Kitabı oku: «Summer Sins», sayfa 8

Xavier had offered to take her to the mainland once, but she hadn’t wanted to go. Her reluctance was not only because she could see little appeal in the overdeveloped coastline, with its marinas stuffed with massive yachts, and its shoreline built up with hotels and high-rise apartments. There was another reason, too—and it was not just because she revelled in having Xavier to herself.

It was because here, on this tiny, secluded isle, she could keep the outside world at bay. Here, she was utterly with Xavier, thinking only of Xavier, being only with Xavier. Absorbing all her mind, her time.

Keeping her mind very far away from what was happening in America, and when she would hear again from Armand.

She did not want to think about that. Did not want that biting undercurrent of anxiety to well up when there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was wait until Armand contacted her. Then she would know.

Until then, she had Xavier. And she must make the most, the very most of him. How short a time she had with him.

Anguish pierced at her, but she pushed it aside. She would not let it spoil this brief, precious time. This magical, wonderful time. All that she would have with him.

Now, reaching out one bare leg, she toed the market report that Xavier held in his hands. She grinned across at him.

‘Oh, chuck the boring old report, Xavier, and come beachcombing with me,’ she teased.

‘Beachcombing?’ he echoed, with a humorous frown at the colloquialism.

‘You know—wandering along the beach to see what you can find.’

‘But there is no beach, only rocks,’ he objected.

She made a face. ‘Oh, you French are so logical. Do come. The water may be freezing, but it’s absolutely beautiful and crystal-clear.’ She looked about her and took a deep breath. ‘I love the scent of the pines—it permeates everything.’

He gave a smile, putting down the report, glad to do so. ‘You have missed the mimosa, which is a shame—its scent is quite exquisite. We’re missing the lavender, too—we saw the fields on the Île St Honorat, remember, where the monks grow it to make their liqueur.’ He cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Would you like to visit Grasse while we are here? It is the centre of the perfume industry in France—and XeL has a parfumerie there which I could show you. And we really should go to St Paul de Vence, which is not too far from there. The Matisse chapel is nearby, and in the village itself is the celebrated Colombe d’Or Hotel, which has its very own art collection from the famous artists who stayed there. We should have lunch there.’ He made a rueful face. ‘I have shown you very little of the Cote d’Azur, hélas.’

He sounded regretful as he watched Lissa drop with her innate grace into the lounger beside him.

‘It hasn’t bothered me,’ she assured him. ‘I’m happy here at the villa. Blissfully so!’

It was true she could hardly recall ever knowing such happiness, as she had here in their private, secret world, with their private, secret happiness.

She sought to rationalise her reluctance to leave the island and the villa.

“I wish the whole Riviera were still like this—just pine trees and a rocky shoreline, with a few villas and maquis up in the hills, with deserted bays and headlands and beaches every few miles. It’s such a shame it’s been so spoilt.’ She caught herself as she finished, and it was her turn to put on a rueful expression. ‘I’m sorry—I should not be so critical.’

But he was not offended—far from it. ‘There are still some parts that are not concreted over,’ he said with a half smile. ‘Up in the hills, away from the coast in the Alpes Maritimes, where St Paul de Vence is, for example, is far less spoilt. Even on the coast there are some parts less ugly and less modern. Beaulieu, between Nice and Monte Carlo, still lives up to its name of “beautiful place” and just on the Italian border Menton could still be mistaken for the last century, or even the one before. My mother lives there with my stepfather—’

He broke off suddenly. Then, scarcely missing a beat, he resumed.

‘Antibes, too, is far less touristy—a working town—and on the Cap d’Antibes is the Musée de Napoleon. Did you know that he landed on the coast there when he escaped from Elba?’

Lissa was diverted, as Xavier had intended. It had been a slip of the tongue to mention his mother and stepfather.

‘Didn’t the King send an iron cage for him to be imprisoned in when he was captured?’ she said, groping in her memory.

Xavier laughed. ‘That was what Marshal Ney promised to do. He’d turned from Bonapartist to Bourbonist after the Restoration. He set off with an army to stop Napoleon in his tracks—iron cage and all. But instead he went over to him, and his army, too. Then Napoleon marched on Paris.’

