[The Sons of Lily Moreau 03] - Capturing the Millionaire

by Marie Ferrarella

  Granted, his car was in Mick’s shop, but he could always send someone up for it. And even if he did return for the vehicle himself, there was no guarantee that he would stop by her place. Most likely he wouldn’t.

  They were from two different worlds. No one had to tell her that. But she forced a smile to her lips as she slid down against the pillow and looked up at him. “Too tired?” she echoed. Her eyes softened. “Alain, I’m just getting warmed up.”

  “Good,” he said, pulling her to him. “That makes two of us.”

  Chapter 9

  When morning with its bright, glittering sunshine crept into the bedroom, Alain found himself experiencing a strange reluctance to stir or even open his eyes. His reluctance had nothing to do with the aches and pains still riding roughshod over him. They were purely physical, and he knew that once he started moving, they would work themselves out relatively soon.

  No, his reluctance to acknowledge morning stemmed from the fact that once he did, he was going to have to resume his life. Placing a call to Philippe, which was the first thing on his agenda, would instantly connect him with that life, and this adventure would, in essence, end.

  He’d be leaving. Leaving a simpler way of life, one he’d thought would quickly drive him up a wall—but hadn’t.

  Leaving Kayla.

  The long and short of it was, he didn’t want to leave her. Not yet. Not when he’d only just begun to enjoy being around her. The fact that he did was nothing new. He’d always enjoyed being with women, enjoyed the company of vibrant, independent females who knew what they were about.

  But he’d learned never to require the company of any particular woman for long. Because, for one reason or another, they would leave. The nannies he grew attached to had always left, some sooner than others. Throughout his childhood and adolescence, his mother was always leaving. So Alain became very good at not needing them to remain. Eventually, he became the one who left first.

  But his time with Kayla had been much too brief. Barely three days, and the first really didn’t count, inasmuch as he really hadn’t been himself. Still, maybe it was better this way. Better because he had a feeling that, though it hadn’t happened for more than a decade and a half, he could become attached. Attached to this woman with the laughing eyes, the killer smile and the heart as big as all outdoors. And he’d long since learned that attachments were only unions begging for severance. For disappointments. He knew this as well as he knew his own name. There was no reason to expect anything else, anything different.

  Damn it, he needed to shake off this malaise. He needed to get on his way.

  Alain forced himself to open his eyes, to take the first step that would set him on the path to the rest of his life.

  He was alone except for the dog in a cast staring him in the face.

  Winchester.

  But not Kayla. Absently, he petted the animal as he sat up. Opening his mouth to call out to her, Alain thought he heard noises coming from somewhere in the house. Pots being moved. A refrigerator being opened and closed.

  Kayla.

  A warmth spread over him. He fought a desire to get up and go looking for her. A desire to bring her back to bed and go through a reenactment of last night.

  Damn it, what was wrong with him?

  Annoyed with himself, Alain reached for the phone instead. First things first. Picking up the receiver, he held it to his ear. It was then that he realized he was holding his breath. Waiting to find out if the phone was actually still working? Or hoping that it wasn’t?

  The latter seemed foolish, but he really couldn’t have said with any amount of certainty which direction his hopes were aimed.

  This place had scrambled his brain. Just as she did. Maybe this town was like the fictional Brigadoon, seducing whoever came upon it into remaining, committing his soul to a timeless world where life was a great deal simpler.

  But the world beyond Kayla’s home was beckoning to Alain. His fingers punched in Philippe’s phone number on the keypad before he could talk himself out of it. The phone on the other end rang only twice before someone picked up. And then he heard Philippe’s deep voice say hello.

  There’d been a time, whenever his older brother picked up the phone, that he would sound incredibly grumpy. Philippe didn’t like being interrupted. The oldest of Lily Moreau’s sons worked at home. He had made his fortune and his mark on the software world by withdrawing into his home office and wrestling with concepts that completely mystified the rest of the family. Because it took so much deep concentration, he hated having to focus on anything else while he was working. This included incoming calls, even from the companies that he was dealing with.

