Road to Destiny (Scorpio Stinger MC Book 5) (43 page)

We listed all the places we could think of where water features dominated, competing playfully to see who could come up with the longest list. I laughed and enjoyed the banter; I’d always admired a good sense of humor and a quick wit. Maxwell Grant had both in spades. Smart and smartass: off-the-chart sexy in a man.

We strolled around the gardens, coming to Pyramid Fountain adorned with tritons, dolphins and crayfish.

“I read that it took three years to build the pyramid,” I shared.

“Such dedication,” Maxwell teased, gazing into my eyes.

Was he referring to the builders or to my research? Confused, I resorted to taking a few photos on my new camera, mostly to hide my eyes. I was having way too much fun with my boss.

We continued our amble in silence.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Maxwell asked, in a way that made me feel as if he really was interested in what I was thinking.

“I'm just thinking...how magnificent it is to walk here in the twenty-first century where so many people have walked before us, centuries ago. It makes me feel so small...”

“I know what you mean, it’s humbling to think that kings and royalty walked these very paths. And, that this will be here long after we’ve gone. And, still be here for our children’s children if all goes well.”

“Deep thoughts for a businessman,” I teased. I didn’t want to talk about his children; somehow the thought of him having children with another woman riled me. I didn’t understand this strange emotion.

Maxwell led me further into the gardens. It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon and I was famished, but I didn’t want to make a fuss. Besides, he was married to a super model—she probably ate like a sparrow, so he wouldn’t think that I was hungry.

My stomach rumbled so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Before long, we stumbled upon a clearing with a blanket spread out under a tree and a picnic basket.

“Our lunch awaits, mademoiselle.” Maxwell grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Hungry?”

“I’m ready to eat my fingers.” I laughed, happy at the sight of food.  “Must be all the fresh air.”

We dug into the basket, the delectable French fare made my mouth water. He spread pate onto thick rustic slices of bread and offered me a bite. Famished, I took a big bite. He grinned with delight.

Maxwell poured two glasses of wine and placed them on spikes stuck into the grass to keep them from falling over. I stuffed my mouth, taking a few sips of wine to wash it all down. I was trying to be as ladylike as I could, but my hunger was getting the better of me. We both ate as if we’d been stranded on a desert island for weeks, enjoying every morsel.

“Feeling better now?” he asked, smiling at me.

He did hear my stomach rumble.

“Fantastic.” I smiled, rubbing my stomach. “Thank you.”

“And now, for the piece de resistance,” he declared dramatically as he lifted a large bowl and two spoons from the basket. I groaned loudly. Chocolate mousse.

“Your favorite.” A wicked grin spread over his face.

A flashback of him feeding me a spoonful of his dessert last night at the bistro, ran through my mind. It was so...sensuous. I swallowed hard; I didn’t want to think of Maxwell in that way. It could only lead to heartache. And, I’d had enough of that.

Besides, I had just made an absolute pig of myself.

What must he think?

He probably only ever seen his wife picking on a few lettuce leaves and carrot sticks.

“Open wide,” he teased, as he directed a spoonful toward my mouth before I could refuse. I sheepishly took the spoon, feeling his eyes on me as I did. I knew he was thinking of last night, too. Warmth crept over my cheeks. Why the hell was being fed chocolate mousse by Maxwell Grant so goddamn sexy?

He leaned forward. “You had some mousse, here,” he drawled, as his mouth came down on mine. He licked over my lips, tasting me, letting out a low moan. His lips were soft, moist. Delicious.

I turned to stone. Panic swept through me as I felt a tingle in my core.

God, I’m turned on.

“Delectable,” he whispered at the corner of my mouth, and plunged his tongue into my silky depths. I came to life, yielding under his mouth, just about to respond, and to kiss him back, when a warning flickered in my brain.

Stop.

My heart racing in my chest, my head spinning, I pulled away.

“Maxwell, don’t.” I heaved, breathless from his kiss.

I jumped up, blindly running toward the buildings, back to where there were people. It was the only response I knew other than to fight. So, I fled instead.

Tears prickled the back of my throat.

Why am I such a bloody fool?

Out of nowhere, a child chasing after his ball ran into me as I came to the top of a flight of stairs. I swerved, losing my balance and took a tumble down the stairs.

