Maeve (Perfect Match Book 6)

by Josie Riviera

  “Less than four and a half kilos. Around ten pounds.”

  “What can a dog that size do besides yap?”

  “She’s a lapdog. When I get home from work, I’ll settle in a comfortable chair by the fireplace with a book in my hand and the drumming of rain on the roof. She cuddles next to me or sits at my feet.”

  “Do you enjoy reading?”

  “Aye.”

  “Any favorite books? No doubt romance novels, right?”

  She hesitated, went for a sip of tea. “My main interest is history, which is the reason why I wanted to come to Corsica.”

  His smile widened. “Any particular era?”

  “The French Revolution, and particularly Napoléon Bonaparte. I admire him as a military commander who led several successful campaigns. Because he was born in Corsica, there’s a museum here.”

  “Remind me to never quarrel with you, if you’ve read up on Napoléon Bonaparte.”

  “No worries. I’m very peaceful and will do anything to avoid a conflict.” She helped herself to another spoonful of sugar and stirred her tea. “What about your dog? Is she as cute as mine?”

  “He, and I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate being pegged as cute. He’s a black lab and weighs thirty-six kilos.” He grinned. “So, eight of your Crinkles. He’s a proper dog who rides my motorcycle with me. Plus, we go camping together.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Harley.”

  “Aye, thus the motorcycle reference in your profile.” Maeve nodded and reached for a last sip of tea. Briefly, she savored the lukewarm brew and closed her eyes.

  Edward sat so near, the tang of his aftershave scented the brisk evening air. The night was superb, the meal exquisite, and she felt her cares being lifted from her shoulders.

  She was so content, she didn’t know how much time passed before Edward stood and offered his hand, waiting for her to accept. She couldn’t say no, and didn’t. As they crossed the lobby, the ever-present Pierre peered up from his computer. “I trust you two had an enchanted evening?” he inquired.

  “If you’re partial to beautiful Irish women, then mission accomplished.” Edward high-signed a salute. “I’d say it was quite marvelous, in fact.”

  “And you, mademoiselle?”

  “Aye. Thank you. Tell Amy and Dawson it was perfect.” More than perfect.

  Hundreds of white votive candles set in glass jars tied with gold ribbons were set on tables throughout the lobby, shooting shadows of light along the marbled floor. The effect was storybook-like, and very, very romantic.

  She and Edward climbed the wide, sweeping staircase to the second floor, stopping in front of her door. She leaned against the wall with its patterned wallpaper, her head whirling, and tried closing her eyes. The sensation that she was spinning made her instantly open them again.

  She fixated on the soft glowing sconces on the opposite wall and the painting of Corsican orchids. “I never realized I liked champagne so much,” she murmured.

  He chuckled. “I’ll ask your opinion tomorrow morning at nine.”

  She turned abruptly to bid him good night, overestimated the distance and smacked into his chest. Immediately, his arms encircled her, and he balanced her unsteady footing.

  Afterward, when Maeve reviewed what happened next, she upbraided herself for the way she reacted. Rather than staying where she stood with his arms around her, she should have drawn away.

  His green-eyed gaze glided to her mouth and his head lowered. As his mouth met hers, his hands skimmed over her hips, drawing her to his muscular build.

  She shouldn’t have, but her fragile hold on what she should and shouldn’t do slipped away while his lips moved boldly over hers. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she wound her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back.

  Dazedly, when she eventually pulled away, it struck her that he’d already released her.

  Several seconds passed.

  Drawing an unsteady breath, she squinted at him through a haze, distinctly seeing several Edwards standing beneath the portrait of orchids.

  More beats.

  Finally realizing he was waiting for something, she lifted her eyebrows and said in an overconfident voice, “Do you think I’m going to invite you to my room? Are you hoping that’s what happens next?”

  “On the contrary, there’s an important bit of information about me I wanted to tell you.”

  “What?”

  Please, she thought, don’t let him be married.

  He took a step back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know how to start, so I’ll just say it. Maeve, you’re a charming woman.”

