She unlocked her car, thankful for the relative solitude, and shut the door with a heavy clunk. Fumbling with the starter as warm tears flowed unchecked from her eyes, Rachel accepted the cruel reality.
It’s over. How ironic, now that she was finally divorced.
“Why … why did I have to fall in love with this man?” she sobbed, before she finally managed to get the engine started.
Chapter Nineteen
Rachel sat motionless, fingers tapping the wheel, the slow tick of the cooling engine and the lonely coo of the mourning doves the only sounds in the otherwise quiet forecourt.
Black and ominous, leaning on its side-stand next to Eugene’s vehicle, she made out the low, feline-like shape of a powerful motorcycle. For a second her heart raced, wild with excitement. Then, recalling Alain’s aversion for motorcycles, she slumped back in her seat, disappointed.
No, it wouldn’t be Alain’s — in the last six weeks, she’d not rested her eyes on his beautiful face once. Ever since their lunch in Cassis, he had made every effort to avoid physical contact with Rachel, and she had not seen Alain or spoken to him. It was as if he’d moved to a different continent. All communication regarding the project was conducted via email.
“Well, he was on a different continent,” she mumbled. Alain had flown to San Francisco on business last week, and she had no idea when he would be back.
Move on, Rachel, like he’s done, she tried to encourage herself, but deep inside Rachel knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
She reached for the drawings from the back seat, locked the car, and with a last, quizzical glance at the motorcycle, climbed the worn marble stairs to the front door.
At the creak of the heavy door opening, Eugene straightened from where he was leaning over the drawings laid out on the temporary desk.
“Ah ha, my favorite moment of the day.” He pushed a bony hand through his thin, rumpled hair.
Rachel crossed the foyer, the hollow echoes of her shoes on the wooden floorboards bouncing from the high ceilings in the empty room.
“Glad you’re here, Rachel.” Eugene nodded toward the stone tile sample on the table next to the drawing. “I’ve been studying the selection you’ve put together, but Marque’s been very distracting. Let me introduce you — ”
Marque looked up from the plans he was studying, a surprised look on his face. Then he smiled warmly at Rachel. “Oh, but we’ve met before. Hi, Rachel.”
“Yes,” Rachel confirmed. “Nice to see you again, Marque.” At the puzzled look on Eugene’s face, Marque explained, “Last May in Monaco — Alain’s yacht.”
Eugene nodded and continued with his struggle to roll the plans together. He puffed his cheeks frustrated at his fruitless efforts and Marque gently took the plans from his hands. After rolling them neatly, he slid the drawings into the plastic storage tube and handed them to Eugene. “There you go.” Marque winked at Rachel and continued in jest, “As a friend of Alain’s, I unfortunately have to deal with this grumpy old man ever so often.”
“I don’t see enough of you — you’re too much in love with that boat of yours,” Eugene fired back.
“It’s a yacht, not a boat.”
Eugene chuckled and shouldered the tube. “Rachel, I have a meeting at the mayor’s office in an hour. Why don’t you meet me for lunch at Chez Du Pont’s?”
“Thanks. See you there, Eugene.”
As Eugene left, Rachel turned back to Marque. “So you’re not just a sailor, but also interested in architecture?”
Marque smiled, shook his head and crossed his arms lightly over his chest. She noticed the telltale signs of the ocean-loving sailor in the fine wrinkles around his eyes, the hard calluses on his hands, the strong back and sinewy arms from winching lines in strong winds. They shared the same love for the ocean, and she missed that sensation — the sensation of being one with the elements out in the open sea.
“So, what is she, this Pure Joy of yours?” Rachel asked invitingly, eager to learn more about Marque and his true love.
“She’s a Swan 45. Do you know anything about sailing?” Marque responded keenly, quick to sense a kindred spirit.
“A little,” Rachel admitted, and dropped her head to guard her smile.
“Would you like to sail with us?” Marque asked.
“Sure,” Rachel responded, knowing this was going somewhere.
Marque smiled, and, leaning forward, rested his elbows lightly on the dusty table. He tented his huge hands in front of his face, and then, making his decision, lifted his eyes to look at Rachel.
“I bought her three years ago and re-fitted her completely. Alain and I sailed her in the Rolex Swan Cup in Italy last year — came in fourth in our class,” he announced, watching Rachel’s face for her reaction.
Rachel knew Marque wasn’t boasting — he was merely establishing the level of sailing he competed in. He was also determining her competency and skill level.
“When’s your next race?” Rachel asked, meeting his challenge with confidence.
“Saturday — we’re competing in the St. Tropez Cup.” He smiled, little devils of joy dancing in his steel grey eyes. “And I’m short a deck hand.”
“Then I’m your man — or rather girl,” she announced, excited about the prospect of sailing competitively again.
With a loud thud of his hand on the table, he exclaimed, “Magnificent — you are my best-looking deckhand ever. Do you need any gear?”
Rachel pinched her lower lip, briefly considering her options. Appropriate clothing would be essential, but all her sailing gear was stowed on her father’s yacht in Plymouth. If she acted fast, he could have it shipped overnight.
“No, I’ll bring my own gear, thanks,” she made up her mind.
