Читать книгу Saving His Blackmailed Lover - Джанис Мейнард, Maureen Child - Страница 17

Eight

Cecelia woke up in a nest of soft, luxury linens with bright light streaming through the panoramic hotel room windows. Wincing from the light, she pushed herself up in bed and looked around the suite for Deacon. She could see him on the balcony reading a newspaper and drinking his café au lait at a tiny bistro table there.

She wrapped the blanket around her naked body and padded barefoot to the sliding glass door. The view from the owner’s suite of the Hotel de Rêve was spectacular. The hotel was almost directly on the beach, with only the famous Boulevard de la Croisette separating his property from the golden sands that lined the Mediterranean Sea. To the left of the hotel was a marina filled with some the largest and most luxurious yachts she’d ever seen. To the right, beautiful, tan tourists had already taken up residence on the beach.

The sea was a deep turquoise against the bright robin’s-egg blue of the sky. There wasn’t a cloud, a blemish, a single thing to ruin the perfection. It was almost as if the place wasn’t real. When they’d first arrived the day before, Cecelia wasn’t entirely certain that this wasn’t a delusion brought on by jet lag. But after a quick nap, Cannes was just as pretty as it had been earlier. Of course, enjoying it with the handsome—and partially clothed—hotel owner hadn’t hurt, either.

“Bonjour, belle,” he greeted her. He was sitting in a pair of black silk pajama pants, and thankfully, he seemed to have misplaced the top. His golden tan and chiseled chest and arms were on display, and now she knew how he had gotten that dark. If she spent every morning enjoying the sun here, she might actually get a little color for her porcelain complexion, as well.

Cecelia didn’t know why she was surprised to find that he was fluent in French, considering Deacon had lived here for several years and had to interact with guests, locals and staff, alike. She supposed it just didn’t align with the Deacon she had once known—covered in motor oil or rinsing cafeteria trays—although it suited Deacon perfectly as he was now.

It made her wish she had kept up with her French studies after high school. She’d quickly lost most of her vocabulary and conjugation, really being able to function now only as a tourist asking for directions to the nearest restroom. “Bonjour,” she replied in her most practiced accent. “That’s about all the French I have for today.”

Deacon laughed and folded his paper, which was also in French. “That’s okay,” he said, leaning forward to give her a good-morning kiss. “Perhaps later we can crawl back into bed and practice a little more French.”

Cecelia couldn’t suppress the girlish giggle at his innuendo. Deacon was smart to bring her to Cannes. There was just something about being here, thousands of miles away from Royal and all her worries, that made her feel like a completely different person. She liked this person a hell of a lot more than the woman who had very nearly married Chip Ashford. Apparently most of Royal hadn’t liked her, either, judging by their reaction to her being knocked down a peg or two by Maverick’s gossip.

Cecelia sat down at the table next to him, and he poured her a cup of coffee, passing her the pitcher of milk to add as much as she would like. He followed it with a plate of flaky, fresh croissants and preserves.

“Do you have anything in mind that you would like to do today?” he asked. “Yesterday we were too exhausted to do much more than change time zones, but I thought you might like to see a little bit of the town this afternoon. You haven’t been to Cannes if you haven’t strolled along la Croisette, sipped a beautiful rosé and watched the sunset. We could even take my yacht out for a spin.”

She took a large sip of her coffee and nodded into her delicate china teacup. “That sounds lovely. I’ve never been to the French Riviera, so I would be happy to see anything that you would like to show me. I mean,” she continued, “it’s not like this is a trip that I’ve planned for a long time. I basically just let you sweep me off my feet and I woke up in France. I would be perfectly content to just sit on this balcony and look out at the sea if that was all we had time to do.”

Deacon smiled. “Well, I figure there is no place on earth better suited to relax and forget about all your problems than the French Riviera. I’ve seen more than one tightly wound businessman completely transform in only a few days. After everything that has happened recently, I think it’s just what the doctor ordered, Miss Morgan.”

She couldn’t argue with that. He was absolutely right. Here, the drama of Maverick and the fallout of her exposed secret felt like a distant memory, or a dream that she’d nearly forgotten about as she’d awakened. She had gotten a couple texts from Simone and her mother yesterday morning after they’d landed, but Deacon had insisted she turn off her phone. Overage charges for international roaming were a good excuse, he’d said, and once again he had been right. She didn’t want talk to her mother or anyone else right now.