‘To meet his Waterloo,’ Lissa finished. ‘Trounced by the English!’

Xavier shook his head and gave a laugh. ‘Ah, your Wellington only beat him thanks to the Prussians. Napoleon had won the battle already, but the Prussian army arrived in the nick of time to save Wellington’s neck. Don’t they teach you proper history in English schools?’

His eyes were dancing, and Lissa grinned. ‘We’re just taught that we won, that’s all,’ she said impishly. She tugged at his arm. ‘Anyway, you’re only trying to talk about history to get out of coming down to the beach with me. Come on, lazybones! We need some exercise before lunch.’

Xavier caught her fingers and started to nibble one.

‘I can think of excellent exercise—and we don’t even have to walk ten metres,’ he murmured, with a glint in his eyes.

But Lissa got to her feet and tugged at him again. With a show of reluctance he stood up, tossing the market report aside on the table.

‘Eh, bien—let us go and comb the beach, then, if you insist,’ he said resignedly. Long lashes swept down over his eyes as he baited her gently.

He took her hand and she felt its warmth and strength closing around her fingers, making her feel suddenly safe and cherished.

A little tremor went through her, and, like a ghost whispering in her head, she heard again the warning to be careful.

She heard the words, felt them imprinting, but in their wake came another whisper, that set through her a deeper tremor yet.

Too late.

‘Honestly, Xavier, you’re such a wimp. The water’s not that cold.’

Lissa grinned with amused exasperation at Xavier’s adamant refusal to do as she was. They’d gained the headland of the tiny promontory, scrambling over rocks to get there, and were now sitting on a large, flat rock that projected slightly over the sea. Lissa had not hesitated to take off her canvas shoes and dangle her toes in the water. It was cold, no doubt about it, but that was hardly adequate reason for wimping out.

Xavier was sitting beside her, his legs drawn up, arms loosely looped around his splayed knees. He cast her a disdainful look.

‘Masochism has never appealed to me, cherie,’ he informed her. ‘And don’t even dream of thinking that I’m going to rub the circulation back into your feet when they get frostbite.’

She laughed, leaning back on her elbows, letting her hair pool on the sun-warmed rock, and gazed up at him.

‘You’ve obviously never been to the British seaside, then, have you?’ she teased. ‘Let alone St Andrew’s up in Scotland. That’s what I call cold water—even in summer! It’s a fantastic beach, though, even if it is the North Sea. It’s right by the famous golf course, and my father loved to play there—’

She broke off. There was a painful lump in her throat suddenly.

Xavier’s attention shifted from contemplating the way her posture so invitingly thrust up her breasts. It was rare to hear Lissa mention her family. Actually, now that he thought about it, she never did. Neither did he—for obvious reasons—apart from that slip of the tongue he’d made about his mother living in Menton.

Where was her family? he wondered. Then, deliberately, he put the question from him. He didn’t want to think about families—hers or his. Didn’t want to think about her existence anywhere but here. Didn’t want to remember the job she’d done, or how she’d been involved with his brother. He wanted to shut all that out of his consciousness. He only wanted her to be here, with him, alone at his villa, secluded from the world beyond, in a private haven where he could have her all to himself, without the interference and complications of the outside world.

Yet, unwanted thoughts flickered at him. He might want to, but he could not remain here indefinitely. Already, the two weeks he’d allowed himself from the office had overrun. How much longer could he put off returning to Paris? He was already receiving agitated e-mails from his PA and directors, indicating that they needed his full attention focussed on XeL again.

Irritation and annoyance shafted through him. He didn’t want to think about XeL. He didn’t want to have to go back to Paris, make decisions, take meetings, involve himself with his job again. Not yet, anyway.

This time was too precious to him.

He gazed down at Lissa. She had shut her eyes, relaxed back on her elbows, face lifted to the sun.

He felt emotion dart through him. It was desire, he knew. Familiar and enjoyable. He let his eyes roam over the exquisite lines of her face. It gave him pleasure every time he did so. He could look at her for ages.

There was something serene in her face now, lifted to the sun, hair falling back from her head. Her long, delicate lashes brushed against her cheek, flushed with the beginning of a pale tan. The gentle breeze coming off the water played with the strands of her hair, caressing her skin.

