by Risk, Mona
“No need.” She turned away, leaving him staring at her, and strode toward the wall where the long table adorned with various platters of food was slowly being depleted. She helped clear the table and set the dessert.
Her task finished, Olivia darted her gaze toward the dance floor. Luc and her daughter participated in a dance competition now. She hoped they’d win. Studying their performance, she was sure they would. Luc always won, always topped those around him. No wonder the women loved him.
He’d mentioned his social life as if he were reporting casual facts or uninteresting events, but the information dampened her fun. A hotshot count with an aristocratic name, even if he practiced medicine, was out of her league. She missed her Luc, the dazzling resident she’d loved.
Did he still exist, outside her dreams?
Now she was dealing with a successful doctor and a count. The ladies’ adulation and the press interest must have changed him. Good grief, by his own admission the man couldn’t go out without a woman hanging on his arm, an extra beautiful ornament to enhance his sex appeal.
Olivia would probably be an amusing interlude for him. No wonder he suggested some no-strings-attached fun. Unless she just attracted his attention as another case to treat, one to add to his successful medical record.
Frustration simmered in her gut. She tried to ignore it and busied herself by handing out the desserts. A grumbling in her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. She helped herself to a slice of German chocolate torte, finished it and scooped some chocolate mousse. After she licked her fork, she reached for a triangle of black forest cheesecake.
Chocolate, the universal anti-anxiety remedy, according to her mother. Too bad Olivia couldn’t prescribe it to her patients.
“Are you worshipping a chocolate god tonight?” She dropped her fork as Luc’s laughter pierced through her bitter thoughts.
“I realized I’d forgotten to eat.”
“I will get you something from the kitchen.”
“No. I’m not hungry anymore. Soon they’ll drop the balloons, and we can leave.” She reached for a glass of punch to cool her throat. She shouldn’t have stuffed herself with chocolate. It sat like a heavy stone inside her stomach.
Indigestion is one of the symptoms of anxiety.
But she wasn’t anxious or worried or frustrated. Not at all. She just wanted to scratch out his eyes and run away like a stupid teenager crying over her first crush.
He gave her a questioning look. “Are you tired? Why don’t you come and sit at our table. There are places. A girl and her father already left.”
At that moment, a woman announced on the microphone, “The winning couple for the best performance in our dancing competition is: Melissa Crane and her dad. Please come forward for your prize.”
“Hey, we won.” Luc clapped his hands.
Olivia couldn’t help smiling at his boyish enthusiasm.
Melissa’s dad. Oh God, if only it were true.
Tears of frustration stung Olivia’s eyes, and her cheeks felt about ten degrees too warm. She cleared her throat and blinked. “Go, go. Melissa is looking for you.” With her hand she urged him away, her bitterness forgotten for the moment.
“You come with me.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her behind him toward the end of the dance floor where her daughter waited for them, a huge smile brightening her face.
The coordinator opened a jewelry box to reveal a silver chain and porcelain rose pendant. She gave it to Melissa and handed a similar box with a keychain to Luc. “Congratulations to our winning couple.”
Displaying her pendant, Melissa smiled from ear to ear. “Mom, it was fantastic. I never had so much fun in my life.” She turned toward Luc and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Luc. I wish you could be my dad for real.”
Liquid sloshed on the floor as Olivia almost dropped the punch glass she held with a shaking hand.
“And I, too, wish I could be your dad for real.” Luc hugged Melissa. Over her shoulder, his eyes bored into Olivia’s. “You are very special to me.”
Olivia’s breath caught up in her throat. Was he talking to her?
How special, Count de Toulon-Chatel?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Luc dropped Melissa at the house, but captured Olivia’s hand when she tried to follow her daughter out of the car. “Stay.”
She raised a stubborn chin. “I said I can drive myself. I don’t need a chauffeur.”
“I flatter myself that I care about you more than a chauffeur. You are on call tomorrow, and it’s midnight. No need to exhaust yourself with a long drive. Besides, I have something to tell you.”
“I’m too tired to talk.”
“Then take a nap. I will be as quiet as a mouse.”
She pulled her hand away and released an exaggerated sigh. “You can be really exasperating.”
“I know, but I still insist on driving you to your apartment.”
Olivia threw a look at the darkened house. Melissa was already inside and had closed the door behind her. And sure enough, Marianna had switched the lights off to signify she wasn’t expecting Olivia back inside.
“My car is here.”
“You will come back with me on Sunday for dinner and drive it back.”
“And if I’m called tomorrow, I’ll have to take a taxi?”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. I have work to do anyway.”
She huffed a couple of times and crossed her arms. “Okay, there’s no need to spend the night arguing in my mother’s driveway.”
He took off smoothly, inserted a CD of Celine Dion’s love songs and remained silent to allow her to rest, but he promised himself he would clarify the misunderstanding as soon as they reached her place. Tonight. Before she made a mountain out of a molehill.
Of all the bad luck. To meet someone who knew Marie-Claire. As if he gave a damn about Marie-Claire or Sophie or...he’d already forgotten some of the names. Well, he wasn’t being fair to Marie-Claire. She was a stunning beauty and a successful lawyer, not a gold digger like the others.
