Forbidden Fantasy Page 15

  When she turned off the shower, she heard the phone ringing. Grabbing a towel, she ran to catch it before Lauren-Claire missed her again.

  She was too late.

  And there was no message, just the click of someone hanging up.

  Darn, she’d missed Lauren-Claire, and how was she ever going to locate her now? She’d just have to wait in the loft until her friend called back again.

  STANDING AT A PAY PHONE in the middle of a frenetic New York airport, Grey hung up the receiver with a resigned sadness. Shouldering his duffel, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket and walked into the night … a lonely, romantic figure.

  14

  THE POUNDING on the door woke Zoe the following morning.

  “I’m coming, I think …” she said, suffering from train lag or something as she tried to walk to the door of the loft and tie the sash on her robe at the same time.

  She couldn’t imagine who would be pounding on her door at such an ungodly—she picked up her watch and squinted at it. It was noon.

  Finally making it to the door, she cracked it open, seeing a rather burly-looking young man with long hair.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Oh, you’re American. Well, you’re in luck. I speak English. I play in a rock band and only do this on the side,” he said, indicating the clipboard in his hand. “Got a package for you mademoiselle.”

  “Leave it in the hall and I’ll pick it up later.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s going to take me and my partner here just to carry it in. If you’ll sign here, I’ll go help him bring it up and we can be out of here,” he said, shoving the papers on the clipboard under her nose.

  “What? I didn’t order any….”

  But the man was already off to help his partner bring up the thing she hadn’t ordered. Maybe Lauren-Claire had ordered it. She looked down at the papers.

  They were in French.

  “Okay, where do you want it, mademoiselle?” the burly man said as he and his helper came up with a box as tall as she was and several feet square.

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly.

  “This is a good spot,” he assured her as the two men maneuvered the awkward box to a place by the door.

  “I don’t know. Could you move it over …?”

  “Sorry, we don’t do decorating, mademoiselle. Did you sign the papers?” he asked, taking them from her.

  She nodded, having decided the spot with the big red X was where she was supposed to sign.

  “Adieu, mademoiselle,” the delivery man said, ushering his helper out.

  “What on earth?” Zoe wondered, left standing in front of a box as big as an armoire.

  She didn’t know how to begin to start opening it.

  Maybe if she had a cup of tea. She was filling the kettle with water when the pounding on the door began again.

  Aha, the delivery men had discovered their mistake and returned to take the monstrosity back with them. Thank heaven, she hadn’t gone and tried to tackle opening it.

  “I tried to tell you—”

  Her words were effectively cut off by the sight that met her: Cowboy boots, scuffed and worn … long, long legs in jeans that were belted by a championship rodeo buckle that would choke a—ah, a horse … shoulders as wide as Texas and soulful gray eyes.

  If there was any doubt, and there wasn’t, this was Lauren-Claire’s Blade. He stood there, cleaning his fingernails with the wickedest-looking knife this side of Fort Worth.

  “Morning, ma’am,” he said, his voice deep and growly. He tipped his cowboy hat. “I sure do hope you’re Zoe, ma’am.”

  “Zoe! So you’re all right, after all!” Lauren-Claire squealed, launching herself into Zoe’s arms, letting go of the mail she’d been sorting as she trailed up the steps.

  “I was so worried about you,” Lauren-Claire said, breaking away from the hug.

  “I can vouch for that. L.C. made me fly my daddy’s private jet straight here.”

  “Zoe, this is my fiancé, Blade Wyatt. Isn’t he just darling’ precious, like I said? And would you look at the rock he gave me,” Lauren-Claire said, lifting her hand to display an eight-karat solitaire diamond. “I swear I have to do finger exercises just to hold it up. I told him all I wanted was a little something romantic.”

  “Well, it is just a little something … a training ring. When we get married, I’ll go to the jewelers and get you a real one. That one just came out of a gum-ball machine.”

  “Blade! Quit teasing!”

  “Whatever you say, L.C.”