His breath caught suddenly.

Elle est si belle!

More than beautiful.

More than desirable.

Something moved in him—something he did not recognise but could feel, like a strange, alien presence.

What was it? He tried to think, to understand with his mind. His reason. But he could not. Words formed in her mind. Words he could not stop.

I don’t want to let her go.

That strange, alien emotion moved through him again, and he felt its presence, stronger now. He could give it no name.

But one thing he could give a name to. One thing he knew and understood with absolute certainty. As he gazed down into her unseeing face, tracing with his eyes the line of her features, the outline of her tender, generous mouth, he knew there was only one thing to be done here, on this secluded rock, beneath the warm sun.

He let his lips move down over hers, easing them apart with a languorous sensuality. A hand curved, as if on its own, around the soft swell of her breast.

He felt her response, felt her mouth begin to move against his, and with a deep, abiding sense of satisfaction and enjoyment he began to make love to her, slowly, exquisitely, beneath the sun.

CHAPTER TEN

AFTER DINNER, AS they sat over coffee, candles burning low on the rough-hewn table in the single living room of the villa, the embers of a fire dying away to keep the faint night chill at bay, Xavier told Lissa he had to return to Paris the day after next.

‘I can avoid it no longer,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘I’m sorry.’

A stone congealed in Lissa’s insides. Hard and horrible. She made herself speak.

‘Of course. I understand. It was good that you could take this time off.’ Her words were jerky.

‘It’s a damnable nuisance,’ Xavier said with sudden emphasis.

She gave a tight smile. ‘It’s your job. I understand that. Work doesn’t give us choices.’ Had her voice sharpened as she’d said that last bit? She didn’t know. Didn’t care. Only knew that all of a sudden the idyll was over.

Just like that.

She’d known it must happen—known with her brain, her reason. But not with anything else. With the rest of her she had only known that here, on this island, so close to the mainland and yet a million miles away from anywhere, she wanted that time with Xavier to go on for ever.

But of course it would end. Must end. She knew that—and as for him, however senior he was at XeL, he had work to do, responsibilities to meet. If anything, the more senior the executives were, the longer hours they worked. If his boss was now cracking the whip, wanting him back at his desk, then obviously he’d have to go. That was all there was to it. No one knew better than she the harsh obligation of work …

And so it was all over.

Over.

The word tolled in her mind. The stone inside her seemed heavier, choking her.

Over. All over.

Xavier would go back to Paris. She would be put back on a plane to London. He would kiss her goodbye, tell her that it had been a wonderful holiday, smile down at her—and walk away.

She would never see him again.

Pain—sudden, piercing, unbearable—sliced into her. Oh, God, how could she bear it? Never to see him again—for all this to be over?

The end of the affair.

The blunt, bleak words burned in front of her retinas. The end of the affair.

That was all it was—an affair. All it could ever be.

She had gone into it walking on air, knowing only that a fantasy had come to life, that she was being given a gift, a wonderful gift, that she had not expected. She had received it and been enraptured by it. And now it was over. All over.

Xavier was speaking again. She forced herself to listen. The stone inside her seemed to be swelling, taking her over, blocking out everything else that existed. What was he saying? She stared at him, trying to listen.

‘… Paris, probably for about a week. Then I have to fly to Vienna, possibly via Munich, and later in the month I’ll probably have to go to the Far East. XeL has factories there, and we keep a close eye on them to ensure working conditions are good for the employees. I know it means a lot of travelling for you, but I’ll try and ensure we get some time for sightseeing, and we would be together, which is the main thing, so—’ He broke off. ‘Lissa? What is it?’

She was staring at him, somewhat confusedly.

‘You want—?’ She swallowed. The stone was in her throat now, but something was happening to it as she made herself speak. ‘You want me to come with you?’

It was his turn to stare. Then, slowly, he nodded.

‘You seem surprised.’ His expression changed. Across the table, he held out a hand to her. ‘Did you think this was all I wanted?’ His voice had softened, his eyes melted chocolate.

Slowly, numbly, she placed her hand in his. The warmth of his fingers enclosed hers. Safe. Cherishing.

And into her head the warning formed once more—be careful.

