Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy) (21 page)

I must have gone crazy, agreeing to a whole day with Maxwell that wasn’t work related. I leisurely enjoyed my breakfast in bed, then, I took a long shower before getting ready for a day at Versailles. I’d always wanted to see the spectacular gardens.

By now, I knew that Maxwell was punctual, but as usual, I was running late. Waiting five or so minutes wouldn’t kill him; I had to ring Alain first. It was too late when I got back last night and I didn’t want him questioning me about my night out.

As I thought, Alain wasn’t happy. Turned out, Maxwell wasn’t that patient.

By the time I reached the lobby, fifteen minutes late, Maxwell’s lips were drawn into a thin line, his brow knitted.

“I thought you were standing me up —
again
,” he growled.

“Sorry, but I'm here, now,” I said, with a warm smile in an attempt to change his mood.

“So you are. All good. Come, I have a surprise for you.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me outside. I had to virtually run to keep up with his long strides, his excitement evident in his wide grin. I liked surprises. But, not this one. I gasped as I registered that the Harley Davidson with two helmets dangling from the handle bars was ‘the surprise’.

Maxwell grinned like a naughty school boy. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

I stiffened. “I’m afraid of motorcycles.” I didn’t want to dampen his boyish enthusiasm, but I was trembling. Besides, I was wearing a dress and heels. He could’ve warned me. But then, I guess it wouldn’t have been a surprise and I probably would have refused his invitation.

He noticed my hesitation. Taking my hands in his, he stared into my eyes and said solemnly, “I’ll be very careful, Rebecca. You’re safe with me. But, I understand if you don’t want to.”

The disappointment on his face was palpable. His thumbs made little circles on my skin that completely unhinged me. Maybe it was time to get back into the proverbial horse’s saddle. Face my fears and all that shit…

“OK. But I’ll have to change first.”

The way his face lit up, further unnerved me.

Crap, what was I doing?

“Wait here.” I spun around and with wobbly knees, went to change into jeans and a T-shirt. I flung a light scarf around my neck. With trembling fingers, I braided my hair—I didn’t want it flying into my face.

For the past decade, I’d been petrified of the two-wheeled monster. Ever since my high school boyfriend was killed in a motorcycle accident, I didn’t trust them;
I didn’t believe they were safe.

And, I’d never been on the back of one again since Evan died.

It was time to move on. Standing with my back to the cold steel of the elevator, I closed my eyes and I let out a long breath. I had to go with the flow and entrust my life into Maxwell’s hands. It wasn’t something I was used to doing, I liked being in control. A tight knot twisted in my stomach as the doors opened and I was back in the lobby.

Last chance to bolt.

Maxwell stood beside the elevator. The look on his face told me he didn’t expect me to return. A smile twisted his lips as his frown melted away. He didn’t comment, just silently steered me back to the demon with firm pressure on my back.

“Safety first,” Maxwell said, as he helped me into a black leather jacket and gloves. He gently placed a full-faced helmet on my head. I just stood there, frozen with fear.

He raised my chin to meet his gaze. “Trust me, Rebecca,” he said, “I will
never
hurt you.” His eyes were intense, looking deep into my soul. I drew in a sharp breath: he meant more than just the motorcycle ride, of that I was certain.

Planting a swift chaste kiss on my forehead, I knew he was serious.

“Remember to lean with the bike and hold on tight. If you need to stop or anything is wrong, signal me.” Unable to speak, I nodded.

He helped me onto the bike, I was trembling. 

He straddled the bike and indicated for me to follow. I swallowed hard and slung a leg over the seat.

Oh
God, this is it. No turning back, now.

Before I could think about what to do next, he pulled my arms around his waist, patting my hands as they clasped tightly around him. My eyes were squeezed shut.

I could feel his grin, even though I couldn’t see his face. He was enjoying this way too much.

