Heart Captivated

by Lindsay Bergman

  I realized too late that the breakfast tray was still resting on the bottom corner of my bed. There was no way I could hide it from Sophie now. I tried not to shift guiltily in the bed as her brown eyes perused the empty plate and tiny vase.

  She touched the rose with one finger. “It was sweet of Ashton to send you breakfast in bed.”

  Surprised, I stammered, “How did you—”

  “I heard you two laughing through the connecting door,” she explained, nodding her head in the direction of her room. The look she turned on me was rueful. “Why aren’t you meeting him for that romantic midnight rendezvous?”

  “How did you—,” I began, then stopped abruptly in sudden realization and frowned. “What exactly were you doing over there—listening at the door?”

  Sophie offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” She moved to perch on the edge of the bed, but wouldn’t meet my eyes. Instead, she fiddled with the hem of her forest-green pajama top and said quietly, “I know you’re both in love, but you won’t move forward in your relationship because of me.” She sighed and continued to speak with eyes downcast. “I’m sorry that I’ve made such a mess of this. If I’d realized how you felt about him sooner, I never would have gotten in the way. Now it’s all kinds of complicated.”

  “Yeah, I’ll say,” I murmured regretfully, plucking at a loose thread in my bedcovers. “Sophie, I promised that I wouldn’t let him come between us—and I meant it. It’s not fair to let you suffer just so I can be happy.”

  “And it’s not fair to let you suffer along with me,” Sophie disagreed, looking up at me. “Especially when you have the chance to be happy for the first time since Mom died.” She took a deep breath, and I could see the effort it cost her to bury her own heartache. “Bree, I want you to meet him tonight.”

  “What? No, I can’t do that to you,” I objected, although the eager fluttering of my heart betrayed me.

  Sophie reached over to clasp my hands. “I’m not saying that I’m ready to watch you marry him, but some day I will be. You’ve made enough sacrifices for me, Brielle. It’s time for me to make a sacrifice for you.” She squeezed my hands and smiled wryly. “Besides, Ashton has never once looked at me, the way he looks at you. I was never meant to be the princess in this royal fairytale.”

  She brushed the fallen hair away from my face and softly touched my cheek. Her eyes were brimming with the deep and abiding love that only twins could share. “I love you, Bree, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve ever done for me. Now stop hiding in here, and go get your prince.”

  Chapter Thirty

  At the stroke of midnight, Ashton was waiting for me out on the terrace with a long-stemmed rose and a dimpled smile. His outfit of light-colored slacks, pale blue shirt and charcoal jacket was beyond appealing. While I’d always been fond of a good-looking cowboy in a pair of Wranglers, Ashton’s preferred style of clothing always made him look like a male model. And his charming, come-hither smile was too tempting to resist.

  “Bonsoir, ma belle.” Grinning, Ashton met me under the canopy of bougainvillea and offered the red rose. “This is for you,” he said, then circled an arm around my waist and drew me to him. “And this is for me.” He lowered his head for a sweet and sultry kiss that nearly made me swoon. Holding me close in his arms, he tasted my lips with the ardor of a man who’d been starving for way too long. By the time he broke the kiss, I was practically wilting in his arms.

  “Wow,” I breathed, clinging to him for support.

  Ashton chuckled in amusement. “That kiss was long overdue, bien-aimée. And it was only the first of many I intend to steal tonight.”

  “Steal as many as you want, Kissing Bandit.”

  Ashton grinned in challenge. “Oh, I will.”

  A second later, I was delighted when he stole another hot, melting kiss.

  Eventually, Ashton stopped stealing kisses and led me down along the lawn toward the small grassy knoll beside the pond. A blue plaid blanket had been laid out alongside the water, flanked by nearly one hundred small jars of candles that flickered in the darkness and cast a dim lighting over the surrounding area. A wicker picnic basket was placed in the corner, next to an acoustic guitar and a bottle of champagne chilling in an iced-down bucket.

  The morning had begun cloudy and overcast, but by late afternoon the clouds had vanished, leaving a clear and promising sky. Overhead, the stars glittered like multifaceted diamonds and the moon shone down in silver rays of light, reflecting off the darkness of the pond. I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful, or romantic, than this moment.

