Would Alexi know I was here by now? Pierre had buzzed me in and would probably be informing our boss of my visit. My nerves jumped and jiggled in my belly as I braked in front of the mansion’s Belle Époque façade. I ran through the speech I’d been rehearsing during the scenic drive along the Grande Corniche and tried not to recall another summer night. If the memories had been difficult to suppress the last time I’d been here, they were impossible to suppress now.
Pierre appeared to greet me. ‘Mademoiselle Simpson, we did not expect you,’ he said, but he looked pleased to see me. I doubted Alexi would feel the same way.
‘Is Alexi here?’ I asked.
‘Yes, Monsieur Galanti arrived an hour ago. He has gone for a walk in the grounds. Would you like to wait while I inform him of your arrival?’
So Pierre hadn’t told him yet. I could still surprise him. I wanted to surprise him. Alexi had always had the upper hand between us, just this once I wanted to be the one in charge... Or at least the one better prepared.
‘Would it be okay if I went to find him? It’s important I speak to him straight away.’
Pierre’s expression became concerned and I knew he was assuming there was a problem with Cai. I didn’t correct him.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, whipping out his smart phone. ‘Would you like me to text him and ask him to come to the house?’
‘No, that’s fine,’ I said, my nerves twisting into a knot in my belly—I’d never been good at subterfuge. ‘I can find him. I know the grounds well.’
Pierre nodded and stowed his phone as I hurried off.
I made my way through the dark gardens. The old paths and structures held so many more memories in the moonlight. I prayed that Alexi hadn’t gone for an evening swim, the way I knew he had done once to de-stress. The last thing I needed was to find him semi-naked in the pool, but as I moved through the silent flowerbeds, the scent of jasmine and bougainvillea filling my senses, I heard the muffled splashing coming from the terrace below.
I halted, my breath catching in my lungs. I should return to the villa, confront him later, but something propelled me onwards—perhaps it was my anger with him and his avoidance of Cai and me ever since I had agreed to come to Nice. But the hum low in my abdomen which became louder and more insistent as I took the steps down to the pool terrace told a different story.
I spotted him getting out of the pool. The moonlight gilded his body, the heavy muscles and the lean sinews flexing and bunching as he grabbed a towel from a lounger. This time, I didn’t wait for him to strip down further.
I was here to speak for my son, I told myself, not to satisfy the hunger that buzzed and throbbed low in my belly.
‘Alexi?’ My voice sounded rough as I alerted him to my presence.
His head lifted, and his gaze met mine.
If I had hoped to catch him off-guard I was sadly disappointed. He seemed as indomitable as ever and as self-assured. His gaze roamed over me—burning every inch of exposed skin it touched.
‘Bella notte,’ he said. ‘Spying on me again?’
He threw the towel around his shoulders, giving me an unencumbered view. At thirty there was no longer even the pretence of youth or softness about him. The swimming trunks that clung to his wet thighs did nothing to disguise the hard lines and unyielding strength of his body.
‘We need to talk,’ I said, struggling to swallow the knot of need making my throat
ache and my sex pound. ‘About Cai,’ I added, but the words came out on a croak.
Why did he have to be so mouth-watering?
He walked towards me, slicking his wet hair back from his forehead. The moonlight made the damp waves look so dark they were almost black. Memory stirred but the surge of heat was too real, too vivid to be merely an echo of an old desire.
Who had I been kidding? Was I really here for my son or was I here for myself? Was that the real reason I had accepted his job, his largesse, why I had uprooted my child?
‘Pierre tells me the boy likes the house and his new bedroom,’ he said as he approached. I was surprised by the comment. So he had spoken to Pierre—had he even had a hand in choosing the decor for Cai’s bedroom which my son adored so much? Why had I never even considered he might have?
I caught the scent of chlorine on his wet skin. The giddy heat spiralled down to my core.
‘Yes, yes he does,’ I said, stumbling over the words, my gaze devouring him. ‘Who chose the bed? He loves it.’
I saw the slash of colour hit his tanned cheeks and emotion swelled in my throat to go with the giddy heat.
‘The designer suggested something similar,’ he said. ‘But I commissioned one to look like our latest prototype. I would have enjoyed such a bed as a boy. And it seemed to make sense as his mother will be working on the design.’
The thoughtfulness of the gesture made my heart thunder painfully against my ribs.