Falling for Her Mediterranean Boss

by Anne Fraser

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, horrified. ‘I don’t usually go on about myself in this way!’

  ‘No, please.’ Pierre said his eyes warm. ‘I want to know. Tell me about your parents. Caroline told me they are no longer living.’

  Julie repeated what she had told Caroline, although this time she tried to make light of how excluded from the family circle she had always felt. She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her.

  But it seemed as if Pierre wasn’t deceived. ‘It must have been hard for you,’ he said softly.

  ‘It wasn’t as if they didn’t love me,’ Julie said. ‘And besides I have always had my work and my friends. I have had—have—a good life,’ she insisted fiercely. ‘My parents sacrificed a lot for me. They weren’t well off, you know. Sending me abroad took almost every penny they earned.’

  ‘They must have been proud of you,’ Pierre said. He reached for her hand and stroked it almost absent-mindedly. Julie felt a river of desire ripple through her body. She removed her hand from his.

  ‘They were. Not always—but at the end. Yes. I think they were.’ Mortified, she was aware her eyes had moistened. Impatiently she blinked the tears away. She didn’t want Pierre to see them. He looked at her, his blue eyes the colour of a winter sky, and she returned his look defiantly. ‘I only told Caroline so she would know that I understand what she’s going through.’

  ‘Ah. The tough Dr McKenzie, who works and skis harder and better than any man. Who doesn’t need anything or anyone.’ He looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I wonder.’

  Julie thought it was time to change the subject. She was beginning to feel something electric in the air between them. She didn’t know what it was, but it was making her feel giddy. ‘Would you like pudding?’ she asked.

  Pierre ordered biscuits and cheese but Julie, full after her rich pasta dish, declined. As he made short work of it he insisted she tell him more, seeming genuinely interested.

  ‘There’s not much more to tell,’ Julie said. ‘Instead of going out all the time, I hid myself in my room and began to study like mad to get the grades I needed to go to medical school. I had neglected my studies for so long, it took some catching up.’

  ‘Lucky you are clever.’ Pierre nodded.

  ‘I suppose,’ Julie admitted reluctantly. ‘But I think it was also the determination to make something out of my life.’ She looked at him from under her lashes. ‘The rest, as they say, is history. Medical school followed by the usual rotations, and now here I am in Surgery.’

  ‘You will be an excellent surgeon, I have no doubt. But what do you do when you’re not working?’

  Julie felt herself open up under his interested gaze. It seemed he really did want to know. ‘I ski, I read and I visit St Margaret’s Hospice. After my mother died, I carried on visiting. If you want to see real courage, you don’t have to look much further than the patients, and their families who depend on it. Getting to know some of them has been a real lesson for me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘They made me realise that I had been blessed to have had the opportunities I did. That if all I had to worry about was my face, I was lucky.’

  Pierre lifted his hand and, stretching across the table, trailed a long finger down her scar.

  ‘I have seen much worse than this,’ he said. ‘You are still a very attractive woman.’

  Julie felt a shiver run through her body. He’s only being kind, she told herself. Wasn’t he?

  ‘Luke obviously didn’t think so,’ she said, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.

  ‘Then he is a fool,’ Pierre said harshly.

  Could Pierre mean what he was saying? Did he really think she was attractive? Could he see past the scar to the woman underneath? Did he suspect how much she needed to believe that one day she would find someone to love her? She knew she had so much love to give.

  ‘What about you?’ she ventured, emboldened by the wine. ‘Have you ever been in love?’

  Immediately the shutters came down. His eyes looked bleak and his mouth twisted. He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. ‘Once,’ he said shortly. Something in his expression warned Julie not to probe further, and if to make it clear that the subject was off limits, Pierre called for the bill.

  ‘We’d better get you home,’ he said. ‘Remember we are leaving for France tomorrow. Our plane is at twelve. I have your ticket. I can give it to you at the airport.’

  They collected their coats, with Isobella fussing around them. ‘Good girl,’ she whispered in Julie’s ear. ‘You have a handsome one there.’

