by Jan Moran
“I call it a really nice coincidence,” he said, spreading his arms across the tiled riser in back of him. “Want to tell me what happened in there? You were swimming like a woman possessed.”
She shook her head, recalling the thoughts that had consumed her. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. It’s just business.”
“I’m a good listener.”
This wasn’t fair. He was the complete package. “I’d rather talk about something else. Besides, you’re the one leading the glamorous life.”
“Me?” Lance said, pointing to his chest. “You really don’t know what a chef does, do you?”
“Besides cook for strange, wayward women?” She laughed. “I’m sure it’s a lot of work with long hours. In fact, people usually say I’m the one with the glamorous life.”
“I’d agree with that. Look at you, jetting to Paris for a meeting. What, can’t get a phone call through?”
“It’s an important meeting, and better conducted face to face.” Verena stopped, noticing how easy it was to talk to him. Too easy. She rubbed her arms. “I’m warm now, I should probably go.” Before we take up where we left off at the beach. She started to get up.
Lance touched her hand. “It’s still early. How about a glass of wine? We can relax by the pool, but no more swimming for you tonight.”
She should turn in and put distance between them, but she was so drawn to him that her words tumbled out despite her better judgement. “I’d like that,” she said. Masking her attraction to him, she turned slightly to stretching the tension from her back. “Good for jet lag, I mean.”
“Just get in?”
She nodded. “When did you arrive?”
“Today.”
“On Air France?” When he nodded, she paused, thinking back. “I thought I saw you at the airport, but I figured I was imagining things.”
A teasing smile danced on his lips. “Seeing me in your dreams, too?”
“You flirt.” Thank goodness for a wave of steam rising between them to obscure her guilt. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I’ll order wine while you shower.” He stood and ran a hand through his hair. Opening the door for her, he asked, “Have you had dinner?”
“We had a light supper.” She padded toward the dressing area. “See you soon,” she added, smiling at his spiky sauna hair.
She stepped into the shower and let cool, refreshing water sluice over her warm skin. She could hardly believe Lance was here. In all her travels, she’d never been to Paris with a man. A friend, she corrected herself. Who just happens to be a man, a very real man.
She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, toweling dry. Catching a glimpse of her lean body in the mirror, she stood tall, realizing that she was as prepared as she’d ever be for her meeting tomorrow. She knew her business well. It would do her good to relax.
Looking around the well-appointed dressing area, she saw it had everything she needed. She rinsed out her swimsuit, dried her hair, and then put on a fresh white cotton robe she’d found in a locker. After strolling back to the pool area, she made herself comfortable on a chaise lounge, thoughts of Lance uppermost in her mind.
Her thoughts wandered, and with a start, she found herself comparing Lance and Derrick, weighing their attributes. But there was more to this accounting than that.
If she was truthful with herself, she’d often felt there was something missing in her relationship with Derrick, even in the beginning, but she’d been attracted partly out of curiosity. His power and intellect had been compelling. She’d never met anyone like him.
Still, the few times she’d seen Lance, he had stirred feelings deep within her that she’d never known before. As much as she fought it, she had a visceral reaction to his presence.
There, I’ve admitted it, she thought. Now what?
Lance sat in the intimate lounge area waiting for his order to be prepared. While working in Paris at the Ritz, he had met the manager of the Majestic, and as they became friends, Lance had spent a lot of time here.
He stroked his chin, remembering the day he’d spoken to Mia Valent and Camille Dubois at the Polo Lounge. They had talked about Paris, and Mia had asked him where he was staying. He’d lay money that Mia had arranged this coincidence. He thought about it a moment and then laughed to himself. That sweet woman is playing matchmaker.
“Then I won’t let her down,” he murmured to himself. Nor would he let Verena in on the plot. Mia could prove to be a powerful ally.
Verena Valent. What an incredible woman. He’d known a lot of pretty women, sophisticated women, wealthy women, but he’d never known anyone like her. She seemed completely unaffected by the life in the fast lane in L.A. She had an innate sense of grace. The first night he’d ever seen her, he had stopped by the ballroom at the Beverly Hills Hotel to observe his banquet team in action. She was speaking at the podium and accepting an award. But he hadn’t caught her name. Who was she?
It was as if he’d been struck—not by lightning, but by enlightenment. He had stood in the back of the room, transfixed by her melodious voice and the passion in her words. Instantly he understood the passion she had for her profession; he felt the same about his cooking. It was as if she were the woman he’d been waiting for. He had to find out who she was. He’d even made a note to ask the banquet manager.
He remembered the dress she’d worn that night, a silver-colored evening gown that set off her pale golden hair. The meeting at the pool later that evening really had been a coincidence, yet he was quick to seize the opportunity to cook for her and learn more about her.
A young man carrying a tray of food emerged from the kitchen. “Shall I take this to the pool room for you?”
“No, I’ve got it, thanks,” Lance said. He took the tray, and then punched the elevator call button. The doors slid open, and he stepped in.
