Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  Times had changed. He was different from his father and grandfather and he’d had his fill of beautiful ladies—hmm, even tramps. Resentment stirred in his gut as he thought about Edith-Danielle. Fear of commitment had tumbled him into the wrong arms. What was there to fear about the beautiful and generous young woman who’d given him her trust?

  “We’re done.” François replaced the last book on the lowest shelf. “No mention of the statue.” Even if they never found the statue, he would be forever grateful that Cheryl had visited his chateau and invaded his heart.

  Cheryl surveyed the furniture of the room. “Do you store books anywhere else? Maybe in your room?”

  “I don’t keep books in my room except the one I’m reading. Then I replace it here when I have finished.” He almost snorted. He rarely read in his room—just slept there or made love. And right now, he wished he could grab her in his arms and run to his private haven.

  He would talk to her soon, share his feelings and…and…

  Commit. Yes. Commit to be faithful to her. He could do it and keep his promise.

  Cheryl straightened and stretched her back. She had done her best to help him. “Your father or someone else, not knowing their value, may have disposed of these particular books.”

  “We never throw away a book in this house. Those that need to be bound are stored in this cabinet.” His chin hitched to the corner of the room.

  “This cabinet?” Cheryl gasped as she pointed at the cabinet. His gaze captured hers, questioning and understanding. He crawled on his knees to the cabinet and opened it. Files were piled on the two shelves. In the corner, a bunch of old books attracted their attention. François grabbed them. He gave five to Cheryl and flipped through the others.

  She exhaled. “Nothing. Any other possible place?”

  “No.”

  She flopped on the rug and bent inside the cabinet, grasping the files and tossing them out. He swore under his breath. “Easy. Don’t mess up these old papers. They have been here for ages.”

  She cast him a frustrated look and kept on shoveling the papers out. “You’ll organize them again,” she sputtered.

  With the back of her hand, she shoved out the last bunch of files. A packet wrapped in yellowish newspaper tumbled on the floor. Her lips parted without a sound. She swallowed and held it up with trembling hands.

  “The books Bernard carried back to the chateau.” François muttered and opened his palms to receive the packet.

  “Oh, my God, we found them.” Elation filled her heart. “Wait. Can you see a date?” Unable to stand the suspense, Cheryl jumped to her feet and examined the yellow spotted paper of the wrapping. “Here, May 12, 1939,” she pointed to a date on the newspaper.

  “The same day my grandfather died.”

  “He must have wrapped the books in the chapel and given them to Bernard when he arrived.”

  François deposited the package on the cocktail table and crouched in front of it. Very carefully, with a reverence she shared, he unfolded the sheets revealing four thin books, with brown leather covers.

  He read the titles. “Les Cathédrales Françaises, tome I and tome II. Valroux. And Mon Château.”

  Cheryl knelt beside him. “By François de Valroux. You grandfather wrote these two books?”

  “From what I’ve heard, he was a writer and a poet. I was named after him.”

  “Aren’t you going to open the books?”

  François looked at her, his eyes veiled by an unusual cloud. She understood the last minute hesitation. He dreaded to flip through the books and suffer another disappointment.

  “Do you want me to open the first book?” she asked gently, her fingers tapping the table.

  “No, it’s Grandpère’s last legacy.” He turned over the cover of Les Cathédrales Françaises, tome I and released a deep breath.

  A faded ink message covered the inner title page. Cheryl smiled at the good omen as they both hunched over the book.

  “I don’t understand this.” Her bright smile faded.

  “It’s Latin.” He raised the book and read. “My dear son, I have to hide the most valuable piece of your heritage. Follow the map and instructions to unearth it when the time is right.

  Your father, François, Comte de Valroux. Written on March 6, 1939, while the German planes are scouting our skies.”

  François’ gaze flew to the painting of the statue. He seemed far away in time. Was he hearing the planes and bombardment, seeing his grandfather and the butler running away?

  Cheryl respected his silence and suppressed the urge to flip through the pages.

