Susan Stephens Selection: The French Count's Mistress / The Spaniard's Revenge / Virgin for Sale / Bedded by the Desert King
carted back here,’ Kate said reassuringly.
‘Carted back?’ Megan exclaimed. ‘Well, I suppose a taxi, however comfortable, can’t compare with Guy’s limousine.’ Her eyes went dreamy for a moment. ‘Not when that limousine is chauffered by a very nice man wearing uniform—and a cap, if you please.’
‘I can see you enjoyed the night at least,’ Kate said dryly.
‘Don’t try and tell me you didn’t,’ Megan countered shrewdly, and then her eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline when Kate’s mobile rang again. ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ she prompted, watching Kate hesitate. ‘You’ve certainly perfected the art of the silent phone call,’ Megan observed dryly when Kate finally broke the connection. ‘And now have you taken the vow of silence?’ she prompted hopefully, exhibiting more than her usual degree of amused frustration.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kate murmured distractedly, thinking about the call. Guy had been brief, noncommittal. On the face of it he had called just to make sure she had enjoyed the evening. Her thank-you note was already written and waiting to be posted. She had hoped to keep things formal. But in his voice she had detected a chord she hadn’t heard before—hard to explain, but like a seedling in the grit. He was prepared to forgive her. He had taken for granted the fact that she would accede to his demands not to run a business at the cottage. After all, why should she? She had made plenty of money already. But Freedom Breaks was a lot more than just a commercial venture for her. It was a mission to bring life back to the cottage; to restore the sanctuary Aunt Alice had once created for her and to try and rebuild everything that had been lost six months earlier when Guy’s father had come to take Aunt Alice to the château in his new car and had lost control… But that was all in the past. Guy’s eye was on the future. And Kate knew his business plans didn’t allow for sentimentality.
Suddenly she had to get away, to try and make sense of it all. ‘Do you mind if I go for a walk?’ she said distractedly. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Be as long as you like,’ Megan said staunchly. ‘There’s plenty here I can be getting on with.’
Kate took herself off to the place where she had enjoyed her first impromptu picnic with Guy on her return to La Petite Maison. She needed to be alone and there was something therapeutic about the cottage and its lovely gardens, gardens that stretched down to the stream and, now that they were loved again, combined just the right degree of informality and design. She only had to walk through them to feel the benefit—to soak up the calm. The days were drawing out, becoming warmer, while the sounds and the scents around her were stronger, more evocative… Childhood seemed close, almost within reach.
Those long days in the sun, viewing Guy from a discreet distance as he talked with his friends… Listening to the pitch of his voice as it rose and fell against a background of bee drone and adoring female laughter. How she had hated them, Kate remembered—those beautiful girls, so grown up and so sophisticated and every one of them vying for Guy’s attention, whilst she was still a child and a tomboy at that, with dirty knees and grass in her hair. But his voice had soothed her, lulled her, hypnotised her with its resonance and humour. And now since their talk at the château something much deeper than the tone of his voice was drawing her in. There was an intimacy between them that had not existed before. And with it came an understanding that only increased her longing to turn their lifelong friendship into something much more. But while he still saw her as a young tomboy that was never going to happen. She shook her head as she realised what a fool she had been.
It was one thing drawing up plans for the new business venture in an emotion free zone. It was equally insane to imagine that a relationship with Guy, Count de Villeneuve was ever going to be anything more than a light-hearted friendship… And if that friendship occasionally overstepped the mark? Guy withdrew at the double and made it quite plain that it was only a momentary lapse, Kate reminded herself. But how could she remain unmoved, or do nothing, when she saw how the tragedy had shaken him to the very core—when she felt his pain as her own? It had been futile hoping to restore Aunt Alice’s possessions; she could see that now. But the damage done by the accident to Guy and his mother was different; she could make at least some impression on that.
When Kate found her spot again she could almost imagine that no time had passed at all and that any moment Guy might arrive at the head of his troupe of friends. Kicking off her sandals, she sank on to a lush cushion of grass and wild herbs. Then, taking her time to select a succulent strand, she plucked it and, rolling on her back in the dappled sunlight, closed her eyes and began pensively to chew.
‘Penny for them…’
‘Guy!’ Shading her eyes with her hands as she looked up at him, Kate saw that he looked even more handsome than he had in her mind’s eye—and infinitely more desirable.
‘What brings you here? No, don’t get up. You look so comfortable there—so happy and contented. Are you happy, Kate?’
Guilt brought a frown to her face before she could do anything to stop it.
‘No?’ he queried softly, making her feel even worse with his concern.
‘Guy, the covenants…’ Kate began, determined to make an end of it there and then.
‘Pas maintenant,’ he said holding up his hands. ‘I’ve had enough of business for one day.’
As he swiped a gloved hand across the back of his neck she saw the tension in his face and fell silent again. ‘What are you doing here?’ She could see he’d been riding. Riding hard, to judge by the state of his dust-streaked shirt. He tugged off his riding gloves and dropped them on the ground as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. She found herself facing legs planted either side of her, legs that were moulded in some close-fitting fabric that showed every contour and every curve of his hard muscles.
‘I asked you first,’ he reminded her.
Her throat felt dry. His voice was firm, demanding, his eyes narrowed in speculation as he waited for her answer. And when she stared into the sun and tried to summon up an explanation, he dropped to his knees beside her and took hold of her hands. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he insisted, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘It’s a beautiful day. Be happy, Kate.’
She wanted to tell him then—tell him everything. But as he drew her close she could think of nothing except being in his arms. But his embrace was not the touch of a lover—it was something more, yet a lot less. It was something unique and precious, like the bittersweet kernel of happiness that blossomed inside her every time he was near, but it was controlled and chaste too, so that at the same time it answered all of her needs and none. But if this were all it could ever be, she would take it. ‘I am happy,’ she whispered, nestling into him, feeling his steady heartbeat against her face.
‘Do you mind?’ he said, letting her go at last to finger the buttons on his shirt.
‘Mind?’
‘If I take my shirt off.’
Kate longed to reach out to him and tackle each small tan horn button one by one…slowly. It didn’t take much to imagine how it might feel to slide the black shirt off the wide sweep of his shoulders, to feel the warmth of his skin under her fingers, to become familiar with the texture and revel in the strength of him… And then she would release it from the waistband of his breeches…
‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’ he repeated.
‘No, of course I don’t mind,’ she said, proud of herself for sounding so rational.
Guy gave a sigh of satisfaction as he tossed his shirt to one side. ‘C’est bon,’ he said, contentedly stretching out beside her.
Did he have any idea—any idea at all? Kate wondered, trying not to make it obvious as she eyed his incredible physique. His legs she already knew about, having studied them in some detail—but his stomach, she saw now, was completely flat and like his broad chest banded with muscle. There was a shading of dark hair on his tanned chest whose narrowing strip drew the