French Kiss (16 page)

S
he
’
d seen a villa like
Johnny'
s on
TV
once.
It was on a program about some art collector who’d wanted to live like Monet and Matisse—you know breathe the same air, absorb the same vibe, wallow in the life of an artist without actually doing the work. Not to mention this guy was like ten times richer than either Monet or Matisse—neither
of whom had been exactl
y poor.

Anyway, it was one helluva villa.

Not that she begrudged Johnny his wealth.

He’d worked for it.

But, jeez, consid
e
r how hard it was going to be readjusting to her life once she was home again. A person could get real used to this splendor. Like, having a limo always waiting at the airport or something like this Garden of Eden surrounding your Mediterranean retreat. Sple
ndor aside, though, she was mostl
y going to
miss the surprisingly down-to-earth guy who’d just whispered in her ear before they’d gotten out of the car, “I’m glad you’re here. I haven’t felt this good in ages.”

Not that she’d had time to do more than smile in return before they were greeted by a young woman wearing a hand-dyed sundress and sandals, who’d been waiting on the broad marble steps.

“Claire, I’d like you to meet Nicky. Nicky, this is Claire who’s nice enough to put up with our erratic schedule.” Johnny smiled. “I apologize for the short notice. Things came up at the last minute.”

“We’re pleased to see you anytime,” the young woman replied in sligh
tl
y accented English. “Marie’s at the beach, but I told her I’d send for her the minute you arrive. She’s thrilled Jordi’s going to be here.”

“I’m going down to the beach right now,” Jordi announced as she came around the car. “Is that okay, Daddy? Pleeease! Vernie’ll come with me, won’t you?”

Johnny looked at Vernie.

“Sure, kiddo.” Vernie handed her purse to Johnny. “Send down some of that red wine when you get a chance,” she added. “And my big hat”—she smiled—“and I wouldn’t mind a snack.” Johnny glanced at Claire. “I’ll get the hat, if you get the other stuff.” He looked at Vernie again. “We’ll be down in a minute. I just want to show Nicky her room.”

“Andre will bring Vernie her things,” Claire offered, with a smile for Johnny. “And we’re having bouillabaisse for dinner, Vernie,” she added, “so save your appetite.”

Vernie
grinned. “I must have died and gone to heaven. I don’t
suppose
we’re having Le Vacherin for dessert.”

Claire laughed. “But, of course.”

“I don’t know why you can’t set up your studio here,” Vernie challenged. “Think how much work you’d get done without interruptions.”

“Think how hard it would be to get anyone to work out here with all the distractions—topless beaches, great bars, great wines,” Johnny noted, smiling faintly.

“Sure, rain on my parade.”

“Ver
-nee
!
Let’s
g
o
!
I want to see Marie!” Jordi insisted, pulling on Vernie’s hand. “Daddy, stop
talking
to her!”

“Okay, okay, we’re going.” The nanny winked at Johnny. “Just think about it, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Will do. See you in five.” He turned to Claire. “Nicky’s in Victoria’s room, right?”

“Yes. All is ready.”

“Victoria’s
room?” Nicky murmured, thinking it can’t be.

“Queen Victoria used to spend some time here.”

His voice was so casual he could have been remarking on the weather. “Do you mean to tell me this is Queen
Victoria’s
place?”

“Not anymore.”

“But it had been.”

“Yeah.”

“Ohmygod! I’m going to be able to dine on this for
-
ever
.
”

“It’s not that big a deal. She only came here around Easter each year. And that was a helluva long time ago.”

What could she say? She wasn’t going to argue with him about time limits on historical personages. She wasn’t going to say, Does anyone complain about sleeping in the Lincoln bedroom in the White House because the guys been dead for over a hundred years? “I suppose you’re right,” she said, polite as hell.

“I’ll show you the layout, and then we’ll go down to the beach.”

Claire nodded at their luggage. “Andre will carry your bags in after he brings Vernie her wine.”

