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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СКАЧАТЬ the harbour and marina behind, Xavier hugged the coast for a while. Jane was enthralled by the view of all the huge estates visible from their vantage point. They couldn’t really talk over the sound of the engine, but she was happy to drink in the sight of him when she was sure she couldn’t be caught. She’d never been reduced to this level of carnal feeling before. Didn’t know how to handle it.

      She could see a small cove come into view, and Xavier negotiated the boat towards it. It looked empty. She was bizarrely both disappointed and excited not to have company, but if she was honest with herself she knew which feeling won out.

      When he had anchored a short way from the shore he indicated the cabin below. ‘Why don’t you change into your swimsuit here? That way you can leave your things on board.’

      ‘Sure.’ Jane feigned a nonchalance that she was far from feeling.

      Down below in the small cabin, she changed with awkward haste, half terrified that he’d come down the ladder. Her bikini had felt perfectly adequate up until today, but now she pulled at it ineffectually and tried to stretch it out. Had it shrunk? Somehow it felt as if it had become the skimpiest two-piece on earth since she had last worn it, and she was very conscious of her skin, still pale despite a slight tan. She chastised herself. He was no doubt used to seeing women baring a lot more, especially in this part of the world.

      When she emerged from the cabin her skin was still gleaming from an application of suncream. Xavier’s breath stopped in his throat as she was revealed bit by bit. Like a lust-controlled youth, he couldn’t take his eyes off her chest, full and generous, yet perfectly shaped. She had tied a sarong around hips that flared out gently from a small waist. She looked shy and uncertain, as if she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, which were hidden behind his dark lenses. Unbidden, and as swift as his physical response, came a desire to reassure and protect. Alien and unwelcome emotions when it came to him and women. Especially ones he’d known for less than forty-eight hours.

      He masked it speaking more brusquely than he’d intended. ‘The water should only be waist-deep here, so you can wade ashore.’

      He had to stop himself staring when she took off her sarong to reveal a curvy bottom and those never-ending legs … Her self-consciousness was at odds with her body. A body made for pleasure. His pleasure.

      When Jane hit the water she welcomed the distraction from the fever racing in her blood. Tried to block out the potent image of the man leaning over the edge.

      ‘OK?’

      ‘Yes … fine.’

      She half-swam, half-waded to the shore, grateful for the moment to herself. However impressive she had thought his physique while under clothes, it hadn’t prepared her for seeing him half naked. He should come with a health warning. He was the most perfect man she had ever seen. She’d tried to avoid looking, but it was impossible not to take in that expanse of bare, toned, exquisitely muscled chest. A light smattering of dark hair led down in a silky line to where his shorts … She gulped as she rested on the sand.

      He was wading towards her, with the hamper held aloft in his arms, dark hair gleaming wetly against his head. Strong-muscled legs strode out of the water towards her. She had spread her sarong out on the sand, and was glad of the need for sunglasses and the protection, however slight, they afforded her. She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them in another unconscious gesture of protection.

      To her relief, he was businesslike. Coming to rest beside her on the sand, he opened up the basket, taking out a light blanket. He spread it out and started to take out a mouthwatering array of food. Olives, bread, cheese, houmous … sliced ham, chicken wings, pâté.

      ‘There’s enough food here to feed an army.’

      ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

      ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’

      ‘Why don’t we start here?’ he said, uncorking a bottle of champagne that came in its own encasing to ensure it stayed chilled. He filled two glasses and handed one to her.

      ‘To … meeting you.’

      ‘To meeting you.’ She echoed his words, not sure what to say.

      A funny feeling lodged in her chest as she took a sip, the bubbles tickling her nostrils. As he busied himself preparing her a selection of food to pick from on a plate, she couldn’t help but shake the feeling that this was all a little too smooth … practiced, even—as if he had done it a thousand times before.

      ‘Do you come here often?’ she asked lightly, trying to make it sound like a joke.

      He stopped what he was doing and looked at her sharply. ‘Do you mean have I brought women here before? Then the answer is yes.’

      She was taken aback by his honesty. He hadn’t tried to temper his words, or make her feel better. Somehow it comforted her. Although the thought of being the latest in a long line of undoubtedly more beautiful women caused some dark emotion to threaten her equilibrium, which she was barely clinging on to as it was.

      ‘I can tell you, though, that it hasn’t been for some time. And there probably haven’t been half as many as you seem to be imagining. I’ve come here since my teens, and it’s a favourite hang-out for friends of both sexes … not some place purely to seduce women.’

      ‘Oh … well, of course. I never thought for a second—’

      ‘Yes, you did—but I suppose I can’t blame you.’

      A blush crept up over her face and she turned her attention to the food, hoping to distract him and get off the subject. She could envisage a neon sign above her head with an arrow pointing downwards saying—Gauche!

      She crossed her legs and helped him to put out the food.

      If anything had ever helped her to take her mind off things then it was food. She tucked in healthily. After the first few mouthfuls she looked up to find him staring.

      ‘What?’ She wiped her mouth with a napkin. ‘Have I got some food somewhere?’

      He shook his head, taking his glasses off. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman eat the way you do. You look like you could keep going until everything is gone.’

      She smiled wryly. ‘My appetite is legendary, I’m afraid. You’ve probably met your match. I’ve never been a delicate eater …’

      He nodded towards her. ‘Keep going, please—I’m enjoying the novelty of watching a woman relish her food.’

      Suddenly self-conscious, she took a sip of champagne to wet her throat and forced herself to keep eating as nonchalantly as possible. But now his attention was focused on her it was impossible. He seemed to be fixated by her mouth. She swallowed a piece of cheese with difficulty.

      ‘The history of your island seems fascinating … what I read of it in the exhibit space. Has your family really been there for centuries?’

      Thankfully he finally took his gaze away. ‘Yes. They were given the island as a gift by the French royal family in the twelfth century. We originally came from Aragon, in Spain. The royals in the north wanted to establish allies in the south. We took the name of the island and added it to Salgado … hence my name today.’

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