Out of breath, she disentangled herself. “Open the box, François. Let’s admire it in peace.” He lifted the lid and she removed the covers.
François raised the statue up. “Come to the library. Let’s see if the painting is a good reproduction.”
He carried the statue across his office to the library and gently lowered it onto the small desk while Cheryl automatically tidied the mess they’d left the night before.
“Not now.” François grabbed her hand. Together they backed up. Cheryl snuggled against his hard body. Her admiring gaze flitted from the painting to the statue while François nuzzled her neck amorously.
After a knock on the door, Bernard entered, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and a platter of cakes. “Oh mon Dieu, she is so beautiful the Madonna. Now that I have seen it, I can die happy.”
“You are not going to die soon, Bernard,” François said with a chuckle, without releasing his hold on Cheryl.
“Unless you don’t do exactly as I say,” Roberto’s voice sounded hard and the gun he pointed uncompromising. “You too can continue to nibble each other while Bernard helps me move this statue quietly.”
Chapter 17
“Roberto? But… You said you reformed. Was it a lie?” Cheryl lamented and slipped away from François’ comforting chest. When would people stop pointing guns at her?
Roberto snorted. “I was never a bad guy. Really.” His speech relaxed and smooth, he didn’t seem in a rush.
“If you renege on your promise they will arrest your grandfather,” François warned.
“My nonno died two days ago. But he died happy, in his bed not in jail. I talked to him an hour before he died and I promised him, I would recover the three statues.”
François scowled. “The three statues? How do you plan to get the two others?”
“I bought one. Cost me sixty million dollars.”
“You bought it? The papers claimed it was an American collector.” Was Roberto the big mastermind the police was looking for? Highly interested, Cheryl crossed her arms and perched on the arm of the sofa. She wouldn’t budge from here until she learned the whole story of the three statues once and for all.
“My cousin made the purchase. I provided the money. At the time, statue number two belonged to another Sicilian mafia family. I couldn’t steal from a Sicilian competitor,” Roberto protested with indignation. “Not an honorable thing to do.”
“Of course not.” Cheryl chuckled, finding the situation highly amusing. A Sicilian Mafioso defending his honorable intentions.
Roberto returned her smile, a dazzling smile that could charm any woman straight to his bed. “Now, it is in our palazzio, my nonno’s palace in Sicily. With the other one,” he explained softly.
“The other one? Statue number three?” François almost choked on the words, a deep scowl knitted between his brows. “How did you get it?”
“Well, I didn’t have thirty-million dollars to buy it back from the Museum of Amsterdam. Besides, they said it wasn’t for sale. My grandfather ordered Adriaan, Danielle and Lee who worked for his company to just pick it up.”
“You mean Adriaan, Danielle and Lee were part of your grandfather’s mafia organization?” François asked with a disdainful look.
“I prefer to call it a company,” Roberto insisted.
“But why? Why is it so important for you to have these statues?” Cheryl asked, almost sympathizing with Roberto. Her gaze collided with François’ scowl and she swallowed hard.
“Because the statues belong to my family.”
“Liar.” François jerked forward, his eyes gleaming with fury. “This statue belongs to my family.”
Roberto sent him an indulgent look as if he was dealing with a retarded kid. “The three statues were sculpted by my nonno’s great aunt, whose husband was the most powerful Mafioso of all time. When two of her sons and her only daughter were killed by rival families, she begged the Madonna for forgiveness and devoted herself to charity.”
“Oh the poor woman.” Cheryl’s eyes glistened with tears but François nudged her in the side. “How had the statues ended elsewhere?”
“Her only surviving son worked at an honest badly paid job.” Roberto made a derisive sound. “Obviously, he couldn’t maintain the palace. He sold the statues to survive. One of them to your great grandfather, Count François,” Roberto jerked his chin toward François who for the first time showed more interest than resentment.
“Now, my grandfather learned the family story and swore to restore the honor of our family name among Sicilians. He became an even stronger Mafioso than his great-uncle. A Godfather,” Roberto continued, pride oozing from his voice. “Unfortunately, my father was killed when I was ten and my grandmother, my nonna made the same promise as the great aunt. She’d pray every night in front of her statues to make me an honest man. Which I am.”
“An honest man?” François snorted. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. I am a grad student at the University of Milan. I plan to have a normal job once I finish my degree in architecture. But understand me, I have a promise to fulfill. A matter of honor.”
“Oh, your honor requires you to steal again?”
Roberto shrugged. “I have to do what I have to do. Now your statue was a problem. Nobody knew where it was hidden. But I got around the problem by suggesting to my professor to contact Professor Howard and convince him to talk you into hiring summer students to help you on the chapel restoration.”
“So hiring summer students was your idea?” Cheryl chuckled while François’ expression turned sour. He obviously didn’t like to admit he’d been manipulated. But suddenly her smile faded as a new realization dawned on her. “Oh my God. The Malaysian who killed Professor Howard? You sent him?”