  “Thank you. And you’re quite charming yourself.”

  He nodded but avoided her gaze. “And because of our earlier talk about honesty, I intend to be upfront with you starting now.”

  She felt herself go still. “Aye?”

  Gently, he grasped her forearms. “This week is a bit of a lark for me. As I started to tell you at dinner, my friend Bentley put me up to this and my father seconded the idea. These next few days are a working vacation for me, nothing more. I’m sure you understand, as you’re also a workaholic. And for the record, I’m not the marrying type.”

  Coolly, ungraciously, she shook off his hold. “And you think I am?”

  “Look, no matter what happens, we both walk away at the end of the week. No strings, no promises. Agreed?”

  “I’m not desperate for love, Edward.”

  “Good. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “By you?” She heard her laugh. It had a cutting edge.

  “By any man.”

  “So this is all a joke, right? This match, this island, me …”

  His eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

  Then what would you call it?

  She didn’t ask the question out loud as tears of exhaustion and embarrassment sprang to her eyes. The indulgent amusement of the evening had vanished.

  He was silent for a moment before he continued. “All I’m saying is we shouldn’t spoil a pleasant week with talk of perfect matches or love.”

  Every muscle in her body quivered. “The last thing I want is a relationship with a man, particularly one who puts his dog at risk.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She looked away. Heat flushed through her body, which she recognized as mortification for being so impetuous around him. Still, there was no retreating, so she grasped at a flimsy excuse. “I’ve never seen a dog ride a motorcycle before. What kind of an irresponsible dog owner are you?”

  “What? Harley wears goggles and a helmet and rides in a motorcycle carrier, and I’m a most responsible dog owner. Happy now?”

  “Nothing you described sounds safe or responsible.”

  “Take care of your own affairs, Maeve.” Edward’s gaze narrowed. “Concentrate on what I just said. No strings. Are we in agreement?”

  “I haven’t the slightest interest in the likes of you.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “But I’m not a betting man, so it’s best to clear things up from the starting gate. From what I’ve gathered, you wouldn’t be able to repay such an expensive trip. So let’s agree to put on an act for the cameras.”

  “Actually, I’m a particularly proficient actress.”

  He shuffled back a step. “Really?”

  “Really.” She swept out an arm to make her point and knocked the orchid painting to the carpeted floor.

  She scrambled to retrieve it, but Edward was faster, hanging the painting back on the wall before she had a chance to sputter another rejoinder.

  “Good, it’s settled then.” He unlocked the door for her and ushered her into her suite. “We’ll work together, play together and make this week a resounding success for all of us.”

  Chapter Five

  The rap on the door of her suite at precisely nine o’clock in the morning told Maeve it must be Edward. Had she read in his profile that he
was punctual, or had she imagined it? He certainly seemed the type … with his classy ways and ever-pleasant composure.

  She’d been frayed the preceding evening and hadn’t rung Colleen, although she’d sent a quick text with Edward’s name, so at least Colleen had something to go on.

  Disheartened by his “honesty,” she had tossed in her luxurious king-sized bed and ended up staring at the rotating fan on the high ceiling.

  When next she awoke, she saw from her window a golden August moon lighting the sky. She curled onto her side seeking the peacefulness of slumber, but it eluded her. She attributed her restlessness to her pounding headache, which she’d blamed on her champagne overindulgence.

  Although she knew it was more.

  Edward had informed her in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship.

  Which was terrific, because she wasn’t interested in one, either.

  Although wasn’t he the same man who’d seemed mesmerized with her throughout dinner and had kissed her in the hallway outside her suite? She’d seen the desire in his smoky, dark-green gaze. Surely she hadn’t imagined it.

  Her cheeks burned at how quickly she’d slipped into his arms and returned his kiss. She’d made a brainless fool of herself. And, she vowed, it wouldn’t happen again.

  She awoke for good at first light, watching the sky transform from blush to peach to vivid orange. She read the book she’d started on the plane, and at half past seven she texted her mother to check on Owen. She had waited because of the one-hour time difference between Ireland and Corsica.

