The Marriage Bargain (10 page)

Camille sat on the seat next to him, perched in a model-like pose. Her legs, long and tanned, rose from red shoes and traveled seductively up until they disappeared underneath a black cocktail dress riding midway up her thighs. He liked the dress when they’d bought it in London, and he liked it now—especially now, as he envisioned slipping his hands beneath the fabric in an exploring fashion.

The boat charged down the winding river and a warm summer’s wind whipped Julian’s hair around wildly. Raking it back, he looked at Camille. Their gazes met, and a faint delicate flush glowed against her face.

“You okay?” He reached over, laying his hand at her knee.

“Yeah,” Her breathless declaration murmured out from behind a smile. “Where are we going?”

“Where would you like to go?”

“It’s your country. I’m leaving it up to you.”

Was she always this complying? Maybe he’d test that theory. “So, if I said, we’re going to see the symphony or an opera...you’d be up for that?”

“You didn’t say, ‘
what do you want to do
’.” She challenged him with her dauntless blue eyes. “You said, ‘
where would you like to go
’.”

“Okay.” Julian laughed. “What do you want to do?”

“Well...how about dinner and then maybe a walk on the beach or something?” An alluring smile implied she was inviting trouble.

Not that Julian wanted to tempt fate. He just wanted to explore what was underneath that little black dress. It couldn’t hurt. They
were
supposed to be in love.

“Good call. After all, we are thought to be lovers, are we not?” He reassured her with a soft caress over the bare portion of her thigh. But he didn’t push it. He didn’t invite himself to further exploration. Not yet.

“I’m just trying to cover all our bases,” she said, her voice strengthening as if she’d regained some of her confidence.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of food?

“How about something local?”

Good answer. Not too specific, but she narrowed it down just the same, and complimented his hometown by keeping it ‘local’. Very pleasing.

Maybe he’d take her to L’Epuisette. That way, he could sate her palate with the best food around and reduce her inhibitions with some good champagne. He cut the boat’s engine and coasted alongside the pier, landing near his driver waiting by the car.

Julian stood and helped Camille to her feet. He liked the way the boat ride had tousled her hair, leaving it all windblown and sexy-looking. Their exhilarating escape reddened her cheeks.

He handed her off to Sebastian, his driver, who helped her out of the boat. She climbed up onto the landing and Julian enjoyed the advantageous view for admiring her assets. Her legs, bare and gleaming, continued to arouse him. Her dress hugged her hips, teasing him. Her laughter filled him with not just joy, but hope. Hope that when this was all over, he’d surface as the victor.

Camille could’ve gone straight to the car, but she didn’t. Surprisingly, she stood on the edge of the dock, waiting for him to emerge from the boat. She was the first to do that. There had been plenty who’d traversed the river with him, but none had ever thought of him. Not once. Until Camille.

For someone who was in it for material gain, she was doing a hell of a job at making Julian feel like she was here for him.

C
amille waited for Julian on the landing. Mainly because she wasn’t about to get into the car without him. The suspicious sort, there weren’t many people she trusted. But she trusted Julian—sort of—yet there was no reason to offer blind faith to his employees.

Julian grinned at her and grabbed her hand. His manly grasp settled a warmth over Camille that she wasn’t used to. She followed him to the car and Sebastian opened the door. Julian laid his palm against the small of her back, guiding her inside.

He slid in beside her and loosened his tie. The citrus scent of his cologne intoxicated her. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, she smoothed her dress and rested her hands in her lap.

“Would you like a glass of champagne?”

Her first thought was to say no. Drinking on an empty stomach had never turned out well in the past. But a sip or two wouldn’t hurt, and it might help her lighten up. She wanted to enjoy the evening, not worry about what she was doing right or wrong.

But what could she do that would chase Julian away?

He wasn’t going to up and leave her. Not yet anyway. For the next six months she could count on Julian more than she’d ever been able to count on anybody else—except maybe Granny Mae.

“Maybe a touch,” she said of the champagne.

