IntheArmsofaLover (6 page)

“I can scarcely believe it,” Poppy said. “I only signed the
contract this afternoon, how did he know I’d agree?”

She had a lot to learn about her new employer. “Luc expects
to get what he wants. You were what he wanted. You said the house had to be
habitable, ergo, it will be.”

“Okay, but by next Monday?”

“He’s paying them to get it done. It will be.”

That gave her pause. There was a whole lot more he could
tell her about Luc Prioux but now wasn’t the time.

He followed her as she walked from room to room and back
again. It was a pleasant enough way to pass the time after all. Poppy had a
nice rounded bum and her hips rolled gently as she moved. He should remind
himself this was business but he knew he’d gone beyond that. It wasn’t business
that had him walking out of the office half an hour ago. He wanted Poppy Gordon
but would have to play his cards carefully.

She looked back and grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. “I
still can’t believe it. If the painter is right and it will be done by next
week, I can move in,”

“I imagine that was the impetus to get this done so soon.”

“That and foiling his awkward brother.”

He wouldn’t argue there. “Don’t worry about Jean. Once you
move in and hire a staff to work the land, I’ll inform him that the farm is
operational and he’ll concede defeat.”

“I hope he’s not a sore loser.”

He might well be, but that was hardly her worry. “Get the
place going and all will be fine.” Luc must have offered huge bonuses to get all
this finished in a matter of days. Why? Just to get in his mother’s good graces
or did he have a personal interest in the most intriguing Poppy Gordon?
Stéphane thought not, if he did he’d be here instead. Except Luc most likely
had no idea they were here. So what? He, Stéphane Poulain, was inclined to make
the best of the opportunity.

A call from below got Poppy’s attention. She answered and
went downstairs. Seemed the plumbers had finished for the day. The painters were
also loading equipment into their van and a plasterer, who’d been working in
the pantry off the kitchen, emerged with an “
Au revoir
, Monsieur,
Madame,” as he headed for his transport home.

The last man locked up the house and assured the others he’d
drop the key off with the patron at
Les Santons
to be collected in the
morning.

“I hadn’t quite expected this,” she said, looking back at
the house.

“That is a problem?” Stéphane asked.

She shook her head. “Not really. I need to give notice at
work, but otherwise, no. In fact I can’t wait to get started but who do I talk
to about staff?”

“You’ll need to talk to Vito Musa, one of the estate
gardeners. I’ll tell him to call you. Meanwhile, should we have dinner to
celebrate the success so far?’

“It’s a bit early isn’t it?”

She wasn’t refusing was she? “We can sit on the terrace and
enjoy an
aperitif
first.”

“You have somewhere in mind?”

“I do.” He reached out and took her hand as they walked over
to his car.

Why had she agreed? Poppy hesitated, asking herself that as
she didn’t precisely have an answer. She just had. Thrilled at the state of her
future house and still hyped at getting the job, somehow dinner seemed the best
way to end the day. And, to be honest, spending a few more hours in Stéphane
Poulain’s company wouldn’t be any sort of hardship. “Where are we going?” Might
as well know. They were heading away from Nice and toward Monaco but that didn’t
tell much.

“To a place I know, above Menton, high up among the lemon
trees.”

Sounded rather lush and definitely not Sussex. “I’m looking
forward to it.” And what else? She had no idea. That she’d decide when the time
came.

He wasn’t kidding about “high among the lemon trees”. They
skirted Menton and climbed, through a village of stone houses and up a zigzag
road through lemon orchards until he pulled off the road and they parked in
front of a long stone building.

A painted sign over the wide front door, read
Alberge
Prunier
. Odd to label it “plum tree” among hectare upon hectare of lemons,
but never mind, it looked inviting.

Stéphane took her hand again as they crossed the car park,
but Poppy decided not to read too much into that. All things considered, it was
hardly customary lawyer-client contact. Not that he bore any resemblance to old
Justin Fortescue, the turncoat solicitor she and Tommy had used.

She was not even thinking about anything to do with home
right now. She was about to have dinner, in a wonderful hillside inn, with a rather
intriguing and bedworthy man.

Was she jumping ahead? Probably not. This might be
ostensibly a business dinner but he had taken her hand and that changed things.
At least in her mind. Or was she getting her hopes up too soon? Once they were
installed on the terrace, with a view of the Mediterranean far below, sipping
on a tart lemon aperitif that Stéphane claimed was a local product, Poppy decided
she’d keep on hoping.

She wasn’t destined to be disappointed. A prolonged
aperitif
somehow segued into a leisurely dinner that lasted until night fell and they
watched the lights come out along the shoreline far below.

“This is so wonderful,” Poppy said, smiling across at him. “Thank
you.” She reached out and took his hand. Forward? Maybe, but dammit, nothing
good ever came from holding back.

“My pleasure,” he replied. “You got me out of the office and
into a delightful afternoon.”

“‘Yes,” she couldn’t agree more. “But what an afternoon? I
have a dream job, an almost restored house to live in, and a wonderful dinner.
It seems a shame to have to go home.” Yes, a bit pointed but darn it…

He covered her hands with both of his. “We don’t have to.
They have convenient rooms upstairs.”

