Paradise Found (14 page)

They were traveling in an easterly direction, following what was supposed to be one of the most picturesque roads in Europe. For a while the car hugged the coastline of the Côte d'Azur, named for its blue and sparkling sea. The area was sheltered by the Alps, and its exceptionally mild climate produced vegetation like that in much hotter countries, palms, dates, oranges, bananas, and pomegranates. And flowers, everywhere flowers. Then Matt pointed the nose of the car inland, and they climbed a secondary road through magnificent mountain scenery with beautiful views of the sea below.

‘Next time you're dabbing scent behind your
ears,
bear in mind that the rose, violet, hyacinth, or whatever it was made from was probably grown not too far from here.'

‘Is that a fact?' Zoe said, although it was something she had already read somewhere and stored away. The area was noted for the large amount of flowers it grew for sale in London and Paris and for making perfume.

Never again would she take out a perfume stopper without thinking of that moment. Yet no bottled fragrance could equal the scent carried on the warm breeze.

‘I've got a feeling we're going to be late getting back,' Zoe despaired, the words a contradiction to her deep sigh of content.

‘Does it matter?'

‘I shall stand behind you and let you take the brunt of Hannah's wrath.'

‘What about your fiancé's wrath?'

Why did he have to remind her of Tony? ‘His, too,' she said.

‘Coward.'

‘Perhaps I just like a quiet life.' She didn't care if he did read a double meaning into that. Life with Tony would be more tranquil than with him. ‘I think we should turn back now. But first, can we stop, please, and get out to look at the view?'

‘Of course.'

He slowed and pulled in at the first convenient place.

As she got out of the car he said, ‘Does it
constitute
touching you if I hold your hand? Not because I want to hold your hand, of course, but because it's the gentlemanly thing to do to help a lady over rough ground.'

His mood was too mischievous. She didn't trust it. But she gave him her hand as they walked to what Matt assured her would be the best vantage point. When they stopped, Zoe drew her breath in sharply. It seemed unfair that this sun-drenched corner of the earth should abound with so much beauty. It was a miracle of nature that no mortal painter, no matter how delicate his touch, could reproduce. The last rays of the sun brushed deep shafts of coppery gold over the earth, animating each rock and tree, every sweeping line and plane of color, down to the sparkling, breathtaking blue of the sea.

Zoe's eyes soaked it all up. She was still savoring it in wonder and awe when she felt the first soft suspicion of a raindrop. She looked up at the sky. Surely its loss of vivid blue was because of the fading daylight? It was incomprehensible that rain would spoil this lovely day, and she dismissed the feather touch on her cheek as imagination, until it was joined by another . . . and another. The gentle cascade gained momentum and grew into a shower which, with relentless, fiendish speed, turned into a drenching downpour. Matt took her hand and they ran back toward the car. The rain beat them back with tropical force.
They
plowed on, feet squelching, blindly scurrying for the cover of the car. What had initially seemed a short walk was a waterlogged nightmare on the return trip.

Matt wrenched open the door for her, his hands closing on her hips and pushing her in before he ran round to the other side and got in himself.

Grinning across at her, he said, ‘Why do you look wetter than I do?'

‘Possibly because I am wetter than you are. Long hair,' she explained tersely, opening the car door for a brief moment, making a rope of her offending tresses, and wringing out the excess water.

She couldn't have been more sodden if she'd swum underwater to get back. Despite her efforts, her hair was still streaming. Her skirt adhered to her thighs, and she dreaded to think what the tightly clinging suntop was revealing, although it was doubtful if it was anything he hadn't already guessed from the low cut of the back.

‘You'd probably do better to take that off and lay it out on the back seat to dry,' he said, giving one slender strap a tweak.

‘Probably,' she said, ‘but you know I'm not going to—and why.'

