Pablo. François was a fabulous dancer. He pulled her back and forth, pirouetted during the rock music and held her tight during the slow dances, raining kisses on her temples and cheeks.

  At home, François walked her to the bottom of the stairs, acting the perfect gentleman. Of course his sister stood next to her. At home. Cheryl chuckled as she changed into a short nightie. Calling the chateau home stretched her dreams a bit too far. Enough with dreams. A good night’s sleep would help her recover her sanity and bring her back to reality.

  A knock startled her. Another followed and a third. She followed the sound straight to her closet and touched the inner wall. The partition slid open, revealing a smiling François in boxers. He walked through her closet and stepped into her room.

  “What’s this for?” She pointed to the cover and pillow he carried.

  “I can’t let you stay unprotected. I’ll lie down on the sofa.”

  Unable to suppress a giggle, she showed him the bed. “You can protect me better from there.” She would take one day at a time. She loved him and he came to her. Just as she had dreamed and wished.

  And the night was not over yet.

  Chapter 12

  “Love, forty,” Juan-Pablo announced the score with a boisterous voice. “Cheryl, is that what you call, ‘not bad but I can defend myself’? You and François are beating us dead. Come on, Marilène, we have to pull this game or they’ll take the set.”

  Cheryl laughed. She’d been on a whirlwind of energy since the previous night. François’ lovemaking, not to mention his kisses and compliments, had injected her with a morale boost the like of which she’d never known before.

  Last night, Marilène and Juan-Pablo had suggested tennis doubles first thing in the morning, before the heat of the day and obligation of work.

  But who cared about work when she lived her dream and enjoyed every minute of her time. With François around, she acted so much out of character.

  “Game, set and match.” François raised her high in his arms and twirled with her.

  “I can’t believe you said you were out of shape.” Marilène whined on the way back to the chateau. “I’m not playing tennis with you anymore. Let’s go shopping again today.”

  “I really can’t. I have to finish patching the saint’s statue and wrap up my report,” Cheryl protested, delighted with her busy schedule. But she needed to publish her story about the saint’s statue. “Maybe in the evening,” she suggested. She’d never felt so wanted and admired. It warmed every inch of her body and soothed every cell of her heart. Life couldn’t get better.

  François tugged at her arm and pulled her aside while the two others continued toward the chateau. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “What report are you talking about?” A scowl creased his forehead. “I thought I stressed the fact there would be no report about the statue.”

  “My report has nothing to do with your statue, I mean the missing one,” she explained with a conciliatory tone she hoped would convince him not to disappoint her—and not to ruin her newfound happiness. “I’m just writing about the saint’s statue. Bernard’s one. How we found it and how I’m fixing it. It made a nice story.”

  “I don’t care which statue you are writing about. It was found on my premises. I said no report and no publicity about my chateau.” Damn it. He’d already forgotten their lovemaking and their fabulous nights, and jumped into his arrogant skin.

  “This subject is closed. Let’s forget about it. Come, Cheryl. We need to get ready for work.” François had dismissed her report like an old newspaper due for the recycling bin. Yet he expected her to keep hanging on his arm, to receive his kisses and please his lust.

  Waving away his rotten I-am-the-count attitude with an exasperated flip of her hand, she glared at him. “Can’t you see I need to publish a paper to finish my Ph.D.?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t allow you to send this report,” he declared firmly.

  Cheryl spun around and rushed toward the chateau. Her beautiful dream had lasted less than twenty-four hours.

  ~*~

  Her pad in hand, Cheryl ignored François’ attempt at conversation. He’d upset her enough in the morning with his high-handed orders. Did he really believe she would fall into his arms again when he dismissed her Ph.D. graduation as unimportant? Her chin lifted. She marched to the broken column the students had unearthed and started drawing.

  The chapel ground looked more like a construction site now. Cheryl assessed their newly acquired haulage equipment. Albert had rented a delivery truck to transport the heavy rocks and Bernard came up with two wooden carts and a donkey. The peaceful beast gnawed on wild grass while waiting for his next assignment.

  From the corner of her eye, she followed François’ nervous pace from one worker to another. The white shirt enhance
d his tanned features and the sun streaked his hair gold. Why couldn’t the handsome count stop acting like a total jerk? Had he just been attracted to her last night because she wore a sexy dress?

  She examined her drawing. It sucked. The sculpted column resembled an uneven brick. Her usual energy for work eluded her today. Since when had she ever created such mediocre product? One more thing to blame on her holier-than-thou boss.

  Adriaan abandoned his shovel and strolled to the shade for a break and a cold bottle of spring water.

  “Cheryl, I’m sorry about last night,” he said as he approached her. “I had one too many drinks.”

  “It’s okay. Wine does strange things to one’s mind.” Cheryl sighed. Unfortunately, Adriaan hadn’t been the only one out of his element last night. At least, alcohol provided a plausible excuse for his actions. Hers were planned and unforgivable. She couldn’t hold a grudge against the young man.

  “I promise it won’t happen again. Listen, I want to remain friends with you. We work well together.” He gave her a contrite smile.

  “Don’t worry, Adriaan, I already forgot about last night.” At least about his role. As an efficient catalyst, he’d triggered François’ anger and jealousy. But, she’d never be able to forget about the rest of her evening, the most beautiful, unforgettable night of her life.

  “We should concentrate on finding the statue. The real one,” Adriaan suggested, his mind apparently single-tracked on their initial goal. “We’ve turned the ground upside down and didn’t find it.”

  “Maybe it was taken away and hidden elsewhere,” Cheryl mused, recalling the various reference papers she’d studied. “Although, I don’t think so. It would have surfaced after such a long time. I may talk to Bernard about it.”

  “Excellent idea. We can also go to the public library and research the old books and magazines. I have a car. Let’s put it to good use.”

  “Before hitting the public library, I’ll spend some time reading in the chateau’s library,” Cheryl decided already planning. Books always soothed her in a way no human could.