“I can carry my own bag,” Nicky said. “Really, it’s not a problem.” Vinnie, Cole, and Barry had gone ahead in another car. Not that she needed them to shlep her luggage anyway.

“We’ll bring them in ourselves,” Johnny agreed, smoothly. “Thank you, Claire.”

“I’ll see you at dinner, then.” The housekeeper met her employer’s gaze. “Seven or eight?”

“Better make it seven.” He handed her Vernie’s purse. “Jordi gets hungry early.”

A
s
Johnny led
Nicky through the palatial hallways and corridors, she inhaled the atmosphere of former royalty. Like really, who would have thought she’d be sleeping in Queen Victoria’s bedroom! Never in her wildest dreams. Not that her dreams ever involved Queen Victoria, but the sheer
grandeur
of the idea was mind-boggling!

Since Johnny was carrying both their bags, when he stopp
ed, nodded his head, and said, “
That one,” she found herself standing before a door that clearly was meant for queenly access. She’d never seen so much gilt and inlaid wood and carved marble in her life—at least not outside a museum. Even the door handle looked like—“Is this gold?” she blurted out.

“I’m not sure.”

Jeez, he hadn’t said no. Should she touch it?

“Want me to get it?”

“Huh.” Coming out of her trance, she gave him a blank look.

“The door.” He lifted his hands holding their bags.

“Sorry.” Grabbing the ornate handle shaped like some fish, she pressed down, shoved the door open, and immediately came to a standstill. The entire facing wall was floor-to-ceiling glass doors, framing a breathtaking view of the azure Mediterranean sparkling in the sun. “Wow,” she whispered.

“I thought you might like this room,” Johnny said.

It took her a moment to absorb the vast understatement and another moment to find the breath to speak. “It’s awesome.”

“We can have coffee or drinks on the balcony later if you like.”

This was another of those pinch-me moments. She was in this authentic royal villa with
People Magazine's
Sexiest Man Alive all because she happened to design tree houses. What were the odds of that happening? Then again, who was she to question good karma? “Drinks or coffee on the balcony sounds super,” she said, as though such choices were offered to her every day of the week.

“We’ll tell Claire later.” He lifted his brows. “Do you want to go inside?”

“Sure,” she quickly said, as though she’d not been doing the deer-in-the-headlights thing. Shit. Maybe she was dew-fresh after all. Taking a few steps into the sunlit room, her feet sinking into a pale, flowered carpet that was obviously custom-made for the space, she wasn’t entirely sure she actually dared touch anything. The furniture was delicate rococo—built on a smaller than usual scale. But then Victoria had been really short. Even the canopied bed wasn’t huge as beds went, although it was plenty big enough,
she noted thankfully—a host of highly hopeful plans for the night on her agenda.

“I’ll set your bag here,” Johnny said, placing her carry-on atop a nearby marble table. “Are you okay?”

She hadn’t sti
rred, lost in her survey of the spectacular room as well as in her reflections on the night ahead. “I’m fine,” she answered, jettisoning her more lurid thoughts to concentrate on the present. “I have a question, though. Do you actually sleep in here?”

He shook his head. “I usually sleep in a terrace bedroom downstairs. It’s easier to go outside from there. And it’s closer to Jordi’s room. She likes to be by the pool.”

Uncertain after his answer, she debated whether she should voice her thoughts. Then, what
th
e hell, she thought—screw politesse. She had plans for Queen Victoria’s room. “So—are you staying
here
tonight or what?”

He smiled. “Unless you kick me out, I am.”

She smiled, her world all rosy pink again. “No chance of that.”

“Perfect. Although, I have to wait until after Jordi falls asleep. When she’s around, I mind my manners.”

His concern for his daughter only added to his sexiness. Although, maybe everything about him was sexy. From the way he took charge to the way he frigging stirred sugar into his coffee was a major aphrodisiac. “Not a problem,” she said. “I can wait.”

He checked his watch. “It’s a goddamn problem for me, but I don’t have a choice. So let’s get out of here and go down to the
beach.
I gotta keep busy, or I’m going to jump you. Do you feel
like a
swim?”

