By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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complementing each other.
Maybe it was her imagination, but the sum effect was of more than mere luxury. It was also somehow—intimate. As if two minds entwined as one occupied this retreat from the world.
She followed him along a silk-lined hall to some double doors.
‘La chambre à coucher.’ He opened them with an offhand gesture.
Shari drew in a breath. Wow. What a chamber. Spacious, panelled in more peach silk, it was a decorator’s dream, rich with fabrics and plushness.
At Luc’s urging she ventured in a few steps, and felt an immediate sense of having intruded. Naturally, she supposed, the space had a deeply personal ambience. She let her gaze dwell on the three sets of windows with long silk lemon curtains tied back with sashes. She could see charming little balconies outside.
She tried not to stare at the most dominant piece in the room, but it screamed at her. Wherever she looked, Luc and Manon’s bed bore down upon her with its handsome bedhead, the matching lamps on either side. Their pillows. Their sumptuous counterpane.
Feeling Luc’s narrow appraisal, Shari turned away, wondering if it was striking him how awkwardly she fitted here in his private space. Their space.
Directly facing the bed and above the fireplace was a modern erotic painting of lovers locked in the primal embrace. Following her gaze, Luc started, blinking at it, then stepped forward and snatched it down. Sliding it to the floor, he turned it to the wall.
He gave a jerky, dismissive wave. ‘A poor choice. I’ve always been meaning to dispose of it.’
He turned away to open another set of doors that led into a smaller chamber of lamps and mirrors, with large wardrobe cupboards lining one wall, a sumptuous chaise longue and a pretty bathroom beyond.
‘Le boudoir.’ He placed her suitcase inside. ‘For—the woman. I have my own dressing room next door, as you see.’
Shari’s gaze settled on the woman’s dressing table. It was delicate-looking, with wavy lines, a beautiful winged mirror and a matching chair covered in rose and lemon patterned silk. Some highly polished perfume bottles sparkled before the mirror, while a tortoiseshell hairbrush still lay in wait for its rightful owner. Shari could almost see the chic and elegant woman seated there, completing her toilette.
Luc hastily strode forward and swept the surface bare, dropping the items into a silk-covered waste bin. ‘The maid should have attended to this. I’m extremely sorry.’ He looked so stern Shari hoped the maid wouldn’t have to face him soon. He opened a closet door, then with a muttered curse closed it again quickly before she could see inside.
The air prickled with discomfort. Shari hardly knew what to say. ‘It’s all—gorgeous.’ She gestured around at the exquisite room. ‘My suitcase is ruining the effect.’
He closed his eyes. ‘Not at all. Your suitcase is the only reality in a—a ridiculous fantasy. She—Manon—liked to feel like a courtesan of the First Empire.’ He gave a terse laugh, then backed out of there rather quickly. ‘And ah … as you see … all—all of our balconies are very small, I regret to say.’ He gave a swift smile. ‘Not like in Australia.’
‘Nothing is like in Australia.’
He stared at her for a strained second, then said tensely, ‘There is another bedroom you might prefer until we prepare this one properly. Come and see.’
He slipped his arm around her and kissed her ear. Pulled her against him and buried his face in her hair. ‘Ah … the scent of you. Shari …’ he breathed. ‘Relax. Don’t be upset by small things. Don’t worry. I will …’ He kissed her and she felt the vibrancy of his hard body pressed against hers, but she disentangled herself.
It didn’t feel right kissing him in there.
The guest room was charming, though not in the same class of opulence. While there was no boudoir attached, Shari thought the capacious armoir more than sufficient for her belongings. As well there was a chest of drawers and a small bathroom.
‘This’ll be fine,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m probably not the courtesan type.’
With a flush darkening his tan, he took her arms. ‘Shari,’ he said stiffly. ‘Please accept my apologies. I should have thought before I— I don’t spend any time here now, so I never look at the rooms. I can’t imagine why I haven’t thought of changing things. It’s purely an oversight.’
‘It’s okay, really. It’s not as if you had any advance warning. I’m fine. Don’t worry.’
‘It won’t be so terrible in here for an hour or two, n’est-ce pas? I believe the bed is soft. Would you like to unpack?’ He stared hungrily from her to the bed. ‘Or—to rest?’ His eyes grew searingly wolfish.
‘I wouldn’t mind going for a walk, actually.’ She definitely needed a breather. Time out to reflect. ‘Stretch my legs.’
He looked worried, but then he shrugged. ‘D’accord.’
It was a relief to be out in the air. Shari sensed Luc feeling more relaxed too. Conversation was easier without the ghostly presence of his ex. And there was so much to see around her, every boulevard and every narrow alluring lane, she tried not to dwell on the glimpse she might or might not have caught into the inner guy.
Did a man keep his old lover’s belongings intact simply because he forgot to remove them? Or because he couldn’t bear to part with them?
Or was the maid entirely to blame? Could she have been a Mrs Danvers, by any chance?
Anyway, this wasn’t a Gothic novel and she was probably reading too much into a small thing. And it was pleasant strolling with a gorgeous guy who took her hand from time to time and seemed to regard her as a fragile vessel.
It was an impression she was eager not to correct before she’d at least had a good wallow in it. Just supposing she stayed the whole week. It was comforting to remember she still had options.
Although she’d managed by the skin of her teeth to postpone her flight home for another week, the day of departure could be changed again, depending on available seats. Nothing was set in concrete.
It wasn’t as if she were dreaming of moving in. But a week’s holiday with him could be very acceptable. Could be. Though he wasn’t just talking a week, was he? Underneath it all, she sensed he wasn’t kidding about wanting her to stay longer.
She chewed her lip.
Even if he was still in love with Manon, what difference did it make? Did a woman need to be loved by the father of her child? She could still have a good time with him, couldn’t she?
Anyway, what was she angsting over? The elegant woman was long gone.
Surely.
She gave Luc’s bicep a friendly squeeze through the cashmere. Finding it so satisfyingly hard she couldn’t even make a dent, she grinned. ‘How I love a hard man. What do you do in the evenings, monsieur?’
He shrugged. ‘Until this moment I—work, or I attend dinner meetings, soirées. D’Avion is quite important to the French economy, so sometimes I’m invited to attend receptions with people in the government. Concerts, the opera, the cinema … What does anyone do?’
She had visions of him in evening dress, whirling around the sophisticated Parisian social scene. No doubt since he didn’t have Manon to accompany him he’d found other women to escort. Maybe he held a different beauty in his arms every night of the week.
Though not in his apartment, clearly.
‘Don’t you ever feel like a night in?’
‘I think I might feel like one tonight.’ Though he spoke gravely, his eyes gleamed and she felt a tingle of excitement. It could be all right. If she gave it a chance.
At