  Reassured her brother was doing well, she showered in the spacious Italian-marble shower, and then dressed for the day. She’d pinned her hair in a casual bun, but the sleepless night had left telltale shadows beneath her eyes. However, her jean shorts and a neon-pink tank top made her look fun and young and fit for island exploration.

  Again, a knock sounded.

  “I’m coming,” she called out. She squared her shoulders and dismissed the ruffling in her stomach.

  “Corsica discovery, day one,” Edward joked as she opened the door. He’d been texting someone. Rapidly, he finished, then stowed the phone into his shorts pocket.

  “Sorry. Never-ending business. You know the drill.”

  No, she didn’t. She worked a nine-to-five job at an hourly rate, and wasn’t in any position of authority.

  He looked exceptionally handsome that morning. He was the sort of man who looked good whether he was dressed for business or leisure. He always looked spot-on. Today, he wore green cargo shorts, a worn navy T-shirt, and black leather mesh shoes. His arms were bare, and a thought zipped through her mind. She wished he hadn’t worn a shirt, so she could see his muscled chest.

  No, no, no, don’t go there. She blamed her speculation on her headache, although despite his dampening comments at the end of the night, his magnetism drew her. She stared at him. Just stared. How could a man be that good-looking?

  He strode inside. With a concerned glance at her, he asked how she was feeling.

  “Awful.” She expelled a shaky sigh. “Most of the night my stomach churned the same as when I arrived, although yesterday I blamed the churning on flight delays and turbulence.” She shrugged. “You must have had the same bad weather in London. Did it delay your flight?”

  “I flew in from the Continent. I had business to attend to in Nice.”

  “There’s a direct flight from Nice to Corsica?”

  “There might be.” He shrugged, shifted. “My family owns a private jet.”

  My family owns a private jet. She massaged her temples and tried to assimilate the information.

  “Do you still like champagne?” he asked with a hint of a grin.

  “Not nearly as much.” She glanced toward the dazzling sunlight filtering through the French doors that led to her balcony and flinched. “My head resembles a soft-boiled egg.”

  His lips twitched. “I’ve read it’s because of the sulfites in champagne that lots of people have similar reactions, so drink plenty of water today.”

  She indicated the water bottle she’d placed by her tote bag and attempted a wan smile. “What are sulfites, by the way?”

  “No idea.” He made a valiant attempt to keep his features straight. “Did you eat any breakfast this morning?”

  “Aye, a slice of toast and a bowl of dry cereal.”

  “Good. I’ll order a sports drink for you in the lobby too.” He pulled out his phone and quickly texted, she assumed, Pierre.

  “Are you an expert on hangovers?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately, I am,” he said. “Now, ready for a morning of exploration?” He gestured to a daypack thrown over his shoulders.

  “Aye.” She was wearing sturdy slip-on sneakers and in her jute bag she carried sunscreen, a scarf, and her cellphone for pictures and note taking. She was prepared.

  “I went for a run on the beach when I got up and passed Pierre in the lobby before I hit the steam room,” Edward said. “As you can guess, he knows our agenda, and it includes les Calanche Cliffs and lunch. Carissa will meet us downstairs.” He stared at Maeve’s exposed legs, lingering for longer than necessary. “If you stumble and skin your knees, you’ll be laid up for the week.”

  “We’re seeing the cliffs, not climbing the cliffs.”

  “Right.” He took her hands in his. “Did I already tell you that you look lovely today? Despite your fondness for bubbly beverages, you’ve recovered admirably this morning.”

  “Thank you. I … no one told me our sightseeing included cliffs and I’m not changing my outfit.”

  His fingers tightened around hers, his gaze becoming positively seductive. If he tried to kiss her like he did last evening, she’d—

  “No doubt,” he said, “you didn’t thumb through the promotional material, because if you did, you’d have seen our itinerary this morning, which was all about the cliffs,” he was saying.