  We sat together on the picnic blanket, legs touching and hands brushing as Ashton rummaged through the picnic basket to pull out plastic containers and a crusty baguette, then poured and readied two tall flutes of champagne.

  Ashton held up his flute for a toast. “To gorgeous women, sailboats, and shotguns.” He laughed at my withering look, and continued on in a voice deep with sincerity. “To taking chances on love, and finding that one person you can’t live without.” As the rims of our glasses met in cheers, he added, “And to winning bets, and claiming prizes worth fighting for. Santé!”

  We sipped our champagne to complete the honored ritual of a toast, our eyes meeting and holding over the rims of our glasses. Lost in his warm gaze, I barely tasted the champagne.

  “That was beautiful,” I praised, then smiled wryly. “For the most part, anyway.”

  “Thank you, I spent all day on it,” Ashton joked, moving his flute in salute. “What do you think of this champagne?”

  “Oh, um …” I blushed and took another hurried sip. “Mmmm, it’s delicious.”

  “It’s called Vieilles Vignes Françaises,” Ashton explained. He set down his own glass and opened one of the containers to reveal small white orbs. “It’s known as the eternal soul of champagne.”

  “It sounds expensive.”

  “A single bottle costs over three hundred euros.”

  I choked mid-sip and stared at the pale amber liquid in my glass, aghast. “This is a three hundred euro champagne? That’s more than my entire wardrobe costs.”

  Ashton laughed and nudged the glass back toward my mouth. “Then I suggest you enjoy every last drop, since it’s such a rare treat.” He scooped out a spoonful of the tiny white orbs, almost pearl-like in appearance, and offered it to me for a taste. “It pairs well with these.”

  I eyed the spoonful suspiciously. “What is that? It looks like fish eggs.”

  “They’re not fish eggs. Just try it,” he urged, suppressing a smile.

  Crinkling my nose, I warned, “If you are trying to feed me something disgusting, I’m not going to kiss you again tonight.”

  “You don’t really mean that, Brielle,” Ashton playfully insisted, calling my bluff. “Try one bite. You eat those Rocky Mountain Clams in Montana. This isn’t any worse, mon coeur.”

  I arched a brow and hid my smile. “They’re called Rocky Mountain Oysters, not clams.”

  “Tomato, potato.”

  I laughed at his adorable wording. “You mean tomato, to-mah-to?”

  “You and your silly American slang,” Ashton said, shaking his head. “A tomato is a tomato.” He held up the spoonful again. “And these are not fish eggs, I promise.”

  “All right,” I groaned in acquiescence. I quickly accepted his proffered bite, and scrunched up my nose at the weird texture. Chewing carefully, I noted the unusual earthy flavor, and swallowed the rest down with a gulp of champagne.

  Ashton smiled wickedly and popped a handful into his mouth. “Not bad for snails’ eggs, right, ma chérie?”

  If I hadn’t already swallowed them down, I would have spit them right back out and into his lap. “Snails’ eggs?” I choked out.

  “Also known as white caviar. A popular delicacy here in Coradova.”

  “That is disgusting.” I pointed an accusing finger at him. “You just fed me snails’ eggs!”

  “I told you they wer
en’t fish eggs,” Ashton said in feigned innocence. “I never said they weren’t snails’ eggs.”

  After shooting him a hard glare, I swallowed down the rest of my champagne, trying to rid my mouth of the taste of white caviar.

  “They go well with the champagne, don’t they?” Ashton’s teasing voice flowed over me, interlaced with suppressed laughter. “Would you like another bite, mon amour?”

  “Don’t call me your love after feeding me snails’ eggs.”

  Ashton laughed and refilled my flute. “Why don’t you try this alba truffle infused butter instead?” He spread the softened butter over a slice of crusty baguette and offered it to me.

  “That’s not code for tuna, is it?” I studied the butter warily.

  Ashton’s laughter echoed across the pond. “No, it’s not Albacore tuna. It’s a white truffle.”

