“You don’t have any children.”
“Not yet. No.” Andre paused, sipping his bourbon. “But someday I think I might. And I don’t want your gold-digging wife stealing from them.”
Rage almost choked Julian. Curses fell from his mouth as he grabbed his brother’s lapels and slammed him against the wall. He didn’t care whether he hurt Andre or not. Nor would he tolerate trash talk about Camille. He’d take that from no one.
“Julian…!” Andre’s voice cracked.
“Be. Very. Careful.” Julian’s jaw clinched as he tried to contain his anger. The fury quaked through him, diminishing as it rippled out. He reached up and gave Andre a light slap on the cheek. “Watch what you say about my wife.”
Heated anger burned against Julian’s face. He was a fragile thread away from the breaking point, and by the looks of Andre—eyes widened with a mixture of fear and uncertainty—he saw it too. And when Julian snapped, nobody wanted to be in his path.
Andre raised his hands in surrender. “All right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your girl.” He tried to squirm out of Julian’s grasp. Julian let him. “It was rude and inconsiderate.”
Julian shifted his focus to his glass. He needed a refill. Why had he done that? He’d never raised a hand to his brother. “I’m sorry.” He overfilled his glass with more than the usual double shot. “I’m sorry,” he repeated himself, feeling like a heel. He’d always protected Andre, never threatened him. Julian drained his glass.
“I hope she cares about you, half as much as you care about her.” Andre cleared his throat around his fragile, shaking voice and perched his hands on his hips. “If she does, you two will be all right.”
Care about her? Disbelief and confusion muddled Julian’s brain. He didn’t care about her. What Julian cared about was his freedom.
“You might be interested in knowing that Papa’s not taking this lying down.” Andre’s confidence returned with an agreeable nod. He slid his hands inside his pockets and stepped toward Julian.
Andre’s words bothered Julian more than his closeness. He looked at his little brother. “What’s he doing?”
One could never feel too comfortable when Maurice de Laurent implemented one of his crazy, harebrained schemes. Julian was well aware of where he’d acquired that trait. His own scheme had Papa written all over it. And if not for the fact that the idea was born to dupe him, his father would probably be proud of the ingenuity.
Julian didn’t like the stark look on Andre’s face.
Not Madeleine. “No….” The word ground out like tires bouncing over ruts in a gravel road. “Please tell me he hasn’t invited Madeleine here as our guest?” Even though he doubted his chances, he still held a flicker of hope that he was wrong.
“That he has.” Andre’s reluctance was overshadowed by the message.
“Why would he do that?”
Was Papa really that sadistic? Sure, Julian didn’t want to marry Madeleine, but he didn’t have anything against her either. Not enough to induce him to force her to sit around and watch him marry another woman.
“I suspect he thinks he can thwart your efforts to marry your American…wife.” Andre snickered, as if finding perverse pleasure in Julian’s predicament. “But, before you start feeling too sorry for Madeleine, remember…she and Papa are cut from the same cloth.” His voice took on a warning tone. “She won’t accept your engagement lightly either.”
All the more reason to avoid this evening’s dinner party. Especially if Madeleine was going to be there, which she obviously was since she was in the house.
Julian was going to have to intensify his efforts to shelter Camille now that Papa and Madeleine were obviously up to no good.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JULIAN GAZED AT CAMILLE IN HER black dress with its crocheted look. It was sexy. An approving moan rumbled up his throat and he grabbed her hand, moving toward an inner wall inside the third floor salon. He glanced at her, winked and popped a wall panel open.
A soft gasp escaped her. “What the….”
“There are tunnels all over the estate.” He coaxed her inside. “We’ll make our escape through here.” It beat running into Papa, Claudette, or Madeleine in the hallways.
“Ooh, I feel like a spy.” She giggled as they enter the dimly lit tunnel.
Julian chuckled. “Yeah. A spy whose sanity depends on her escape.” He quickened his pace. He wasn’t the only one well-versed in these tunnel paths. The quicker they got outside and through the gardens, the better.
