by Donna Alward
“You look more relaxed,” he offered.
“So do you.” She went over to him and touched his cheek. “You needed to get away, too. You’ve shouldered everything for years now. It’s better now that Diego has stepped up, but he’s also been busy with his charity and getting married.” He held his breath as her fingers stroked his skin. “No one really understands how hard you work, and how much you worry.”
“Apparently you do,” he replied, his voice sounding strangled. He couldn’t think straight when she touched him this way.
“I’ve noticed. I just wasn’t at liberty to say anything before.”
He held her gaze, then dipped his head and kissed her cool, soft lips. They tasted like salt from the pool, and a little bit of sweetness that was uniquely hers.
When the kiss ended, she licked her lips and sighed, another one of those replete sounds that he loved so much.
“Make sure you eat something before our meeting. I’ll come get you in forty-five minutes, okay?”
“Perfect.”
She walked back through the sliding doors to his suite, her damp feet leaving little prints on the terrace floor. She’d go next door and shower off, he realized. He’d do the same. And they’d dress in different suites . . .
Yes, maybe it would be tonight. He only had so much restraint, and the waiting was beginning to affect his thinking.
* * *
The meetings filled the day until nearly four in the afternoon, but for Stephani, it wasn’t hard work. They spoke with the architect of the resort, who agreed to work up a proposal for a resort on the Marazur west coast, among the limestone cliffs and with spectacular vistas over the ocean. They had a delicious lunch, sampling chef specialties until she couldn’t possibly eat another bite. Particularly when Raoul kept insisting she try something else and she would love it. Invariably she did, though she avoided anything with the word “tartare.” It was a taste she’d never managed to acquire.
The mango sorbet, though, was the perfect finish.
She took notes with regard to services offered to guests, the shopping available on-site, and the pricing structure. It was the latter that stopped her up every time. While the resort was solidly booked, the sheer number of euros required nearly stopped her breath. She was enjoying herself so much, but she also knew she could never have an experience like this without Raoul footing the bill. He wanted a five-star exclusive resort. She wondered if he’d be open to something a little less glamorous and slightly more affordable. With the current economy, perhaps having a slightly lower price point would bring in more people.
During the afternoon, they toured one of the two villas on the property, both with three full bedrooms and all the amenities. The other, they were informed quietly, was not available for touring, since it was occupied by a certain famous actor and her family.
By the time they finished, Stephani had taken several pages of notes and wanted to get back to her suite to put them in some sort of order, filling in blanks and recording full thoughts and impressions. It was three thirty and she was ready to take off her heels and sink her bare feet into the thick carpet of her room. Raoul left her at her door with an intimate smile and an assurance that he would see her later for dinner. She put her keycard in the door and stepped inside.
She had taken off her shoes and opened a bottle of water when there was a knock on the door. She assumed it was Raoul, and she hurried to answer, wondering if he’d decided he couldn’t wait until the evening to see her. Her heart pounded an excited tattoo, but instead she was greeted by a lovely French woman who smiled and offered a quiet “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Savalas.”
“Bonjour,” she replied, then noticed the foldable table at the woman’s side.
“You ordered a massage, oui?”
She hadn’t, but she knew who had. She tried to feel badly about not transcribing her notes and couldn’t. “Please, come in.”
“May I set up on the terrace? It is so beautiful this afternoon.”
It felt as if her whole body sighed at the mere thought of a massage while the soft Mediterranean air caressed her skin. “Oh, that would be fantastic,” she replied. The notes could wait. “Shall I put on a robe?”
In less than five minutes she found herself face down on the massage table, a sheet covering her from feet to tailbone. Her face rested on a soft pad, and the masseuse, who she’d now determined was named Mariel, opened a little bag and took out a selection of oils.
“What scent do you prefer, mademoiselle?”
“What do you suggest?”
“I do love the lavender. It’s a special blend made just for us from the fields in Provence, and is very calming.”
“That sounds perfect.”
What followed was a solid hour of bliss. At one point, she nearly fell asleep as Mariel kneaded and soothed the muscles of her lower back. She gave a little start when the masseuse shifted the sheet and worked on her buttocks, down her thighs and calves, but it was utterly blissful. She rolled over and groaned as the muscles in her neck released beneath capable fingers. The perfume of the lavender oil teased her nostrils. Why had it taken her so long to do this? If she could, she’d book a massage every week for the rest of her life.
“There,” Mariel said, standing back from the table. “Take your time getting up. You might feel a little lightheaded at first. I will wait inside.”
Stephani sighed, wishing it wasn’t over. Still, her body felt so limber. So soft. She sat up and reached for the robe that Mariel had left at her feet, pulling it up over her shoulders and belting it loosely around her waist.
She went inside and retrieved her water, drinking the rest of the bottle in short order. Mariel was packed up and gone as quickly and quietly as she’d arrived, but just as she was leaving another woman arrived at her door.
Raoul was giving her the royal treatment, and she was starting to feel rather princessy about it all.
