Public Scandal, Private Mistress

by Susan Napier

  In spite of the fact she knew it was an intentional goad, she couldn’t help following his gaze to the bold erection outlined by the white fabric pulled taut over his groin. Just looking at it made her feel hot and dizzy and her lips parted as she sucked in a gulp of sluggish air. To her fevered shock his hand dropped from his belt-loop to adjust the stiffened bulge, easing it to one side of his zip, allowing her to see the outline visibly growing thicker under her fascinated stare.

  Cheeks flaming cherry-red, her eyes ripped guiltily back to his face, to find his eyes lying tauntingly in wait.

  ‘Sorry, but I was afraid I was in danger of permanent damage from the teeth of that zip,’ he said with extravagant insincerity. ‘Of course, if it was your teeth around me I’d consider it well worth the risk. It’s something we never got around to, but I’m anticipating that might change. You were rather looking at me as if you’d like to eat me up…’

  Shock nailed her to the spot. ‘I was not! I wouldn’t—I’ve never—’ Her mouth snapped shut as his sultry expression changed to one of electrified curiosity.

  ‘Never?’

  She gave him an excoriating look and stalked to stand beside the door.

  When she turned to indicate she was waiting for him to leave he was looking after her with a certain amount of awe, and a sizzling speculation that raised the fine hairs on her arms. He stood for a moment, then reluctantly began to move towards the door. As he came level with her rigid figure he paused to murmur:

  ‘You’ve really, never—?’

  ‘Could you leave now?’ Veronica interrupted with clipped emphasis.

  ‘Have none of your other lovers—?’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Will you please get out!’

  She could feel his eyes running possessively over her body. ‘Maybe they’ve just been incompetent, because you certainly liked it when I—’

  ‘Would you just go!’ she hastily cut him off before he started to brag. Men! When you wanted them to talk they were infuriatingly sullen and uncommunicative and when you wanted them to shut up they were relentless!

  ‘OK, I’m going…but bear in mind I’m the boy next door,’ he reminded her in a husky drawl that was like sandpaper against her frayed nerves. ‘I can be over in a flash if you need me for any reason whatsoever…’

  ‘I won’t,’ she bit out.

  Her defiant certainty earned her a dark chuckle. ‘Wait and see. The nights here are long and hot, especially if you have something on your mind that might make you feel restless and prone to feverish dreams. Feel free to come and get me if you’re tossing and turning sleeplessly in your lonely bed tonight, and decide you want company for a midnight skinny-dip or an intimate friend to run a dripping wet ice cube over every delectable dip and hollow of your hot, naked body…’

  And while she was coping with that highly disturbing image he archly informed her that his room was the one over the arched portico they had seen when they walked around by the pool, with a separate entrance up the stone stairway flanked with urns and discreetly placed solar lights.

  ‘So you don’t have to go tiptoeing in through the house peering into all of the bedrooms to find me,’ he said silkily. ‘Although, come to think of it, tiptoeing out of bedrooms is actually your specialty!’

  She was annoyed with herself for letting him get the last word, but she was even more annoyed for allowing him to get under her skin to the extent that she spent a very sweaty, wakeful night, getting up several times to spray cold water on her skin and take a drink from the bottle in the fridge, longing to shed her sprigged cotton boxers and matching singlet top but unable to bring herself to sleep naked when he was crouched in the shadows of her subconscious, poised to pounce whenever she closed her eyes.

  How smug he would be to know he had succeeded in making her dream about him, she thought crankily as she showered away the stickiness of the endless night and shimmied into a short, floral-patterned sundress.

  The clock-tower tolled a single bell for the half-hour and she decided that six-thirty was possibly a little early to stroll up to the village to buy croissants for her breakfast, so she made herself a cup of tea and drank it out on the patio as she brushed her newly washed hair, listening to the pigeons cooing in the trees, soaking up the gentle warmth of the early sun as it climbed into azure sky.

  She debated sending another patient text question to Karen about her plans, even though it would still be the middle of the night on Grand Bahama Island, which was where she was headed last time they communicated. Since her island-hopping sister seemed to be permanently switched to answering-phone mode there was little point in planning a call around the six-hour time difference, and so far Veronica had had to be content with a few intermittent texts from Karen, largely featuring the word ‘cool’.

