Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  “But the library is locked,” Adriaan lamented.

  “The count gave me a key. You may join me one of these evenings.” She felt obligated to Adriaan. The young man had restored her peace of mind and convinced her that someone still believed in her competence.

  Adriaan reached for her hand and shook it. “I’d love to help you in your search. And trust me, it’ll be strictly business.”

  He didn’t have time to add more. François advanced on them, a stormy scowl gathering on his forehead.

  “Here comes your watchdog. I better go before he bites.”

  “Adriaan, I thought I…”

  Adriaan raised both palms. “Calm down, François. I was just apologizing to Cheryl during my break. Back to work.” He threw his bottle in the trash and strolled to the chapel ground.

  Cheryl didn’t like his meek attitude but then Adriaan wasn’t one to play with fire. She glared at François. “You are beyond contempt. Like Adriaan I need my job and have to swallow my anger,” she declared laying one more sin at his door.

  “I wish you could understand. Come walk with me, please.”

  She hesitated, her lips still pursed.

  “Cheryl, please.” The count pleading… That was a first. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the forest. They retraced their morning footsteps toward the rose garden. She walked silently, waiting to hear what he could say to mend the rift he’d gashed with his own stubbornness.

  François paused near a bench. Why did he have to choose this particular spot? They’d been standing near this bench last night, hugging, kissing and flirting. Cheryl swallowed hard and lowered her eyelashes. How could she answer him with a clear mind when she craved a repeat performance?

  He dropped down and pulled her next to him. “Listen to me, chérie.” Her head snapped up. She was his darling again. “I’m dying to find the famous statue. It already put Bernard’s life in danger and threatened your security.”

  “But you always denied—”

  He interrupted her with a sigh. “I know. I wouldn’t admit its existence publicly.”

  “The search is almost over and we haven’t found it in the chapel ground. The broken statue I’m patching holds no interest for collectors.” She couldn’t understand his reasons for trying to thwart her paper.

  “Still it would attract attention to the chateau and it reminds collectors that if one statue were found the other may not be far.”

  She thought about his reasoning for a moment and hated to admit he had a point, even when her graduation was at stake.

  “I can’t put twenty-four hour surveillance around the chateau to protect it from intruders,” François continued, his gaze fixed on her face. “Keeping the search secret is therefore paramount. The FBI agent told me he’d be screening the background of every person visiting the chateau but I haven’t heard from him yet.”

  She couldn’t turn away from the greenish-hazel eyes that had become her horizon. Anxiety darkened their expression.

  François cupped her face. “The statue doesn’t hold any personal interest for me. But I promised my father on his deathbed that I would find it. You want the same to honor Professor Howard’s memory.”

  “Yes, I’ll dedicate my paper to him,” she said in a soft breath.

  “I will rebuild the chapel. And the statue will adorn the altar. Then I will seek all the publicity I can get for the inauguration. I’ll invite the bishop and even the cardinal, and I’ll bring my grandmother from her retirement home to be my guest of honor. The statue meant a lot to her. She used to worship in front of it.”

  “It’ll be a beautiful ceremony,” she whispered visualizing the renovated chapel, the statue on the altar and the crowd of guests.

  “It could be a beautiful ceremony,” he amended, rubbing his knuckle against her cheek. “It could be… Please, don’t destroy our dream.”

  Their dream? But for the moment, it was her graduation and career versus his obligation to his family and his community. “What if we don’t find it?” She shouldn’t be so negative, not when she relished the feel of his gentle hands holding her jaw.

  “We’ll concentrate on it for another month. And then you’re free to publish your paper, whether we find it or not. Fair enough?”

  She nodded. “I’ll help you. We will find it, François.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “Merci, ma chérie.” He laid his chin against her forehead.

  She pulled her head away. It was daylight and work time. And she’d rather not be kissed out of gratitude.

  “I need to talk to Bernard—a full-fledged interview. The man is a well of information. Do you mind?” She couldn’t forget he had accused her of faking friendship with the butler in order to pry. If he wanted her help, he’d have to trust her completely.

