Harlequin Romance February 2016 Box Set

by Barbara Wallace

  The director looked at her in surprise. ‘Not many people would recognise this fabric—are you a historian?’

  ‘No, I’m a textile designer, but I have a passion for historical fabrics. I love how designs and patterns tell us so much about the period of history they were produced in, about the social norms and conditions.’

  ‘Well, you’re in for a treat this evening.’ The director turned to Patrick. ‘I will leave you and Mademoiselle Ryan to tour the chateau alone. If you need anything I shall be in my office.’

  As they walked away from the entrance hall she asked, intrigued, ‘Why did you bring me here?’

  ‘This is the most beautiful building I have ever visited. I thought you would enjoy it. But now I’m especially glad that I organised the trip. I hadn’t realised you were so passionate and knowledgeable about historical textiles.’

  ‘I have a lot of hidden talents you don’t know about.’

  With a glint in his eye he said, ‘Is that right?’

  She mumbled, ‘Yes...’ and turned away, heat flooding her cheeks. She felt as though she was floating on air between the excitement of being here and her desperation to feel his lips on hers again, to be encompassed by his size and strength.

  He was right. Anticipation was thrilling. But what if that anticipation led to nothing?

  The first room he took her to was the print room. As Aideen looked around the room in astonishment he explained, ‘It was a tradition for royalty and the gentry to collect expensive prints and paste them directly on to the walls.’

  Some of the black and white prints illustrated faraway picturesque locations—the lakes of Northern Italy, Bavarian forests... Animal prints showed farmyard scenes of cows and sheep; another was of a spaniel, standing before a raging river.

  She was blown away by the sheer extravagance of the room. Priceless print after print covered the entirety of the four walls. ‘They’re beautiful—what incredible detail.’

  ‘This room was created by Princess Isabella—it’s said Prince Henri of Chalant built this chateau as a symbol of his love for her, before they married.’

  ‘That’s so romantic.’

  He didn’t respond, and when she turned to him the air was compressed in her lungs. He stood in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, gazing at her intently. He wore navy chinos and a white polo shirt. His bare arms were beautifully carved with taut muscle, the skin lightly tanned with a dusting of dark hair.

  She even fancied his arms. Was there any hope for her?

  An awareness passed between them and she suddenly grew shy, giving him a quick smile before walking away to inspect other prints.

  But he made for the door and gestured her to follow. ‘If you think that’s romantic let me show you something else.’

  She followed him down the corridor until he stopped at a closed door.

  ‘Close your eyes and I’ll lead you in.’

  She eyed him suspiciously. ‘You’re not going to play a trick on me, are you? Lead me down into the dungeon or something like that?’

  His head tilted and he gave her a sexy grin that sent her pulse into orbit. ‘As intriguing as that suggestion sounds...no, I’m not going to take you to the dungeon.’ Then he gave her an admonishing look and said, ‘Now, for once will you please try and trust me and close your eyes?’

  She held her breath as his hand took hers. She heard the door open and then he slowly led her forward for about ten paces. She felt oddly vulnerable, and her hand tightened on his of its own accord.

  All her senses were attuned to the solid strength of his hand, the smooth warmth of his skin, the torturous pleasure of being so physically close to him...

  ‘Open your eyes.’

  She gasped in astonishment. It was the most dazzling room she’d ever seen. It was like something out of a fairytale. Or a room she imagined might have been in a Russian royal palace.

  She twisted around in amazement, shaking her head. The double-height rectangular room was a feast of gilded Baroque plasterwork. It was opulent and outrageous in its beauty. And so much fun she couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘It’s absolutely stunning! It’s like standing in the middle of an exquisite piece of twenty-four-carat gold jewellery’

  ‘It’s called the Gold Room. Prince Henri commissioned it to celebrate Isabella’s fiftieth birthday.’

  She gave him a wistful smile. ‘He really was romantic, wasn’t he?’

  He gave a light shrug and looked up at the intricate gilt stucco work on the ceiling. ‘I guess when you find the love of your life you just want to celebrate it.’

  A rush of emotion tore through her body. ‘It must be nice to feel so loved.’

  Their eyes met briefly and they both looked away at the same time.

  She moved through the silent room, unexpected tears clouding her vision. The past year might have made her wary of others, but at the same time there was an emptiness in her heart. She wanted to be in love. Desperately.

  With each passing day, as they got to know each other, things were changing between her and Patrick. They now shared an intimacy, an ease with one another that had her thinking maybe they had something between them...something significant. Patrick telling her last night about Orla had been particularly moving, and also momentous. It was as though he had finally allowed her to step fully into his life.

  Behind her, he called, ‘Are you ready to see some more rooms?’

  She nodded, but was slow to turn around. Was he feeling the same intensity she was? This need to connect on a different level?

  * * *

  An hour later her head swam as she tried once again to orientate herself in the vastness of the chateau. They had passed through room after room, all full of sumptuous furniture and historically significant textiles and antiques. And yet, somewhat miraculously, Château Chalant retained an air of intimacy. Was it because it had been built to celebrate love?