This time it was a facial and a pedicure. She knew that the spa offered such things, of course, and she’d planned to tour those facilities as well this week. But this room service was incredible. By six o’clock, her face glowed when she looked in the mirror, and her toes were a delicious shade of deep red. She chose a dress for dinner, a little ivory dress that she loved. Neutral colored sandals accentuated her calves and showed her newly painted toes, and she put her hair up, a combination of braids and twists that looked more complicated than it was.
Once it was anchored with pins, she frowned. It was missing something. Jewelry? The boat neckline required something long, but she knew she’d failed to pack anything that would suit. Instead she dug in her case until she found the half-dozen gold bangles she’d packed. Then, with a flash of inspiration, she plucked a showy hibiscus blossom from the bouquet of lilies, hibiscus, and plumeria on the side table in the living room. She tucked the crimson petals into the side of her twist, then anchored it with an invisible pin. It gave an exotic flavor to an otherwise simple outfit. Satisfied, she tucked her keycard and her tube of lipstick into a red clutch. That, with the flower, was the dash of color she’d been missing.
Instead of waiting for Raoul, she left her room, took the ten steps to his door, inhaled sharply for fortification, and knocked.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She looked stunning.
Raoul was momentarily speechless when he opened his door and saw her there. He recognized the dress; she’d worn it before to some luncheon function or something. But there was something different tonight that he couldn’t put his finger on. Something that made her glow from the inside out. He’d like to think it was him, but he knew more realistically it was probably from the spa treatments he’d set up as a surprise for her.
Apparently that had been a good move on his part.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly, standing aside. “I’m nearly ready.” He’d showered and changed after their day, choosing a tan summer suit with a white shirt and no tie. He wondered if he should reconsider that and pick one f
rom the selection he’d brought, but then Stephani smiled at him and any thoughts of neckties fled.
Anticipation curled through his belly, taking him by surprise. These feelings—excitement, anticipation, even carnality—he’d never expected to feel them again. He pushed any guilt aside. It felt good to be alive. It felt good to be with her. Nothing else really mattered tonight, did it?
“I had a table reserved for us on the veranda,” he said, trying to sound normal when inside he was quaking. Quaking! Like a schoolboy on a first date. “Do you have a wrap?”
Her face fell. “I never thought. Can we stop by my suite first?”
“Of course.” He held out his hand. “And I can have the table moved if you like. We can sit inside.”
“No, I like the veranda.” She smiled up at him. “We’re almost always in formal dining rooms. The fresh air is . . . well, it feels like freedom, doesn’t it?”
He knew what she meant. And yet, the moment they stepped outside his suite, he dropped her hand.
They stopped for a moment as she went inside to get her wrap. When she came back out, a light ivory wrap covered her shoulders and looped around her elbows.
She was all class. She smiled up at him and put her hand at his elbow. Together they walked to the elevators and traveled down to the second floor where the restaurants were situated.
The veranda seating was elegance and comfort together. Wicker chairs provided a light, tropical vibe, but the candle lamps and white flower arrangements on each table provided intimacy and romance. They’d barely been seated a moment when a bottle of champagne was delivered to the table.
“Is champagne all right?” Raoul asked.
Her eyes lit up when she saw the bottle. “Is there ever a bad time for champagne?” she asked. The bottle was popped, the fizzy liquid delicately poured into crystal. The remainder of the bottle was nestled into a silver bucket of ice beside the table.
Raoul met Stephani’s gaze and lifted his glass. “To a beautiful night.”
Her cheeks flushed just a little, and when she reached to touch the rim of her glass to his, her shawl slipped off her shoulder. She was so beautiful. And he was really starting to realize how much she’d been there for him. In the early days it had been her job. He’d barely known her, after all, and was just happy to help someone in Ceci’s family by giving her a job, and happy to have someone so very capable running his office. It had been a win-win situation.
Somehow, over the years, they’d become friends. It had been in part because she’d attended some of the family functions, too, at Ceci’s insistence.
Then, when Ceci was gone . . . suddenly Stephani wasn’t family anymore. Except she was, and she stepped in and shouldered so much of the load. At the time he hadn’t seen it, but looking back now, he knew he’d been mired in grief and she’d kept things afloat.
Because she cared about him, expecting nothing in return.
It had taken all this time for him to see her. To really see her. And the vision was breathtaking.
They began with a delectable shrimp salad and artichokes with truffle ham and black olives, followed by more champagne. Their mains came—beef filet for him, braised lamb for her, and a bottle of full-bodied red. They chatted and laughed, made eyes at each other over the glimmer of the candle, and tasted each other’s dishes.
He loved how she seemed to enjoy the simple pleasures. The beef was tender and flavorful, and she closed her eyes as she tasted it from his fork. When she opened them, her tongue swept over her lips, licking away the butter and shallot sauce, and her pupils re-adjusted to the light. He swallowed tightly. Did she know what such an innocent gesture did to him?
“I haven’t said thank you for this afternoon,” she said quietly, toying with a roasted fig. “It was amazing, Raoul. Simply amazing.”
“You are welcome. And that’s just a sample of what the spa has to offer. We have three full days left, Steph. I want you to book yourself for one new treatment each day.” He winked at her. “Sometimes being a guinea pig is a pretty good job.”
