Fragrance of Violets (16 page)

“Trust you to be practical. I was thinking of something else, though I don’t suppose ten floors give anyone much time to—erm, you know.”

He grinned. “Oh yes, and what would you know about that?”

“Nothing, actually, but I’ve always wondered how people managed it. Not that I’m suggesting we should try.”

“Too late anyway. This is our floor.”

They walked along the thick red carpet of the wide corridor, and he slipped the keycard into the door. “We have a suite with a lounge, bathroom, balcony, and two bedrooms—”

“Two bedrooms? Why on earth do we need two bedrooms? Hey, this is amazing,” she continued as he opened the door for her.

The room was furnished in contemporary style in red, white and black, and Jack watched with amusement as she walked around the open-plan lounge and bedroom area. She surveyed the abstract paintings on the walls, smelt the flowers in the crystal vase on the table, even splayed her hand on the bed to feel the mattress. Then she went across to the glass door which opened onto the balcony, which held two lounger chairs and a small table.

“Oh look, we can see both the Arc de Triomphe
and
the Eiffel Tower from here.”

He followed her to the balcony. “I take it you approve?”

“Definitely.”

Her eyes sparkled as she reached up to kiss his mouth lightly. He wanted to pull her to him, crush her in his arms, and carry her to the bed.

Don’t rush it, Jack.

“What are the plans for this evening?” she asked.

He wished he could suggest they went straight to bed. Instead, he said, “I thought we might go to a restaurant on the Left Bank.”

“Sounds good to me, but I need to change first. These clothes are for travelling, not for enjoying the delights of Paris. Which door’s the bathroom?”

“That one.” He pointed at one of the doors and watched, slightly bemused, as she lifted her case onto the chrome luggage rack.

She indicated the small table near the window, with wine and chocolates as well as the vase of flowers. “Pour me a glass of wine while I change, will you? I won’t be long.”

He couldn’t see what she pulled out of her case but, after she disappeared into the bathroom, he stared at the closed door. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening here. Ever since they arrived at the hotel, she’d been relaxed, casual, even flirtatious. Very different from what he expected. He’d been prepared for her to be diffident and tense, and had been gearing himself up to take things slowly and help her to relax.

With a baffled shake of his head, he opened the bottle of red wine, and poured two glasses. He took them both across to the lounge area with its white leather armchairs and black glass table, and waited.

Okay, they’d go for a meal, sit at a pavement café in Place Saint Michel, people-watch and talk. Later they’d come back here and— He had absolutely no idea what would happen. He’d have to play it by ear.

“How do I look?”

When her voice broke into his thoughts, he turned, and almost dropped his wine glass.

She stood in the doorway, her hand reaching up the doorframe, in the most provocative, seductive pose that exceeded even his wildest fantasy.

“Wow!” was all he could say.

She pouted teasingly at him. “You like?”

He placed his glass on the table and struggled to find his breath. “Like is an understatement.”

Her red see-through chiffon jacket only partly covered her beautiful breasts and, fastened with one clasp underneath them, offered a tantalising glimpse of the g-string below. Combined with the high-heeled red shoes which emphasised her sensational legs, it was enough to give him an erection that strained his pants.

“Jeez, Abbey—”

She grinned. “You do realise I’ve ruined my reputation at a certain shop in Kendal by buying this?”

“Yes—no—” He stood up, started toward her, and stopped. “Let me look at you.” His gaze travelled the whole length of her and he moistened his lips. “Abbey, I don’t know what to say—”

“So don’t say anything. Kiss me and take me to bed.”

“Are you sure?” He could still hardly believe this was happening.

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t.” Her voice softened. “I want you, Jack.”

Two strides took him to her. He put his hands on her hips, pulled her firmly against himself, and kissed her.

* * * * *

Abbey melted against him, opening her mouth to his kiss and thrilling to the gentle and sensual mingling of their tongues.

Buying the sexy babydoll outfit had been an impulse decision, and she hadn’t been sure she could carry it off. She had to call on her acting skills to mask her tension when they arrived at the hotel. Now, in his arms, the tension had gone, and she didn’t need to act.

Their kiss deepened as his hands moved down her back, around her hips, and slowly up to her breasts, fondling them both through the silk.

Her head went back, and a small moan escaped her throat as she surrendered to the delicious caresses of his hands. “Mmm, that’s good.”

“Not sure I can undo this clasp,” he said.

She loved his frown of concentration as he fumbled with the fastening. Once he managed it, he slid the flimsy top off her shoulders until it fell to the floor.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed.

As he bent his head to kiss her breast, she gasped and her back arched involuntarily. Jack tightened his arms around her to stop her from falling backward and continued his tongue’s exploration. Shafts of exquisite pleasure shot through her, and she clutched his shoulder and the back of his head, closing her eyes as she surrendered to the electrifying arousal of all her senses.