  But J.D.—Janice—had changed all that, had completely remodeled Philippe’s house and his world. These days, his brother was positively sunny and damn near unrecognizable.

  So it was a remarkably cheery voice that said, “Zabelle here.”

  “Philippe.”

  “Alain!” The concern in his brother’s voice was palatable. “Where are you?”

  “Funny you should ask,” Alain murmured. “I’m not in Bedford.” “I already know that,” Philippe answered with a touch of impatience. “You haven’t been home the last three nights.”

  Alain knew he could tell that simply by walking out his front door. They lived next door to one another, he and his brothers, in houses that, to the passing eye, formed what appeared to be a single sprawling mansion. In reality, there were three attractive homes made to look like one huge estate.

  That had been Philippe’s idea. He’d grown up caring for his brothers, and it was a habit he didn’t seem to want to break. In truth, though neither Alain nor Georges admitted it aloud, they liked the arrangement, liked being close, yet able to maintain separate lives. Again, all Philippe’s doing.

  Taking a deep breath, Alain forged ahead. “I was in an accident.”

  The concern was immediate. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” he quickly assured him. “But that’s more than I can say for my car.”

  He heard Philippe sigh. Material things had never been a priority with him. “All right, tell me what happened.” Alain knew that there was no way he was getting off the phone until he gave Philippe every single detail of the accident, what led up to it and what had transpired afterward. He summarized the events as quickly as he could, talking faster and faster. Trying to outrun the reluctance that was mushrooming through him.

  And when he was through, he concluded, “So I need a ride.”

  It was obvious the request was nothing less than Philippe had expected. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he promised. Why did that make Alain’s heart sink a bit? “You don’t have to leave immediately,” he told him. “Wait for the traffic to die down.”

  His brother would have to drive through the snarl of L.A. traffic to get to him. Traffic that, at its peak, crawled rather than flowed—if that. Alain felt bad enough already about asking him to come get him. He didn’t want him stuck in bumper-tobumper congestion.

  “I’m on my way,” Philippe replied firmly.

  “Right.” Obviously, his mind was made up. “Thanks.” No sense in trying to talk his brother out of it. No one, Alain thought, letting the receiver fall back into the cradle, could tell Philippe what to do—with the possible exception of Janice, or Kelli, her pint-size daughter.

  There’d been a lot of changes in the family of late. Philippe was getting married next month, and Georges wasn’t going to be lagging far behind, now that he’d lost his heart to a woman with the improbable name of Vienna. And Alain wouldn’t be surprised if Gordon, Janice’s older brother, wasn’t going to be making an announcement soon himself. Georges’s cousin Electra had set her cap for the man, and both she and Gordon seemed exceedingly happy about the arrangement.

  Alain’s cousins, Remy, Vincent and Beau, were still very much ensconced in the bachelor life, so he wouldn’t feel like the last holdout. But it wasn’t exactly the same thing as having h
is brothers unattached, without the responsibilities of hearth and home, and all that entailed.

  Funny, when he was a kid, he’d been convinced things would never change—except for the faces of their mother’s “companions.”

  It was, he knew, a foolish fantasy, and yet he couldn’t quite help the longing he felt….

  “Coffee?”

  The cheerful voice broke through his thoughts, scattering them like mist. Roused, Alain looked toward the doorway.

  Kayla was standing there with a large mug in her hand, a faint curl of steam rising above it. The scent of coffee began to fill the room.

  The scent of coffee and the light perfume she wore.

  “Sounds great.” Alain shifted in the bed as she crossed to him. He was about to reach out for the mug when he realized he was still very much unclothed beneath the sheet spread haphazardly over him. The second the realization hit him, temptation sprinted through him.

  “You know what sounds even better?” Accepting the mug, he placed it on the nightstand.

  Her eyes were wide. “What?”

