Doctor's Orders Box Set (Babies in the Bargain, Right Name, Wrong Man, No More Lies)

by Risk, Mona

  “Is that the Pompadour room?”

  Yves quickened their pace. “Yes. It’s quite secluded.”

  Her heart drummed against her ribs, drowning out the distance music. Would they share another unforgettable night of love?

  Instead of going up the marble steps to the front door of the chateau, he turned to the right. They reached a small wooden door that he opened with an antique bronze key he took from a box on the wall. He entered first, switched on the light to reveal an unfurnished foyer with a mosaic tiled floor and a spiral staircase. He closed the door behind them. “I hope you don’t mind climbing. It is six stories high.”

  “No problem.”

  He led her up the stairs until they ended at another closed door. He opened it and scooped her up into his arms. She squealed with surprise.

  “There is a legend. If a woman crosses the threshold of this room in her lover’s arms they will find happiness together.”

  “Wow.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Are you wishing for the legend to come true?” He chuckled as he crossed the room with her in his arms.

  She blushed. Hooking an arm around his neck, she cupped his cheek with her other hand. “I love your legend, and I love your chateau and its many stories.”

  He kissed her and lowered her to a canopied four-poster bed. Switching off the ceiling chandelier, he left on only the lamp on a night table and pulled the drapes at the window.

  “Chérie, I would like to make the legend come true,” he said as he came to sit beside her on the bed and gathered her in his arms.

  “How? By making love to me?” Eyes narrowed, she tilted her head.

  He blinked at the sarcastic tone of her voice and smiled devilishly. “I am always ready for that. But first I want your promise to consider a fellowship in France. Promise? Good.” His expression determined, he crushed her in his arms with a passionate kiss. She wriggled but soon forgot her protest to link her fingers behind his neck.

  When he released her, she mumbled, “Yves, I—”

  “Relax, chérie. The Pompadour Room is a place for romance and love, and I want to lavish you with both.” His lips grazed her ear and skimmed her throat.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Making love here should be a good omen. Of that she was sure now. Her tension dissipated and she sent a grateful thought to the duchess who gave her name to this room. Her eyes closed, she let him take control of the moment.

  He pulled her blouse over her head and rained kisses along her throat and the edge of her bra while she played with the hair at his nape. So soft and silky and deliciously arousing. Her skirt bunched at her waist and slid down her legs driven by expert hands that hugged and caressed her hips and her thighs with excruciating slowness. She twined his curls between her fingers and tugged when his lips jolted a new sensation from her flesh.

  A swoosh of cool air alerted her that her unclasped bra had followed the rest of her clothes to the floor. His lips glided in the valley between her breasts, tasting and laving, and branding her with his special fire.

  His mouth pressed against her stomach and her navel, as he fondled her thighs. Her thong disappeared, snatched away by a swift hand. His palms froze on her belly, and his head moved away from her skin, interrupting the dance of her fingers in his hair. Why had he stopped his torrid caresses?

  She opened her eyes and gasped as his rapturous gaze roamed over her nudity. Warmth engulfed her and she blushed to the root of her hair.

  “You are gorgeous. I could look at you for hours.”

  “Oh, Yves.” Happiness bubbled in her heart.

  Unable to withstand the intensity of his eyes, she smiled and lowered her lashes. A shudder coursed through her when his finger slid into her wet softness, soon replaced by his tongue lapping at her intimate folds. She writhed and twisted, and yet dragged him tight against her. Thunder and lightning exploded in her head.

  On fire, she grabbed his head and pulled him up, kissed him and smelled her intimate scent, his raw masculinity, and the alcohol of his wine. “I want you.” She reached for his shirt. “Take it off,” she ordered. He unbuttoned it and slipped it off while she unzipped his trousers, grabbed pants and underwear to lower both at the same time.

  “Patience, chérie.”

  “No,” she sputtered, hardly able to breathe.

  He chuckled and obliged.

  “Voilà.” He stepped out of his clothes gloriously naked, his penis strong and erect.

