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It happened during the walk back to their hôtel. Blake indulged her with a stroll through the town’s pedestrian-only center, stopping repeatedly while she oooh’ed and aaaah’ed over shop windows displaying Provence’s wares. One window was filled with colorful baskets containing every imaginable spice and herb. Another specialized in soaps and scented oils. Hundreds of soaps and oils. Delighted, Grace went inside and sniffed at products made from apple pear, lemon, peony, vanilla, honey almond and, of course, lavender. A dazzling display of stoppered vials offered bath oils and lotions in a rainbow of hues.
The clerk obviously knew her business. She sized up the diamonds circling Grace’s finger in a single glance. With a knowing look, she produced a cut-crystal vial from a shelf behind the counter.
“Madame must try this. It is a special blend made only for our shop.”
When she removed the stopper, an exquisitely delicate aroma drifted across the counter. Lavender and something else that Grace couldn’t quite identify.
“The perfumers extract oil from the buds before they blossom. The fragrance is light, oui? So very light and yet, how do you say? So sensuelle.”
She waved the stopper in the air to release more of its bouquet. Grace leaned forward, breathing deeply. She knew then that whatever else happened in this marriage, she would always associate the scent of lavender with sunshine and brilliant skies and the smile crinkling the skin at the corners of Blake’s eyes as he watched her sniffing the air.
He didn’t remain an observer for long. Sensing a sale, the shopkeeper dipped the stopper again. “Here, monsieur, you must dab some on your wife’s wrist. The oil takes on a richer tone when applied to the skin.”
With a good-natured nod, Blake took the stopper in one hand and reached for Grace’s wrist with the other. His hold was loose, easy. As light as it was, though, the touch sent a ripple of pleasure along her nerves. The ripple swelled to a tidal wave when he raised her arm to a mere inch or so from his nose.
“She’s right,” he murmured. The blue in his eyes deepened as he caught Grace’s gaze. “The warmth of your skin deepens the scent.”
Warmth? Ha! She’d passed mere warmth the moment his fingers circled her wrist. And if he kept looking at her like that, she suspected she would spontaneously combust in the next five seconds.
Thankfully, the shop clerk claimed his attention. The distraction proved only temporary, however. Eager for a sale, the woman urged another test.
“Dab a little dab behind your wife’s ear, monsieur. It is of all places the most seductive.”
Grace’s internal alarm went off like a klaxon. Every scrap of common sense she possessed urged her to decline the second sample. The sun and the wine and this man’s touch were bringing her too close to the melting point. So she was damned if she knew why she just stood there and let Blake brush aside her hair.
The crystal stopper was cool and damp against the skin just below her earlobe. An instant later, her husband’s breath seared that same patch of skin. Their only physical contact point was the hand caging back her hair. If the shock that went though her was any indication, however, they might have been locked together at chest and hip and thigh. Thoroughly shaken, Grace took a step back.
The abrupt move brought Blake’s head up with a snap. He didn’t need to see the confusion on his wife’s face to know he’d crossed the line.
The line he’d been stupid enough to draw! He was the one who’d assured her they would work things out. He’d spouted that inane drivel about giving their arrangement time.
To hell with waiting. He ached to drag Grace out of the shop, hustle her back to The Elms and strip her down to the warm, perfumed flesh that was sending his senses into dangerous overload.
“Monsieur?”
The shop clerk’s voice cut through his red haze. Before Blake could bring the woman into focus, he had to exercise the iron will that allowed him to appear calm before judges and juries.
She finally appeared, smiling and eager. “Do you wish to purchase a vial for your so-lovely wife?”
God, yes!
At his nod, she whipped out a sales slip. “Do you stay here in Saint-Rémy?”
He knew his address would up the asking price by at least half but was beyond caring. “We’re at Hôtel des Elmes.”
Her glance sharpened. “Ahhh. I recognize you now. You came to Saint-Rémy last year, oui? With… Er…” She broke off, then recovered after an infinitesimal pause. “With your so very charming mother.”
Riiiight. Blake seriously doubted his twin had timed a visit to the villa to coincide with one of their mother’s protracted stays. Alex and Delilah were both obviously well-known in town, however, so he didn’t bother to correct the clerk’s misconception.
“We’ll take a bottle of that scent.”
Beaming, she rattled off the price for a three-ounce bottle. He was reaching for his money clip when Grace gave a strangled gasp.
“Did you say two hundred euros?”
“Oui, madame.”
“Two hundred euros?”
“Oui.”
“That’s like…”
Blake paused in the act of peeling off several euro notes while she did the mental math.
“Good grief! That’s almost three hundred dollars U.S.” Horrified, she closed her hand over his. “That’s too much.”
A pained look crossed the salesclerk’s face. “You will not find a more distinctive or more delicate scent in all Provence. And…”
Her glance cut to Blake. When she turned back to Grace, a conspiratorial smile tilted her lips.