‘I'd see as much any day if I walked on a beach at St. Tropez,' he said, but he didn't press the issue. He extracted a clean, folded handkerchief, which was miraculously dry,
from
his pocket. ‘Not much, I'm afraid,' he said, gently patting her face, ‘but the best I can do.'

‘I'll survive until we get back. Why are you just sitting there, Matt? Why don't you start the engine and get moving?'

‘Slight problem. Well, actually, major problem. Did you notice the poor condition of the road we've just traveled up, not to mention its steepness?'

‘Yes, but you're competent. You're more than just an average driver.'

‘In normal circumstances. These aren't normal circumstances.'

‘I'm not afraid. I'd rather get back than stay here while it abates. I'll feel perfectly safe with you.'

‘Don't bet on that. I might risk my neck, but I'm not risking yours.'

‘Would you stop procrastinating and kindly explain what you mean?'

‘The windshield wipers don't work. I was going to fix them tomorrow.'

‘I don't believe you. You're making it up.'

He switched on the engine and fiddled about on the dashboard. Nothing happened.

‘I do believe you!' she gasped.

‘I'm sorry, Zoe. I didn't know it was going to rain.'

‘I know you didn't.' But she also knew he wasn't sorry.

Something was knocking at her brain, some
gleam
of intelligent reasoning that demanded to be admitted. The triumphant look on Matt's face was akin to the one that had been on Tony's face the previous evening at dinner when he'd pawed and fondled her just to make Matt squirm. Matt had asked her to come out on a drive with him to get even. He had never intended to get her back to Les Charmettes in time for dinner; perhaps he meant to keep her out all night!

Oh, he hadn't arranged the rain, but it had been a godsend. When it had started raging down like that, she bet, he undoubtedly couldn't believe his luck. It had saved him from having to engineer some excuse for not being able to take her back, the most likely one being the old classic of the car failing its after-repair test drive. It would have broken down at the crucial moment, possibly when it was too dark for him to find out what the trouble was, and so they would have had to stay put until morning.

Not because he wanted to spend the night with her. That was the choking, humiliating part, but to score off Tony. She'd had the feeling the night before that she was being used to settle a difference. What had been an idle thought then grew into a certainty now. Neither Matt nor Tony really cared about her, except as a weapon to use against each other.

Her fury knew no bounds. She dragged open the car door, but before she could get
out
Matt's steel fingers wrapped round her arm.

‘Where do you think you're going?'

‘Anywhere to get away from you. I remember passing a village a little way back. I'll head for it. I won't stay here with you.'

‘It's pouring. You'll get washed away.'

‘I can't feel a bigger drip than I already do for falling for this rotten setup.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘You never meant to get me back in time for dinner. I doubt if you meant to get me back tonight. Can you deny it?'

‘Why should I? You can think what you damn well like; but you're not getting out of this car. The village you're talking about is too far away for you to walk it in this. There's a better prospect a few kilometers ahead.'

He switched on the ignition again; the engine hummed to life, and he wound his window right down and put the car headlights on at full beam.

‘What are you doing?'

‘What does it look as if I'm doing? I'm taking you there, aren't I?'

‘This is crazy,' she said as he swung the car back onto the road.

‘Not half as crazy as letting you walk.'

He drove with his head stuck out the window, and she wished that she hadn't flown off the handle. She wondered what her stupidity had let them in for.

‘Don't
be afraid,' he yelled at her. ‘I've been in worse than this. You should have seen some of the walls of fog I've driven through. I've got a built-in radar system that I switch on at times like these.'

But even trusting him more than she would have trusted any other man, she was still afraid. A sheet of rain battered at his face. ‘Pull in somewhere, Matt. This is madness.' But either he didn't hear, or he didn't want to hear, because he kept on relentlessly. In the end she held her breath, and it seemed to her that she didn't let it out again until his target was reached. A building of some sort swam mistily into view. He pulled into a yard and didn't look at her until he'd shut off the engine and wound the window back up.

‘You could have killed us both,' she accused, her relief at being safe exploding into anger.