When he opened the door to the pool area and saw Verena, he could hardly speak. He ached to have someone like this in his life—no, he corrected himself. He wanted her in his life. Seeing her lounging in her robe, her hair freshly washed and her face devoid of makeup, made him imagine what it would be like to wake with her in the morning. Have patience. His gut tightened.
“Your order, mademoiselle,” he said, placing the tray on a small table between their chaise lounge chairs. He poured a small amount of golden-colored wine into a crystal glass and handed it to her. “Try this.”
Lifting the glass by the stem, she sipped the wine. “Marvelous,” she said. Her hand quivered slightly.
“Chateau d’Yquem. Some call it liquid gold. It’s one of my favorite wines with dessert or foie gras. Its magic is derived from botrytis cinerea, or noble rot.”
Watching her, he finished pouring the wine. Removing a cover from a plate, he revealed a selection of colorful macaroon treats arranged in a checkerboard pattern. Rolled white chocolate straws separated the treats, and blueberries and raspberries garnished the plate.
“Thought you might like to have something festive to celebrate your survival.” He selected a raspberry macaroon for her.
“Looks delicious. My stomach hasn’t adjusted to the time change yet. I don’t know if it’s time for breakfast or dessert.” Biting into the sweet macaroon, she added, “Yum, definitely dessert.”
Lance watched her lick the delicate, creamy filling from her fingers, and felt himself fall for her even more. She has no idea the effect she has on me. He poured more wine into her glass, and then filled his own. It was going to be a beautiful evening after all.
Against the rippling sound of the pebbled waterfall and the low illumination that cast colorful, flickering shadows across the shimmering pool, they sipped wine and nibbled, sharing stories of Paris. Soon they were talking and laughing with the ease of good friends.
At one point, Verena stifled a yawn. “I have no idea what time it is,” she said.
Lance gazed into the deep sapphire blue of her bright eyes. “Does it matter?”
A brief smile li
t her face, and then slid away. “My meeting is tomorrow morning.”
He sighed. “You need sleep,” he said with reluctance. He stood and took her hand to help her from the chaise lounge. As she rose, their bodies naturally came together and Lance bent toward her.
This time, Verena lifted her face to his without wavering. He paused for only a moment before his lips brushed hers, softly at first, as if in question, and then, as she responded, with increasing fervor.
Lance was transported to a new dimension, and he wrapped his arms around Verena, deepening their connection. And then all thought left him as pure sensation coursed through him, full and loving and urgent. He ran his hands through her loose, fragrant hair, stroked the warm length of her neck, and then, as her robe parted, the smooth skin on her shoulders. Longing filled his soul as their lips met over and over, moist and yearning.
Verena was the first to pull away, demurely shifting her robe to cover her shoulders. “Lance, I never imagined….”
“I did,” he said, kissing her again as her face colored. She had, too, he suspected.
After a few more moments, Verena raised her eyes to him. He melted into the twin orbs of endless blue that shimmered with emotion. Savoring every detail, he fixed each movement in his mind to recall and relish. The clean smell of her skin, the taste of her tongue, the fullness of her rosy lips. She’s incredible, he thought, wondering how he could make her his own.
Wordlessly, she slid her hand into his and led him to the elevator.
She pressed the call button, and as they waited, Lance turned her face up to his, drinking in the lovely angles of her face and her slightly quivering lips.
“I’ll see you to your room,” he said.
She shook her head. As the door slid open, she touched his face and kissed him with the softness of butterfly wings.
When he opened his eyes, she was gone.
As the elevator rose through the floors, Verena sank against the wall with her eyes closed, wishing the moment had never ended. She touched her lips, still tasting him on her mouth. Had Derrick ever brought forth such emotion in her? She couldn’t remember and suddenly didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the passion Lance had ignited within her. A feeling I never want to lose.
A soft murmur escaped her lips, as she realized the intensity of her feelings for Lance. What have I done? She was aware of the complications in her life that their actions would pose, and yet, she had been a willing partner.
A vision of Lance floated through her mind... his lean, nude body bending over her beside the pool, his strong arms around her. She recalled the musky smell of his wet hair and perspiration in the hammam. Despite the strange turn of events, tonight had turned into the perfect evening in Paris.
Warmth flooded her body, along with an almost overwhelming urge to return to him. The elevator slowed to a halt at her floor and the doors opened. An elegant, chandelier-lit hallway loomed before her, its loneliness sparking questions about the pathway of her own life.
14
“ENCHANTÉ,” HENRI BECAUD said, greeting her. “It’s nice to meet in person. You have your grandmother’s lovely eyes, I see.”
“Merci, monsieur,” Verena replied, as they exchanged kisses on the cheeks. Verena detected a discreet parfum emanating from his neck and recognized it as one of Rose Beauté’s classic masculine fragrances. She was glad Mia had bought a feminine perfume from Rose Beauté for her to wear today.
“Let’s sit here,” he said, motioning to an antique inlaid table surrounded by four chairs.
Verena sat down, draping her cape over the polished arm of the chair and smoothing her black lace shift dress. Fianna had supplied her with just the right ensemble for this important meeting.