She
pretty much felt like doing whatever he wanted to do. She
was
in
way, way too deep—when she’d only been around him a
few days.
When she knew it would be the height of stupidity to
even consider falling for Johnny Patrick with his dismal track record of serial sexual encounters with the beauties of the world. “A swim’s appealing,” she said, blithely ignoring all the female skeletons in his closet. “But I don’t have a suit.”

“Jesus.” He blew out a breath. “I don’t need that picture in my head.”

“Okay, so I’ll keep my clothes on and just sit on the beach.”

“Nah. That’s crazy when the water’s so great. I’ll rein myself in and behave. I have to anyway with Jordi around. We’ll have Claire find you a suit.”

“Okey, dokey.” Why shouldn’t
she take advantage of this littl
e slice of paradise? She probably wouldn’t ever be passing this way again.

“Damn, you’re cute,” he murmured, ruffling her hair.

“And you turn me on pretty much nonstop.”

“Same here.” His voice was ultrasoft.

She took a deep breath. “We probably should talk about something else.”

“No shit.” He brushed by her. “Let’s go find you a suit.”

N
icky had chosen the only one-piece suit in
the wardrobe of skimpy biki
nis she’d been offered. She in
tended to do a few laps. As for the other women who may have enjoyed this beach before, she was guessing most of them weren’t there to swim.

As Johnny led her down the stairway to the beach, he warned her, “I’m so horny, I’ll embarrass myself if I see you in a swimsuit. Do me a favor and keep that shirt on until I hit the water.”

“I’d have appreciated the same option, dude.”
He looked back over his shoulder, his brows lifted in surprise. “That European suit isn’t exac
tl
y constructed for the prudish.” He wore a skimpy black suit that rested low on his hips and displayed his gorgeous broad-shouldered, muscled body to the max.

“Sorry. I don’t have anything else here. How about I keep my back to you.”

“I’m not sure that’s any better.”

He dropped her hand. “Christ, talk about something else. I’m barely holding it together.”

“Nice day if it doesn’t rain.”

“How’s your stock portfolio doing?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Me neither. And now I’m out of conversation.” All he could think about was fucking her, the part of his brain still functioning around that overriding thought operating at minimal levels.

“I like U2 a lot.”

He flashed her a grin. “If only men could multitask as well as women.”

“I
t’
s a gift,” she said. “I’m undressing you with the rest of my brain.”

“Jesus, stop,” he muttered. “This hard-on is getting impossible to hide.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah,” he said on a suffocated breath. “Me, too. Most
l
y that it’s four o’clock instead of ten. Okay, babe, we’ve got company coming into range.”

She only had time for one last look as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Lordy, Lordy, those were buns of steel, his shoulders like a stevedore’s, and she didn’t even dare think of the front of him.
That
she
knew
was hard as steel.

“We have to behave now,” he murmured, standing on the sand waiting for her. He waved at Jordi and Marie who were swinging their arms like semaphores from a distant man-made grotto midway up the rough escarpment bordering the private cove.

“I’ll behave, if you will.”

“Shit,” he said. “I was counting on you to set an example
for
me
.
”

“I’m not sure I can promise that,” she breathed, her insubordinate gaze on the tantalizing bulge in his swim suit.

“Hey, eyes forward. Ve
rn
ie’s watching us.”

Her gaze flashed up, Vernie’s command and control an effective deterrent.

“Hey, Vernie!” Johnny shouted. “We’re going for a swim first!”

Vernie waved in acknowledgment from her seat inside a striped cabana that was fortunately a football field away.

“Race you to the water,” Johnny said, and driven by necessity, he sprinted for the safety of the sea. Finally stopping waist-deep, he turned to watch as Nicky removed her long shirt and walked toward the water.

He was reminded of that classic scene from
10
with Bo Derek. Nicky even walked with the same fluid grace, her body supple and fit. As she smiled at him, he su
ddenly felt as though the subtl
est shift in his universe had occurred. Nothing big—more like he was experiencing a new appreciation for life. Or maybe just a specific appreciation for one particular woman with long, slender legs, trim hips, a narrow waist, and fucking
great
tits. The kind of appreciation any normal, horny male would feel.