They hurried through corridors, descended steps cut into the ground and rounded corners, all in near-darkness. Camille tightened her grip on his hand.
“Don’t worry, Chéri. I know this place inside and out.”
“God, I hope so.” Her rich laughter wrapped him in amusement.
“We’re almost there,” he said in a low, husky voice.
After a few more feet and another curve to the left, Julian gave Camille a tug and pulled her closer before stopping to push his way through the outside exit.
The twilight of a setting sun filtered inside, casting a flattering glow over Camille. Her golden hair glistened like strands of lustrous glass, and he felt a ripple of excitement when her mouth curved into a tempting smile.
“What are the chances somebody’s going to be waiting for us out here?” she asked, and he got the feeling she was trying to be funny. And she would be, so long as she wasn’t right.
“I’ll let you know.” He checked the immediate area just outside the exit.
All clear. Good. Not that he was afraid to face them. But this was more fun. Sexy even. A faint light twinkling in her blue eyes told him she was just as excited.
Julian latched onto Camille’s hand. Joy bubbled over in her laughter as they raced along designated paths through the rose garden. Her happiness brought Julian a sense of satisfaction. It’d been a long time since he’d had this much fun.
Adrenaline sped through him, increasing ferociously when the tunneled gateway to the river came into view. Just as he’d arranged, a speedboat was waiting at water’s edge, ready to assist them in their escape.
Julian helped Camille before climbing aboard. The boat thundered to life and the engine’s vibrations roared through him, stimulating his adrenaline and his aspirations. He’d taken plenty of boat rides, and with a number of girls including Madeleine, but none had aroused him like this ride with Camille. Maybe it was just the thrill of the escape. Yes. That had to be the reason.
Camille sat on the seat next to him, perched in a model-like pose. Her legs, long and tanned, rose from red shoes and traveled seductively up until they disappeared underneath a black cocktail dress riding midway up her thighs. He liked the dress when they’d bought it in London, and he liked it now—especially now, as he envisioned slipping his hands beneath the fabric in an exploring fashion.
The boat charged down the winding river and a warm summer’s wind whipped Julian’s hair around wildly. Raking it back, he looked at Camille. Their gazes met, and a faint delicate flush glowed against her face.
“You okay?” He reached over, laying his hand at her knee.
“Yeah,” Her breathless declaration murmured out from behind a smile. “Where are we going?”
“Where would you like to go?”
“It’s your country. I’m leaving it up to you.”
Was she always this complying? Maybe he’d test that theory. “So, if I said, we’re going to see the symphony or an opera…you’d be up for that?”
“You didn’t say, ‘what do you want to do’.” She challenged him with her dauntless blue eyes. “You said, ‘where would you like to go’.”
“Okay.” Julian laughed. “What do you want to do?”
“Well…how about dinner and then maybe a walk on the beach or something?” An alluring smile implied she was inviting trouble.
Not that Julian wanted to tempt fate. He just wanted to explore what was underneath that little black dress.
It couldn’t hurt. They were supposed to be in love.
“Good call. After all, we are thought to be lovers, are we not?” He reassured her with a soft caress over the bare portion of her thigh. But he didn’t push it. He didn’t invite himself to further exploration. Not yet.
“I’m just trying to cover all our bases,” she said, her voice strengthening as if she’d regained some of her confidence.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“What do you mean?”
“What kind of food?
“How about something local?”
Good answer. Not too specific, but she narrowed it down just the same, and complimented his hometown by keeping it ‘local’. Very pleasing.
Maybe he’d take her to L’Epuisette. That way, he could sate her palate with the best food around and reduce her inhibitions with some good champagne. He cut the boat’s engine and coasted alongside the pier, landing near his driver waiting by the car.
Julian stood and helped Camille to her feet. He liked the way the boat ride had tousled her hair, leaving it all windblown and sexy-looking. Their exhilarating escape reddened her cheeks.
