Invitation to Provence (7 page)

“I’m sorry,” Jake said, trying not to be distracted by the fact that her skirt was hitched up over her knees—rather pretty knees at that, showing her long, slender legs, “I’m keeping you up late. I know you have to work tomorrow.”

She came to sit next to him and lifted his bandaged ankle
onto her lap, holding the frozen peas firmly over it. It was possibly the least romantic situation Jake had ever been in, but somehow that just added to her charm.

Her eyes linked with his. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered back and then somehow they were leaning into each other.
I shouldn’t be doing this,
Jake was thinking as he moved closer.
She’s gonna hate me when she finds out.

I shouldn’t be doing this,
Franny told herself.
I’ve only just met him … I don’t really know who he is.

Jake attempted to put his arm around her but the position was awkward. Franny slid obligingly along the sofa and put her arms around him instead. He could feel her heart beating against his as they kissed, but strangely his head was swimming. Suddenly he felt like a man in a dreamworld.

“It’s the painkillers,” practical Franny said. “They’ve made you woozy. I’ll drive you home if you like.”

No, I don’t like. I want to stay here with you,
Jake thought. Besides, he couldn’t let her drive him back to the hotel. She thought he lived in L.A., and this certainly wasn’t the moment to tell her he’d been lying. And anyhow, by now he could hardly move.

Franny stared doubtfully at him. His eyes were closed and it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. She roused him, put her arm under his shoulder and helped him limp to her bedroom, where she lowered him onto the bed. He sank back against the pillows, groaning as he drifted off again. There was nothing for it but to undress him. She unbuttoned his shirt and somehow managed to maneuver his arms out of his sleeves and tug it off. She hadn’t realized how heavy a half-asleep man could be. Next she unfastened his buckle
and slid off his belt. She hesitated before tackling the zip. She’d never gotten a man out of his clothes before, they’d always done it themselves. Still, it was easier than she’d thought, and he looked cuter in his blue boxers than she’d thought too, hard-bodied, smooth-skinned… . She covered him quickly with her old patchwork quilt.

“Paradise,” Jake was murmuring, “I think I’ve found paradise, Franny Marten.” She laughed and dropped a quick kiss on his forehead.

Back in her tiny living room, Franny put on a CD of Diana Krall singing of lost love, then slumped back onto the sofa. Sipping the chamomile tea, she wondered what on earth she thought she was doing. She had a strange man in her bed, a man she’d only met that morning, a man she hardly knew. What was she, crazy?

Plus she’d kissed him. I mean, she’d leaned right over, snuggled right up there, and
kissed him,
showing about as much finesse as a raunchy high school girl on prom night. She smiled, remembering the way his mouth had felt under hers and the faint tremor that ran through his body. She almost wished she hadn’t given him the painkiller—she would definitely have liked to kiss him some more.

The fire had settled to a dull glow and she was tired. She took off her skirt and top, turned out the lamp, pulled the green-check horse blanket over her, snuggled down and closed her eyes. Maybe there was life after Marcus after all.

F
RANNY WOKE AT SIX,
as she always did. She sat up and pushed back her hair, listening for any sound from the bedroom. Nothing. She tiptoed across and peeked in the door to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. Jake was still there, lying peacefully on his back and not even snoring, the way Marcus had. He looked so good she almost climbed right in there with him. In the clear light of day she thought it was probably a good thing he’d sprained his ankle. Otherwise she might have made a real fool of herself.

She found jeans and a sweatshirt, dressed hurriedly, got in the car and drove to the clinic. The shepherd was sitting up and taking notice. She ruffled his thick neck fur and told him he was a good boy, remembering to thank god for answering her prayers as she did so. She checked his wounds, gave him an antibiotic shot, fresh water, and a little food. He wagged his tail gratefully. “Be back soon,” she whispered, with a final pat, then got back in the car and drove to Starbucks.

She ordered
a grande
decaf low-fat latte for herself, and a
venti
regular with a double shot of espresso for Jake, because she figured he would like his coffee strong. On the way home she picked up a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, the plain
glazed kind, and she was back at the house before he even awoke.

