* * *
While Piper spoke to John Allen, Frederic moved across the room. He needed to put some space between them before he took his housekeeper on the kitchen floor. It wasn’t that he was against making love in the kitchen; he simply wasn’t sure he should make love to Piper. As she was quickly proving, Piper was no ordinary housekeeper. She was soft and sweet in ways he wasn’t used to. There was an essence about her that demanded connection, compelling him to reach out to her. She made him want to comfort her.
She... God, she tasted like vanilla. She made him want to taste her again. But was that a good idea?
Just then, Piper laughed, a sweet sound that reminded him of tinkling crystal, and he thought, perhaps it was a very good idea.
“Are you sure?” he heard her ask. “That would be great. Miss Duchenko would be thrilled.”
Thrilled at what? Curiosity overrode his desire. Did this mean Allen had the painting? That they had tracked down the work so easily was almost comical. Experts searched lifetimes for paintings and sculptures and here his houskeeper locates one in three days? Amazing.
He was surprised at his investment in the search. Naturally, he would have a passing interest in tracking down a lost painting of any kind, even a scandalous portrait by a no-name artist like this one. The fact that his interest ran deeper he attributed to his frighteningly intriguing housekeeper.
“Looks like I’m going to England on an art hunt after all,” Piper announced when she hung up. “Mr. Allen has invited me to see Ana Reclining in person.”
“Congratulations.” Her smile was contagious. “Does his invitation mean he is willing to part with the painting?”
“He said he would have to think about whether he was willing to sell. The painting is one of his favorite pieces.”
But of course it was. As anyone hoping to net a good price would say.
“However, he did offer to let me inspect the painting’s condition and to take a photograph of the work for Ana. If he doesn’t sell, she will at least have proof one of her portraits survived.”
Explaining why Miss Duchenko would be thrilled.
“I thought I would go this weekend. Mr. Allen’s leaving on a business trip next week and wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. I figured I could take the train out tomorrow. That is, if you can spare me for a few days.”
“I can,” he replied. But did he want to? It was clear from the excited energy in her voice that the rest of tonight would be absorbed by itineraries and trip planning. To then have to wait an entire weekend before having the chance to kiss her again?
The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think them through. “Actually, I thought I would go with you.”
“You did?”
“Why not? I’ve been part of your search for the last two days. Surely you didn’t expect me to stay home when you got to the best part?”
“Do you really want to?” he heard her ask. “Go to England?”
“Yes, Piper, I do.”
He could see her fidgeting as she tried to decide. After the kiss they just shared, there could be no doubt as to what traveling together to England might lead to. Frederic stayed quiet; he wouldn’t push her one way or the other. No matter how tempting the thought of kissing her into agreement.
From her spot across the room, Piper nodded. “What time do you want to leave?”
CHAPTER SIX
PIPER WASN’T AN IDIOT. She knew perfectly well what could happen if Frederic accompanied her to England. Especially after the kiss they shared.
What she hadn’t known was that kissing Frederic would leave her with some kind of ultra-hyper responsiveness that would fade. Every move, every sound Frederic made—right down to the crinkle of his shirt when he bent his elbow—sent a rush of awareness running through her. You’d think it was her first kiss. In a way, it was. It was certainly the first kiss that made her insides feel as though they were being kissed, too. If one short kiss could make her feel this way, she hated to think what would happen if he kissed without interruption.
The only thing that kept her from throwing herself at him to find out was, ironically enough, arranging their trip.
They caught the first train the next morning.
Piper took out the map of England she’d bought at the station and located the town where John Allen lived. “Have you been to this place before?” she asked Frederic.
“The town? No. I’ve been to the Cotswolds several times, though.”
As he answered, he shifted in his seat, causing his jeans leg to brush hers. Impossibly the contact managed to reach through the layers to leave goose bumps.
The hyperawareness was as strong as ever.
Piper shifted in her seat as well, hoping she could add a little space between their legs. Otherwise, it would be a very long tunnel ride. “I read about the Cotswolds online last night.” Mainly because she needed to do something to calm the hyperawareness. Turned out reading up on the trip you were taking with the man who kissed you senseless wasn’t a relaxing solution. “It looked gorgeous in the pictures.” Not to mention romantic. Another reason she had trouble sleeping.
She suddenly wondered what kind of visits Frederic’s other trips to the Cotswolds were. “Did you go there on vacation?”
“There’s an abbey not far from Chipping Campden that has the most unique ninth-century mural of Saint Michael. I wrote a journal paper on it.” There was nostalgia in his smile. “I heard they restored it a few years ago. I wonder how it turned out.”
“Why don’t we go see it while we’re in the area?” As far as she was concerned, anything that put such a smile on his face had to be worth a visit.
