by Robyn Grady
“It’s said that Paris in daytime is only resting,” he murmured against her hair. “That the city only comes to life at night. So,” his breath felt warm on the sweep of her neck, “are you ready to take on the town?”
“I’d love to say yes, but I need sleep.” And she didn’t want to be dead on her feet tomorrow when they reached their first and most important destination—the orphanage.
“Hungry then?” He twined her arms around his and pressed her extra close. “Or perhaps we ought to check out that fine piece of furniture.”
Eyes drifting closed, she hummed out a grin. He meant that canopied bed.
Turning her back on the view—on the glittering spectacle of Paris at night—she rotated until they were facing one another then gifted his stubbly jaw with a lingering kiss.
“I like that idea,” she murmured. “Let’s freshen up first.”
“Only if we do it together.”
He led her through to a marble finished room, featuring a classic clawfoot tub, big enough for two. After kissing her thoroughly, a toe-curling taste of what was to come, he left to order up refreshments.
Floating, Bailey ran the gold gooseneck faucet, added salts and bubble liquid into the rising water then, humming, twirled her hair up and set it with a single pin. After stripping off her shoes and Natalie-sponsored clothes, she threaded her arms through an oversized courtesy robe but stopped when she caught her reflection in the window.
Holding her fluttering stomach, she wanted to imprint this precise moment…this dreamlike feeling…into her memory forever. Beyond that pane, Paris was buzzing with music and laughter and life. Even more amazing, beyond that door, Mateo Celeca was looking forward to sharing this bath with her.
Tying the robe’s sash, she lowered onto the edge of the bath’s porcelain rim and took stock.
Two weeks ago she’d been near desperate to get home, for the chance to start again. Two weeks ago she’d thought constantly about her father…reliving those earlier happier years…regretting that their relationship had come unstuck. When she’d seen Damon Ross in the city during that exhausting second day back in Australia, her heart had screamed out for her to walk over. To give them another chance. The cab’s timely arrival had put a stop to that idea, thank heaven, because there was nothing she could say that she hadn’t said before. Nothing she could do that would mend those flattened fences. She’d tried in the past, over and again. The more she’d persisted, the more her father had only wanted to push her away.
One day, perhaps, they’d talk again, Bailey decided, swirling a hand through the deepening warm bubble-filled pool. But that couldn’t happen until she’d proven herself to herself. She was young. With the right attitude she could accomplish anything. Go anywhere.
Right now, however, she wanted to help Mateo accomplish his goals here in France. Of course, she also wanted to enjoy this time they had here as lovers. Still, she was mindful of keeping this whirlwind romance in perspective. It would be ridiculously easy to fall in love with an amazing man like Mateo Celeca only to be left behind.
After this time together, that he was so successful and she was so definitely not didn’t worry her so much. His state of mind, as far as commitment was concerned, did. She’d briefly wondered whether he might want to find a wife and adopt that little boy he’d spoken about. But Mateo was married to his career and wanted to keep it that way. He’d confessed he was too busy for a family of his own. Too selfish.
Despite his mansion back home and all his lavish possessions, she couldn’t believe he was self-centered. Although Mateo kept him well hidden, the orphaned boy he’d once been was still there deep inside. The boy who’d had no one and nothing. She felt the bracelet heavy on her wrist and smiled softly. People had different ways of dealing with the past.
The adjoining door fanned open and Bailey, brought back, pushed herself to her feet. Mateo entered the room carrying a silver service tray holding two champagne flutes and a dish of sliced pear. At the sight of him, the tips of her breasts tingled and her blood instantly heated. But for the white serving cloth draped over his forearm, he was naked.
Her gaze drank him in…tall, toned and completely comfortable in his own gorgeous bronzed skin.
“I hope you didn’t answer the door to room service dressed like that,” she said, holding off tightening her robe’s sash.
“I doubt they’d bat an eye.”
