In the Best Man's Bed Page 3

  “But you said you would as soon as you came home again. You promised! And you’ve been home for hours!”

  “You’re right.” He sighed, accepting defeat.

  “And you told me it’s bad to break a promise.”

  “Right again.” He buried a smile. “Okay, you win. Give me ten minutes to clean up and change, and we’ll have a quick lesson before breakfast.”

  Perhaps she’d be gone by then, and they’d have the pool to themselves.

  The water lapped around her like warm cream. Very pleasant, very relaxing. I could make a habit of this, she thought, stretching luxuriously and breathing deeply of the flower-scented air. Given enough time and exposure, I might even learn to enjoy it.

  From within the house came the faint clink of dishes and the whispery sound of soft-soled shoes hurrying over marble-tiled floors. She had no idea of the time, but it occurred to her that if the servants were readying breakfast for the family, she should vacate the premises. She had no wish for further contact with Ethan Beaumont. She’d seen enough of him, for one day.

  But even as she rolled over and swam sedately toward the steps at the corner of the pool, a child in bright blue swimming trunks came roaring across the terrace, squealing with glee the whole time. And right behind him came Ethan.

  “Wait!” he called out.

  But the child either didn’t hear or chose not to, and with another squeal, shot through the air like a bullet and landed practically on top of her. The relatively calm surface of the water churned in a turbulent froth, smacking her in the face and blinding her. Choking, she lunged for the side of the pool, misjudged the distance, and went under.

  To panic when she knew all she had to do was stand up and she’d find herself only waist-deep in water was ridiculous, but that didn’t stop her from flailing and thrashing around like a wild thing. The humiliation of that exhibition, though, paled beside the insult of suddenly finding herself being hauled upright by the hair.

  Spluttering, she surfaced again and came eyeball to eyeball with Ethan Beaumont. He knelt on the tiled deck, his mouth quivering with suppressed laughter. “Idiot!” he said softly.

  “Caveman!” she spluttered. “Do you make a habit of dragging women around by the hair?”

  “Only when they’re in danger of drowning or otherwise causing themselves grievous bodily harm.” Releasing her, he rose smoothly to his feet, and she saw that he’d exchanged the denim shorts for black swimming trunks which showed rather more tanned skin than she felt able to cope with at that moment. “Stay put and I’ll give you a lesson on water survival.”

  “No, thanks,” she told him, but she might as well have saved her already tortured breath. He’d turned away and was striding to the other end of the pool, and any inclination she might have had, to escape while she could, faded as she watched him. Tall, broad at the shoulder and narrow at the waist, he moved with the sort of masculine grace few men possessed.

  A splashing at her side drew her attention to the child treading water furiously to stay afloat. “That’s my papa,” he panted, his sweet little face beaming with pride. “He can teach you to swim. He can do everything.”

  Perhaps not everything, she thought, swinging her gaze back just in time to see Ethan Beaumont dive into the pool so cleanly that he barely caused a ripple, but I can see why his son might think so. The man is frighteningly competent.

  He surfaced next to her, his hair seal-dark against his skull and water streaming down his torso in sparkling rivulets. “Lesson number one,” he said. “Learn to be comfortable with your face submerged.”

  “It’ll never happen,” she said flatly. “At least, not with me.”

  “That’s what Adrian said, in the beginning. But he soon changed his mind.” He looked at her inquiringly. “Have you met my son?”

  “Not formally. I’d hoped to meet him last night, but by the time we’d finished dinner, it was past his bedtime.”

  “Then allow me to introduce you now.” He extended his arm for the child to grasp. “This is Adrian, who just turned five.”

  “Hello, Adrian.” She smiled at him. He was a beautiful child, black haired like his father and with huge dark brown eyes fringed in long black lashes. “I’m Anne-Marie.”

  He smiled back, but Ethan frowned disapprovingly. “I prefer that he call you Mademoiselle.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she didn’t care what he preferred, but decided it was something better said when they didn’t have an audience. So, keeping her smile in place even though doing so made her face ache, she said, “I should be getting back to my quarters. Solange is surely awake by now, and wondering where I am.”

