by Jani Kay
“Our lunch awaits, mademoiselle.” Maxwell grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Hungry?”
“I’m ready to eat my fingers.” I laughed, happy at the sight of food. “Must be all the fresh air.”
We dug into the basket, the delectable French fare made my mouth water. He spread pate onto thick rustic slices of bread and offered me a bite. Famished, I took a big bite. He grinned with delight.
Maxwell poured two glasses of wine and placed them on spikes stuck into the grass to keep them from falling over. I stuffed my mouth, taking a few sips of wine to wash it all down. I was trying to be as ladylike as I could, but my hunger was getting the better of me. We both ate as if we’d been stranded on a desert island for weeks, enjoying every morsel.
“Feeling better now?” he asked, smiling at me.
He did hear my stomach rumble.
“Fantastic.” I smiled, rubbing my stomach. “Thank you.”
“And now, for the piece de resistance,” he declared dramatically as he lifted a large bowl and two spoons from the basket. I groaned loudly. Chocolate mousse.
“Your favorite.” A wicked grin spread over his face.
A flashback of him feeding me a spoonful of his dessert last night at the bistro, ran through my mind. It was so...sensuous. I swallowed hard; I didn’t want to think of Maxwell in that way. It could only lead to heartache. And, I’d had enough of that.
Besides, I had just made an absolute pig of myself.
What must he think?
He probably only ever seen his wife picking on a few lettuce leaves and carrot sticks.
“Open wide,” he teased, as he directed a spoonful toward my mouth before I could refuse. I sheepishly took the spoon, feeling his eyes on me as I did. I knew he was thinking of last night, too. Warmth crept over my cheeks. Why the hell was being fed chocolate mousse by Maxwell Grant so goddamn sexy?
He leaned forward. “You had some mousse, here,” he drawled, as his mouth came down on mine. He licked over my lips, tasting me, letting out a low moan. His lips were soft, moist. Delicious.
I turned to stone. Panic swept through me as I felt a tingle in my core.
God, I’m turned on.
“Delectable,” he whispered at the corner of my mouth, and plunged his tongue into my silky depths. I came to life, yielding under his mouth, just about to respond, and to kiss him back, when a warning flickered in my brain.
Stop.
My heart racing in my chest, my head spinning, I pulled away.
“Maxwell, don’t.” I heaved, breathless from his kiss.
I jumped up, blindly running toward the buildings, back to where there were people. It was the only response I knew other than to fight. So, I fled instead.
Tears prickled the back of my throat.
Why am I such a bloody fool?
Out of nowhere, a child chasing after his ball ran into me as I came to the top of a flight of stairs. I swerved, losing my balance and took a tumble down the stairs.
God, I feel a real fool now. I sat up, dazed. The child came up to me, speaking in French. Next thing, his parents were there, babbling in French, too, seemingly apologizing profusely for my fall, and trying to help me up.
“Don’t get up, you may have broken something.” It was Maxwell. He spoke fluent French to the apologetic couple. They nodded their heads, smiled at me, and took off.
Maxwell let out a soft curse and lifted me up into his arms, burying his face in my hair, not looking at me for the longest time.
Hardly above a whisper he said, “Are you OK, my firebird?”
I nodded my head against his chest, unable to speak.
I was dumbstruck. His firebird?
What the hell did that mean?
“Please stop running from me.” There was pain in his voice. I didn’t respond; I didn’t know what to say. I closed my eyes. His nearness was disturbing and I was already so confused.
He carried me back to the main building as if I were as light as a feather. After that lunch, I was surprised at his strength. We didn’t say a word till we were inside the building. He placed me gently on a bed at the first-aid station, calling the paramedics over, squeezing my hand. I grimaced.
Thankfully the paramedics asked Maxwell to leave the room as they started their check-up.
“You’re very lucky, madam. You only have a few scrapes and a sprained ankle. You’ve torn the ligaments of the joint, it’s caused swelling. It will be painful. It is not possible to put weight on the leg. You must rest and keep icepacks on it. Your husband will take care of you, no?” the paramedic said, in his heavy French accent, as he tightly bandaged my ankle.