She just wanted to soak in the glorious rays of the sun, enjoy the beauty around her and relish her time alone with Deacon. They would return home soon enough to open the hotel, and she’d finally face everything she had been running from her whole life.

“I took the liberty of scheduling an appointment for you at our spa today. My talented ladies have been told to give you the works, so a massage, a mud bath, a facial... Whatever your little heart desires. That should take up a good chunk of your day, and then we can hit the shore later this afternoon, once you’ve been properly pampered.”

Cecelia could only shake her head and thank her lucky stars that she had Deacon here with her through all of this. How would she have coped alone? Just having him by her side would’ve been enough, but he always had to go the extra mile, and she appreciated it. She just wasn’t sure how she could ever repay him.

She idly slathered a bit of orange marmalade on a piece of croissant and popped it into her mouth. “You’re too good to me, Deacon,” she said as she chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t deserve any of this VIP treatment. I’m beginning to think that maybe Adam Haskell was right, and all the negativity I’ve been breeding all these years was just coming back to haunt me. It had to eventually, right?”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Deacon said. “The girl I fell in love with was sweet and caring and saw things in me that no one else saw. You might pretend now that you are a cold-as-ice businesswoman set to crush your competitors and anybody who gets in your way, but I don’t believe it for a second. That girl I know is still in there somewhere.”

Cecelia appreciated that he had so much faith in her, but she wasn’t the innocent girl he knew from back in school. That girl had been smothered the day her parents forced her to break up with Deacon and put her life back on track to the future that they wanted for her. She had become an unfortunate mix of both her parents—a cutthroat business owner, a perfection-seeking elitist and, more often than she would have liked, a plain old bitch. He hadn’t been around to see the changes in her, but she knew it was true. She was absolutely certain that most of the people in town were thrilled to see her taken down a notch. Maybe even a few of the people whom she’d once considered her friends.

“I’m glad you think so highly of me, Deacon, but I can’t help but wonder if you’re actually seeing me as I am, or as you want to see me.”

“I see you as you are, beneath the designer clothes, fancy makeup and social facade you’ve crafted. That girl hasn’t changed. She’s still in there, you just haven’t let her out in a long time.”

Cecelia felt tears start to well in her eyes as her cheeks burned with emotion. She really hoped that he was right, and that the good person he remembered was still here. It seemed like over the past decade she had lost touch with herself, if she had ever really known who she truly was. She’d spent her whole life trying to live up to her parents’ expectations, then Chip’s expectations...

Who was Cecelia Morgan anyway?

She wiped her damp cheek with the back of her hand and reached for her coffee cup to give her something to focus on instead of the emotions raging just beneath the surface. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Deacon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the knees of his pajama pants. “That’s the beauty of being in charge of your own life and not trying to live up to anybody else’s standards. You can do whatever you want to do. If I had just sat back and accepted the life that everyone expected of me, we wouldn’t be sitting on the balcony of my five-star hotel in France. I wanted to be more, so I made myself more. You can be whoever you want to be, Cecelia, and if that means putting aside the mean-girl persona you’ve had all these years, and being the girl I used to know, you can do that, too.”

“Can I?” she asked. “I’m not entirely sure that girl knew who she was, either. I was so easily manipulated at that age. I mean, all those plans we made, all those dreams we had for the future...that was important to me and I threw it all away. For what? Because my parents threatened to cut me off and throw me out of the house if I didn’t.”

Deacon’s head turned sharply toward her. “What?”

Cecelia winced. “You didn’t know that?”

His expression softened. “I suppose I knew they were ultimately behind your change of heart, but I thought you just wanted to please them as you always did.”

“I did want to please them, but not about this. I loved you, Deacon. I didn’t want to break up with you. It broke my heart to do it, but I felt like I didn’t have any choice. They were my parents. The only people in the world who had wanted me when no one else did. I couldn’t bear for them to turn their backs on me.”

“I wanted you.”

Cecelia looked into Deacon’s serious green eyes and realized she had made a monumental mistake that day all those years ago. Yes, she had a booming business and he had been successful on his own, but what could they have built together? They’d never know.

“I was a fool,” she admitted. “I don’t want to make the same mistake again. I want to make the right choice for my life this time.”