  “No hurry,” he said, clamping his free hand around her wrist. “I sent a message for her to join us for breakfast on the terrace. She should be here any moment. We’ll make use of the time until she arrives, and start your swimming lesson. Now, to begin—”

  “I’m sure you mean well, Ethan,” she said, taking private delight in the way his mouth tightened at the familiarity, “but just as you have your preferences, so do I have mine. And I prefer not to take advantage of your offer, especially not if it means leaving your son to his own devices when he’s clearly expecting to spend this time with you.”

  He released her just long enough to boost Adrian onto the pool deck and murmur something in his ear which sent the boy scooting over to a canopied stall loaded with towels and swimming paraphernalia. Then, turning his attention back to her, he said implacably, “Adrian doesn’t mind waiting a few minutes. So, to begin, I’ll fit you with a face mask. That way, you’ll be able to see under water without discomfort to your eyes.”

  “I don’t want a face mask. I don’t want a lesson. How much more plainly do I have to put it?”

  “You’re afraid.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid. Is that all right with you?”

  “No, it isn’t. As long as you’re cavorting in pools on my property, I’m responsible for your well-being. I could ensure it by forbidding you to use them, but in this climate they’re less a luxury than a necessity. So for your own comfort and my peace of mind, I must insist you allow me to teach you the rudiments of water safety.” He paused and surveyed her mockingly. “If a five-year-old can master them, surely a woman your age can at least try to do likewise?”

  For a moment, she glared at him without replying, but already the heat was intense and she knew that, as the day progressed and the sun climbed higher in the cloudless sky, it would only get worse. So when it became obvious he wasn’t about to accept silence as an answer, she said grudgingly, “Much though I loathe to admit it, it’s possible you’re right. On all counts.”

  He selected one of the two masks Adrian had dropped on the side of the pool, declared with irritating superiority, “Of course I am, so let’s get on with it,” then proceeded to clamp the wretched contraption snugly over her face, and adjust the strap holding it in place. “How does that feel?”

  “Fine, I suppose,” she said, vibrantly conscious of his touch and the proximity of their near-naked bodies. Although harmless enough on the surface, there was something implicitly intimate about the situation.

  “Excellent!” Quickly, he slipped on the other mask, and taking her by both hands, backed away from the steps.

  Instantly, the fear grabbed at her. “Don’t pull me into deep water!” she begged, resisting him.

  “Relax, Mademoiselle! All we’re going to do is remain perfectly still and look at the bottom of the pool, like so….” He took a breath, lowered his face into the water, blew out a stream of bubbles, then raised his head. “Very simple, very safe, yes?”

  “You make it look easy.”

  “Because it is. Try it and see for yourself.”

  Cautiously, she followed his instructions and surprised herself. It wasn’t nearly as terrifying or alien an experience as she’d expected. The tiles on the bottom of the pool glimmered in the sun-shot blue light. By turning her head slightly, she could see
the steps in the corner, a reassuring sight. And when she felt herself running short of air, she simply lifted her face and filled her lungs with a fresh supply.

  “I can’t believe I’m able to do this!” she said, absurdly pleased with her small accomplishment.

  “But you are, and very well, too.” Without warning, he tugged her off her feet. “So now we progress to the next level and float.”

  “Ahh!” She let out a little yelp of fright as, powerless in his hold, she found herself traveling even farther away from the steps.

  But he wouldn’t let fear get the better of her. “Concentrate,” he ordered, his voice low and hypnotic as he towed her effortlessly alongside him. “Remember—lift and breathe, lower and blow.”

