Chapter Seventeen
“This is the original cellar, five hundred years old.” Margo’s heels click on
the uneven stone beneath our feet. “I’ve put off restoring it as it will take
much time, but I will eventually. Of course, we cannot use this when we open
as a hotel. It will be for my private collection.” The word “collection” slides
from her mouth so smoothly in her French accent.
I wrap my arms around my chest, fighting off the damp chill down here.
“It’s so narrow.” And dark, the only light comes from a utility light that
dangles above us on a wire.
“Yes, most of the servants’ passageways did not leave a lot of room for
maneuvering. There are still a few left behind the walls. I will show you
tomorrow during our official tour. Henry, could you please reach those two
bottles for me?” She points to the top of the wine rack.
Henry, who’s behind me, shimmies past, his body forced to rub against
mine on the way by because there isn’t enough room for two people to pass
each other easily.
“Which ones?”
“The two Beaujolais on the end. They are rare. I have been saving
them.”
He edges past her, and I imagine his groin presses against her ass like
it just did to mine.
I grit my teeth. Henry’s with me. That’s in the past. He said so himself,
he doesn’t want to be with her.
Looking at her now, in a plunging, black, backless dress that looks
more like a sexy nightgown, I’m having a hard time buying it.
“Merci, Henry. Now lead the way out.” She smiles up at him.
He shimmies past me again, each hand filled with a bottle.
Her cool hand settles lightly on my shoulder. “Ready, Abigail?”
I steal one more look at her, to see her giving me that same broad,
friendly smile. There’s nothing overtly evil or flirtatious about it. Nothing
that says she’s plotting to steal Henry away from me.
Still, I don’t trust her.
~ ~ ~
“What is it?”
“A French 75. I think you’ll like it.”
I take the martini glass from Henry and hold it to my lips for a taste.
“There’s lavender in this?”
Henry smiles as I take a bigger sip, the sharp contrast of liquor and
floral enticing.
From the other side of the garden terrace, Margo bursts out in laughter.
She’s talking to a couple who just arrived, the French rolling off her tongue
with beautiful speed. She catches my eyes and then, reaching out with a
guiding hand, ushers them over to us. “Henry and Abigail. This is Marc and
Charlotte, two of my dearest friends. Charlotte and I used to do a lot of work
together.”
One look at Charlotte’s high cheekbones and perfect, svelte body and I
can tell she’s another model. She looks a little older than Margo though,
maybe by a few years.
“This is Henry Wolf, owner of Wolf Hotels, and his Abigail.”
His Abigail.
Okay, she just scored a point or two.
We exchange nods and smiles just as three more people arrive through
the doors.
Another round of introductions, as I meet Annie-Claude and her
husband, also Marc; a French couple who live in Paris, and Isabelle, a dear
friend.
Not surprisingly, Margo surrounds herself with attractive people, all of
them carrying that air of wealth that I can’t fake. I hook my arm through
Henry’s, intent on attaching myself to him for the rest of the night. It’s my only
suitable disguise to hide the fact that I do not belong here.
~ ~ ~
The two fancy bottles of wine sit empty on the dining room sideboard, along
with six more, polished off over a three course meal of partridge ravioli,
rare tenderloin and a vegetable dish I can’t pronounce. I’m all but licking the
dish of the creamy dark chocolate mousse served for dessert.
“Good, yes?” Joel grins as he watches me, his elbows resting
comfortably on the table as he sips his wine. He was the last to arrive
tonight, and has been as easygoing and charming as the night we met,
completely unfazed that I’ve watched him having sex. Am I the only one at
this table who thinks this is strange?
“Yes. It’s delicious.” My cheeks flush. I probably look like a small
child. Thank God Henry’s attention is on Marc—the one married to Annie-
Claude—or he’d probably be embarrassed.
Joel leans forward and lowers his voice, “If you ask nicely, Margo
may give you seconds.” I’m pretty sure he’s drunk, but I can’t tell if he’s
flirting with me or patronizing me, that accent too hard for me to read.
I set my spoon down and slide the bowl away, giggling at myself. I
think the two glasses of wine I nursed through dinner have gone to my head.
I’ve tried to pace myself but it’s hard, sitting at a table with this group, which
spontaneously switches to French and chatters on for minutes before
remembering that Charlotte’s Marc—who’s from England—and I don’t
understand a word.
So I’ve spent a lot of time eating and drinking and just listening,
learning what I can about them.
Annie and Marc have been married for two years, no kids and, from
the sounds of it, no plans on having one anytime soon. Annie is a well-known
—to everyone but me—fashion designer and Marc is an architect who
designs large-scale buildings. It’s not surprising he and Henry hit it off. He’s
attractive in a nerdy way, with short brown hair and designer glasses. But
you can see he’s well-built beneath his clothes. Married Marc is a nerdy
muscular architect.
Charlotte and the other Marc have been together for ten years, but are
not married. Both were models. Charlotte retired a few years ago but Marc
still takes jobs, mainly for clothing companies. They live an hour away from
here, where Charlotte is taking over her family’s winery. Three of the bottles
we had tonight were brought by her.