  I sniffed it experimentally while Ashton smothered another laugh. The aroma was intricate and intense. I took a cautious nibble, and decided that I much preferred the alba truffle to the white caviar. And I was surprised to note that it did pair well with the Vieilles Vignes Françaises.

  We spent the next half hour munching on buttered baguette, laughing and kissing, and occasionally arguing over the deliciousness of white caviar. When the champagne was half gone, Ashton set everything aside in the basket and drew the guitar onto his lap.

  He sent me a hopeful look. “Will you play for me?”

  Blushing over his request, I accepted the guitar and smiled shyly. “I’d love to.”

  “Will you sing for me, too?”

  “How did you …?” My question trailed off as our eyes met. It was impossible to misread the warmth in his knowing, blue gaze.

  Ashton smiled tenderly. “I heard you singing that day in the garden, before I found you crying in the gazebo. You have an amazing voice.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured bashfully, feeling my face heat at his compliment. I fumbled awkwardly with the tuning pegs. “I don’t usually sing in front of people.”

  Ashton shifted closer and braced his hand on the ground between us. Raising his other hand, he ran his fingers through my tumble of auburn hair, then softly stroked my jaw, evoking an electric current in my blood. His breath fanned out against my flushed skin. “But I’m not just anyone. Sing for me, my captivating Brielle.” He leaned in close to brush his mouth over mine and whispered against my lips, “I’ll reward you with a kiss.”

  The guitar slipped from my numb fingers and lay forgotten on the blanket beside us.

  I leaned into him and answered breathlessly, “How can I say no to a kiss?”

  Ashton chuckled and clasped the back of my head. His smoldering blue eyes met mine, heated with anticipation. “I’ll even give you one for good luck.” Then he lowered his head to capture my lips in a steamy, drowning kiss. He tasted of champagne and white truffles, earthy and sweet. Ashton cradled me close in his arms in the gentlest of touches and focused his attention on kissing my insecurities away. By the time his mouth left mine, I was floating on a cloud. “Now will you sing for me?” he asked in a husky and slightly unsteady voice.

  I was pleased to know he was as affected by our kissing as I was. I nodded mutely, still dazed by his mind-scattering kisses.

  “Thank you, mon coeur.” Ashton’s mouth curved in a satisfied smile. He kissed me once more, then shifted back to give me the space to play.

  Clearing my throat, I picked up the fallen guitar and checked its tuning. When the first soft notes echoed out across the pond, I refused to look at Ashton, afraid that his soul-searching eyes would distract me. Instead, I focused on the strings. As my voice joined in the melody, I blushed without even needing to see his face. The song I’d chosen matched perfectly with my rich and smoky singing voice. The words spoke of enduring love, and the promise in them wrapped around us, filling my heart and soul with the hope for more. For a chance at love, for the possibility to share my life with him.

  When the music faded into silence, I finally stole a peek at his face. He was watching me with an intensity that sent butterflies spiraling through my stomach. His hot look was adoring, loving and sultry all at the same time.

  As Ashton reached over for my hand, a smile spread across his face, dimpled and dazzling. “You are amazing, bien-aimée,” he praised. “If I wasn’t already in love, I would have fallen head-over-heels just now—and probably fallen into the pond.”

  I laughed, breathy and suddenly nervous. The intensity of his gaze burned with promises that had sent my heart racing.

  Ashton stood and brought me to my feet. “Dance with me, mon amour.”

  He gathered me into his arms and held me close against his solid, well-built chest. We’d rarely been in such an intimate embrace. With no one else around, we didn’t need to worry about the rules of propriety, or hurting my sister with such a blatant show of affection. I loved the freedom we had tonight, to love openly and without remorse.

  Enjoying the feel of him, I slowly slid my hands up and over those wide, broad shoulders and clasped my fingers together behind his neck. His hand rested on the curve of my hip, while the other stroked tantalizing circles along my back. Silently, he moved us across the bare stretch of grass while carefully avoiding the hundreds of lit candles, and spun me in slow, dizzying circles.

  I could imagine the charming picture we presented. Dancing in a close embrace beneath the starlit sky, silhouetted by the glow of moonlight reflecting off the pond. It couldn’t have been any more romantic … my final night with the prince who had captivated my heart.