A tapping of fingers on the seat belt attracted his attention. Olivia hadn’t slept after all.
“Are you still upset?” he asked with his softest voice and turned off the CD player. He’d better clear the air right away.
“Upset? What about?” Her voice sliced through the air like a newly sharpened scalpel. “It was a great party and my daughter is happy. That’s all that matters to me.”
“Yes, I know. But I have not been totally honest in my explanation earlier. It bothers me.”
“Oh.” That had her attention. “What do you mean?”
“About Marie-Claire. She has been more than just a date.”
Olivia swiveled her head toward him, her eyes flashing darts in the semi-darkness of the car. “I see.”
“She is the daughter of my mother’s best friend. I knew her when we were kids.”
“Spare me the details. I’m not your shrink. And I’m really not interested.” She hissed as she turned her head toward the passenger window.
“But I need to explain the truth.”
“Yeah? The sacrosanct truth you worship but ignore when it suits you.” She spat the words with such rage Luc thought she’d punch him with the next sentence.
“The truth is my mother kept nagging me about getting married and having a child.”
“Sure. The Count de Toulon-Chatel needs an heir.”
“Exactly. My mother brought us together. I took Marie-Claire out several times during the next six months.”
“And you slept with her.” She gasped and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I said that.”
“I slept with her. And I bought a ring.”
“Ha. Enough.” The headlights of an oncoming car flickered over her furrowed forehead and pursed lips. “You, bastard, you kissed me while you are engaged to another woman.”
He let go of the insult he didn’t deserve. �
��I am not engaged. I received McMillan’s e-mail telling me you read my articles and recommended me the day before I was supposed to propose. Instead of proposing, I returned the ring and took Marie-Claire out as planned, but I told her I was leaving for the U.S.”
“And you broke her heart, you selfish bastard.”
Again? An insult because he almost proposed to another woman and an insult because he hadn’t. There was no way to please Olivia. It wasn’t like her to lose control of her civility. A proof she was shaken, upset, and hopefully jealous.
“No, I did not.” He held her gaze for a moment, wanting her to absorb what he’d reveal next, even though her culture differed from his French traditions. “Our marriage was going to be one of convenience. It is often done in French society. She did not love me, and she knew I did not love her. She also knew she had to deliver a child in exchange for the security of my name and the title of countess. And each of us would keep our freedom.”
“But—I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’d cheat on each other?”
“There would have been no cheating and no love. Only honesty, friendship, and understanding. Marie-Claire hugged me before I left and wished me good luck. She knew everything about my American girlfriend from ten years ago. My only girlfriend.”
He wouldn’t tell Olivia more now and give her the upper hand to trash his heart again. But her gasp was sweet music to his ear. He had finally cracked her wall of cool reserve.
“You talked to...to this woman about me? Ten years after you left Cincinnati?”
“Actually, I talked about you to every woman I took out more than a few times.”
“Why? To protect your independence and keep the prospective brides at bay?”
He laughed. It was typical of Olivia to look at the practical side rather than the sentimental. “In a way, yes.”
She smiled for the first time since she’d heard about Marie-Claire. “In that case you owe me big time. I saved your neck from the for-better-or-worse noose.”
They’d reached her building. He parked his car in a visitor’s spot and turned toward her. “Yes, I owe you, and I intend to thank you.” He cradled her shoulders, pulled her toward him and folded her into his arms, before she had the time to react.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” She jerked her head backward and squirmed to free herself.
He tightened his hold on her back and chuckled, his lips a mere inch from her mouth. “Thank you with a kiss.” Not a soft and timid kiss. He was done walking on eggshells around her. This time he wanted to brand her with his kiss. He wanted her to remember it as long as she lived.
He closed the space between them and lowered his head, molding his lips to hers until she relaxed in his hold. His tongue outlined the curves of her mouth, demanding an invitation.
Her moan fired his blood up another notch. When her lips parted, he invaded her mouth, tasted chocolate, and played, and stroked.
And she finally responded, sucking his tongue and performing a wild dance around it with her own. Her warm and pliant body leaned into his, and her perfume enveloped him. Strong and heady. Jasmine and orange. Her fingers linked behind his neck. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He inched his fingers between their bodies and gently fondled.
It was stupid to start this in the car, in a parking lot. He released her mouth and feathered kisses along her cheek.
“Chérie, please let’s not torture each other. We have wasted ten years.” He sucked in a deep breath and eased away.
“Ten years,” Olivia repeated, in a whisper. He was right. Ten years wasted. She had yearned for him every single day during those ten long years while he apparently talked about her to his many French girlfriends.
No, not girlfriends. Dates or escorts.
He said she’d been his only girlfriend. She believed him. Luc never lied. And she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Now. Right away.
And tomorrow? What would happen tomorrow? “The hell with tomorrow.” She realized too late she’d voiced her frustration.
“We should live in the present,” he whispered against her mouth and kissed her again with the passion she’d never forgotten.
