And Calandra Smythe in his bed.
CHAPTER TEN
CALANDRAWATCHEDTHEboats drifting across the waters of the Vieux-Port de Marseille from her spot at a little café with red-and-white-striped umbrellas. The scent of fresh-baked bread had guided her feet to this little haven as she killed time before her appointment.
The city was a welcome distraction from the luxury of Alejandro’s seaside villa. The teal-blue furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows and her own private guest quarters at the end of a long hallway had screamed wealth. Only one thing had stood out as truly Alejandro among the carefully chosen name-brand items—artsy photographs of ships, from the historic floating palaces of the early twentieth century to romantic sailboats, tucked here and there among more recognizable pieces.
A far cry from the tiny house Aunt Norine had raised her and Johanna in. A reminder of everything Alejandro was, no matter how charming or seductive he could be.
Pride had made her take a cab to the villa yesterday afternoon once she realized that there really wasn’t a lot to be done in town. She’d managed to work successfully at a table on the patio, surrounded by lush blooms and the greenest grass she’d ever seen as she confirmed vendors and created schedules.
It had been heaven working again. Feeling useful. And this morning, when her first emergency had arisen, she’d thrilled at making last-minute arrangements to put out what had the potential to be a very large fire.
One more step, two more steps at most, andLa Reina’s party would be back on track.
Would Alejandro be proud of her quick response and her unique solution?
She shoved away the unwelcome thought. She didn’t need his approval. She had done her job just fine without begging for compliments and praise before. No need to start now.
Thegarçoncame out and set a plate with a fluffy croissant, wild berry jam and a tiny bowl of fruit on the table with a flourish.
“Pour vous, mademoiselle.”
“Merci.”
She reached for the knife when nausea hit so hard she could barely move.
“Oh, baby, what are you doing to me?” she whispered. Already she loved the little one growing inside her so much. But moments like these, she could do without.
The nausea slowly subsided, and she sat back in her chair, her breathing heavy, her forehead damp. A long drink of water further settled her stomach.
Maybe a combination of pregnancy and concern. Concern that she was headed down the same path as Mother. She’d tossed and turned a good portion of the night as she replayed the scene onLa Reinaover and over again, trying to figure out how she’d let go of her control and let him see that he still affected her.
The exhaustion that invaded her bones could be chalked up to the energy her body required to grow her child. But there was no excuse for the fragility she’d developed. Her child needed her to be the strong woman she’d been for the last seventeen years.
She grabbed the knife once more and slathered jam on the croissant. She bit into it, savoring the sweet burst of berries on her tongue, and sighed. At least one thing had gone right today. Nothing beat the simple pleasures of eating a freshly baked French croissant.
“Does the baby have a sweet tooth?”
She choked on the croissant and coughed. Someone pressed a glass of water into her hand. She brought it to her lips and gulped it down.
Alejandro dropped into the chair across from her. A frown marred his handsome features. The sleeves of his brick-red polo shirt clung to his biceps, the blue jeans conforming to his thighs. Irritation buzzed inside her head. Did the man always have to look so put together?
“Are you all right?”
Gulls cawed overhead. Languages from around the world flowing around them in a bewitching hymn of sounds and accents as shoppers and tourists bustled by. A breeze blew in from the harbor, light and cool to combat the growing heat of the morning. Details Calandra would have soaked up in her new quest to enjoy life a little more had her mutinous body not gone rigid the instant it registered Alejandro’s presence.
“Are you having me followed?” she replied. She kept her voice neutral, even though his banal question put her guard up. A normal person might think his interest sweet. But to her, it was the top of a very slippery slope. One where she let herself be lured in by his supposed kindness, gifts and, damn it, desire, only to have the rug yanked out from under her when he got bored.
It’s what men like him did.
A light breeze stirred his hair. The knot in her chest twisted painfully. Was this what it was like for her mother? Fingers aching to touch the man who stirred such powerful emotions in her? Knowing all along that the more she gave him, the harder she’d fall when he left?
Because men like her father—like Alejandro—didn’t stay. They never stayed.
Alejandro pointed toward the bay, where a yacht gently bobbed next to one of the docks. Even from this distance, she could see the name painted in bright red letters.
“La Pimpinela Escarlata?”