With his gaze lidded and hot, he sauntered closer. After placing the tray on a ledge next to the bath, he poured the champagne then handed over a flute. The glasses pinged as they touched.
“To Paris,” he said.
“To Paris,” she agreed and sipped.
As the bubbles fizzed on her tongue then slid down her throat, Mateo selected the largest piece of pear, bit in and watched juice sluice down his thumb.
“Delicious,” he said and licked his lips.
He offered her a taste. But when she moved to take a bite, he lowered the fruit and touched the piece to the hollow of her throat, drawing a calculated circle before sliding the pear farther down.
Pulse rate climbing, Bailey closed her eyes and waited for the cool to glide between the dip of her cleavage, under the folds of her robe. Instead Mateo lowered his head and sucked at the juice slipping a single line down her throat.
Soaking up each and every thrilling sensation, Bailey sighed and let her neck rock back.
As his mouth slid lower, the sash at her waist was released. A moment later, cool air feathered over her exposed breasts, her thighs, at the same time a big palm trailed the plane of her quivering belly then higher, over her ribs and tender swell of each breast.
He nipped her lower lip and spoke of the near overflowing tub. “That bath needs attention.”
Winding her arms around his neck, she whispered in his ear, “Me first.”
Nine
Although the morning was far too fresh to leave the top down, Mateo arranged a late model French convertible for the road trip.
From Bailey’s wide-eyed expression as they cruised beyond the city limits, she was in thrall of the unfolding country scenes…roads lined with trees whose leaves had been kissed with the russets and reds of autumn and far-reaching vineyards busy with the business of harvest. She marveled at the colombage houses with their geometric half-timber patterns. Mateo had obliged when she’d begged to stop at a rustic farmhouse with a leaded-glass feature that highlighted a coat-of-arms on the lintel above.
And there was so much more ahead of them.
He didn’t dwell on the niggling doubts that had surfaced since she’d accepted his invitation to join him on this trip, although at times he had found himself wondering if he’d acted too quickly—whether he was a fool believing Bailey was cut from a different cloth than Linda. But they were here now, and he intended for them both to make the most of it.
“After we visit the children,” Mateo said, stepping on the gas, “we’ll go back to Paris and spend a couple of days. Longer if you want.”
“Two days will be wonderful,” Bailey said, focused on a tractor trundling over a patchwork of fields. “I told Natalie I’d be back on deck by next Monday.”
“She won’t mind—”
“I know she wouldn’t,” Bailey said, looking over at him, “but I’ve taken up enough slack. Natalie was good enough to offer me a job. I need to step up to the plate.”
Changing down gears to take a bend, Mateo was deep in thought. That Natalie had offered Bailey a job didn’t bother him in the least. What did rankle was the fact that she scrubbed floors to pay back money he would never miss. After the time they’d spent together, the intimate moments they’d shared, if he didn’t know that she’d argue, he’d tell her to forget the debt. He’d much rather set her up in an apartment and, if she followed through with the idea, finance her way through university, like Ernesto had done for him.
Of course he’d be clear that any arrangement would not include a marriage proposal. From what she’d told him of he
r experience with Emilio Conti, she’d be glad of the clarification. She’d had one close call. She wouldn’t be looking forward to the sound of wedding bells.
That made two of them. He liked children but he did not want the responsibility of bringing his own into this world. Life was too uncertain. No one could convince him otherwise.
They reached the town by eleven. Five minutes later, the convertible made its way up the long dirt ruts that led to the Ville Laube Chapelle, a fine example of early French architecture which had been restored over time and transformed into a children’s home last century. Bailey sighed, taking in the hundred-foot steeple and angels carrying the instruments of Passion adorning the ornamental gables. Unpolished strong buttresses contrasted with the intricate foliage friezes and elevated stained-glass windows that captured then speared back the sun’s late morning light.
Mateo’s throat thickened enough he had to clear it. So many years on and still, whenever this scene greeted him, he was six again…feeling uncertain again.
