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Authors: Sara Craven
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bend of her knees.
‘Alors.’ With sudden briskness, he recapped the bottle and put it down beside her. ‘The rest I am sure you can manage for yourself.’
‘Thank you,’ she said with icy politeness. ‘But I think I’ve had enough sun for one day.’
‘Perhaps you are wise,’ he said, faint amusement in his voice. ‘Why take more risks with such a charming body?’
Her throat tightened. ‘Thank you for your concern,’ she said. ‘But I can look after myself.’
She fumbled for the edges of her bra top and tried to bring them together across her slippery skin, with fingers made clumsy through haste.
‘Of course—as you prove so constantly, ma belle .’ She could hear him smiling, damn him. ‘Permettez-moi.’ He took the strips of material from her, and deftly hooked them into place.
Too bloody deftly altogether…
She sat up, pushing her hair back from her flushed face with a defensive hand. ‘Does that fulfil your quota of good deeds for the day?’ she asked stiffly. ‘Or do you have other visits to make? Because I wouldn’t wish to delay you on your errands of mercy.’
He studied her for a moment. ‘Why do you speak to me as if I were your enemy, Alys?’
Her colour deepened. ‘I—don’t,’ she denied shortly.
‘No?’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Then I hope we do not meet when you wish to be hostile.’
She took a swift breath. ‘I would actually prefer it, monsieur, if we didn’t meet at all after this.’ She lifted her chin. ‘You got me out of a nasty situation the other day, and I shall always be grateful for that. But now I would really like to be left in peace to—to enjoy my vacation without any further intervention from you. I’m sure you understand.’
‘I think I begin to,’ Remy de Brizat said slowly. ‘Tell me, Alys, do all men make you so nervous, or is it just myself?’
She gasped. ‘I’m not the slightest bit nervous—of you, or anyone.’
‘Then prove it,’ he said, ‘together with this gratitude you say you feel, and have lunch with me tomorrow.’
‘Lunch?’ she echoed in disbelief. ‘But why should I do any such thing?’
He shrugged. ‘I have already given you two good reasons,’ he said. ‘Besides, everyone needs to eat, and midday is considered a convenient time by most people.’ The blue eyes considered her again, more thoroughly. ‘And you are a little underweight, you know.’
She lifted her chin. ‘Is that in your medical opinion, or for your personal taste?’ she queried coldly.
He grinned at her. ‘I think—both.’
Well, she’d asked for that, but it didn’t improve her temper or weaken her resolve to keep him at bay.
He had a proud face, she thought, stealing a lightning glance at him from under her lashes. There was even a hint of arrogance in the high cheekbones and the cool lines of his mouth.
This was a man who was almost certainly unused to rejection, and equally unlikely to take it well.
I don’t suppose, Allie mused, he’s ever been stood up in his life. And—who knows?—it might teach him a muchneeded lesson. And, more importantly, it will demonstrate that I’m not available. Let’s hope he takes the hint.
She shrugged a bare shoulder, half smiling, as if resigned to her fate.
‘Very well, then. Lunch it is. As you say, we all need to eat.’ She paused. ‘What do you propose?’
There was a brief silence, then he said slowly, ‘There is a good restaurant on the road towards Benodet—Chez Lucette. You think you can find it?’
‘Of course.’
‘Bon. Then, shall we say—twelve-thirty?’
‘Perfect.’ Allie looked down demurely. ‘I—look forward to it, monsieur. ’
His brows lifted. ‘Still not Remy?’
‘After lunch,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Perhaps.’
He said softly, ‘I shall live in hope. A bientôt .’ And went.
Left alone, Allie realised she was as breathless as if she’d been running in some marathon. It was a reaction she was not accustomed to, and it scared
‘Alors.’ With sudden briskness, he recapped the bottle and put it down beside her. ‘The rest I am sure you can manage for yourself.’
‘Thank you,’ she said with icy politeness. ‘But I think I’ve had enough sun for one day.’
‘Perhaps you are wise,’ he said, faint amusement in his voice. ‘Why take more risks with such a charming body?’
Her throat tightened. ‘Thank you for your concern,’ she said. ‘But I can look after myself.’
She fumbled for the edges of her bra top and tried to bring them together across her slippery skin, with fingers made clumsy through haste.
‘Of course—as you prove so constantly, ma belle .’ She could hear him smiling, damn him. ‘Permettez-moi.’ He took the strips of material from her, and deftly hooked them into place.
Too bloody deftly altogether…
She sat up, pushing her hair back from her flushed face with a defensive hand. ‘Does that fulfil your quota of good deeds for the day?’ she asked stiffly. ‘Or do you have other visits to make? Because I wouldn’t wish to delay you on your errands of mercy.’
He studied her for a moment. ‘Why do you speak to me as if I were your enemy, Alys?’
Her colour deepened. ‘I—don’t,’ she denied shortly.
‘No?’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Then I hope we do not meet when you wish to be hostile.’
She took a swift breath. ‘I would actually prefer it, monsieur, if we didn’t meet at all after this.’ She lifted her chin. ‘You got me out of a nasty situation the other day, and I shall always be grateful for that. But now I would really like to be left in peace to—to enjoy my vacation without any further intervention from you. I’m sure you understand.’
‘I think I begin to,’ Remy de Brizat said slowly. ‘Tell me, Alys, do all men make you so nervous, or is it just myself?’
She gasped. ‘I’m not the slightest bit nervous—of you, or anyone.’
‘Then prove it,’ he said, ‘together with this gratitude you say you feel, and have lunch with me tomorrow.’
‘Lunch?’ she echoed in disbelief. ‘But why should I do any such thing?’
He shrugged. ‘I have already given you two good reasons,’ he said. ‘Besides, everyone needs to eat, and midday is considered a convenient time by most people.’ The blue eyes considered her again, more thoroughly. ‘And you are a little underweight, you know.’
She lifted her chin. ‘Is that in your medical opinion, or for your personal taste?’ she queried coldly.
He grinned at her. ‘I think—both.’
Well, she’d asked for that, but it didn’t improve her temper or weaken her resolve to keep him at bay.
He had a proud face, she thought, stealing a lightning glance at him from under her lashes. There was even a hint of arrogance in the high cheekbones and the cool lines of his mouth.
This was a man who was almost certainly unused to rejection, and equally unlikely to take it well.
I don’t suppose, Allie mused, he’s ever been stood up in his life. And—who knows?—it might teach him a muchneeded lesson. And, more importantly, it will demonstrate that I’m not available. Let’s hope he takes the hint.
She shrugged a bare shoulder, half smiling, as if resigned to her fate.
‘Very well, then. Lunch it is. As you say, we all need to eat.’ She paused. ‘What do you propose?’
There was a brief silence, then he said slowly, ‘There is a good restaurant on the road towards Benodet—Chez Lucette. You think you can find it?’
‘Of course.’
‘Bon. Then, shall we say—twelve-thirty?’
‘Perfect.’ Allie looked down demurely. ‘I—look forward to it, monsieur. ’
His brows lifted. ‘Still not Remy?’
‘After lunch,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Perhaps.’
He said softly, ‘I shall live in hope. A bientôt .’ And went.
Left alone, Allie realised she was as breathless as if she’d been running in some marathon. It was a reaction she was not accustomed to, and it scared
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