  She did, becoming so engrossed in following his directions that she didn’t notice how far they’d traveled until a shadow fell across the water and, looking up, she found herself under the diving board at the deep end of the pool. Again, the familiar panic rose up, and again, before it got the better of her, he tightened his hold and said soothingly, “You’re perfectly safe, Mademoiselle. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I believe you,” she panted, and the amazing thing was, she did. A total stranger had lured her far out of her depth and into dangerous territory, and for some insane reason, she trusted him implicitly. Not for years, not since she was a little girl, had she known such a sense of security, and she rather liked it.

  Her voice must have betrayed something of what she was feeling because he pushed up his face mask and, for the first time since they’d met, he smiled. The problem then was not that she’d forget to breathe properly with her face in the water, but that she’d forget to breathe at all. Because his smile transformed him and he became not merely handsome, but truly gorgeous. Flawless in every detail, from his dazzling white and perfect teeth to the brilliant azure of his eyes. And she, fleetingly paralyzed by the moment, could only gaze in spellbound admiration.

  Slowly, he disentangled his fingers from hers, as if he were as reluctant to release her as she was to have him let go. “One more thing, and then it’s Adrian’s turn,” he said, giving her slight push. “Swim to the ladder over there, under your own steam.” Then, before she could give voice to the protest rising in her throat, he added. “It’s either that or make your way back to the shallow end which is five times the distance away.”

  Did pride give her the courage to do as he asked, or was winning his respect what motivated her? That she hardly knew how to answer the question disturbed her. What he thought of her shouldn’t matter. And yet, it did. Rather more than she cared to admit.

  Heart pounding, she breast-stroked to the ladder, grasped the lowest rung and pushed off her mask. Then, aware of his gaze focused on every inch of her as she climbed out of the water, she hoisted herself onto the pool deck, resisted the impulse to check that her bikini remained in place, and said, “Thank you for the lesson.”

  Then, with as much nonchalance as she could muster, she strolled to where Solange waited with Adrian on the bench at the shallow end of the pool. “I thought you’d never get here,” she muttered, picking up a towel.

  A smile twitched at the corners of Solange’s mouth. “I hardly think you missed me.”

  Anne-Marie waited until Adrian had jumped into his father’s waiting arms and was happily splashing his way toward a huge red ball floating on the water, then she said, “Exactly what do you mean by that?”

  “Just that you and my future brother-in-law appeared too wrapped up in each other to notice anyone else.”

  “He insisted on teaching me to use a face mask.” She mopped the dripping ends of her hair, then tucked the towel around herself, sarong-style. “And all I can say is, it’s a pity no one ever taught him how to take ‘No’ for an answer. He’s very bossy.”

  “And you’re unusually flustered.”

  Unwilling to debate the truth of that statement, she said, “Never mind me. How are you, this morning? You’re looking a bit more cheerful than you were last night.”

  “That’s because you’re here. I don’t feel so alone anymore.” She gestured to the terrace. “Breakfast is ready. Shall we go over and sit down?”

  Anne-Marie glanced covertly at Ethan who was still in the pool with his son. “Shouldn’t we wait for the lord and master to give us permission to eat?”

  “He’s not an ogre, Anne-Marie! He won’t be upset if we help ourselves to coffee. Finish drying off and let’s go. I’m never properly awake until—”

  “You’ve had your morning café au lait.” She laughed, then pulled on her cover-up and slipped her arm through Solange’s. “I remember!”

  The inflated ball hit Ethan squarely on the shoulder and bounced into the water. “Papa,” Adrian called out reproachfully, “you’re not paying attention!”

  “I know.” How could he be expected to, with her laughter floating through the air like music, and the graceful, easy way she moved her scantily-clad body distracting him every other second? But since he could hardly tell his son that, he sniffed conspicuously, boosted the boy onto the pool deck, and said, “I’m thinking about food instead. Jeanne made fruit crêpes for breakfast. I’ll race you to the terrace.”

  The women were chatting animatedly as he approached, and Solange had color in her cheeks, for a change. “You’re looking more rested this morning, ma petite,” he said, dropping a kiss on her head. “Having Mademoiselle Barclay here appears to agree with you.”

