“Piper, you know that I can’t give you... I won’t be selfish like my father.”
“I know.” But it broke her heart, too. He was telling her that he planned to live out his blindness alone because his father was a self-absorbed drunk, and he couldn’t be more wrong. He could—should—have more. Arguing the point, though, would only break the moment. And in the end, he’d still believe the same way.
Better she go along. At least for now. “Hey...” Reaching for his sunglasses, she pulled them away so she could finally look him in the eye. “You’re not blind yet. And I’m right here.”
She watched as slowly the gray grew black with desire. “Here, and beautiful.”
His palms were warm as they brushed the hair from her eyes. “I never want this picture to fade.”
His kiss was slow and possessive. It wrapped around her soul, binding them together. Piper gladly gave herself over. Their surroundings disappeared. It was just them, the birds and the grass. When his hands grew bold, she clutched at his back. When they slipped beneath her shirt, she whimpered. And when the moment was over, and he lay heavy, his breath sounding in her ear, she had to bite back the emotions fighting to get out. Her heart belonged to him. Taking one day at a time had just become impossible.
And she was sunk.
* * *
Later that night, Frederic lay in bed staring at the ceiling. In the pitch-black bedroom, he couldn’t see beyond shapes, but that did not matter. His mind was at the abbey. He was reliving the afternoon frame by frame so as to not forget a moment. Thank you for showing me your ugly mural.
What an amazing five days. To think, all these months there’d been a treasure living under his roof and he’d had no idea. Piper wasn’t like other lovers he’d shared a bed with, and not simply because she was American and from a world different from his. The difference had nothing to do with sophistication or worldliness, although her guilelessness was amazingly erotic.
No, what made her different was the way everything felt magnified when he was with her. Bigger, brighter, stronger. More.
If only he’d discovered her gifts sooner. So much time wasted.
Well, he would not waste further. Between now and when Piper returned to Boston, he would show her a time she’d never forget.
When Piper returned to Boston... The thought left a chill. He’d miss her. More than he thought possible. Somehow, over the past five days, she’d slipped under his skin to become someone special.
What was he supposed to do, though? Ask her to stay indefinitely? How fair was that?
No, better to give her a magical few weeks and then set her free. She would move on. Find a man who appreciated her, and he would have a wonderful memory to hold on to when the world grew dark.
Beside him, there was the rustle of sheets as Piper curled her body closer. Sliding one arm across his chest, she rested her head on his shoulder. Automatically, he began stroking her skin, seeking the contact that he could never seem to get enough of. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Couldn’t. Someone is thinking too loudly. Is everything all right?”
The gentle concern in her voice made his heart seize. For a brief moment, he let himself be wrapped up in her compassion. If only, he caught himself thinking.
“That wasn’t thinking, that was my stomach,” he said. “We missed dinner, you know.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Yours. For being irresistible.” He kissed the teasing out of her voice, smiling at the tiny moan she made deep in her throat. “But now I am hungry.”
“I can fix that,” she whispered against his lips.
“Can you now?” In the back of his mind, he wondered if the hunger he felt for her could ever be completely satisfied. Like everything else, it was greater than he thought possible.
He reached for her, but to his disappointment, she slipped from his grasp. There was more rustling. Clothes. She was getting dressed.
“What are you doing?” he asked when she opened the door. Light from the hallway spilled through the crack into the room.
“Told you,” she said. “I’m taking care of your hunger. Be right back.”
“I know a better way,” he called to her. But she’d already closed the door.
Alone, he went back to contemplating the dark ceiling. His eyes were unusually scratchy and tired tonight. Too much time in the sunlight. He had been overdoing things the past few days. Perhaps he should slow down. Or perhaps not. There would be plenty of time to slow down when he was alone.
He must have lost track of time, because before he realized, the door swung open.
“Voilà!” Piper announced. “Food.”
Squinting, Frederic tried to see what Piper held in her hands. With the light behind her, however, all he could see was a hazy silhouette. “We have apples, candy bars and a package of something called McVitie’s, which I think are cookies.”
“How on earth did you find all this?”
“Mrs. Lester keeps a stash of snacks in the front room in case guests get hungry when the kitchen is closed. I found it when she asked me to restock the cabinet this morning.”
“She asked you to restock and cook?” Even though she couldn’t see him, Frederic grinned. “Should I be worried that Mrs. Lester hired you while I wasn’t looking?”
A cellophane-wrapped package landed on the pillow near his head. “Shut up—I was doing her a favor. Can you switch on the nightstand lamp? My hands are full.”
“Do you mind if we leave the lights off?” he asked her.
“Why? Are your eyes bothering you?”
Again, the concern in her voice gripped him with a warmth that made him want to hold her tight. “No,” he said. “My eyes are fine.” A small lie, not that it mattered. His eyes weren’t the reason. There was an intimacy to the darkness he wasn’t ready to give up.
