James’s Tour
Belle
BELLE WANDERED DOWN THE LONG hall looking for escape.
But escape wasn’t easy to find.
There were people everywhere.
Joy must be much loved, for the castle was enormous and in every nook and cranny there were people.
And Belle needed to escape people.
She’d just spent the three most excruciatingly uncomfortable hours of her life amongst a stifling clutch of people and she needed somewhere where she could be alone and just breathe.
Her night was uncomfortable for three reasons.
Firstly, Miles was intent upon being way too close at all times and introducing her to everyone who came within shouting distance.
And this he did with alarming zeal.
Secondly, both Joy Bennett and Yasmin Delacourt were acting as if she was a long lost daughter (Joy) and a best friend from high school lost for decades and now joyfully reunited (Yasmin).
Belle already liked Joy but it seemed the lady was protecting her. More times than Belle could count, Joy materialized at Miles and Belle’s side in order to curb Miles’s wild enthusiasm at breathing Belle’s air. This she did before she had to go off and be the guest of honor that she was, which as the hours passed she seemed to do with more and more trepidation.
With time Belle got over Yasmin’s overwhelming friendliness not to mention her startling frankness and began to like her. However, Belle noted, Yasmin seemed to do the same thing as Joy in the same protective way.
The striking, leggy, curly redheaded, barely clothed Yasmin, at first, terrified Belle. She really liked Yasmin’s turquoise satin slip dress with the deep cleavage, deeper back and short hem even if it left very little to the imagination. Then again, if Belle had a body like hers, she might consider wearing the same thing (who was she kidding, she’d never consider it).
But she was clearly a very nice woman who’d been around the family for some time and also seemed to be regarded as a kind of daughter.
Regardless, Belle thought Yasmin and Joy’s behavior was beyond odd. Although, she had to admit, she was grateful for it. Miles was driving Belle up the wall.
Lastly, and most importantly, until about a half an hour ago when he’d thankfully disappeared, James Bennett was always there.
Always.
He wasn’t close but he was also never far, and often she’d feel that weird trill up her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck would stand up and her belly would melt. She’d look around and, every time it happened, she’d see that he had his amazing jade-green eyes on her.
She did not understand why he was watching her.
It was simply bizarre.
What was more bizarre was Belle’s reaction to him.
Okay, so he was the very definition of masculine beauty.
And there was the fact that she was shy and nervous, not just at the worst of times but all the time.
But James Bennett utterly and completely petrified her.
He was way too attractive. No one should be that attractive.
In fact, Belle thought being that attractive should be against the law.
He should be locked up in order to save all of womankind from his stupefying appeal.
He was, Belle convinced herself, dangerous, he was so darned good-looking.
When he’d first touched her, first spoken to her, she’d actually felt her body moving toward him of its own volition like she was made of metal and he was magnetic.
After that happened, she decided she wanted nothing to do with him.
Indeed, she wanted nothing to do with the entire family no matter how nice they were (except, possibly, Miles in the nice department).
She should have never come there.
And she decided she was breaking up with Miles the first chance she got.
If it didn’t demonstrate extremely bad manners, she would have done it that very night.
She would definitely do it tomorrow.
This was most assuredly not a safe place for Belle Abbot to be.
She needed her tranquil, cozy cottage. She needed her tidy sewing room. She needed to be anywhere but there.
On that thought, she saw a closed door and hoped that no one would mind if she opened it and went inside. She didn’t care if it was a closet. She’d stand amongst the brooms just to get away for five minutes.
She opened the door and found it wasn’t a closet.
Instead, it was James Bennett’s study. She remembered it amongst the numerous rooms Miles had shown her that afternoon.
It was, Belle saw with relief, dark and deserted.
She slipped in and quietly closed the door.
This room, like all of the rest in Chy An Als, was huge. It held a gigantic desk with two chairs at angles in front of it, all of which sat in the massive bay window. There was a large, tan-colored, button-backed sofa that was situated facing an enormous, stone mantel fireplace, a heavy, ornate, dark wood, low table between the two. There was another seating area in the corner, two comfy armchairs separated by a round table and sharing an ottoman. The entire room (outside the window) was lined in bookshelves chockablock with books.
Belle didn’t see any of that. Instead, as she started to pick her way across the room aided by the bright moonlight shining from the bay window that faced the sea, she heard the telltale jangle of dog tags.
Between the table and fireplace, she stopped and looked down to see a large dog, who appeared in the moonlight to be a German shepherd, standing at attention and staring at her.
Belle smiled.
She loved dogs.