Julian grabbed a bottle, popped the top and poured the overflowing spirits into two glasses. He handed one to her and kept the other for himself.

She sipped the liquor, bubbles tickling her nose. She didn’t care much for the tart taste, but she supposed people put up with it for the buzz. Still, there had to be a better way. At least a better tasting way. Maybe a Pina Colada, a Daiquiri, or something made with melon liqueur. Yeah, that sounded good.

She might get one of those during dinner, but for now she’d go with what was on hand.

Julian downed his drink, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Camille. He turned to her, draping his arm along the back of the seat behind her. “If Papa or Madeleine get to be too much, just tell them to talk to me.”

He was beating around the bush about something, what she wasn’t sure. “Are you expecting them to get out of hand?” Her fingers stiffened around her glass.

“No, I don’t think so. But Papa has invited Madeleine to stay through the wedding.”

Camille shrugged to hide her confusion. “She must be a glutton for punishment.”

“I wondered about that myself.”

“Why would she want to attend a wedding in which she aspired to be the bride?”

“Papa is probably to blame.” Julian refilled his glass. “I think he’s probably put it in her head that she can somehow thwart the wedding.” He glanced at Camille with the champagne bottle in the air, as if waiting for her to request or decline more.

She did neither. “So, I should keep a sharp eye out?” Camille fidgeted, not liking the idea that Madeleine could smash her dreams beyond repair.

“Couldn’t hurt.” His fingertips caressed her hair back from her face. His touch was suddenly almost unbearable in its tenderness.

She drew her head back, facets of desire shuddering through her.

“Will I be catching the two of you in bed?” She laughed, mostly because she’d come to believe that Papa and Madeleine would be the main topic of all their conversations. It reiterated the fact that Julian de Laurent would never be interested in
her
. She was just a means to an end. A way out of real matrimony.

“If Madeleine has her way...I wouldn’t doubt it.” Julian’s laughter wrapped its cold tips around her heart.

But why wouldn’t Julian sleep with Madeleine. He’d already said he didn’t have anything against her. Just like most men, Julian probably wouldn’t mind sleeping with a girl he wasn’t interested in marrying.

And Julian and Camille? They were merely in a business arrangement. He had no real alignment to her, and thinking otherwise was crazy.

Prepare yourself, chickie
. She heard her warning loud and clear. Julian had all but told Camille she’d be finding him in bed with his mistress.

But no matter. Camille was prepared to play the dutiful wife to the hilt. The payoff was worth it. And in the meantime, she was going to enjoy being the wife of one of the richest men in the world—for as long as it lasted.

“Have you decided where we’ll be eating?” she asked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Since you expressed an interest in the local cuisine, I thought we’d dine at L’Epuisette.”

I say eat; he says dine
. The subtle differences in their vocabulary wrapped her in a straitjacket of unworthiness. Suddenly she felt unintelligent, uneducated, and undeserving, even though she’d graduated from Stanford University with honors.

“It sounds lovely.” Her words drifted off into a hushed whisper.

“You’ll enjoy it. I promise.” That chocolaty tone of Julian’s voice returned, sounding more enticing than ever. She was caught up in his enthusiasm.

“It has to be awesome,” she said with conviction. “You’ve never let me down yet.”

He studied her, like he was amazed—or maybe it was amused. “You keep that up and Papa will fall in love with you.” His statement, bold and brassy, skittered her pulse.

She felt her face burn, and she hoped the dim, almost nonexistent light hid her weakness.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a wood-planked building on the edge of the sea. The doorman stepped forward and opened the car door.

The warm night air breezed past and caressed her bare arms as Julian nudged her from the limousine. Tantalizing thoughts invaded her head. Julian grabbed her hand and she prayed he didn’t notice her shivering reaction.

“Are you cold?” he asked, draping his arm around her shoulders as they strolled toward the restaurant’s entrance.

“No.” She smiled, hoping to convey that she didn’t mind his touch. “Everything’s perfect.”

Julian rested his hand on the small of her back as they entered the restaurant’s lobby.

“Mr. de Laurent.” They were greeted with smiles and hellos and handshakes. “Your table is ready.”