  He included a wink that prompted her to laugh. He wasn’t going to kiss her, so she needn’t fret about how she’d react. She broke from his grip and placed the water bottle in her tote bag. “For the record, I prefer trolling museums. The more ancient the artifacts, the better.”

  “Ah yes, the Bonaparte museum. So you’ve mentioned.” He rolled his eyes. “Napoléon Bonaparte is on tap for Friday. The Perfect Match specialists planned our activities around the weather report. Friday it’s supposed to rain and the museum is our indoor activity.”

  When they reached the lobby, they were accosted by a bubbly Carissa wearing khaki shorts and a long-sleeved striped shirt.

  The ever-present Pierre, although assisting a stout woman obsessed with the breakfast menu, uttered a cheerful “Bonjour” and handed Edward a sports drink “for the mademoiselle.”

  “We’ll take a footpath to the cliffs,” Carissa said as she led the way. “The camera crew will meet us there. They’ll get shots of you two sitting on the red cliff rocks, cavorting in the sand …”

  “Cavorting?” Edward held up a hand. “Don’t tell me …”

  Carissa nodded. “Dawson’s word.”

  As they trudged the footpath beside roadside vineyards, Carissa spoke nonstop. “After the photo shoot, the waitstaff will provide a picnic lunch for you. Then you’re free to spend the afternoon doing whatever you’d like.”

  A nap, Maeve supposed, but then she remembered she was supposed to be working.

  Frothy sea water rolled over the cool, firm sand, and the sea was so blue it was a contest to distinguish where water ended and sky began. Oftentimes both Maeve and Edward paused to take photos with their cellphones, and then Maeve would rapidly type in notes. A spray of salt water often surprised them when a wave crashed close to shore. Boats with billowing white sails navigated the slicing waves in the distant harbor, and the morning sun looked as if it were dusting tiny diamonds across the water.

  True to Carissa’s word, the camera crew, consisting of a woman and two men, were waiting at the b
ottom of les Calanche Cliffs when they arrived. Cameras were set up, as well as tripods, light stands and reflectors. A cameraman propped a shade umbrella on a ridge of rocks to protect Maeve’s pale complexion from the sun, adding a blanket for her to sit on between takes.

  Carissa had even brought along a bouquet of native orange lilies for Maeve to hold while Edward kissed her for a pose.

  “Look romantic and affectionate,” Carissa directed. “Now can I get a cuddle for another shot? We’ll preserve these memories and inspire other couples.”

  When Carissa announced a wrap at noon, she handed Maeve and Edward clean beach towels. “We’re finished for today. You two are so good-looking and natural together. It’s as if you’ve known each other for years and are head-over-heels in love. The chemistry …”

  Edward gave Maeve a pat on the shoulder. “That’s because Maeve is a professional actress.”

  “Don’t believe a word he says,” Maeve ribbed. “He even fakes his British accent.”

  “And here I was trying to hide my Englishness this whole time.” He nudged her elbow. “Well done on discovering my secret!”

  After they’d used a nearby restroom, the camera crew and Carissa packed their gear and headed back to the resort.

  Four waiters from the hotel delivered a picnic lunch delivered in a wicker hamper. They also set up rainbow-painted canvas chairs, a portable table and a beach umbrella. Efficiently, they served roasted turkey sandwiches on soft pretzel buns, a selection of brie and gouda cheeses, and sliced tomatoes and olives. Dessert included ripe blackberries and squares of dark chocolate. Both Edward and Maeve declined the recommended wine pairings, compliments of Achille, and opted instead for iced tea, bottled water and Maeve’s sports drink.

  When the last of the luncheon staff departed, Maeve stared at the rising granite rock formations behind them, looking like a pair of gnarled fingers pierced the sky. “My head is still pounding,” she told Edward, “so I’m heading back to the resort to work.”

  “How? It’s a long walk back.”

  “I’ll hail a taxi if I get tired. You?”

  He scanned the cliff. “I’d like to see where this path leads.”