“What a day! It seems we have gotten quite a bargain with you, Vera,” Mrs. Arnaud burst out, herself again. Relieved, I smiled; nothing meant more than what Marianne Arnaud thought of me.
“That was bloody awesome!” Charlotte paced back and forth, gesticulating theatrically. “It was like an old episode of Gray’s Anatomy. Blood and guts everywhere. The patient comes in clinging to life and then, when the tired, old head surgeon fails, the young resident steps in––” she wheeled around, “and saves the day!”
“Charlotte, really?” I bit my lip, suppressing a goofy grin. “I feel the need to point out that no one was clinging to life. No guts anywhere, thank God. And I have never once saved the day––I might have ruined a couple though.”
She rolled her eyes in a comically exasperated fashion. “You’re such a bloody stickler for details.”
“But you do have medical training?” Mrs. Arnaud cut in.
“Yes, madame. I have my medical degree. I graduated with honors.” I whispered the last part. “But I still have to complete my residency.” Mrs. Arnaud regarded me thoughtfully. “Madame, I hope I didn’t do anything to get Mr. Bentifourt in trouble. Mr. Horn looked angry. Not that that’s uncommon––” Mrs. Arnaud shook her head, stalling my words.
“Non, Olivier has handled Mr. Horn since he was a child. There is nothing for you to worry about.” She picked up the bloody rags and handed them to Charlotte. “Chérie, take these to the laundry room please.”
Charlotte left the kitchen immediately. A heavy silence caused me to glance up from the table I was busy disinfecting and I found Mrs. Arnaud’s attention focused entirely on me. “I’m going to tell you something, Vera. Not because I’m making excuses––because I believe you will understand.” Taking a seat, her shoulders slumped, deflating with a heavy exhale.
“I was thirty-five when I came to work here. I wasn’t doing well…mentally. My husband had left me without a word, not even a note. Sebastian was a little boy, only six, and always alone.” A tender smile tugged at her lips. “He would sit in the kitchen with me and help with whatever I was doing. Mostly he just kept me company. We became friends instantly, even if we didn’t speak much––he hardly ever said anything. It saved me from my own misery…he saved me.” Lost in the memory, she glanced over my shoulder with a troubled look on her face. “His mother was either out having a good time, or tending to her own needs. And her husband was far from a good parent. He was extremely demanding…never saw him hug the child once in all those years.” When her eyes returned to me, they were filled with an earnest strength. “I know he can be harsh, but try not to judge him too harshly. That man has had very little in his life to be happy about. And may I remind you that all that glitters is not gold.”
I shrank from the slight disapproval in her voice. And although I wasn’t about to forgive his behavior towards me, I had to agree that I had been quick to judge him. Would I have made more allowances for him if he’d been ugly and poor? Probably. I would’ve looked for excuses for his behavior. And pain would have been an obvious one.
* * *
I returned to my room by early evening and found the door ajar. I paused, contemplating whether I had shut it firmly when I left that morning, and decided that I had. An insidious fear sprouted up. The impulse to flee made my heart beat in a ramshackle rhythm. I fought it––surely I was safe here, I thought.
Pushing the door open, I quietly stepped inside and noticed my desk lamp turned on, the curtains moved aside. Dusk had fallen. The lavender glow cast smeared shadows on the walls that made the room look eerie and unfamiliar.
That’s when I noticed him sitting in my chair, his cane propped against the wall, my medical book in one hand and his head bent over it. He wore a simple white t-shirt and an old pair of Levi’s, a complete departure from his usual Lord of the Manor look with his expensive suits and air of invincibility. Raking his long fingers through his hair absentmindedly, he looked almost human, relaxed and approachable when at ease.