J
AKE’S EYES
were still closed but he could smell ginger-flower candles and coffee. He wondered where on earth he was, then he remembered that he was in Franny Marten’s bed and, unfortunately, alone. He tested the ankle. He felt no pain. What was she, some kind of genius vet?

Then he opened his eyes and she was standing there with the Starbucks coffee in her hands, looking like a blond Oregon angel. For a second it disturbed him, knowing she’d been watching him sleep. He’d been off guard and vulnerable, a place he did not normally like to be. But there was a smile in her lovely pale eyes, her blond hair was in the pony-tail braid again, and she was un-made-up and barefoot. This was a great way to start a day, he thought with a surge of emotion that he seemed to remember was called happiness.

“Hi,” she said, smiling that sweet enchantress smile, totally unaware of the effect it had on him. “Coffee?” She raised the paper cups invitingly.

He pulled himself upright, watching her as she sat on the edge of the bed and handed him the coffee.

“How did you sleep?” she said.

“Great, thanks. And you?” He clapped a remorseful hand to his head. “Oh god, I took your bed.”

“I was okay on the sofa. I’ve done it before.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Yours has a double shot of espresso in it. I thought that’s what you’d like.”

The coffee was so strong Jake almost choked on it, but he smiled anyhow and said it was perfect.

“So how’s the ankle?” she said.

He’d almost forgotten that was the reason—the only reason—he was in her bed. He jiggled his foot under the blanket. “Pretty good,” he said, wishing he could claim to be incapacitated so that he could stay another night, but he had to get back to New York.

“Think you can walk?”

“I’ll give it a good try.”

He glanced at his pants neatly draped over a chair, with his shirt hooked over the top. He checked. He was still wearing his boxers.

“You took good care of me.”

“That’s what I do,” she said lightly, “take care of the wounded and injured.”

“I don’t think I’m exactly wounded.”

“Well, injured then. You’re certainly that. Oh, I almost forgot.” She got up quickly, then tripped over his shoes, which she’d left in the middle of the floor, recovering before she spilled too much of her coffee. She grabbed the Krispy Kreme box from the dresser where she’d left it. “Plain glazed,” she said. She looked doubtful again. “Or are you a chocolate man?”

“Never chocolate.” He took a doughnut and wolfed it down.

She perched on the edge of the bed, nibbling on her doughnut. “Usually I can’t manage breakfast,” she said. “I’m always up too early. This is good though.”

She held out the box and he took another. He didn’t want to get out of this bed, he didn’t want to move from this spot,
he wanted to stay here eating Krispy Kremes with Franny Marten for a very long time. “I guess I’d better get up,” he said reluctantly.

She hovered anxiously over him. “Let me help you.”

Jake was sorely tempted to feign excruciating pain when he put his foot to the floor, but he resisted. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

She slid her arm around him, ready to help anyway, and he turned to look at her. Their eyes linked and the room seemed suddenly very still. She leaned in to him and he took her chin in his hand, drinking her eyes in with his, drawing her face closer until he felt her sweet doughnut-scented breath on his mouth. And then he was kissing her and her lips were soft as cushions under his. He pulled her closer, wanting more of her. Now she was kissing him back and they were falling against the pillows, holding each other and kissing and kissing, unable to take their mouths away.

“Sweet,” he murmured in between kisses, “you are so sweet, Franny Marten.” Then, suddenly brought back to reality by the name Marten and remembering the reason he was here, he pushed her away. He held her at arm’s length and she watched him with puzzled blue eyes that asked, without words, what was wrong. “Nothing,” he murmured, unable to resist her, “nothing is wrong, Franny.” He pulled her gently back to him, stroking her soft hair that had come undone from its braid and spilled over his chest in a silken fall as she slid down his body, smoothing her hands over him until his skin felt on fire.

