9
HENRIETTE
Using the pool house first aid kit, I dabbed at the bleeding gash on Tristan’s forehead, the pad soaked in antiseptic was just the sting he needed to wake.
“It’s fine,” he said with a gasp. “I’m fine.”
“What did you do?”
He looked at me, his cheeks blushing with embarrassment. “Jesus. I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting you to be—you know—”
“Nu?”
“Yes. Naked.”
I shrugged. Surely a man of the world such as Tristan knew French women weren’t uptight about their bodies. I certainly wasn’t. I hadn’t invited him into the pool house, but I wasn’t one to leave opportunity lying about. I knew what Tristan Lebleu liked; he liked a show. So I gave him one. “I wanted to soak in the hot tub before dinner.”
Tristan smirked. “Guess I blew that all to hell.”
“Sorry?” I asked, not understanding him. My English was excellent, but when he started using odd American colloquialisms, it was easy for me to get lost. Fast.
“I ruined it for you. Ruiné.”
“Oui.” Pursing my lips, I blew on the cut that wouldn’t stop bleeding before finishing my thought. “I know what ruin means, but blown to hell?”
“Sorry. And I’m sorry I got—”
“What? Lost with me?”
He smiled, gripping the edge of my robe. I decided to put it back on before helping him. Less chance of a repeat performance.
“That would be lost in you,” he said. “And yes. I was a little lost in you. I’ve never thrown myself on a pile of rocks for a woman.”
“I wasn’t taking my clothes off for you.” I lied.
He gripped my wrist gently, moving my hand and the alcohol-filled gauze from his face. It was clear he’d had enough of my nursing skills and medieval torture.
“I’m aware. I was making a joke.”
“An American joke? I sometimes like American humor,” I conceded with sarcasm. “Like…animé.” I hesitated, trying to put the words together. “Bob Sponge?”
He smiled, and a laugh escaped his lips. “I think you mean, Sponge Bob.”
“Whatever.”
I had to admit Tristan was a beautiful man. With his sun-streaked blond hair that he didn’t seem to comb more than once in a while, he sported a chiseled jawline that told me he was all man. His sky-blue eyes seemed to link the boy with the adventurous titan. He was so much like his father, although he didn’t seem to understand it. Not yet.
I stared down at Tristan, his head in my lap, my feet in the hot tub. Sliding his warm hand around my neck he pulled me toward him. It was the move of a fearless man with blatant certainty and carnal assurance. I’d waited for this moment since he’d stared at me from across the grassy field fifteen years ago. Since then, my schoolgirl fantasy had been erased by the headstrong man I knew him to be. Tristan Lebleu would be a challenge. But I loved a challenge. I didn’t stop him, leaning into his demand. I’d wanted to taste his lips since he walked off the plane. It was the moment he changed from fantasy to reality, and since then, I’d wanted my mouth on every part of him. A sigh away from his face, he paused to trace the curve of my lip with his tongue. The sensual glide was slow—intimate—and concluded with a tiny, innocuous, kiss.
I could feel my skin tingle, my throat tighten. Tristan lifted his head from my lap and turned, taking my face in his massive hands. Staring into my eyes, he whispered. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“Is this what you say to your American girlfriends to get them into bed?” The breath of my softened words landed squarely on his waiting lips.
“I don’t have girlfriends—American or otherwise.”
I raised one suspicious eyebrow. I knew he was telling the truth. Tristan had lovers, but no love.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Is some mad Frenchman going to come for me?”
I stared into his eyes as I brushed the wet tendrils from his forehead. “No.”
“Très bon,” he murmured.
Tristan took my mouth, the warmth of his lips tender, yet firm. I opened up to him, his moan giving me a throb of want as his tongue slid inside. Desire unfurled as he pulled me closer, creating a sensual cage around us—his hands leaving a wake of chills down my back. I gripped his bare arms, my hands gliding over the ridges of his muscles. Trailing my fingers up and over his bulging pecs, I reached to trace across his rugged jawline, before fisting the golden locks of his hair.
Drinking him in, I felt the heat from his hand dip inside my white robe. Excitement shot through me—lust washing away all rational thought. He caressed my aching flesh, a groan escaping his mouth at the touch of my skin. Reshaping the underside of my breast, Tristan dipped his head, pulling at the terrycloth to kiss his way to the hardness of my nipple. Teasing me with his tongue, the nibble of his teeth sent waves of need through my core. I buried my face in Tristan’s neck and inhaled. He smelled of soap and skin kissed by sunshine and a cocktail of pheromones so strong I found myself taking deep breaths to inhale more of him.
