IntheArmsofaLover Page 6

  “It’s a bit complicated.”

  “We still have a good drive ahead of us.”

  “Okay then. I ran away. My partner Tommy died. It wasn’t unexpected. He had cancer but it was still shock when it happened. That was just the beginning. Once the funeral was over and I tried to get back to work in our business, his estranged wife and grown children put in their spoke and claimed the land, the company and everything. Even the house we lived in. I began to think I was back in the middle ages, but I’d been such a fool. I can hardly believe it now but the business, house, premises, everything was in his name not mine. Knowing he was dying, we should have sorted things out ahead of time but we didn’t. Things got so messy and nasty that I threw up my hands and left them to it. My old aunt gave me some money and told me to take a holiday so I did. I came here and now, well, I’m not sure I want to go back.” She paused. “Sorry, didn’t mean to rabbit on like that.”

  “Don’t apologize. That is terrible, surely you had legal recourse?”

  “Maybe but I don’t have much money for legal fees. My sister insisted I should fight it. I can prove I ran the company with Tommy but I didn’t have the energy. And some things, like the house, were still in Tommy’s and his wife’s names. I thought I was being so liberated and modern not getting married. I should have listened to my mother’s warnings since I managed to royally screw up my life.”

  “Is it so bad here?”

  “Good God, no! I’ve always have loved this part of France. And now, if this job works out…”

  “It will. I will see to it myself.” Whatever was needed, he’d make sure it happened. But why did it matter so?

  He still hadn’t answered that, to his satisfaction, when he turned off the road onto the unmade and rutted drive that led up to the farmhouse. She sat up, leaning forward a little and smiled. “Looking forward to seeing it?” he asked.

  “Sort of curious to see what’s been done,” she replied. “It was halfway to a ruin the first time I saw it.”

  “When was that?”

  “The other week. I drove by a couple of days ago and there was work going on but…”

  No wonder she broke off. He’d just turned the corner and the old farmhouse stood just a few hundred meters away surrounded by abandoned and neglected fields. The same adjective couldn’t be applied to the stone house.

  “Good heavens!” Poppy muttered, almost under her breath. “What happened?” She was out of the car almost before he’d braked and stood staring as he caught up with her. “I can’t believe it. It was a thorough wreck and look at it now.”

  He looked. Half a dozen workmen’s vans were parked haphazardly around the house. Two men on scaffolding were painting the upstairs windows and a third was doing the same downstairs. As they stood and watched, a man in overalls came out the front door, called to a another in the open back of a white van and moments later they both walked back into the house, carrying lengths of copper piping.

  She didn’t hesitate, just marched up the nearest workman—the downstairs painter—and asked how long he’d been working on the house.

  “We started Monday,” he replied.

  “And you’ve done all this since then?” She had good reason to be amazed.

  “Why yes, Madame, we were hired, all of us, to work fast. We hope to be done by Friday next.”

  “I am so impressed. How many people are working?” she asked.

  He shrugged as he thought about it. “Perhaps five or six today. The gutter people finished yesterday so they won’t be back.”

  Stéphane looked up at the glistening new gutters, now half-painted by the second man on the scaffolding.

  “I must see inside,” she said, her eyes almost sparkling with excitement. “It’s incredible.”

  Stéphane was inclined to agree. Luc had a way of getting things done. But even for him it was, as she said, incredible.

  Two plumbers were busily installing plumbing in the kitchen. The stone floors had been cleaned and sealed. Upstairs the unpainted staircase and wooden floors had been sanded and sealed and the walls painted. The bathroom had been refitted and tiled and another, maybe a converted bedroom, was half done. One bedroom already had furniture dumped haphazardly.

  “I can scarcely believe it,” Poppy said. “I only signed the contract this afternoon, how did he know I’d agree?”

  She had a lot to learn about her new employer. “Luc expects to get what he wants. You were what he wanted. You said the house had to be habitable, ergo, it will be.”

  “Okay, but by next Monday?”

  “He’s paying them to get it done. It will be.”