  Of course, once Karen got here Veronica wouldn’t have to worry about Lucien. He wasn’t likely to continue his private game of seduction when she had her sister around to act as a buffer.

  He had already met Karen, but perhaps he had forgotten how very beautiful she was, thought Veronica broodingly as she deftly braided her hair into a neat French plait that would fit comfortably under her straw hat. Lucien would probably take one look at the two of them together and realise he was going after the wrong sister.

  The idea made her chest tighten. She might try to dismiss his attentions as empty flattery in the pursuit of lecherous self-interest, but some kernel of hope inside her still sheltered the daring notion that he truly found something special about her…

  She took her keys but she didn’t need to unlock the gate and realised why as she rounded the corner of the vineyard and saw Melanie and Sophie walking ahead of her, Sophie swinging a large woven basket.

  Veronica increased her pace to catch up. ‘Hi, are we both going to the same place?’

  ‘We’re going to the boulangerie to get our bread while Dad’s making scrambled eggs for breakfast,’ reported Sophie gravely.

  ‘And Luc’s gone on ahead to the lavoir by the village square to get our drinking water,’ added Melanie, explaining that St Romain was one of the very rare local villages whose historic, spring-fed fountain with its stone clothes-washing trough provided safe drinking water from its horizontal spout. ‘People come from miles around to fill up. Why pay for bottled spring water in the shop when you can get the pure stuff right from the source, absolutely free?’

  Totting up the amount she had spent on keeping herself hydrated since she came to France, Veronica made a mental note to bring a couple of empty bottles next time she walked up to the town.

  ‘You look a bit heavy-eyed. Did the morning bells wake you?’ asked Melanie sympathetically. ‘They used to chime through the night as well, but some newcomers to the village complained about the “noise pollution”—’ she pulled a face to show she disapproved ‘—so after hundreds of years of happy tradition they now only ring the daylight hours. Mum used to say that one of the lovely things about coming here was that, day or night, she always knew the time without having to wear a watch.’

  ‘I think I was awake well before the sun came up,’ admitted Veronica, thinking of all the times in the night she had pored over the luminous dial of her watch, hoping to see that her ordeal was nearing an end.

  ‘I know what that’s like,’ sighed Melanie, adjusting the set of her sling. ‘I don’t wear this in bed but if I lie the wrong way on my arm I feel like a knife is jabbing into me.’ She frowned. ‘I hope it wasn’t because your bed was uncomfortable?’

  ‘I think maybe I haven’t quite recovered my sleep patterns after being sick in Paris,’ said Veronica hurriedly, successfully diverting the older woman from the embarrassing reason for her sleeplessness.

  Melanie instantly demanded the details and was aghast at her lonely suffering. ‘Oh, you poor thing. You should have said something…perhaps you’d like to stay up at the Mas until you—’

  ‘No, really—I’m fine now,’ Veronica interrupted hastily. ‘It’s probably more the heat
than anything else.’

  ‘If you get hot in the night you should go for a swim in the pool,’ said Sophie as they turned the corner to see the sign for the bakery at the top of the main street, next to the bell-tower archway that led to the St Romain Château, now a private medical clinic. ‘That’s what Luc does. He said he had a midnight swim last night.’

  Ha! thought Veronica. She hoped it was a case of the biter bit.

  ‘What did you think of Luc? Did he say anything to you when he walked to the car last evening?’ Melanie startled her by asking.

  ‘About what?’ said Veronica cautiously.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I just wondered if he seemed all right to you. I never quite know where I am with Luc,’ she confessed ruefully. ‘It seems an awful thing to say but even as a child I found him a bit intimidating. Oh, not that he was a bully, or anything like that,’ she said quickly, on seeing Veronica’s stiffening expression. ‘He was always quiet and polite, so much so it used to worry me. He had a genius IQ, you see, and seemed such a…self-sufficient little boy. He never seemed to really need me for anything, not the way my biological children did…’

  Veronica tried to control her fascinated expression as Melanie sketched a brief word-picture of young Lucien, born the son of Melanie’s best friend, who had died in childbirth.