“Here, here,” he whispered, “come to me, my lovely Franny,” and he held her hands in his, kissing each finger, sliding his tongue between them, kissing the soft, warm
space under her arms, stroking her breasts, taking the jutting pink nipples into his mouth, then ranging down her body until he found the soft mound and her secret places and she whispered to him not to stop, oh please don’t stop. He covered her with his body, delirious with her sexy scent, her sweet breath as her lips sought his. He pulled back, stopped for a moment, and her eyes followed him as he found his jacket, took a condom from his wallet. She watched him put it on, smiling at him as she said, “Oh, what a big boy you are,” and they were both laughing as he fell back onto the bed and took her smooth loveliness into his arms again. And then they made long, slow love.

Afterward, Jake held her close, unwilling to unlink their bodies. She snuggled endearingly into him, dropping hot little kisses onto his face, his neck, anything she could reach.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, recognizing that rare little thrill of happiness. “You are beautiful, Dr. Franny Marten.”

“Oh! Oh my god!” She pushed him away, sat up, looked at him wide-eyed with shock. “I’m late for work!”

“Is it that important?” he said thoughtlessly, because all he could think about was making love to her some more.

“Important?”
She stared at him as though he was crazy.
“It’s who I am!”
She leaped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. She stopped and came out again. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go,” she said, kissing him some more.

“I know who you are, Franny,” he said quietly. “I understand.” And she smiled trustingly at him.

“Here, you shower first,” she said, pulling him to his feet. She showed him the bathroom, watching still worried as he hobbled off.

Franny was smiling as she went back to the kitchen and
began to tidy up, if you could call piling dishes in the sink and scraping the candle wax off the tables tidying. It was 7:30 and she hadn’t even showered yet. She would be late for work for the first time in her life.

Minutes later, Jake emerged from her bedroom fully dressed. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he raked a hand through it and then along the rough blue stubble on his jaw, looking at her. Franny stood uncertainly, not knowing what to say. Did you say, Well, thanks for spending the night, glad I could help? Did you say, I loved making love with you? Or, See you again soon?

He saved her the trouble. He put both hands on her shoulders, tilted her face up to meet his, and said, “Thank you, Franny Marten. For everything. It was wonderful.” For a second his lips met hers in the softest of kisses, then he let go of her and limped to the door.

She heard the loose plank splinter as he stepped on it again, heard him curse, and despite herself she laughed. She would see him again soon, she just knew she would. She had noticed that he had not said he would call her.

She hurried into the shower, flung on some clothes, and drove too fast to the clinic, where she temporarily forgot about Jake as she immersed herself in the work she loved.

That afternoon, a huge bouquet of Casablanca lilies, smelling like a tropical island in summer, arrived for her. The accompanying card read, “I couldn’t find ginger flowers so I hope these will do instead. Thank you again, Jake.”

Marcus was forgotten. She was walking on air, smiling as she remembered her night with Jake. It hadn’t been the usual sort of encounter between a man and a woman, but there again, if it weren’t for the ankle, she might never have
really gotten to know him. She was sure he would call her later.

But Jake still hadn’t called by the time she went to bed. She didn’t change the sheets because, like a smitten teen, she wanted to lay her head on the pillow where his head had lain. Now she buried her face in it, seeking his scent, dreaming of him. She knew he would call tomorrow. But he did not. Nor the next day, nor the next. An unsmiling Franny thought about calling him, even though she knew she shouldn’t. But when she asked the secretary for his number, Lindsey told her that Jake hadn’t left an address or a number because he’d only come to the clinic to check out Franny as a vet for his dog.

“Criminal,” Franny said, biting her lip.

“Jeez, what a name to give a dog,” Lindsey added.

But Franny wasn’t even listening. She turned miserably away. She had reached a new low. She was just a foolish woman who didn’t know how to handle men. She always gave too much, and look what had happened to her. Again. She wished Clare were here, but Clare was back in Atlanta, picking up some more of her stuff. She decided she wouldn’t tell Clare about Jake, though, because she just couldn’t admit she’d made a fool of herself again, so soon after Marcus.

A
LL THE WAY BACK
to New York, Jake thought about Franny. He knew how much it would hurt when he didn’t call, after how wonderful she had been to him and what had happened between them. But there was nothing he could do
except send her flowers. And damn it, he missed her already. He wished he could tell her the truth, but he’d have to wait and trust he could work it all out when they met again at the château.