Slowly, so as not to alarm him, she crouched low and, just as slowly, lifted her hand toward him.
He came forward cautiously and sniffed her hand.
“Hey there, fella,” she whispered and watched his head come up at the sound of her voice.
Then it moved, his snout butting Belle’s hand. At his invitation, she shifted forward slowly, shuffling in a crouch, and started to stroke the silky, thick fur at his handsome head.
“Aren’t you beautiful?” she asked on a soft coo. He inched toward her as the strokes became her fingernails scratching behind his ear and she let out a soft laugh. “You know it, don’t you? Just how beautiful you are,” she went on and lifted her other hand to rub his neck as her nails worked behind his ear.
He came closer and sat down, pressing into her hands and she leaned her face toward him carefully not wishing to scare him.
She didn’t. He lifted his mouth to her face and licked her jaw.
Belle burst out laughing and framed his doggie neck with her hands, catching his ruff gently in her fists and giving his neck an affectionate shake.
“Now, that’s the best kiss I’ve had in three years,” she told him with complete honesty, and she heard his tail sweep the floor at her compliment.
She took her hands away and stood, patting her hip to bring him with her as she made her way to the window.
“Come on, handsome,” she invited softly. “Show me the view.”
He trotted alongside her as she went to the window, stopped and looked.
All she saw was sea and sky in every direction. Both the waters and the heavens the same rich midnight blue, the white caps of the waves breaking the sea, fluffy white clouds dotting the sky, all of it illuminated by the moonlight.
It was spectacular.
She looked down at the dog, who had sat next to her, and bent slightly to stroke his head.
“I could live here for a thousand years and never get used to this view,” she told the dog.
“I’m not sure that’s true,” the very deep, very masculine, very unmistakable voice of James Bennett said from behind her.
Terror shooting through her, Belle straightened and whirled to face the room. She did this so fast the blood rushed to her head and she swayed slightly while her eyes focused on where the voice had come from.
On the couch she could see long legs covered in dark trousers stretched straight out. There was a white shirted chest, one arm cocked so a shadowy dark head could rest on a hand and the other arm up, looking like it was holding a glass.
Her first petrified thought was to run directly from the room.
This was a good thought, a thought she was ready to go with wholeheartedly.
Unfortunately, Belle’s feet had somehow come detached from her brain’s commands and didn’t move.
“I’ve lived here thirty-eight years and don’t even see it anymore,” he continued speaking, not moving from his position, but she knew from her melty stomach and the hairs prickling at her neck that his eyes were on her.
From the silence in the room, she realized something was expected of her and she swallowed.
Finally, she mumbled, “That’s kind of sad,” because it was.
Her locked body became frozen as she watched the white shirt move, curling into the trousers and she knew he was going to stand.
Now! Her mind screamed at her immobile feet. Now’s the time to run!
Her feet stayed stubbornly stationary.
She saw James was on his own feet and coming her way.
Belle stared at him, body statue still as he approached then kept approaching then kept approaching until he was not even a foot away.
Then he stopped and she nearly let out the breath she was holding but he immediately leaned in close.
Too close.
Magnetically close.
She steeled her body against his pull and her lungs began to burn as she looked up at him to see that he was gazing over her shoulder.
She saw his eyes flick down to hers in the moonlight even though he didn’t lean away.
“You’re right,” he said softly. “It is sad.”
Do something! her mind shrieked.
“Um . . .” her mouth said.
Then she stopped speaking.
“Yes?” James prompted, still not leaning away.
“What?” she asked quickly, mind all of a sudden completely blank.
“You were going to say something,” he told her.
Was she?
She was.
What was she going to say?
“Um . . .” she repeated.
She stopped speaking again.
His entire face, bathed in moonlight, smiled.
Seeing it, Belle’s mind went completely blank again as her belly did a weird, not unpleasant in the slightest, flip.
“Why are you here?” he asked quietly.
She felt her head give a tiny jerk and then tilt.
“Here?” she parroted.
“In the study,” he explained. “Away from the party.” He hesitated and his voice was deeper when he went on, “Away from Miles.”
Well, one thing she knew, she couldn’t tell him his brother was driving her up the wall and she was breaking up with him that very next day.
“Um . . .” she said yet again before her mind kicked in gear. “I needed a break. I’m not a people person.”
Now why did she tell him that?
It sounded rude and it made her sound like an idiot.
A rude idiot.
Even though it was true.
He seemed to get even closer when he remarked, “I guessed that.”
She was stunned and a little disappointed. She thought she’d been pretty good at hiding it.