  There wasn’t an opportunity for Julie to set the record straight. Besides, she was finding that it took all her concentration for her to stop the restaurant whirling about as if she was on a merry-go-round. She didn’t think she had drunk very much, but, then again, she had only been vaguely aware of the waiter at her elbow, refilling her glass.

  Outside the restaurant she held out her hand to Pierre. ‘Goodnight,’ she hiccuped. ‘Oops!’ she said, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Pierre looked amused. ‘I left my motorbike at your flat,’ he reminded her. ‘Even if I hadn’t, I still think it’s a good idea that I walk you home. I don’t want you breaking an ankle before tomorrow.’

  ‘Actually, that would be very kind of you, Pierre.’ Julie could manage the words, it was just that her legs didn’t seem to want to obey her. Julie knew it was Pierre’s closeness rather than the alcohol that was making her feel unsteady.

  ‘I should come in to make sure you’re okay,’ Pierre said when they arrived outside Julie’s flat.

  ‘I’m fine!’ she insisted, but noticing the determined set of his jaw realised that it would be futile to argue with him.

  When they got inside, Julie turned to thank Pierre. He must have been closer than she had realised because as she turned she bumped against him. For a moment the world disappeared as she found herself staring into his expressive blue eyes. Before she knew how it had happened, his arms were around her and he was kissing her hungrily. She let herself melt into him, feeling the hard length of his body. He moved his lips to her neck. She arched, letting her head fall back, giving herself up to the sensations which were pulsing through her body. She felt as if she was drowning as wave upon wave of desire hit her. Suddenly, without warning, he pulled away from her. He looked down at her, breathing deeply. Julie was conscious of her own breaths coming in shallow gasps.

  ‘Please, forgive me,’ he said, and moved away from her towards the door. ‘I had no right. It was unforgiveable.’

  Julie was bewildered. A moment ago he had been kissing her as if he would never stop. Now he was looking at her as if…almost as if he disliked her. Had it been her that had turned into his arms? Did he think she had thrown herself at him? Poor lonely disfigured Julie, trying to seduce the handsome rich Pierre. She was mortified. How had it happened?

  ‘I’m…I’m sorry,’ Julie said, cringing. She tried to laugh it off. ‘I must have had too much wine at dinner. I don’t usually get into clinches with my boss.’

  ‘It is I who has to apologise,’ he said stiffly. ‘Not you.’ He looked as if he didn’t know what to do next. ‘It was me who kissed you. I shouldn’t have done that. We work together—it was unprofessional.’

  Julie wasn’t sure she believed his explanation. Pierre didn’t strike her as the type of man who let anything get in the way of what he wanted. He was probably just being kind. Trying to remove himself from an embarrassing situation as gently as possible. No doubt he had plenty of practice in fielding besotted women.

  She tried a smile, hoping he wouldn’t see the effort it caused her. ‘It was just a kiss, nothing serious,’ she said. ‘Let’s forget it ever happened.’ But it hadn’t been just a kiss. She could have sworn there had been more in the way he’d kissed her. But, then again, as she knew only too well, she didn’t have much experience of men. So who was she to judge?

  He stayed by the door, l
ooking as if he wanted to say something else.

  ‘I think you should go, don’t you?’ Julie said, desperate to hang onto the last shreds of her dignity.

  He shook his head as if angry with himself. ‘D’accord,’ he said. ‘I will see you tomorrow.’ And then, with a click of the door, he was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JULIE awoke the next morning to a throbbing headache. She had tossed and turned all night, unable to stop thinking about what had happened. The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself she had instigated the kiss. And if he had responded, well wasn’t that the reaction of any normal red-blooded male? She groaned, hiding herself underneath the blanket. She could just stay there and never come out, she thought. Never face Pierre again. She felt her cheeks burn. Then she remembered. God! She was going to France with him—if he still wanted her to go, that was. But why would he? The man would obviously want to keep his distance from his sex-starved junior. She groaned again. He was her boss! How could she, even for one second, have forgotten?

