“This is the original cellar, five hundred years old.” Margo’s heels click on the uneven stone beneath our feet. “I’ve put off restoring it as it will take much time, but I will eventually. Of course, we cannot use this when we open as a hotel. It will be for my private collection.” The word “collection” slides from her mouth so smoothly in her French accent.
I wrap my arms around my chest, fighting off the damp chill down here. “It’s so narrow.” And dark, the only light comes from a utility light that dangles above us on a wire.
“Yes, most of the servants’ passageways did not leave a lot of room for maneuvering. There are still a few left behind the walls. I will show you tomorrow during our official tour. Henry, could you please reach those two bottles for me?” She points to the top of the wine rack.
Henry, who’s behind me, shimmies past, his body forced to rub against mine on the way by because there isn’t enough room for two people to pass each other easily.
“Which ones?”
“The two Beaujolais on the end. They are rare. I have been saving them.”
He edges past her, and I imagine his groin presses against her ass like it just did to mine.
I grit my teeth. Henry’s with me. That’s in the past. He said so himself, he doesn’t want to be with her.
Looking at her now, in a plunging, black, backless dress that looks more like a sexy nightgown, I’m having a hard time buying it.
“Merci, Henry. Now lead the way out.” She smiles up at him.
He shimmies past me again, each hand filled with a bottle.
Her cool hand settles lightly on my shoulder. “Ready, Abigail?”
I steal one more look at her, to see her giving me that same broad, friendly smile. There’s nothing overtly evil or flirtatious about it. Nothing that says she’s plotting to steal Henry away from me.
Still, I don’t trust her.
~ ~ ~
“What is it?”
“A French 75. I think you’ll like it.”
I take the martini glass from Henry and hold it to my lips for a taste. “There’s lavender in this?”
Henry smiles as I take a bigger sip, the sharp contrast of liquor and floral enticing.
From the other side of the garden terrace, Margo bursts out in laughter. She’s talking to a couple who just arrived, the French rolling off her tongue with beautiful speed. She catches my eyes and then, reaching out with a guiding hand, ushers them over to us. “Henry and Abigail. This is Marc and Charlotte, two of my dearest friends. Charlotte and I used to do a lot of work together.”
One look at Charlotte’s high cheekbones and perfect, svelte body and I can tell she’s another model. She looks a little older than Margo though, maybe by a few years.
“This is Henry Wolf, owner of Wolf Hotels, and his Abigail.”
His Abigail.
Okay, she just scored a point or two.
We exchange nods and smiles just as three more people arrive through the doors.
Another round of introductions, as I meet Annie-Claude and her husband, also Marc; a French couple who live in Paris, and Isabelle, a dear friend.
Not surprisingly, Margo surrounds herself with attractive people, all of them carrying that air of wealth that I can’t fake. I hook my arm through Henry’s, intent on attaching myself to him for the rest of the night. It’s my only suitable disguise to hide the fact that I do not belong here.
~ ~ ~
The two fancy bottles of wine sit empty on the dining room sideboard, along with six more, polished off over a three course meal of partridge ravioli, rare tenderloin and a vegetable dish I can’t pronounce. I’m all but licking the dish of the creamy dark chocolate mousse served for dessert.
“Good, yes?” Joel grins as he watches me, his elbows resting comfortably on the table as he sips his wine. He was the last to arrive tonight, and has been as easygoing and charming as the night we met, completely unfazed that I’ve watched him having sex. Am I the only one at this table who thinks this is strange?
“Yes. It’s delicious.” My cheeks flush. I probably look like a small child. Thank God Henry’s attention is on Marc—the one married to Annie-Claude—or he’d probably be embarrassed.
Joel leans forward and lowers his voice, “If you ask nicely, Margo may give you seconds.” I’m pretty sure he’s drunk, but I can’t tell if he’s flirting with me or patronizing me, that accent too hard for me to read.
I set my spoon down and slide the bowl away, giggling at myself. I think the two glasses of wine I nursed through dinner have gone to my head. I’ve tried to pace myself but it’s hard, sitting at a table with this group, which spontaneously switches to French and chatters on for minutes before remembering that Charlotte’s Marc—who’s from England—and I don’t understand a word.
So I’ve spent a lot of time eating and drinking and just listening, learning what I can about them.
Annie and Marc have been married for two years, no kids and, from the sounds of it, no plans on having one anytime soon. Annie is a well-known—to everyone but me—fashion designer and Marc is an architect who designs large-scale buildings. It’s not surprising he and Henry hit it off. He’s attractive in a nerdy way, with short brown hair and designer glasses. But you can see he’s well-built beneath his clothes. Married Marc is a nerdy muscular architect.
Charlotte and the other Marc have been together for ten years, but are not married. Both were models. Charlotte retired a few years ago but Marc still takes jobs, mainly for clothing companies. They live an hour away from here, where Charlotte is taking over her family’s winery. Three of the bottles we had tonight were brought by her.