Sliding out from beneath the covers, he crossed to the window and pulled back the wooden shutters. A beam of soft silver lit the floor by his feet.
“A picnic in the moonlight,” Piper remarked as she joined him on the bed. “Romantic.”
“I blame the company,” he teased. “You inspire the romantic in me.”
“You’d be the first.” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. Had there been street traffic or some other kind of outside noise, Frederic would have missed the comment altogether. Realizing he heard her, she quickly added a louder, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” If it was up to him, she’d have romance every day. He cursed those idiots at school who were too blind to see her gifts. “Anyone who isn’t inspired by you is a fool.”
“Eat your snacks,” she murmured. Frederic could practically hear the blush darkening her cheeks.
A comfortable silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the occasional sound of cellophane crinkling. This was nice, he thought. Comfortable. A man could become very attached to feeling this way if he wasn’t careful. So attached he might not want to let go. Longing sprang to his chest, its strength catching him off guard. You’re going to be very hard to give up, aren’t you, Piper?
Piper’s voice drifted from across the bed. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“I was thinking we should make the most out of the next couple months,” he replied. “Make them unforgettable.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. Why don’t we start right now?” Rolling to his side, he kissed her into the pillow.
* * *
He woke to his face buried in a pillow and an empty bed. Vaguely, he remembered Piper saying something about cooking with Mrs. Lester. The older woman was definitely taking advantage of having another chef in the house. Looked as if he was going to have to go pry Piper away again. Yawning, he lifted his head.
No...
Something wa
s wrong. While he could see, everything he looked at was hazy and faded, as though someone had wrapped the world with a thin gray film.
Frederic held up his hand. His trembling fingers were five muted shapes. Not even squinting could bring back the sharpness.
He willed himself to take a deep breath. No need to panic yet. His eyes could simply be overtired. God knows, he’d pushed himself very hard the last couple days. Give his eyes a little more rest; that is what he should do. Sleep a little longer. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.
An hour later, however, nothing had changed. He was still staring into a haze.
Frederic’s heart started to race. He wiped a hand over his face. Do not jump to conclusions, he reminded himself.
Making his way to the bathroom, he grabbed his shaving kit and dumped the contents on the vanity. He must have packed eye drops in case his eyes got tired. Slowly, he scanned the items on the counter. Which one was the eye drops? In his new blurry world, all the small bottles looked suspiciously alike. For all he knew, he could squirt his eyes with alcohol. Perhaps Piper...
No. He wasn’t going to run to Piper, no matter how appealing the thought might be. The situation wasn’t anything he hadn’t struggled with before. Inhaling deeply, he looked again. The bottles were color-coordinated. Eye drops were in the green bottle. Where was the green bottle?
On the edge of his bathroom sink at home. He had used them right before they departed. Distracted by thoughts of Piper, he forgot to repack them.
No problem. He would simply go into the village and buy more.
Took some stumbling around the room—the room was foreign and he hadn’t exactly been thinking of maintaining order when taking Piper to bed last night—but he finally got dressed. Then, with one hand on the wall, he made his way down the stairs.
His foot was barely on the landing when he nearly collided with a warm, familiar body.
“Whoops! You almost ended up wearing your coffee. Sorry about that.” Piper’s voice greeted him, warm and sweet. His first thought was to lean into her until the knot in his stomach went away. “I was going to leave the pot on the nightstand for when you woke up. Guess I was down here longer than I thought.”
Her fingers touched his cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a shave. I like the look. Very sexy.” She stepped back. “Is everything all right?”
No, he wanted to say. Your features have been blurred by a film. The words were on his tongue, and he swallowed them. Piper’s voice was still rough with the remnants of last night; he couldn’t kill the spell by complaining.
Instead, he focused on her face with all his might, hoping that by sheer will, he could bring it into focus. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m still waking up.”
“Well, then go into the dining room and I’ll get us some coffee. I told Joan—I mean, Mrs. Lester—I’d make more breakfast potatoes, but I’m sure she won’t mind if I back out to eat with you. After all, I am a guest.”
“No, don’t.” Frederic wasn’t ready to navigate breakfast yet. “That is, I need to get something at the apothecary first.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Yes. Please. “Why don’t you help Mrs. Lester? I will be back as soon as I can, and we’ll have breakfast then.”
“Okay.”
He couldn’t help himself. He needed contact, to reassure himself everything would be all right. Cupping her face, he kissed her, tasting her as though it were his last taste. Which is could very well be.
“Whoa, cowboy,” Piper said with a laugh. “You’re going to spill the coffee. Go run your errand. We can finish what you started when you get back.”
The sun was already bright when Frederic stepped outside. He’d hoped the light would improve things, but no. If anything, the colors were more muted.
He wished he had thought to count the steps yesterday. He remembered turning right and crossing the street at the corner, but after that...
A car horn blared, forcing him back on the curb.
