by Liz Fielding
‘Sadly, no,’ he said. ‘I just seem to have one of those faces. Can I tempt you to another slice of tarte Tatin?’
She held up a hand. ‘Don’t! I have a wedding dress to shrink into, but I have to say, Marie, that if Jay is your stand-in chef, I cannot imagine what the first division is like. That tarte has to be on our wedding menu.’
Marie looked at James, clearly embarrassed, and he said, ‘I can take no credit for the wonderful pastry. The addition of the almonds was a lovely touch, Marie, and one I will borrow if I may?’
Marie blushed. ‘It was my mother’s recipe. I would be delighted to share it with you.’
‘You are definitely having your wedding here, then?’ Chloe asked, heading Fiona off before she could return to thoughts of where she might have seen James.
She looked questioningly at Sean. He shook his head, but his indulgent smile said yes. She threw her arms around him. ‘You are my angel!’
Embarrassed, he disentangled himself. ‘We came to an event in the grounds here last spring and Fiona hasn’t stopped talking about it since.’
‘I know how she feels,’ Chloe said. ‘The château took my breath away when I saw it.’
‘Is that why you’re here?’ Fiona asked, looking from her to James. ‘To arrange your own wedding?’
‘We haven’t got around to a date yet,’ James said, reaching out, taking her hand when the silence went on a moment too long, looking at her, holding her with the intensity of his gaze. ‘And Chloe can choose whatever location she likes as long as it’s soon.’
Fiona gave a happy little sigh. ‘Wait until the spring,’ she urged. ‘You can’t imagine how pretty it is here when the blossom is out. I just about died when I saw the wedding pictures on the website.’
‘If you’d already seen the château, why have you come now?’ Chloe asked, desperate to change the subject. ‘It was dark when you arrived and you’re leaving so early that you won’t see it in daylight.’
‘Sean was coming to Paris for a meeting and I begged for a night here so that I could see the inside of the château and take a look at the bridal suite. I wish we could stay longer, but we have to leave at a ridiculously early hour so that he can catch a flight to Frankfurt.’ She rolled her eyes, whispered, ‘He’s a banker.’
‘Which is why we must reluctantly leave such great company,’ Sean said, getting to his feet. ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening, Marie. If I had my way, we’d have our wedding breakfast in here.’
Fiona laughed. ‘There’s not enough room for eighty guests in here, darling.’
Clearly that was Sean’s point, but he smiled. ‘Only eighty?’
She gave a little shrug. ‘That’s the maximum number Marie can seat in the orangery, but we’ll have a bigger party in the evening.’
‘Of course we will. I won’t see you in the morning, Jay, Chloe.’ He shook Jay’s hand, kissed Chloe’s cheek. ‘Thank you both for an unforgettable meal.’
When they were gone, Chloe ignored Marie’s objections and began to clear the table. James, the consummate professional, had cleaned down as he’d cooked, and the kitchen area only needed a final wipe.
‘What time is breakfast?’ Chloe asked.
‘Whenever you want it,’ Marie said. ‘There is no one else booked into your room so you can stay as late as you like. And I will refund the cost of your stay.’
‘Marie...’
‘I mean it. Without you I would have lost that wedding booking.’
‘She’s right, Chloe. You were born to run a big house,’ James said as they made their way upstairs. ‘Marie was floundering, not just earlier, but several times during the evening. You kept her going.’
‘Only after you had stepped in to save the day.’
‘I imagine I volunteered about half a second before you did it for me.’
‘Maybe.’ Her smile faded. ‘She’s not managing, is she?’
‘Honestly? If I were Sean, I’d be encouraging Fiona to look for somewhere else to hold my wedding but thanks to you they didn’t notice that anything was wrong.’
Chloe glanced at him as they reached their room. ‘Fiona certainly noticed you, though.’
‘Yes. Thanks for the deflection,’ he said, sliding his arms around her. ‘We make a great team.’
‘I can peel a great vegetable,’ she agreed.
‘It wasn’t just the cooking,’ he said, ‘although that was so like the way it used to be with us.’
‘Out of hours in the school kitchen with you putting out a hand and barking “spatula”, or “ginger”, and me following orders like a theatre nurse?’
‘Like a sous chef,’ he corrected, then frowned, belatedly catching something in her voice. ‘It was good, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, melting a little. ‘It was good. And I really enjoyed this evening. It felt real.’
‘Real?’
‘Yes. Sightseeing, eating out...’ She raised a hand in an effort to convey what was missing. ‘They’re great, but they aren’t real life.’
He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her face. ‘Holidays are part of life, Chloe, and I realised that you needed time to adjust. For us to get to know one another again.’ She felt suddenly trapped, but as she pulled away James turned and headed for the bathroom. ‘It’s going to be perfect,’ he called back. ‘Just how it used to be.’
‘We were children, James. And it wasn’t perfect.’
He didn’t answer and she followed him.
His hair was standing up in an untidy ruff where he’d pulled his tee shirt over his head and he had his toothbrush in his hand.
