Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy) (25 page)

How would I live under the same roof as
Philippe du Bois for the rest of my life? If only he really were an old man, with one foot already in the grave, instead of a fit and energetic man who’d probably see in the next two or three decades.

I couldn’t tell Alain what happened in the kitchen without hurting him and exposing the lecherous man his father really was. My head hurt.

Instead of returning to Alain’s bed, I settled in front of the window in my room, staring into the distance as I tried to make sense of this new information. Was there truth to it or was the duke trying to scare me off?

Is
there a solution to this fucking mess? 

Alain would agree to live elsewhere with me, but one thing I did know with certainty, was that he’d miss his home and the vineyard. It was part of who he was. I hated to acknowledge that the duke may be right. Over time Alain could grow to despise losing his heritage, and in the process, hate me for it.

Could I take that chance?

The ring of my phone plucked me out of my deep thoughts. I groaned as I saw the caller ID. Maxwell Grant. I hadn’t been in contact with him since Alain carried me out of his hotel room. To be honest, I didn’t really know how to deal with him, it was so awkward.

I'd pushed any thoughts of that night back into the far recesses my mind, not allowing myself to analyze or dwell on it; the thought of the connection between us, scared me. I’d felt it and I knew he did too.

My nerves got the better of me, and I let the phone ring out. He could leave a message. It was less intimidating. The phone started ringing again. My God, he was a persistent man. Annoyed, I rolled my eyes as I pressed the green button.

“Miss Clarke. How is your ankle?” My stomach lurched at the sound of his smooth voice. A fine layer of perspiration broke out on my skin. Did he really just call to ask about my injury?

“My ankle is fine. Thank you for asking.” I kept my voice as steady and formal as I could.

“The next part of your contract, we need to discuss it. Can you talk now?”

“Yes.” Could he hear the relief in my voice that he only wanted to talk about business?

“Set up the Munich workshops. The venue is booked and the participants are ready to begin. I want you in Munich this week to see if everything is to your satisfaction. Lock in the dates. Are you able to do that?”

“Y…yes, I can go to Munich this week. Please email the details through to me.”

“Great. Thank you.” A click then silence. I stared at my phone. Brief and business like. That’s what I wanted, right?

A trip to Germany was perfect. I needed time and distance to figure things out and decide on my plan for the future.

My fear of crossing paths with the duke again would keep me a recluse in my bedroom—with the door locked—when Alain wasn’t there.

I needed to escape.
And to think, hard.

The duke beckoned me inside. He was talking to a strikingly beautiful woman.
Poised, elegant, petite. Confidence oozed from her pores. Very French.
Everything I was not
.

I narrowed my eyes. What had I just walked into? Who the fuck was this woman and where the hell was Alain?

Alain was not in his room when I returned there after the kitchen episode with the duke. I quickly dressed and decided to search for him. I needed answers only Alain could provide.

The smirk on his face was a warning I couldn’t ignore. “Let me introduce you, Mademoiselle Clarke,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “This is the countess de la Ray, Alain’s fiancée and soon-to-be
wife
.”

My head started spinning. I nodded toward the countess. Her hazel eyes appraised me curiously. I smiled awkwardly, trying to keep myself composed.

“Mademoiselle Clarke,” she said with her very French accent. “You must be Alain’s new friend. He told me all about you.” She smiled sweetly at me, her eyes cold.

Well
he sure as hell didn’t tell me about you, lady.

Was this a joke? Sick to the stomach, I rubbed at my heart.

He certainly hadn’t told her everything.

Friends?

That wasn’t how I’d describe our relationship
.

Alain hadn’t expected her either. He sucked in a breath as he entered the room, stopping dead in his tracks. He blinked a few times, his lips drawn in a grim line, sweat on his brow.

The duke turned to his son, his lips twisted into a sardonic smile, his eyes hard and unforgiving. His voice was icy. “Alain. Your fiancé has joined us for lunch.” 

My palms were clammy, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I mustered a smile even though my knees were trembling. The countess and I were standing opposite one another. Both of us had our eyes trained on Alain.

Which way would he go first?

My stomach turned. Alain made his way over to the countess and planted a formal kiss on each of her cheeks. But, she wasn’t having any of that. She slipped her arms around his neck and drew him down to her, kissing him on the lips, her kiss intensifying by the second as she pushed her breasts into his
chest.

I couldn’t watch any longer, shuddering as I turned my head.

What’s going on?

My heart squeezed in a vice-like grip, my breath was being sucked from my body.

He chose her. His fiancé. Soon-to-be wife.

My knees felt weak.

Alain loosened her arms from around his neck and crossed the space between us. “Can I have a moment?” he said, as he gripped my arm.  My throat tightened. I could only nod.

He led me outside. I was on autopilot, my legs barely able to function.

“Breathe. Just breathe,” Alain mumbled, his eyes hooded. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or to me.

“Is it true? Oh Alain, when were you going to tell me?” I whimpered.

He held me by both arms. I wasn’t sure if it was to steady me or to keep me at a safe distance. My eyes searched his face for answers. The grim expression wasn’t a good sign.

“I’m so sorry. You know I love you with all my heart. You know I want you, and only you.” His voice was hoarse. He closed his eyes for a few moments.

There was a ‘but’ coming. The ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ routine. I swallowed hard.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and gazed at me, pain in his eyes.

“This is my heritage. My future and the future of my children. It has passed from one generation to the next for centuries. I can’t change it, even if I want to. I can’t bring shame to the family name. I don’t love her. But I have to do this to honor my family. I never planned for this to happen, you must believe me.”

I blinked hard trying to absorb it all. My mouth went dry.