  “Oui. I am very happy.”

  “As happy as when you’re spending time with Philippe?”

  His technique must leave something to be desired because, as usual, she didn’t recognize that he was teasing her. “Oh, never that, Ethan!” she said, horrified. “No one can take his place.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, especially since he phoned this morning to say he’ll be home in time for dinner tonight.”

  Her face lit up—she really was a pretty little thing which, no doubt, was what had first caught Philippe’s eye—but she had a fragility about her, and a desire to please at all costs which, combined with a lack of confidence in her own judgment, worried Ethan. This friend, this Anne-Marie Barclay with the long, tanned legs, minuscule bikini, and outspoken manner, didn’t strike him as the best influence. The sooner Philippe reappeared and kept Solange occupied, the better.

  “So, Mademoiselle,” he said, taking a seat opposite his guest, “tell me something about yourself.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “WHAT would you like to know?” Anne-Marie asked pertly, ticked off by his patronizing attitude. Clearly, his expectations of her possible accomplishments hovered around zero.

  He shrugged. “As much as you care to tell me. Let’s begin with your work. You’ve designed Solange’s wedding trousseau, I understand.”

  “Yes.”

  “As a professional, or is this a favor between friends?”

  “Both,” she said sharply. “I’m a graduate of Esmode International in Paris, one of the foremost schools of fashion design in the world.”

  “Very commendable, I’m sure. And you work—?”

  “In Vancouver, on the west coast of Canada.”

  “I’m aware of where it is, Mademoiselle. I’ve visited your beautiful city a number of times and greatly enjoyed its many attractions. But it hardly struck me as the center of haute couture. For which fashion house do you design?”

  “My own.”

  He almost curled his lip in disdain. “I see.”

  “Do you?” she inquired, matching his condescending tone. “Then you’re no doubt aware that my designs have won a number of prestigious awards.”

  “Anne-Marie worked in the movie industry in Hollywood for a while,” Solange cut in, trying to be helpful. “She was even nominated for an Oscar, once.”

  “Hollywood?” This time, he did curl his lip, as if he’d discovered something disgusting crawling around in the mango-stuffed crêpe the butler placed before him. “The movie industry?”<
br />
  “Yes,” Anne-Marie purred, taking a certain vengeful delight in his ill-contained horror. “Theatrical costume has always interested me.”

  “But you’re no longer connected to the entertainment world? You’ve moved on to a less…flamboyant clientele?”

  “Not really. We have a thriving movie industry in Vancouver, too, which is what originally drew me back to my hometown. As a result of the contacts I’ve made there and in California, I number quite a few well-known stars among my private clients, as well as celebrities from other walks of life.”

  “And you’ve designed Solange’s wedding dress,” he said glumly, rolling his eyes. “Mon Dieu!”

  “Why does that disturb you, Ethan?” she asked. “I assure you I’m up to the challenge of creating an appropriate wedding ensemble for the bride and her entourage.”

  He compressed his rather beautiful mouth. “We are a small, close-knit community on Bellefleur. Tradition plays a big part in our lives. A wedding—particularly a Beaumont wedding—is a significant cultural event. My family has certain standards to uphold, certain expectations to meet.”

  “What a shame,” she said blandly. “Where I come from, a wedding’s simply a happy event where people who care about the bride and groom come together to celebrate their commitment to one another. And although I don’t expect you’ll approve, it’s also an occasion when the bride gets to call most of the shots. It is, primarily, her day.”

  “How unfortunate for the man who chose her as his bride.”

  “Why?”

  “Because such an attitude shows a distinct lack of consideration for what the groom might prefer—and that does not bode well for harmony in the marriage.”

  “What a load of rubbish!” she scoffed, ignoring Solange’s gasp of petrified horror. “Marriage is a lifelong contract whose success depends on mutual consideration and respect. A wedding, on the other hand, is a one-day affair in which, historically, the bride takes star billing. For a man who professes to set such store by tradition, I’d have thought you’d know that.”