“Done. Make sure you go to bed early on Friday — I want everyone on board by eight. You can get a ride with Alain — ”
“N-no, I can drive myself,” Rachel injected hastily, anxious to avoid spending an hour alone with Alain on the drive down to St. Tropez. She couldn’t trust herself to hide her emotions. And she certainly didn’t want Alain to think she was seeking out his company.
Marque snorted, amused, and waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Rachel, you won’t find parking anywhere near St. Tropez on Saturday, and I don’t want to risk having to set sail without you.” His steel gray eyes held her gaze. “Alain has reserved parking at the marina, and you’re practically on his way — just outside Cassis, right? It’s settled — see you bright and early,” he said decisively, and with that, Marque ended the discussion, grabbed his helmet, and headed for the door, whistling a happy tune as he fished his mobile from his top pocket.
• • •
“Good, you’re back from Frisco,” Marque’s brusque greeting came when Alain answered his phone. “I’ve got good news — found a replacement for our injured Suzy. Rachel is going to stand in,” he finished before Alain could interject. “Told her you’ll pick her up around six,” he continued, taking advantage of Alain’s stunned silence to unload the whole lot in one go.
“What are you trying to do, Marque?” Alain seethed, his voice menacing.
“You should thank me, big guy — you’ve been dreaming about this girl for long enough now,” Marque countered.
With deliberate control, Alain inhaled, and then continued in a measured voice, “You don’t understand, Marque. She’s married, and I’ve made a decision — our relationship’s been purely professional now and — ”
“Yes,” Marque interjected. “Professional for the last six weeks it was, and you’ve been a miserable sob ever since. So what if she’s married? You can’t seriously believe this guy — this husband — still means anything to her?”
Encouraged by Alain’s silence, Marque pushed on, “Have you seen him at all? Has your father met him — has anyone s
een him in all the time she’s been here in Provence? Tell you what — why don’t you ask her about this so-called husband of hers? Find out how much he really means to her if that bothers you so much.” At Alain’s silence, Marque continued, “That’s got you thinking, hasn’t it?”
“Fine, I’ll pick her up at six,” he agreed reluctantly, imagining the smirk on his friend’s face. Marque had manipulated the situation so that it would be rude of him to refuse. Without a further word, Alain rang off.
He puffed his cheeks, exhaled, and ran a hand roughly through his dark hair. His eyes were scratchy, and the tablet he swallowed minutes ago had done nothing to relieve his thumping headache. The long flight back from San Francisco was murder. Irritation niggled at him as he reflected on Marque’s comments. To his credit, Marque might have a point. Rachel had not mentioned her husband once. Further, reflecting on their evening in Monaco, adultery didn’t seem to fit her personality.
A soft cough interrupted his thoughts and Eugene stepped into his office. With a heavy sigh, his father sat down in the luxury of the deep leather chair across from his desk.
“Good trip?”
Alain was aware of his father’s deep blue eyes searching his face. “Yes, thanks. All went as planned,” Alain replied, running a hand slowly over his brow and down his face. He waited, sensing his father’s motive for this conversation wasn’t to discuss the results of his latest business trip.
“Everything under control then?”
Alain noticed the invitation in Eugene’s remark. “What’s on your mind, Father?” He pushed back to recline his lengthy frame in the chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. This could take a while.
“Rachel — you’ve met her before,” Eugene inquired.
Alain sighed heavily and dropped his gaze, studying his hands intently as he gathered his thoughts. Then he raised his eyes to Eugene and simply said, “Monaco.” The word brought back uncomfortable memories. “She’s married,” Alain replied in answer to Eugene’s silent question.
Understanding flashed in Eugene’s eyes.
“Hmm … ” Eugene replied, but his eyes never wavered. “And she’s happy in this marriage? She’s loved and cherished by this husband of hers? She feels safe and secure with him? And he treasures her? You know all these things?”
Alain narrowed his eyes at his father’s words. The mere thought of Rachel in someone else’s arms pained him. But the thought of Rachel not being treated as the special person she was — or being mistreated — those thoughts gave rise to a deep anger in Alain.
He exhaled slowly and studied his father’s face.
Eugene returned his gaze and added, “You know I’ll never condone unfaithfulness. It pains me to say this, Alain, but Rachel is nothing like Celine. She would never leave her children. You should talk to her.” And with that Eugene stood and walked from the room.
Chapter Twenty
The eastern sky was still tinted a light peach when Alain held the door for Rachel to seat herself. She wore no jewelry or rings, and had dressed sensibly for the day of sailing awaiting them. Rachel handed her leather grip to Alain and he stowed it in the trunk. It was heavy, with the right clothing for any sailing weather, thanks to her father’s quick action in shipping her sailing gear by overnight courier.
Alain paused before he fired the powerful engine, both hands on the wheel, and turned to face her. She waited, watching him in silence. The past months of tireless work, side by side, had forged a strong bond between them — despite the recent reserved, professional atmosphere. Lately Alain had become more intense, almost guarded. At times, she caught him staring at her with apparent indecision and frustration flashing in his eyes.