“I’d hoped they would.”

Ten minutes later, after a whispered conversation with the
waiter, they were walking hand in hand up the wide, curving staircase. Stéphane
led her down the corridor to the second door on the left and opened it with a
key attached to an enormous brass pear shape.

Inside was like some incredible movie set. The rest of the
building had been typical of a rustic mountain inn, but the high-ceilinged room
was all pastels, gilt furniture, pale brocade and an eye-catching bed. Even
Stéphane stood in the middle of the flowery carpet and stared. Just before he
turned to her and grinned.

“Interesting,” he said.

She’d call that the understatement of the year. The bed was
vast, at least king-size with brass headboard and foot that suggested there had
been a contest at the manufacturer to see who could add the most curlicues,
finials and ornaments and this bed had clearly won. The ecru lace hangings turned
it into a bed to dream on. Except her hopes and expectations went in a
different direction.

So it seemed did his. As she took a few steps across the
deep-pile carpet to stand by the lace-covered bed, he took her hand and turned
her to face him as he kissed her. The first kiss was soft, gentle, tentative,
just a brush of lips on lips. The second was stronger, a little pressure of
mouth on mouth before he eased back. She didn’t wait for the third. Instead she
pulled his head down to hers, pressed her lips on his and opened them. He
responded immediately, meeting her tongue with his, wrapping his arms around
her and pulling her close as he deepened the kiss. And he was one incredible
kisser. She pressed herself into him, her hands now around his back, and kissed
on. Not that he needed any persuading. Her little sigh was greeted with an
urgent muttering as his hand came inside her blouse, up her back and her bra now
hung open. He’d definitely had practice. That clasp often gave her trouble. One
hand held her firm and steady between her shoulder blades as the other cupped
her breast, his touch warm and gentle. She’d have to be half dead not to sense
the urgency in his fingers as they caressed her nipple then moved to cup and
squeeze her other breast.

His touch ignited a wild need, a desire to feel him, skin on
skin and damn the layers of clothes between them,

He’d already shed his jacket but it wasn’t enough. Her hands
tugged at his shirt, until she could get inside and touch. He was warm, so was
she, heated even and, as she ran her hand up and down and over his chest, he
gave her one last kiss and stepped back to pull his shirt over his head. He
toed off his shoes and sat to pull off his socks. She was faster, her blouse already
half undone and she shed that easily. Shoes she kicked off. Pity she was
wearing tights but they’d come off soon enough. They along with her slip and
panties all came off in one go, just as he was unzipping his trousers. Her
skirt dropped faster and her bra hit the floor as he slipped out of his tiny,
dark-green underwear.

She sensed his urgency as he reached out his hand to her and
drew her beside him onto the bed. One arm around her shoulders, he bent down
and took her left nipple in his mouth. He was gentle, almost tentative, but so wonderfully
arousing, as he kissed and she felt his touch deep in her pussy. Impossible to
hold back the sigh. She reached out to him. He’d been half erect as he’d
stripped but now, he was hard and upstanding. As she curled her fingers around
his cock, he groaned. Poppy tightened her hold, easing her hand up and down as
she played with his foreskin, easing it back to reveal the smooth pink head of
his cock.

She licked her lips in anticipation. “Do you have a condom?”

He grinned. “
Une capote anglaise
? But of course.” He
reached for his trousers lying on the floor and produced a small foil package. “For
you.”

She reached to take it but he had it open with a swift flick
of his nail and rolled it on one-handed. Quite a skill. Wouldn’t be tactful to
ask how much practice that had taken. Besides, she had something more to the
point in mind. She slipped off the bed and knelt between his knees.

“Poppy?” he sounded almost uncertain.

She wasn’t. “Let me,” she replied, smiling up at him. “You
look so delicious.”

She opened her lips to kiss the tip of his cock. He said
nothing apart from a slow sigh of pleasure as she circled the head with her
mouth and swirled her tongue around the firm flesh. Her body responded in an
instant. Her mind went off in a spiral and her cunt flooded. How she loved
doing this, the sense of power, the knowledge of what she was giving, and the
sheer pleasure that coursed through her as her lips and tongue worshiped his
beautiful cock.

She’d have been happy to continue for hours, well maybe not
hours but he eased her mouth off him. “Easy,” he said, smiling down at her. “I
don’t want this to be over too soon.”

She sat back on her heels, her hands resting on his thighs. “Sometimes
fast and furious as a good way to go.”

“You don’t want a slow seduction?”

Impossible to hold back the chuckle. “I think that’s been
happening since I walked into your office this afternoon.

He ruffled her hair as he laughed back. “You have enjoyed
it?”

He couldn’t tell? “I think I’ll enjoy what comes next even
more.”

He grinned as his eyes darkened and brimmed with excitement.
Leaning forward, he took hold of her arms and helped her to standing. “I
guarantee you will.” His mouth came back on hers.