“He...he is not my husband...” I stammered.
“He looks at you with so much love. You are getting married soon, no?” said the nurse, looking up from her paperwork.
I didn’t reply, but wouldn’t be surprised if I was the color of the red cross on the wall.
“How soon before I can walk again?” I quickly changed the subject.
“That depends. Keep icepacks on it, applied for fifteen minutes every two hours. Also the injured joint, it must rest. Raise the ankle above your heart as much as possible. Bed rest is best. It is especially important in the next forty-eight hours. If you don’t, it could make the swelling worse.”
Two days. Damn.
Opening the door, the nurse beckoned to Maxwell to come in. His eyes never left mine as he approached. He swore under his breath as he ran his fingers through his hair.
“Madam...er, mademoiselle needs someone to take care of her. She must rest for forty-eight hours. But the next twelve hours are the most critical. She must keep her leg up. The icepacks need to be changed every two hours. You will take care of her, monsieur?”
“Yes, I will take care of her,” Maxwell said, with a determination in his voice that defied any arguments.
The paramedic brought a wheelchair around, but before I could even attempt to get into it, Maxwell had swept me up into his arms again.
“We won’t need that. I’ll take mademoiselle home now.”
“She’s precious cargo, be careful with your lady...good luck.” The male paramedic winked at Maxwell.
“Yes, I will take care of my lady...” Maxwell teased, laughing. “She’s precious, indeed.” I rolled my eyes at them both. I hadn’t broken anything, and it was just a sprained ankle. I’d be fine in a few hours.
The Harley.
How was I going to manage that?
“Don’t panic,” Maxwell read my mind again. “I’ve organized a taxi. The rental company will pick the Harley up from here. ”
Relief washed over me. As brave as I tried to be coming here, I knew I couldn’t cope going back on a motorcycle. Maxwell carried me carefully down the stairs and into the waiting taxi. He slid in next to me and placed my ankle on his thigh.
Before I could protest he said dryly, “Keep it raised, remember?”
It was futile to argue. I sighed and leaned back, trying to get comfortable.
In fluent French, Maxwell instructed the taxi driver. I didn’t hear the name of my hotel mentioned, and I was sure I would’ve at least recognized that part.
“You’re staying at my suite tonight so I can look after you. You can’t run this time, Rebecca. And there is no point in arguing.” His lips twisted into a snarl.
I opened my mouth to say something and closed it again. I was speechless. His arrogance had crept back.
I tried again. “Maxwell, I’ve had a really enjoyable day in spite of this mishap. And up until now, you have even been...pleasant. But, I know you are supposed to fly back home this evening. I will be fine. Please just drop me at my hotel.”
“Rebecca, I have it all under control. It was my fault you fell, I’ll take care of you until it’s better. I’ve already postponed my flight.” He clenched his jaw, as if his patience was running really thin.
“What about your wife?” I asked feebly.
“What about my wife?” He answered my question
with another question.
“Isn’t she expecting you home? What’ll she say if you have another woman in your room?”
“It’s none of her concern,” he replied, closing his eyes. He looked really tired.
What does he mean, ‘none of her concern’? How bizarre.
I pressed on. “If you were my husband I would definitely not want another woman in your hotel room,” I said, exasperated at trying to get my point across to him. This was a bad idea.
“Is that so, Rebecca. If I were your husband...” he mocked me. He turned to look at me. Something very dark stirred in his eyes. I looked away quickly, pretending I didn’t see anything.
Finally I gave up. I wasn’t going to win this time.
Chapter 57
We got back to Paris in no time. The taxi pulled up outside a grand hotel. Maxwell lifted me out of the back seat and unceremoniously carried me through the lobby toward the elevator. Everyone was staring at us. Maxwell grinned as if he’d just caught the biggest fish in the pond and was holding the proof. Even the bellboy winked at Maxwell.