  ‘Don and I got married straight away so he wouldn’t lose custody of Luc—but we were really only friends, and a pretty ill-matched pair at that.’ She laughed wryly. ‘He was a motorcycle stunt rider, for goodness’ sake! And no way was I ready to be a mother. I think we were both in a state of shock and thought we were doing the right thing for Lucien, but when it wore off we realised we were heading for disaster. The marriage didn’t even last six months. Don kept custody of Lucien and moved to Australia, but when Luc was ten Don was killed in a motorcycle stunt and, since there were no other relatives, Miles and I agreed to take him in.’

  They halted outside the narrow little shop and Sophie slipped in through the creaking screen door as Melanie wound up her brief story.

  ‘We never regretted it, and I made sure he knew he was a welcome part of a loving family, but I always wondered whether I’d failed him as a baby by letting him go with his father, and I think that guilt made it difficult for me to push myself in where I was afraid he wouldn’t want me to go…so I let him be too aloof, respected his privacy too much when I should just have waded in and smothered him with hugs and kisses whether he wanted them or not, as I did the others. Of course, the twins were toddlers then, and sucked up a lot of my energies, and I was starting to write, so Mum looked after Luc after school a lot of the time. If ever I mention it now, Luc claims that Don was a great dad and he was never aware of missing a mother when he was little, but he never could bring himself to call me anything but Melanie in the whole six years he lived with us, so I guess that tells me something. If anything, I think Mum is more of a mother-figure to him than I am. I’ve heard him call her Gran sometimes.’ Melanie looked abashed as she heard her own words. ‘Do I sound a little jealous? Maybe I am. Mum and he just seemed to click with each other from day one…’

  ‘Perhaps being a grandmother-figure put her at a more comfortable emotional distance for him,’ ventured Veronica. ‘For a boy without a mother the whole concept might have been a bit overwhelming.’

  Melanie’s blue eyes lightened with the thought. ‘You know, you just might be right.’

  ‘You’re not all that much older than he is, so perhaps he looks on you now as a sort of big sister rather than a stepmother,’ Veronica added, holding the screen door open, her mouth watering as the sweet and savoury smells of hot bread and sugary spices wafted out to greet them.

  She had spoken seriously but Melanie was still laughing about it when they stepped back out into the sunlight, Sophie’s basket stacked with long loaves and sticky buns and Veronica clutching her bag of warm croissants.

  ‘Oh, hello, Luc, we were just talking about you!’

  Lucien shifted the armful of square plastic containers against his chest, revealing damp patches on the front of his tee shirt and jeans as he chopped back his stride to join their leisurely pace, walking on the cobbled road to leave the footpath free for the three females.

  ‘Saying something nice, I hope,’ he said, tilting his head in Veronica’s direction as she ducked hastily to the far side of Sophie.

  ‘Flattering to me, anyway,’ smiled Melanie. ‘Veronica thinks I’m young enough to be your sister.’

  ‘Well, there’re only two more years between you and I, than there are between me and Sophie,’ he pointed out, with a gentle amusement that suggested to Veronica that she might have been right. She was jolted out of her complacency when he went on: ‘What about your family, Veronica? How do you enjoy being a big sister?’

  Lured into the conversation, she was forced to politely respond to his persistent queries until mention of Karen prompted Melanie to break in:

  ‘What a pity she wasn’t with you in Paris when you were so frightfully ill. Veronica was stranded in the apartment with a bad case of flu for most of her stay and missed out on a lot of what she wanted to see,’ she told Luc, too absorbed in her own thoughts to see the snapping look he sent across to the other side of the footpath. ‘Perhaps she can somehow add a few days onto the end of her holiday and go back and do all the things she’d planned. I don’t think the apartment is booked up—I’ll check on it for you, Veronica. Otherwise…perhaps…I thought she might stay at your place, Luc—?’ she began diffidently.

  Veronica could feel herself start to hyperventilate. ‘Oh, no—’

  ‘Why, yes, for some reason I can quite clearly picture her happily snuggling down there,’ Luc overrode her spluttering protest with gloating smoothness.