  “You’re right. We’ll talk to Bernard tonight after work.” He played with a long tress floating down her shoulder and curled it around his fingers. “I’ve discussed the subject with him a dozen times. But maybe you have a better approach.” He smiled sheepishly. It was the best apology she’d get from him.

  “Let’s go back to the chapel site.” Her inner peace restored, Cheryl was ready to tackle mountains of work.

  “You look too pretty for field work.” His gazed scanned her navy pants then rested on the tight fitting sky-blue blouse. From the heat that invaded her neck, Cheryl knew she’d turned beet-red. After yesterday’s shopping spree, she had followed Marilène’s advice to stow her t-shirts in her tote bag and wore only her new wardrobe.

  “I need to finish some drawings at the site and continue patching Bernard’s statue.” She didn’t add she would still continue writing her report. Better avoid sensitive subjects now that they’d reached a truce.

  “Would you mind showing me the statue?” He leveled a curious gaze on her. “I don’t even know where you’re hiding it.”

  Cheryl chuckled, amused by his discomfited expression. “Bernard didn’t tell you?”

  He smoothed a flying strand of hair away from her face. “You have him wrapped around your little finger. He thinks he’s protecting his statue from potential danger.”

  “You’ve been criticizing my talent so much, Bernard is afraid you’ll prevent me from finishing his statue.”

  He slammed his hand against his thigh. “You’re both treating me as if I belong to the enemy camp.”

  Cheryl burst out laughing. It was so good to let go of her worries and trust him. She pulled his hand and stood. “Come. I’ll take you to my open air studio.”

  ~*~

  François couldn’t believe his eyes. It was the work of a pro. Delicate, intricate, with blending color masking the sealing between authentic pieces and mud sculpture.

  “Incredible. Amazing.” He had expected a grotesque sculpture, clumsily put together, but Cheryl had resurrected the real art piece that had adorned the grotto entrance.

  The saint’s head rested on a folding table, surrounded with painting tubes and brushes. The lower part of the frame hunkered down on the ground. In a cart more broken pieces waited to be fitted to the body.

  Cheryl explained, “Bernard moved the cart of pieces to a clearing of the forest. He said he was pretty sure that’s where the grotto stood.”

  She leaned forward, her stance humble and anxious, waiting for his verdict. “You like it?”

  “I love it. I can’t believe you’re so talented.” Would she ever stop amazing him? She took everything she did to a higher level of perfection. “No wonder you gained Bernard’s everlasting gratitude.”

  Her delighted smile dazzled him. “I’m so happy you’re pleased. Maybe now you’ll trust me when I say I can do it.”

  François gathered her in his arms. “Ma chérie, I do trust you. I do.” He lowered his head and captured her lips for a sweet kiss that promised more than he could say. She licked his lips with her tongue. He forgot his restraint.

  His mouth slanted on hers, demanding and taking. His hands molded her hips against hi
s hardness. He seemed to be continuously in a painful state of arousal these days. Behind her back, the head of the decapitated saint scowled. François straightened. One didn’t take Saint Anthony for a witness of his amorous display unless he planned serious commitment.

  “Why couldn’t we have Saint Valentine here? He would understand,” he mumbled. Cheryl stared at him, her violet irises full of bewilderment. “Don’t pay attention, sweetheart. I’m rambling on.”

  The makeshift studio was open air but nicely private with a lot of trees around. A romantic setting but not comfortable enough for a tryst. François glared at the pine spikes and oak leaves carpeting the ground and sighed with frustration.

  Cheryl’s sigh echoed his. “We need to go back to the chapel ground.”

  He understood the nagging feeling. He was the boss and free to do as he pleased but she couldn’t abandon her work to cuddle and kiss in the woods.

  He resolutely turned his back to the annoying saint’s head and wrapped his arms around Cheryl’s waist. If he couldn’t have her, he needed to feel her form curved into his rigid muscles.

  “We’re both convinced the statue is not under the rubble. There’s nothing interesting in the chapel site anymore.” He spread a soothing palm over her back and massaged it.