“You did?”
She heard his soft chuckle. It was a delicious sound. Just as delicious as it was the first time she heard it and that made her belly do a weird, intensely pleasant flip too.
“Yes, Belle. You’re definitely not a people person,” he told her.
For some reason she didn’t like him thinking that so she decided to explain. “No, it’s just a lot of people, all together, at once. Normally I’m okay, you know, on a one-on-one basis.”
“Like now?” he asked.
No, she was definitely not okay standing in a moonlit room with Magnetic James Bennett chatting one on one.
“Kind of,” she semi-fibbed (all right, so it was an out-and-out lie).
He studied her a moment and then moved away. She watched as he put the glass he’d been holding on the desk and turned back to her.
Her body locked as his strong fingers curled just above her elbow. She felt them there, so hot on her skin she thought they were going to leave burn marks.
As she was thinking this, he moved to her side and propelled her forward.
She took two steps and froze, rooted to the spot.
Her head tilted to look at him and she queried, “Where are we going?”
“Don’t worry, Belle. We’re not rejoining the party. I’m going to show you The Point,” he explained.
Belle felt immense relief that she had a ready and truthful excuse to get out of a tour of “The Point” (what they called his enormous, multitude-of-rooms-filled castle) with James Bennett.
“That’s okay. Miles took me on a tour this afternoon.”
She watched as James looked over her shoulder and muttered, “Of course he did.”
He moved forward again, his hand firm on her arm so she had no choice but to move with him. As they went toward the door, he grabbed his dinner jacket from the arm of the couch.
“Um, James . . .” she began to protest but he spoke again.
“Jack,” he stated firmly then he let out a low whistle and Belle heard dog tags behind them.
“Okay,” she agreed hesitantly and went on, “I should probably find Miles and—”
He cut her off. “I’m betting Miles missed part of the tour.”
Belle couldn’t imagine that. They’d been wandering around for over an hour.
“I think he was pretty thorough,” Belle informed him as he stopped them and put his hand to the doorknob.
He looked down at her before opening the door. “My brother is many things,” he said softly and there was a wealth of meaning behind his words, Belle just didn’t understand it. “But he is not thorough.”
He opened the door and guided her through.
Then he guided her down a deserted hall.
Then he guided her through some busy kitchens.
Finally he took her out a back door.
They stepped into the nippy May evening and Belle shivered.
Upon her shiver, James pulled her to a stop and dropped her arm. She turned to him and saw he was shaking out his dinner jacket. Before her mind registered his intent, he moved close to her front, his hands came up on either side of her and he settled the jacket on her shoulders.
His fingers came to the lapels and pulled them closed at her chest, leaving his hands there.
Throughout this she stood shocked and solid.
It was a kind thing to do.
Immensely kind.
Even gallant.
It was also, the way he did it, casually intimate.
She barely knew the man and yet there she was in the night wearing his jacket, his hands on her and it seemed, unlike when Miles touched her, strangely natural.
“Better?” he murmured and all she could do was nod.
Part of her hoped they could stand like that forever (or at least for a while).
Part of her wanted to run screaming into the night.
Therefore, she felt relief and disappointment when his hands moved from the lapels of his jacket.
Her body relaxed then grew stiff again as only one of his hands dropped away.
The other one came up to her neck, sliding against her skin in a barely there touch (but still, she felt it, and his touch affected her everywhere). He tugged free her errant lock of hair from where it was caught under his jacket.
She felt rather than saw him twist it around his finger, his eyes on this movement, his expression thoughtful, his face beautiful and all she could do was stand there and stare.
Suddenly his finger released her hair and he dropped his hand.
That was when Belle realized her lungs were burning again due to lack of oxygen because she wasn’t breathing.
“I think you’ll like the part of the tour that Miles missed,” he told her and she nodded because she couldn’t think what else to do.
He turned and put a hand to the small of her back, moving her forward, walking beside her, his hand never leaving her (and it burned there too).
He glanced behind them as they walked and called, “Baron,” and the German shepherd jogged up to his side.
They walked silently along a stone path that led around the castle and up a small hill. Some of it was uneven though not treacherous. But James obviously knew this path like the back of his hand because before they hit the rough patches his arm would slide around her, fingers curving at her waist to pull her protectively to his side.
Belle didn’t think much about this because her mind was in a perpetual horrified whirl.
How she was going to make it through whatever he was going to show her, she had no clue.
However, their silent, moonlit stroll was weirding her out even more.