He took her face in his hands. The tenderness of the action melted her anger away. ‘No, I couldn't, Zoe. I knew what I was doing. I might take the odd calculated risk, but I never take foolhardy ones. What do you want most in the world at this moment?'

The rain had been beating in at them through the open car window and Zoe was soaked again, ‘To feel dry,' she said.

‘And to sit down and eat a civilized meal?' he inquired.

‘That would be a bonus.'

But first another bonus was coming her way.
She
knew it, but she didn't seem able to draw back from it. A profound sense of unreality gripped her as his hands gathered her close, molding themselves to her wet, clinging suntop, finding the sweetness of her breast and sending tingling sensations through her body. A wildness sang in her blood as his mouth sought and devoured hers. He hadn't broken his word not to touch her. ‘If you put up prohibitive signs, I'll observe them,' was what he'd promised. She hadn't. All barriers were down.

It was madness. Divine madness. Her fingers obeyed impulses that she had previously managed to resist, wriggling open a button of his shirt and sliding inside to press themselves against the hard wall of his chest, and then, appeasing an intolerable curiosity, they tangled in the masculine growth of hair. Even damp, it was slightly wiry to the touch, a sensuous experience.

She felt a shiver run through him. Her other hand went up in time to follow a ripple moving along his throat. In that strange moment it was as if they had reversed roles, as if she was the one using him for sexual pleasure and he was the vulnerable partner. He was back in control with shattering quickness, her moment of power lost as he reseized the advantage she had stolen. He was on top again, the supreme male dominating her into bliss as he kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. His fingers
moved
to her shoulders, bringing down the straps of her suntop and then playing along her naked back, sending tingles down her spine, coming round to entrance her breasts with a light touch that enchanted and delighted her. The velvet caresses of his fingertips hardened her nipples; then his lips softly brushed them each in turn before lifting to tease her temple.

In the ensuing moment the nature of the sensuous game he was playing came to her. He hadn't lost the upper hand, not for one single moment. She hadn't seduced his senses when she touched him. The seducer was playing a subtle trick on her. She hadn't stolen the initiative just then, he had given it to her. And he was giving it to her again, but, if he'd done his inveigling well, this time she would make a bolder foray. And so it would go on. He would dominate, and then appear to be dominated, instilling in her a false sense of security by letting her think that she was on top of the situation and could call a halt at any time she chose. But the controlling power had never left his hands. He had banked on her not being aware of that until she'd advanced to the point of no return, when both she and their joint passions were totally out of anyone's control.

In the heady moment of realization, her senses on fire, her desire stoked to an impossible high by his superb cunning and mastery, she didn't know how to handle the
situation;
she didn't even know if she
could
handle it.

When he brought the straps of her suntop back up over her shoulders, her sluggish brain couldn't make sense of the action. It took several seconds for it to sink in that sitting in a car in someone else's yard provided neither the comfort nor the privacy for what he had in mind.

‘I'm glad you attempted to make that crazy break,' he said thickly. ‘I had this place half in mind. I'm glad you forced the issue. If we've got to wait the storm out, why not do it in comfort?'

‘Why not?' she echoed in an oddly strangled voice.

‘But I didn't know how you'd take the idea—the idea of driving through the rain to get here, that is.'

‘I wouldn't have been wildly enthusiastic. What is this place, by the way?'

‘It used to be a farmhouse, but it's been converted into a
logis.
In case you don't know, a
logis
is a small, modest hotel. But don't let that fool you. I'd give this one the four-star rating of a first-class establishment. The patron and his wife, Jean-Claude and Berthe Poussin, have a name for keeping a good table and an impressive wine cellar. I've eaten here myself, so I know it's true. I've never had occasion to need overnight accommodation, but I've heard that the rooms, although simple,
are
clean and comfortable. Not that we're likely to need them. By the time we've eaten the rain is certain to have stopped, but you never know.'