IntheArmsofaLover

  In the Arms of a Lover

  Madeleine Oh

  Book three in the Dominant Lovers series.

  In financial straits and unemployed, Poppy Gordon splurges the last of her money on a holiday in Nice. There she meets librarian Helen Crewe and learns of a near-perfect job working for Helen’s Dom Luc Prioux. But before she can accept the job, she has to pass the scrutiny of Luc’s lawyer Maître Poulain, whose tastes run in the same direction as his employer. Maître Poulain has certain demands that Poppy is more than delighted to satisfy.

  An Exotika® contemporary BDSM erotica story from Ellora’s Cave

  In the Arms of a Lover

  Madeleine Oh

  Chapter One

  Poppy Gordon looked across the brilliant turquoise of the Mediterranean, took a deep breath and smiled. This was going to be her moment. She’d mourn Tommy still, just as she’d always cherish their years together. They’d been well-matched and blissfully happy. Just thinking about him brought back memories of his arms around her, his sexy voice whispering promises in her ear, his hands holding her down as his mouth covered hers, the smell of good leather, the kiss of a blindfold and the caress of a flogger on her skin.

  Enough was enough! She had nothing to gain in yearning for what was over.

  She was in Nice, the sun warm on her skin as a soft breeze ruffled her hair and all thanks to Great Aunt Josie. She’d visited Poppy right after the hideous fiasco of the funeral and handed Poppy a very generous check, a diamond brooch and a pair of emerald earrings. “Do as you’re told and take them,” she said, over Poppy’s objections. “Sell the jewelry, it’s still worth something and be sure to cash the check. Take the money and run away for a month or two. Forget the nasty mess Tommy left you in and leave those silly young people to fight it out among themselves whilst you go and bask in the sun.”

  Poppy did as she was told and was now, luxuriating in the Cote d’Azur. The Promenade des Anglais was definitely an improvement over a wet and windy March in Sussex.

  She was idly reading a nice juicy Agatha Christie and wondering whether to indulge in lunch near the beach or be frugal and go back to her rented rooms to eat, when a man spoke to her, holding out a camera.

  Presuming he wanted her to take a picture of him, she stretched out her hand for the proffered camera, as he immediately pulled it out of her reach.

  She stared up at him. Did he want a snap or not? Really she was far too relaxed to care much either way. “Monsieur,” she asked, “voulez-vous un photo ou non?” Was “photo” French? It didn’t sound right but her French was rusty after all these years and she’d swear she’d seen the word written.

  “Ah, you are English perhaps?” A younger man, standing beside the old codger, asked.

  That much had to be obvious from the way she butchered the language although her French was coming back, slowly but surely. “Yes.”

  “Oh, Madame,” he said, giving her a rather devastating smile that crinkled the corners of his dark eyes. “You misunderstand. My grandfather would like to take a picture, with your permission. “

  “Of me?” She knew she’d had to have had stranger requests, just couldn’t think of any examples right now.

  “Of your hands, if you permit. He collects pictures. “

  Her hands? True, the bright, purple manicure she’d given herself the night before was eye-catching but… “Just my hands?” She wasn’t certain if it was odd or plain weird.

  “Your hands holding the book, if you would, please.”

  Sounded harmless, so she nodded, picked up the book and held it on her lap, as the old man snapped her rather racy, bright fingernails holding up the 4.50 from Paddington.

  “Mille mercis, Madame!” She was rewarded a little courtly bow.

  “My most profound thanks,” the younger one said. “Most gracious of you and if you have any concerns…” With a flourish, he produced a business card. “Do not hesitate to contact me.”

  “That was a trifle odd,” Poppy said, to herself, once they were out of earshot.

  A muffled chuckle came from the woman at the end of the bench. “Sorry, “she said, “but you’re right. Very odd but harmless, I think.” She met Poppy’s eyes and smiled. “Forgive me butting in but I was fascinated by the incident.”

