IntheArmsofaLover

Madeleine
Oh

Book three in the Dominant
Lovers series.

In financial straits and
unemployed, Poppy Gordon splurges the last of her money on a holiday in Nice.
There she meets librarian Helen Crewe and learns of a near-perfect job working
for Helen’s Dom Luc Prioux. But before she can accept the job, she has to pass
the scrutiny of Luc’s lawyer Maître Poulain, whose tastes run in the same direction
as his employer. Maître Poulain has certain demands that Poppy is more than
delighted to satisfy.

An Exotika®
contemporary BDSM erotica
story from
Ellora’s Cave

Poppy Gordon looked across the brilliant turquoise of the
Mediterranean, took a deep breath and smiled. This was going to be her moment.
She’d mourn Tommy still, just as she’d always cherish their years together. They’d
been well-matched and blissfully happy. Just thinking about him brought back memories
of his arms around her, his sexy voice whispering promises in her ear, his
hands holding her down as his mouth covered hers, the smell of good leather,
the kiss of a blindfold and the caress of a flogger on her skin.

Enough was enough! She had nothing to gain in yearning for
what was over.

She was in Nice, the sun warm on her skin as a soft breeze
ruffled her hair and all thanks to Great Aunt Josie. She’d visited Poppy right
after the hideous fiasco of the funeral and handed Poppy a very generous check,
a diamond brooch and a pair of emerald earrings. “Do as you’re told and take
them,” she said, over Poppy’s objections. “Sell the jewelry, it’s still worth
something and be sure to cash the check. Take the money and run away for a
month or two. Forget the nasty mess Tommy left you in and leave those silly
young people to fight it out among themselves whilst you go and bask in the sun.”

Poppy did as she was told and was now, luxuriating in the
Cote
d’Azur
. The
Promenade des Anglais
was definitely an improvement over
a wet and windy March in Sussex.

She was idly reading a nice juicy Agatha Christie and
wondering whether to indulge in lunch near the beach or be frugal and go back
to her rented rooms to eat, when a man spoke to her, holding out a camera.

Presuming he wanted her to take a picture of him, she stretched
out her hand for the proffered camera, as he immediately pulled it out of her
reach.

She stared up at him. Did he want a snap or not? Really she was
far too relaxed to care much either way. “
Monsieur,
” she asked, “
voulez-vous
un photo ou non?
” Was “photo” French? It didn’t sound right but her French was
rusty after all these years and she’d swear she’d seen the word written.

“Ah, you are English perhaps?” A younger man, standing
beside the old codger, asked.

That much had to be obvious from the way she butchered the
language although her French was coming back, slowly but surely. “Yes.”

“Oh, Madame,” he said, giving her a rather devastating smile
that crinkled the corners of his dark eyes. “You misunderstand. My grandfather would
like to take a picture, with your permission. “

“Of me?” She knew she’d had to have had stranger requests,
just couldn’t think of any examples right now.

“Of your hands, if you permit. He collects pictures. “

Her hands? True, the bright, purple manicure she’d given
herself the night before was eye-catching but… “Just my hands?” She wasn’t certain
if it was odd or plain weird.

“Your hands holding the book, if you would, please.”

Sounded harmless, so she nodded, picked up the book and held
it on her lap, as the old man snapped her rather racy, bright fingernails
holding up the
4.50 from Paddington.

“
Mille mercis, Madame
!” She was rewarded a little courtly
bow.

“My most profound thanks,” the younger one said. “Most
gracious of you and if you have any concerns…” With a flourish, he produced a
business card. “Do not hesitate to contact me.”

“That was a trifle odd,” Poppy said, to herself, once they were
out of earshot.

A muffled chuckle came from the woman at the end of the
bench. “Sorry, “she said, “but you’re right. Very odd but harmless, I think.”
She met Poppy’s eyes and smiled. “Forgive me butting in but I was fascinated by
the incident.”

“I was a bit nonplussed,” Poppy replied, quite pleased to
find someone who spoke English. “Not the sort of thing one encounters every day
at home but, after all, I came here for a change.”

“You’re British? I’m Helen Crewe.”

Poppy took the offered hand. “Poppy Gordon and yes, I am.
You’re American?” She wasn’t too sure she wanted to disturb her contentment
with polite and probably pointless chatter but something about the woman’s calm
confidence appealed.

“Virginian born and bred. But I live here now, or rather
just down the coast.”

“Lord, I’m envious. What a place to live.”