  The phone rang. Julie eyed it blearily. Maybe if she ignored it, whoever it was would go away. But it kept on ringing. Reluctantly, Julie picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello,’ she croaked.

  ‘Hey, Julie, Uncle Pierre asked me to call you to make sure you were up.’ It was Caroline. Had Pierre said anything to his niece about the night before? Somehow Julie knew he wouldn’t have. Despite his easy Gallic charm, Pierre was too much of a gentleman to gossip about women. Even those who tried to kiss them. Julie groaned again.

  ‘What’s that?’ Caroline asked anxiously. ‘The line isn’t very good. Are you feeling all right? Pierre said you might have eaten something that didn’t agree with you last night. Oh! Please say you are still going to come.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Julie mumbled. ‘I really don’t feel all that well. I’ve an awful headache.’ Well it was true, her head did ache. So did her heart, for that matter. Out of the two she would chose the headache any day.

  ‘You must come,’ Caroline said fiercely. ‘You must. Otherwise I shan’t go either. You know I wouldn’t have agreed to go in the first place if you hadn’t said you’d come too. Please, Julie.’

  Julie could hear the desperation in Caroline’s voice. She wondered why the girl was so reluctant to go without her. But she had promised—and she didn’t break promises.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked, squinting at her wristwatch.

  ‘Eight-thirty. We have to check in in an hour.’

  Julie managed to focus on the hands of her watch. It couldn’t be eight-thirty already. But it was! And she hadn’t even packed. She threw aside the bedclothes and headed for the shower.

  ‘I’ll meet you at the airport,’ she said to Caroline.

  ‘Uncle Pierre told me to let you know we’d collect you,’ Caroline replied. But the last person Julie wanted to see right now was Pierre. Sure, she’d have to face him sooner or later, but the longer she could put off the inevitable the better.

  ‘Airport—nine-thirty or nothing,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Okay,’ Caroline said, and Julie could hear the relief in her voice. ‘Anything you say. I’ll tell Pierre. See you soon.’ And with that she disconnected the call.

  Julie hadn’t time to think as she showered, before throwing her clothes into a suitcase. The hot, cascading water had revived her a bit, but she found she couldn’t face breakfast. The thought of facing Pierre was making her head spin. What should she do? Pretend it had never happened? Apologise? What on earth would he be thinking? She cringed. What else would he think except that she was some hero-worshiping woman who was desperate to get him into her bed? Well, there was no point in imagining what he was thinking. She would just have to wait and take her lead from him. Hopefully she could persuade him that her actions had all been down to the wine she’d drunk at dinner. That was better than him suspecting, even for a moment, that she fancied him rotten!

  Caroline was waiting for her outside Departures when she arrived at the airport. Noticing the look of relief when she saw Julie coming towards her, Julie was glad that she had put her own feelings aside and come.

  ‘You made it!’ Caroline said, before reverting to her usual casual attitude. ‘Cool.’ She took Julie’s bag and marched off. ‘Uncle Pierre is waiting for us in the business lounge. We’ll just get you checked in, then we can meet him.’

  All too soon, Julie was checked in and inside the business lounge. Pierre stood to meet them, a coffee-cup in his hand.

  ‘Bonjour,’ he said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you,’ Julie mumbled

  ‘And are you feeling better? Caroline said you had a headache.’ He looked at her over the top of Caroline’s head, but Julie couldn’t read his expression. ‘Coffee?’ he suggested. This time there was no mistaking the glint of humour in his dark eyes. ‘Caroline, would you mind fetching Julie a café au lait?’

  They watched as Caroline helped herself from the table.

  ‘About last night,’ Julie muttered. ‘Can we forget it ever happened?’ She had to say something.

  ‘D’accord. It is forgotten.’

  ‘Naturally, it won’t happen again,’ Julie added.