  Alain curled his fingers around her wrist. Her warmth spread into him. “Guess.”

  “Breakfast?” she asked innocently. Or at least she tried to sound innocent. In actuality, her heart was racing like a yearling at its first major event. She’d thought that she could pull this off, that she could sound blasé and sophisticated, like the women she assumed populated his world. She knew he was going to be leaving this morning, or at the very latest, this afternoon. She’d thought she’d made her peace with that. But obviously, she hadn’t.

  What was going on here? She had no desire to fall into any tender trap. No desire to get caught up again in all the briars and brambles that were part and parcel of being with someone. With caring about someone.

  And yet here it was, uninvited. She didn’t seem to have any say in the matter, any say in what she felt or didn’t feel.

  She didn’t want to feel anything.

  But she did.

  All the worse for her, because he was going to be leaving, Kayla told herself. And she didn’t want his last thoughts about her to be filled with pity.

  “Not even close.” Alain gently drew her down onto the bed. His eyes held hers. “That’s not the appetite that’s stirring.” “You called your brother.” He’d made no effort to lower his voice, so she’d overheard his part of the conversation. Because you were straining for the sound of his voice, idiot, she upbraided herself. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? Or isn’t he coming?” Oh, God, did that sound as hopeful as she feared it did?

  “Oh, he’s coming. The sun will stop rising before Philippe stops being dependable. But it’ll take him more than two hours to get here.” Alain found himself actually rooting for the traffic. How strange was that? “Maybe three.”

  “Two hours,” Kayla echoed, the last bit of any resistance ebbing away. She’d turn off the eggs she was making, because part of her had hoped… “Maybe three,” he repeated softly, beginning to unbutton the blouse she was wearing. Sending hot tongues of desire radiating all through her. “And seeing as how I’m already ‘dressed’ for the occasion…”

  He gently tugged the ends of her blouse out of her jeans. Leaning forward, he feathered a kiss along the side of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut as she released the last of her grip on decorum.

  Wild things began to happen within her. Wild, delicious things. She scarcely remembered helping him, scarcely remembered tearing off her clothes and slipping, sleek and naked, back into her bed.

  For one last visit to paradise. Kayla couldn’t readily recall the last time she’d felt this awkward. As far back as she could remember, she had always felt comfortable in her own skin. Oh, there was that short period of time when she’d allowed herself to be sublimated into the kind of woman that Brett had wanted, a person he could order around. She’d allowed it to happen because she’d loved him, or told herself she did. But she’d quickly snapped out of it the second she’d come to her senses.

  Other than that, she’d always been confident in any given situation, confident in her own abilities.

  She felt at loose ends right now. It had nothing to do with the tall, good-looking man standing in her living room. He had a kind smile, and she found herself liking him instantly. Alain’s older brother radiated authority, but in a good way.

  Philippe Zabelle had Patriarch written all over him, even though he didn’t appear to be that much older than the brother he’d come to fetch.

  He’d already thanked her twice for rescuing Alain. Not only that, but he’d looked genuinely interested when she’d shown him her “foster” dogs. Especially Ginger’s puppies.

  “I’d like to come back and adopted one of them when they’re ready to leave their mother,” he’d told her. Alain had looked at him quizzically, but he’d addressed his words to her. “My daughter would just love a puppy.”

  My daughter. Not “my fiancée’s daughter,” or “my stepdaughter,” but “my daughter,” even though, from what Alain had told her, the wedding was still more than a month away. He’d obviously taken the little girl to his heart. Yes, Kayla had found herself instantly liking this man.

  The awkwardness stemmed from the fact that she found herself missing Alain even though he was still standing here.

  What was she going to do about that?

  Move on, she told herself firmly. Because life was going to do just that, move on. Whether or not she chose to come with it.

  Alain noticed that Philippe seemed to be retreating, edging toward the front door. They had to get going.