“If I may say so, madame, your husband does not purchase this fragrance for you. He is the one who will detect its essence on your skin. If it pleases him…”
Her shoulders lifted in that most Gallic of all gestures, and Grace could only watch helplessly as Blake dropped the euro notes on the counter.
Seven (#ulink_df682f0f-e0d1-5178-8ef1-b5b92dce5921)
Even with Grace’s seductive scent delivering a broadside every time Blake turned his head or leaned toward her, he didn’t plan what happened when they returned to the villa. His conscience would always remain clear on that point. When he suggested a swim, his only intent was to continue the easy camaraderie established during lunch.
What he hadn’t anticipated was the kick to his gut when Grace joined him poolside and slipped off her terry cloth cover-up. He’d already done a half dozen laps but wasn’t the least winded until the sight of her slender, seductive curves sucked the air from his lungs.
“How’s the water?”
Blake tried to untangle his tongue. Damned thing felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool. “Cool at first,” he got out after an epic struggle. “Not so bad once you’re in.”
Oh, for God’s sake! Her suit was a poppy-colored one-piece that covered more than it revealed. Yet he was damned if he could stop his gaze from devouring the slopes of her breasts when she bent to deposit her towel on the lounger. That unexpected jolt was followed by another when she turned to dip a toe in the water and gave him an unimpeded view of the curve of her bottom cheeks.
“Yikes!” She jerked her foot back with a yelp and zinged him an indignant look. “You think this is cool? What’s your definition of cold? Minus forty?”
He grinned and tread water as she dipped another cautious toe. Her face screwed into a grimace. She inched down a step, her shoulders hunched almost to her ears. Eased onto the next step. The water swirled around her calves, her thighs.
“Coward,” he teased.
She took another tentative step, and his grin slipped. The water lapped the lower edge of her suit. The bright red material dampened at the apex of her thighs and provided a throat-closing outline of what lay beneath.
“Oh, hell.”
He barely heard her mutter of self-disgust. Or felt the splash when she gathered her courage and flopped all the way in. She bobbed up a moment later, her hair a sleek waterfall of pale gold. Sparkling drops beaded her lashes. Laughter lit her eyes.
Something inside Blake shifted. He didn’t see the woman who’d lied to him and his family by omission, or the conspirator who’d withheld crucial information about the mother of his child. There were no shadows haunting the eyes of this laughing, splashing water sprite. For the moment at least, no memories constrained her simple pleasure. It was a glimpse of the woman Grace must have been before she took on the burden of her cousin’s secrets. An even more tantalizing hint of the woman who might reemerge if and when she shed that burden.
Without conscious thought, Blake realigned his priorities. Convincing his bride to trust him remained his primary goal. Getting her into bed ran a close second. But keeping that carefree laughter in her eyes was fast elbowing its way up close to the top of the list.
“All right,” she gasped, dancing on her toes. “I’m in. When does it get to ‘not so bad’?”
“Do a couple laps. You’ll warm up quick enough.”
She made a face but took his suggestion. He rolled into an easy breaststroke and kept pace with her. She had a smooth, clean stroke, he noted with approval, a nice kick. Two laps turned into three, then four. Or what would have been four.
She made the turn, pushed off the wall at an angle and submarined into him. They went under in a tangle of arms and legs. She came up sputtering. He came up with his bride plastered against his chest.
“Sorry!”
Blinking the water out of her eyes, she clung to him. They were at the deep end, in well over their heads. Literally, Blake thought, as her thighs scissored between his. Maybe figuratively.
Hell, there was no maybe about it. He wanted her with a raw need he didn’t try to analyze. She must have seen it in his face, felt his muscles tighten under her slick, slippery hands. She looked up at him with a question in her eyes.
“According to our contract,” he got out on a near rasp, “any and all physical contact must be by mutual consent. If you don’t want this to go any further, you’d better say so now.”
After a pause that just about ripped out Blake’s guts, she clamped her lips shut and matched him look for look. With another growl, he claimed her mouth.
The kiss was swift and hot and hungry. If he’d interpreted her silence wrong, if she’d tried to push away, Blake would’ve released her. He was almost sure of that. She didn’t, thank God, and he threw off every vestige of restraint.
They went under again, mouths and bodies fused. When they resurfaced, Blake kept her pinned, gave two swift kicks and took them to the wall. He flattened her against the tiles, using one hand to hold them both up while he attacked one strap of her suit with the other. The skin of her shoulder was soft and cool and slick. The mingled scents of lavender and chlorine acted like a spur, turning hunger into greed.
He switched hands, yanked down the other strap. She was as anxious now to shuck her bathing suit as he was to get her out of it. A wiggle, a shimmy, a kick, and it was gone. His followed two heartbeats later.
Her breast fit perfectly in his palm. The flesh was firm and smooth, the tip already stiff from the cold water. He rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and damned near lost it when she arched her back to give him access to her other breast. He hiked her up a few inches, devouring her with teeth and tongue while he slicked his hand down her belly.