His head rose and the eyes that met mine were not the same shuttered ones I had come to know so well. On the contrary, the eyes staring back at me now were warm and curious–– filled with yearning. What I found in his gaze felt profoundly familiar. I reached for it but it pulled away, leading me dangerously near the edge of something big. Scared of what I might find, I took a cautious step back and the spell was broken. The warmth leaked out of his expression as he retreated behind the walls of his fortress. He closed the book and placed it on my desk, grabbed his cane as he stood, shrinking the room with his overpowering form…wielding his size as a weapon.
“Medical books.” The sensual rumble of his voice reached inside of me and triggered things I didn’t want to feel for him. Like a tuning fork, my body responded immediately. Heat accumulated below my waist and a pulsing need settled between my thighs. I was petrified he would realize my attraction to him so of course the devil in me chose that moment to make an appearance.
“What are you doing in my room?”
“She speaks.” There was a smile in his voice, though his face gave nothing away. That kindled my anger. I refused to be something he toyed with for his amusement.
“I shouldn’t have to say anything to you. You shouldn’t be here.” When he stepped forward, I instinctively moved back, crashing into the cool, stone wall. Adroitly, he had trapped me between it and his chest. Only a slice of light remained between us. I refused to satisfy his ego and meet his gaze so I simply stared ahead, pretending to see nothing and feeling too much.
The heat radiating from him warmed my clammy skin. His scent, that distinct hint of maleness mixed with soap and expensive cologne, invaded my senses. It was intoxicating. I wanted to lean into it so instead I pressed my spine up against the cold stucco and flinched as it dug into the thin skin of my back.
“Thank you for taking care of Giovanni.” The warm puffs of his breath near my temple made my hairline tingle. The vibration of his rough-hewn voice danced on my skin. “The surgeon said you did an adequate job with the stitches…don’t do it again. I keep a helicopter here for that exact purpose.” Adequate job?? Those stitches were perfect!
The taunting had the desired effect. My eyes snapped up and resentment made me glow the color of good Chianti. I caught him searching my face and realized too late that it pleased him to shock me. And I had played right into it like the overwrought, lusty idiot I had become. “Please leave, or I will scream.”
He stared back unfazed by the threat. But he was wrestling with something. I could feel it as distinctly as the heavy thumping of my heart.
The loud shrill of his cell phone broke the stalemate. He pulled it out of his back pocket and briefly glanced at the screen. His amber eyes, returning to me quickly, told me he wasn’t done with this conversation. The unspoken promise hung between us. Without a backward glance, he stalked out of my room.
When the door shut, I sagged against the wall, trying to recover from the drain of energy that follows an adrenaline rush.
The longing I had detected in his eyes must have been a pathetic figment of my imagination, years of abstinence having damaged my ability to judge anything regarding the opposite sex. The pheromones in my blood were running amok. This man had no warmth left in him, no empathy whatsoever. Charlotte said he lacked something. She was right. Perhaps when his wife died, the best parts of him, the human parts, had died with her.
Chapter Eight
The next few days were unseasonably warm. We began spring cleaning, starting with the drapes in the great room. I dragged them outside and beat the dust out of them until my arms were reduced to two useless rubbery appendages. Mrs. Arnaud shook her head when she saw me stumbling through the door, buried over my head in heaps of costly Italian silk. Shortly afterwards, Theo came in and helped me hang them back up.
With his assistance, I was done by early afternoon, and the weather being agreeable, I decided to go into town for some shopping. I needed to buy a new pair of sneakers t
o replace the ones that had disintegrated on the road to the estate, and more of the body oil the parfumeur had mixed especially for me. Bulgarian white roses, a woodsy note of light musk…it was the one small luxury I allowed myself.
The charming town had one of everything: a bakery, a butcher, a church. I had spent hours walking through the narrow cobblestone streets trying to get lost. It was impossible. No matter which direction I walked in, I always found myself back in the center of town, the piazza, where old men sipped their espressos and winked at me as I walked by.