He looked at her through the mirror and it was obvious that he hadn’t heard her. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Steady,’ she said, unnerved by his sudden gravity.
He didn’t laugh.
‘This is important, Chloe. I meant what I said earlier about getting married as quickly as possible. I checked with my lawyer. Once you’re my wife, legally your father will have no power over you.’ He turned to face her. ‘He would never again be able to control you by shutting you away in some discreet private clinic...’
For a moment she couldn’t breathe as he touched her deepest fear, but as he reached for her she turned away, bending over the bathtub to fix the plug in place, turning on the water until the gush of it drowned out the sound of a girl begging...
‘Can we talk about this tomorrow? The only thing that I want right now is to wallow in this vast bath and wash away the smell of cooking.’
Steam was beginning to rise from the huge claw-footed bath, and she sprinkled in something that filled the room with the scent of a summer meadow—flowers, crushed herbs, new-mown grass—as it bubbled up.
‘Will you wash my back?’ she asked, turning to face him. ‘Or are you too tired?’
He reached behind her and turned off the taps and for a moment she thought that he was going to insist on talking about marriage, London...
‘It’s not full,’ she protested.
‘We can top it up when we’re ready.’ He made a circular motion with his hand, indicating that she should turn around.
‘We?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘If I’m going to wash your back thoroughly, I’m going to have to get in with you.’
Relief flooded through her. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘and I’m happy to help, but first I’m going to have to undress you, so turn around.’
The absence of the lazy smile he wore when anticipating great sex was oddly disturbing and, as she obeyed him, she felt a flutter of panic beneath her breastbone. But then his breath whispered across the nape of her neck. His lips followed, planting soft, seductive kisses that brought something less than a moan, more than a sigh to her throat as he pulled loose the pin holding h
er hair so that it fell about her shoulders.
She had been leading this dance.
Since that first crazy time he had always been so careful to let her take the lead in their lovemaking. To show her that whatever they did together was her choice. But the restraint had slipped and the shiver rippling through her was more than desire, heat, lust as he followed the slow journey of her zip down her spine with his lips, pausing only to unclip the roadblock of her bra.
This was deeper, darker, and as her dress, bra, slipped to the floor she tried to turn to him.
‘Be still,’ he murmured against her ear, cupping her breasts in his hands, teasing her nipples with the tips of his thumbs as he held her against his chest, his arousal nudging her. Then, as she moaned, ‘Are you still in a hurry, my love?’
‘You can take all the time in the world,’ she gasped, ‘as long as you keep doing that.’
Because the physical connection between them was as real, as powerful as it had been when they were teens exploring this exciting new world and each touch had been a discovery.
It still was.
What had happened in those first explosive moments after he’d found her was the release of the need, hunger, a sexual energy that had been suppressed through all those missing years. When they were close like this nothing else mattered. It never had...
He didn’t have to hold her, she was leaning back into him, rubbing against him, whimpering, begging, building up to a frustrated scream...
‘Shh...’ he whispered in her ear, one hand low against her belly but tormentingly not low enough. ‘You’ll make Fiona jealous.’
She swore then and he laughed, still tweaking one rock-hard nipple while sliding his other hand lower, into her tights, her underwear.
Her core was liquid, her legs barely able to hold her, but instead of the release she was begging for, bucking her hips to find his fingertips and achieve with or without him, he moved his hand away, abandoned her breast and began to slowly peel the clinging tights and pants over her hips.
He took his time, his hands spread over her buttocks, fingers, mouth finding every tender spot as he carried them down to her feet until he was on his knees and, at his bidding, she lifted each foot until she was naked.
‘You can turn around now, Chloe.’
She turned to face him, quivering with the intensity of her need, her nails digging into his naked shoulders as she clung to him for support, feeling exposed as she never had before.
He leaned forward, placed a row of kisses along the base of her belly. Scarcely breathing, she waited for the touch of his tongue. It didn’t come. Instead he looked up at her and said, ‘Your turn.’
The bath grew cold as she subjected him to the same slow, agonisingly sweet torture. Arousing him with her fingers, her breasts, her tongue, as he had aroused her. Fighting to curb her own need, drawing out every second to give him the same intensity of sweet agony that he had given her.
His control was awesome, but there came a moment when, with a yell that, if the walls hadn’t been a foot thick, would have woken the dead in the nearby churchyard, he picked her up and carried her to bed and, much later, every need satisfied, blissful oblivion.
* * *
Jay lay in the darkness and listened to Chloe breathe. He’d felt the exact moment when she’d slipped away into sleep, limbs heavy, utterly sated, wearing the same little smile he’d seen after the first time they’d made fumbling, first-time love. Admitting to feeling a little sore but delighted with herself.
It had been a long day and he should be exhausted but sex left him stimulated, his brain racing. If he’d been at home, charged up like this, he would have gone into the kitchen and started to play with ideas.
He could get on with the book, but the light, the sound of the keyboard, would disturb Chloe.