  Eventually they found themselves back in the entrance hall. For some reason she didn’t want their time here to end. She wanted to stay here with him a little longer.

  With a heavy heart she said, as brightly as she could, ‘Thank you for bringing me here—it really is a magical place.’

  ‘The tour isn’t over yet. I have kept the best room for last.’

  Intrigued, she followed him into a vast, empty room with marble flooring. A bow window overlooked the gardens to the rear of the chateau.

  She looked around, perplexed, taking in the ornate plasterwork on the domed ceilings and alcoves. Painted a silvery white, the sunlit room was a sleeping silent oasis, even in the tranquillity of the chateau.

  ‘Why is there no furniture?’ She jumped to hear her own voice echoing noisily around the room.

  He had remained standing close to the doorway, while she was now perched on the sill of the bow window.

  ‘It helps with the acoustics.’

  What had been a whisper from Patrick echoed loudly across the room.

  Trying it herself, she whispered, ‘This is amazing.’

  Again her voice barrelled across the room in a loud echo.

  ‘It’s called the Whispering Room. In days gone by apparently it wasn’t accepted for courting couples to stand too close to one another, so young lovers would use this room to whisper messages to one another.’

  ‘That’s so sweet.’

  ‘I sometimes wonder what they would have said.’

  As he stood and watched her something broke inside her, and she whispered from her heart. ‘They wished they could be together...they longed for the day they could be.’

  For the longest while he stared at her. Had he heard her whisper? Maybe it would be better if he hadn’t.

  But then he whispered back, ‘You’re lovely.’

  He said it so gently and with such sincerity she thought her heart was going to break in two. ‘You’re pretty special, too.’

  ‘I like you, Aideen Ryan.’

  Had she heard right? Had she imagine
d it? His smile said otherwise.

  Through a throat thick with bittersweet happiness she whispered, ‘I like you, too, Patrick Fitzsimon.’

  He walked slowly to her, and although she was leaning against the windowsill her legs began to wobble.

  He came to a stop before her and she looked up into his dazzling blue eyes. His body shifted towards her. His hand twitched at his side and at the same time her body ached with the need for his touch.

  His head moved slowly down, her heart speeding up with every inch closer he came, until his lips landed gently on hers. His mouth moved against hers, slowly and lightly, and she thought she might faint because it was so tender and right.

  When he pulled away from the kiss he brought his forehead to lie against hers. His incredible blue gaze held hers. It felt as though he was spearing her heart with the silent communication of the need of a man for a woman.

  ‘Would you like a tour of the grounds?’

  Dazed, she whispered, ‘Yes, please.’

  They made their way through the extensive gardens surrounding the chateau and a silence fell between them. She tried to keep her distance from him, but invariably found herself swaying towards him. As she walked along the gravelled paths, the late-evening sun warm on her skin, she bumped against him and he pulled her towards him, wrapping his arm about her waist. They shared a quick look and her insides tumbled to see the desire in his hooded eyes.

  She felt drunk with happiness just being there...being with him. And every cell in her body was electrified by being so close to him. A lazy, intoxicating tendril of physical desire coiled around her body. Her skin felt flushed and a deep pulse resonated in her lips.

  But that nagging thought that this was not reality, that she did not belong here, continued to rumble at the back of her brain. Even as she tried her best to ignore it.

  They didn’t stop walking until they reached an extensive lake with a small island in the centre. They stopped on the pebbled beach, where a rowing boat lay beached to one side.

  He went immediately to it and pulled it towards the lake. Holding it in the water, he called, ‘Come on—what are you waiting for?’

  She looked around doubtfully, wondering for a moment if it would be allowed. But then she rushed towards the water. She pulled off her ballet flats, held up her midi-skirt and jumped on board, giving a cry of laughter when the boat wobbled.

  Patrick strengthened his grip on her elbow, and as she sat down he pushed the boat out further and in one fluid motion jumped on board himself. The boat wobbled even more, but as soon as he sat opposite her it steadied.

  His oar strokes were long and even and they were quickly out in the middle of the lake. Other than evening birdsong and the swoosh of the oars in the water there wasn’t another sound.

  ‘This is my first time ever being out in a rowing boat.’

  He looked at her incredulously. ‘Seriously? How did you get to be...?’

  ‘Twenty-eight.’

  ‘How did you get to be twenty-eight without ever being out in a rowing boat?’

  ‘Beats me.’

  He continued to row and she tried not to stare at the way his biceps flexed with each pull of the oar.

  ‘You’ll have to have a go at rowing.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Climb over here into the centre. Try not to wobble the boat too much. I’ll move to your seat.’

  As she moved down the boat it began to bob precariously. She gave a little shout of alarm and gratefully grabbed on to his outstretched arm. As she fell forward she twisted, and ended up landing in his arms, her bottom firmly wedged in his lap.

  His hand came to rest just above her waist, its heat on the thin cotton of her blouse sending a shiver of pleasure through her. His thighs, his chest, as they pressed against her, felt as though they were made of steel. Electric blue eyes met hers. Her pulse leapt. It would be so easy to lean forward, to kiss those firm lips again. To inhale his scent.