  That gave her pause. There was a whole lot more he could tell her about Luc Prioux but now wasn’t the time.

  He followed her as she walked from room to room and back again. It was a pleasant enough way to pass the time after all. Poppy had a nice rounded bum and her hips rolled gently as she moved. He should remind himself this was business but he knew he’d gone beyond that. It wasn’t business that had him walking out of the office half an hour ago. He wanted Poppy Gordon but would have to play his cards carefully.

  She looked back and grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. “I still can’t believe it. If the painter is right and it will be done by next week, I can move in,”

  “I imagine that was the impetus to get this done so soon.”

  “That and foiling his awkward brother.”

  He wouldn’t argue there. “Don’t worry about Jean. Once you move in and hire a staff to work the land, I’ll inform him that the farm is operational and he’ll concede defeat.”

  “I hope he’s not a sore loser.”

  He might well be, but that was hardly her worry. “Get the place going and all will be fine.” Luc must have offered huge bonuses to get all this finished in a matter of days. Why? Just to get in his mother’s good graces or did he have a personal interest in the most intriguing Poppy Gordon? Stéphane thought not, if he did he’d be here instead. Except Luc most likely had no idea they were here. So what? He, Stéphane Poulain, was inclined to make the best of the opportunity.

  A call from below got Poppy’s attention. She answered and went downstairs. Seemed the plumbers had finished for the day. The painters were also loading equipment into their van and a plasterer, who’d been working in the pantry off the kitchen, emerged with an “Au revoir, Monsieur, Madame,” as he headed for his transport home.

  The last man locked up the house and assured the others he’d drop the key off with the patron at Les Santons to be collected in the morning.

  “I hadn’t quite expected this,” she said, looking back at the house.

  “That is a problem?” Stéphane asked.

  She shook her head. “Not really. I need to give notice at work, but otherwise, no. In fact I can’t wait to get started but who do I talk to about staff?”

  “You’ll need to talk to Vito Musa, one of the estate gardeners. I’ll tell him to call you. Meanwhile, should we have dinner to celebrate the success so far?’

  “It’s a bit early isn’t it?”

  She wasn’t refusing was she? “We can sit on the terrace and enjoy an aperitif first.”

  “You have somewhere in mind?”

  “I do.” He reached out and took her hand as they walked over to his car.

  Chapter Six

  Why had she agreed? Poppy hesitated, asking herself that as she didn’t precisely have an answer. She just had. Thrilled at the state of her future house and still hyped at getting the job, somehow dinner seemed the best way to end the day. And, to be honest, spending a few more hours in Stéphane Poulain’s company wouldn’t be any sort of hardship. “Where are we going?” Might as well know. They were heading away from Nice and toward Monaco but that didn’t tell much.

  “To a place I know, above Menton, high up among the lemon trees.”

  Sounded rather lush and definitely not Sussex. “I’m looking forward to it.” And what else? She had no idea. That she’d decide when
the time came.

  He wasn’t kidding about “high among the lemon trees”. They skirted Menton and climbed, through a village of stone houses and up a zigzag road through lemon orchards until he pulled off the road and they parked in front of a long stone building.

  A painted sign over the wide front door, read Alberge Prunier. Odd to label it “plum tree” among hectare upon hectare of lemons, but never mind, it looked inviting.

  Stéphane took her hand again as they crossed the car park, but Poppy decided not to read too much into that. All things considered, it was hardly customary lawyer-client contact. Not that he bore any resemblance to old Justin Fortescue, the turncoat solicitor she and Tommy had used.

  She was not even thinking about anything to do with home right now. She was about to have dinner, in a wonderful hillside inn, with a rather intriguing and bedworthy man.

  Was she jumping ahead? Probably not. This might be ostensibly a business dinner but he had taken her hand and that changed things. At least in her mind. Or was she getting her hopes up too soon? Once they were installed on the terrace, with a view of the Mediterranean far below, sipping on a tart lemon aperitif that Stéphane claimed was a local product, Poppy decided she’d keep on hoping.