It wasn’t like this was the first time they walked close by each other’s sides but as if they’d done it countless times before. And because of that, it seemed even more personal than Miles holding her close in the drawing room.
She had to break the silence and the strange, innate intimacy.
“Is he yours?” she blurted.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“The dog, Baron. Is he yours or is he a family dog?” Belle clarified.
“He’s mine,” James stated in a way that made it clear the dog was definitely his.
Something about the way he said this gave Belle a melty belly too.
Therefore she decided to stop talking.
Finally they approached a building set some distance away from the castle and James stopped Belle at a wooden door. He opened it, gently pushed her ahead of him and then stopped her again. His torso twisted, his hand still on the small of her back, and light flooded the room.
It was stables.
Belle immediately emitted an unabashed cry of delight.
She loved horses.
She turned and smiled up at James.
“I love horses,” she told him, but even seeing his eyes were on her, something which normally would terrify her, she was too excited to be scared of him. That was how much she loved horses.
Therefore she turned away and instantly moved toward the steeds.
There were ten stalls, eight of them filled, the heads of the horses hanging over the doors as they looked to see what was happening.
Belle slowly approached the first horse and put her hand under the horse’s nose. The beast sniffed and snorted at her hand and she laughed softly at the tickling sensation. Once the mare had given her permission, Belle moved closer and stroked her muzzle.
“She’s beautiful,” Belle breathed as she felt James arrive at her side.
“You like animals,” James commented.
Belle kept stroking.
“Yes,” she replied quietly, her eyes never leaving the animal.
She gave the horse one last rub then moved around James, not looking at him, to the next, giving him a nuzzle. She went to the next then the next.
At the last stall, she saw a huge gray, his smoky mane sleek and long, his body bigger, muscles more defined and powerful than any of the other horses.
He was pure equine beauty.
James was again at her side as she stroked the steed’s nose.
“He’s my favorite,” she whispered, and as if the horse understood her words, he moved his nose to her neck and blew, causing Belle to let out a short, startled giggle.
“He’s mine,” James said and Belle moved her head away from the horse, her hands still on his powerful jaws, and looked up at James.
“I’m thinking you have good taste,” she told him.
His eyes locked on hers and they went strange like they were amused and something else. Something she couldn’t read. Something that made her belly feel warm again.
“I definitely have good taste,” he replied without a shred of humility.
Belle didn’t know what to say to that so she didn’t say anything.
With one last pat, she stepped away from his animal and said, “You were right. Miles didn’t show me the stables but I’m glad you did. Thank you.”
She started to move by him in the direction of the door but he caught her by the elbow, that strange heat coming from his touch again, searing into her skin.
She tipped her head back to look up at him and saw his chin was dipped to look down at her, his intense green eyes staring into hers.
Instantly, her breathing became labored.
“You haven’t seen all I wanted to show you,” he said.
“I haven’t?” she asked.
He shook his head and moved her around, drawing her to a room at the end the stables. Baron came with them and he was dancing around James’s long legs as they made it to the door.
James opened the door and Baron pushed through them to get inside. James leaned in, switched on a light and then pressed Belle inside.
On the floor ensconced on a huge dog bed with warm rugs all around was another German shepherd. Her head came up but her body didn’t, likely because there were several little German shepherd puppies nestled and asleep at her belly.
Without thinking, Belle clapped her hands in front of her and shouted, “Puppies!” and immediately she moved toward the dogs.
Baron gave her an excited bark, obviously feeling pleased with himself as father of this brood, and Belle gave his head a rub before she dropped to her knees on the rug.
“Who’s the proud papa?” she asked and Baron gave her another happy bark and licked her hand.
Belle turned her attention to the mama shepherd.
“And who are you?” she asked as she let the female dog smell her hand before Belle stroked her.
“Her name is Gretl,” James replied, and Belle looked up and gave him a smile.
“They’re beautiful,” she told him, turning her attention back to the doggie family, and she saw some of the puppies waking, blinking and fumbling toward her.
She caught the closest one and picked her up, cuddling the puppy to her face. The puppy sniffed, squirmed and finally licked Belle’s face and Belle nuzzled the writhing little one to her neck, that unmistakable puppy scent enveloping her senses.
“I just love the smell of puppy,” she murmured into soft fur, gave her another squeeze then set her down and grabbed the next one to approach.
As she did, she saw James’s hand reach out and nab a puppy who was climbing up the expensive fabric at Belle’s thigh. She turned her eyes to him as she snuggled her newest bundle.
He was in a crouch close by her side and working at containing the six, now awake bundles of energy who all wanted to play with Belle.