Completely at his mercy now, I braced myself. He pulled away slowly; gently even. Yet, I gripped even tighter around him, hanging on for dear life, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest.
How long is this goddamn ride?
Versailles was quite a distance away. My mouth was dry, I wasn’t sure I was going to survive this. I’d much rather be in his Masarati.

“Open your eyes, Rebecca.” My eyes flew open, more out of surprise at hearing his voice than obeying his order. Then, I remembered the devise he’d attached to my jacket, so we could speak to one another if necessary.

How did he know my eyes were screwed shut?

“Relax.” I heard the smile in his voice. I felt myself melt into his back as we weaved through the traffic. 

After about fifteen minutes, we’d escaped the city and cruised on the A13. I was getting used to the rumble under my ass. “Hold on tight,” he said into my earpiece, as he accelerated. I tightened my grip around his waist, as I gulped at a gush of wind and hid my face, pressing my cheek to his back. The heady smell of fresh air and leather in my nostrils.

We stopped at a petrol station along the way, just as we approached the turnoff to Versailles.

“How are you doing?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“I…I’m fine,” I said, as he pulled off my gloves.

“My god, your hands are frozen.” He rubbed my hands in his big warm hands, trying to bring them back to life. “Tuck your hands under my jacket when we go again,” he instructed matter-of-factly.

He removed his helmet then lifted mine off. He reaches out to tuck the windblown strands of hair behind my ear, gently stroking my cheek with the back of his hand.

“Your cheeks are even colder.” He pulled me against him brusquely, and I leaned into his warmth as a shiver traveled down my spine. My body was shaking and he held me even tighter, rubbing my back. I closed my eyes as the tension slowly seeped out of my muscles. For once, I wasn’t resisting him. We stood like that for what felt like forever.

“Let’s get a warm drink into you,” he said, as he pulled me toward the motorway cafe. He ordered two coffees and removed a hipflask from the inside of his jacket. He slowly poured a shot into my coffee and handed it to me. “Drink slowly,” he warned.

I pulled a face at him as I took my first sip. Pleasant warmth spread though me. He just laughed and shook his head. I noticed he didn’t pour any of the brandy into his own coffee. He read my mind, “No drinking for the driver,” he chuckled, and I knew I was safe with him.

Back onto the motorbike. This time he reached back and pulled both arms around his waist and tucked them under his leather jacket. Then he guided my hand over his heart and held it there, pressing my fingers to his chest. I felt his heartbeat quicken, even
through the gloves. My mouth went dry. He slowly let go. Stunned, I didn’t move. His muscles rippled through his T-shirt as we took off, causing a strange stirring in my gut. I wasn’t sure if I was trembling from the motorbike ride or from touching Maxwell in such an intimate way. Thankfully he had his back to me, and I didn’t have those intense eyes scrutinizing my face.

We got to Versailles only ten minutes later. As I expected, the gardens were spectacular.
Ornamental water features abounded in the French-styled garden—from the calm water of lakes and canals, to water cascading in groves, and water spraying from fountains. Water always had a calming effect on me. My mother said it was because I was born under a fire sign, Aries, and I needed the water to cool my fiery temperament.

Maxwell picked up on my train of thought. “Did you realize that humans always flock to water to relax? We have vacations near the ocean, or rivers, or dams. And, if there aren’t natural water sources, we build artificial ones. People are always attracted to water features.”

I mulled this interesting observation around in my mind.

“I've never thought of it like that.” I was intrigued by the idea. It was true. Even in the most remote places, people build huge water features.
An oasis for the soul.

“Think of Las Vegas and the musical fountains of Bellagio. Even though Vegas is in the desert, people come from far to see the fountains.”

“And, the musical fountains in Singapore on Sentosa Island,” I added enthusiastically, as I recalled those fountains changing colors in time with the music.

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 sensuous?

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, 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 non of her concern,” he replied, closing his eyes. He looked really tired.

What does he mean
,  ‘non 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.