Startled when he broke away, she giggled as he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed his cheek. “I’ve fantasised about you carrying me to bed like this.”

He grinned. “I’ve fantasised about this and a damn sight more. In fact, I can’t believe I’m not fantasising now.”

He threw several cushions on the floor, pulled the covers aside, and laid her on the bed. She smiled up at him. “And I’m thinking you’re somewhat overdressed.”

“Not for much longer.”

She watched as he yanked his polo shirt over his head, bent down to take off his shoes and socks, and lowered his pants. Her gaze riveted on his firm erection, and a quiver of excitement fluttered deep inside her.

At the same time, practicality surfaced. “Do you have some protection?”

“In hopeful anticipation,” he said with a grin as he opened the bedside drawer and put the small packet on top.

He climbed up beside her and trickled his fingers through her hair, and down from her shoulders to her breasts. Her body responded with a jerk as a hot flame streaked through her, and her breathing quickened when his hands began a sensuous exploration of her body, alternately caressing and squeezing until her skin was on fire.

When he unfastened the ties of her g-string and tossed it to one side, she giggled. “I might have known I wouldn’t be wearing this for long—and you wouldn’t believe how much it—oh!”

She lost the rest of her sentence when his hand slid past her hip to stroke her thigh. Involuntarily, she arched her body toward his, and gasped as his fingers caressed her, so tantalisingly close to where she desperately needed him.

“Jack,” she pleaded.

He raised his head from her breast and smiled, his eyes hooded with a mixture of lust and tenderness. “What?”

“Are you trying to drive me insane?”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” His husky voice aroused her even more.

In response, she reached down to his hand and moved it to where she needed him.

As his fingers touched her most sensitive place, she let out a small groan of pleasure, and within seconds she was drowning in a warm sensual pool, loving the exhilarating arousal, the heat that permeated her, and the way her skin started to tingle. She entered a different world, a world that knew only him and the sublime stimulation of every nerve and sense in her body. She writhed against his hand with soft moans, yearning for release even though she wanted this ecstatic agony to go on forever.

“Jack,” she cried. “Jack—please—I need you—”

He ripped open the packet from the bedside cabinet, slid on the condom, and lifted himself above her.

She looked up at his set face and fell in love with him all over again. His eyes closed as he entered her, and his helpless groan sent another storm of arousal through her. Instinctively, her body synchronised with his, slow and measured to start with and becoming faster and more frantic as she lost herself in the promise of release. Jack reached for her hips, pulling her even harder against him.

Her moans of pleasure changed to gasps as he drove her higher. She gripped his arms, and threw her head back with a cry of, “Jack!
Oh,
Jack
!” as her body exploded into a blissful, pulsating rapture. His movement inside her became fiercer, until he tensed, exhaled a deep guttural grunt, and jerked helplessly into her.

They collapsed, gasping with each gulp of air as they descended to earth again. Peace finally came and they relaxed.

Abbey gave a small moan of protest when he withdrew from her, and snuggled into the pillow, smiling contentedly, while he went to the bathroom.

When he returned and wrapped his arms around her again, she opened her eyes. “That was wonderful. I never knew it could be so amazing.”

“Did the fireworks go off for you, sweetheart?”

She looked at him blankly, not understanding, until she remembered. She started to laugh. “Yes, my love. A whole New Year Eve’s firework display went off.”

CHAPTER 16

“I’d love to stay here for the rest of the night,” Jack said.

He lay on his back with his arm around her, his hand stroking her hair. Abbey nestled her head against his shoulder while her fingers drew lazy circles on his chest.

“Why don’t we?”

“Because I’m hungry.”

She laughed. “Typical man. Sex and then food.”

He turned to look at her with soft blue eyes. “That wasn’t sex, Abbey. That was making love.”

“I know.” She remembered what Louise had said:
The real happiness which could be the most wonderful and fulfilling experience of your life.
Lying here with Jack, she understood what her sister meant.

“So what do you say? Shall we hit the town?”

“Mmm, all right.”

“We can stay in bed all day tomorrow if you want.”

“No way. I have Sacré Coeur, Montmartre, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, and the Musée d’Orsay on my list for tomorrow, not to mention all the shops.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Sightseeing
and
shops?”

“I’m joking, you idiot. Although I wouldn’t mind seeing the impressionist paintings at the Musée d’Orsay, especially Van Gogh and Monet.”

“I’ll go with that. Oh, and I’ve booked a Seine dinner cruise for tomorrow night.”

“Sounds perfect.” Her hand roamed his chest and travelled down his stomach. When she encountered his hardening erection, she grinned. “Time for more before we go out to find some food?”