“Not me. My grandfather.” Roberto raised a pleading hand. “Cara mia, my dear, I beg your forgiveness. I never ordered Lee to go to Professor Howard. Unfortunately my grandfather did, as I learned too late. But my grandfather never suggested poisoning anyone. Lee got carried away and acted on his own. On my honor, I’m so sorry.”
“Your honor can go to hell,” Cheryl shouted, tears prickling her eyes. “My mentor was killed. Because of you.”
“No, Cara. I respected Professor Howard. Lee acted on his own. It’s not his first murder. Lee and Danielle were the ones who attacked Bernard. I’m glad you saved him. I was in town that night. I couldn’t reach him after I learned he hurt Bernard. Lee acted cruelly and Danielle who was Adriaan’s girlfriend for years helped him. Lee will face justice for his crimes.”
Cheryl stole a glance at François. His somber expression turned murderous. “Roberto, if you claim you never had bad intentions, get out of here before I call the police.”
“I’ll take the statue and go.”
Behind him, the library door opened. Francois’ blood froze when he saw his sister in the doorway with Juan-Pablo beside her. The Spaniard carried a gun. François groaned.
Merde, even Juan-Pablo was not a simple student.
“Robertino.” Juan-Pablo slammed his hand on to the Italian’s shoulder while digging his gun into his back. “Go away. Your nonna needs only one statue for her devotions. You will keep the statue number two you honestly paid sixty million dollars for. We will return the statue number three to the Museum of Amsterdam. They bought it from my family and I need to keep the money.”
Cheryl jumped down from the arm of the sofa. “But Roberto already gave it back to the police when he made a deal with them.”
Both Juan-Pablo and Roberto snorted and Juan-Pablo shrugged. “No, he told me he gave them a fake. His grandfather wouldn’t let him return the original. Now the old man is gone. You see, Roberto has been my best friend since we were undergraduates at Yale together.”
Roberto smiled fondly as he turned toward his friend and Marilène. “Juan-Pablo has been my guardian angel for years, keeping me from listening to my nonno and taking over the role of Mafioso. You’ve got yourself a good man
, Marilène.”
“I know that.” Marilène chuckled and cuddled against her fiancé who kept his gun pointed at Roberto.
“I wonder.” François scowled deeper. “The best friend of a Mafioso marrying my little sister.
“Roberto was never part of the mafia. His grandfather was the mastermind behind the statues’ robberies. It looks like Lee was a hardened criminal who was after money. Adriaan and Danielle were not much better.” Juan-Pablo shrugged as he summarized the situation. “Count François, you do believe Roberto is innocent, don’t you?”
“I do,” Marilène said,
“I do,” Cheryl repeated with a smile at Roberto.
“Count François?”
“Huh… yes, I think he’s innocent,” François grudgingly admitted. “I won’t press charges if Roberto stays away from my statue and the people I love.”
“Go Roberto,” Juan-Pablo insisted with authority. “You kept your promise to your grandfather and gave a statue to your nonna. You never killed anyone. Go, my friend, before the police arrive. I will help you return the third statue to the Museum. The one discovered today will remain with the Count de Valroux. It will adorn the new chapel of the chateau where Marilène and I plan to be married soon.”
Roberto hesitated, his gaze flitting from his friend to Cheryl and François and the statue. He dropped his arm and shoved his gun into his pocket. “All right, my friend. I will listen to you one more time and leave. Without the statue. Enjoy it, Count François. And enjoy the lovely Cheryl.” He winked at Cheryl, bowed over her hand and kissed her fingers, then he turned to Marilène and repeated his gallant farewell. “Take good care of my best friend. Adios.”
François sucked in a deep breath. His sister and her fiancé had left after Juan-Pablo had repeatedly assured them Roberto was a good man torn between his loyalty to his family and his determination to remain honest. Bernard had gone to the kitchen to fetch the two policemen and two bodyguards. When he stationed them at the doors of the library and office, François had heartily agreed. He wasn’t taking chances with the precious statue anymore.
“Finally alone,” he said as he pulled Cheryl in his arms.
She smiled. “Mission accomplished. I can go back to Boston, write my paper and publish it. And graduate.”
“You can write your paper and publish it anytime. From here, chérie. But you are not going to Boston.”
“I have to graduate.”
“Then I’ll come with you and make sure I bring you back here. I love you, my darling. I can’t live without you anymore. Not a day, not an hour.”
“Oh François, I love you too.” She raised her head to kiss him.
For a change, he didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled her away and knelt in front of her. “Listen to me, Cheryl. When I saw guns pointing at you, when I saw a knife pressed to your throat, when I saw you rolling on the floor fighting for my statue, I thought I would lose my mind. I realized how much you meant to me. I want to marry you, chérie. Please say yes.”
She dropped down beside him and laced her fingers around his neck. “Yes, yes.”
He bent his head and met her lips for a searing kiss. He never thought he could love a woman so much.
“We’ll marry next month,” he said when he released her.
“No, we’ll wait and marry in the new chapel, with the statue on the altar.” She looked at the statue, her eyes shining with joy and pride.
As he followed her gaze, François thought the Madonna statue was smiling too.