In the distance, the sky signaled fair warning of an approaching storm. A ribbon of delicate pink, blue-gray, and mandarin orange trimmed the horizon. As I hurried across a front lawn as tidy as a putting green, I spotted Giovanni spreading mulch on a flowerbed of flaming red geraniums. He paused to tip his wide brimmed hat at me and I waved back, afterwards continuing down the long gravel driveway at a brisk pace. Pushing the sleeves of my t-shirt up over my shoulders, I let the sun overheat my pale skin. The crisp, clean air, rife with the scent of fresh cut grass, invited me to take deep breaths.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, I sent up a silent prayer to whatever guardian angel had led me here. So much had changed in the past few weeks. There was still that dreadful second when I awoke, expecting to find my face plastered against the scratchy polyester pillowcase of the bed in my old apartment. Yet nothing was sweeter than the relief that washed over me when I realized it hadn’t been a dream.
I was floating on cloud nine when a familiar black car turned onto the gravel driveway. Instantly, I came crashing back down to earth. It slowed as it neared me. I didn’t look in its direction. Pointless, really. First, the windows were an impenetrable black. And second, I knew exactly who was driving. He was going to trample all over my good mood. Of that, I was certain.
The dark window slid down. He paused a beat before removing his silver aviator sunglasses. Arrogance incarnate. Nina Simone’s soulful voice drifted from the car speakers. ‘Sinner Man’. Hmm, how appropriate. He stared at me with a displeased curiosity––not unlike how one would inspect a new mole or a gray hair. His gaze did a subtle head to toe inspection of my person, and a small v appeared between his brows. With a heavy sigh, he turned down the music.
“Where are you going?” His audacity never ceased to amaze me. It didn’t even sound like a question, more like a reprimand.
“Into town.” I walked past the car. A moment later, I heard it moving again. The car pulled up next to me, slowly keeping pace. The passenger window slid open.
“Get in the car. I’ll give you a ride.”
I tried to refrain from looking horrified. Not sure I succeeded. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”
“That wasn’t a question. Get in the car.”
I stopped and turned, gapping in disbelief. The arrogance of this man was beyond comprehension and I’d had just about enough of it. I put my hands on my hips and blasted him with a scowl of my own. Although, I think, not nearly as terrifying. “I’m certain you consider yourself lord of all you survey. But last time I checked, I was not sold into slavery. So contrary to what you may wish, I am walking into town.”
His narrowed eyes reminded me of a sleepy tiger, right before it pounces on some poor unsuspecting baby elephant. “There’s a storm coming. Get in the car, or I will get out and put you in the car myself.” He couldn’t possibly be serious? He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t doubt it for a minute.” He was serious. I was also pretty sure that he could, and would do it. This was not a man that made idle threats. There wasn’t a soul in sight to ride to my rescue so I did the only thing I could––I got into the car.
The door barely made a whisper as it sealed shut, enclosing me in absolute luxury. My wandering eyes drank in every detail. The instruments were all black and sleek, the trim was gleaming exotic wood, the cognac leather interior hand stitched. It was immaculate. I felt terribly out of place, afraid to touch anything. The vacuum-sealed silence was interrupted by his deep, raspy voice. “Good girl.”
I turned, leveling him with a nasty stare. “I see that it has escaped your keen power of observation that I am not a girl, nor am I a dog to be commanded to stay or to come.”
“It hasn’t escaped me…trust me,” he muttered cryptically. “Lord of all I survey?” The side of his sensual mouth curved up in a brief smile, a glimmer of amusement on an otherwise stony expression.
“Yes, your Highness.”
He muffled a laugh, and covered it up with a cough. I had never heard him laugh before. Not once. It took me by surprise.
Each second we drove in silence seemed to last an eternity. I sat there upright and stiff as a corpse, fuming with resentment, feeling his perceptive gaze take in my shoes, my clothing––every detail about me. The contrast between us was startling. Everything I wore was either worn out, old or mended. He, on the other hand, was perfectly groomed, draped in thousands of euros worth of clothing. I stole quick, surreptitious glances in his direction. And like a beggar at a banquet, there was so much my greedy eyes wanted to take in that I didn’t know where to begin.