Isabelle and Joel actually dated for a short time, a long time ago. Isabelle is Isabelle Monteblanc, the famous ballerina—again, to everyone but me, apparently—whose career was cut short by a horse riding accident. I’m not sure what she does now, but it sounds like she comes from a lot of money.
“Abigail!” Margo calls out from across the table, suddenly switching to English. “Henry says you live on a farm.”
Yes, within this mix of impressive resumes… I’m Abbi, who lives on a farm.
I haven’t felt out of place over dinner, until now.
All sets of eyes turn to settle on me, and my cheeks begin to burn.
Henry’s hand settling on my knee beneath the table does little to comfort me. “I do. It’s my family’s farm actually. I had to delay my last year of college to come back and run it for my dad while he recovers. He was badly injured in an accident not that long ago now.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Margo smiles sympathetically.
“He’ll be fine in a few months.”
She takes a sip of her wine. “And then what will you do?”
Good question. “I’m not entirely sure. Finish school probably.” I hesitate. “I’m actually starting up a small soap company so we’ll see where that goes.”
“Oh?” Her eyes, a little glossy thanks to the wine, light up. “Tell me more.”
The others have been distracted by side conversations, but she seems genuinely interested so I do.
“Did you bring any of these soaps with you?”
I sigh. “Yeah. They’re… in my suitcase.” I brought the demos because I thought Henry might like to see them.
“The lost suitcase.” Her shoulders sink with disappointment. “Well, if your suitcase arrives, I would love to see them.”
Really? “Okay.”
She smiles warmly at me for a long, lingering moment, and then claps her hands together. “The parlor for a digestif?”
“Depends.” Joel looks to Charlotte. “When do you want to do this?”
She shrugs, glancing at Unmarried Marc. “Tonight?”
“Maybe after a few more drinks. She’ll be more relaxed,” he murmurs, his British accent thick.
“That can work.” Joel turns to me, his hazel eyes dancing. “Will you let me photograph you one of these nights?”
“Me? Uh….” I glance over at Henry.
“No.” Henry tips his head back and finishes the last drops of wine.
“You would enjoy them while you two are apart,” Margo says.
“I have my imagination for that.” He smirks at Margo, and it’s not altogether friendly.
People start moving, glasses in hand and easy laughter flowing, out the dining room door.
“We’re going to head up for the night,” Henry says. “Thank you for dinner.”
Margo turns back to pout at him, the look somehow downright sexy when it’s coupled with that dress, the front of it low enough to highlight the fact that she’s not wearing a bra.
“Abbi, can you not convince him otherwise?”
I look from her to Henry and back again, not sure what to say. It’s obvious she’s desperate for him to stay. Probably so she can screw Joel in front of him again.
He slides his arm around my waist. “Good night, Margo.”
She sighs, then shrugs. “See you tomorrow. We are going to harvest grapes for our wine.”
“I’ve got a few hours of work tomorrow but I’m sure Abbi will join you,” he answers for me.
“Okay, then. Until tomorrow.” She’s gone quickly, her hips swaying seductively with each step.
Despite her likely intentions for having us stay, I still feel awkward. “Isn’t it rude to eat dinner and leave?”
Henry settles his hand on the small of my back and guides me out the other way. “Normally, yes. Here? It’s fine. We’ll see them tomorrow.”
“Okay. You would know.” I follow him up the stairs, the sound of laughter carrying down the hall. “Are you tired?”
“Exhausted.”
I’m the one who got a four hour nap, I remind myself. Though, he wasn’t coming from a six hour time change. “Okay, well. We can go to sleep now so you’re well rested for—”
The door hasn’t even shut and his hands are at the straps of my outfit, pushing it off my shoulders, letting it tumble to the ground.
~ ~ ~
I need more water.
It’s one in the morning and the bottle of Evian by our bed is empty and I’m ready to peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth, thanks to the red wine. I tried drinking from the tap, but it has an odd tin taste that is making me feel ill.
Henry’s still beside me, his beautiful chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. I slip away, trying my best not to shift the mattress too much. Throwing the robe that hangs on the door over my naked self, I tiptoe out of the room.
Margo showed us where the kitchen is, should we need anything when the staff has left for the day. I head down the stairs toward there now, my arms coiled around my chest, my steps quick. This place is eerie at night.
With a bottle in my hand, I make my way back.
Joel’s voice carries from somewhere on the third floor, stalling my feet. He’s speaking in French, his words tender, his tone soft.
A door sits open, the light beaming into the hallway.
“Back up just for a moment, Marc… yes.” Several clicks sound, and I realize that he’s taking pictures. I know I should head to the safety of my room, and yet I find myself tiptoeing over, curious about what the famous photographer with his portraits hanging in galleries all over the world does.
And why Henry seemed adamant on Joel not taking my picture.
Oh my God.
Charlotte is lying on the bed, her legs spread and dangling off the edge. Marc is kneeling in front of her, his mouth between her legs.
And Joel is crouched in front of her, angling his camera at her hard nipple.
Click.