God, I feel a real fool now.
I sat up, dazed. The child came up to me, speaking in French. Next thing, his parents were there, babbling in French, too, seemingly apologizing profusely for my fall, and trying to help me up.

“Don’t get up, you may have broken something.” It was Maxwell. He spoke fluent French to the apologetic couple. They nodded their heads, smiled at me, and took off. 

Maxwell let out a soft curse and lifted me up into his arms, burying his face in my hair, not looking at me for the longest time.

Hardly above a whisper he said, “Are you OK, my firebird?”

I nodded my head against his chest, unable to speak.

I was dumbstruck.
His
firebird?

What the hell did that mean?

“Please stop running from me.” There was pain in his voice. I didn’t respond; I didn’t know what to say. I closed my eyes. His nearness was disturbing and I was already so confused.

He carried me back to the main building as if I were as light as a feather. After that lunch, I was surprised at his strength. We didn’t say a word till we were inside the building. He placed me gently on a bed at the first-aid station, calling the paramedics over, squeezing my hand. I grimaced.

Thankfully the paramedics asked Maxwell to leave the room as they started their check-up.

“You’re very lucky, madam. You only have a few scrapes and a sprained ankle. You’ve torn the ligaments of the joint, it’s caused swelling. It will be painful. It is not possible to put weight on the leg. You must rest and keep icepacks on it. Your husband will take care of you, no?” the paramedic said, in his heavy French accent, as he tightly bandaged my ankle.

“He...he is not my husband...” I stammered.

“He looks at you with so much love. You are getting married soon, no?” said the nurse, looking up from her paperwork.

I didn’t reply, but wouldn’t be surprised if I was the color of the red cross on the wall.

“How soon before I can walk again?” I quickly changed the subject.

“That depends. Keep icepacks on it, applied for fifteen minutes every two hours. Also the injured joint, it must rest. Raise the ankle above your heart as much as possible. Bed rest is best. It is especially important in the next forty-eight hours. If you don’t, it could make the swelling worse.”

Two days. Damn.

Opening the door, the nurse beckoned to Maxwell to come in. His eyes never left mine as he approached. He swore under his breath as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Madam...er, mademoiselle needs someone to take care of her. She must rest for forty-eight hours. But the next twelve hours are the most critical. She must keep her leg up. The icepacks need to be changed every two hours. You will take care of her, monsieur?”

“Yes, I will take care of her,” Maxwell said, with a determination in his voice that defied any arguments.

The paramedic brought a wheelchair around, but before I could even attempt to get into it, Maxwell had swept me up into his arms again.

“We won’t need that. I’ll take mademoiselle home now.”

“She’s precious cargo, be careful with your lady...good luck.” The male paramedic winked at Maxwell.

“Yes, I will take care of my lady...” Maxwell teased, laughing. “She’s precious, indeed.” I rolled my eyes at them both. I hadn’t broken anything, and it was just a sprained ankle. I’d be fine in a few hours.

The Harley
.

How was I going to manage that?

“Don’t panic,” Maxwell read my mind again. “I’ve organized a taxi. The rental company will pick the Harley up from here. ”

Relief washed over me. As brave as I tried to be coming here, I knew I couldn’t cope going back on a motorcycle. Maxwell carried me carefully down the stairs and into the waiting taxi. He slid in next to me and placed my ankle on his thigh.

Before I could protest he said dryly, “Keep it raised, remember?”

It was futile to argue. I sighed and leaned back, trying to get comfortable.

In fluent French, Maxwell instructed the taxi driver. I didn’t hear the name of my hotel mentioned, and I was sure I would’ve at least recognized that part.

“You’re staying at my suite tonight so I can look after you. You can’t run this time, Rebecca. And there is no point in arguing.” His lips twisted into a snarl.

I opened my mouth to say something and closed it again. I was speechless. His arrogance had crept back.

I tried again. “Maxwell, I’ve had a really enjoyable day in spite of this mishap. And up until now, you have even been...pleasant. But, I know you are supposed to fly back home this evening. I will be fine. Please just drop me at my hotel.”