  Giving in to a professional impatience, she analyzed the dates. “The old count had written the message and prepared the books six days before he hid the statue. I guess he was getting ready for the worst eventuality.”

  “I wish my father could have seen Grandpère’s last letter.” His fingers carefully fluttered through the pages. Some had sentences underlined in ink but no other message. François pushed it aside and opened the second book and again noted the underlining here and there.

  The book, Valroux, revealed a list of numbers on the first page. François read them out loud. “Number one in Roman, then five, thirty-five, twenty, eighteen, sixty and in the second row, number two in Roman and ten, twenty-two, thirty and fifty.” He exhaled. “What could that mean?”

  “He’s telling you something. His message said, ‘follow the instructions’. Let’s see the Roman numbers may refer to volume I and volume II. Open page five of tome I of the Cathedrals book.”

  “There is nothing written. But a part of a sentence is underlined.”

  “Read it. I’ll write it. Page five, yes?” Cheryl couldn’t contain her excitement. They would solve the riddle. She was sure of it.

  “The statue of our Lady of Lourde.” He raised his head, his eyes sparkling with green fire.

  “You see, we’re on the right track. Next, what’s on page thirty-five? Hurry, François.”

  “Must be hidden. Page twenty, protected from vandalism.”

  “All right. Your grandpa was a careful planner.” The note unfolded with the marked words of each page. Cheryl read the whole message. “The statue of our Lady of Lourde. Must be hidden. Protected from vandalism. Only under earth. Will it be safe. The chapel is small. The tunnel is close…” Cheryl’s voice rose with excitement. “The tunnel, François. Oh my God, the tunnel. That’s where they hid it.”

  “Cheryl, for heaven’s sake, continue. We’ll guess later.”

  “Page thirty, Two hundred and twenty yards deep. Look for the cross. And on page fifty, On the right side. That’s it. It’s in the tunnel, on the right side.” She straightened up from the floor ready to run to the tunnel.

  “Wait. What about the fourth book, Mon Château? We haven’t used it yet. It must be here for a good reason.”

  Cheryl flopped back on the rug. “You’re right.”

  “Here on the title page. Only one number written, fifteen. Let’s look at page fifteen.” He turned the pages with nervous fingers and then slapped the table. “A map. The map to the statue’s hiding place.”

  The whole page was a printed map of the castle and its surroundings.

  “Show me.” She slid the book toward her. “Can you make sense of this?”

  “Of course. It’s a small reproduction of one of the maps tucked in the safe. It shows the castle, the chapel, the tunnel and even the grotto.”

  Cheryl pulled herself up on the sofa and raised the book toward the side table lamp. “Look at this, François. There’s a cross added in ink.”

  He sat beside her, drew the book toward him and examined the page. “The cross that Grandpère had sketched in the tunnel. Wait. I’ll measure the distance and scale it.” He straightened and grabbed a ruler from the desk. “Two hundred and twenty yards exactly. From the tunnel opening to the cross. It matched the underlined instructions. Our statue should be here.”

  He left the book on the desk and spun to
ward Cheryl. His eyes shimmered with a triumphant gleam, his nostrils flared and his lips parted on a cheerful smile. He was so handsome, gloriously attractive in his black outfit. Dazzled, she smiled and raised her arms, then realized it was no use. She fisted her hands and clenched them against her chest. Her smile faded and her head dropped dejectedly.

  She had helped him achieve his goal. She should turn the page and go back to Boston. He would allow her to publish a stunning paper. But now, she didn’t give a damn about her paper. If only she could curl on the floor and cry.

  His hand squeezed her shoulder. “Cheryl, I don’t know how to thank you. You did an incredible job. I doubt Professor Howard would have been able to help me the way you did.”

  A sad smile curved her lips but she averted her gaze. François’ recognition pleased her yet it wasn’t enough at the moment. She breathed slowly to tame her racing pulse.