  “I believe so. I have all the drawings and blueprints ready.” Her assertive tone weakened as if she lost track of her thoughts.

  He nibbled her earlobe, pleased to see her serious-student composure crumble beneath her sensual feelings. She fidgeted against him and tried to pull away but he restrained her.

  This was as much of a professional conversation as he was going to allow her but he could feel a pulse throbbing at her temples. “Don’t worry, chérie. The students can handle it with Bernard and Albert. It’s all mechanical work.”

  He slid his lips over her cheeks. She jerked away. “Can Albert rent a bulldozer to clear the area?”

  “I will tell him as soon as I see him.” He’d do anything to have her forget work and relax in his arms. “Now can we plan a nice evening, with dinner and dancing? Just the two of us.”

  ~*~

  “Come in,” Cheryl called as she moved to open the door of her room. “Good morning,” she said as Marilène entered and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “Bonjour.” François’ sister took two more steps and stood in the middle of the room, linking her fingers together, an unusual shyness about her.

  Silence fell between them. It wasn’t like Marilène to remain quiet. Had someone upset her or hurt her while Cheryl enjoyed a perfect, selfish time with François? “How was your evening?” Cheryl arched her eyebrows, hoping nothing went wrong.

  Marilène wrung her fingers and then looked at Cheryl and smiled. “Last night, Juan-Pablo told me he loves me.”

  “Wonderful.” Cheryl hugged her, sincerely pleased for her friend’s happiness. “What about you?”

  “Oh Cheryl, I love him. I’ve waited so long to find the man of my dreams. Kind and considerate.” The dreamy expression melted into a grimace as she twisted her mouth and bit her lip. “But Juan-Pablo also informed me he still needs two years to finish his doctorate.”

  “I assume he won’t get married until then. At least you got a declaration.” Cheryl’s arms dropped to her side. She shared a lovely time with François last night. He showered her with compliments, covered her neck, face and mouth with blazing kisses, covered her body with burning caresses, but kept his lips tightly sealed on specific words.

  “I’ll postpone my return to Nice. I don’t need a ring right now—he can’t afford it anyway.” Marilène’s lips thinned into a resolute line. “But I want Juan-Pablo on his knees, begging for my heart and hand in marriage.”

  “How do you plan to get him there?” While sorting her own emotions, Cheryl lent an interested ear to her friend. Maybe she’d learn useful suggestions on the art of bringing a man to the altar. Her man would resolutely face any direction but the altar.

  “My dear, it needs talent, work and perseverance.” Marilène tilted her head, musing. “First I have to get rid of the bodyguard my brother has imposed on me. He’s a real nuisance.”

  “Poor Luc. He’s only doing his job. He was shadowing me until you arrived and François decided to take over.”

  Marilène chuckled. “For the obvious reason. My brother doesn’t want a chaperone. And I don’t want one either. I’ll talk to François. Juan-Pablo is strong enough to protect me,” she added with a soft smile Cheryl had never seen on her face. It made her look dreamy and vulnerable.

  “Juan-Pablo is busy at the chapel site. Are you going to take him away from the renovation work?” Cheryl frowned. That would slow the project so dear to François’ heart—and Cheryl’s.

  “Absolutely not. I’ll let him work on his degree for as long as he needs. With me at his side.” She paced the width of the room and paused in front of the balcony, gazing at the South Tower where the students lived.

  Cheryl came to stand next to her. “Are you planning to move in with him? Or invite him to live at the chateau with you?”

  “With my old-fashioned brother in residence? No way.” Marilène snorted. “I wouldn’t hear the end of it.” She ambled away from the window, then stopped and spun to face Cheryl. Her jaws resolutely clenched. “We will get married before Juan-Pablo’s graduation. Preferably in a couple of months.” Her eyes, so similar to her brother’s, shimmered with mischievous green stars. “Of course, Juan-Pablo doesn’t know it yet.”

  “At least, you’re working on your case.” Cheryl’s seemed a doomed cause.

