[Montacroix Royal Family Series 01] - Guarded Moments (18 page)

"His father was in love with you for years," Chantal offered.

"Really." Her pleasure was obvious. "I'd love to meet him. Perhaps, when all this is over, if your mother wouldn't mind."

If anyone else had made such an offer, he would have thought it to be nothing but an attempt at polite conversation during a difficult time. But Jessica seemed sincere. A nice woman, he decided. And even more beautiful than she'd appeared to be on the late show. "My father died several years ago. But I appreciate the offer. Your films gave him a great deal of enjoyment."

Caine turned to Noel. "Princess," he greeted her, nodding. He observed the two sisters standing together; they were a study in contrasts. Chantal's dark, sultry looks brought to mind rich Gypsy laughter and blazing camp fires. Noel's silvery-blond hair and bluish-violet eyes reminded him of a cool alpine stream rushing through flower-strewn meadows.

Noel's smile, in its own way, proved every bit as devastating as her sister's. "Please," she said, extending her hand. Her unlacquered nails had been buffed to a glossy sheen. "I thought we'd already settled on Noel."

As their fingers touched, Caine realized from the look in Noel's eyes that she intuitively knew that he and Chantal had been intimate. Caine's own gaze instantly became shuttered.

Noel's glance was sympathetic as she looked over at her sister.

"You needn't have come all this way," Chantal told her family as she took a seat. "As you can see, I'm quite well."

Jessica Giraudeau poured a cup of tea from the pot that had been delivered by room service immediately after their arrival in Chantal's suite. A superb arranger, Jessica had used the cellular telephone in the limousine to order a light meal on their way to the hotel from the airport.

"You're as lovely as ever, darling," she agreed, holding the cup out to her daughter. "But when one has a shock, one needs family close by."

As she took the proffered cup, Chantal thought of all the other times her mother had come to her rescue with a steaming cup of tea. To Jessica, tea was a magic elixir, soothing everything from a headache to a broken heart. "You are all wonderful."

A slight frown furrowed the smooth line of Jessica's brow as she watched Chantal stir a second spoonful of sugar into her tea, but she held her tongue. "It was all I could do to keep your father from hijacking the airplane in his hurry to cross the Atlantic."

"They had no business holding the flight up like that," Eduard complained. "I explained the importance of our mission, but the imbeciles refused to listen." Volatile, outspoken, the prince radiated a lingering frustration that had Chantal sympathizing with the Air France flight crew.

"They listened, Papa," Noel corrected mildly.

"Then why did they refuse to take off?"

"Perhaps the fact that the airport was engulfed in a cloud of fog had something to do with it," Burke said dryly. He was perched on the arm of Chantal's chair. "How are you, really, little one?" he asked, brushing her hair away to examine her stitches.

"I'm fine. Really," she insisted as he gave her one of the long, probing looks that had always been her undoing. "Better than fine."

"When we find the monster who did this," Eduard said, "I will insist that the legislature bring back the guillotine." He narrowed his eyes in warning to anyone who might want to argue the point. Understanding that he was still afraid and loath to show it, everyone remained silent.

"And now that we have dispensed with the social amenities, Mr. O'Bannion," the prince said, turning back to Caine, "would you care to tell us exactly how you plan to protect my daughter during the remainder of her time in your country?"

"Actually, I've been trying to convince your daughter that she should cancel the rest of the tour. But she's proven rather immovable on the subject."

"Chantal has always known her own mind," Eduard said with the air of a man who might constantly fret over his daughter's intransigence but refused to hear a word of criticism from anyone else.

"Tenacity is one thing," Caine said. "Pigheadedness quite another."

" 'Pigheaded'?" Chantal said on a furious gasp.

"Just calling them like I see them, Princess."

It took a major effort, but Chantal resisted stamping her foot. "I am not pigheaded. And don't call me Princess."

The impending fireworks were obvious, as was the electricity arching between them. Seeing the blazing fury in her daughter's eyes, Jessica stood up and put her hand on her husband's arm. "Darling, I am suddenly so tired I can barely stand. I'm afraid that jet lag has caught up with me. Would you mind escorting me to our room? Perhaps later we can all get together and discuss Chantal's plans."

"But you never have jet lag." He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, checking for fever. "Perhaps you've taken ill."

"I'm merely tired," she assured him. "I'll be fine after a rest. Perhaps you'd care to join me."

Eduard looked back and forth between Caine and his wife, as if struggling to make a decision.

"You can speak with Mr. O'Bannion later, darling," Jessica suggested adroitly. "When you're not behaving like a hysterical father."

"Why shouldn't I be?" he grumbled. "That's what I am. But you have a point, as always, my dear. I will allow you to cajole me into behaving in a more civilized fashion."

"Thank you, Papa," Chantal said.

He drew her into his arms, pressing his lips against her hair.

"I love you,
chérie
," he said gruffly, his deep voice wavering. His dark eyes were suspiciously wet.

Chantal's own eyes were none too dry as she put her arms around her father, allowing his solid bulk to comfort her. "And I love you. All of you," she said on what was nearly a whisper as her loving gaze took in her mother and brother and sister.

Caine watched, strangely moved by the scene. He'd been attracted to Chantal from the beginning, but even as he'd begun to admit his feelings to himself, he'd tried to concentrate on her fire, her smoldering sex appeal. Now, as he watched her with her family, saw her in the role of daughter, sister, he had an inkling of another Chantal. A strong, loving woman who, oddly enough, reminded him a bit of his mother.