  Zoe smiled at the love glowing in Lauren-Claire’s eyes when she looked up at her cowboy.

  “And will you please—” Lauren-Claire shot Blade a look of reprimand “—put that wicked knife away and behave yourself. Zoe’s from Texas, too, so you can’t intimidate her with it. I swear, he’s been having such fun flashing it all the way over here.”

  “Shucks,” Blade mumbled, grinning and putting the knife into his boot.

  “Zoe,” Lauren-Claire asked as they went inside the loft, “why haven’t you called me or been here when I called? And what is this?” she asked, running into the huge box that had been delivered only minutes earlier.

  “You didn’t order it?” Zoe asked.

  “It?”

  “I don’t know what it is. The delivery receipt was in French, so I went ahead and signed it, thinking maybe you …”

  “Why don’t I just open it for you ladies, so you can find out what it is?” Blade offered.

  “Thanks,” Zoe said, relieved to have someone else handle the uncrating.

  “You haven’t explained about where you were,” Lauren-Claire said as Blade went to work on the huge box, pulling out his knife to pry loose some nails.

  Blade laughed, a deep rumble that was sexy and full of amused tolerance. “You’ll have to excuse L.C. I get such a kick out of her cute little ol’ French accent, I plum let her run roughshod and get her way ‘bout most all the time. She’s gotten kind of used to it this past week.”

  “Blade, will you quit? I’m serious.”

  “Me too, sugar. After the weddin’ my momma is going to have to take you in hand and whip you into shape.”

  Zoe raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” Lauren-Claire said, dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand. The splashy solitaire caught the light. “His momma drives a Jeep to her charity functions. Now are you going to tell me where you were or not?”

  “No,” Zoe answered, thinking Blade was perfect for Lauren-Claire.

  “Good for you,” Blade said, taking off the top of the crate. “Well, I’ll be—look what we got us here!”

  “What?” Lauren-Claire asked, coming over to the opened crate to have a look.

  “I do believe it’s a horsie,” Blade answered with a chuckle as he lifted Lauren-Claire so she could see inside the crate.

  “A what?” Zoe said, coming to have a look inside the crate, as well.

  It was the carousel horse Grey had given her. She turned three shades of red, remembering the day. Grey wasn’t playing fair at all.

  “And here I thought you were just making an idle threat when you said you’d run away and join the circus, if I didn’t accept your proposal of marriage,” Blade said, laughing at Lauren-Claire.

  “You hush, Blade. You’re not supposed to tell anyone that I was the one who did the asking.”

  Blade turned to Zoe, his gray eyes full of laughter. “She begged me … real purty … on her knees.”

  “Blade Wyatt, will you hush!” Lauren-Claire said, hitting his arm.

  “Ouch, you’re hurting my tennis elbow, L.C.,” he complained. Obviously a born storyteller, he continued blithely. “Funny thing is, I don’t rightly remember saying yes.”

  By this time Zoe had forgotten her embarrassment an
d was laughing, as well.

  “I just woke up the next morning with a smile on my face and absolutely no recall of why I’d thought it was such a dandy idea to remain a bachelor.”

  “Blade Wyatt, I do hope you don’t think you’re going to tell our children this yarn.”

  “Children … did I agree to that, too? Well, Momma will be proud. It must have been all that baby booze you plied me with.”

  “Baby booze?” Lauren-Claire and Zoe repeated.

  “Yeah, that French champagne you kept insisting we toast each other with…. All those bubbles must have made me giddy.” He then did a six-foot-four cowboy’s rendition of feeling giddy and they were all on the floor, helpless with laughter.

  When the laughter subsided, Zoe looked at Lauren-Claire and said, “I’ve really missed you. I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Now don’t be getting too used to having L.C. around. Just as soon as the weddin’ comes off, I’m whisking her back to Texas and building her a house on the north forty.”

  “Suppose I don’t want to live on the north forty,” Lauren-Claire said, smiling sweetly.