  “You don’t owe me anything. Finding the statue is a reward for both of us. You will have your statue adorning the altar of the rebuilt chapel. It will attract tourists to Valroux. And I will publish my paper in memory of Professor Howard. I’ll get a dream job and start a fantastic career.” She tilted her chin up, wishing her bravado could convince her heart. “We’re both ecstatically happy. You’ll start your restoration of the chapel and I am going back to Boston in a couple of days.”

  He scowled and fixed a strange gaze on her eyes. “Chérie, let’s not talk about your going back.”

  “Why not? It’s a reality.” Her tone challenged him but she fought a surge of tears.

  He moved from the sofa and knelt in front of her, taking both her hands in his. For a brief moment, she stopped breathing. Her pulse accelerated to the point she felt faint. Was he going to propose?

  “Chérie, can we forget about the statue, the chapel and your paper? Can we just think about ourselves tonight?”

  Her throat felt like a dry old parchment. She moistened her lips with her tongue and whispered, “We sure can.”

  “I want to keep you in my arms all night.”

  “I’ve spent the night in your arms for the last few days.” She knew her voice betrayed her disappointment. Had she really hoped that finding the statue would change his fear of commitment? She controlled the urge to slam her fists on his chest. There were no words of love and no proposal coming after all. Not the one she was dreaming of.

  But she wanted him too, wanted to spend a last crazy, wonderful night in his arms. She wasn’t a naïve girl anymore, the shy nerd crippled by good principles.

  She’d give him a night to remember. And then she would leave the beautiful Loire Valley, never to come back.

  François cradled her face between his hands. “Tonight will be different.”

  Why different, François? The words lodged in her throat as she opened huge eyes and his lips took control of her mouth and her senses.

  Chapter 15

  François scooped her in his arms. His lips ravished her mouth, her closed eyes, her throat. She wrapped her arms around his neck, a tender noose that he relished. He carried her through the door without bothering to interrupt his kisses. All his guests, especially the unwanted ones, had deserted the chateau. Bernard and the servants must have retired to their quarters. François strolled through the dark hall and up the stairs, his precious charge cuddled in his arms.

  After they entered his room, he kicked the door closed. He walked straight to his bed, lowered Cheryl in the middle of it and followed half lying on her for a long, passionate kiss.

  When she turned her head to breathe, he rose and leaned back on his elbow. “I’m dying to make love to you.”

  “Me too.” She arched her delicate eyebrows. “What are you waiting for?”

  He stroked her throat, unbuttoned her shirt and peeled the sides away. She pulled out her arms.

  Desire roared through his veins. He admired the expanse of flesh overflowing the lace bra. His muscles tightened and he stifled a groan. He couldn’t wait to get her out of her clothes, kiss her senseless and taste every inch of her satiny skin, make love to her and then…

  Let her fly back to Boston? Fly out of his life?

  No way.

  “We need to talk.” A painful lump almost stopped his words.

  “Now?” Surprise and then irritation flickered over her flushed cheeks. Her eyes rounded, huge and glazed.

  Pride and lust warred inside him. “Cheryl, you are a gorgeous woman with a beautiful heart. You are not used to scoundrels like me, a playboy, womanizer and more.”

  “That’s what you want to talk about?” She pulled herself up to a sitting position. “Would it make you feel better to know I discovered your true nature years ago?” she asked with an ironic smile.

  It was one thing for him to confess his sins and another to hear her mock them. “Wait. I’m trying to say that I have changed since you came here.” God, he was making a mess of his explanation.

  “You’ve changed? In what way?”

  He clenched the bedspread between nervous fingers. Merde, why had she noticed his bad habits right away and not his effort to improve.

  “I was used to going out with a different woman every month or two.”

  “You don’t have to rub it in.” She blinked and exhaled.

  “No, no.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I meant to say that I don’t do it anymore. I hope you have noticed. I’ve been faithful to you.”

  “You’ve been sleeping with me for only a week, not a month or two.” Her lips quivered but she focused on his eyes. “Are you already fed up? Don’t worry.” She turned her head to the side unable to cope with the heat of his gaze. “I’m leaving as soon as we unearth the statue. After tomorrow.”