But they were words, only words. What power had they against the warm clasp of his hand? What power against the expression in his eyes, holding hers? What power against the surge of emotion thrilling through her as she took in what he had just said to her?

None.

Yet she had to listen.

Anguish pierced her. She said nothing. Dared say nothing. Dared show nothing. Instead, all she could do was feel the strength of his grasp on her hand, feel the warmth flowing through her, meeting the chill that was forming inside her.

Anguish pierced again.

Xavier wanted her. Wanted her for more than what he had already given her. How much more she did not know—only that he was telling her the fantasy was not yet over.

If only—

Her heart clenched. How could she? How could she fly away with Xavier? This time she’d had was time stolen from the reality of her life—she had always known that. Armand’s magic wand had lifted from her all the burdens that had crushed her, allowing her this wonderful, rapturous piece of time with Xavier.

But Armand would return.

Would he bring the news she so desperately longed to hear? She couldn’t know. She could only wait.

Never had it seemed so hard, her promise not to phone him. To wait, as she had promised him.

Emotion edged like a knife blade, cutting her in half. Tearing her in two.

She slipped her hand from Xavier’s.

‘I didn’t know,’ she said, in a low, troubled voice. ‘I didn’t know you wanted more than what we have had here.’

He gave a curious smile, half mocking of himself.

‘No more did I, cherie. But now—’ his voice changed ‘—I do know.’ He reached for his coffee and took a draught. ‘I do know.’ There was decision in his voice. Resolution.

The stone formed again in Lissa’s chest. A line of some ancient verse stabbed in her mind: If the gods wish to torment you, they grant you your dearest wish.

She could say nothing. What was there to say? Nothing. Not yet, at any rate. Not now. She would not spoil this precious remaining time. Would keep it safe to the last moment.

She lifted her eyes to Xavier. She could not have him long—but while she did she would take from this time everything she could. Emotion blazed in her eyes suddenly, and for one heady moment she met his. Something dissolved inside her.

‘Thank you,’ she said in a low, intense voice. ‘Thank you for asking me to come with you.’

She could say no more, only gaze at him, her eyes expressive of everything she felt. His coffee cup clicked as he set it back on the table with a sharp movement. With an equally abrupt movement he got to his feet. He held out his hand to her again. Imperative—demanding.

Inviting.

‘Come,’ he said. It was all he had to say.

She got to her feet, her pulse surging, and let him take her where he wanted to take her—where she would always want to go. The place she longed above all to be. In his arms.

Lissa turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a voluminous bath towel. Her thoughts were troubled. Emotions criss-crossed through her, powerful and disturbing.

Xavier wanted her—desired her. She knew that. Knew it every time he took her in his arms. And he had said he wanted to take her with him when they left the island.

But how can I? How can I until I know … until Armand phones me …?

Surely he must phone soon?

I have to know—I have to!

She padded out of the bathroom, her bare feet on the cool tiles, into the bedroom. It was early still. Xavier was still asleep, and of their own volition Lissa’s feet took her to stand beside him. She gazed down. Emotions swirled around inside her, taunting her. Strong and overpowering. Conflicting and confusing.

She almost reached down to touch a stray lock of hair on his forehead as he lay relaxed in sleep, his long dark lashes brushing his cheeks, his breathing slow and even, and his features so familiar to her now, so completely mesmerising. Her fingers reached towards him, her heart fuller than it had ever been.

The subdued sudden ring tone of her mobile stayed her hand in mid-movement. As she realised what the sound was, she turned swiftly, crossing to the armoire in the corner of the room, where her handbag was contained. She whisked out her phone, set it to vibrate, not ring, and with a quick glance at Xavier to ensure he had not been disturbed by it hurried out onto the terrace, through the French windows that opened to the outdoors directly from the bedroom.

Nerves were strung like wires along every pathway in her body. Tension acute in every muscle.

It was Armand. She knew. It had to be.

And what he would tell her now, she could scarce bear to hear.

She clicked to receive the call.

Xavier awoke. For a second he did not know what had woken him, then he realised. A phone ringing. Muffled, cut off swiftly, but enough to rouse him, primed as he was to business calls at unsociable hours that suited others around the world better than they suited him.