Frederic, you arrogant idiot. This wasn’t Paris, where he knew every street with perfect familiarity. This was a strange village in a foreign country. A town made up of identical stone facades that, thanks to the film, blurred into one giant building. He scanned the storefronts looking for a sign that would tell him his location.
“Pardon,” he murmured as he bumped a woman’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said when he bumped into another. He couldn’t look where he was heading and read the store signs. If he had Piper come with him she could have...
...helped.
Disgusted with himself, he stopped in his tracks.
* * *
“Your butter is browning.”
Shoot. Piper snatched the frying pan off the burner, but it was too late. The butter was already dark. “Sorry. I lost track of what I was doing.”
“You do seem a little out of sorts,” the innkeeper replied. She reached over and took the frying pan from Piper’s grip, before gently pushing her backward away from the stove. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “You’re not in a cooking mood today, so how about I do the potatoes and you finish your coffee and wake up.”
Piper didn’t really have much choice but to agree. Mrs. Lester was right; her head wasn’t into cooking.
“You know...” the innkeeper was saying, “I don’t know how they do things at that fancy cooking school of yours, but here in England, we get a good night’s rest if we’re cooking in the morning.” Her lecture came with a twinkling smile. “You new lovers always think you can burn the candle at both ends, don’t you?”
“Since I’m not an employee, I’m technically only burning one end,” Piper shot back. She pointedly ignored the lovers comment. Was that what she and Frederic were? Lovers? The word sounded so sex-based, and what they shared last night was so much more. It had been for Piper, anyway. Her feelings had shifted while standing on that hill behind the abbey. Just how much, she was still too afraid to say.
It wasn’t her late-night activities that were destroying her concentration, however. It was her morning conversation. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but something about Frederic was different. He wasn’t the same man who reached for her in the middle of the night. Since he stepped outside, Piper had been racking her brain trying to think whether she’d crossed a line and said too much. Maybe her emotions weren’t as hidden as she thought. Maybe she was too obvious, and he was worried she wouldn’t be able to handle this no-strings relationship they had going on.
That would certainly explain why his kiss felt strangely like goodbye.
On the other hand, maybe she was being a paranoid loon. Frederic was going to a drugstore, for goodness’ sake. He probably had a headache.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Lester had taken over cooking duties, giving Piper a silent lesson in bed-and-breakfast cooking.
“Would you like me to sit in the dining room out of your way?” she asked.
“Goodness, no. I like your company. I don’t let just anyone in my kitchen, you know.” Picking up a nearby cutting board, the woman scraped a pile of diced onions into a heated fry pan. The vegetables crackled, filling the room with aroma. “What were we talking about, anyway?”
“You were giving me your recipe for Cornish pasties.”
“Right. Although I’m surprised that someone studying haute cuisine would be interested in making something like hand pies.”
“For your information, I happen to like hand pies,” Piper shot back.
“I can cook them a lot better than haute cuisine, that’s for sure,” she added, speaking to the inside of her cup.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Now wasn’t the time or place to go into her problems with Chef Despelteau. “I’m in a comfort food phase, is all.”
“Ca
n’t blame you there. I’ve been in one my whole life. The mister took me to eat in London on my birthday last year. A couple medallions of beef drowned in sauce and an itty-bitty dollop of risotto. Seems to me, if you’re going to charge fifty pounds for dinner, a person shouldn’t need a snack when she gets home.”
“I totally agree,” Piper said. One of her pet peeves about Chef Despelteau was his emphasis on presentation instead of serving size. “I was telling Frederic the other night that sauces are great, but sometimes a steak should be left a steak.” She paused to take a sip of coffee. “Good comfort food isn’t all that easy to make, either. Half the time the restaurants try to trendy it up, and end up getting it all wrong.”
“Like up at the Hen & Rooster. That’s why I prefer the old-fashioned pubs. Give me fish and chips any day.”
“Same here,” Piper said. “Same here.”
“Then why are you in that class?” Mrs. Lester asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
The woman shrugged one of her shoulders. “Seems to me if you don’t like fancy foods, you shouldn’t be in some fancy French school. So why are you?”
Why did everyone ask her the same question?
She had only herself to blame this time. She had opened the door by talking about comfort food.
“Because I want to become a chef, and where better to learn than in Paris?” Her answer sounded flat even to her this time. She was tired. Frederic kept her up half the night. Plus, she was tired of justifying herself.
Justifying yourself or justifying to yourself?
“Well, I suppose if you want the prestige...”
At Mrs. Lester’s comment, she shook off the strange thought. “Of course English cooking is pretty awesome, too.” She didn’t mean to hurt the woman’s feelings. “That’s why I want to make Cornish pasties.”
“Mine do get a lot of compliments,” Mrs. Lester said, smiling. “But so you know, Cornish pasties are Welsh, not English. You don’t want to be messing up the two.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Beauty & Her Billionaire Boss Page 12