  She wasn’t destined to be disappointed. A prolonged aperitif somehow segued into a leisurely dinner that lasted until night fell and they watched the lights come out along the shoreline far below.

  “This is so wonderful,” Poppy said, smiling across at him. “Thank you.” She reached out and took his hand. Forward? Maybe, but dammit, nothing good ever came from holding back.

  “My pleasure,” he replied. “You got me out of the office and into a delightful afternoon.”

  “‘Yes,” she couldn’t agree more. “But what an afternoon? I have a dream job, an almost restored house to live in, and a wonderful dinner. It seems a shame to have to go home.” Yes, a bit pointed but darn it…

  He covered her hands with both of his. “We don’t have to. They have convenient rooms upstairs.”

  “I’d hoped they would.”

  Ten minutes later, after a whispered conversation with the waiter, they were walking hand in hand up the wide, curving staircase. Stéphane led her down the corridor to the second door on the left and opened it with a key attached to an enormous brass pear shape.

  Inside was like some incredible movie set. The rest of the building had been typical of a rustic mountain inn, but the high-ceilinged room was all pastels, gilt furniture, pale brocade and an eye-catching bed. Even Stéphane stood in the middle of the flowery carpet and stared. Just before he turned to her and grinned.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  She’d call that the understatement of the year. The bed was vast, at least king-size with brass headboard and foot that suggested there had been a contest at the manufacturer to see who could add the most curlicues, finials and ornaments and this bed had clearly won. The ecru lace hangings turned it into a bed to dream on. Except her hopes and expectations went in a different direction.

  So it seemed did his. As she took a few steps across the deep-pile carpet to stand by the lace-covered bed, he took her hand and turned her to face him as he kissed her. The first kiss was soft, gentle, tentative, just a brush of lips on lips. The second was stronger, a little pressure of mouth on mouth before he eased back. She didn’t wait for the third. Instead she pulled his head down to hers, pressed her lips on his and opened them. He responded immediately, meeting her tongue with his, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close as he deepened the kiss. And he was one incredible kisser. She pressed herself into him, her hands now around his back, and kissed on. Not that he needed any persuading. Her little sigh was greeted with an urgent muttering as his hand came inside her blouse, up her back and her bra now hung open. He’d definitely had practice. That clasp often gave her trouble. One hand held her firm and steady between her shoulder blades as the other cupped her breast, his touch warm and gentle. She’d have to be half dead not to sense the urgency in his fingers as they caressed her nipple then moved to cup and squeeze her other breast.

  His touch ignited a wild need, a desire to feel him, skin on skin and damn the layers of clothes between them,

  He’d already shed his jacket but it wasn’t enough. Her hands tugged at his shirt, until she could get inside and touch. He was warm, so was she, heated even and, as she ran her hand up and down and over his chest, he gave her one last kiss and stepped back to pull his shirt over his head. He toed off his shoes and sat to pull off his socks. She was faster, her blouse already half undone and she shed that easily. Shoes she kicked off. Pity she was wearing tights but they’d come off soon enough. They along with her slip and panties all came off in one go, just as he was unzipping his trousers. Her skirt dropped faster and her bra hit the floor as he slipped out of his tiny, dark-green underwear.

  She sensed his urgency as he reached out his hand to her and drew her beside him onto the bed. One arm around her shoulders, he bent down and took her left nipple in his mouth. He was gentle, almost tentative, but so wonderfully arousing, as he kissed and she felt his touch deep in her pussy. Impossible to hold back the sigh. She reached out to him. He’d been half erect as he’d stripped but now, he was hard and upstanding. As she curled her fingers around his cock, he groaned. Poppy tightened her hold, easing her hand up and down as she played with his foreskin, easing it back to reveal the smooth pink head of his cock.

  She licked her lips in anticipation. “Do you have a condom?”

  He grinned. “Une capote anglaise? But of course.” He reached for his trousers lying on the floor and produced a small foil package. “For you.”