Not that he had to have more than the usual reason for liking her, but he also liked the fact that she’d chosen a functional suit. It set her apart from the women who were more interested in their decorative role around a pool. Not that the figure-hugging suit was
purely
functional. It was frigging turning him on, and first chance he had he was stripping it off.

Which, unfortunately, wouldn’t be real soon. He groaned.

Maybe he should swim far enough out to take the edge off his lust. Perhaps strenuous exercise would calm the savage beast in him.

Good idea, his voice of reason agreed. “I’m going to swim out a ways. Be back in a while,” he called out to her.

“I’ll come with,” she shouted. Already knee-deep, she dove in, and coming up a few seconds later, she moved into a smooth crawl.

He immediately kicked off, intent on putting distance between himself and temptation. It was a long, long time until ten o’clock.

But a half mile out, he slowed down to catch his breath and was surprised to find her only a few strokes behind. He was a strong swimmer. “Apparently, you’ve done this before,” he said, treading water as she approached.

“Minnesota, Land of Ten Thousand Lakes,” she replied as she reached him. “I’ve been swimming since I was four.”

He smiled. “You’re good at lots of things.”

“Back at you,” she replied, treading water effortlessly. “And might I add,” she said with a grin, “tonight I’m looking forward to one particular thing you do exceptionally well.”

“Speaking of which—have you ever been fucked in the Mediterranea
n?” His voice of reason apparentl
y had drowned on the way out.

“No. Although, I expect it would be wise not to ask the same of you.”

“Ask. I haven’t.” He’d never been that desperate before.

“You surprise me.”

“Come closer, and I’ll surprise you with something else. No one can see us out here.”

“Except for that sailboat over there.”

“I doubt it’s anyone we know.”

“For sure, it’s no one
I
know.”

“So, whaddya think?”

“I’d love to.”

Christ, he loved her honesty. No games, no pretense. She said what she meant and meant what she said. An unprecedented phenomenon in his world where no one ever meant anything they said. “Let’s see what we can do then about giving you an orgasm or two. Come here, I’ll take your suit off.”

He pulled off her suit, then his, slipped them up one arm for safekeeping, and holding her under her ribs, said, “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

For a man who’d supposedly never done this before, he’d figured out the procedure without missing a beat. But with the head of his erection nudging her Mediterranean-Sea-bathed pubes, she wasn’t about to take issue. And as he slid his ever-ready hard-on into her, it felt so good, so right, and really—so enormously gratifying—that she lost any sense of even mild resentment.

It was amazing how well they fit together, as though after only one night, their bodies had dovetailed, synchronized, and now fit to a
T.
It was equally amazing how strong he was—able to keep them both above water with just a leisurely kick of his feet. That the slow rhythm of his kick somehow matched the flux and flow of his hips resulted in a highly effective and fiercely arousing hard, steady penetration and withdrawal.

“Is that far enough in?”

As punctuation to his query, he drove in deeper.

She gasped, her legs tightened around him, and a kind of pleasure she didn’t know existed suffused her entire body.

“More?” he whispered, as if he didn’t know, as if she wasn’t melting around him like hot fusion. “Answer me,” he growled, needing the words, needing to hear she was as bad off as he, as insatiable.

“Yes, yes, yes
…
give me more
…”

It was barely audible, the light breeze picking up the words and carrying them away.

He shouldn’t have been so gratified. It shouldn’t have mattered—one woman or another. Then again, why dwell on philosophical considerations when they were both grooving in some prodigal sexual wonderland.

He gave her more, and she greedily took it, rushing toward the finish line that first time so precipitously, he barely kept up.

But he did.

After years of fucking, he’d acquired a certain skill level.

And flipping on his back afterward, he pulled her atop him and floated in the aftermath of orgasm, the sun warming the sea and air, his body warmed by a heat of another kind.