“Oh, God!”
Moaning, Grace threw her head back. She’d agreed to this. Had spent more than a few hours tossing around the idea of casual sex with this man. But this—this was nowhere near casual! Blake’s mouth scorched her breasts, her shoulder, her throat. And her heart almost jumped out of her chest when he curved his fingers over her mound and parted her crease. She moaned again as he thrust into her and, to her utter mortification, exploded.
The orgasm ripped through her. She rode it blindly, mindlessly, until the spasms died and she flopped like a wet rag doll against his chest.
The thunder in her ears didn’t subside. If anything, it grew louder. Only gradually did Grace realize that was Blake’s heart tattooing against her ear. Gathering her shattered senses, she raised her head and curved her lips.
The skin at the corners of his blues eyes crinkled as he started to return her smile. Then she wrapped her legs around his hips and his expression froze. Slowly, sensually, she lifted her hips, positioning herself.
“Wait,” he got out on a strangled grunt. “We need to take this inside.”
“Why?”
“Protection. You need pro…” He broke off, hissing as she angled her hips. “Grace…”
He didn’t say it, but she guessed he was thinking of Molly. She certainly was.
“It’s okay,” she said, breathless and urgent. “I’m covered.”
He reacted to that bit of news with gratifying speed. Planting a foot against the tiles, he propelled them toward the shallow end. The sparkling water cascaded over his shoulders and chest as he took a wide stance and hefted her bottom with both palms.
A fresh wave of desire coiled deep in Grace’s belly. Eager to give him some of the explosive pleasure he’d given her, she wrapped her legs around his waist. She didn’t want slow. Didn’t want gentle. When he thrust into her, she slapped her hips into his and clenched every muscle in her body.
He held out longer than she had. Much longer. Grace was close to losing control again when his fingers dug into her bottom cheeks. He went rigid and jammed her against him at an angle that put exquisite, unbearable pressure right where she wanted it the most. With a ragged groan, she arched into another shuddering, shattering climax. This time she took him with her.
* * *
Jet lag, a lack of sleep and the most intense sex he’d ever had combined to plow into Blake like an Abrams tank. He remembered helping Grace out of the water and savoring the view before she wrapped herself in one of the villa’s blue-and-white-striped pool towels. He vaguely recalled diving back in to retrieve their bathing suits. He wasn’t sure whether he’d suggested they stretch out in one of the loungers inside the vine-covered pergola, or she had. But the next time he opened his eyes, the sun had disappeared and hundreds of tiny white lights made a fairyland of the pool area.
He sat up, blinking, and scraped a hand across a sandpaper chin. The movement drew the attention of the woman on the lounger beside his.
“What time is it?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.
“I’m not sure. My internal clock is still set to Texas time.” She glanced at the canopy of stars outside the pergola. “I’m guessing it’s probably nine or nine-thirty.”
Blake winced. Great! Absolutely great! Nothing demonstrated a man’s virility like taking four or five hours to recharge after sex.
“Sorry I passed out on you.”
“No problem.” His obvious chagrin had a smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. “I napped, too.”
Not for long, apparently. She’d used some of the time he was out cold to change into khaki shorts and a scoop-necked T-shirt. Her hair looked freshly washed, its shining length caught up in a plastic clip.
“Have you eaten?”
“I was waiting for you.”
He was still in the swim trunks he’d brought up from the pool. They were dry now and rode low on his hips as he pushed off the lounger and reached out to help her up.
“Let’s go raid the kitchen.”
The hesitation before she took his hand was so brief he might have imagined it. He couldn’t miss the constraint that kept her silent, though, once they’d settled in high-backed wrought-iron stools at the kitchen’s monster, green-tiled island. As Madame LeBlanc had indicated, the chef had left a gourmand’s dream of sumptuous choices in the fridge and on the counters. Grace opted for a bowl of cold, spicy gazpacho and a chunk of bread torn from one of the long, crusty baguettes poking out of a wire basket. Blake poured them both a glass of light, fruity chardonnay before heaping his plate with salad Niçoise and a man-size wedge of asparagus-and-goat-cheese quiche warmed in the microwave.
He forked down several bites of salad, savoring its red, ripe tomatoes and anchovies, eyeing Grace as she played with her bread, waiting for her to break the small silence. He had a good idea what was behind her sudden constraint. Morning-after nerves, or in this case, evening-after.
She validated his guess a few moments later. Drawing in a deep breath, she tackled the thorny subject head-on. “About what happened in the pool…”
He sensed what was coming and wasn’t about to make it easy for her. “What about it?”
“I know we put the possibility of sex on the table when we negotiated this, uh, partnership.”
“But?”
She looked down, crumbled her bread, met his gaze again. “But things just spun out of control. I’m as much to blame as you are,” she added quickly. “Now that I’ve had time to think, though, it was too quick, Blake. Too fast.”
“We’ll take it slower next time.”
The solemn promise almost won a smile.