He handed her off to Sebastian, his driver, who helped her out of the boat. She climbed up onto the landing and Julian enjoyed the advantageous view for admiring her assets. Her legs, bare and gleaming, continued to arouse him. Her dress hugged her hips, teasing him. Her laughter filled him with not just joy, but hope. Hope that when this was all over, he’d surface as the victor.
Camille could’ve gone straight to the car, but she didn’t. Surprisingly, she stood on the edge of the dock, waiting for him to emerge from the boat. She was the first to do that. There had been plenty who’d traversed the river with him, but none had ever thought of him. Not once. Until Camille.
For someone who was in it for material gain, she was doing a hell of a job at making Julian feel like she was here for him.
Camille waited for Julian on the landing. Mainly because she wasn’t about to get into the car without him. The suspicious sort, there weren’t many people she trusted. But she trusted Julian—sort of—yet there was no reason to offer blind faith to his employees.
Julian grinned at her and grabbed her hand. His manly grasp settled a warmth over Camille that she wasn’t used to. She followed him to the car and Sebastian opened the door. Julian laid his palm against the small of her back, guiding her inside.
He slid in beside her and loosened his tie. The citrus scent of his cologne intoxicated her. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, she smoothed her dress and rested her hands in her lap.
“Would you like a glass of champagne?”
Her first thought was to say no. Drinking on an empty stomach had never turned out well in the past. But a sip or two wouldn’t hurt, and it might help her lighten up. She wanted to enjoy the evening, not worry about what she was doing right or wrong.
But what could she do that would chase Julian away?
He wasn’t going to up and leave her. Not yet anyway. For the next six months she could count on Julian more than she’d ever been able to count on anybody else—except maybe Granny Mae.
“Maybe a touch,” she said of the champagne.
Julian grabbed a bottle, popped the top and poured the overflowing spirits into two glasses. He handed one to her and kept the other for himself.
She sipped the liquor, bubbles tickling her nose. She didn’t care much for the tart taste, but she supposed people put up with it for the buzz. Still, there had to be a better way. At least a better tasting way. Maybe a Pina Colada, a Daiquiri, or something made with melon liqueur. Yeah, that sounded good.
She might get one of those during dinner, but for now she’d go with what was on hand.
Julian downed his drink, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Camille. He turned to her, draping his arm along the back of the seat behind her. “If Papa or Madeleine get to be too much, just tell them to talk to me.”
He was beating around the bush about something, what she wasn’t sure. “Are you expecting them to get out of hand?” Her fingers stiffened around her glass.
“No, I don’t think so. But Papa has invited Madeleine to stay through the wedding.”
Camille shrugged to hide her confusion. “She must be a glutton for punishment.”
“I wondered about that myself.”
“Why would she want to attend a wedding in which she aspired to be the bride?”
“Papa is probably to blame.” Julian refilled his glass. “I think he’s probably put it in her head that she can somehow thwart the wedding.” He glanced at Camille with the champagne bottle in the air, as if waiting for her to request or decline more.
She did neither. “So, I should keep a sharp eye out?” Camille fidgeted, not liking the idea that Madeleine could smash her dreams beyond repair.
“Couldn’t hurt.” His fingertips caressed her hair back from her face. His touch was suddenly almost unbearable in its tenderness.
She drew her head back, facets of desire shuddering through her.
“Will I be catching the two of you in bed?” She laughed, mostly because she’d come to believe that Papa and Madeleine would be the main topic of all their conversations. It reiterated the fact that Julian de Laurent would never be interested in her. She was just a means to an end. A way out of real matrimony.
“If Madeleine has her way…I wouldn’t doubt it.” Julian’s laughter wrapped its cold tips around her heart.
But why wouldn’t Julian sleep with Madeleine. He’d already said he didn’t have anything against her. Just like most men, Julian probably wouldn’t mind sleeping with a girl he wasn’t interested in marrying.
And Julian and Camille? They were merely in a business arrangement. He had no real alignment to her, and thinking otherwise was crazy.