How delicious it was, Nicky blissfully mused, resting on her own personal raft, to feel transcended, even dominated by such a superb example of male virility. Sexist it might be and insensitive to the issue of equality, but it was a world-class turn on, she had to admit.

Less introspective, Johnny was figuring he could do this a couple times before he drowned. But it felt so good right now, drowning wasn’t a major concern—unlike that sailboat that had just put down its anchor.

But they were both so incredibly ho
rn
y that issues other than immediate climax were cavalierly relegated to minor status. And
fortunately, they’d both come so quickly the first time, the people on the sailboat had barely had time to get out their binoculars.

Their bodies still connected, Johnny gen
tl
y ran his palms down Nicky’s back. “You were quiet that time,” he teased, getting used to her vocal orgasms. “Vernie can’t hear way out here.”

Nicky nodded towa
rd the sailboat to their west. “
They’re kinda close.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Johnny murmured, lazily kicking to keep them afloat.

Nicky’s brows rose faintly. “You’re way more casual than I.”

“Believe me, I’m not in the habit of fucking in the water like some randy high school kid.”

She grinned. “So I’m special.”

“Damn right. Speaking of which—hold on, babe. We’re gonna both feel special pretty damned soon again.” And he said a lit
tl
e prayer that it was binoculars, not a camera that guy on the sailboat had up to his eyes. If it was a camera, this little escapade would be front-page news tomorrow. Not that it mattered with the state of his libido pretty much run amok.

But he kept Nicky turned away from the sailboat during their next frenzied coupling, and after they’d climaxed again, he figured they’d probably pushed their luck far enough. That they were both insanely fast in their prurient state of rut, at least kept the photos to a minimum—if that
was
a photographer on that boat. “Are you gonna be okay for a while now?” He’d have Cole check out the sailboat first thing when they got back.

She grinned. “How long is a while?”

“Sex fiend,” he whispered, kissing her smile.

“Don’t blame me. It’s all your fault.”

“I beg to differ, but let’
s have that argument on shore. I’
m getting tired.”

“Oh, dear, how selfish of me,” Nicky quickly said, pushing away so he wouldn’t have to hold her afloat. “Give me my suit. I can put it on myself.”

If he wasn’t damned near exhausted, he might have argued. But he was at that stage when he couldn’t remember when he’d slept last. And even though the sea was calm and the current minimal in the lee of the cove, keeping them both above water had taken a certain amount of effort.

When they were both suited again, he said, “You set the pace.”

Nicky swam slowly, mostly doing the backstroke because it was easy.

Johnny did a lazy breaststroke alongside, asking from time to time it she wanted to stop and rest.

He was so damnably polite, so obliging and indulgent, she found it becoming increasing difficult not to move from infatuation to something more serious, and let’s face it—ridiculous. Although, she understood now why women in such numbers dogged his heels. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be going through major,
major
withdrawal when this was over.

“Wanna take a break?”

“Maybe just a minute.” She took his outstretched hand.

He just quie
tl
y held her, letting her rest, treading water with a minimum kick. “That was really nice,” he said with a smile. “You and me—back there.”

There was something in his tone of voice that touched her heart. Or maybe everything about him touched her heart. She was thoroughly confused, charmed, and fascinated, giddy, too, with
she didn’t know what—but
something.
“You betcha,” she said, smiling back. “It was nicer than nice.”

And then she shut up before she said something really stupid. Something a man like Johnny Patrick wouldn’t appreciate. Something he’d probably heard too many times before.

“
Y
ou two look
exhausted,” Vernie said, as they walked toward the cabana a short time later.

“There’s a bit of a current out there,” Johnny said, curbing his impulse to smile. “It takes the wind out of you.”

“Have a glass of wine and rest,” Vernie offered, waving at the small table inside the cabana holding wine, glasses, and appetizers. “I’ve had my one-glass quota, and it was excellent. Tell me what your plans are while you’re here. For one, Nicky should see the Russian chapel. It’s spectacular.”