You are my choice.

“You are the love of my life.
From the first moment I laid eyes on you, on that plane, you stirred something inside me.” His eyes were burning into me, pleading for my understanding. “I wanted you from the very first kiss. I will always want you—”

I couldn’t trust myself to speak, the words wouldn’t come.

“Every beautiful moment we made love, I was truly loving you—with my body, my heart and my soul. I can’t bear my life without you.”

Dazed, I still couldn’t talk. He shook me softly, desperately, swearing.

Gaping at his beautiful face as if in a trance, I wanted to bury my face in his chest.

I wanted him to tear off my clothes and fuck me.

I wanted to be the one carrying his babies in my belly.

I wanted to be the one spending glorious afternoons with him in the vineyard, making love with wild abandon.

I wanted to grow old with this man loving me as much as I loved him.

I wanted to be his woman, me and
only
me. I wanted to be his everything.

I wanted him to kiss me and tell me it was all a sick joke.

My lips quivered as tears poured down my cheeks. He wiped them with his thumbs, caressing my cheeks with the back of his hand. His finger traced over my lips.

Had all these weeks together meant nothing to
him?

“Please don’t leave me now,” he begged. He ran a hand through his hair,
an urgency in his voice I’d never heard before. “We can still be together. We can still make love every day, just not as husband and wife. I will love you, I will take care of you, give you everything you need. Please, Rebecca.”

My heart ached for him. He was asking the impossible.

“No. That will never happen.” I said softly, finally finding my words. “I love you with all my heart. But if you choose to marry somebody else, I can never be with you again. I don’t want to fuck another woman’s man.
I want a man who is mine and mine only
.”

And just like that, my heart was shattered into a million pieces. A heart-wrenching sob escaped my lips.

“
Je t’aime pour toujours,”
he said, telling me he would love me forever.

It was time to move on.

Again
.

This was the second man I had loved with all my heart only to have to give him up to another woman, through circumstances beyond my control.

Fuck that! This will never happen to me again
.

From now on I was going to focus on my pleasure and my pleasure only. If anything, that was one thing I had learned from Alain—how to take my own pleasure.

Next week I was due in Munich. I would take my broken heart to Germany and see what lay in store for me there. My journey was far from over.

Somewhere was a man who would be only mine.

And by God, I would find him.

I would have my happy ever after. I deserved to be happy, just like everyone else.

Firebird Trilogy: Book 2

No Regrets

Coming January 2014

Excerpt:

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” His deep voice matched his muscular body.

I lifted a brow, an amused smile spreading across my face.

Seriousl
y?

That was
the oldest pick up line in the book. Even I knew that.

“You
really
want an answer to that?” I shoved my empty glass toward him.

“Only if you
really
want to tell me.” The emphasis on the word ‘really’ sounded strange in his heavy German accent.

“But otherwise, if you just want to talk to me about the weather, that’s fine too.” He grinned.

I came to the bar for a drink, to drown my sorrows. Not to pick up men.

“I don’t really care for the weather.” I smirked.

“So I see.” His blue eyes glistened as I knocked back the third shot of tequila he’d placed in front of me.

I squinted at his name badge. “Listen Kurt, I'm not here for therapy. Save that for some other fool.”

I shifted the empty glass back over the counter. “Be a good boy and fill her up again.”

“That will be your last tequila,” he said, one eyebrow raised.
“Responsible serving of alcohol.” He shrugged. “I would have to take your keys away too if you were driving.”

I cursed under my breath. 
Can't a girl just get drunk in peace?

“I'm walking,” I said as I slung back the fourth tequila, pulling a face as it burned down my throat.

“Good luck with that.” He gave me a knowing smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Been there
, Kurt?

“What can you serve me next?” I remained optimistic that I’d get another drink out of the broad-shouldered barman.

“How about water?” he asked, sarcasm lacing his voice.

“Water?”
I spluttered, “That’s for fish.”

He laughed. “Yes, and fish don’t have hangovers the next morning.”

“Don’t you worry about my hangover.”

Who is he – my father?

“I can offer you a glass of white wine if you promise to drink it slowly –” His expression was deadly serious.

I cringed. Wine was the last fucking thing I wanted. It reminded me of a Frenchman I wanted to forget. 
Of our times together.

“No wine.” I pouted like a spoilt brat.

“OK, I’ll make you my special concoction. You’ll love it.” He reached for the shaker on the counter. This looked promising.

“As long as it has hard liquor in it.”
Was I slurring ever so slightly?

Taking a few bottles from the shelf, he
poured  some of each into the shaker. I watched as he carefully measured one shot of vodka.

“That’s all the alcohol I get? You’re mean.” I wrinkled my nose. How was I going to get wasted if he wouldn’t give me more alcohol?

“You will thank me in the morning.”

“I doubt it.” I took a sip, detecting cranberry juice.
Healthy too. What the hell. This is a bar, not a frigging health club.

“I can't give you another one for a while, so go slow –”

He left me to nurse my drink. Men! I rolled my eyes. They were all the same. Controlling – always telling me what to do.

Screw that.

The next guy I hooked up with would be on
my
terms. I’d be the one in control. I’d had my fucking heart broken one too many times. I was well and truly over serious relationships.

I stared
into my glass. This ‘falling in love thing’ was just not for me. Maybe I was destined to be alone. There was a word for that. Spinster. At the ripe old age of twenty nine. ‘Old maid’ was what my mother would call it. She’d be disappointed if I didn’t produce the statistical 2.6 grandchildren she was looking forward too. Oh well, she had Chloe and Lily, my younger sisters to provide the grandma experience.

Count me out of this one.
Fuck all men.