They followed the maître’d through the restaurant. Tasteful wall hangings and pleated drapes divided the dining area into intimate sectors and the privacy they afforded more than made up for the establishment’s overcrowded popularity.

The dimly lit ambiance mesmerized Camille as they followed the maître’d up a short flight of stairs and out onto a private balcony, amply shrouded in shrubbery and foliage. They were led to a secluded table against a tall banister overlooking the sea. She guessed this was Julian’s
regular
table.

Camille sighed, happily relieved over the privacy. Pretending to be in love was going to take some adjusting. Easy for an actress, but not Camille.

Julian remained standing while the waiter seated her. Nobody had ever done that for Camille. With just two chairs at the small table, he sat with his back to the railing and reached across the table for her hand.

She succumbed, but reminded herself this was Julian’s staple for wooing the ladies. He probably brought all his conquests here to fill their tummies and get them in the mood so he could win their favors. And he’d brought her here just to keep up the charade. But she wasn’t one of his conquests. She was his business partner.

“Would you care to see a wine list?” the waiter asked.

Julian rattled off something in French, and Camille didn’t doubt they’d soon be drinking the finest champagne France had to offer.

But damn. She’d just as soon sip on a cocktail. Something sweet, exotic, and intoxicating.

The waiter walked away and Julian fiddled with his jacket and tie and beamed at her with an overdone smile. “What’s your pleasure? Chicken, seafood or steak?”

“I have to choose one?”

Julian howled. But it was a good kind of laughter. An enjoyable one. “Chéri, you can have everything on the menu, if that’s your desire.”

Her desire was a Pina Colada. And why couldn’t she ask for one? Why was she trying to appear so agreeable? She didn’t need to impress Julian. She just needed to stay put and not leave.

She leaned toward him. “Julian,” she whispered, “do they serve cocktails here? I’d so love something fruity and sweet.”

He looked crushed. “I’m sorry, Chéri.”

The waiter appeared, ready to take their order.

Julian focused on Camille. “What would you like to drink? Margarita? Pina Colada?”

“A Pina Colada would be awesome.”

Julian turned to the waiter and rattled off some directions in French. She thought she caught a few of the words, French terms for chicken, beef, and some kind of fish, crustacean maybe. Was he ordering a little bit of everything, just to please her? She could see why Madeleine wasn’t willing to let Julian go so easily.

Madeleine was the least of her worries, so long as the girl didn’t expose Camille and Julian’s scheme. Camille tossed the potential threat aside and contemplated the dessert menu.

One waiter left and another appeared with her drink, topped off with fresh strawberries, pineapple and maraschino cherries. She went for the fruit, devouring the strawberry and savoring every morsel.

Camille glanced at Julian. He was ranging his glance up and down, gauging her with a seductive gleam. She’d swear he had x-ray eyes. Desire danced with her heart. She wavered and looked away, grabbing her Pina Colada.

“Is this your first time in Europe, Chéri?” Julian looked as surprised by his question as she felt.

“Yes.” Overwrought with feelings of inadequacy, she siphoned her drink up the straw.

“Is there anywhere special that you’d like to see while you’re here?” he asked. “We have ample time. Would you like to tour?”

Camille wasn’t comfortable saying,
yes, I’d like to tour Europe
. It reeked of
taking advantage
. But they would be going on a honeymoon, wouldn’t they? She drained more of the Pina Colada and a relaxing sensation warmed her. “You know,” she said, half encouraged by the liquor’s temporary confidence. “I’ve always wanted to see the Greek Isles.”

“By ship?”

“A cruise?” She absent-mindedly chewed on her straw.

“How about a yacht?”

A yacht? That sounded wonderful. “If you’re trying to win points, de Laurent, you’re well on your way.” She smiled, laced her fingers around the shapely cocktail glass and slurped the bottom of the empty frozen treat.

The waiter brought them an appetizer plate of pan-fried prawns and cannelloni. He glanced at Julian, who motioned to Camille’s glass and then nodded him away post-haste.