“I will if you will,” she countered, surprising him. “There are men’s treatments too, you know. And if we’re supposed to be mixing business with relaxation, you deserve some pampering, too.”
He laughed. “Me?”
“Well, I haven’t looked at their services, but you’re probably spared from a body scrub or get rid of cellulite wrap.” She grinned, and took a sip from her wineglass. “But a facial feels so good. And you could do a massage, or a manicure.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Then he refilled her wineglass and they chatted longer, lingering over their entrees until they were finally cold and the candle on their table had burned low. Raoul was surprised to see they were the only ones left on the veranda. They’d certainly lingered over their meal.
“Dessert, Your Highness? Mademoiselle Savalas?”
“What do you think?” he asked.
She looked up at the waiter. “I’ve been longing to try the blackberry vacherin since I arrived.”
“My favorite, mademoiselle.” He smiled at her.
“And I’ll have the lemon tart,” Raoul said, giving a nod. “And we’ll each have a glass of Sauternes. ¿Sí, Stephani?”
He was so used to making decisions that he’d forgotten to defer to her, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. He certainly hadn’t meant to speak for her.
“That sounds lovely. Merci.”
When the waiter was gone, Raoul apologized. “I didn’t mean to order for you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s fine.” She gave a little shrug. “Raoul, I’ve known you long enough now that if I didn’t want it, I would have simply spoken up and said so.” She reached across the table and put her hand over his. “You have never been autocratic with me. And I have never once felt I couldn’t speak my mind if I really needed to.”
“Except to tell me your feelings.”
“Telling you my feelings wouldn’t have been helpful. That was a matter of discretion, not intimidation. They are two very different concepts.” She squeezed his fingers. “And far more complicated than whether or not I wanted a dessert wine.”
“You’re very good for me, you know,” he said, turning his hand over and twining his fingers with hers. “It can be lonely, being seen as the title. But you see me as a person. As a man.”
“More than is appropriate,” she murmured, keeping her voice low and intimate.
Dessert arrived and he slid his fingers away from hers, somewhat reluctantly. They still needed to be discreet, and despite the lack of diners around, it was no secret among the staff that he was here. He scooped up some of the tart, but barely tasted it as their eyes met time after time, and it seemed as if the lingering part of dinner was over. Now there was a different energy, a desire to finish, a need to move on to whatever came next.
Because something was going to happen tonight. He wasn’t sure what, but something was. He’d been utterly appropriate ever since their arrival, but now . . . he wanted to move forward. But only if she was on the same page.
When their dishes were cleared, he held out a hand. “Shall we?”
“Of course.”
She stood, and wobbled a little. Her eyes widened as she picked up her little purse. “Oh my. I do believe the wine has gone to my head.”
“Maybe a walk on the beach?” It was nearly dark now, and the stars were starting to poke through the indigo sky.
“I’m afraid of slipping in the sand,” she confessed. “But I wouldn’t say no to a stroll through the gardens.”
She took his arm once more, and looked up at him with a tenderness that made him want to say the hell with it and sweep her up in his arms. Such a spectacle was out of the question, though, so he stroked a finger over the hand that rested on his elbow.
The gardens would prolong the evening, but Raoul was more sure than ever that it would end with the two of them in his suite. What happened after that was up to her.
* * *
Stephani tried to ignore the way her pulse quickened every time Raoul touched her, but it was no good. She’d had a little too much wine at dinner, but figured a walk in the resort gardens would be a good way to clear her head.
Only she’d been so wrong.
Their steps slowed as they made their way along the cobbled paths. The rosebushes, hedges, and shrubs were no doubt beautiful, but in the evening light, they cast secretive shadows. It was secluded and hardly anyone was there. One moment they saw another couple, the next they were completely alone.
“It was a good day,” Raoul said softly. His shoulder brushed against hers.
“Yes, it was.” She couldn’t look up at him. Couldn’t meet his gaze and let him see the temptation, the longing she knew had to show. So she kept her eyes straight ahead on the path, focused on remaining steady on her slim heels. “I’ve never felt so pampered, Raoul. Thank you so much.”
“I wanted to do it for you.”
His words sent a thrill through her. A boss would say “you earned it.” But wanting to do something for another person . . . that came from affection.
“You never realize just how much tension you’re holding in your body until someone works it out,” she replied, but immediately was aware of the innuendo of her words. Or maybe that was just because she couldn’t get him off her mind. All evening she’d been thinking about sliding that suit jacket off his shoulders and unbuttoning the white shirt. She’d seen him shirtless before, like this morning in the pool, and she wanted him with a yearning so intense it sometimes threatened to overwhelm her. Until last week, everything had been in her imagination. But she’d tasted him now, touched him. Knew the texture of his skin and the sound of his sigh in her ear.
Too much wine. She’d definitely overdone it.
“Steph,” he said, and halted.
They were in the shadow of a hedge, the little green leaves nearly black in the growing dark.
“We shouldn’t . . . we’re in the garden, Raoul. We still need to be discreet.”