“It’s wonderful, I’ve been here almost a year now and
honestly still sometimes have to remind myself, it’s not a dream.”

What to say to that? “
Yes, you are damn lucky and I hate
you.
” Not fair that. She’d just met the woman. “It must feel like it at
times. I’m only here for a few weeks and I still can’t quite believe it.”

“On holiday?”

“I think you’d call it running away.” More than she’d ever
say to a total stranger but so what? This was a casual conversation with a
woman she’d never see again.

Another soft chuckle. “I did the same. “

“You ran away?”

“My husband had died. I felt I was being smothered by kind
friends and well-wishers urging me to take up a hobby, volunteer for a worthy
cause or join a ladies’ luncheon club. I was at the point of freaking out when
I saw an advertisement for a librarian job out here. I applied and got it and I’m
here to stay. “

Envious didn’t begin to describe it. “What a lovely place to
run away to.”

“Yes.” Helen went quiet for a few moments and Poppy decided
there had been quite enough exchange of personal details. Time to bid the woman
a polite goodbye. “Want to go to lunch?” Helen asked.

Not exactly what Poppy had had in mind but… “Why not?”

They ended up on the terrace of a small restaurant just down
from the opera house. “Totally touristy, I admit,” Helen said, as they sat down
at the table covered with a beige gingham cloth. “But I love it here and it’s
fun to people watch. Food’s pretty good too.”

It was.

So was the wine. In fact, afterward Poppy blamed the carafe
of local
rosé
for loosening her tongue and her inhibitions. “My partner
died,” she said. Not what she’d meant to say at all.

“And you were all alone?”

She wished! Then it all spilled out. The scene at the
funeral and the polite relationship she’d had with Tommy’s four grown sons that
morphed overnight into antagonism and acrimony. And not forgetting his ex-wife
who returned from Australia for the sole purpose, or at least that was what it
had seemed like at the time, of aiding and abetting her sons in tossing Poppy
out of her job and her home.

“But surely you had some legal recourse,” Helen said.

“We weren’t married and although we’d worked together for twelve
years, I wasn’t a partner in the firm. His will left the business to his sons.
I wasn’t even mentioned in it. He’d made it before I met him. “

“You really got shafted.”

That was one way of putting it. Actually, a damn good way of
putting it. “Yes, I suppose I did, but you know what? Right now I don’t care.
You said how you flipped and ran off, well I pretty much did the same. I was
sitting in their solicitor’s office, the same one whom I’d thought of as my
solicitor, and listened to Tommy’s sons going on and on about how they had
rights to the business and so forth and something snapped. I went totally cold,
stood and told them they could have it all. All I asked was a couple of days to
pack up. I think the catalyst had been my old aunt giving me some money and
telling me to take a break. So I did.

“I went back to our house—okay Tommy’s house. Packed two
suitcases, grabbed my laptop and the petty cash box out of the office. Threw
the lot in my car and drove away. I must admit the next morning I regretted
leaving my books and sewing machine and masses of other stuff that was mine,
but realized I didn’t care that much about things. My sister thought I had gone
round the bend. She was part right, but I felt calm for the first time in
weeks. They could have the whole shebang. Thing is…” She couldn’t hold back a
grin. “I’m pretty sure they hope to sell the land to a developer and make
gazillions out of it, but what they don’t realize is that it’s farm land. Green
belt,” Helen looked confused. “It can’t be built on. Somebody tried last year
just a mile or so away and got refused planning permission. They’re stuck with
a farm and they don’t know the first thing about working it. All they’ve ever
done about the business was cash Tommy’s checks. Deep in my heart, I hate the thought
of all those acres going to wrack and ruin after all our work, but it’s their
baby now.”

“What did you grow?” Helen asked. “Fruit? Vegetables?”

“Lavender.”

The woman gaped “You’re serious? Lavender?”

“Yes. Our company was called Sussex Lavender. You can Google
us. The website should still be there. I’d paid hosting for six months. “

“Good heavens!”

Why was she so surprised? Surely people grow lavender in
America. They certainly did here. She’d seen fields of it on the hills near
Grasse.

Helen was silent a moment or two and Poppy was beginning to think
she’d rambled on too much.

“Ever thought of running another farm?” Helen asked.

“I’d love to, but they’re not exactly thick on the ground
and if they were, I couldn’t possibly afford to buy one. Besides, I’m running
away, plenty of time to think about the future when my money runs out.”

“I think you picked the right place to run away.”