“I was already planning to,” he replied. “Did you know that for centuries, no one knew this mural was there? At some point, it was covered by a second layer of stone. It was discovered when a lightning strike knocked a piece of the outer wall loose.”
“Do they know why it was covered up?”
“No one knows for sure. My personal theory is that it was hidden during the Reformation so as not to anger Henry VIII.” He launched into an explanation about the monks and allegiance to the king only to stop suddenly with a blush. “Sorry. I’m afraid I get carried away.”
“It’s okay—I don’t mind,” Piper replied. She’d been only half listening anyway. Too busy enjoying the sparkle in his eyes. “I have to be honest,” she told him. “It’s hard to imagine you poring over books in a research library.” Today, for example, in his jeans and silk T-shirt, he looked more like a vacationing playboy or professional soccer player.
“Sit in one of my classes sometime. My students will say I must spend all my time there. That is why my lectures are so boring.”
“They are not.” She could listen to him talk all day.
“You are in a rarefied group then. Sometimes I think it’s a good thing my lecture hall has low lighting. Keeps me from seeing how many of my students have fallen asleep. It’s difficult enough when I call on them and they can’t repeat what I mentioned five minutes earlier.”
He was exaggerating. Piper honestly couldn’t see him as boring, no matter how dry the topic. Distracting, however, was a far different story. If she were a college student, she could see herself spending class time fantasizing about the professor. “Your classes wouldn’t be mostly female, would they?”
“About a seventy to thirty percent ratio. Why?”
“Trust me, those girls aren’t sleeping.”
The blush creeping over his cheeks was as captivating as the rest of him. “Is that your way of suggesting they’re captivated by my looks?”
Piper joined him in blushing. “Is that your way of fishing for a compliment?”
“Perhaps.” He traced a pattern across the map with his index finger. Piper followed with her eyes,
and wondered if he was drawing a route or tracing aimless lines.
“I could say the same for you as well,” he murmured without looking up.
“That I’m fishing for compliments?”
“That it’s easy to be distracted by your good looks.”
“Says the man who can’t see.” Realizing what she said, Piper started to cringe, only to stop when Frederic let out a laugh.
“Even through a pinhole, a man can see a diamond.”
“Now I know you’re exaggerating.”
“Only a little.” He moved his tracing from the map to her arm, his finger following the same lazy, loopy path across her skin. “You are a beautiful woman.”
Piper pushed back a shiver. “I bet you say that to all your housekeepers.”
“Only the American ones.”
“Let me guess, you only hire Americans.”
“No. You are the first.” His finger took one last trip down her arm and disappeared. “I don’t make a habit of kissing the help.”
“Then why...?” What made her so different? She wasn’t used to being singled out as special.
“I don’t know,” Frederic replied. He looked past her for a moment as if trying to figure out the answer himself before smiling at her again. “Why don’t we enjoy it for what it is?”
“What is it?”
“Today? It is a road trip.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Why don’t we take things as they come? Stay in the present.”
In other words, no strings attached.
“When I was a little kid, living in the present meant we were sure we’d have enough rent money.” It was meant to be a joke, but the catch in her voice killed the effect.
Frederic shifted so they were face-to-face and took her hand. “I don’t believe in giving false expectations,” he told her. “Especially when it comes to relationships. It wouldn’t be fair.”
For whom? The other day he said being involved only meant more drama. Was that what he feared? That she might grow too attached? If so, maybe he should work on being a little less charming and attractive.
“Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I like to know what I’m getting into,” she said, only to realize that he had told her in very clear terms. No strings.
“You’re thinking too much. Let us take one moment at a time, all right? Whatever happens, happens. There is no pressure.”
Piper nodded. No pressure she could do.
Hopefully.
There was a car and driver waiting for them when they arrived at Saint Pancras station. A girl could get pretty spoiled by this kind of travel, Piper decided as she slid into the backseat. Definitely beat struggling to drive on the wrong side of the road with a rented stick shift. Which is what she’d be doing if Frederic weren’t with her.
Best not to get too spoiled, though. At some point this whole Cinderella experience was going to end. There would be no limousines driving her around Boston. No guarantee she would have limousines driving her around Paris much, either. Taking things moment to moment could mean going back to being a housekeeper on Monday.
One good thing did come out of Frederic’s “no pressure” comment, though. She managed to put the lid back on her over-boiling senses, meaning she could actually sit in the backseat without too much awareness. The only time she had real problems was when Frederic leaned into her space, sending a hint of his spicy wood aftershave in her direction. Then she would get a most unwelcome flutter below the waist. Fortunately, he didn’t lean toward her too often.
“How long a drive is it to the Cotswolds?” she asked the driver.
“Ninety minutes or so. Little less maybe depending on traffic.”
She reached into her bag to see if she missed any calls while underground. Nothing. “Patience still hasn’t checked in.”