  “Oh, yes. Yes.” She panted, not making much sense to her fuzzy mind. “You are beautiful too.”

  He laughed and pushed her down, then lay next to her. She wrapped both hands around his shaft and gently stroked. He stopped laughing and groaned. Moving her hands away, he latched on her breast, rolled and teased her nipple with his tongue. His shaft slid between her thighs, pressing and taunting.

  When she moaned, he entered her slowly, millimeter by exquisite millimeter. Throwing back her head, she bit her lip to stifle her cries of pleasure. She wrapped her legs around him, and urged him to accelerate the tempo of his thrusts.

  “More please. No, not yet.” She hardly knew what she said.

  “Oui, chérie. Yes.”

  They rocked together. Light flashed behind her lids as the pressure built.

  He gathered her tightly, and they both climaxed.

  Satiated and pleased, Mary-Beth tucked her head into the hollow of his neck. “I’ll never let you go,” she whispered.

  He caressed her face with incredible tenderness. “I’m not going anywhere, and you are staying with me,” he said against her hair. She drifted off in his arms, happy for the first time in her life.

  They made love again in the morning. She kissed him, unable and unwilling to get out of bed yet. “I love your Pompadour Room.”

  “I love it too. From now on, it will be very special to me.” He grinned. “We can make a pilgrimage to this room every year,” he said with a wink.

  Every year? Would she be here every year? Or even next year?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “We are both off today. Is there anything special you would you like to do?” Yves said when they met in the breakfast room for coffee and croissants.

  “I am about to visit Sophie and—”

  “No, I want you to spend the day with me.” His tone brooked no discussion and made her chuckle.

  “Do I have to take orders from my boss even when I’m off duty?” For an annoying second, Steve’s voice echoed in her ear.

  “Chérie, I am begging, not ordering.”

  “In that case, I’d love to spend the day with you.” Steve had never begged her for anything—just expected her to do as told.

  “Let’s see. Would you like to walk along the Cher River, or visit Tours?”

  “How about a horseback ride through the fields and the forest? I haven’t done that for so long. I just want to be carefree today. No talk about work.” Or plans, or goals or the future. Whether she stayed longer in France or went back at the end of her training, she promised herself she wouldn’t let any word or deed dim her special memories.

  “Anything you want, chérie.” The look in his eyes told her she was special.

  An hour later, she dashed back to the breakfast room, in blue jeans and the red shirt Yves had given her in Paris. Dressed in riding breeches, boots, and a polo shirt, he came to greet her with a heart-stopping smile. “You’re wearing your new shirt.”

  “I love Paris,” she read as she glanced at the inscription on her T-shirt.

  He kissed her and led her to the kitchen where Hubert handed him a bag and a picnic basket. “I already called Simon, the stable boy, to ready Carnation for you. She’s a gentle mare.” Hand in hand, they strolled toward the barn like two teenagers off on a picnic.

  When they arrived at the stables, Simon held two horses by the reins. Yves helped her mount the mare, handed her the reins, and secured the basket and bag to the saddle of a dappled gray gelding.

  “I haven’t be
en on a horse for ages.”

  “Do not worry, Dr. Drake,” Simon said. “It will come back. Besides, Monsieur le Comte is with you.”

  Yves swung into the saddle and looked every bit the gorgeous knight of her dreams. He rode alongside her, down the front drive to the gate, and then trotted through the fields to the nearby forest. As they penetrated the denseness of the trees, Yves showed her a meandering path that led to a stream. They skirted the ribbon of water until they reached a clear pond. “My favorite spot. Let’s picnic here.” He dismounted, then helped her down.

  The balsam scent of poplar trees and fresh fragrance of pines permeated the air and soothed her overactive brain. She wouldn’t mind spending more off-duty hours here. “This is heaven.” Yves with her, alone in the secluded forest of his estate. “Nobody comes here?” She took off her boots, rolled up her pants, and waded into the clear water.

  “No. The villagers don’t own horses, and no one would brave the forest on foot. It’s easy to get lost. One day we’ll come back here to swim.” He winked at her. “In the nude. It will be more fun.”