Tugging at his long hair with my fingers, I pulled his face away from my body to meet my gaze. I pushed him onto his back, climbing on top of his wet and heavy jeans before peeling the soaked shirt from his tight body, tossing it beside us with a splat. He groaned in delight at my eager initiative and I could feel him harden beneath me, his flesh straining to be released.
Instinctively, Tristan pushed the robe over my shoulders, the terry cloth hanging at my elbows. Running his hands down my breasts, his steely gaze never left my eyes. I breathed in deeply at his touch, my body heaving with each premeditated movement of his perceptive hands.
Reaching between my legs I began to unbutton him, taking the zipper all the way down. His jeans were soaked and heavy, but I managed to tug the tight fabric over his narrow hips to release his aching bulge. The muscles of his taut stomach tensed at my every touch, intensifying the deep V that led to my ultimate destination.
Grabbing me behind the neck once more, Tristan pulled me onto his muscled torso, glistening with sweat and water. I moaned, my body aroused, my mind beyond needy. It was only in that moment I realized how much I longed for the sexual release—for him.
Goosebumps raced across my skin as he kissed me—hard—his tongue caressing the curve of my mouth and stealing my breath. I found myself writhing on top of him, the hem of my robe the last bastion of sensibility separating us.
“Pardon!”
I shot upright with a gasp, “Merde!” I climbed off Tristan and closed my robe, wrapping myself up tightly. My back to whomever had found their way into the pool house, I watched Tristan stand and hitch his jeans, then cover his crotch with his wet t-shirt.
“What the fuck?” Tristan hissed.
I turned to find Pierre with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, his foot tapping in aversion.
“I see you’ve been tasting the pleasures of Chateau Lebleu, dear brother.”
“What the hell do you want, Pierre?” Tristan asked. His voice was calm, but I could see the anger in his face. He, like I, was livid.
Pierre shot me a hateful glare. “It seems as if you have everything you need.”
“Then perhaps you should leave.” My voice trembled with rage as I tied the belt of my robe even tighter around my waist.
Pierre took a step toward me. Tristan matched his stride, stepping between us to shield me.
“Henriette.” Pierre scowled. He wanted me in his bed, but he also hated me. “I’ll leave when I please.”
“Then I’m going,” I said, stepping around Tristan. Silent, I walked away, pausing only to stare down Pierre’s judgmental gawk for the briefest of moments.
Outside on the grand lawn, I took a deep breath and composed myself. Fueled by the sexual tension that lit me up like a fire, I found a way to put aside the rage and embarrassment of getting caught. I waited in the shadow of a large oak, listening to the echoing voices of the men inside. What would Tristan say to Pierre? How would he explain? Would he explain? Was I just another one of his conquests? Why wouldn’t I be? We barely knew one other.
“Sorry to interrupt your tryst, brother. I saw you walk in and…”
“What do you want, Pierre?”
“What happened to your head?” he asked, now sidetracked from his original intent.
“None of your fucking business. What do you need to speak with me about that couldn’t wait?”
Moving closer, I pressed my body to the side of the glass near an open vent, standing on a stack of stones. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear every word.
“Father. He’s not well,” Pierre said.
“Tell me something I don’t know. I’m here aren’t I? I dragged my ass all the way from New Orleans.”
“Tristan. Brother. There’s an offer on the table. A brilliant offer from the largest conglomerate in the world—Luxury Goods Conglomerate of Europe. LGCE.”
“You want to sell out.”
What?
Tristan’s tone was blunt. Unemotional. I nearly fell off the rocks at the news.
“Whether you know or understand it, you are one fifth of the votes needed to make a change such as this at Champagne Lebleu.”
“I’m not following.”
“When the Lebleu empire was born, conditions were laid out in advance for the sale of the land—the business—the vineyards.”
“And?”
“Our father has brought you here to explain these things to you—things I already know because unlike you, Épernay has been my life.”
“Make your point, Pierre.”
I leaned in closer and climbed another step on the wobbly stones, trying to see well enough to get a read on Tristan’s face.
“There are rules for making a decision such as this. There must be a majority vote. I have a vote, René of course has a vote, you have a vote, the champagne house has a vote and…”
“And what, Pierre? I’m soaking wet and I’m bleeding.”
“And Madame Aurélia has a vote.”
I heard Tristan laugh. “From the grave?”
“Oui.”
“Look, as much as I appreciate your sales pitch, Pierre, I’m not here to make decisions nor do I care about the future of Lebleu. I’m here to speak with René. So unless you have something else to talk about, I’d like it very much if you’d leave me the hell alone.”
“But we’re brothers, you and I. You can’t turn your back on that, Tristan.”
“Watch me.”