The private office was spacious and orderly, yet comfortably appointed. Verena couldn’t help but admire the original artwork on the walls. Degas, Picasso, Manet. Evidence of the billions of dollars of market share the company controlled around the globe.
A slim middle-aged woman clad in black entered on silent feet and placed a coffee serving before them. She poured coffee, asked Verena how she liked it, and then completed her task and left the room.
Henri and Verena exchanged pleasantries and sipped coffee. The tall, silver-haired man was as elegant as his office, Verena noted. She’d observed his hand-stitched custom suit, understated black shoes with a small Louis Vuitton emblem, and slim wristwatch that shone discreetly from beneath a fine, starched cuff. His courtly manners reminded her of her grandfather, Emile, Mia’s husband. As she spoke, his keen, inquisitive eyes never left her face.
“Mia mentioned your expansion into Asia,” he said. “Tell me about your plans.”
This is it. Henri’s comfortable manner put her at ease, yet she knew that he was weighing every word she said. He’s brilliant, Mia had told her. And he had a pristine professional reputation.
“We’ve been working on this deal for more than two years,” she began. “The initial inventory has shipped, and we’ve committed to marketing, advertising, and public relations for the debut, as well as continuing market support.” She went on to explain their plans for the future, quoting figures with confidence when he asked for specifics.
Henri nodded. “You are quite prepared. Mia mentioned that you have financing needs.”
“Due to economic uncertainties in the U.S. market, our bank withdrew its commitment for working capital to fund the launch and for ongoing support.”
A shadow crossed his face. “Do you wish to be acquired now?”
That question again. “We take pride in our family business. We’re looking for working capital, but we’re open... to other possibilities.” Even though it pained her to say that, she knew that for her family’s sake, she must.
“At some point, it’s a good idea for families to diversify their holdings.” Henri sat back and crossed his legs. “We would have liked to acquire your company, full or in part, a few years ago,” he said. “But times have changed.”
Verena found the warning note in his voice unsettling. “Do you expect the credit crisis in America to affect your business in Europe?”
“When America catches a cold, the rest of the world is at risk for pneumonia. In recessionary times, we must be especially proactive to protect our assets. The luxury and Asian markets are trending up, but losses in America could offset gains.”
Henri continued sharing his perspective of the road ahead, and as she listened, Verena wished once again that she’d had the benefit of more education. Henri was way ahead of her. He wasn’t trying to impress her, in fact, he was speaking to her as an equal, but she still had difficulty following everything he said.
Henri paused and added, “How else might I help you?”
Verena swallowed hard and met his direct gaze. “We are looking for a lender, monsieur. A bank, perhaps a private individual.”
“The smart money everywhere is pulling back, preparing to weather a storm. Unfortunately, our portfolio has companies in similar situations to yours. At this time, we must focus on our commitment to them. If I hear of any suitable financiers, I will be pleased to make the introduction. However, if I were you, I would proceed with caution and make reductions.”
Despair fogged her mind. At least he was honest with her.
“You have a fine company,” he added, his voice kind. “I wish we could help you, but we are already fully committed to those in our portfolio. Once this storm blows past, we might speak again, I hope.”
“I hope so, too.” She inclined her head in appreciation. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“We have entered a difficult era. You must do what you can to save your company.” He walked her to the door, where they exchanged kisses on the cheek again. “Please give my regards to your grandmother,” he added with a cordial smile.
“I will, merci.” Blinking back her disappointment, Verena left the office building and walked out onto the bustling boulevards of Paris.
Eschewing the taxi
line, she walked for a long time, past fragrant perfumeries, decadent chocolate shops, fashionable boutiques, and throngs of tourists. Her chest clenched with frustration and her mind racing, she strode on, navigating the cobblestone sidewalks that threatened her high heels.
Her options—or rather, her lack of options—became clear.
I have to make the deal with Herringbone, she realized, turning over her dilemma. Which means I have to call Derrick.
She had a grave sense of portent. Mia believed in that sort of thing—kismet, karma, intuition—but Verena had always laughed and told her that she’d been living in California too long.
She stepped from the curb, but the blare of a car horn startled her. She felt a firm hand on her arm, tugging her back from the street.
“Good Lord,” she exclaimed as a car whizzed by barely missing her, and so close that she felt the rush of air against her hair. She caught her breath and turned to thank the stranger. But when she did, there was no one around her.
No one at all.
Shocked, Verena stood rooted to the ground. This was the second time in less than twenty-four hours that she might have died.
When Verena entered the Majestic, she heard someone call her name.
Lance was striding toward her. “Bonjour,” he called out. When he reached her, he kissed her on the cheek, lingering at her neck. “You look stunning. Join me?” He motioned to a small table in the lounge.
Taking her hand, he led her through the foyer past a dazzling white floral bouquet. The scent of lilies and tuberose filled the air, soothing the raw edges of her distress. “How lovely,” she said as she passed the arrangement. “My favorite flowers.”
“Wait,” Lance said, gazing at her. “I have to have a picture of you right there with the flowers. He drew his phone out. “That’s perfect.”