  “I was a bit nonplussed,” Poppy replied, quite pleased to find someone who spoke English. “Not the sort of thing one encounters every day at home but, after all, I came here for a change.”

  “You’re British? I’m Helen Crewe.”

  Poppy took the offered hand. “Poppy Gordon and yes, I am. You’re American?” She wasn’t too sure she wanted to disturb her contentment with polite and probably pointless chatter but something about the woman’s calm confidence appealed.

  “Virginian born and bred. But I live here now, or rather just down the coast.”

  “Lord, I’m envious. What a place to live.”

  “It’s wonderful, I’ve been here almost a year now and honestly still sometimes have to remind myself, it’s not a dream.”

  What to say to that? “Yes, you are damn lucky and I hate you.” Not fair that. She’d just met the woman. “It must feel like it at times. I’m only here for a few weeks and I still can’t quite believe it.”

  “On holiday?”

  “I think you’d call it running away.” More than she’d ever say to a total stranger but so what? This was a casual conversation with a woman she’d never see again.

  Another soft chuckle. “I did the same. “

  “You ran away?”

  “My husband had died. I felt I was being smothered by kind friends and well-wishers urging me to take up a hobby, volunteer for a worthy cause or join a ladies’ luncheon club. I was at the point of freaking out when I saw an advertisement for a librarian job out here. I applied and got it and I’m here to stay. “

  Envious didn’t begin to describe it. “What a lovely place to run away to.”

  “Yes.” Helen went quiet for a few moments and Poppy decided there had been quite enough exchange of personal details. Time to bid the woman a polite goodbye. “Want to go to lunch?” Helen asked.

  Not exactly what Poppy had had in mind but… “Why not?”

  They ended up on the terrace of a small restaurant just down from the opera house. “Totally touristy, I admit,” Helen said, as they sat down at the table covered with a beige gingham cloth. “But I love it here and it’s fun to people watch. Food’s pretty good too.”

  It was.

  So was the wine. In fact, afterward Poppy blamed the carafe of local rosé for loosening her tongue and her inhibitions. “My partner died,” she said. Not what she’d meant to say at all.

  “And you were all alone?”

  She wished! Then it all spilled out. The scene at the funeral and the polite relationship she’d had with Tommy’s four grown sons that morphed overnight into antagonism and acrimony. And not forgetting his ex-wife who returned from Australia for the sole purpose, or at least that was what it had seemed like at the time, of aiding and abetting her sons in tossing Poppy out of her job and her home.

  “But surely you had some legal recourse,” Helen said.

  “We weren’t married and although we’d worked together for twelve years, I wasn’t a partner in the firm. His will left the business to his sons. I wasn’t even mentioned in it. He’d made it before I met him. “

  “You really got shafted.”

  That was one way of putting it. Actually, a damn good way of putting it. “Yes, I suppose I did, but you know what? Right now I don’t care. You said how you flipped and ran off, well I pretty much did the same. I was sitting in their solicitor’s office, the same one whom I’d thought of as my solicitor, and listened to Tommy’s sons going on and
on about how they had rights to the business and so forth and something snapped. I went totally cold, stood and told them they could have it all. All I asked was a couple of days to pack up. I think the catalyst had been my old aunt giving me some money and telling me to take a break. So I did.

  “I went back to our house—okay Tommy’s house. Packed two suitcases, grabbed my laptop and the petty cash box out of the office. Threw the lot in my car and drove away. I must admit the next morning I regretted leaving my books and sewing machine and masses of other stuff that was mine, but realized I didn’t care that much about things. My sister thought I had gone round the bend. She was part right, but I felt calm for the first time in weeks. They could have the whole shebang. Thing is…” She couldn’t hold back a grin. “I’m pretty sure they hope to sell the land to a developer and make gazillions out of it, but what they don’t realize is that it’s farm land. Green belt,” Helen looked confused. “It can’t be built on. Somebody tried last year just a mile or so away and got refused planning permission. They’re stuck with a farm and they don’t know the first thing about working it. All they’ve ever done about the business was cash Tommy’s checks. Deep in my heart, I hate the thought of all those acres going to wrack and ruin after all our work, but it’s their baby now.”