  “What? You got it all wrong.” He tried to take her in his arms. She scooted to the end of the bed. “Please, listen to me. I’m trying to explain I fell in love with you. Me, a man who never believed in love.”

  “You…love…me? Seriously?”

  “Very seriously, ma chérie.” He gently pushed her down on the bed and covered her mouth with a burning kiss.

  She opened her lips and he darted his tongue in, played with hers and explored her sweet mouth. But she suddenly squirmed and flattened her hands on his chest to ease away.

  “What’s wrong, now?” he asked.

  “You said we have to talk.”

  He squinted, not understanding why she was trying to be difficult. He’d done all the talking there was to do. To be honest, he was much better at showing how much he loved her. Actions, hot, burning actions with his hand, his tongue and a hard part of his body that was starting to ache with impatience. “I said I love you.”

  “And?”

  “And I can’t let you go,” he answered more concerned about unhooking her bra and slipping it off than playing with words.

  “And?”

  The sight of her full breasts and gloriously erect nipples took his breath away. He lowered his mouth and sucked. He teased, laved and gently bit them. Her questions turned into moans that burned through him like molten lava. When she wriggled under him, he squeezed his fingers between them, reached to open her zipper then lowered her pants and thong.

  He pulled himself up to undress and trailed a loving gaze across the perfect form he cherished so much. She threw the bedspread off and stretched on the sheets, a tantalizing sight he couldn’t ignore for a second. After protecting himself, he lay beside her, kissed her and played with her breasts.

  “More.” Her fingers closed around his maleness and stroked.

  “More,” he repeated and slid his fingers between her legs to fondle and tease her sensitive bud.

  He wanted to love her slowly, show her how much he cared for her.

  “You are taking forever,” she complained in a sigh. “I want you, right away.” Her hand rubbed him faster, driving him insane with desire.

  “Stop it, chérie. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “I can’t either.” She pushed him aside, freed herself and stra
ddled him with a triumphant smile. “Now we do it my way.”

  He burst out laughing. “Your way, mon amour.” He helped her slide over his shaft and rock herself with him, his chest about to explode with love and need.

  “Oh François,” she moaned and her eyes glittered like a starlit sky, “I love you so much.”

  “Je t’aime, mon amour,” he repeated in French and accelerated their tempo until they both shuddered. She collapsed on top of him and he wrapped her in his arms, her heart thudding against his.

  ~*~

  “Merde.” François bolted out the bed and slipped on his briefs and trousers.

  “What happened?” Cheryl opened glazed eyes and rolled on to her side to squint at him.

  “I forgot to lock my office last night.” The look he sent her froze the blood in her veins.

  “Damn.” She jumped out of the bed and gathered her clothes. “You think someone could have sneaked into the library?” She frantically clasped her bra and slipped on her thong and jeans.

  “I hope not.” He tugged a polo shirt down to his pants. “There are no guests staying in the main part of the chateau now that Edith or whatever-her-name-is left. Bernard usually locks up before retiring to the servants’ quarters. The students staying in the South Tower don’t have a key to the chateau itself.” François reached inside his closet and brought out his handgun. Cheryl swallowed hard but he was already at the door about to dash downstairs.

  She followed him at the same speed. The door to François’ office was ajar. Holding his gun, he gestured to her to slow down and tiptoed from his office to the library in the dark. He switched on the light and they both stood at the door surveying their surroundings. No one was there.

  “I don’t think anyone came here. I’ll go and check the lock on the front door and that of the kitchen door.”

  While he went away to investigate the locks, Cheryl remained in place, still scanning every corner of the room—the floor cluttered with files and old books she’d shoved out of the cabinet, the side table where three books lay open, the ladder that François left against the library shelves, the cocktail table with their empty coffee cups from last night, and the sofa where the fourth book revealed the map that filled them with so much happiness last night.