Prepare yourself, chickie. She heard her warning loud and clear. Julian had all but told Camille she’d be finding him in bed with his mistress.
But no matter. Camille was prepared to play the dutiful wife to the hilt. The payoff was worth it. And in the meantime, she was going to enjoy being the wife of one of the richest men in the world—for as long as it lasted.
“Have you decided where we’ll be eating?” she asked, trying to keep the mood light.
“Since you expressed an interest in the local cuisine, I thought we’d dine at L’Epuisette.”
I say eat; he says dine. The subtle differences in their vocabulary wrapped her in a straitjacket of unworthiness. Suddenly she felt unintelligent, uneducated, and undeserving, even though she’d graduated from Stanford University with honors.
“It sounds lovely.” Her words drifted off into a hushed whisper.
“You’ll enjoy it. I promise.” That chocolaty tone of Julian’s voice returned, sounding more enticing than ever. She was caught up in his enthusiasm.
“It has to be awesome,” she said with conviction. “You’ve never let me down yet.”
He studied her, like he was amazed—or maybe it was amused. “You keep that up and Papa will fall in love with you.” His statement, bold and brassy, skittered her pulse.
She felt her face burn, and she hoped the dim, almost nonexistent light hid her weakness.
The car rolled to a stop in front of a wood-planked building on the edge of the sea. The doorman stepped forward and opened the car door.
The warm night air breezed past and caressed her bare arms as Julian nudged her from the limousine. Tantalizing thoughts invaded her head. Julian grabbed her hand and she prayed he didn’t notice her shivering reaction.
“Are you cold?” he asked, draping his arm around her shoulders as they strolled toward the restaurant’s entrance.
“No.” She smiled, hoping to convey that she didn’t mind his touch. “Everything’s perfect.”
Julian rested his hand on the small of her back as they entered the restaurant’s lobby.
“Mr. de Laurent.” They were greeted with smiles and hellos and handshakes. “Your table is ready.”
&nbs
p; They followed the maître’d through the restaurant. Tasteful wall hangings and pleated drapes divided the dining area into intimate sectors and the privacy they afforded more than made up for the establishment’s overcrowded popularity.
The dimly lit ambiance mesmerized Camille as they followed the maître’d up a short flight of stairs and out onto a private balcony, amply shrouded in shrubbery and foliage. They were led to a secluded table against a tall banister overlooking the sea. She guessed this was Julian’s regular table.
Camille sighed, happily relieved over the privacy. Pretending to be in love was going to take some adjusting. Easy for an actress, but not Camille.
Julian remained standing while the waiter seated her. Nobody had ever done that for Camille. With just two chairs at the small table, he sat with his back to the railing and reached across the table for her hand.
She succumbed, but reminded herself this was Julian’s staple for wooing the ladies. He probably brought all his conquests here to fill their tummies and get them in the mood so he could win their favors. And he’d brought her here just to keep up the charade. But she wasn’t one of his conquests. She was his business partner.
“Would you care to see a wine list?” the waiter asked.
Julian rattled off something in French, and Camille didn’t doubt they’d soon be drinking the finest champagne France had to offer.
But damn. She’d just as soon sip on a cocktail. Something sweet, exotic, and intoxicating.
The waiter walked away and Julian fiddled with his jacket and tie and beamed at her with an overdone smile. “What’s your pleasure? Chicken, seafood or steak?”
“I have to choose one?”
Julian howled. But it was a good kind of laughter. An enjoyable one. “Chéri, you can have everything on the menu, if that’s your desire.”
Her desire was a Pina Colada. And why couldn’t she ask for one? Why was she trying to appear so agreeable? She didn’t need to impress Julian. She just needed to stay put and not leave.
She leaned toward him. “Julian,” she whispered, “do they serve cocktails here? I’d so love something fruity and sweet.”
Billionaire Games Boxed Set (The Marriage Bargain, The Marriage Caper, The Marriage Fix) Page 8