"I really am sorry I hurt you," Caine said once they were alone again.

"You needn't apologize, Caine. I overreacted."

Caine reached out and twisted a few glossy, dark strands of her hair around his fingers. "I should have realized how you'd take my leaving right after we'd made love."

"It wasn't your fault. Actually, it was more of a knee-jerk reaction dating back to my ill-fated, highly publicized marriage." Her smile, as she looked up at him, wobbled ever so slightly. "Greg had a habit of disappearing."

To his surprise, Caine felt a jolt of something that uncomfortably resembled jealousy at the mention of her former husband.

"I suppose that's not so surprising for a Grand Prix driver." He wondered if Chantal had objected to her husband's traveling in order to earn his own living. Had she honestly expected him to remain in the palace like some royal lapdog? "The racing circuit covers most of the world."

"I wouldn't have minded the racing. It was his extracurricular activities I found hurtful."

"The guy played around?" What kind of idiot would stray when he had this sexy, passionate woman waiting for him at home?

Appearing suddenly uncomfortable, Chantal crossed the room, where she stood looking out the window. Her suite had a breathtaking view of the Logan Circle gardens, but she was not seeing the brilliant flowers. Instead, her vision was directed at a scene several years and many miles away.

"The first time was on our honeymoon. Greg was scheduled to race in the Monaco Grand Prix the following week, so we'd rented a villa in Eze. A small Riviera village between Monaco and Beaulieu," she explained at his questioning look. "It's a lovely, quiet, intimate little place, perched high on a hill, with cobbled streets and medieval houses topped with dusty red-tiled roofs, all removed from the hustle and bustle of the social hubs like Saint-Tropez and Monte Carlo."

"Sounds like a great spot for a honeymoon," he said, coming up to stand beside her.

"That's what I thought. Until I returned from the market, where I'd bought the most luscious fresh strawberries I'd planned to dip in melted chocolate. Greg had teased me about not being able to cook, so I'd bought a cookbook and had decided to begin with the desserts."

"Knowing you, that makes perfect sense," he agreed, kissing her because it had been much too long.

"Mmm," she murmured happily as her lips clung lingeringly to his. "I do so love the way you kiss, Caine."

"You're not so bad, yourself, Princess. So, while you were out at the market, practicing to be a dutiful little housewife, your husband was home boinking the maid."

"She was not a maid but a singer from the cabaret we'd visited the night before," Chantal corrected. "But yes, he was indeed—" the unfamiliar but easily understandable colloquialism slipped her mind "—whatever it was you said."

"You should have kicked the bastard out on the spot."

"I'd just taken my marriage vows three days earlier."

He took her icy hand in his, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles. "So had he," Caine reminded her, choking back a very strong urge to curse the man Chantal had married. "Don't they have women's liberation in Montacroix?"

"Of course, but when you grow up with parents who love each other the way mine do, you develop some very strong ideas about what a marriage should be. And one of those ideas is that you shouldn't run away the first time things get a little rough."

"Another rule of thumb is that you don't screw around on your spouse."

"I know." She gave a long sigh that rippled through her. "But in a way, you see, it was my fault."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"Not only couldn't I cook, but I wasn't very good at the physical part of marriage, either," she admitted with a low, strained voice he had to struggle to hear. There, she'd said it. Hearing the words out loud didn't make them less painful, she discovered.

Caine stared disbelievingly. "You are kidding."

"Not at all." She could feel the color rising in her cheeks. "I was a virgin when I married Greg."

"Did he know that?"

"Of course. Oh, I'd dated other men before him, although not nearly as many as those horrible tabloid newspapers alleged. I'd even been engaged briefly once, and during my teens I'd had a wild crush on Burke's cousin, Stephan Devouassoux. But I had been taught that lovemaking was something special, to be shared with that one person you wanted to spend your life with, and although such a belief always seemed natural to me, my virginity did tend to scare more than one man away."

"Their loss."

Chantal smiled. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "It's the truth. But Greg was different?"

"He said he admired the fact that I had such high standards, that I had, as he put it, saved myself for marriage. You've no idea how happy those words made me. I thought, finally, after all those years, I'd found someone who shared my feelings."

A slight frown crossed her face. "Burke tried to talk me out of the wedding. He said that Greg was the kind of man who would view an untouched bride as the ultimate challenge. That once I was no longer a virgin, his passions would cool and he'd be back to his hedonistic life-style."

"Sounds as if your brother hit the nail on the head."

"Greg did have other women. But only because I couldn't please him."

Caine felt a blaze of anger. "Yeah," he said, kissing her furrowed brow, then her temple, "you're a real bust in the sack, Princess. That's why I can hardly move."

"It was good, wasn't it?" she murmured wonderingly.

"
We
were good," he corrected, trailing a lazy finger down her face. "You and I. Together."

She sighed as his lips skimmed over the trail his finger had blazed. "Together." It was happening again, she thought wonderingly as she felt her bones melting.

Need. Hunger. Want. Her body seemed to respond into his, warming at the touch of his hands, softening at the feel of his lips.

Forever, Caine mused as fresh desire rippled through him. He could make love to this woman forever. He was prepared to do precisely that when the phone began to ring.

"Ignore it," she murmured, her hands combing through his dark hair.