Latin Lovers: Seductive Frenchman: Chosen as the Frenchman's Bride / The Frenchman's Captive Wife / The French Doctor's Midwife Bride. Fiona Lowe

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      ‘You were better then any of the others … you had some edge that they don’t.’

      He looked at her, but instead of finding a look of false flattery on her face saw she was busily picking at a salad. She had merely stated a fact.

      ‘Thank you … I do miss it, but it was never going to be my destiny. Once my father died, I had to come back and take over the reins here. It used to be just the vineyard, but I developed abroad into the hotel chain and various other investments … mainly property.’

      ‘Did you see your father before he died?’ she asked softly.

      ‘No.’ It was curt, and Jane knew she’d hit a nerve. She deflected his attention.

      ‘Well, this all looks more than fabulous—if that’s possible. You’ll have to let me cook for you, maybe tomorrow …’

      He placed a swift kiss on her lips. ‘For now, I’m quite happy to cook and enjoy watching you eat.’

      For a moment he seemed as shocked as she was at the impulsive kiss that had come so naturally, but he recovered himself quickly.

      Jane coloured as he had known she would. How was it that he felt as though he could read her like a book?

      They sat out on a veranda at the back of the house. Soft jazz was coming from a speaker that was artfully hidden. Low lights from the house and candles illuminated the scene outside. Steps led down to a beautifully manicured lawn, teeming with exotic flowers. A clear sky glittered with stars and a full moon hung low in the horizon. It was magical.

      The conversation flowed as Jane told him about her mother, the marriage, her job … her life. Instead of a glazed look of boredom passing over his face, as she had feared, he seemed genuinely interested.

      He cradled his glass of wine. ‘It’s a strange connection to have …’

      When she lifted a quizzical brow he elaborated.

      ‘You growing up without a father, me without a mother.’

      Jane nodded and shrugged lightly. ‘I know … I wish I’d known him. But you can’t really miss what you never had. I think for years Mum immortalised him as the perfect husband, but the truth was that he left us with nothing, and that … that was hard.’

      ‘The truth usually is …’

      She was surprised by the bleak look that crossed his face but then it was gone.

      He leant forward to top up her glass of wine. ‘Enough of this maudlin talk …’

      He deftly changed the subject and she found herself forgetting about his enigmatic look as he effortlessly charmed her. After they had exhausted several topics, she couldn’t remember when she had enjoyed talking to anyone as much. When she could forget for a moment the intense attraction that was always humming between them …

      Later, when he stood and held out a hand to lead her inside, she took it easily. She followed him upstairs to her bedroom door. In the moonlit hallway she could just make out his eyes, feeling them rove over her face. Surely he would …?

      She wanted him to take her, mould her to him, kiss her senseless. Her hands itched to pull his head down to hers. But she was too shy to show him. He bent his head and pressed a friendly kiss to her forehead … she felt a crushing disappointment.

      ‘Goodnight, sweet Jane … I’ll see you in the morning.’ And he firmly turned her towards the bedroom and pushed her gently in.

      Hours later Jane lay in sheets that were a tangled mess around her overheated body. Overheated because of all the images that wouldn’t abate. Because of the knowledge that that man was mere feet away, probably naked, just lying there … All she had to do was get up, walk over …

      She veered between just about getting up and sinking back into the pillows. At one point she cursed him. He probably knew exactly what he was doing, was so tuned in to the female psyche that this was a tried and tested technique … He was probably sleeping like a baby. As the first fingers of dawn crept into the sky she gave up and admitted defeat. She was a coward. Tomorrow, after all, was another day. And it was her own fault. She finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

      Jane woke to a gentle prodding, opening up one eye to see a cleanshaven and impeccable Xavier looking down at her. Both eyes snapped open.

      ‘What time is it?’

      ‘Almost midday … couldn’t you sleep last night?’

      She eyed him suspiciously from under her lashes, was that a mocking smile? She as good as had sexual frustration tattooed on her forehead.

      ‘Fine, thank you, actually … and you?’ she asked sweetly, making sure the sheet was pulled all the way up to her neck. Did he have to stand so close to the bed?

      ‘Oh … like the proverbial log. I’ve made a picnic. There’s a nice route we can take on the boat to get around to the memorial. We can take a gentle hike up to see it. It’s a little more demanding, but ultimately rewarding.’

      With a glint in his eye and his lip twitching he took his leave to let her get ready, before she could make a smart comeback to his none too subtle double entendre.

      Gentle hike …? Some gentle hike, she thought about two hours later, when her legs were aching and sweat was running in rivulets down her brow, between her breasts and down her back. Her shorts and vest clung to her body like an indecent second skin, and all she could do was focus on Xavier’s feet ahead of her, making sure to take exactly the same steps as him.

      They had come around to the other end of the island, with Xavier pointing out landmarks, interesting birds and fauna along the way. There was so much more than she had seen at first. It was vibrant with the colour of thousands of wild flowers, cared for laboriously by the islanders who grew them to sell on the mainland.

      They had docked the boat at a small cove, not dissimilar to the one he had taken her to the other day. He’d pointed up at what looked a perilously long way away to an overhanging rock. She hadn’t been able to see the memorial, but he’d assured her that it was up there.

      They had left their picnic in the shade on the beach, and now she was following Xavier up the hill, which was fast becoming her personal Everest.

      Finally, just when she was about to beg for a break, his feet disappeared. She lifted her head to see his outstretched hand and took it gratefully, allowing him to haul her up the last couple of feet. He didn’t let go of her hand, waiting until she had her breath under control, but the view was threatening to take it away again. They had emerged at the highest point of the island, the southernmost tip, and falling away from them and to the north they could see everything … the mainland shimmering faintly in the distance and the castle a small speck up at the other tip.

      ‘This is … words fail me,’ she breathed when she had enough to spare.

      ‘I know … it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

      ‘Beautiful doesn’t do it justice. It’s epic … and it’s yours.’ She shook her head. ‘How must it feel to come up here and know that all you survey is yours and yours alone?’

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