“Are you keeping them?” she asked and watched him shake his head as he pulled back another pup from her knee. Her voice held a hint of a surprise when she went on to inquire, “You’re not?”
He and his big, huge castle could easily harbor eight dogs.
No sweat.
“They’re all sold,” James said. “Baron and Gretl are both champions. Their litters are popular.”
Belle looked down at the happy, floppy-eared puppies, both Gretl and Baron nosing them as James kept at his containment efforts and Belle exchanged her puppy for a new one to snuggle.
She couldn’t imagine for one moment letting go of a single pup.
“You won’t even keep just one?” Belle queried.
His eyes turned to her and she realized belatedly how close he was. The room was lit and she could see, like she did when he first greeted her back in the drawing room, how thick, black and long his lashes were.
Women paid good money for someone to glue lashes that beautiful on their eyelids. Looking at his, surrounding those green eyes, eyes a color she couldn’t believe was from nature, she was, put simply, entranced.
“Pick one,” he said and, at his surprising words, she blinked out of her trance.
“Sorry?”
“Pick one,” he repeated and she tore her gaze from his and looked down at the adorable, happy, fidgeting puppies.
Her shocked eyes went back to James.
“I thought you said they’re all sold.”
“They are,” he replied. “I’ll return the fee of the one you’ve chosen.”
She stared at him in shock.
Was he for real?
“You can’t do that,” Belle protested.
His lips tipped up slightly at the ends and she watched them as if this small movement was the most fascinating thing she ever beheld.
And she thought maybe it was.
Then she watched his lips form the words, “I can.”
She moved her eyes to his. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re giving me a dog.”
It was then his mouth formed a full-fledged grin. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Yes, he was for real.
Her eyes skittered away and she quickly exchanged her puppy for a new one.
Her nerves, which had disappeared for several glorious moments, returned and she felt an overpowering, nearly paralyzing self-consciousness.
Cuddling her new puppy, she mumbled, “I can’t accept a champion litter dog.”
“You can,” he returned.
Her eyes moved to him but this time she looked over his shoulder.
“I can’t,” she repeated.
“Belle,” he said her name softly, his deep voice wrapping around it like an embrace, and the effect made her shiver. He sounded like he was calling out to her even though she was on her knees right beside him.
She moved her eyes to the vicinity of his though she didn’t look in them. She looked mostly at his nose.
He had, she thought somewhat agitatedly, a very nice nose.
When she did this, she heard his delicious chuckle.
“Belle,” he repeated and, against its will, her gaze finally lifted to his eyes and when it did, he repeated, “Pick one.”
“I can’t have a German shepherd,” she told him.
“Do you have another dog?” he asked, and she shook her head, looking away and dropping her puppy to give belly rubs to two bundles who were happily squirming on their backs on the floor. “Do you have a cat?” he went on and she shook her head again. “Do you let your house and they don’t allow animals?” he pressed.
She finally spoke. “I own my place. It’s just that I don’t have a garden and my cottage isn’t very big. German shepherds are large dogs. They need room to move.” She scooted closer and stroked Gretl’s head, continuing in a near whisper. “It’s nice of you to offer anyway. Very generous.” Her voice went even quieter before she murmured, “Thank you.”
With that, she stood.
She could take no more. She would prefer Miles’s stifling attention at a shoulder-to-shoulder crowded party (her definition of torture) to playing with puppies in a warm room in a stable with criminally handsome, seemingly very sweet James Bennett.
She took a backward step to the door as he straightened from his crouch.
“I should really be getting back,” she told him, looking behind her toward the door.
It was only a few feet away but the distance yawned behind her like it was a million miles.
The puppies jumped at her ankles.
James spoke and what he said made her head twist around to look at him.
“We haven’t finished the tour.”
“We haven’t?” she asked, wondering what he’d show her next.
Kittens?
Lambs?
An adorable baby rhinoceros?
He shook his head, moved forward, bending low to control the puppies at the same time his hand came to her hip, fingers hot through the fabric as he expertly maneuvered her out of the room. Baron came with him. Gretl stayed put and James managed to get her and his dog out without any of the puppies escaping.
It was a minor miracle.
However, instinctively, Belle thought he was the kind of man who wrought minor miracles on a daily basis.
Once he’d turned out the light and closed the door, he took her elbow again and led her along the stalls toward the door they entered. But he didn’t take them to the door. He took them to a ladder that led up to what looked like a hayloft.
When he had her facing it, she heard him say, “Up.”