The door to the pool house swung open. Tristan stormed off through the garden to the main house, stopping only to zip his jeans and pull his now sodden phone from his pocket. Hanging back, I wanted to stay out of sight until Pierre was gone. I already knew the repercussions of what he’d witnessed would haunt me until the day I could leave Champagne Lebleu far behind.
When he walked out of the pool house dialing his phone, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, until I heard him speak. Carrying on a conversation in English was something I’d never, in my five years of working for René, seen Pierre do on the phone. It wasn’t that his English was bad, it was that he wouldn’t stoop, as he called it, to speak to Americans in English. Truth be told, Tristan was the first and only American I’d seen Pierre be cordial to. And that was only because he wanted something.
I followed behind, hoping to hear a bit of the conversation. I picked up on his words in fits and starts. Paris. Tomorrow. Then Pierre lowered his voice, cupping his hand over the phone. Whatever came next alarmed him. Rarely did he get ruffled, but when he did, his odd tic would surface. A twitch, he was unable to control the hitch and roll of his neck and shoulder on the left side. It was as if someone was putting a wet finger in his ear. Pierre was a bundle of tells—if you knew how to read him. And just like the other Lebleu men, I could read him like a book.
When the coast was completely clear, I hurried through the garden, leaving all my clothes in the changing room of the pool house. I wasn’t going back. Sneaking around the side of the old stone wall that was the western facing front of the main house, I looked behind me, making sure I’d lost him.
With a quick turn I hit something solid. My chest landed soundly on the crossed arms of Lucette, as she stood like a statue in my blind spot. “Merde!”
“What are you doing out running around in a robe?” Lucette narrowed her eyes. She was waiting for a really good story. I wasn’t going to give her one.
“Nothing.”
“Henry.” She whined my name, knowing me better than that. “Were you with Tristan in the pool house?”
I blenched, losing my breath. “Why would you ask that? Did Pierre say something to you?”
One corner of her mouth curled into a suspicious smile. “No. But you’re telling me everything I need to know by the look on your face.”
“Nonsense.” I pushed my way past her, giving my surroundings a quick inspection. Regardless of what I wasn’t explaining to Lucette, I really didn’t want to see anyone at the moment in my state of undress. Especially Pierre…again.
“How was he? Was he good? Is he as beautiful under those clothes as he seems to be?”
I held one finger in the air and continued to walk. “I’m not talking about this.”
“Oh my God!” Lucette shrieked too loud for my nerves to handle, and I found myself knitting my shoulders at her outburst. “You had sex with Tristan Lebleu.”
I stopped and turned. Lucette was indeed my best friend, and no matter what, I loved and trusted her. But her ability to open her mouth and say the wrong thing at the most inopportune moment was astonishing. Right now I needed her to shut up. “Ta gueule, Lucette!” I hissed, holding my hand in the air for her to stop.
She walked toward me, dropping her crossed arms in defeat. “I’m sorry.”
Without responding, I turned on my bare feet and continued walking. Lucette chased after me, linking her arm in mine to lean her head on my shoulder. “So perhaps only one of us had sex with a Lebleu brother today.”
“Lucette.” She was an idiot for allowing Pierre to use her the way she did. I knew she had an enormous sexual appetite and had her ways of fulfilling that need. I’d seen Pierre naked—unfortunately—and knew his equipment was nothing to write home about. I’d only seen a bit of Tristan’s manhood and could already say beyond a doubt, he was the winning brother.
Why she slept with Pierre was beyond me, and I knew out of the many sexual escapades she had, he was the only man who refused to wrap up, so to speak. According to Lucette, when it came to doing the deed, Pierre rejected latex prophylactics. He said he didn’t like them, but Lucette had confessed to me it was because Pierre couldn’t keep the magic going while wearing one.
“Where did you do it? The cellars?” I asked. “Again?”
She squeezed my arm tighter. “I like it down there. It’s quiet—”
“Until you and Pierre start screaming.”
“It’s dark.”
“Well I can’t argue with that,” I replied. “I wouldn’t be able to look at him either.”
“Henry. You’re going to feel bad one day when I end up marrying him and having his babies.”
“Please, Lucette. Don’t.” I begged.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do anything stupid you’ll regret. Don’t do anything I’ll have to regret for you.”
Together we walked through the servants’ entrance of Chateau Lebleu. The house staff was so miniscule at this point, I had a better chance of making it to my own quarters without being seen than if I walked through the desolate front entrance.
Lucette grimaced, letting out a heavy sigh.
“I’m only telling how I feel.”
Opening the door, we slipped into an old holding room for the dogs—dogs that no longer existed at Chateau Lebleu. As they all died off one by one, René made it a point not adopt more. Now the furry labs were only a distant memory of the once vibrant home. A home that had turned into a building where we all merely existed on a day to day basis.