He glanced around, locating his phone where it lay on the bedside table. He checked to see the display screen, but there was no message to indicate a missed call. His eyes moved around the room.

And saw Lissa outside, on the terrace, a bath towel wrapped around her, the sliding door imperfectly closed. She had her profile to him, her phone clutched to her ear. She was saying nothing, but her expression—

Shuttered, tight.

Tension netted him suddenly.

Who was calling her? Why?

And then suddenly her expression changed. He saw it happen in an instant. From shuttered to shining—radiant suddenly with delight, transformed.

She spoke. He heard her voice—muffled, but distinct.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful! I can’t believe it! Are you sure? Are you really, really sure?’

She paused to hear the answer, and then she gave a laugh. A laugh of pure happiness. More than happiness.

‘Armand—I’ll love you for ever for this! I can’t believe how happy I am. It’s just so wonderful!’

She paused again, her face still radiant, still overjoyed. And then her expression changed again. He could see it—see it with his own eyes. Her eyes widened, and wonder filled her face.

‘Oh, Armand—is this true? Can you really mean that? Marriage? It’s everything I could have dreamed of! Yes! Yes, of course! Of course I will. As soon as you want. Sooner!’ She gave another laugh, happy and thrilled. Radiant with joy. ‘Tell me everything. Everything.’

She began to wander away from the terrace, turning so that he could not see her anymore. Could not hear her.

But he did not need to see more. Hear more. He had seen and heard all he needed to. His eyes stared out into the room. There was no expression in them. None in his face.

But in his heart fury burned.

Implacable, unforgiving.

Deadly.

When Lissa came back into the bedroom, overcome with emotion, it was empty. Her heart was so full she thought she must burst. The call from Armand had been everything she had longed to hear. And so much more!

Her eyes lit.

Marriage—was that really, truly what Armand planned? But he had been adamant, determined. And she knew that to his proposal there could be only one answer. A thrill of happiness went through her.

On winged feet she dressed, relief and happiness soaring within her, then hurried out onto the terrace again, and around the corner of the house to gain the main terrace that opened from the living room. The table had already been laid for breakfast, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee, plus the heady aroma of croissants, greeted her enticingly. Xavier was not there yet, but she assumed he was making business calls, as he often did—preferring to get them out of the way early on, so they had more time to themselves during the day.

A pang went through her.

Xavier—

She would have to tell him.

Tell him why she must leave him.

For a moment she bowed her head, as if under the weight of too much emotion.

Armand, Xavier—

She took a breath. She would have to deal with it—she had no choice. It would be hard, but it must be done. And now at least she knew what Armand’s plans were.

It made her own decisions so much easier.

She settled down at the table and reached for the jug of fresh orange juice. The housekeeper bustled out of the villa, checking that she had what she required. Lissa smiled and thanked her, as usual, for having set the breakfast out. The woman nodded and bustled away again, leaving Lissa to the tumult of her thoughts.

Where was Xavier? It was not fair not to tell him as soon as she could.

She gazed out over the vista in front of her, at the open grassy space bordered by tall pines, leading down to the sea, cobalt at this time of day.

So perfect, so beautiful.

Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned her head.

Her face stilled.

It was Xavier, as she had known it would be, but he was wearing not the familiar casual clothes he wore on the island but a formal business suit. Dismay filled her.

He had said he wasn’t going back to Paris until the following day. She’d thought she had till then.

‘Are we leaving today?’ The words burst from her, anxious and dismayed.

He did not answer, merely took his place at the other end of the table from her. There was, Lissa realised, a closed look on his face. She watched him reach for the coffee and pour himself a cup. Absently, she noticed, with the familiar quiver that always accompanied her awareness of him, how the leanness of his wrist was accentuated by the sliver of gold watch strap, the pristine white of his cuffs, edged with the dark charcoal of his business jacket. She had always known how devastating he looked in formal attire, but now, seeing him again like this after two weeks of casual gear, he looked not just devastating but—formidable.

Distant.

‘Xavier—what is it?’

She could not stop herself asking. Something had happened, and she could feel her chest tighten.

His eyes flicked up from setting back the coffee jug.

Something speared through her. It was like being impaled.

For a moment longer he said nothing, just let his dark, unreadable gaze rest on her. She felt a chill seep through her.