  “Well, then, I just guess you’re going have to do some more of that begging you do so purty….”

  “Blade!”

  “Go on, L.C., Zoe’s a Texas gal, there ain’t no shocking them.”

  “When’s the wedding?” Zoe asked, realizing suddenly that Lauren-Claire really would be gone again soon.

  “In three weeks. We’re going to announce our engagement to mon père and ma mère tonight.”

  “Why don’t we elope and announce the wedding instead?” Blade suggested.

  “Because, darlin’ precious, my father would have y’all stomped to death in one of the wine vats.”

  “I think I can wait three weeks,” Blade said on a falsetto note as he got up to finish uncrating the carousel horse.

  “Now, are you going to tell me about this present and just what exactly has been going on since I’ve been gone, and whether or not it involves your très gorgeous mystery man?” Lauren-Claire demanded.

  IT WAS QUIET in the loft when Lauren-Claire and Blade left to tell their news to her parents. Zoe smiled, thinking she’d like to be a mouse in the room when Blade walked in with their baby daughter.

  Alone with her thoughts, Zoe stood running her hands over the exquisitely carved carousel horse Blade had placed by a window. It wasn’t fair of Grey to have sent her this constant reminder of what they’d shared together.

  In the next three weeks she was going to have to make up her mind about whether she was going to stay in Paris or return to the States.

  And if she went back to the States, whom would she be going back to?

  Could she bear to give up her dark, mysterious lover?

  Could she not give her marriage another chance? Her husband did love her, and with that as a sound basis, they might be able to work out a marriage that fulfilled both their needs. He could, after all, provide her with the security she craved—and the excitement of the past week.

  Couldn’t he?

  Or could one truly only be intimate with a stranger?

  Could one have the erotic, unbelievably sexy love-making she and Grey had shared, when marriage and day-to-day living intruded with all of its demands?

  Would her husband really be able to resolve their problems? Or would he continue to be seduced by his role as breadwinner, a role ingrained by generations of tradition?

  She knew she would shrivel and die if she went back to living the kind of life she’d abandoned. Things had to change. She had.

  One taste of Grey’s passion, his uncontrolled imagination, and his sheer enjoyment of her had forever claimed her from a life of acceptance. She could no longer just exist. She had to act.

  And her decision was going to have to be made in the midst of Lauren-Claire’s whirlwind wedding plans.

  She shook her head. Before she’d left with Blade, Lauren-Claire had insisted Zoe agree to be in the wedding.

  How was she going to survive?

  15

  LAUREN-CLAIRE’S family estate of vineyards was located in the heart of champagne country, just ninety minutes outside Paris, close to a storybook village right out of once-upon-a-time.

  The day of the wedding had dawned sunny and warm, dispelling the fears of the mother of the bride that her outdoor reception was going to be ruined by rain.

  The wedding ceremony was being held in a private chapel located in the shelter of towering pines. Sunlight filtered in through the stained-glass windows, casting a rainbowlike hue upon the bride and groom. The reception afterward would be a much bigger social affair, but the chapel was small and held only the immediate family and a few friends.

  Zoe waited for her cue in the back of the Gothic chapel as the two young flower girls tossed white rose petals to either side as they walked down the aisle.

  The wedding was a merging of dynasties from two different worlds, as the assembled wedding guests made clear. On one side of the chapel were the groom’s guests … all three-hundred-dollar snakeskin cowboy boots with Western-cut suits, their ladies in chic designer outfits. On the other side was the bride’s family … all expensive leather loafers and women in flower strewn, feathered and beribboned hats with floaty dresses.

  The music started and Zoe began to walk up the aisle, a fog of memories of her own wedding swirling around her. When she got to the front of the chapel, she blinked and saw Blade standing beside the waiting, priest—towering over the priest, actually. Blade gave her a friendly wink as she took her place to the left of the priest.

  They turned with the guests to watch the bride come down the aisle.

  Lauren-Claire was a vision … a blending of the old and the new.