Dear heaven, how he could kiss. Poppy gave herself over to
the power of his lips and the caress of his tongue. His hands skimming across
her heated skin were a fantastic extra. She leaned into him. Okay, sort of
sagged against him, her arm around his shoulders, and sighed from sheer and
total pleasure.

He moved. She gasped as he shifted, lifting her in his arms
and depositing her, flat on her back, on the bed as he knelt between her legs,
easing them apart. As he smiled down at her, she grinned back, reaching out to
stroke his chest. It was rather nice, with gorgeous, sexy nipples the color of milky
strong coffee and a nice sprinkling of just enough soft dark hair to draw her
eyes downward to where his fine, upstanding cock nestled in a lovely cluster of
curls.

“You like it?” he asked.

Silly question. Hadn’t she spent the past ten minutes
worshipping it? “I think it’s rather nice looking,” she replied, “but what I really
want is to feel it deep inside me.”

“You do? Do you also want to feel my mouth on your breast?”

“Not on
a
breast. I want you to kiss both of them.”

“Indeed.” With a grin like that, she knew she wouldn’t be
disappointed. He leaned over her, supporting his weight on his arms, and took
her left nipple between his lips, fluttering his tongue over the tip before
pulling more of her breast into his mouth and sucking. Poppy lay back on the
bed and sighed. This was so wonderful, so incredible and, as he moved to her
other breast, she let out a groan. Seemed each movement of his lips send a
message deep into her groin. Her clit was close to aching and her cunt flowed.

After a particularly long groan, he paused, taking his mouth
off her breast. “You enjoyed that.”

Surely he wasn’t asking? He had to know how much it
pleasured her and him. His cock, if possible, was even harder and more
engorged. “So did you.”

“What else will you enjoy?”

“Getting fucked, feeling your cock in me.”

“I promise you, you will.” Smug wasn’t the word for him.

“What are you waiting for then?”

“For you to say please.”

For pity’s sake! “Please, Stéphane, would you fuck me? If
it’s not too much trouble.” It would have sounded far more dignified is she
hadn’t broken down and giggled in the middle. But it did the trick,

“With pleasure, my dear Poppy.” As he spoke, his hips jerked
and he was inside her. Not all the way yet, but enough to tell her this was a
glorious fit. “How is that?”

Dear heaven, was he going to need reassurance endlessly? “Quite
nice.”

“Nice?” His dark eyebrows quirked. “This is nice?” As his
hips rocked his cock moved inside her.

“Very nice?” What did he think?

“Perhaps you’d like something a little different.” He took
her hands and pulled her arms over her head. She wasn’t quite sure how he did
it, given he was also rocking inside her, but he had both her arms over her
head, holding them down with his right hand as his left supported his weight.

She gasped as she looked up into his eyes.

“You like this.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oh yes, I do.”

“Very good, and now, sweetest Poppy, this is what you truly
desire, isn’t it?”

Not waiting for a reply, he started moving. Fucking her softly
as she sighed with utter happiness. If she was a fool to trust him this early,
so be it. He’d sensed her needs. Heaven alone knew how, but he had and was
meeting them. He whispered he would hold her down and fuck her until she
screamed, all the while maintaining his steady rhythm, coming in deeply then almost
withdrawing before pressing back home. As her sighs became little moans, he
quickened his pace and told her he’d give her more, much more and harder until
she cried out.

She would be his captive until she climaxed. That she was
here to be fucked thoroughly and hard, and he was the man to do it. She was
beautiful, but most beautiful of all, held under him, as he did exactly what
she most wanted. That she was his to fuck and adore.

Now he was thrusting with all his strength and she cried out
as her climax built, calling his name as she threw back her head and let the
pleasure flood her mind. She was climbing, reaching for the peak as his beautiful
cock drove her harder and faster.

She came in a wild flood of sensation, crying out her
satisfaction. But he wasn’t finished, pushing her along with him as her body
seemed to ignite with joy until, with a grunt, a shout and a wild and unbridled
gasp he came, thrusting faster than ever until his body sagged and he released
her hands.

They ended up in a lovely, sweaty tangle of legs and arms.

“Incredible,” he whispered, his voice a little hoarse, hardly
surprising.

“You were, rather,” she replied. “You…” Words seemed a
little pointless, so she kissed him. “Thank you.” She meant it from the bottom
of her heart. Later she’d ask how he knew, but for now, “Can we spend the night
here?”

“If you wish.”

Did he imagine she’d want to get up, dress and drive all the
way back to Nice? “I do wish.”

* * * * *

Poppy woke before him. The light streaming through the
window was enough to rouse anyone, except a gently snoring Stéphane it seemed.
At some point he’d pulled covers over her and tucked her in. Nice of him. She
had no memory of it happening but after the second, or perhaps third, climax, she
was pretty hazy. And she now felt wonderful, her body still hummed with the
glorious aftermath of a delightful and through fuck. A glance at the small
carriage clock on the bedside table told her it was after eight! She was out of
bed in a flash. Should she wake him too? He no doubt had to get to work, or did
he? She got the sense that his work hours were flexible. Unlike hers. She
needed to be back in Nice before the shop opened at ten.