Priceless (30 page)

“Then, tell me how
you
did it. Tell me how you managed to get where you are today.”

“By working very hard and making myself extremely unpopular.” She smiled. “Do you have sunblock on?” she asked suddenly. “You’re very pale, and I can see you’re already getting a little pink on your shoulders.”

It wasn’t long before Nat was tired of sulking in his room. So much for wanting to be alone in his cave. He hadn’t really wanted to be left alone. As far as Nat Wilde was concerned, it wasn’t worth sulking if there was nobody there to be impressed by it. Lizzy hadn’t gone back to her room, as he had expected she would. He had tried summoning her by mobile but realized after he heard the buzzing in the corner of the room that she had left it behind. That meant he had to go and fetch her if he fancied a shag. He thought he did. He certainly felt like he did while he was lying diagonally across the sumptuous California King–size bed. Much too good a mattress to waste on sleeping. When he got to his feet, however, he discovered that having conquered his seasickness, he now had
its corollary. The solid ground lurched as violently as any wave. It really wasn’t funny. Lizzy should be there to look after him. What on earth was the girl doing? She’d never struck him as the kind that actually liked to laze around by the pool. Damn it. He was going to have to get out there and find her.

Catching sight of Nat arriving at the poolside, Carrie pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and pulled her sun hat down a little lower, as if she could fool him with such a rudimentary disguise. Her actions drew Lizzy’s attention to his presence.

“I better go,” said Lizzy, jumping up at once. “It’s been nice talking to you.”

“I’ve enjoyed talking to you too,” said Carrie. “Now, run along. And remember what I told you …”

Lizzy paused. “What?” she asked.

“Don’t get burned!”

“What were you talking about?” Nat asked.

“Nothing,” said Lizzy.

“Then why were you sitting next to that old cow?”

“It’s just that it was the only sun-bed available.”

“Right,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced. “Never mind. It’s too hot out here. Let’s go back inside.”

Once he had Lizzy back in his room, Nat started to feel better at once. He didn’t even have to make much of an effort to undress her. She just let her sarong fall to the floor.

“Here,” he said, taking off his shorts to reveal that he already had a hard-on. “Tell me this isn’t every bit as impressive as that marble cock on Randon’s boat.”

“You would think that cock was actually modeled on yours,” Lizzy assured him.

“It’s just as hard,” Nat promised her, giving it a little waggle in her direction.

Lizzy giggled. Without being asked, she got down in front of him and opened her mouth.

It was an odd thing. Lizzy was almost grateful for the chance to get on her knees for Nat right then. It suddenly seemed really important to do exactly what Nat wanted. Her conversation with Carrie had left Lizzy feeling rather rattled, more than usually insecure about Nat’s feelings for her. While she had his dick in her mouth, however, she could be certain that she had his full, undivided attention. If only she could find out how to keep it.

This relationship was driving her slightly nuts. It was so different from anything Lizzy had experienced before. David, the college boyfriend, had been so steady. It hadn’t been very exciting to be with him, but at least Lizzy had never felt as though he were slipping away. They would probably still be together if he hadn’t taken that missionary job in Senegal. Lizzy was, as Carrie had pointed out, not best suited to the heat.

She wanted to be in London, and she wanted to be with Nat. And so, where once she had worked on her baking skills to garner David’s approval, now Lizzy tried other tactics. She had gone from being a complete novice in the bedroom to a goddess, trying every trick in the book.

Right then she swirled her tongue around the tip of Nat’s penis as though she were licking an ice cream. At the same time, she wrapped one hand around his shaft and cupped Nat’s balls with the other. The intention was to make him feel as fully surrounded by her as he would if he were lying on top of her, thrusting deep inside. It certainly seemed to be working. Lizzy glanced up to where Nat’s head lay on the pillows, face turned to one
side. His long dark lashes fluttered on his cheeks. His short hair, graying so attractively, stuck to his dampened temples. His perfect mouth opened in silent surprise as Lizzy licked faster and faster. Seeing Nat so transported, Lizzy was torn between relief and self-hatred that it seemed sometimes this was the only thing he valued about having her in his life. The sex.