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” he told him, then nodded at Kayla. “Nice meeting you. And thank you again for taking care of Alain.” Before she could brush his thanks away again, Philippe closed the door behind him. Leaving the two of them to say goodbye.

  Alain felt his breath catch in his throat, blocking the words. Why did she have to look so damn desirable again? It wasn’t like he could just stay here, making love with her three times a day. He had a life to get back to. A rich, full, busy life.

  The word goodbye refused to emerge. “Um, look…” He pulled his checkbook out of his jacket pocket. “I’d like to pay you— for your help,” he added quickly, when he saw her eyes widening in shock and something he couldn’t fathom.

  Kayla drew herself up, squaring her shoulders. Had he just insulted her? That was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “I didn’t do it for your money.” She took a breath, as if trying to quell a flash of temper. “Just pass it on. Help someone else in trouble if you get the chance.” Her voice suddenly sounded distant, as if she was closing off from him. But he needed to do this. Whether it was his conscience or something else at play, he didn’t know, but a small token of appreciation would make things better.

  Wouldn’t it? “At least let me make a donation to your organization.” She began to demur again, but he was already writing out a check for a generous amount. Tearing it off, he held it out to her. “You can fill in the correct name. I’m afraid I don’t remember it.”

  She glanced at the amount. That couldn’t be right. “You put in too many zeroes,” she told him. Alain looked at the check, then shook his head. “No, I didn’t.” “That’s for a thousand dollars.” The most she’d ever gotten was a hundred. Most donations were in the tens and twenties.

  “Yes, I know.”

  It was guilt money, she thought. Somehow, he was trying to soothe his conscience.

  About what? The man didn’t owe her anything. No promises had been exchanged. Just a good time. She forced herself to smile. The money would go a long way toward the care and feeding of needy animals. God knew they could use it. It would certainly buy a lot of dog food. Besides her seven-plus, there were currently forty-five unadopted dogs living with a handful of volunteers, and that number fluctuated on a regular basis, usually growing rather than decreasing.

  “All right, to help the dogs,” she said, taking the check from him. He
found himself wanting to do more for her. And to postpone leaving for at least another minute or so. “Look, my mother knows a lot of people,” Alain said suddenly. “Maybe, around the holidays, she could throw a fund-raiser, get some real money for your organization.”

  Kayla nodded, but she really didn’t believe a word he was saying, and doubted that he did, either. It was like that old line, “we’ll stay in touch,” uttered at parting, by kids still in the throes of a summer romance. The intent was there, but it wouldn’t happen. There’d be no fund-raiser, no Alain. This was it. He was leaving and she’d never see him again.

  Still, she tried to look as if she believed him. “Sounds good,” she murmured. Before he could stop himself, Alain took her into his arms. Damn, but she felt good. As if she belonged there.

  What the hell are you thinking? Just how hard did you hit this head of yours? Taking a deep breath, he allowed himself one quick, fleeting kiss. Not a lingering one, but a fast brush of lips. And then he was letting her go, and the emptiness was seeping in.

  “Thanks for everything.”

  His parting words hung in the air long after he shut the door and left.

  Chapter 10

  “She seems like a nice woman.” The comment splintered the silence that had infiltrated the interior of his car. Philippe didn’t know what to make of it. Ordinarily, he was the quiet one in the family.

  Thinking back, he had never known a time when Alain wasn’t talking. Which was why, when he’d announced at the tender age of ten that he intended to become a lawyer, it really seemed like the natural choice for him. Though Georges was no shrinking violet, of the three of them, it was Alain who truly had the gift of gab. He had always been as talkative, as outgoing, as their mother. Maybe even more so.

  Which made his silence now almost eerily un natural. Alain took in a deep breath before answering. “Yes,” he said quietly. “She is.” Something was definitely wrong here, Philippe thought. This just wasn’t like Alain. They were on a two-lane road, making their way to the coast and Interstate 5. He spared his brother a glance, looking at the bandage on his forehead covering the gash that had been sewn up. Was there a concussion that had been overlooked?