  Marilène smiled while rubbing her hands. “I’ll convince him that with my job and his inheritance we will be safe financially until he finds a job and starts a career. His father was a wealthy Spanish Don, by the way. I have to plan very carefully.”

  “Good for you.” Cheryl sighed. François had no degree to finish, no job to find and no career to start. He basked in a solid financial situation but did not want to head down the matrimonial road. The slightest hint would have him back up at full speed. Cheryl had already decided to enjoy his lovemaking until her assignment ended without building useless dreams. And then she would dedicate herself to her career and try to forget him. If possible. “My situation is hopeless. You know your brother.”

  “Sweetie, look at yourself in the mirror. You have changed so much. François can’t take his eyes off you.”

  Cheryl threw a desperate look at the gilded mirror. Thanks to her friend’s professional ability, the young woman reflected in a black clinging blouse and pink molding pants could compete for the front page of a woman’s magazine.

  “He’s attracted to my appearance, my clothes, my new sophistication. Before it was Edith and before her another.” A cold feeling slithered down her spine.

  For him, it all came down to lust and challenge. François couldn’t ignore a pretty figure. And if she dare resist—which was far from being the case with her—then he switched to high-geared seduction to bend her to his kisses.

  “Forget Edith and the others. Even if he hasn’t said as much, I’m sure he loves you.”

  “Oh Marilène, I love him so much. How long am I going to be able to hide my feelings? I can’t continue to play that stupid game.”

  “My dear, you’re just starting. A French actress once said, a man in love is like a puppy. If he strays, kick him where it hurts. But dangle a sweet treat to have him run straight to you. Then he’ll stop swiveling right and left to follow you.”

  Cheryl chuckled. Count on Marilène to be so confident and forceful in the art of seduction. “Easier said than done.” Cheryl’s chin drooped. “It’s not my style. I can’t.”

  François had spent the night with her, a night to remember as long as she lived. But she wanted him to love her for herself—her body yes but also her spirit and heart. She scowled at the mirror, hating her new clothes. But she needed them to compete with Edith. The woman was still here.

  Cheryl hauled a deep
breath. She’d better go back to work before she became consumed with self-pity. “I’ll try to find the statue and then…”

  Chapter 13

  Leaving the students at the chapel site to sip their coffee and finish a lunch of delicious ham, the local jambon, with baguette bread and cheese, Cheryl came back to the kitchen and settled around the table with François and Bernard.

  “Take your time, Bernard and try to remember.” Cheryl waited for the old man to collect his thoughts. François had promised to let her direct the interview.

  “What was the year, Bernard?” Cheryl gently prodded.

  “Nineteen thirty-nine. I was twelve years old,” he answered without hesitation and turned toward François. “Your Papa was only four.”

  “Were you home with your mom?”

  “Yes, I think so… She was sitting listening to the radio. The radio said we had to leave. L’évacuation was starting.” He frowned, visibly making an effort to remember. “My sisters were playing outside, in the backyard of our cottage. And…and… No, I was outside with the girls. When I came inside, Maman said to go get Papa. He was at the chateau with the count. She said she would get the girls ready and pack a few things.”

  Bernard stopped out of breath, his fingers clutched on his cup of coffee. Cheryl patted the emaciated arm. “You don’t have to continue.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. He was far away in time. “I ran to the chateau. The old maid, Viviane, told me they went this way.” He turned toward the window and pointed to the forest and the chapel site. “I ran to the chapel. I found them both inside.” Bernard glanced at François and rubbed his forehead. “I can still see them. Standing near the altar. They were carrying a big metallic box, this big.” Bernard opened both arms.

  “Did you give them your mama’s message?” Cheryl used a soft voice as if talking to the little boy.

  “Yes. My papa hugged me. The count said, ‘We have to rush’. Papa said to go back to Maman.” The words stumbled from Bernard’s lips, intermingled with heavy panting. “The count said, ‘Bernard, you are a big boy. Take your maman and sisters to the car. Your papa and I will join you in a minute. On the way, take old Viviane with you’. I started running then I stopped and looked back. They were running toward the forest. I did as they asked me.”