It wasn’t long before he told her he wanted to fuck her.

“But you’ll have to go on top,” he said. “I’ve got a bad knee.”

CHAPTER 42

C
arrie was set for another evening of room service when she got the call from Randon’s assistant requesting her company at dinner.

“Really?” Carrie was surprised. “On the boat?”

“Yes,” said Bellette. “The tender will pick you up at eight.”

Carrie was ready five minutes early. The tender arrived exactly on time. She wondered how Randon did it. It was as though he could control the tides.

As the Riva pulled away from the jetty, Carrie felt like she was embarking upon some secret mission. Rather than looking forward, toward the boat, as she had done that morning, Carrie turned instead to watch the hotel receding. She glanced up at the rail around the restaurant terrace, hoping to see Nat Wilde. She knew it would have
spoiled his evening to see her on Randon’s tender. But Nat wasn’t there. No doubt he had Lizzy going through some figures in his bedroom, so for now Carrie had to hug to herself the thought that she had been invited back to
The Grand Cru
.

Randon was waiting on deck when the Riva arrived. He helped Carrie climb on board himself. She knew she looked good. She was wearing a white cotton sundress by Fendi. Around her middle was a wide tan leather belt that emphasized her narrow waist. On her feet she wore her flat gold ballet shoes. Her hair was piled into a chignon. She imagined herself as Princess Grace. Randon kissed her hand and, as he did so, she could see in his eyes that he approved.

“Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me this evening,” he said.

“Oh,” said Carrie. “The pleasure is all mine.”

As Randon guided her toward the dining room, Carrie wondered if that evening would be a pleasure or whether she would have to spend the meal going over what Ehrenpreis could offer a man like Randon. Or, worse, listening to a sermon. What did he want? Carrie wondered.

In the dining room, the enormous table was laid for two with pristine white linen and sparkling silverware. There were wineglasses, Carrie noticed with some surprise. At least, there were wineglasses at the place setting in front of the chair one of Randon’s crew pulled out for her.

“An aperitif,” Randon suggested. “As you know, I have given up drinking, but I understand that it’s not much fun to have dinner with no wine if you haven’t made the decision to abstain yourself.”

Carrie accepted a glass of the champagne that kept Randon’s empire afloat, but she drank only a quarter of
the glass, conscious that this might be some kind of test, and she didn’t want to fail it. She would have to treat this evening as a business meeting.

The first course of the meal arrived. Carrie was delighted by the fresh-tasting seviche.

“I caught the fish this afternoon,” Randon told her. “From the back of the boat.”

“Did you really?” Carrie found it hard to imagine.

“I did. Our Lord was a fisherman,” said Randon. Carrie settled in for a lecture. But none came. Instead, Randon was the charming raconteur that Carrie had heard about when she’d first begun working in the auction world. He talked about the summers he had spent on the Côte d’Azur as a child. He spoke about seeing
The Grand Cru
in a dry dock while visiting the States on business.

“I fell in love at first sight,” he said, fixing Carrie with such a suddenly predatory look that it made her look down into her plate to hide her blushes.

“So,” Carrie said, thinking it might be a good idea to change the subject. “I’m sure you must have asked me to join you this evening because you had some questions about Ehrenpreis’s business. We’re a relatively new house in London, but you have had dealings with our New York office before, I know, and—”

Randon held his hand up to stop her.

“I know all about Ehrenpreis the auction house. I wanted the chance to get to know
you
a little better,” he said. “It was quite difficult to get a sense of what you’re really like with that Englishman around. I understand he is very good at his job, but I wonder if he wouldn’t benefit from being still and quiet from time to time.”