He chuckled. “Abigail Seton, you’re a wanton woman.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

As she enclosed his firm shaft in her hand, he closed his eyes. The small groan he gave sent a tremor of excitement through her veins and the delicious thrill of her own arousal. When she moved to straddle him, a small shuddering moan escaped from her throat when his hands reached to cup her breasts.

He half-opened his eyes. “I’m dreaming this.”

“Good dream, is it?”

“The best.”

He caressed her breasts, and the warm waves of pleasure intensified until they became hot torrents and she was aware only of the electrifying tingles and the mounting excitement that coursed through her.

When her body started to buck against him, she opened her eyes. “Another condom, Jack. Please!” He’d ignited a fire in her that refused to be quenched.

He reached one hand out to the bedside drawer and tore open the packet, and her hands rested on the backs of his as he slipped on the condom. With a quick movement, he turned her on her back and brought his mouth to hers. No gentle and seductive kiss this time, instead a fierce and demanding tongue which thrust back and forth. She matched his urgency with her own, and lost herself completely, aware only of her frantic need for him.

When he slid himself inside her, she gasped. This time there was no search for release. Her body made its own response, moving with his in total abandon. Within seconds, the flooding warmth engulfed her.

“Jack, hold me!”

He tightened his grip on her arms and drove deeply into her. She heard his quick grunts, and was dimly aware of her own cries, until the world shattered into a million pieces, and she let herself drop into an exquisite pool where wave after wave of throbbing delight drowned her.

* * * * *

“I’m still hungry,” Jack murmured later, after they’d dozed briefly in each other’s arms, satiated and utterly content.

Abbey raised her head and laughed. “Hungry for what?”

“Food, you minx, food.”

“Actually, so am I. I only had a sandwich for lunch.”

“Okay. Do you want to shower first or shall I?”

She buried her head against the pillow. “You go first. I don’t want to get up yet.”

After he’d gone into the bathroom, she stretched herself in the bed and smiled. Making love with Jack had been all she’d imagined and more, much more. How foolish she’d been to hold back for so long. How naive to reject him, as she’d done in their teens. They’d wasted ten years. He’d always been her best friend. Now he was her lover, and nothing had ever seemed so perfect.

An hour later, they stepped out of their taxi to join the evening crowds in the Place Saint Michel on the Left Bank of the Seine. Cafés surrounded the square, their large canopied pavement areas filled with small tables and dozens of people. Waiters in black waistcoats wove between them, delivering food, and beer or wine to the customers, young and old, who sat deep in conversation or idly people-watching.

“Come on.” Jack caught hold of her hand. “There’s a place I know in one of the small streets near here.”

He led her along a couple of narrow, crowded streets which were lined with a bewildering mix of ethnic cafes, Moroccan, Turkish, Vietnamese, Japanese, as well as French, and stopped next to a small bistro.

“It doesn’t look much from the outside,” he said, “but the food’s excellent.”

Abbey scanned the menu board near the door and laughed. “It’s a good job they’ve listed everything in both French and English, otherwise I wouldn’t have a clue what half these things are.”

The bistro was small and intimate. Lithographs of nineteenth century Paris adorned the cream walls, and potted palms separated the dozen or so tables which were covered with crisp white linen cloths. Small candles flickered in red glass globes on each table and the only other lighting came from cozy wall lights in red shades.

She smiled across their small table at him. “Mmm, very romantic. How do you know about this place?”

“I found it on Wednesday evening. I sat over there—” he pointed to another table, “—but didn’t know if I was going to have the chance to bring you here.”

The waiter came to pour their wine, and Jack held his glass up. “To us, sweetheart.”

She clinked her glass against his. “To us, and I’m sorry I kept you waiting for my answer.”

“What made you decide to come?” he asked after taking a sip of his wine.

“Yesterday morning, I had an offer of a play in the West End, and I decided I didn’t want to go to London. I want to stay in Rusthwaite with you. That’s it, I suppose. Not a great bolt from the blue, more a quiet realisation of what was important to me.” When he didn’t reply, she frowned. “What’s the matter? What were you expecting me to say?”

He held up his hands and smiled. “Nothing’s the matter. I’m happy you think I’m important to you.”

“Of course you are, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for—you know.”

“And now?”

“I was more ready than I realised,” she said as her glance met his in shared amusement.

Jack took another sip of wine. “What’s the play?”

“
The Importance of Being Earnest.
I played Gwendolen in Manchester a couple of years ago, and Peter Stones has the same production starting in London next week.”

“Next week? What about rehearsals?”

“Sorry, I should have explained. The girl who should be playing Gwendolen has broken her leg, so I’d be a last-minute substitution.”

“How long for?”

“The first preview is next Friday, opening night the following Thursday, and a three week run.” When relief smoothed the tense lines on his face, warmth flooded her veins. Obviously he didn’t want her to be away for any lengthy period. “I don’t want to do it,” she went on. “Going back to London again doesn’t appeal.”

