Rebecca Winters - Weddings - The Proposals - The Brooding Frenchman's Proposal / Memo - The Billionaire's Proposal / The Playboy Firefighter's Proposal

He glanced at the door to the adjoining room, his pulse pounding while he waited for Laura to make a move.

“It’s too late.” Far too late. “ Adieu , Danielle,” he murmured.

Raoul put the phone back on the hook, smothering her angry shout. Before she could call him again, he turned off the ringer.

He could go down to the bar, but no amount of alcohol would wipe out the sting of Laura’s lie. Even though her betrayal was against her husband and his brother, Raoul was the one reeling.

Laura cried so hard all night that when morning came, her eyes were swollen shut. When she left the room at 7:30 a.m. with her overnight bag, she was forced to cover them with her sunglasses.

She hadn’t seen or talked to Raoul since he’d dropped his bombshell outside the door last night. Because he’d brought her here to suit his no-longer-secret agenda, she didn’t feel obligated to discuss anything more with him. She’d see the day through and tough it out, but that was it. When they returned to Cap Ferrat, she’d stay out of Raoul’s way until she returned to the States.

The Auberge served a continental breakfast in the dining area off the foyer. Only a few people were eating. The rest had left to line the road while they waited for the bikers making the ascent. After choosing a baguette and some juice, she sat down at a table. Though she had no appetite, she knew she’d better eat something.

While she munched on the bread without enthusiasm, Raoul entered the dining room wearing his jeans and a navy sport shirt, unbuttoned at the neck where she could see a smattering of dark hair. She closed her eyes tightly to shut off the view, but it was too late to stop the warm rush that permeated her weakened body.

He reached for her bag and took both of them to the counter in the lobby to be held until later. Afterward he wandered over to the side bar for a cup of coffee and a baguette. When he returned, he took the seat opposite her and dunked his bread in the hot liquid before eating it with obvious enjoyment. There was clearly no problem with his appetite.

“When you’re ready, we’ll walk over to the road and watch what we came to see.” His voice sounded half an octave lower this morning. Even after everything that had transpired, she still ached for him.

There was a tiny cut at the side of his jaw where he must have hurt himself shaving. It was the only thing she could find that might indicate he wasn’t in total control. Somehow the thought was reassuring.

As she was finishing the last of her juice, he lifted her sunglasses from her face. His knuckle brushed the end of her nose. “I thought so,” he muttered before setting them back in place.

She froze. “You’re a true Frenchman all right. When you butcher your animal, you don’t leave any parts.”

A faint white line of anger circled his mouth. Good.

He got up from the table at the same time she did. Like a couple who’d lived too long together and didn’t find pleasure in each other’s company, they left the hotel with several feet between them and made their way down the side street to the main road packed with fans. It was tragic, really, that she couldn’t enjoy the glorious view from this famous spot, but she was too numb.

Raoul found a place where they could stand and see everything. She people watched in order not to stare at him. They were probably the only two fans on the mountain who weren’t chatting excitedly. After twenty minutes the first cars riding ahead of the bikers came in sight. The crowd grew noisier. Pretty soon there was an explosion of sound because the first five racers had been spotted.

They looked hot and miserable. Deep lines around their mouths reflected the strain on their bodies. Everyone passed them cups of water. Sometimes the passage became so narrow she was afraid a tourist would ruin the race for them. Finally they cycled in front of her and Raoul. None of the five were on the French or American teams.

A few minutes after they started down the other side of the summit, up came the peloton. For a second she spotted the biker in the yellow jersey. The whole scene looked chaotic when you were seeing it in person rather than on TV. The cyclists rode past, their legs moving like pistons. Several of them fell back, their bikes moving wobbily, as if the racers were on the verge of collapse.

All this effort to see them go by. Now it was over.

She glanced at Raoul through her sunglasses. “I’m going to walk to the helipad.”

He nodded. “I’ll be there as soon as I collect our luggage.”

Without watching him, she took off down the mountain at a brisk pace. It felt good to expend some energy. This was one time when she wished she could plunge in the surf and swim way out to catch a wave.

Amazing that by the time she reached the helicopter, Raoul had somehow caught up to her and showed no signs of being winded. She greeted the pilot, then climbed in the back and strapped herself in.

Raoul stowed their bags, then took his place in the copilot’s seat. He spoke in rapid French to the pilot before the blades began to rotate. Once they were whipping the air, the helicopter lifted off, leaving her stomach behind.

The scene out the window could only be described as spectacular. She could see the zigzag road beneath them, but there was no sign of the cyclists because the helicopter was headed in the opposite direction from Bourg d’Oisons, the end of the day’s eighth stage.

She didn’t need to ask Raoul anything. He’d accomplished what he had come here to do, but since she hadn’t given him the satisfaction of an explanation, he was taking her home, thank heaven.

While Raoul and the pilot talked quietly together, the uneventful flight back to Cap Ferrat allowed her to sleep. When she woke up, she was surprised to discover they’d landed on the estate.

Raoul had already climbed out of the helicopter and had put her bag in the limo. “Pierre will take you to the villa.”

She said a collective thank-you to him and the pilot before getting in the car. Raoul shut the door as if he couldn’t wait to see her gone from here. Nothing could hurt more than the memory of last night when she’d thought Raoul had truly started to care for her. To think all along he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to expose her. The pain of it was excruciating.

After reaching the villa, Pierre got out and handed her the overnight bag. She thanked him before hurrying inside the house. She almost ran into Guy, who must have heard the helicopter and was coming out to greet her.

He gave her a hug before looking at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately. “You look pale. Did the helicopter make you ill?”

“Oh, no. I’m a little tired.” She put her bag down.

“You’re back sooner than I would have expected.”

“As it turned out, Raoul didn’t want to see the end of the stage because his team wasn’t winning.” A white lie, but it was the best she could come up with at the moment. He smiled. “My brother always was a terrible loser. Now you’ve seen him at his worst.”

Guy could have no idea… . “How’s Chantelle?”

A shadow crossed over his features. “She went down for a nap a little while ago.”

“And Paul?”

“With a friend. They’ve gone bike riding.”

“Guy—” She took a huge breath. “Could we talk in private?”

“Bien sur.”

“But if you were working—”

“It’s nothing I can’t do later. Let’s go to your sitting room. No one will disturb us there.” That’s right. It was the one room in the villa off-limits to Raoul.

He carried her bag down the hall for her. She went inside the suite first. After he followed her in, she shut the door and they both sat down on the chairs placed around the coffee table.