Fear seized her and Belle stared at the ladder. Then her head tipped back to examine the open floor of the hayloft facing the stable. She looked at the ladder again.
And panic coursed through her.
She didn’t do ladders.
She also didn’t do heights.
And she certainly didn’t do one full side of the floor opened to a neck-breaking fall haylofts.
She turned and nearly collided with him, he was standing so close behind her.
“I can’t go up there,” she breathed.
He was looking down at her. “Why not?”
She blinked and looked over his shoulder. “I just can’t.”
“It’s safe, Belle. I wouldn’t take you up there if it wasn’t,” he replied.
Her eyes went to his ear. “I’m sure it is. I just don’t do ladders,” she admitted, paused then continued, “or heights.”
Or out of the way, scary haylofts with unbearably handsome men, she thought. A thought that she would never, even if paid, speak aloud.
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her, his voice deeper and gentler, and somewhere in her panic-stricken brain it registered that he was genuinely trying to assure her rather than force her to do something against her will.
“I—” she started but before she could say more, his hands came to her waist, he got close and all panicked thoughts (indeed, all thoughts, panicked or not) flew from her head.
She looked up at him to see his face was close.
Very close.
Magnetically close.
She held her breath and barely controlled an impulse to lean toward him.
“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured and then his fingers tightened at her waist.
He turned her to face the ladder and before she knew what he was about, he actually lifted her clean off her feet. Reflexively her hands shot out to grab the sides of the ladder and her feet found the rungs. His hands slid down to her hips and he put pressure there, urging her to climb.
And she did.
Instantly, she felt him come up after her.
Not a few rungs after her but right after her, his arms around her body, hands moving along the ladder sides just under hers and his body warm against her back. She was sheltered from danger by his big, strong frame and her fear of heights (and ladders and haylofts, but not him) completely melted away.
She made it to the floor of the hayloft and stepped in, James coming right after.
Without hesitation, she moved to the safest area available, the center of the loft, as he strode to its outer wall. She watched as he unlatched a pair of doors and slid one to the side then the other.
He turned to her and ordered quietly, “Come here.”
She didn’t want to.
She really didn’t want to.
The doors were open to the night. She could easily fall out them and crack her head open. Or break her arm. Or sprain her ankle. None of which she wanted to do.
Even though she didn’t want to, she pulled his jacket closer about her and walked slowly to his side, stopping several feet from the edge.
“Belle,” he called again and she tilted her head back to look at him, her mind filled with thoughts of her broken body at the base of the stables, her knees feeling spongy, like they couldn’t hold her weight. “Look,” he urged and she watched him turn his head.
Her gaze went in the same direction and she caught her breath.
Spread out before her was his castle, huge and imposing on its cliff, many of its windows shown with bright lights, the sea and sky beyond it inky black. The white caps broke the waters and against the sprawling shoreline you could see the foamy surf pounding against the rocks.
It was magnificent.
It was way better than the view from the study.
It was even worth the torment of being in the company of wickedly handsome James Bennett.
Without thinking, Belle took a step closer to the edge and breathed, “I wish my grandmother was here.”
“What?” James asked, his voice holding more than a little amusement mingled with surprise.
She looked up at him and repeated, “I wish my grandmother was here. She’s a painter. She could paint this for you.” Belle looked back at the view and went on, “She might even pay you for the opportunity to paint this.”
Belle felt him get close to her side. “You’re grandmother’s a painter?”
“Yes,” Belle answered not taking her eyes from the vista. “She’s kind of well-known. You might have heard of her. Lila Cavendish?”
Something emotive stirred the air, emanating from James. It was strong enough for Belle to tear her gaze away from the seascape to look up at him again.
“Your grandmother is Lila Cavendish?” he asked when her eyes hit his face.
Belle nodded. “Do you know her?”
“I have one of her pieces in my office in London,” he replied. “She’s extremely talented.”
Belle felt a sudden, warm burst of pride and murmured, “She is.”
“So you come from a talented family,” he remarked, and she kept staring at him and shook her head.
“No, it’s just Gram that’s talented,” she told him.
He got closer, his chin dipping down further to look at her and he asked, “I thought Miles said you made your dress?”
Immediately, Belle looked away.
“Belle,” he called again but she didn’t look back.
Instead she answered the sea, “Yes, I made the dress.”
“It’s beautiful,” he complimented her and she felt that trill go up her spine again. So strong it not only raised the hairs on the back of her neck, it tingled all along her scalp.
“Thank you,” she whispered then sought to find another subject, any subject and luckily her mind found one. “Which piece of Gram’s do you have?”