Cecelia sipped her coffee and tried to think of who she wanted to be. Not who her parents wanted her to be. Not who Chip expected her to be. The answer came to her faster than she anticipated. She wanted to be the woman she was when she was with Deacon. When she was with him she felt strong and brave and beautiful. She never felt like she wasn’t good enough. That was how she wanted to feel: loved.

But could she feel that way without him? Their time together had been exciting and romantic, but she had no doubt there was a time limit. Deacon had no interest in staying in Royal. He didn’t like the town and he didn’t like the people, and for a good reason. When The Bellamy was opened and running, he would return here to France, and she didn’t blame him. This may very well be the most beautiful place she’d ever seen. She would be eager to return, as well.

She might feel like a superhero when she was with him, but once she was alone, could she be her own kryptonite?

* * *

“Dinner was wonderful,” Cecelia said.

Deacon took her hand and they strolled along la Croisette together. The sun had already set, leaving the sky a golden color that was quickly being overtaken by the inky purple of early evening. The lights from the shops and restaurants along the walkway lighted their path and the crests of the ocean waves beyond them.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. There’s no such thing as bad food in France. They wouldn’t allow it.”

Cecelia laughed and Deacon found himself trying to memorize the sound. He hadn’t heard her laughter nearly enough when they were in Royal. He missed it. In their carefree younger days, she’d laughed freely and often. He wanted her to laugh more even if he wasn’t around to hear it. That was part of the reason he’d brought her here—to get her away from the drama of home in the hopes he might catch a fleeting glimpse of the girl he’d once loved.

Not that he didn’t appreciate the woman she’d become. The older, wiser, sexier Cecelia certainly had its benefits. Looking at her now, he could hardly keep his hands to himself. She was wearing a cream lace fitted sheath dress. It plunged deep, highlighting her ample cleavage, and clung to every womanly curve she’d developed while they were apart. Falling for Cecelia was the last thing on his mind when he arrived in Royal, but it was virtually impossible for him to keep his distance from her when she looked like that.

“Can we walk in the water?” she asked, surprising him.

“If you want to.”

They both slipped out of their shoes, and Deacon rolled up his suit pants. He hadn’t thought she would want to walk along the shore and let the sand ruin her new pedicure. Yet with her crystal embellished stilettos in her free hand, she tugged him off the stone path toward the water.

The cold water that washed over them was a shocking contrast to the warm sand on his bare feet. He expected Cecelia to bolt the moment the chill hit her, but instead, her eyes got big with excitement and she laughed again.

“It’s a little chilly,” he said.

“It’s April. It feels good, though. I can’t remember the last time I put my toes in the sand and walked through the surf. Too long.”

Deacon felt momentarily sheepish. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done it, either, and it was right outside his window the majority of the year.

“I understand why you’d rather be here than Royal,” she said after they walked a good bit down the shoreline. “It’s beautiful. And so different. I don’t know that I want to go back, either.” She chuckled and shook her head. “I will, but I don’t want to.”

Deacon felt the sudden urge to ask her why she couldn’t stay. “Why go back?” he asked. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Well, for one thing, I haven’t finished your hotel yet. It opens in just a week and a half, if you’ll recall. Plus, my company is in Royal. My employees. My friends and family.”

“You could have all that here,” he offered. “And me, too.” Deacon surprised himself with the words, but he couldn’t stop them from coming out. What would it be like to have her here with him all the time? Away from her parents’ sphere of influence and the society nonsense she’d fallen prey to. He wanted to know.

Cecelia stopped walking, pulling him to a stop beside her. “You’re not going to stay in Royal, are you?”

He shook his head. “You know I’m not.”

Cecelia’s gaze drifted into the distance. “I know. I guess a part of me was just hoping.”

Deacon’s heart sped in his chest. He hadn’t given much thought to this fling with Cecelia lasting beyond the grand opening. He just couldn’t disappoint himself that way. But it sounded like she was open to the possibility. “Hoping what?” he pressed.

“Hoping that you’d change your mind and stay awhile.”

Deacon sighed. There were a lot of things he would do for her, but stay in Royal? He couldn’t even imagine it. He didn’t know why she’d ask him to, either. Didn’t she realize how everyone treated him? How miserable it was for him? She didn’t seem very happy there, either. “Royal, Texas, and I parted ways a long time ago.”