As they parked and slid out from the car, a girl with short-cropped, blond hair, standing beneath the enormous oak Mateo remembered, gawped, dropped her skipping rope and raced inside. A moment later, children poured out through opened double doors that near reached the sky. Eager women, alternatively clapping hands to order the scattered children and patting down their dresses, followed. One lady, with chestnut hair that bounced on the shoulders of her yellow blouse, hurried to line the children up in the yard. Madame Nichole Garnier, Mateo’s contact and current director of the orphanage.
Many girls held bouquets, flowers plucked from the home’s gardens or nearby meadow. Every boy had their shoulders pinned back. When the assembly was reasonably quiet, beaming, Madame Garnier swept up to greet her guests.
“Monsieur Celeca, it is wonderful to see you again,” she said in French. Light green eyes sparkled as she came forward and kissed him, first on one cheek then the other. She turned to Bailey. “And you’ve brought a friend.”
“Madame Nichole Garnier.” Mateo spoke in English, knowing Madame would follow suit. “This is Bailey Ross.”
“Mademoiselle Ross.”
“Call me Bailey.”
Madame held one of Bailey’s hands between the palms of her own. “And you must call me Nichole. I’m very happy you are here.” Smiling, Madame held Bailey’s gaze a moment longer before releasing her hand and speaking again with Mateo. “The children have been eager for your arrival.” She pivoted around and beckoned a boy standing at the middle front of the group: six or seven years of age, dark hair and chocolate brown eyes fringed with thick lashes.
Mateo’s chest swelled as he smiled.
Remy.
After Remy strode forward then pulled up before them, Nichole placed her hand on the boy’s crown. “You remember Remy, Monsieur.”
Mateo hunkered down. He’d hoped that, since last time, someone might have seen the same special qualities and warmth he saw in this child. He’d hoped that Remy would have found two people who would love and adopt him. Still, in another sense, he’d looked forward to seeing him again. From the boy’s ear to ear grin, Remy hadn’t forgotten him either.
“Bonjour, Remy,” Mateo said.
The boy’s mop of hair flopped over his eyes as he smiled and nodded several times. Then, without invitation, Remy reached and took Mateo’s hand and Mateo’s heart melted more as he was dragged off. He hated whenever he left, but he really ought to come more often.
Bailey looked on, feeling the connection, subtle yet at the same time unerringly strong. These two—Mateo and Remy—had a history. An ongoing solid relationship. When Natalie had suggested Mateo might bring home a child, was she speaking of anyone in particular? Did the Ramirezes know about this boy?
His little hand folded in a much larger one, Remy drew Mateo nearer the other children, still lined up and standing straight as pins. Bailey fogged up watching the girls hand over their flowers and the boys beam as they shook their benefactor’s hand.
Exhaling happily, Nichole folded her arms.
“We so look forward to his visits.”
“How long has Mateo been coming back?”
“This will make eight years. Two years ago he helped with dormitory renovations. Last year he sponsored the installation of a computer network and fifty stations. This year I’d hoped to discuss excursions. Perhaps, even an extended stay in Paris for the older ones.”
Bailey was certain he’d like that idea.
Her gaze ran over the remarkable building that looked something like a smaller version of Notre Dame, without the gargoyles. How many stories those walls must hold.
“Has this place changed much since Mateo’s time?” Bailey asked.
“The structure has been renovated many times over the centuries. Some of the furniture and facilities will have been upgraded since Mateo’s time, much of it via his own pocket.”
Bailey studied the children again, well dressed, obviously well fed, not a one looking discontent. The word orphanage brought up such Dickensian images…never enough food, never enough care or love. But Bailey didn’t feel that here. She only felt hope and commitment.
When Mateo had greeted each child, Remy still stood beside him, a mini-me shadow.
“Remy seems quite attached to Mateo,” Bailey pointed out.