  “Wow. Wicked.” Heat spread to her belly. She giggled and almost lost her balance.

  “But so much fun.” He caught her in his arms and kissed her soundly. “Shall we eat?”

  She walked with him to the horses. Yves handed her the lunch bag and carried the basket. He opened them and spread a blanket and a small tablecloth on the ground. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  He placed the china, wineglasses, and a bottle of wine on their tablecloth. “Here, we have turkey sandwiches and salad,” he announced as she sat on the blanket and he served the meal.

  “Hubert thought of everything, even the wineglasses. To be honest, this is the first time in my life that I’ve drunk wine on a picnic, in the right wineglasses.” She chuckled as she tilted the stem of her glass. “Wait let me take a picture while you pour.”

  He obliged, and smiled while she snapped her picture. “I will take one of you now.”

  She posed with a standard smile on her lips, not daring to tell him she’d prefer to be with him in the photo.

  “Too bad there are no passers-by in a forest to take us together. Not that I’m complaining about our open-air privacy. A ta santé, chérie.” He clinked his glass against hers, his eyes glowing with blazing heat and unspoken promise.

  “Cheers.” She slowly sipped her wine.

  Warmth invaded her chest. To break her unease, she took a bite of sandwich. “Delicious,” she said, her gaze still captured by his.

  “Very.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist and then her palm. “Mmm, delectable, scrumptious.”

  “Oh, Yves.” A different hunger knotted her stomach.

  Yves took the sandwich from her and laid it on a plate. “We will eat later.”

  “Later?”

  “After I…taste you.” His lips trailed along her bare arm to the sleeve of her T-shirt.

  A frisson of pleasure sparked down her spine as he eased her onto the blanket. She chuckled to dispel the wave of excitement building in her belly. “You sound like the Big Bad Wolf about to devour Red Riding Hood in the forest.”

  “Not devour, my dear. Just taste, very slowly and delicately,” he added with a seductive smile. “I feel too warm here.” He tore off his polo and slid her shirt over her head.

  “What if someone—”

  “We have already established no one comes here. Now where were we?” He arched his eyebrow in an I-am-the-count way and bent over her mouth.

  She laced her fingers around his nape and sighed with pleasure. This was what she called a lovely vacation day. Kissing the love of her life in a romantic setting. Hadn’t Carlos warned her that one couldn’t not fall in love in the Loire Valley?

  Yves’s kiss deepened. His expert tongue waltzed over her lips and twirled inside her mouth until she swooned with want.

  His hands deftly unclasped her bra. Anticipation thrummed through her blood. He closed his palm over her breast, caressing and teasing. Desire and frustration warred in her heart. In spite of the privacy he claimed to have in the forest, there was no way on earth she’d make love in the open-air.

  Yves didn’t wait for her to voice a protest. His fingers had already unzipped her jeans and delved into her intimate folds. She bit her lips to stifle her moans. Unable to control, her shuddering, she pushed him away. “We can’t here.” She pointed at a couple of squirrels ogling them.

  “Trust me, they can’t tell on us.” He groaned, his voice so husky she hardly heard him. He picked up a fallen branch and waved it. The squirrels scurried away. “Better, now?”

  “I think.” Her eyes narrowed, she surveyed the trees. Birds chirped. “Ah—”

  “They are singing for you, ma chérie. We couldn’t ask for a nicer melody.”

  Still uncomfortable, she frowned. “I’m not sure it’s the right place to...”

  “Wait. I have a solution to protect us from peeping squirrels.” With a grin, he yanked the blanket from the ground. Scooting back against a tree, he tugged at her hand. “Assume we are camping.” He tented the blanket over them. “Please notice that my hands are busy maintaining our privacy.” He winked at her.

  She chuckled, lowered her jeans and thong, and set them aside. “Now, I’m ready. How about you?”

  His jaw sagged, and his gaze trailed her legs and skimmed her thighs. “I’m more than ready. Come, sit across my lap.”

  “Not yet.” She planted her feet on each side of his thighs and bent over him. Without hesitation, she unzipped his pants, held his erection with both hands and straddled him.