  Despite a battle royal with her mother, she’d refused to wear her grand-mère’s wedding dress. Instead Lauren-Claire wore a perfectly cut, white designer silk pant suit. She’d compromised with her mother by agreeing to wear Grand-mère’s headpiece—a wide-brimmed white hat swathed in netting. The hat was the perfect fantasy complement to the sophisticated suit and set off Lauren-Claire’s dark beauty.

  For her wedding bouquet she carried several stems of white tulips.

  The groom looked as though he was going to faint on the spot. He swallowed nervously as Lauren-Claire slipped her small hand into his large one and smiled up at him. Turning to face the priest, the exchange of vows began.

  As Zoe listened to the same vows she’d exchanged with her husband, she fingered the antique stickpin she wore on the blush-pink suit Lauren-Claire had picked out for her. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

  Then she heard the priest say, “You may kiss the bride,” and Blade laid a Texas-sized kiss upon his new wife.

  The music began again, and the wedding party filed out of the chapel into bright sunlight.

  Lauren-Claire’s mother fussed around her daughter, telling Blade’s mother, “The child has a perfectly exquisite wedding dress from her grand-mère that she could have worn, but no, she had to wear pants … Mon Dieu!”

  Blade laughed. “That’s because she thinks she’s going to wear the pants in our marriage, but we’re going to discuss that during the honeymoon tonight, aren’t we, L.C.?”

  “Blade!” Lauren-Claire said, punching his arm.

  Blade’s mother laughed. “Looks like we’ve raised a couple of spoiled children, perfect for each other, if they don’t kill each other first.”

  “Dying on my honeymoon night, now wouldn’t that be poetic?” Blade said, swooping Lauren-Claire into his arms for a kiss.

  “Blade, put me down!”

  “But don’t I have to go carry you over a threshold?” he teased.

  “That’s the honeymoon, son,” Blade’s father—a dead ringer for John Wayne—informed him. “The reception comes first and as I recall it seems to go on forever.”

  “In that case, L.C., why don’t we just skip the reception?”
<
br />   “He’s just like his father,” Blade’s mother said, shaking her head. “I’ve never been able to do a thing with either of them.”

  “There’s food at the reception …barbecue, or so my wife tells me,” Lauren-Claire’s father suggested.

  “Well, I guess we could stay for a few minutes. Barbecue, did you say?” Blade set Lauren-Claire down.

  “Where are you going on your honeymoon?” one of Lauren-Claire’s cousins piped up.

  Lauren-Claire winked at Zoe. “There’s this beach in Cannes I’ve heard good things about.”

  “Topless, I hope,” Blade said, unrepentant, as the wedding party moved toward the tables of food.

  While the meal was a Texas barbecue in honor of the groom, the desserts were very definitely French: chocolat noir cake, delicate apple tartlet, smooth coffee crème caramel and millefeuille with raspberry sauce.

  Zoe nibbled the chocolate cake as she watched the happy couple with warring emotions; happiness and joy for her friend, a lonely sadness for herself.

  There was, she noted, one Texas dessert. Pralines from a little chocolate shop in Paris called Au Duc de Praslin.

  The groom was seen to pocket a few of them, just before he swept his bride off her feet and went off in search of thresholds to cross.

  There were, Zoe thought to herself with a smile, yarns in the making.

  L.C. had met her match … her perfect match.

  BACK IN PARIS, Zoe went on with her life.

  As a gift for being in the wedding, Lauren-Claire had given her the loft for a month with the rent paid. At the end of that time she would have to make a decision.

  She continued to paint the tourists. But it wasn’t the same without Lauren-Claire.

  The loft was crowded, even though Lauren-Claire was gone. It was crowded, thanks to the presence of the carousel horse.

  She couldn’t escape its reminder. Wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

  And yet. There was a freedom in living in Paris without expectations. If she decided to leave, would she be giving up that freedom?

  What did she want?

  Did she want the handsome stranger who had taken her places she’d never been before?