Poppy couldn’t agree more.

Seemed conversation had run out too. Fair enough—they’d both
eaten vast plates of fresh ravioli.

“I ought to go,” Helen said. “I’ve a couple of errands to
run.”

They exchanged mobile numbers and parted, agreeing to meet
again for lunch some unspecified time in the future. Poppy walked back to her
rented rooms, via a stop at the
Monoprix
for yogurt and salad, not really
expecting to see Helen again.

* * * * *

Helen drove back to Les Santons slightly faster than safety
dictated, but she was eager to see Luc. She just hoped his arrogant brother had
left. She wasn’t about to share her news with him.

Jean’s car was gone but a sporty black Citroën sat in the
driveway. So Luc was consulting with his lawyer. Helen parked her own car and
went into the house by the back door. Adele, the cook, was cleaning up from
lunch as Helen walked in.

“Hello, I thought you had the day off.”

“I do. “ Helen grinned. She liked Adele and they’d always
dealt well together. Sharing much more than just a mutual employer. “Something
came up. I want to speak to Luc but he’s busy, I see.”

“Yes, Maître Poulain came about twenty minutes after that
brother of Monsieur’s left in a fit of temper. “

“Heard anything I need to know?”

“Other than Monsieur Jean flouncing out in a snit? Not
really. I brought in coffee fifteen minutes ago and Monsieur said not to
disturb them.”

That probably meant she shouldn’t barge in either. “Was the argument
over the land up at
La Turbie
?”

Adele shrugged. “Of course. What else has disturbed the
equilibrium of the household the past few weeks?”

The ongoing three-sided argument between Luc, his brother
and their mother, okay two-sided since Luc was determined to humor his mother
who did not want to sell, had been going on for weeks. Ever since Jean had
returned from Australia, wanting money for a new venture. “Between us, I might,
possibly have stumbled onto a solution.” A very big
might
admittedly but
worth considering and, if successful, was destined to piss off Jean, but what
the hell? Helen’s loyalties lay with Luc who was her lover as well as employer.

“How?” Adele asked, as she loaded plates in the dishwasher.

“I just met someone who might be just the person Luc needs.”

She didn’t have too long to wait. An hour later, as she sat
at her computer, Luc walked in. Her smile at seeing him in her doorway was pretty
much a reflex. “Hello, Luc.”

“I did not expect you back so soon. “

“I only needed a couple of hours.”

“To avoid my brother.”

Why deny it? She had been pretty obvious. “You had things to
talk about.”

“Same things as yesterday and the day before.” And weeks
before that.

“Nothing was settled then?”

“We have a problem. The situation is dire. That was why I
sent for Poulain. My troublesome brother has delivered an ultimatum. I decided
to let Poulain handle my mother.”

“What’s going on?”

“He has hired his own lawyer to fight us. Since he has an
interest in the land, he is saying if it is not put back into production within
six weeks, he will insist we sell. We can delay in the courts, Poulain
believes, but it will take time and money and distress my mother.”

Things such as this made her glad she’d been an only child. “Sounds
difficult.”

“Helen! It is more than difficult. It is a disaster. How can
he be so unreasonable?”

Jean was probably saying the same about Luc, but she kept
that to herself. Besides, she had an ace up her metaphorical sleeve. “Let me get
this straight, he didn’t define what is meant by ‘in production’?”

Luc shrugged. Even that was a sexy gesture but she really had
to keep focused on the hectares up in the hills, not his luscious bod. “Poulain
took it to mean we have a staff there and ongoing work but after that felon
Warburg disappeared with the money and equipment, who will take on a
half-ruined project?”

Perhaps a single woman with no ties? “I might know someone.”

She chose to ignore the eye roll that rather irked her. “I
met somebody this morning and had lunch with her.”

“Her?” He picked up on that. “Who might this possibility
be?”

Helen told him.

He listened, she’d hand him that, but then he shook his
head. “You know nothing about this woman. She could end up worse than
Warburgh.”

She couldn’t be much worse. “Or she could be better. At
least it would stave off your brother’s ultimatum. You’d have someone running
the place and an experienced person at that.” Assuming Poppy really wanted a
job of course. “I Googled her. The farm she used to run is legit. Here…” She
tapped on the keyboard and brought back up the website she’d been looking at
earlier. “See.” She turned the screen to face him. “It was productive, in fact
successful, and she helped run it for twelve years. She could give us six
months or so until your brother gets tired of nagging your mother.”