Licking his thumb, he rubs her nipple a little.
Click.
My mouth hangs open as I watch Joel shift around, aiming the camera at her body, taking close-ups from dozens of angles. And as he works with his lens, Marc works with his mouth.
Charlotte’s chest is heaving.
“Not long now,” Margo’s voice murmurs in my ear, startling me so much I gasp.
I step back, out of the doorway where I’m spying like a pervert—though they did leave the door wide open—and hope she can’t see my reddened face.
Margo doesn’t move though, the light bathing over her striking face to show me the amusement that dances in her green eyes as they flicker between me and her friends.
“It is beautiful, no? Watching Joel work.”
“This is what he does?”
She smiles. “His specialty is capturing the essence of a woman when she is about to orgasm.”
And he wants to photograph me….
No wonder Henry said no. There’s no way I’d be comfortable with that.
Charlotte’s moans grow louder. Margo reaches for me, taking my hand, pulling me out of the shadows. “Come. You must watch. I insist.” She’s surprisingly strong for such a delicate woman and I find myself in the doorway again, just as Charlotte lifts her hips toward Marc’s face, her hands on the back of his head, pushing him closer into her. Joel just keeps clicking as she moans and writhes, her lips parting and her breasts heaving.
Marc pulls his face away, his own breathing ragged, and Joel wastes no time sticking his long lens in between her legs to get a close-up. “That one’s just for you,” he whispers, winking at his friend.
“They have such beautiful bodies, don’t they?” Margo whispers, lustful admiration in her eyes.
I step back into the shadow of the hall. “I need to go.”
“Why? They don’t mind.” She edges in closer to me, into the darkness. “It is a turn-on, watching, yes? For them and for us.”
It finally clicks.
Henry said there were places he could take me if this is what I wanted. Is that the whole point of this trip? Is this why he brought me to France?
I swallow.
He also said he didn’t want me watching this alone. “I should go.”
“Wait.” Margo steps in close, so close that her breath skates across my lips. Somehow it’s still sweet, even though it should be sour after all that wine.
“Henry wouldn’t be okay with me being here, Margo.”
Again, she laughs, and it sounds so musical. “With you watching people fuck?” God, even that word sounds like a song coming from her. “Henry has watched plenty, and he has been watched.” There’s just enough light to catch the glint in her eyes as realization sparks. “But he would not be okay with you watching without him.” Her eyes skate down to my mouth. “I was wondering about you. You seem so innocent and young, but you are not. Not anymore, are you? Not with a man like Henry. He is… impossible to say no to.” She says that like she knows.
Because she does.
“He has quite the appetite. He is not bound by traditional relationships.”
“I know you slept with him, Margo. I’ve heard all the details.”
She doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by that. “It was one of the best nights of my life. He was… incroyable.”
Jealousy tightens my gut. “I know he is. And I’m not sharing him with you.”
“He is not who I want.” Her fingers reach up to trace my jawline, her gaze dropping to my lips. “Would he share you?”
My mouth drops open.
Is Margo Lauren propositioning me?
Margo Lauren wants me?
“I… uh… I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so.”
She smiles. “Go to sleep, sweet Abigail.” Leaning forward, she plants a kiss on my lips.
“Margo?” Marc calls.
Taking steps back into the light of the doorway, she slides the straps of her dress off her shoulders and it pools on the floor around her feet. She’s completely naked beneath.
She stands there, unabashed, giving me a full view of her—of perky breasts that are the perfect size and have tight nipples that sit high and centered; of her taut, long torso; of the baldness between her legs.
I don’t mean to stare so blatantly, but something about her makes it impossible not to.
“Good night.” She smiles and turns to stroll into the room. And I see firsthand why people pay so much to photograph her body, slender and sculpted, the curve of her back to a hard, round, defined ass. Her legs are super slim and long, but so is her torso. Normally it’s one or the other, but she’s perfectly proportioned.
Joel rhymes off a bunch of things in French to her. She says something in return, and I hear packaging ripping apart.
I wait a few long moments and then, when that damn curiosity that gets me into so much trouble gets the better of me, I steal one more glance into the room.
Heat floods my body at the sight.
Charlotte is on top of a naked Marc on the bed, leaning forward, their lips locked in an intimate kiss. Meanwhile Joel is behind them, his naked lean body straddling Marc’s legs. He’s squeezing a pack of lube along her crack and himself, stroking it over his wrapped length. Chucking the empty packaging to the floor, he positions himself behind Charlotte.
And pushes.
She cries out against Marc’s mouth.
It takes a few gentle thrusts with his hips but Joel is all the way inside. And so is Marc.
Charlotte lets out a string of French words and then she’s crying out as the guys fall into a rhythm, stretching her body so wide that I don’t know how she can handle it.
This is what Ronan and Conner were going to do to me.
And Margo stands next to them, her green eyes weighing heavily on me as her boyfriend fucks her friend—right in front of her—a seductive smile curling her lips.
I run the rest of the way to my room.