  “Oh…ah.” A grunt escaped him, and he licked his lips. The blanket fell from his fingers on her back while she rocked herself, up and down, back and forth. His groans mingled with her moans as he thrust inside her until she collapsed on his chest and let his heartbeat lull her into a happy dream.

  A moment later, she raised her head and looked at him. She loved this man so much.

  “Mary-Beth, mon trésor, my treasure, say you will remain in France. We need time together.”

  She smiled and brushed her lips over his mouth. She needed a lifetime with him, but he wasn’t ready to talk about forever. Would he ever be ready?

  A lump of uncertainty grew in her throat while she wiggled back into her clothes. “I need to think about it.”

  “Think seriously and quickly.” He readjusted his pants and slipped on his polo. “How about eating now?” He spread the blanket again and showed it to her with a flourish. “Your seat, Madame.”

  They ate and drank, and chatted and laughed for what seemed like an eternity.

  Today she’d had the best lunch, the best picnic, the best afternoon she’d ever had in her life, but all good things had to come to an end. She helped Yves collect the used plates and glasses and stack them into the basket.

  On the way back, they rode their mounts through the same trail they’d followed in the morning. After talking for a moment, they trotted side by side and fell into a shared silence. Her heart reeling with joy, she jabbed her heels to the mare and left him behind.

  “Wait. Slow down,” he called after her.

  She reined in her horse and waited for him to catch up to her. “You’ve asked me to seriously think about your offer to remain in France for a couple of years. I’m trying to.”

  “Good, but please don’t ride your mare too hard.” He adjusted his pace to hers.

  “Don’t worry. I used to ride my Lucky twice a week and gallop along the trails of Lexington.” Lost in her memories, she thought of happy times she took for granted years ago, and urged her horse ahead in the narrow path. Dust spurted up and the smell of fresh air and pines wafted around her as she cantered along.

  Yves caught up with her and rode quietly for a moment, respecting her musing.

  “I promise we will ride often if you stay.” His devilish smile tempted her while the same questions twirled in her mind.

  Should sh
e accept a fellowship in France and enjoy Yves’s presence, or go back to Boston and settle in her big family house?

  Her former life didn’t appeal to her. Steve was out of the picture but too many stressful memories dwelt in Boston, ready to suffocate her. And Columbia University would offer the same stuffy atmosphere as Harvard.

  “What is there so special in Boston?” Yves’s question reflected her thoughts.

  Her eyes met his. Had he read her mind? “Nothing.”

  “Although I don’t mean to influence your decision,” he said, his very persuasive voice and earnest expression contradicting his words. “I am convinced you should move ahead. The Loire Valley offers so many avenues for work and entertainment. If you stay here, you’d gain more medical experience, with the fringe benefits of us being together.”

  “Being together?” Pondering his offer, she glanced at him.

  “Every day. Every night. Give us time, chérie, to know each other better.”

  Hubert had hinted often enough that after the sad experience of losing his first wife, Yves had an aversion to marriage. Besides, she wouldn’t enter a new relationship on the rebound from her broken engagement.

  Why not stay in France and enjoy a no-string involvement with Yves? A chuckle escaped her at her new relaxed attitude toward commitment.

  “You said you have no family who will miss you in the U.S.”

  “My parents died years ago, and my sister Kate is a nun in a convent. She continuously prays for my happiness.”

  “Ahem… don’t give her too many details.” They burst out laughing.

  Mary-Beth averted her gaze, weighing her choices with a clear mind. It made sense to stay in France. At least, she wouldn’t wallow in regrets about missed opportunities.

  “Mary-Beth, you are very dear to me. I want us to taste life together and savor passion.” His words ignited a fire in her belly, and her heart swelled with tenderness. Savor passion in his arms every day, the way she did last night and a moment ago. That would be heaven.

  “Oh, Yves, I care for you, too.” If she continued to stare at him like a star-struck lover, he’d soon guess the extent of her love. No strings meant no show of unnecessary emotions.