‘Xavier—what’s wrong?’ Her voice was faint.

Did emotion flash briefly, searingly, in the dark depths of his eyes? She couldn’t tell—his eyes were unreadable.

Abruptly, he spoke. His voice was as she had never heard it before.

‘The launch will take you to Nice, and a flight will have been booked for you for London.’

‘London? Today? But I thought …?’ Lissa’s voice trailed off.

A hollow was beginning to form in her stomach.

A dark eyebrow rose. His expression was suddenly saturnine. ‘You thought? Ah, yes—you thought,’ he repeated. He lifted the coffee cup and took a mouthful, setting it down again with a precise, controlled movement. Then, with the same precise, controlled movement, he rested his eyes on her.

There was no expression in them.

‘Shall I tell you what you thought? It would be amusing, non? Because you certainly intended to amuse yourself. What is that expression in English? When the cat is away, the mouse will play?’

His eyes went on resting on her. Her face was expressionless.

Behind that studied, blank visage he knew what she would be doing. She would be thinking, thinking at breakneck speed—what to say, how to play it.

She had played it very well up to now. Superbly, in fact.

She had fooled him completely.

Rage, black and toxic, filled his lungs. He fought it back. This was not the moment for it. And she was not the only target.

He directed some at himself.

For being a fool.

A fool of such enormity that if he thought about it rationally, coolly, he would still be amazed by it. But amazement was not what he felt now. Now there was only a dark, savage rage inside him that had to be controlled or it would devour him. And he would not permit that. Would not give her the satisfaction of seeing it.

Let alone the other emotion he was feeling.

No, there was only one way to do this. With precise, absolute control.

His expressionless gaze watched her. There was an expression forming in her face now, in her eyes—those beautiful, lustrous eyes that had gazed into his so openly, so ardently …

No—that was not permitted. He sliced through his mind like a guillotine, cutting off the head of a corrupt, decadent aristocrat.

He watched the expression form.

Confusion.

Ah, so that was how she was going to play it. He waited for the words that would accompany the expression, and they came as he had known they would.

‘Xavier—I don’t understand. I don’t understand what you are saying—what is happening?’

Her voice was strained, bewildered, anxious. All appropriate emotions to display in the circumstances. She was very good at displaying the appropriate emotions.

Such as passion, and desire … for him and him alone …

No!

The guillotine sliced down again. ‘You don’t understand?’ he echoed sardonically. ‘How can that be? You are returning to London. That is what you want, is it not? After all, you need to be safely back in your impoverished atelier, from which you will be swept away into a wonderful marriage with a handsome, rich young man.’

He watched as the expression of confusion deepened in her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her. His voice had the same deadly sardonic inflection as before.

‘In fact, it is all arranged, is it not? Armand has proposed marriage to you, and it is everything you ever dreamed of, and you will love him for ever for it—non?’

Comprehension hollowed through her. He had heard her phone call.

‘Xavier.’ She spoke urgently. ‘I can explain—’

A smile parted his lips. It chilled her to the core.

‘Of course,’ he agreed pleasantly. ‘You will have at your disposal a very convincing explanation. Very probably a touching one, too. I expect you will explain to me that Armand is—what shall it be?—an old friend? A former lover still carrying a flame for you whose tender feelings you do not wish to hurt? Or perhaps he is someone in love with a friend of yours, and you are playing matchmaker? Who knows what else your fertile imagination will conjure up for my amusement? Perhaps I should even let you make the attempt now. But hélas, le temps c’est pressant, and I have a busy schedule to complete today. Commencing, of course, with your removal both from my life and …’ he paused fractionally ‘… Armand’s, as well.’

She could say nothing. Nothing at all. Only stare at him with horror and disbelief in her eyes. The savage fury bit again, and the guillotine’s deadly blade sliced down once more.

‘You did not really think,’ he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers, ‘that I would permit you to ruin my brother by marrying him, did you?’

A small sound escaped her, incoherent and strained. He ignored it. Ignored the expression in her eyes. Of course she would be horror-struck—at one blow all her dreams of a rich marriage were at an end. A rich marriage to a man on whom she had cheated even before the wedding could take place … with her bridegroom’s own brother.