  He gave a low growl. ‘If you don’t climb off me in the next five seconds I won’t be responsible for what I do next.’

  She leapt away—and instantly regretted doing so.

  After he had moved to the stern of the boat she started rowing. The boat moved with ease and she thought with unjustified satisfaction that she had this rowing lark immediately sussed. But then they started going in circles, and she couldn’t get the boat to go in a straight line. The fits of giggles that accompanied her attempts weren’t much help.

  Opposite her, he threw his head into his hands and then looked at her with amusement.

  Time and time again he demonstrated the motion she should be using, but the boat still twisted. He suggested they swop places again but, determined, she refused to give up.

  And finally she did it. The boat went in one direction. Straight back to shore. She didn’t try to alter their course in case she started circling again.

  As they neared the small beach he moved confidently to the bow and jumped ashore. Then he hoisted the boat on to the stones. He held her hand as she leapt off. She knew she was grinning at him like a fool but couldn’t stop herself. She hadn’t laughed so much in a very long time.

  He watched her with a smile, and for a while she looked at him happily, but her smile finally faded as his stare grew darker. He took a step closer. Shots of awareness flew through her.

  An intensity swirled in the air between them. Everything had changed since Patrick had opened up to her last night. She felt trusted. Her heart drummed a slow beat of deep appreciation, wonder, and attraction to this man.

  Closer and closer he came, his intense blue eyes transfixing her. Her breath grew more rapid. Her lips pulsed with the need to feel his mouth on hers again. Her legs grew weak.

  When he was no more than an inch from her, she was the first to give in. Her body swayed and she fell against his hardness. Her hands curled around his biceps. Against her thumb, which rested at the side of his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, which was pounding even faster than hers.

  ‘I didn’t ask before, so I should this time round. Can I kiss you?’

  Her heart stuttered at his question. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. Even if she’d wanted to there was no way she could pull away from him—from his warm breath, the overwhelming pull of his hard body, the dizzying inhalation of his scent.

  She placed her hands on his shoulders, closed her eyes, and gave a small sigh of assent as she pulled his lips down to hers.

  Whereas their earlier kiss had been slow and sweet, tentative and testing, this kiss was instantly intense, wild. Their hands explored each other’s bodies with hunger. It was a kiss that might easily become a lot more.

  She was quickly losing herself.

  As one, they pulled away at the same time. As though they both knew it might quickly spiral into something neither wanted...yet.

  She pressed a hand to her swollen lips and blushed. She had to hide how much he affected her. Because in truth she was close to tears...of happiness and despair.

  ‘I’ll tell you this much, Patrick Fitzsimon, you certainly haven’t forgotten how to kiss in all that time you’ve been locked away in your office.’

  He looked at her with amusement. ‘Glad to hear it.’

  But then dark need flared in his eyes and her insides melted.

  ‘I want you, Aideen.’

  Her heart felt as if it was going to burst right out of her chest. She so desperately wanted to say Yes, please and not give a thought to the consequences. But it wasn’t that simple.

  ‘Are you sure? Won’t it...complicate things?’

  His hand came to rest on her cheek and he gazed at her solemnly while his thumb stroked her skin. ‘I like you. A lot. It doesn’t have to be complicated. I promise you, no game playing. But if this is not right for you I’ll back off.’

  No! She didn’t want that.

  His touch, his scent, the magnetic pull of his body might be making her head reel so much that she could barely for
mulate a thought, but she knew that much. She didn’t want this to end.

  When he had whispered ‘I like you’ in the Whispering Room, he had looked at her with such intense integrity and honour it had been like a bomb detonating in her brain. And just like that she’d realised she was in love with this kind, generous, strong man. And, God help her, she knew she would happily take a few days in his arms over the alternative: never knowing what it would be like to be held by him.

  Right now, to have loved and lost was definitely better than never to have loved at all. She didn’t want to think about the future. Living in the present was all that mattered.

  She scrunched her eyes shut for a moment, and when she opened them again she said, with a huge smile, ‘Okay.’

  It was as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had never felt so exhilarated in her entire life. To feel this good it must mean it was the right decision. Mustn’t it?

  * * *

  All the way back to Paris she regaled him with stories of her encounters with fashion designers. He held her hand throughout, his thumb caressing the soft smoothness of her palm, and every now and again she would stutter and lose her train of thought as his fingers lightly traced along her inner arm.

  Each time she shivered and her eyes grew heavy he wondered if her entire body was that sensitive. And his pulse moved up another notch.

  When the helicopter landed Bernard was waiting to take them to his private club, close to the Eiffel Tower.

  She gasped beside him when the maître d’ of the club’s restaurant directed them to their table in the rooftop terrace restaurant. And he totally understood why. Because, no matter how many times he came here himself, the sheer size and beauty of the Eiffel Tower this close up was truly impressive.

  Their table, as he’d requested, was beside the low-level redbrick wall of the terrace, with her chair facing out towards the tower, he sitting to her side.

  Once the maître d’ had gone she stared at him, her huge chocolate eyes dancing in merriment, and then she put a hand over her mouth in disbelief. ‘Oh, my God, I can’t believe this place. It’s incredible.’