All he could do was lie in the dark, unable to shut down his mind as it replayed everything that Chloe had said. The things she hadn’t said.
The missed moments when an answer would have been life changing but she had changed the subject or diverted him as she had done tonight.
Had she always done that?
Even when they were young, and he was running on about the future? Their life together? She would smile and kiss him, and they would make love, and he’d thought that was her answer. But she had known all along that it was never going to happen.
He hadn’t noticed until tonight. But tonight, he’d used the marriage word and in her panic she’d been less than subtle in her attempt to avoid it.
He’d thought to punish her a little for that, keep her on the edge until she was begging him to release her. Take her to that place where she wouldn’t have to think about a future that scared her. Give her la petit mort...the little death that followed orgasm.
She had begged but he was the one who’d lost, because she had given and given, and he was the one who had died a little.
* * *
‘Feel free to tell me I told you so.’
Chloe stirred, rolled over. It was late, the room was flooded with light, but not the light you got on a sunny morning, not even a sunny winter morning. It was the kind of light you only got in winter when...
‘It’s snowed!’
James, hair damp from the shower and already dressed, turned away from the window. ‘According to Météo-France,’ he said, ‘the storm took an unexpected swerve to the west in the early hours.’
Grabbing the comforter from the bed, she wrapped it around her and went to join him.
‘Oh, my...’
From their window, too far away to see the marks left by animals and birds, the scene stretched away in a sheet of unblemished glittering white across the lawn to the lake.
Every branch of every tree was a tracery of white against a blue sky. The silence was absolute, everything completely still until a wood pigeon took off from a branch in a flurry of snow, startling a whole load of other birds into flight.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, leaning against his shoulder. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me here, James. I’ll never forget it.’
‘I’m not sure it was such a good idea.’
‘Well, I did warn you that it was going to snow,’ she said. ‘I wonder if Fiona and Sean got away safely.’
‘I heard them leave just after five this morning.’
‘They woke you?’
‘No. I heard their car. I’m not used to being idle,’ he said, dismissing the sleepless night as if it were nothing. ‘I had a million things going around in my head. Plans for us.’
He turned to look at her and in the brilliant light she could see the faint smudges beneath his eyes. ‘Plans?’
‘You’re right, Chloe. These few days have given us a chance to reconnect, rediscover each other, but it’s time to get real.’
She had known this was coming, but she wasn’t ready...
‘I may have been a little hasty,’ she said. ‘We should take a snow day.’
‘The snow is pretty, but not very deep. Nothing short of a fallen tree across the lane is going to stop us from leaving today.’
She laughed. ‘Am I that obvious?’
‘You know that I’d happily stay another night if it would make you happy, Chloe, but I have to be in London tomorrow evening. I just hope the weather hasn’t affected the trains.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I’m being selfish...’
She rose on her toes, but her brief kiss became deeper, more intense, and for a moment, as he held her, London, the future, was forgotten. Being with him was all that mattered.
James was the one who pulled away, resting his forehead against the top of her head for a moment. ‘It’s not too late to change your mind and come with me, Chloe.’
‘I thought we’d agreed that I’d just be a distraction,’ she said. ‘You’ll have a much better time with Hugo.’
‘I doubt that, but you don’t have to come to the awards ceremony.’ He lifted his head to look into her eyes, laid his hand against her cheek. ‘There’s just time for us to be married before Christmas but I need you with me so that we can sort out a civil ceremony. We can do the whole white dress, big party later. Here, in the spring, if you like.’
‘If Marie is still in business. I’m not sure she’s coping very well.’
‘The château will still be here. I’ll shut the restaurant and bring my own staff if necessary.’ He wasn’t smiling; he meant it. Wanted an answer. ‘I bought a decoration for you to hang on the family tree, Chloe.’
‘Did you? When?’ she asked, grabbing any chance to delay this moment.
‘At the Christmas fair. You chose the flamingo.’
‘I thought you just wanted my opinion.’ She was struggling to breathe; the walls were closing in... ‘I hadn’t realised you’d bought it for me to hang on your tree.’
‘It’s not my tree, Chloe. It’s a family tradition and I want you to be part of my family. I thought, hoped, that it was what you wanted, too.’
Trapped, cornered into a conversation that she had been avoiding, she clutched at the comforter, holding it like a shield.
‘I don’t feel adequately dressed for this conversation.’
His thumb caressed her cheek. ‘You don’t need to be dressed if the answer is yes, Chloe.’
‘It’s complicated,’ she said, through a throat that was suddenly stuffed with cobwebs. ‘I’m complicated.’
‘We can work through it. Just tell me what is bothering you.’
‘You know I love you, James. Finding you, being with you, has been a joy. But moving to London, giving up my life here—’
‘You have no life here.’
‘Please, James, try to understand...’ She took a step towards him, but he was already moving away, and she didn’t know how to stop him. How to explain something she didn’t understand herself. ‘Can we talk about this later?’ she pleaded.