After their lunch in Cassis, Rachel had decided to follow Alain’s example, suppressing her feelings to keep their relationship purely professional. At night, in the safety of her house, she could let her guard down, allowing the wicked, sensual images to infiltrate her mind. Images of his broad chest under a soft, cotton shirt, images of his muscular shoulders, tapering to his narrow hips, images of his strong arms. It would feel so good to be held by this strong, confident man.
But that was not to be — this was over, she mused and fastened her seatbelt with a determined action. She waited, patiently. Alain, once again, seemed to consider something.
“Ready?” he finally asked, and she nodded.
“I’m impressed — Marque told me you’ve sailed competitively in Cowes Week on your father’s yacht,” he opened neutrally and fired the engine.
“Yes, but we didn’t place well in the end — our navigation system failed on the second day.”
Alain nodded in silent understanding.
“Arianne taking care of Iain and Mia?”
Rachel shot a surprised look in Alain direction. How bizarre — he remembered their names. “Yes,” she replied, a little flustered. Then she added, pouting, “But I probably won’t be missed — she spoils them rotten.”
• • •
The wind was warm at a steady twenty-two knots when Alain and Rachel arrived in St. Tropez. On the horizon, a line of bright white sails in tight formation told the story of a fierce battle out at sea, yachts strategically jockeying for position to optimize the wind.
The marina was crammed with yachts, long masts bobbing and swaying, seemingly impatient to start the race as the metallic clangs of their halyards edged them on. Rachel shielded her eyes and stared at Pure Joy’s tall, dominating mast where she was moored along the wooden jetty.
“Permission to come aboard,” she announced half joking when they reached the sleek yacht, bobbing impatiently at its mooring lines. Marque straightened from where he was plotting a course at the chart table, a determined look in his eyes. He seemed eager to discuss strategy with Alain. Selecting the right sails for the wind conditions would be crucial and could make the difference between edging out an extra knot, or a colorful explosion as the sail was blown to tatters. Marque extended his hand to help her onboard.
“Welcome on Pure Joy, Rachel.” Then, leaning into her, he welcomed her with a warm hug after she stepped onto the teak deck.
With quick efficiency Marque introduced Rachel to the rest of the crew — Jean and his wife Sophie, Pierre and his fiancée Yolande, and Christophe and Pascale. “Stow your gear and let’s get the show started.”
• • •
Rachel appeared back on deck moments later and Alain inhaled sharply. She had pleated her hair in a tight French plait in preparation for the task ahead, and it emphasized her high cheekbones. His gaze drifted slowly to take in her fine neckline. Her skin had gained a soft, honey-colored glow since she arrived in Provence six months ago.
She was dressed in charcoal quick-dry shorts that showed the perfect shape of her tight buttocks and long legs, and a white, fast-wicking crew top.
His eyes wandered briefly to the inviting shape of her breasts, and, remembering the night in Monaco, the image of her bare, hardened buds flashed through his mind. His pulse rushed and he breathed deeply, suddenly in need of more air, and he busied himself with the unnecessary task of securing a halyard to the jib with an overhand knot.
Marque took Rachel by the elbow and steered her toward Alain. “Alain, can you allocate Rachel while I radio race control?”
Alain focused on gathering the jib sheet into a neat coil in an over-arm motion, acutely aware of Rachel’s quizzical expression. He hooked the coiled sheet onto a cleat and finally looked up to face Rachel’s eyes.
“So, where do you want me?”
His heart thumped as her question provoked an image of a naked Rachel pinned under him, the tender flesh of her exposed breasts silky smooth to his touch, hardened nipples inviting him.
Blood flushed red in Rachel’s neck and ears as she suddenly realized the double meaning of her question.
Alain studied Rach
el, hands on hips, balanced on the balls of her feet, as she absorbed the gentle sway of the deck under her feet. Anticipation thrilled through him at the thought of having her so close for the whole day. She looked radiant and gorgeous, the wind playing with a stray lock of hair on her cheek. He had the sudden urge to tuck it away gently, stroking her smooth skin. Alain pushed a hand through his hair, grimaced and wrestled his lust down onto the deck.
“Why don’t you take up position as main trimmer?” he suggested on impulse, hoping that by placing her at the stern he would not be so distracted by her presence.
Rachel nodded in agreement, grabbed her waterproof jacket, and made her way to the stern. Alain busied himself with another jib sheet, sneaking a quick glance at the perfect shape of Rachel’s firm buttocks as she stepped lightly across the rolling deck.
It was going to be a long day.
• • •
By the time the warning gun fired, Marque had briefed the crew on their positions and the outline of the course. Rachel watched the faces of the other crewmembers while they moved under power toward the race committee boat bobbing in the distance. Rising excitement tingled in her stomach when Marque walked them through the strategy he and Alain had selected. She glanced at the high-end equipment and custom-made composite sails, and was again reminded of the importance of this event — especially for Marque and Alain. To them, this yacht was more than just a vessel to enjoy — it was honed to perfection with the sole purpose of winning. Their competitive nature would not accept anything but first place today, and she shivered at the thrill of the race lying ahead, confident in her ability to help this team achieve that goal.
Heart to Heart Page 53