Isabelle and Joel actually dated for a short time, a long time ago.
Isabelle is Isabelle Monteblanc, the famous ballerina—again, to everyone
but me, apparently—whose career was cut short by a horse riding accident.
I’m not sure what she does now, but it sounds like she comes from a lot of
money.
“Abigail!” Margo calls out from across the table, suddenly switching
to English. “Henry says you live on a farm.”
Yes, within this mix of impressive resumes… I’m Abbi, who lives on a
farm.
I haven’t felt out of place over dinner, until now.
All sets of eyes turn to settle on me, and my cheeks begin to burn.
Henry’s hand settling on my knee beneath the table does little to
comfort me. “I do. It’s my family’s farm actually. I had to delay my last year
of college to come back and run it for my dad while he recovers. He was
badly injured in an accident not that long ago now.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Margo smiles sympathetically.
“He’ll be fine in a few months.”
She takes a sip of her wine. “And then what will you do?”
Good question. “I’m not entirely sure. Finish school probably.” I
hesitate. “I’m actually starting up a small soap company so we’ll see where
that goes.”
“Oh?” Her eyes, a little glossy thanks to the wine, light up. “Tell me
more.”
The others have been distracted by side conversations, but she seems
genuinely interested so I do.
“Did you bring any of these soaps with you?”
I sigh. “Yeah. They’re… in my suitcase.” I brought the demos because I
thought Henry might like to see them.
“The lost suitcase.” Her shoulders sink with disappointment. “Well, if
your suitcase arrives, I would love to see them.”
Really? “Okay.”
She smiles warmly at me for a long, lingering moment, and then claps
her hands together. “The parlor for a digestif?”
“Depends.” Joel looks to Charlotte. “When do you want to do this?”
She shrugs, glancing at Unmarried Marc. “Tonight?”
“Maybe after a few more drinks. She’ll be more relaxed,” he murmurs,
his British accent thick.
“That can work.” Joel turns to me, his hazel eyes dancing. “Will you let
me photograph you one of these nights?”
“Me? Uh....” I glance over at Henry.
“No.” Henry tips his head back and finishes the last drops of wine.
“You would enjoy them while you two are apart,” Margo says.
“I have my imagination for that.” He smirks at Margo, and it’s not
altogether friendly.
People start moving, glasses in hand and easy laughter flowing, out the
dining room door.
“We’re going to head up for the night,” Henry says. “Thank you for
dinner.”
Margo turns back to pout at him, the look somehow downright sexy
when it’s coupled with that dress, the front of it low enough to highlight the
fact that she’s not wearing a bra.
“Abbi, can you not convince him otherwise?”
I look from her to Henry and back again, not sure what to say. It’s
obvious she’s desperate for him to stay. Probably so she can screw Joel in
front of him again.
He slides his arm around my waist. “Good night, Margo.”
She sighs, then shrugs. “See you tomorrow. We are going to harvest
grapes for our wine.”
“I’ve got a few hours of work tomorrow but I’m sure Abbi will join
you,” he answers for me.
“Okay, then. Until tomorrow.” She’s gone quickly, her hips swaying
seductively with each step.
Despite her likely intentions for having us stay, I still feel awkward.
“Isn’t it rude to eat dinner and leave?”
Henry settles his hand on the small of my back and guides me out the
other way. “Normally, yes. Here? It’s fine. We’ll see them tomorrow.”
“Okay. You would know.” I follow him up the stairs, the sound of
laughter carrying down the hall. “Are you tired?”
“Exhausted.”
I’m the one who got a four hour nap, I remind myself. Though, he
wasn’t coming from a six hour time change. “Okay, well. We can go to sleep
now so you’re well rested for—”
The door hasn’t even shut and his hands are at the straps of my outfit,
pushing it off my shoulders, letting it tumble to the ground.
~ ~ ~
I need more water.
It’s one in the morning and the bottle of Evian by our bed is empty and
I’m ready to peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth, thanks to the red wine.
I tried drinking from the tap, but it has an odd tin taste that is making me feel
ill.
Henry’s still beside me, his beautiful chest rising and falling with
shallow breaths. I slip away, trying my best not to shift the mattress too much.
Throwing the robe that hangs on the door over my naked self, I tiptoe out of
the room.
Margo showed us where the kitchen is, should we need anything when
the staff has left for the day. I head down the stairs toward there now, my
arms coiled around my chest, my steps quick. This place is eerie at night.
With a bottle in my hand, I make my way back.
Joel’s voice carries from somewhere on the third floor, stalling my
feet. He’s speaking in French, his words tender, his tone soft.
A door sits open, the light beaming into the hallway.
“Back up just for a moment, Marc... yes.” Several clicks sound, and I
realize that he’s taking pictures. I know I should head to the safety of my
room, and yet I find myself tiptoeing over, curious about what the famous
photographer with his portraits hanging in galleries all over the world does.
And why Henry seemed adamant on Joel not taking my picture.
Oh my God.
Charlotte is lying on the bed, her legs spread and dangling off the edge.
Marc is kneeling in front of her, his mouth between her legs.
And Joel is crouched in front of her, angling his camera at her hard
nipple.