The stone floor was freezing under my wet feet, now covered in bits and blades of grass. I pointed to the back staircase that would lead me to the first floor. “You coming?” I asked.
Lucette didn’t answer, but walked with me letting me know she wasn’t going to leave me alone until she had more details about Tristan.
“What’s he like, Henry? Is he as mysterious as everyone says he is?”
My mind went back to the moment he pulled me to him. I could still feel his strong hands gripping my neck—his tender fingers caressing my face. Blood on his forehead, a sexy smile on his face. He was as difficult as I knew he would be—brooding and completely inside himself. But when he allowed his protective wall to fall away, I saw the kind side of Tristan Lebleu. His eyes. His laugh. His sense of humor and humanity. There was so much more to Tristan than he showed the world. It was said you could peel back the layers of a person like an onion. But with Tristan, it was more like excavating through layers of earth to discover what’s beneath the surface. He, like the centuries old caves of Lebleu, would take time, care, planning. Peeling was easy, digging would be painstaking. I believed no one, and I mean no one had made it past the surface level of who he was—who he showed himself to be.
“What is it, Henry?” Lucette asked, stepping in front of me as I placed my hand on the door to my suite.
Pressing on, I gently pushed her into my room, shutting the door behind us. I’d had enough of running around half naked.
“You know,” Lucette said. “Sooner or later, you’re going to tell me. Why not save us both time and tell me everything—now—while it’s all fresh in your mind and you can remember what he tastes like.”
I shot Lucette a frown. “Nothing happened.”
“Nothing.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I lied. “Lucette, I would tell you. I promise, nothing happened.”
“Something happened,” she chided. “I can see it on your face. Don’t you know by now you can’t keep things from me? I’m very good at lying, Henry. I can say anything and you’d believe me. But you? You’re a horrible liar. I know you’re not telling me everything just by the look in your eyes.”
I sat on the edge of my bed and looked out the open window of my quarters. We almost got somewhere, but your putrid excuse of a man-whore barged in on us? “We kissed. That’s all.” It wasn’t a lie. It was actually the best way to describe it.
Lucette shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“Ugh…” I twisted my face and groaned.
“I believe you kissed him, but I think there’s more you aren’t telling me.”
What could I say? It meant nothing? I knew that wasn’t true. If Tristan and I had anything in common, it was that we both had reputations for not getting involved romantically with the opposite sex. Just before he kissed me there was a moment when time stopped and I honestly saw right through to the heart of the real man. I felt it. He felt it. I could see it in his eyes. People who spend their lives putting up walls recognize not only the technique, but the emotional barricades in others. I saw him. The real Tristan. What’s worse…I’m certain he saw me.
I took a deep breath and spoke the truth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why?” Lucette sat beside me on the bed, taking my hand in hers.
I didn’t look at her. “Because if I talk about it, it might ruin it. And I don’t want that.”
“Ah. I understand.”
Surprised by her answer, I cocked my head. “Really? You do?”
Lucette stood and began walking around my room, tracing her finger across each piece of antique furniture she passed. “Look, I know you don’t approve of my other occupation.”
I popped a single eyebrow. “So?” I replied, taking careful attention not to sound disapproving.
“Just because I perform sexual acts in a public forum doesn’t mean that intercourse isn’t meaningful to me. It is. Always.”
“Really?” I couldn’t hide the shock in my voice and I was immediately sorry for it.
“Yes, Henry. Really. I decide who and when. I even decide where and for how long.”
“You mean at the club.”
“Yes.”
“And with Pierre?”
Lucette twirled on her heels. “He usually gets what he wants, but I use him too. And there are really no secrets between us.”
“What do you mean? Really? Because I know you have secrets.” Pierre was one of the biggest liars I’d ever met. If Lucette could see a lie at its face, then surely she knew better than to ever trust the words that came out of Pierre Lebleu’s mouth.
“He doesn’t know I work there on occasion. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Is he a member of the club? The one where you work?”
Lucette shook her head.
“And what if he wants to join?”
“Why are you so concerned with what Pierre and I are doing? Besides, I won’t be doing it much longer.”
I stood and tightened the belt on my robe. “I love you, Lucette. You’re my best friend—my only friend at Chateau Lebleu. I simply don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t trust Pierre with your heart. I don’t think you should either.”
Lucette walked to the door and paused. She turned and faced me, giving me a half-hearted smile. I returned the gesture. Lucette had had enough misery in her teen years fighting off a stepfather who raped her. There was no reason for me to judge the way she wanted to live her life—the way she found her own personal happiness.
“Good luck tonight with your dinner, Henry. I hope everything turns out exactly as you wish. With or without Tristan.”
“Merci.”
“And don’t worry about me. I’ve got plans for my future. Big plans.”