  She reached to take it but he had it open with a swift flick of his nail and rolled it on one-handed. Quite a skill. Wouldn’t be tactful to ask how much practice that had taken. Besides, she had something more to the point in mind. She slipped off the bed and knelt between his knees.

  “Poppy?” he sounded almost uncertain.

  She wasn’t. “Let me,” she replied, smiling up at him. “You look so delicious.”

  She opened her lips to kiss the tip of his cock. He said nothing apart from a slow sigh of pleasure as she circled the head with her mouth and swirled her tongue around the firm flesh. Her body responded in an instant. Her mind went off in a spiral and her cunt flooded. How she loved doing this, the sense of power, the knowledge of what she was giving, and the sheer pleasure that coursed through her as her lips and tongue worshiped his beautiful cock.

  She’d have been happy to continue for hours, well maybe not hours but he eased her mouth off him. “Easy,” he said, smiling down at her. “I don’t want this to be over too soon.”

  She sat back on her heels, her hands resting on his thighs. “Sometimes fast and furious as a good way to go.”

  “You don’t want a slow seduction?”

  Impossible to hold back the chuckle. “I think that’s been happening since I walked into your office this afternoon.

  He ruffled her hair as he laughed back. “You have enjoyed it?”

  He couldn’t tell? “I think I’ll enjoy what comes next even more.”

  He grinned as his eyes darkened and brimmed with excitement. Leaning forward, he took hold of her arms and helped her to standing. “I guarantee you will.” His mouth came back on hers.

  Dear heaven, how he could kiss. Poppy gave herself over to the power of his lips and the caress of his tongue. His hands skimming across her heated skin were a fantastic extra. She leaned into him. Okay, sort of sagged against him, her arm around his shoulders, and sighed from sheer and total pleasure.

  He moved. She gasped as he shifted, lifting her in his arms and depositing her, flat on her back, on the bed as he knelt between her legs, easing them apart. As he smiled down at her, she grinned back, reaching out to stroke his chest. It was rather nice, with gorgeous, sexy nipples the color of milky strong coffee and a nice sprinkling of just enough soft dark hair to draw her eyes downward to where his
fine, upstanding cock nestled in a lovely cluster of curls.

  “You like it?” he asked.

  Silly question. Hadn’t she spent the past ten minutes worshipping it? “I think it’s rather nice looking,” she replied, “but what I really want is to feel it deep inside me.”

  “You do? Do you also want to feel my mouth on your breast?”

  “Not on a breast. I want you to kiss both of them.”

  “Indeed.” With a grin like that, she knew she wouldn’t be disappointed. He leaned over her, supporting his weight on his arms, and took her left nipple between his lips, fluttering his tongue over the tip before pulling more of her breast into his mouth and sucking. Poppy lay back on the bed and sighed. This was so wonderful, so incredible and, as he moved to her other breast, she let out a groan. Seemed each movement of his lips send a message deep into her groin. Her clit was close to aching and her cunt flowed.

  After a particularly long groan, he paused, taking his mouth off her breast. “You enjoyed that.”

  Surely he wasn’t asking? He had to know how much it pleasured her and him. His cock, if possible, was even harder and more engorged. “So did you.”

  “What else will you enjoy?”

  “Getting fucked, feeling your cock in me.”

  “I promise you, you will.” Smug wasn’t the word for him.

  “What are you waiting for then?”

  “For you to say please.”

  For pity’s sake! “Please, Stéphane, would you fuck me? If it’s not too much trouble.” It would have sounded far more dignified is she hadn’t broken down and giggled in the middle. But it did the trick,

  “With pleasure, my dear Poppy.” As he spoke, his hips jerked and he was inside her. Not all the way yet, but enough to tell her this was a glorious fit. “How is that?”

  Dear heaven, was he going to need reassurance endlessly? “Quite nice.”

  “Nice?” His dark eyebrows quirked. “This is nice?” As his hips rocked his cock moved inside her.

  “Very nice?” What did he think?