Click.
Licking his thumb, he rubs her nipple a little.
Click.
My mouth hangs open as I watch Joel shift around, aiming the camera
at her body, taking close-ups from dozens of angles. And as he works with
his lens, Marc works with his mouth.
Charlotte’s chest is heaving.
“Not long now,” Margo’s voice murmurs in my ear, startling me so
much I gasp.
I step back, out of the doorway where I’m spying like a pervert—
though they did leave the door wide open—and hope she can’t see my
reddened face.
Margo doesn’t move though, the light bathing over her striking face to
show me the amusement that dances in her green eyes as they flicker between
me and her friends.
“It is beautiful, no? Watching Joel work.”
“This is what he does?”
She smiles. “His specialty is capturing the essence of a woman when
she is about to orgasm.”
And he wants to photograph me….
No wonder Henry said no. There’s no way I’d be comfortable with
that.
Charlotte’s moans grow louder. Margo reaches for me, taking my hand,
pulling me out of the shadows. “Come. You must watch. I insist.” She’s
surprisingly strong for such a delicate woman and I find myself in the
doorway again, just as Charlotte lifts her hips toward Marc’s face, her hands
on the back of his head, pushing him closer into her. Joel just keeps clicking
as she moans and writhes, her lips parting and her breasts heaving.
Marc pulls his face away, his own breathing ragged, and Joel wastes
no time sticking his long lens in between her legs to get a close-up. “That
one’s just for you,” he whispers, winking at his friend.
“They have such beautiful bodies, don’t they?” Margo whispers, lustful
admiration in her eyes.
I step back into the shadow of the hall. “I need to go.”
“Why? They don’t mind.” She edges in closer to me, into the darkness.
“It is a turn-on, watching, yes? For them and for us.”
It finally clicks.
Henry said there were places he could take me if this is what I wanted.
Is that the whole point of this trip? Is this why he brought me to France?
I swallow.
He also said he didn’t want me watching this alone. “I should go.”
“Wait.” Margo steps in close, so close that her breath skates across my
lips. Somehow it’s still sweet, even though it should be sour after all that
wine.
“Henry wouldn’t be okay with me being here, Margo.”
Again, she laughs, and it sounds so musical. “With you watching
people fuck?” God, even that word sounds like a song coming from her.
“Henry has watched plenty, and he has been watched.” There’s just enough
light to catch the glint in her eyes as realization sparks. “But he would not be
okay with you watching without him.” Her eyes skate down to my mouth. “I
was wondering about you. You seem so innocent and young, but you are not.
Not anymore, are you? Not with a man like Henry. He is… impossible to say
no to.” She says that like she knows.
Because she does.
“He has quite the appetite. He is not bound by traditional
relationships.”
“I know you slept with him, Margo. I’ve heard all the details.”
She doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by that. “It was one of the
best nights of my life. He was… incroyable.”
Jealousy tightens my gut. “I know he is. And I’m not sharing him with
you.”
“He is not who I want.” Her fingers reach up to trace my jawline, her
gaze dropping to my lips. “Would he share you?”
My mouth drops open.
Is Margo Lauren propositioning me?
Margo Lauren wants me?
“I… uh… I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so.”
She smiles. “Go to sleep, sweet Abigail.” Leaning forward, she plants
a kiss on my lips.
“Margo?” Marc calls.
Taking steps back into the light of the doorway, she slides the straps of
her dress off her shoulders and it pools on the floor around her feet. She’s
completely naked beneath.
She stands there, unabashed, giving me a full view of her—of perky
breasts that are the perfect size and have tight nipples that sit high and
centered; of her taut, long torso; of the baldness between her legs.
I don’t mean to stare so blatantly, but something about her makes it
impossible not to.
“Good night.” She smiles and turns to stroll into the room. And I see
firsthand why people pay so much to photograph her body, slender and
sculpted, the curve of her back to a hard, round, defined ass. Her legs are
super slim and long, but so is her torso. Normally it’s one or the other, but
she’s perfectly proportioned.
Joel rhymes off a bunch of things in French to her. She says something
in return, and I hear packaging ripping apart.
I wait a few long moments and then, when that damn curiosity that gets
me into so much trouble gets the better of me, I steal one more glance into the
room.
Heat floods my body at the sight.
Charlotte is on top of a naked Marc on the bed, leaning forward, their
lips locked in an intimate kiss. Meanwhile Joel is behind them, his naked
lean body straddling Marc’s legs. He’s squeezing a pack of lube along her
crack and himself, stroking it over his wrapped length. Chucking the empty
packaging to the floor, he positions himself behind Charlotte.
And pushes.
She cries out against Marc’s mouth.
It takes a few gentle thrusts with his hips but Joel is all the way inside.
And so is Marc.
Charlotte lets out a string of French words and then she’s crying out as
the guys fall into a rhythm, stretching her body so wide that I don’t know how
she can handle it.
This is what Ronan and Conner were going to do to me.
And Margo stands next to them, her green eyes weighing heavily on me
as her boyfriend fucks her friend—right in front of her—a seductive smile
curling her lips.
I run the rest of the way to my room.