“Okay, but what about the crisis of confidence you said you went through? Has it helped to know that Peter Stones wants you? He’s quite a high profile director, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is, and yes, it does help.” The memory of the role she’d desperately wanted jarred through Abbey again. “Although if I ever met that bastard John Tyson, I’d tell him what I thought of him. You know who got the part I wanted? Marsha Hewitt. Oh, you probably won’t have heard of her, but she’s
so
unreliable. She walked out of two TV dramas at the last minute, and a West End production, too, about three years ago. She’s a total disaster.”

“Why did she walk out?”

“I’m not sure about the TV shows, but she dropped out of
The Blue Door
the week before they opened because she decided she didn’t like her co-star. Can you believe it? The opening had to be postponed, and she cost the production company and the theatre thousands, if not millions.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Oh heavens, why am I going on about Marsha Hewitt?”

“Because she got
your
part?”

“Yes, I admit I’m madly jealous. Maggie Rycroft was my dream role.”

* * * * *

Jack took a long drink of his wine. Unwittingly, Abbey had given him what he needed to know. Now he didn’t need to dig deep into his own pockets to buy off Marsha Hewitt. He simply had to find out why she dropped out of the TV shows, send the information to Farrell, and advise him to slap a rider on her contract with a huge penalty clause for withdrawal. No actress in her right mind would agree to such a contract.

He was tempted to tell Abbey, but caution prevailed. Anyway, far better to present her with her own contract for the part, once everything was finalised.

In the meantime, they were in Paris. Already they’d come together in two magical unions, and they still had two more days and nights. His body started to respond at the thought of the delights ahead.

Abbey had surprised him, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. Once she made a decision to do something, she always threw herself into it, heart and soul.

After an excellent meal, they walked hand-in-hand toward the Seine and escaped from the crowds on the busy main road down to the quiet footpath along the river. They crossed a pedestrian bridge, and stopped halfway to enjoy the view. On one side was the floodlit magnificent classical façade of the Louvre, on the other the dome of the Institute of France. In the distance, rising above the other buildings on the Île de la Cité were the Gothic twin towers of Notre Dame Cathedral, and all around them, the dark water of the Seine reflected a myriad of lights from the bridges and the roads which ran along both banks.

“This is magical,” Abbey murmured. “There’s something so special about Paris.”

Jack pressed her to his side. “It’s never seemed as special as it does tonight.”

* * * * *

Abbey woke with a start the next morning. She’d been dreaming and, for a moment, wondered where she was, until she became aware of Jack spooned up against her back, his arm around her.

Hearing his steady breathing, she turned carefully so as not to wake him. His face was relaxed and his tousled hair reminded her of how he’d looked in his teens. She had to restrain herself from pushing some strands back from his forehead. Instead, she moved her leg slightly so she could feel the part of him which had given her such exquisite enjoyment the night before.

For some reason, snippets of her dream came back to her, and she frowned as she tried to remember. Jack had been in the dream—or had he? She was in a copper mine in total darkness but knew he was somewhere near. When she saw a light in the distance, she ran toward it but tripped. Strong hands caught her, and she turned, expecting to see Jack, but drew back in shock when her father’s face appeared in the flickering candlelight. She backed away and started running again until she found herself in a long corridor. Another woman was with her now, saying in a husky voice, “Men are all the same, they can’t be trusted.” She yelled, “No, Jack’s different.” The woman laughed, an unpleasant cackle that woke her up.

Now she tried to shake off her sense of disquiet. Dreams were always a strange mishmash. A dream analyst could probably have a field day with that one.

She pursed her lips as she remembered what Louise had told her about her father the previous day.
He’d love to see you again.
Her nerves grated. There’d been plenty of times when she would have liked to see
him
, but he hadn’t been there for her. She owed him nothing.

“Hey, why the frown?”

She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t realised Jack had opened his eyes. “Do you know anything about pancreatic cancer?” she asked.

He blinked several times. “Oh my, what a question to wake up to.”

“I’m sorry.” She waited while he rolled onto his back. “Louise told me yesterday that our father has been diagnosed with it.”

“I see.”

“It can be treated, can’t it? With chemo or radio therapy?”

Jack eased her head against his shoulder, and she snuggled next to his warm body. “It’s called the silent killer,” he said. “There are no real symptoms in the early stages, and when symptoms do start to arise, they can be mistaken for a lot of other things to begin with. By the time the cancer’s eventually diagnosed, it’s probably already spread to other places.”

“Louise said they’re going to run more scans to see if it’s spread. How come you know so much about it?”

“A colleague of mine had it about six years ago. I researched a couple of articles with him.”

“Is he okay?”

“He died about four months after it was finally diagnosed.”