Men and their codes.
He took me up to his suite, which was double the size of mine. Gently, he lay me on the oversized bed. I’d become so comfortable in his arms, that I missed his body’s warmth when I reluctantly slipped my arm from around his neck to let him go. I shivered and let out a sigh.
The painkillers were making me drowsy—especially combined with the two glasses of wine I’d had just before the incident. Housekeeping delivered a few more pillows and Maxwell instructed them to lift my leg right up into the air, so that my ankle was above my heart. I felt totally ridiculous in this compromising position. It wasn’t somewhere I could fight easily from.
Vulnerable and at his mercy.
I didn’t like that one bit.
He pulled a large T-shirt from a drawer and handed it to me.
“You’ll be a lot more comfortable in this,” he said, as he turned away, giving me privacy to change. Wriggling on the bed to remove my jeans and muddied T-shirt, I slipped his oversized T-shirt over my head. It smelled of him, crisp and clean, with a hint of citrus.
The housekeeper removed my clothing off the bed and I pulled the blanket up to cover myself. Maxwell turned back, took the ice packs from the housekeeper and dismissed her politely. He gently placed them around my ankle. I shivered. He smiled down at me and pulled the blanket up to under my chin, stroking my cheek. The last thing I remembered before dozing off was the soft touch of his lips on my temple.
Maxwell finally had the advantage over me; I couldn’t run anywhere.
I woke up in a daze.
Where the hell am I?
Taking in my surroundings, I flinched at the throbbing pain in my ankle. That jerked my memory.
Peering toward the window, I drew in a sharp breath when I saw Maxwell spread out and fast asleep on the chaise lounge next to my bed. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, absurdly vulnerable. His brow which was permanently knitted whenever he was in my company was relaxed and he looked a lot younger than his thirty years.
My gaze fell on the clock, it was five in the morning.
Oh. My. God.
I was meant to go to Alain’s chateau last night. He was probably wondering where I was, worried. I hadn’t called. I had to get to my phone and call him, regardless of the time. Alain would be frantic by now.
I slipped off the bed to find my phone, wincing at the pain as my feet touched the floor. I tried to place all my weight on my left leg, only using the tips of my toes on my injured leg to balance myself so I didn’t fall over. Shuffling slowly, I tried to make as little noise as possible so I didn’t wake Maxwell.
Concentrating hard on being quiet, I didn’t notice the ottoman in front of me. I tripped over it and let out a yelp before landing squarely on my ass with a thud.
Maxwell leapt out of his chair, cursing. “Rebecca, are you OK?” He flipped on the light switch.
“What the hell...?” he roared, when he saw where I was. “Are you trying to sneak out?” The anger in his voice was not pretty.
“No, I was just going to the loo,” I lied.
His eyes softened. “Oh...OK, then. Let me help you.” He bent over and picked me up off the floor, sighing heavily. “Next time, please wake me.”
What now?
He carried me to the marbled bathroom and set me down on the bench next to the toilet. “I’m sure you’ll manage, just call me when you’re done.” His tone was sardonic. He turned and closed the door behind him.
May as well take a pee while I’m here.
I sat in the bathroom for the longest time, mulling everything that happened over in my head. An impatient knock on the door had me nearly jump out of my skin.
“Have you escaped through the window? Still trying to run, Rebecca?” He joked, but his voice was bitter.
“I...I’m just done,” I said, as I splashed my face with water. “You can come in now.”
He took a few long strides toward me and lifted me up again. This time he was rough, his anger still seething. My ankle hit against the basin pedestal as he turned. I let out a stifled cry as pain shot through my leg.
“Fuck. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I hid my face in his chest, not wanting him to see the tears. I bit hard into my bottom lip.
Carrying me to the bed, he sat down, holding me in his lap. He pulled my hair, forcing my face up toward his. His eyes searched mine.
“God. I'm so sorry.” His face twisted in agony.