  Ashton slowed our steps until we stood close together, no longer dancing, but with our bodies still touching and hearts pounding. When his warm, wanting gaze traveled over my face and finally met my eyes, the air fled from my lungs in a rush. His look alone made me forget how to breathe. Sending me a knowing smile, Ashton cupped my neck and brought me in for another one of his long and luxurious kisses. Warmth pooled within my core. His every touch was filled with love, and burned against my skin with a longing that matched mine. The pace of our kissing increased until I nearly felt devoured by his hunger. Reigning himself in, he slowed the kiss down into a simmering, sweet surrender.

  Eventually Ashton eased back enough to look directly into my eyes. “I love you, Brielle,” he said ardently, his breath heavy and thick with emotion. “I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but know that I will be waiting for you. However long it takes. One day, you will be mine, bien-aimée.” He kissed me tenderly, drowning me in a kiss flooded with love.

  “I love you too, Ashton.” I touched my forehead to his and simply held him close to my heart—the heart I’d never expected him to claim. Sophie had encouraged me to meet him tonight, but I knew that she was still hurting. My chance to be with Ashton was close at hand; I only needed to give my sister a little more time to heal. I smoothed a hand over his beloved face and told him, “When Sophie’s heart is no longer involved, I’ll be yours. Until then, don’t give up on me. Your persistence has paid off, and now I can’t imagine a life without you—as long as you don’t feed me any more snails’ eggs.”

  “I promise, mon coeur,” Ashton chuckled, smiling against my neck. He pressed a lingering kiss to my collarbone. “Next time I’ll feed you more huckleberry pancakes. Or maybe just the syrup.” His seductive laugh whispered against my skin, making me shiver.

  “As long as you don’t lick me clean, it’s a deal.”

  “I don’t know, Bree.” Ashton shifted back to shoot me a wicked grin. “That’s a pretty tempting idea, and you are way too delectable to resist, ma choupette.”

  “I’m not a cabbage,” I said dryly.

  “You’re my cabbage,” Ashton teased with warm humor. He brushed a hand along my fall of hair and looked deeply into my eyes, his words growing serious. “You’re mine, Brielle. From the first moment I saw you, I’ve wanted nothing more than to make you mine.”

  “Well, your bet is almost won,” I whispered, curling my fingers around the lapels o
f his jacket to draw him closer. Grazing my lips against his, I promised, “Then you can claim your prize.”

  He smiled widely, the appearance of his dimple making my heart sigh. “And when I do, I’ll never let you go again, my captivating Brielle.”

  Ashton sealed his pledge with a passionate kiss that touched my very soul, and permanently healed the broken pieces of my heart. Ashton’s enduring love was everything I’d ever needed, and more.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  After a long flight, a sluggish trek through the airport, and an hour-long drive into Hope Creek, we finally pulled into the dirt drive of our family home. When I climbed down from Uncle Cameron’s truck, the first face I saw was my brother's.

  Standing out on the porch in his faded Wranglers and favorite cowboy hat, Logan grinned and waved. He sailed down the steps to scoop me up into a fierce hug. I smiled in his arms. My brother always gave the best hugs. After greeting Sophie with a warm hug as well, Logan followed me to the bed of the truck to help unload our luggage while Uncle Cameron and Sophie headed inside.

  Logan pulled down a suitcase and looked me over with a smile. “You look good, sis. You look happy.”

  “I am happy.” I couldn’t stop the smile that stretched wide across my face.

  Logan crossed his arms and studied me with a dimpled smirk that strongly reminded me of Ashton. “This newfound happiness wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain royal prince, would it?”

  I didn’t even hesitate when I replied, “It has everything to do with him.”

  “Does he feel the same way?”

  “As crazy as it is to believe, he actually loves me, too.”

  “Smart man.” Logan smiled and finished unloading the truck. We carried the bags up onto the porch and set them down in front of the door. Logan turned another teasing smile on me. “Although I’ve gotta say, I never imagined you with a prince.” He winked playfully.

  “Are you saying you don’t think I’d make a good princess?” I teased him, pretending to be offended.