Carrie relished hearing Randon’s criticisms of Nat, but she didn’t rise to them. She had a feeling that would leave her looking bad in Randon’s eyes.

“I have learned a great deal through being still,” said
Randon. “It’s a skill I didn’t have before the earthquake in San Francisco. Back then, a moment of stillness and quiet was a moment wasted.”

“I understand that feeling,” said Carrie.

Randon picked up his water glass to take a sip, keeping his eyes on her all the while. When he replaced the glass, Carrie noticed that it was on her side of the table. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he was subconsciously making a move.

And then dinner was over. What next?

“It’s too late to send you back to the hotel,” said Randon.

Carrie said nothing. She couldn’t quite believe it. Mathieu Randon the evangelist had brought her out to
The Grand Cru
to seduce her after all. Carrie might have known that despite all his insistence that his months in a coma had made him see the world anew, Mathieu Randon would remain a dyed-in-the-wool misogynist who thought that women were mothers, whores, or nuns. Nuns! She shook her head as she imagined Mathieu Randon’s religious order. What would they have to wear? A wimple and hot pants? No, Carrie wasn’t convinced by his religious conversion one bit.

“If your crew haven’t been stood down for the night,” said Carrie, “I think I would like to take the tender back to the Cap now.”

Randon summoned the first mate, who told him regretfully that the Riva had already been dispatched shoreward so that one of Randon’s Parisian associates could catch a flight from Nice to the capital. The other boat was unfortunately unavailable for use right then.

“It’s being varnished,” the young man explained.

“It would be a shame to risk your dress,” said Randon.

Carrie opened her mouth.

“Michelle.” Randon motioned to the girl who had been waiting on them. “Please arrange for one of the guest suites to be prepared for Miss Klein. One of the rooms on the same deck as my bedroom would be best.”

“I’m happy to wait for the Riva to return …”

“It could take a while,” said Randon, reaching across the table to take her hand. “And I really want to go to bed.”

“Monsieur Randon,” said Carrie, “I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, but I can assure you—”

“You’re not that kind of girl? I know. None of you ever are. But don’t worry. That’s why I’ve had a guest room prepared. Good night. When Michelle returns, she will tell you where you are to sleep.”

Randon left Carrie sitting alone at the dining table, feeling rather stupid. She had the sense that she had been upbraided. But the things he’d said to her. The innuendo. What was she supposed to think? And now she was stuck on the boat. There was nothing to be done.

Michelle reappeared presently and took Carrie through to the stateroom where she would be spending the night. Under any other circumstances, it would have been a delight. The room was beautiful. Like the dining room, it was entirely paneled in teak. The linen was crisp and white. A fluffy dressing gown embroidered “Grand Cru” awaited her.

“There are toiletries in the bathroom,” Michelle explained. “I put three kinds of toothpaste out, but if you want something that isn’t there, just let me know.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” said Carrie. “Thank you.”

Michelle left, closing the perfectly fitted door quietly behind her.

Carrie sat down on the bed and kicked off her shoes. Might as well try to get a decent night’s sleep.

•          •          •

Mathieu Randon slept less well. He had felt the episode approaching toward the end of dinner. That was partly why he had sent Carrie away so quickly. That and his fear that if he stayed close to her for too much longer, he might say or do something inappropriate. Carrie Klein was a very lovely woman. Her slightly frosty exterior belied a vulnerability, Randon knew. It was the type of vulnerability he had once preyed upon.

Carrie was exactly the sort of woman Randon had a weakness for. He liked the angular lines of her body. Her intelligent face. Her high small breasts. Her narrow waist. He liked the fashion in which she was dressed. She had class, unlike many of the women on the Côte d’Azur who hung around the bars and clubs, waiting for a lift on a yacht. Nothing Carrie wore was too brief, and yet it was fitted in such a way as to reveal as much as it concealed. A woman who covered her body so well had to know that she was inviting fantasies about taking it all off. He’d wanted to reach across and put his hands up her skirt.