The End
A Note from the Author
Thank you for reading Her French Count. If you enjoyed this romance novel, please recommend and review the book, and other books by the same author. Join her newsletter at: https://madmimi.com/signups/111038/join to hear about new novels.
About the Author
A tireless traveler, Mona Risk writes contemporary romance, medical romance, and romantic suspense novels, all simmering with emotion, sprinkled with a good dose of humor and set in the fascinating places she visited— or in Florida, her paradise on Earth.
Contact
Mona Risk can be found at:
www.monarisk.com
On Twitter: @MonaRiskS
Facebook: www.facebook.com/MonaRisk
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mona-Risk-Author/277900165576753
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Other books by Mona Risk
Her Greek Tycoon: A sexy and humorous Romeo and Juliette Greek style, set in Mykonos Island.
Her Russian Hero: Clash of cultures and intrigues between an American scientist and the Major General of Belarus.
Neighbors and More: Too close for comfort for condo owners in a Florida High Rise after a man drowns in a hot spa.
Babies in the Bargain: "ER" and "Grey's Anatomy" in the NICU.
Right Name, Wrong Man: What's a girl to do when she whispers another man's name in her fiancé's arms?
No More Lies: A lie that brings a smile or a truth drawing tears?
Love Me Forever
Ari Thatcher
Copyright © 2015 by:
Ari Thatcher
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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Praise and Awards
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“Ari Thatcher's latest release is a fantastically written romance that I just simply fell in love with and I think that readers will too.”
~Night Owl Reviews.
“Ari Thatcher’s descriptive tale is captivating from the first page to the last.”
~Sensual READS.
Chapter 1
Jennifer Pearson sipped from her pink mai tai and toyed with the paper umbrella as she scanned the beach. The late June sun made her muscles melt into the sand, Mother Nature’s massage. Winter back in Missouri had been too long, too cold.
Home was not what she’d come to Maui to think about. In fact, thinking was also not on the agenda. Sun, silence, relaxation…that’s why she was here.
The sound of waves lapping against the sand was like a massage to the stress-out parts of her brain. Settling back against the sand chair, she released a slow, steady sigh. She should have done this years ago.
A few young men rode their boards in the surf, maneuvering the small waves for the longest ride possible. A pair of girls, teenage or a few years older, splashed closer to shore. At some point, Jen planned to go in the water, but not today.
She slid lower in the chair, with only her shoulders propped up above the sand. A nap would be so heavenly. Her eyelids were heavy. Letting them drop, she stuck the base of her glass in the sand so it wouldn’t spill.
The waves continued their lullaby, only an occasional voice in the distance breaking the peace. She lifted her face to the sun, the heat purifying her soul.
Just before she dozed, a strange inkling made her open her eyes. A tanned god rose from the water, a board tucked under his arm. She sat spellbound, watching his approach. Water rolled off him, sprayed off his longish brown hair when he shook his head.
Jen licked her lips at the sight. His wet shorts clung like a second skin, riding low on his narrow hips. A bare, flat abdomen begged to be explored. He had swimmer’s shoulders, broad, strong, defined. Damn, picture that arched above me in bed…
That was another thing she hadn’t come here for. Sex. Men in general. She’d had enough of one man in particular to last this lifetime and the next few. Still, just once, it would be so tempting to have a man like the surfer between her legs again.
The water god smiled, his teeth bright against his bronzed complexion.
He looked familiar. Was he an actor? Recognition hit her. Her heart stopped. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t still be
here after, what, ten years? No, he’d gone back to college when that summer ended. Just as she had.
Gone back to college and had never called her like he’d promised.
Closing her eyes, she forced the image of Matt Brashiers out of her head. Maybe she should have picked a different resort. One without so many memories.
Focusing again on the beach, she saw the man in question walking toward her. As he grew closer, his features became clear. Dear God, it was him. There was no denying it.
Her heart jumped. “Matt?”
That familiar smile of his grew. “Jen? I thought it was you. I thought I was imagining it. It’s good to see you.”
“Yeah, you too.” He looked good enough to eat. What she wouldn’t give to nibble on those pecs one more time.
Stop it.
He planted the end of his board in the sand a few feet away and sat down beside her. Just as she remembered, his essence filled the space around him, a wild, carefree energy that warmed her and sent goose bumps across her skin at the same time.
Pushing his hair off his forehead, he asked, “Are you here with friends?”
“No. I, uh, came alone.”
“Ah, well. Hopefully we’ll have a chance to catch up while you’re here. How long are you staying?”
“A week.” Maybe she’d be lucky and he’d be leaving soon. Taking that tempting body with him.
“Great.” He rolled to his feet showing if anything, he was even more athletic now than he’d been in college. Not really beefy, not in the steroid sense. But enough definition to tell her he worked at it.
She glanced down at the wedge of pale, soft thigh peering from the opening of her sarong. She looked pasty after a Missouri winter. Heck, she looked pasty year round. At least she went to yoga classes regularly enough that she could still wear the bikini she’d worn ten years ago when she met him.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 97