He thankfully allowed the subject change and replied, “It’s called ‘Sedona Bloom.’”
Belle smiled at the sea and nodded. “I think I remember that one. She did a Sedona series when we lived there. The Arizona desert is remarkable in bloom.”
“So, you’re from Arizona,” he noted and she shook her head, crossing her arms on her chest under his jacket.
“We’re from everywhere.” She kept speaking to the view, finding it easier to hold this conversation when she could pretend he wasn’t there and so damned close. “Mom and Dad got divorced when I was six and Mom and I followed Gram wherever she went. Which was a lot of places.”
“Like where?” James asked.
It was at that moment that it occurred to her that James had known her for barely an evening and Miles had known her for a month. And Miles didn’t know her grandmother was Lila Cavendish or that her parents were divorced or that she’d moved around a lot.
He didn’t know any of this because he’d never asked.
“Arizona, California, Colorado, New Mexico,” Belle answered. “Gram went through a New Orleans phase so we stayed there for a school year. And she became infatuated with Savannah so we were there for an entire summer.” She stopped and when he didn’t speak she decided she should go on, so she noted inanely, “It was very humid.”
“Interesting life for a child,” James muttered. “What did your father think of this?”
Belle’s hand came out from under the jacket and she waved it in front of her. “Oh, he didn’t mind. He was a wanderer too. I never saw much of him, really.”
“You don’t sound like you find that upsetting,” he observed.
Belle shook her head. “I didn’t have much of him but he’s a big personality. When I did have him, I had all of him and that was better than most kids have.”
She felt his heat and knew he’d drawn closer.
She tried to pretend that didn’t happen too.
“I hear Lila Cavendish is a bit of a character as well.”
She knew what he meant.
If her father was a big personality and Gram was a character, what had happened to her?
She didn’t know why she said what she said next. Maybe it was the sea, the puppies, the several glasses of champagne she had at the party.
Or maybe it was just him.
But she said it.
“I used to wish I was like her,” Belle confided softly. “She and my mom are cut from the same cloth. They light up a room.”
Forgetting her fear of heights, she walked to the edge and leaned her shoulder against the door, losing herself in the view, and kept talking.
“Once when I was young, we visited my great-grandmother in a retirement home. It was the first time Gram and I visited her after Gram moved her in there. We walked in and it was dreary. Depressing.” Her voice dropped even lower. “You wouldn’t believe it.”
Belle shut her eyes against the memory, opened them and forged on.
“I remember Gram taking one look at all those old people in their bleak rec room and muttering, ‘This will not do.’ Then she dug in her purse and pulled out her bag of lemon drops. To this day, she always carries a bag of lemon drops.” This last came out in a barely there whisper.
She twisted her head to look at him and saw he was watching her, his arms crossed on his chest, his face so gentle and striking she had to look away so she’d have the courage to continue.
Belle pulled in a breath and watched a wave break against the jagged rocks of the shore before she went on.
“Anyway,” she said in a brighter voice, “she went around the whole room offering the old folks lemon drops, telling jokes, laughing and talking and livening up the room. That’s all it took. Gram and a bag of lemon drops.”
When he spoke, his voice was closer and her body jerked in surprise as she turned to see he was again at her side.
“There are many ways to light up a room.”
He would, she thought, know all about that. His magnetic beam probably entered a room ten minutes before he got to the door.
“Some women,” he continued, “light up a room just wearing an extraordinary dress.”
She looked away and nodded in agreement. “Like Yasmin.”
“Yes, like Yasmin. Though Yasmin’s dress tonight doesn’t come close to the one you’re wearing.”
Belle’s body jerked again and her head twisted around to look at him. It did this so quickly she thought she might have pulled something.
Before she could assess if she needed medical attention, he finished softly, “And she didn’t design hers.”
Something was happening.
She knew this because he was getting even closer.
Panic ensued, quickly chased by hysteria. She moved back but her shoulders were against the door and one side fell away to nothing so she froze in sheer terror.
His hands came to her waist and he moved directly into her space. So into it, her space evaporated and their space took its place.
“James—” she began in a warning protest, her voice trembling.
“Jack,” he muttered as his head bent, his hands sliding around her waist to her back, his fingers putting pressure there so her body touched his.
And then he kissed her.
Kissed her.
Belle couldn’t believe it.
His mouth on hers was firm and warm and his hands at her back were burning into her flesh. She felt the trill up her spine, the tingle along her scalp, her belly flipping then warming.