“Perhaps she’s been too busy.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.” Too busy working out her problems with Stuart. “Do you know I still haven’t told her about John Allen?”
“That could be for the best, since you haven’t seen the painting yet. After you have met with Monsieur Allen, you will be able to give her much more information.”
Like whether the collector would be willing to sell. “Do you think his position will change once he hears the painting’s history?”
“It could. Or it could sway him the other way. Knowing the painting is attached to a world-renowned silver dynasty makes it—”
“Worth more, I know.”
“Notoriety often does. Regardless, I’m sure no matter what the outcome of our meeting, Stuart Duchenko will spare no effort in trying to get his aunt’s portrait returned.”
“You are?”
“I know if it was something I wanted badly, I’d be relentless,” he replied. The promise in his voice turned her insides upside down.
* * *
The English countryside was even more beautiful than the photos she saw online. Piper couldn’t stop snapping pictures of the rolling green landscape.
“We have beautiful countryside in France as well,” Frederic said, when she commented on a passing sheep farm.
“Yes, but that’s French countryside. This is England,” Piper countered. Spying a flock of grazing sheep, she took another photo.
“So?”
He almost sounded pouty. “You make it sound like it’s a competition.”
“It’s always a competition when England is concerned.”
“Well, at least it’s easier to read the roadside signs here,” she replied. Competition indeed. Both countries were better than any place she’d been before.
“Is there a place you can pull over so I can get a really good shot?” she asked the driver.
“The dozen or so you have already taken are not enough?” Frederic asked.
“I’ve got one more I want to take.” And a moving car wouldn’t do the subject justice.
“Will the shoulder ahead do?” He pointed to a particularly beautiful piece of scenery. A large checkerboard field in shades of green sprawled from the road to the horizon.
“Perfect.”
The car slowed to a stop. “You have to get out, too,” Piper told Frederic when he opened the door.
“Why?”
“Because I want you in the picture, that’s why.”
“A photograph of me standing on the side of the road.”
“Actually, standing in front of that tree,” she replied, pointing to a shrub-like tree a football field away.
From behind his sunglasses, Frederic was focusing in on her in his concentrated way. She tried to figure out his thoughts based on the rest of his expression, but it was impossible.
“Please?” she said, “I didn’t think to take photos yesterday.” Leaving her with zero visual evidence the magic day even happened. “I don’t want to forget again this weekend.” And be left with nothing.
“Only for you would I do this,” he said.
“Thank you. Go stand by the tree and I’ll be as quick as possible. Watch your step!” she added when he stepped down into a gulley.
“You’re supposed to warn a person before they stumble,” he said. Piper grinned. Hard to take the admonition seriously when he was grinning, too.
Not wanting to push her luck too much, she snapped three pictures in rapid succession. Her only regret was in forgetting to ask him to take off his sunglasses. She would have liked a picture with his eyes showing.
Maybe another time. “All done,” she called to him. “You can get back into the car.”
“Not yet. Gregory,” he called to the driver, “Will you take mademoiselle’s phone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You made us stop to take these photos. It is only fair you pose as well.”
“Gregory...”
The driver held out his hand expectantly.
“Watch out for the dip,” Frederic said.
“Fine.” Would be nice to have a photograph of her and Frederic for a memory. Giving her hair a quick fluff with her fingers, she stepped into the field.
Frederic met her under the tree. “Stand right here,” he told her. Piper did as she was told, figuring they would pose side by side. Therefore she was caught off guard when Frederic moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Smile for the camera,” he murmured before pressing his cheek to Piper’s temple.
“Got it,” Gregory called.
Piper went to step forward, only to find herself held tight against Frederic’s torso.
“Hold on,” he said.
Keeping one arm around her waist, he caught her chin with the other, turned her head sideways and kissed her. Hard and thorough. “Now we can go.”
Piper nearly forgot how to breathe. “What happened to no pressure?”
“No pressure, yes. I never said I wouldn’t try to convince you, though, did I?” He held out a hand. “Shall we? Gregory is waiting.”
* * *
“This is the inn John Allen recommended,” Frederic said.
“It certainly is something,” Piper replied.
It was a quintessential romantic country inn. A crooked building made of stone and quirky angles that sat at the top of the main street, while the rest of the village spread below. The whole thing was a postcard come to life. Thatched-roof buildings surrounded by rolling green hills and woodland. A local farmer driving his sheep down the road was all it needed to complete the picture.
It looked like the kind of place lovers went to hide. Precisely the kind of place a man would take a woman like Piper.
Why that thought left Frederic antsy, he wasn’t sure.
The proprietress, a Mrs. Lester, met them at the front door. “You must be the people who called last night.” She smiled widely. “You are lucky. We don’t usually have rooms this time of year, but we had a family cancel at the last minute, leaving us with two rooms open.”
Beauty & Her Billionaire Boss Page 8