Cecelia looked at him. “We parted ways, too, and yet here we are. Anything can happen.”

He didn’t want to argue about this and ruin their night. They were together now, and that was the most important thing. “You’re right,” he conceded. “Anything can happen. We’ll see what the future brings.”

Taking her hand into his, they started back down the beach. They were only a hundred yards or so from his hotel when he saw a child chasing after a dog on the beach. The little boy must’ve dropped the leash, and the large, wooly mutt seemed quite pleased with his newfound freedom.

In fact, the dog was heading right toward them. Before Deacon could react, the dog made a beeline for Cecelia. It jumped up, placing two dirty paw prints on her chest and knocking her off balance. Her hand slipped from his as she stumbled back and fell into the waves that were rushing up around their feet. She yelled as she tried—and failed—to find her footing in the icy water, soaking her dress and hair.

Deacon was in a panic and so was the little boy. They both lunged to pull the dog off her as it enthusiastically licked her face. It wasn’t until the dog was yanked away that he realized Cecelia’s shrieks were actually laughter. He stood, stunned for a moment by her reaction. Then he offered her his hand to lift her up out of the water, but she didn’t take it. She was laughing too hard to care.

It was the damnedest thing he’d ever seen. The people back in Royal wouldn’t believe it if Maverick circulated a picture of it. The perfect and poised Cecelia Morgan lying in the ocean fully clothed and covered in mud. The cream lace dress was absolutely ruined with dirty paw prints rubbed down the front. Her makeup was smeared across her skin, and her blond hair hung in damp tendrils around her face. She was a mess. But she didn’t seem to care. And she couldn’t have been more beautiful.

“Je m’excuse, mademoiselle,” the little boy said as he fought with the dog that weighed a good ten pounds more than he did. “Mauvais chien!” he chastised the pup, who finally sat down looking smug about the whole thing.

“Cecelia, are you okay?” Deacon asked. He wasn’t sure what to do.

She struggled to catch her breath, then nodded. Her face was flushed bright red beneath the smears of her foundation and mascara. “I’m fine.” She reached up for Deacon, and when he took her hand, she tugged hard, catching him off guard and jerking him down into the water with her.

“What the—” he complained as he pushed up from the water, soaked, but the joyful expression on her face stopped him. He rolled up to a seated position beside her. “Was that really necessary?” he asked.

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Deacon instantly forgot about the water, the dog, the cost of his ruined suit... All that mattered was the taste of Cecelia on his lips and the press of her body against his. She was uninhibited and free in his arms, kissing him with the same abandon she had that first night after her breakup with Chip. There was no desperation this time, however. Just excitement and need.

He couldn’t help but respond to it. This side of Cecelia was one he thought he might never see again. It was the side that had made out with him in the back of his truck, letting him get her hair and makeup all disheveled. It was the side that had sprayed him with the hose while he was detailing one of his restored cars and led to them getting covered in mud and grass as they wrestled on his front lawn.

Deacon had missed this Cecelia. Perfectly imperfect. Dirty. Joyful. Hot as hell. He realized that they weren’t alone in the back of his truck, however. The little French boy and his dog were still standing there. He forced himself to pull away, looking over the mess she’d become.

The dress had been tight before, but wet, it was clingy and damn near see-through. He could see the hardened peaks of her nipples pressing through the fabric. He would have to give her his coat to cover her when they walked home.

“Américains fous,” the little boy said with a dismayed shake of his head. He tugged on the dog’s leash and headed back in the direction he’d come from.

“What did he say?” Cecelia asked.

“He called us crazy Americans.” Deacon wiped the water from his face and slicked back his hair. “I have to say I agree.”

Cecelia giggled into her hand and looked down at her dress. Her fingers traced over some of the sand and mud embedded in the delicate lace and silk. “My mother just bought me this dress for Christmas. It was the first time I’d worn it. Oh, well.”

“I’ll buy you ten new dresses,” he said. Deacon pushed himself up out of the water and helped her up, too. He slipped out of his suit coat, wringing out the water before placing it over her shoulders.

“I don’t want more dresses,” she said, pressing her body to his seductively with the little boy long gone. A wicked glint lit her eyes as her lips curled into a deceptively sweet smile. “I just want you. Right now.”

Deacon swallowed hard. “I think this walk along the beach is over, don’t you?”