“Rebecca, I have it all under control. It was my fault you fell, I’ll take care of you until it’s better. I’ve already postponed my flight.” He clenched his jaw, as if his patience was running really thin.

“What about your wife?” I asked feebly.

“What about my wife?” He answered my question with another question.

“Isn’t she expecting you home? What’ll she say if you have another woman in your room?”

“It’s none of her concern,” he replied, closing his eyes. He looked really tired.

What does he mean,  ‘none of her concern’? How bizarre.

I pressed on. “If you were my husband I would definitely not want another woman in your hotel room,” I said, exasperated at trying to get my point across to him. This was a bad idea.

“Is that so, Rebecca.
If I were your husband
...” he mocked me. He turned to look at me. Something very dark stirred in his eyes. I looked away quickly, pretending I didn’t see anything.

Finally I gave up. I wasn’t going to win this time.

W
e got back to Paris in no time. The taxi pulled up outside a grand hotel. Maxwell lifted me out of the back seat and unceremoniously carried me through the lobby toward the elevator. Everyone was staring at us. Maxwell grinned as if he’d just caught the biggest fish in the pond and was holding the proof. Even the bellboy winked at Maxwell.

Men and their codes.

He took me up to his suite, which was double the size of mine. Gently, he lay me on the oversized bed. I’d become so comfortable in his arms, that I missed his body’s warmth when I reluctantly slipped my arm from around his neck to let him go. I shivered and let out a sigh.

The painkillers were making me drowsy—especially combined with the two glasses of wine I’d had just before the incident. Housekeeping delivered a few more pillows and Maxwell instructed them to lift my leg right up into the air, so that my ankle was above my heart. I felt totally ridiculous in this compromising position. It wasn’t somewhere I could fight easily from.

Vulnerable and at his mercy.

I didn’t like that one bit.

He pulled a large T-shirt from a drawer and handed it to me.

“You’ll be a lot more comfortable in this,” he said, as he turned away, giving me privacy to change. Wriggling on the bed to remove my jeans and muddied T-shirt, I slipped his oversized T-shirt over my head. It smelled of him, crisp and clean, with a hint of citrus.

The housekeeper removed my clothing off the bed and I pulled the blanket up to cover myself. Maxwell turned back, took the ice packs from the housekeeper and dismissed her politely. He gently placed them around my ankle. I shivered. He smiled down at me and pulled the blanket up to under my chin, stroking my cheek. The last thing I remembered before dozing off was the soft touch of his lips on my temple.

Maxwell finally had the advantage over me; I couldn’t run anywhere.

I woke up in a daze.

Where the hell am I?

Taking in my surroundings, I flinched at the throbbing pain in my ankle. That jerked my memory.

Peering toward the window, I drew in a sharp breath when I saw Maxwell spread out and fast asleep on the chaise lounge next to my bed. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, absurdly vulnerable. His brow which was permanently knitted whenever he was in my company was relaxed and he looked a lot younger than his thirty years.

My gaze fell on the clock, it was five in the morning.

Oh. My. God
.

I was meant to go to Alain’s chateau last night. He was probably wondering where I was, worried. I hadn’t called. I had to get to my phone and call him, regardless of the time. Alain would be frantic by now.

I slipped off the bed to find my phone, wincing at the pain as my feet touched the floor. I tried to place all my weight on my left leg, only using the tips of my toes on my injured leg to balance myself so I didn’t fall over. Shuffling slowly, I tried to make as little noise as possible so I didn’t wake Maxwell.

Concentrating hard on being quiet, I didn’t notice the ottoman in front of me. I tripped over it and let out a yelp before landing squarely on my ass with a thud.

Maxwell leapt out of his chair, cursing. “Rebecca, are you OK?” He flipped on the light switch.

“
What the hell
...?” he roared, when he saw where I was. “Are you trying to sneak out?” The anger in his voice was not pretty.

“No, I was just going to the loo,” I lied. 

His eyes softened. “Oh...OK, then. Let me help you.” He bent over and picked me up off the floor, sighing heavily. “Next time, please wake me.”

What now?

He carried me to the marbled bathroom and set me down on the bench next to the toilet. “I’m sure you’ll manage, just call me when you’re done.” His tone was sardonic. He turned and closed the door behind him.