“I think Mateo is quite attached to him.” But then Nichole rubbed her arms as if she were suddenly cold. “Remy lost his mother when he was three,” she confided in a lowered voice. “His father dropped him here saying he would return when he could. Four years on…” She shrugged.
No sign of him.
Bailey’s chest tightened. At least she’d had her mother until she was fourteen. Had a father too, although he’d been emotionally absent these later years. But looking at that little boy…
Bailey angled her head. “Remy seems happy enough. Lively.”
Was it because he was too young to fully understand there was another way to live…with a family, a mother and father?
“He’s a joy.” Then Nichole hesitated. “Although he doesn’t speak often. There’s nothing wrong with his hearing. Seems he simply doesn’t care to talk most of the time.” Her expression softened. “But he and Mateo have a relationship that extends beyond words.”
A thought struck and Bailey’s smile wavered. “Do you think Remy’s father will ever come back for him?”
“I can only say Remy will always have a home here if he doesn’t.”
Nichole Garnier meant it as a comfort but Bailey heard a dirge rather than a choir. From the little she’d seen, this establishment was well run, with genuine carers who were dedicated to their work. Still, any comprehending child would rather be with his parents in a real home if there were any way, even if that father had once abandoned him…wouldn’t he?
Hand cupped to his mouth, Mateo called out.
“Bailey, the girls want to meet you. The boys too.”
Laughing, Mateo ruffled Remy’s hair and Bailey and Nichole moved forward.
“Have you known Mateo long?” Nichole asked as they walked together and bands of birds warbled nearby.
“Not very.”
“He’s a good man.”
Bailey grinned. “I keep hearing that.” She’d even said it herself.
“He gives others so much joy. He deserves every happiness.”
Bailey heard the tone in Nichole’s voice…the suggestion theirs might be a relationship that could bloom into love and marriage. Perhaps she ought to set the older woman straight. She and Mateo might be lovers, but that didn’t translate into anything permanent. He didn’t want anything permanent.
As they met again and Mateo took her hand and introduced her, Bailey reaffirmed to herself—right now, she didn’t want permanent either.
After the children dispersed, Nichole Garnier showed them around the buildings and grounds.
Although the kitchen facilities, plumbing and sleeping quarters were all twenty-first century, the exterior w
as undoubtedly restored medieval; and the interior, including the lower chapel, retained much of its original decoration, including intricate paintings. Having grown up in a young country like Australia, Bailey was in awe of the sense of history these children were surrounded by every day. The hallowed atmosphere made her feel insignificant, humbled, and at the same time part of the very heart of this sacred place, as if she, herself, might have strolled these soaring halls in a former time.
They enjoyed a lunch of soupe a l’oignon and quiche aux legumes after which the children sang for their adult audience. Although she understood little, Bailey couldn’t remember a performance she’d enjoyed more. At the concert’s close, she and Mateo provided a standing ovation while the children all bowed and grinned.
Mateo had a meeting with Nichole in the afternoon, so Bailey spent time with the children playing escargot—a French version of hopscotch—and le loup and cache-cache, or hide and seek. One little girl, Clairdy, stole her heart. Only five, Clairdy had white blond hair and the prettiest violet colored eyes. She never stopped chatting and singing and pirouetting. By the end of the afternoon, Bailey’s stomach ached from laughing and her palms were pink from applauding.
For dinner they gathered in the dining hall. When Nichole said a prayer before the meal, Bailey’s awareness of her surroundings swelled again and, from beneath lowered lashes, she studied her company, particularly the man seated beside her. How amazing if she could see all the world with Mateo. Even more incredible if, in between, they could stay here together in France.
Bailey bowed her head and laughed at herself.
If fairy tales came true…
After the meal, she and Mateo said good-night to the children, Madame Garnier and the others, saying they would be back the next day, then slipped outside and back into the convertible. As they drove down those same dirt ruts, Bailey searched her brain. At no time had Mateo discussed where they would be staying.