  “What did you grow?” Helen asked. “Fruit? Vegetables?”

  “Lavender.”

  The woman gaped “You’re serious? Lavender?”

  “Yes. Our company was called Sussex Lavender. You can Google us. The website should still be there. I’d paid hosting for six months. “

  “Good heavens!”

  Why was she so surprised? Surely people grow lavender in America. They certainly did here. She’d seen fields of it on the hills near Grasse.

  Helen was silent a moment or two and Poppy was beginning to think she’d rambled on too much.

  “Ever thought of running another farm?” Helen asked.

  “I’d love to, but they’re not exactly thick on the ground and if they were, I couldn’t possibly afford to buy one. Besides, I’m running away, plenty of time to think about the future when my money runs out.”

  “I think you picked the right place to run away.”

  Poppy couldn’t agree more.

  Seemed conversation had run out too. Fair enough—they’d both eaten vast plates of fresh ravioli.

  “I ought to go,” Helen said. “I’ve a couple of errands to run.”

  They exchanged mobile numbers and parted, agreeing to meet again for lunch some unspecified time in the future. Poppy walked back to her rented rooms, via a stop at the Monoprix for yogurt and salad, not really expecting to see Helen again.

  * * * * *

  Helen drove back to Les Santons slightly faster than safety dictated, but she was eager to see Luc. She just hoped his arrogant brother had left. She wasn’t about to share her news with him.

  Jean’s car was gone but a sporty black Citroën sat in the driveway. So Luc was consulting with his lawyer. Helen parked her own car and went into the house by the back door. Adele, the cook, was cleaning up from lunch as Helen walked in.

  “Hello, I thought you had the day off.”

  “I do. “ Helen grinned. She liked Adele and they’d always dealt well together. Sharing much more than just a mutual employer. “Something came up. I want to speak to Luc but he’s busy, I see.”

  “Yes, Maître Poulain came about twenty minutes after that brother of Monsieur’s left in a fit of temper. “

  “Heard anything I need to know?”

  “Other than Monsieur Jean flouncing out in a snit? Not really. I brought in coffee fifteen minutes ago and Monsieur said not to disturb them.”

  That probably meant she shouldn’t barge in either. “Was the argument over the land up at La Turbie?”

  Adele shrugged. “Of course. What else has disturbed the equilibrium of the household the past few weeks?”

  The ongoing three-sided argument between Luc, his brother and their mother, okay two-sided since Luc was determined to humor his mother who did not want to sell, had been going on for weeks. Ever since Jean had returned from Australia, wanting money for a new venture. “Between us, I might, possibly have stumbled onto a solution.” A very big might admittedly but worth considering and, if successful, was destined to piss off Jean, but what the hell? Helen’s loyalties lay with Luc who was her lover as well as employer.

  “How?” Adele asked, as she loaded plates in the dishwasher.

  “I just met someone who might be just the person Luc needs.”

  She didn’t have too long to wait. An hour later, as she sat at her computer, Luc walked in. Her smile at seeing him in her doorway was pretty much a reflex. “Hello, Luc.”

  “I did not expect you back so soon. “

  “I only needed a couple of hours.”

  “To avoid my brother.”

  Why deny it? She had been pretty obvious. “You had things to talk about.”

  “Same things as yesterday and the day before.” And weeks before that.

  “Nothing was settled then?”

  “We have a problem. The situation is dire. That was why I sent for Poulain. My troublesome brother has delivered an ultimatum. I decided to let Poulain handle my mother.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “He has hired his own lawyer to fight us. Since he has an interest in the land, he is saying if it is not put back into production within six weeks, he will insist we sell. We can delay in the courts, Poulain believes, but it will take time and money and distress my mother.”