When she managed to breathe, she cradled his cheeks in her hands and smiled. “Can I invite you upstairs for a drink?”
His gaze locked on hers, peering into her soul. “Have I convinced you? Do you really want me to come?”
“I really want you.” She sealed her words with a kiss on his lips.
“In that case, I could use a Cognac.” He stroked her hair and offered her a dazzling smile before opening the car door and walking her to her apartment.
She felt strong, confident, elated with his arm around her waist. Anticipation warmed her belly with spiraling flames. She’d been waiting for this moment for ten long years.
When they entered her apartment, she switched the lights on and closed the door behind them. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said as she kicked off her high-heeled pumps.
Luc removed his jacket and bowtie, and undid the top button of his shirt. He looked around him, surveying the living room. “Nice place you have here. It is exactly as I expected, neat, elegant and cozy.” He pointed to a Monet painting above the white leather couch. “And you put in a French touch.”
“Always. I can’t live without the French touch.”
He grinned and strolled toward the credenza that served as a buffet and a bar.
“Is there anything else we need to talk about? I mean about your many lady friends,” she said as he poured two drinks with as much ease as if he lived in this apartment.
“Non. No more mention of other women. But I can talk about you all night long and never be bored.” He gave her a glass and clicked his against hers. “A la tienne. To you.”
“Cheers.”
He swirled the golden liquid, brought it to his nose and inhaled. “C’est bon. Very good.” He drained it and refilled it for himself. “Do you remember our last time together?”
“The time you told me you were leaving?”
“And you told me you never wanted to see me again because your career was more important than empty feelings. No. That’s a day I have tried hard to forget. I was talking about the last time we...hmm...made love.”
“Oh.” Heat crept up her neck and face.
“We came back from your graduation party straight to your little student apartment. You wore a black silk dress like tonight and this pearl necklace. Your hair was floating down your back. We had a glass of Chardonnay.”
She brought her hand to her throat. God, he hadn’t forgotten any details. “I-I remember.”
“You gave me a soft kiss.”
“As usual you changed it into a torrid one.”
He came toward her, seized her hand and led her to the couch. “And do you remember I pulled you onto my lap, just like now.” He dropped onto the leather sofa and dragged her down with him. His hands trailed up her arms, skimmed her shoulders. The feather-like caress strayed to her throat, sending a tingle of pleasure all the way to her belly.
And here she thought she’d never sit on his lap again. She basked in the intimacy of their position. “I remember the scent of your cologne, amber and spice.” Closing her eyes, she nuzzled his neck and inhaled. “The same as you have on today.”
“Oh my darling.” Cupping her face between his palms, he captured her mouth in a deep kiss that left her breathless. When he released her, he smiled, and his eyes twinkled with merriment. “Let’s remember more things. I unclasped your necklace, and then I unzipped your dress. Like this.” He removed her jewelry, lowered her bodice down her arms and exposed her black lace bra.
“And then—” He swiftly unclasped her bra and eased it away. His gaze flickered from one breast to the other, warming her with anticipated pleasure. “Gorgeous,” he whispered as he raised his eyes.
Raw desire blazed in their blue depth and mirrored her own excitement.
Mesmerized, sh
e hooked her arms around his neck, snuggled against his chest and breathed the masculine smell that made her dizzy with want.
“And then… Like this?” She smiled, ready to give as good as she got. “Your shirt has to go.” The buttons snapped open to reveal the muscular chest she’d recalled more than once in her fantasies. “Beautiful.”
He chuckled when she mimicked his words and moves, and, with a swift motion he threw his shirt away, but when she contoured his nipples with her tongue, he stiffened, his arousal pushing into her thigh.
“Where is your bedroom, chérie?”
She waved her head toward the right. “This way. We’ll save the grand tour for later.”
He pulled her to her feet. She glanced at her dress draped over her hips.
“Leave it,” he rasped. “I like the black against your whiteness.” His thumb played at the base of her throat, zigzagged to the valley between her breasts, dipped to her belly button where her creamy flesh vanished under dark silk.
Unable to withstand the fire created by his touch, she took his hand and led him to the bedroom. As she passed the mirror over her dresser, she gasped at their reflection. She looked like a Salomé dancer who’d shed her veils, leading the conqueror to her bed.
His eyes roamed her half nudity and the swaying of her breasts. Her conqueror licked his lips, and her mouth went dry. Could she suggest he lick her lips instead, or her breasts, or...?
She sighed.
He groaned.
The deep-throated sound stirred more hunger in her belly. She slipped away from him to switch on the night table lamp. When she turned around, her breasts brushed his chest. “Oh, you—” she murmured. She hadn’t heard him pad behind her, but the grazing of her nipples over his rigid torso zipped a new surge of lust along her nerves.
His arms closed around her, stroked her lower back and settled on her hips. He fingered the material and smoothed her dress down her legs. She wriggled and shimmied out of it, eager to have no barrier of cloth between them. Without saving a glance to the heap on the floor, his gaze skated from her face to her breasts and belly. “Very sexy dress. Was it meant to seduce me?”
She tilted her head and chuckled. “Are you always the perceptive shrink?”