All this felt good. It felt thrilling. It felt like something she wanted more of (a lot more).
Still, she put her hands to his arms, gave a good shove and pulled her mouth away from his.
“We can’t,” she told him but her voice was oddly breathy.
“We can,” he replied instantly.
“No,” she said.
“Yes,” he returned then his arms tightened around her so her body wasn’t touching his. It was plastered against it.
His head slanted and his mouth came down on hers again this time harder, warmer. Insistent.
She opened her mouth to protest, her fingers curling at his arms and his tongue slid inside.
The minute his tongue touched hers, her entire body responded. Heat shot through it and her knees went weak then buckled. She felt her belly plummet, a quiver of excitement shot between her legs and her body melted into his.
Without thought to anything, not Miles, Joy, good manners or her own sanity, Belle kissed him back. Her hands slid up and around his neck and she pressed closer to the heat of his hard body.
He felt her response immediately (he couldn’t exactly miss it) and he pushed his advantage, deepening the kiss, tightening his arms, one hand sliding up her side and stopping then his fingers began to stroke the side of her breast.
That, Belle thought hazily, felt good.
Very good.
So good, Belle felt her breasts swell, her nipples harden and she moaned right into his mouth.
It was then she realized that he’d been controlling the kiss.
She knew this because it was also then when he lost control of it.
His head came up and before she could think, he stepped back twice, dragging her with him.
When he stopped them, his head came back down, their mouths collided and this kiss was wild. It was coupled with bodies pressing closer, hands gliding. His jacket fell from her shoulders and Belle didn’t even notice.
The world had dissolved.
Nothing existed but James, his mouth, his hands, his body and all the unbelievable things he was making her feel.
Things she’d never felt in her whole life, not with Calvin, not with Miles, not ever.
She was not Belle “Meek and Mild” Abbot.
She was another being entirely.
A being who would neck in the hayloft with a rich, famous, entirely too handsome man, even when she was dating his brother.
She was Wicked Belle. Risk-Taker Belle. A Heretofore Unknown Belle who jumped into shark-infested waters with both feet, her eyes open because she knew something rich and rewarding would come of it.
She tugged at his shirt at the back, pulling it out of his trousers and her hands went up, gliding across his hot skin, feeling the hard muscle of his back and she loved it.
No.
She adored it.
She pressed in, wanting him closer, wanting him to absorb her.
Suddenly, his mouth tore from hers and his body was gone. Belle felt a rush of cold and a sense of confusion, but before she could gather her thoughts and return to her shy, timid reality, his hand grabbed hers in a vicelike grip.
Then he dragged her to the ladder.
“Down,” he growled, his voice strangely rough.
“What?” she whispered, her eyes flitting to his, her mind in a turmoil, her body on fire.
“Go down,” he repeated.
She looked stupidly at the ladder. Then she was forced to look back at him.
She was forced because his hand wrapped around her neck and he yanked her to him, their bodies crashing together and his mouth crushed down on hers in another wet, wild, open-mouthed kiss that sent her senses reeling.
He lifted his head and demanded in a voice now so beyond rough it was hoarse and just the sound of it sent a luscious quiver shooting between her legs, “Poppet, climb down.”
Without hesitation, Belle climbed down.
James came after her.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the stables not even bothering to turn out the light.
She had no time to think mainly because her mind was occupied with keeping up with him and not tripping. He was walking quickly, his long legs eating the distance, dragging her by the hand in a half run behind him.
“James,” she called, feeling the need to take a moment, take a breath and get her head together.
“Jack,” he clipped.
She saw they were quickly approaching the castle.
“Where are we going?” she asked, rushing behind him.
“My room.”
“Your what?” she cried, reality crashing in, her mind asking her what in the holy heck was she doing and her hand pulled at his.
The instant she did this, he stopped, turned and Belle ran right into him.
His arms went around her and he hauled her to his body.
“My room, Belle,” he told her. “I’m taking you to my room.”
She stared up at him in stupefaction. “I can’t go to your room.”
“Not only can you, you’re going to,” he declared.
Belle blinked, beyond stupefied, straight to staggered.
“I—” she started but he cut her off.
“You can go with me or I can carry you. Choose. Now.”
“James—” she started to protest but stopped when his fingers wrapped around the back of her head at the same time his arm grew tight, molding her to his body.
“I’m not going to say it again, Belle. I want you to call me Jack,” he demanded and then his mouth came down on hers.
He gave her another kiss. Meek and Mild Belle disappeared and when he lifted his head, she walked or, more accurately ran to keep up with his long strides, with him to his room.