He had removed his jacket, daunting for his custom made suits to contain all that testosterone no doubt––and his shirt still looked fresh. Really? His clothes wouldn’t even wrinkle on him? A silver Rolex with a lapis blue face sat on his wrist. Silver cufflinks carved into delicate knots winked at me from the French cuff of his silky cotton shirt. The seductive scent of laundry detergent and his expensive cologne mixed with the smell of new leather was subtle enough that I wanted to follow my nose in search for more of it.
Inadvertently, my gaze landed on my worn out jeans and the ugly truth smacked me in the face. I was a woman far beneath his notice, undeserving of consideration or civility. My vanity kicked and screamed. My pride bristled at the injustice. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I didn’t begrudge him his magnificence, but I hated how it made me feel…inferior, unworthy.
The thump of his thumbs on the steering wheel needled my attention. My eyes traced the curves of the silver B stamped in the middle. Absently, he stroked and tapped the polished wood. White, asterisk shaped scars covered the back of his hands, starkly evident against the golden tan skin.
The accident. An image appeared in my mind’s eye so clear that I shook my head to be rid of it. My lips, on his hand…kissing every one. Disgusted with myself, I tore my gaze away and focused straight ahead, my jaw clenched tight enough to shatter glass. I never fully understood irrational compulsions before I met this man. Humbling, to say the least.
“Why would you wear those shoes to walk three miles?”
His voice interrupted a slew of self recriminating thoughts. Glancing at my striped espadrilles, I replied, “I didn’t have any choice.”
He was quiet for a while, brooding, making me uncomfortably aware of the escalating magnetic charge between us––you could touch it in the air. Why this man? Why! The road suddenly seamed endless. When he spoke again his voice had dropped a couple of octaves, had softened at the edges. “Where did you study medicine?”
“Milan.”
“What was your specialty?”
My gaze flickered over to him. The casually bored look he often wore had been replaced with an attentive one, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Family medicine. Oh look, we’re here,” I said with mocking cheerfulness. “Well––thanks for the pleasant ride.”
He drove up to the storefront and parked the car. In a rush to get as far away from him as possible, I quickly opened the door and was about to step out when he clasped my wrist, gently stopping me. I stared at the large hand wrapped around the fine bone of my wrist.
Everything about that moment seemed amplified times ten. His warm grip firm but gentle. The electric current skating on my skin. The pads of his fingers found my pulse. I couldn’t breathe, paralyzed by his touch, by all the feelings it evoked.
“Vera, I…”
My eyes lifted to his. There
was an unexpectedly contrite look on his face. I panicked, scared that he would notice my desire for him oozing out of my pores. “I have to go.” I tugged my wrist and he released me.
The thunderheads were already over us. Fat teardrops splashed on my nose, my mouth, my cheeks. My heart hammered wildly. I ran into the store and stopped just inside to catch my breath. The skin on my wrist felt burned, branded. I rubbed it in a desperate attempt to erase the feeling. How could just a touch have me this undone? But it wasn’t just any touch––it was his touch that had thoroughly destroyed my composure.
Anger rose above a litany of other emotions, most importantly for possibly jeopardizing my personal and financial security. I stood before the items packed on the shelves, fighting to regain some control over my wayward emotions. Absentmindedly, I grabbed a couple of things and went to pay.
“Oh,” I frowned. “I’m…sorry. You can remove these three items,” I said in French to the store clerk.
An herbal laxative.
Hemorrhoid cream.
And men’s deodorant.
After he rang me up, I turned to leave but the clerk’s voice checked me. I had forgotten the bag on the counter. He gave me a commiserating half-smile while I rolled my eyes.
Through the store window, I could see the rain coming down in buckets. The sky had turned angry, as dark as pitch. I stepped outside and found his car still out front. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised. The passenger side window slid down half way and our eyes met through the blur of water. “Get in,” he shouted.
A Million Different Ways (A Horn Novel Book 1) Page 8