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

“I’ve noticed,” he said sharply, growing more frustrated every second. “What would you like to know?”

He watched her swallow, another telltale sign she was growing more and more uncomfortable. “Nothing.”

Such an innocuous word said so innocuously. “Surely you’ve wondered why I don’t seem to have a household of my own.”

“Not really.”

“That’s a lie.”

She folded her arms against her shapely waist. “Since you’re now reverting to your baser instincts, I guess that’s my cue to ask the ten-million-dollar question.”

He smiled wickedly and her insides lit. “It’s nice to know you put that high a price on the answer.”

She tossed her head, causing her hair to float above her shoulders. “All right, I give up. Why did you and your wife divorce?”

“She lied to me about something I can never forgive her for. All the time we were married I thought she wanted children as much as I did. We planned to have a family, but she never had any intention of getting pregnant.”

Something flickered in the depths of those green orbs. “She did a very cruel thing to you. I’m sorry.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me anything else?” he prodded.

“I don’t need to. A lie says it all, don’t you think?”

If he didn’t miss his guess, that was pain he heard in her voice. “Not all. The follow-up might be. Am I sad about my marriage being over? Am I happy it came to an end?”

Her expression closed. “If you’re sad, then it’s a tragedy. If you’re happy, then it speaks for itself.”

“What about your marriage?” he drilled her, ready to erupt if she didn’t tell him something he could understand.

“You mean am I in a state of bliss, or someplace lower?”

A tight band constricted his breathing. “I think the fact that you’re living under Guy’s roof says a lot.”

“There you go, then.” She smiled. “You have your answer.”

His hands shot to her shoulders. He shook her almost roughly. “Don’t do this, Laura. I’m not asking you these questions out of some twisted desire to torment you. Has your husband been abusive to you?”

She averted her eyes. “Not physically.”

“But there are other ways.”

“That’s true, but I don’t wish to discuss it, Raoul.” Her breathing had grown shallow. “How long have you known my married name was Stillman?”

“Not long.”

Her eyes filled. “Then why didn’t you confront me immediately instead of plunging in the dagger last night?”

He’d only meant to get the truth about her feelings for her husband out in the open, but things were fast escalating out of control. He found himself kneading her upper arms not covered by her blouse. His thumbs smoothed her skin with its golden glow. Her body was warm and fluid. Fragrant.

“Last night still haunts me, so I’ll ask it another way. Is fear of your husband the reason you’ve sought Guy’s help?”

Her lips were only inches apart from his. “After the history between us, why would it possibly matter to you?”

“Because you’re a married woman, and I need to kiss you again or go slowly out of my mind.”

She quivered against him. He felt her warm, sweet breath on his lips as she said, “You’ve already done that on several occasions.”

“Not like this …”

With his conscience nowhere in sight, he covered her mouth hungrily. She’d been a temptation since he’d first seen her in Guy’s living room enamoring all his male guests.

“We mustn’t—” she cried, refusing him entry. Not to be defeated, he kissed his way around her lips, finding every line and curve, lingering on the fuller parts. That brought another small gasp, giving him the entrée he craved. He slid his hands over her back and pulled her into him so he could drink deeply.

She was ready for him, just like last night. Her little moans closed any escape hatch he should have been looking for. Slowly covering every inch of skin, his mouth moved to her throat where the pulse at the base throbbed wildly.

Raoul thought he’d known rapture before, but never like this. “You’re so beautiful, Laura. I ache whenever I think about you, let alone look. I want you.”

She reached up to cup his face before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “There’s nothing like it, is there? A fire that burns so hotly you think you can’t live without it.” Her eyes burned with that fire. “But somehow we do.” One more short kiss and she eased out of his arms.

“ We don’t have to live without it,” he murmured huskily.

“Yes we do.” She’d already backed away emotionally from him. “Our lives were going in two different directions when we collided. The chemistry’s real, Raoul, but that’s all. I’m still Mrs. Stillman, and I’m here at Guy’s request to try to help Chantelle.”

He felt as if his air supply had just been caught off. “Have you considered that Chantelle might see you as a threat?”

The way she looked at him, he might as well have slapped her. She studied him for a long time. “Your divorce has given you such a cynical view of life, you don’t know what’s real anymore. It’s sad because you’re truly a wonderful person in so many ways.

“Over the last few days there’ve been slices of moments of sheer pleasure with you. I thank you for those, but Chantelle gave me some good advice on my first day here and I quote, ‘Don’t let him scare you off, Laura. Raoul has his own demons he needs to deal with. Guy brought you to our home at my request. Raoul has his own home. Your being here is none of his business.’”

She walked to the door of the suite. “You look exhausted. You’d better go home and get some sleep, otherwise someone else I know is going to end up in the hospital before the day is out. I’ll phone you if there’s any kind of development.”

His eyes probed hers. “I could use a few hours, but I’ll be back. Care to join me?” he asked, smiling wickedly.

Her heart thudded in her chest. “If that’s a proposition, it’s not a flattering one. You’re half-dead.”

“You want me fully alive, is that what you’re saying?”

Her breath caught. He might be exhausted, but the wicked smile was in evidence. “I’m saying the timing is wrong, even for chemistry. You know the expression ‘There’s a time to weep and a time to laugh … a time to mourn and a time to dance’?”

“And now isn’t the right time for us?” he murmured. Laura nodded. “It’s your loss, Laura. I think there is more than just chemistry between us.”

Laura couldn’t take any more. Since he made no move to leave she said, “You’re welcome to stay in here and sleep. I’m going to find out whether Guy was successful in getting Chantelle to go to the hospital with him. When Paul comes home, I’ll send the maid to let you know.”

Raoul felt like he’d just awakened to a nightmare.

The sound of a car in the drive had Laura putting down her sketchpad to dash to the front door. When she opened it, the sight of three people getting out of the limo brought tears to her throat. Chantelle had gone to the hospital with Guy to bring their son home. Another big step for her.

Dear Guy. He had double duty. After he and Pierre lifted Chantelle and her wheelchair to the top step of the porch, he rushed back to help Paul with his crutches. One pant leg had been rolled up high enough to expose a patch of gauze and a bandage covering his wound.

Knowing Chantelle wouldn’t want Laura to say anything about this minor miracle of her going to the hospital, she focused on her son.

“Hey, Paul, maybe we should have taken you with us to see the Tour after all,” she called out.

He looked up at her with a wan smile. “How was it?”