His mouth burned down onto mine, his anguish clear as he crushed me to him.
I couldn’t help myself. I kissed him back. I was tired of fighting.
The kiss deepened, both of us putting everything, so far unspoken, into this one lingering kiss. Fully charged, the warmth and closeness of our bodies enveloped us. His hand snaked into my hair, keeping my mouth to his as he explored the depths with his tongue. I met him halfway, tasting the sweetness that was Maxwell’s mouth, my fingers tangled in the thick hair at the nape of his neck.
Awareness of a stirring against my hip jolted me back to reality. He was rock hard. God, no.
This can’t happen. Not now. Not ever.
I pull away from him, withdrawing my hands from my embrace.
“No. Please let me go.”
He stared at me in disbelief, his lips draw to a thin line, a vein pulsing in his neck.
“I want you. You are my firebird.” The intensity of the lust in his eyes frightened me.
“No, Maxwell. Never.” My voice choked.
I crawled out of his lap onto the bed and covered myself with the blanket. I was shaking now. My body was fighting me. It hungered for more of Maxwell’s touch.
What the hell was going on with me?
I wanted Maxwell. My core was wet and throbbing.
I fucking wanted him.
“Please pass me my phone, I have to go...” I whispered.
Maxwell rose to his feet, running his hands through his hair. He stared at me, adjusted his cock in his pants, and swore loudly.
“Sweet Jesus, when will you stop running?” he growled. “You want me to fuck you. I want to fuck you. It’s that simple. When will you understand?”
He turned and strode to the lounge. Seconds later he returned and wordlessly passed me my phone. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear to see his face. I would crack if I did.
Chapter 58 - Alain
I was worried sick. All this week I’d been looking forward to Rebecca returning to the chateau. I was meant to be picking her up myself. I couldn’t wait to see her, to hold her, to make love to her, again. I doubted we would even make it to the chateau before I possessed her. I was so hungry for her.
When I arrived at the hotel, the pretty brunette informed me that she hadn’t returned from her outing earlier today. Her outing with a tall gentleman on a motorcycle. I cursed the heavens. Who the fuck was the man she took off with?
On a motorcycle?
Rebecca had to
ld me she hated them, and I understood why.
Surely they’re wrong. They must be mistaking my Rebecca for someone else. The fear I saw in her eyes when she told me about the death of her high school sweetheart was very real.
Explaining my situation to reception, using my persuasive techniques and flashing what I hoped was a killer smile at the brunette, she finally allowed access to Rebecca’s room. I looked around; nothing was packed for her stay at the chateau.
Has she run off with another man?
My mind played evil tricks on me, I imagined her being fucked by another man and I felt rage tear through my veins.
I should have come sooner. I should’ve insisted that she give up her contract and come to the chateau with me, where I could have her under my wing. I’d take care of her, in every way possible. She didn’t need this ridiculously demanding job, or to work for that fucker of a boss of hers. I was over it and planned to tell her.
If she comes back.
The little voice in the back of my head tormented me.
No. I wouldn’t lose her now. Not after finding the one woman who quickened my pulse just at the thought of her. She had crept under my skin and into my heart. She was mine.
It was time Rebecca knew what I had known for some time now. I needed to tell her that I loved her. That she was mine and mine only.
I paced the room, looking at my watch. It felt like hours had passed, but my watch had only moved on five minutes. I shook the goddamn watch. This was not the time for the battery to go flat. My gaze fell on the bedside clock. There was nothing wrong with my watch.
Exhausted by these weeks of searching for her, then finally finding her and waiting with anticipation for her return to me, had totally wiped me out.
My phone buzzed next to me, waking me from a fitful sleep. Even her pillow smelled of her, it managed to calm me. I grabbed the phone. Rebecca. Relief washed over me.
“Cherie.” I had to control my voice, I felt like screaming. “Where are you?” Followed by silence.
“Fuck. Answer me. Are you there... ?” Panic rose in my chest.
Is this some cruel joke? Has something happened to Rebecca?