  ‘C’est dommage,’ Pierre said so quietly that Julie couldn’t be sure she had heard him correctly. Had he said it was a shame? She glanced at him, but then Caroline returned with a tray of coffee and biscuits.

  ‘They say we are to board in five minutes,’ she said. ‘So we’d better hurry.’

  Once they had finished their drinks they boarded their aircraft. Julie was seated next to Caroline with Pierre in the seat in front next to the exit. Typically he had managed to charm the ground staff into allocating him a seat with extra room to accommodate his long legs. As the plane taxied for take-off, Caroline slid her hand into Julie’s. She looked at her young companion, to find her almost rigid with terror.

  ‘Are you frightened of flying?’ Julie whispered.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ Caroline said through clenched teeth. ‘But it’s the first time I’ve flown since Mama and Papa…’ She tailed off and Julie could see a tear slip out from her tightly clenched eyes. How could she have forgotten? Of course the girl was bound to be nervous—her parents had only recently been killed in a plane crash. Apart from that there were the memories of going back to the last place her parents had been before they’d died. She gripped Caroline’s hand more tightly.

  ‘Just breathe deeply,’ she said. ‘In and out—slowly—through your nose. That’s what I used to do before a race. It always worked for me.’

  By the time the seat-belt lights were switched off, some colour had returned to her companion’s cheeks. I need to remember why I am here, Julie reminded herself. It has nothing to do with Pierre and everything to do with this grief-stricken girl next to me. She could only guess how much courage it had taken Caroline to agree to this trip.

  ‘Tell me about France. When were you last there?’ she said, as much to distract the girl as from her own intense curiosity about Pierre’s home.

  ‘I haven’t been there since I was about five. We used to go every summer to see Grandpère, but once he died we stopped going. I’m not sure why.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘The house is on the northern edge of the vineyards. It’s old-fashioned. Like a farmhouse. I love it.’

  ‘Who lives there now?’ Julie asked. ‘As I understand it, Pierre lives in Paris.’

  ‘The manager of the vineyard and his family stay there at the moment,’ she replied.

  ‘Have you ever thought about moving back?’ Julie asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know where home is any more! Maybe I can leave things the way they are indefinitely.’ Once again there was that hesitation. ‘Pierre thinks one day I might like to come back to France to live.’

  ‘Why did your parents not live in France?’ Julie asked. ‘Your grandfather must have hoped at least one of his sons would take on the running of
the vineyard?’

  Caroline turned her head away and looked out of the window for a few moments, as if considering her reply.

  ‘They did. Live in France. At least, until I was born. Then we moved back to Scotland. Papa always said it was because Mama wanted to live in her homeland. But I don’t know. Whenever she spoke about France, she always seemed so sad. As if she missed it very much.’

  ‘I guess you can love a country but not want to live there,’ Julie volunteered.

  ‘I suppose. But my father really missed his home. I know that. And my mother would have done anything for his happiness. It never did make sense to me,’ she said wistfully. ‘And now I’ll never know how they really felt. I always thought there was so much time to talk to them, to get to know them as adults and not just as my parents.’ Her voice broke and Julie’s heart went out to her.

  ‘At least you are going to see the place they loved again,’ she said sympathetically.

  ‘The last place they were before they died. I wish I had gone with them. If it wasn’t for my stupid exams I would have been with them,’ the girl said miserably.

  ‘And you would have died, too,’ Julie reminded her softly.

  ‘I wouldn’t have minded,’ Caroline said, the tears now flowing in earnest. ‘Anything would be better than this. I miss them so much!’

  Julie undid her seat belt and pulled the distraught girl into her arms, comforting her with soothing noises as she sobbed. Julie knew there wasn’t much that she could say to comfort her. Grief like hers would just have to take its course. She wondered if Pierre really understood the depths of his niece’s sorrow. Perhaps he was too wrapped up in his own life to notice? But, then again, he was bound to be suffering too. She had seen it in his eyes as he had looked at the photograph of his dead brother and sister-in-law. No, there was no mistaking he too felt their deaths deeply.