  Things such as this made her glad she’d been an only child. “Sounds difficult.”

  “Helen! It is more than difficult. It is a disaster. How can he be so unreasonable?”

  Jean was probably saying the same about Luc, but she kept that to herself. Besides, she had an ace up her metaphorical sleeve. “Let me get this straight, he didn’t define what is meant by ‘in production’?”

  Luc shrugged. Even that was a sexy gesture but she really had to keep focused on the hectares up in the hills, not his luscious bod. “Poulain took it to mean we have a staff there and ongoing work but after that felon Warburg disappeared with the money and equipment, who will take on a half-ruined project?”

  Perhaps a single woman with no ties? “I might know someone.”

  She chose to ignore the eye roll that rather irked her. “I met somebody this morning and had lunch with her.”

  “Her?” He picked up on that. “Who might this possibility be?”

  Helen told him.

  He listened, she’d hand him that, but then he shook his head. “You know nothing about this woman. She could end up worse than Warburgh.”

  She couldn’t be much worse. “Or she could be better. At least it would stave off your brother’s ultimatum. You’d have someone running the place and an experienced person at that.” Assuming Poppy really wanted a job of course. “I Googled her. The farm she used to run is legit. Here…” She tapped on the keyboard and brought back up the website she’d been looking at earlier. “See.” She turned the screen to face him. “It was productive, in fact successful, and she helped run it for twelve years. She could give us six months or so until your brother gets tired of nagging your mother.”

  He pondered that several minutes. Helen tried to ignore the sexy the little crease between his eyebrows. “You think she would do it?”

  “Honestly, Luc, I have no idea but she likes it here and seems to have limited money. It’s something she knows and she could be useful.”

  “But would she fit into our establishment?”

  Dear heaven! He meant was she kinky. “As to that, Luc, the subject didn’t come up over lunch. And would it matter anyway? She’d not actually be living on the estate, would she? Surely she’d be up at the farm.”

  “You have her phone number, you said.”

  She found it on her phone and wrote it down of a slip of paper along with the web address. “Here it is.” What was he
going to do with it?

  “I will have Poulain investigate her.”

  That meant he was interested. “Don’t let him take too long. She might decide to go back to England.”

  “Helen.” He came close, leaning over her, both hands flat on her desk. “Are you presuming to give me orders?’

  She couldn’t help grinning. “Did it sound like one?”

  “My dear, I had thought to reward you tonight for your helpfulness but now, seems perhaps a punishment is in order.”

  There was little difference as far as she was concerned. “You think that is necessary?”

  “Indeed I do. Just you wait until after dinner.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. “It is, better prepare yourself.”

  That happened without any effort on her part. Just the anticipation was getting her aroused. She lowered her eyes, the way he enjoyed, and said, “I will obey.”

  He stroked her head. “Good.” He walked out, leaving her with tight nipples, a damp pussy and a longing for dinner already to be over.

  And it was not yet four o’clock.

  Chapter Two

  Branko, Luc’s secretary, was back for dinner so the three of them ate in state at one end of the long dining table. It wasn’t until they were scraping the rather luscious hazelnut tart from their plates that Luc brought up the subject of Poppy.

  Branko listened, nodding. “You could install her—assuming her credentials are as secure as Helen believes—and if she proves useless you’re no worse off.”

  That comment rather irked her. “And if she does put her knowledge and experience to work, the farm would be far better off. “Luc,” she went on, since his opinion was the one that mattered, “it appears she knows the business and she needs a job.”

  “But,” Branko butted in, “my dear Helen, you have absolutely no idea if she would fit into our household?”

  It was all sex and kink with both of them. Very nice in its own way but… ‘‘Would it matter? She won’t be here on the estate and anyway, it’s easy enough to check that out.”