  ‘The poor thing had such a rotten start to her holiday that I’m determined to make it up to her.’ Melanie was on an unstoppable roll now. ‘I was going to get her to drive around and pick up samples and menus and product lists from some of the places in my research file which coincide with the markets that she’ll find useful, but if she’s doing the driving she won’t be able to enjoy the scenery.’ She paused expectantly and Veronica gritted her teeth as Luc obligingly met his cue.

  ‘That’s very true. You really want someone else behind the wheel…Ashley, or Ross perhaps?’ he suggested helpfully.

  ‘Lucien! You know Ashley is hopeless with a left-hand drive and she wouldn’t be at all happy if we dragged Ross away from her side. Anyway, it should be someone who knows something about the area so Veronica won’t have to bury her head in maps.’

  ‘Mmm, I guess it’ll have to be Miles, then.’

  ‘Lucien!’ Melanie halted at the corner where the footpath gave way to the stony grass verge beside the rows of vines, her frustration turning to the tug of a smile as she realised that his bland response to her heavy-handed hint was a tease. ‘Miles is trying to get the new bathroom done by next week.’ Lucien opened his mouth. ‘And Mum is busy putting the garden to rights!’ she added with a twinkle.

  Veronica could only watch helplessly as her destiny was whisked out of her own hands by joint conspiracy.

  ‘I could learn how to drive if someone could show me how.’ Sophie had cleverly worked out the adult game and joined in, grinning as she broke off a crusty end of one of the bread sticks and stuffed it in her mouth. ‘Luc could teach me. He’s a really good driver.’

  ‘Yes, I am, aren’t I?’ he said modestly. ‘And I happen to have a rather classy convertible, which is perfect for zipping about the countryside scoping out the scenery. And nothing much to do but sit around and fret over my misfortunes.’

  ‘So—this way we kill three birds with one stone. Well, that’s settled, then!’ beamed Melanie, wafting her swathed elbow like the wave of a magic wand.

  Luc showed a rather terrifying affinity for reading minds as he directed a heavy-lidded look of searing amusement into appalled dove-grey eyes and declared softly:

  ‘Veronica—you s
hall go to the ball…’

  CHAPTER SIX

  FOUR days later Veronica had realised that she had referenced the wrong fairy tale. She felt more like Sleeping Beauty than Cinderella, as her mind and body were slowly awakened to an enchanting new world of bewitching possibilities, horizons that were once limited to what was practicable, expanded to the limitless vista of what if…

  Not that Lucien continued to put overt pressure on her to change her mind about him—he had been far too cunning for that. After his initial aggressive move he seemed prepared to laze in wait and let the sensuous allure of the time and the place and the extravagant beauty of her surroundings soak into Veronica’s heart and soul, and undermine her efforts to maintain a polite standard of decorum. The landscape, which looked so harsh and stony at first sight, was astonishingly lush and verdant, and everywhere they went there were visions of bursting ripeness—from the heavily laden apricot trees they passed on the roads, the deep orange fruit clustered on the bowing branches, to the fields of corn and brilliant yellow sunflowers, their huge, flat faces turned to follow the path of their golden namesake across the azure sky, to the rows of glossy, brightly coloured fruits and vegetables temptingly laid out for display on the market tables.

  Veronica had been seduced by Paris, but she quite simply fell in love with Provence, and Lucien was right there beside her to assist her fall. Under the benign instructions of her well-meaning fairy godmother, he introduced her to a feast of the senses that she would have had to be a saint to resist.

  Even in holy surroundings he seemed to find a way to lead her into temptation.

  ‘Which ones do you like?’

  Melanie’s latest errand had sent them to an early morning farmer’s market where Veronica had taken dozens of photographs and Luc picked up an order of thick-skinned dried sausages and olive oils, and then to the bookstore at the ancient Cistercian Abbey at Sénanque, a working monastery set amongst the blazing purple lavender fields in a remote valley high in the Vaucluse. They had already purchased the list of titles Melanie had asked for from the superb array of books about Provence food and customs and now Veronica had her nose pressed wistfully to the glass cabinet that displayed a range of religious souvenirs and crafts. She knew that santons were a famous product of Provence but she had never seen such fine examples.