Dreaming of Manderley by Leah Marie Brown (10)

Chapter Eleven

Xavier stands and walks over to me. “Please,” he says, gesturing to the empty lounge chair beside his. “Won’t you join me? I have something to say. I won’t keep you but a minute. I know you are expected on the courts.”

“Of course.”

I follow him around the pool and sit on the edge of the empty lounger, clutching the handle of my tennis racquet in my sweaty hands. Xavier sits on his chair and faces me. His sun-warmed knees press against my knees. He puts his hand over mine, gently prying my fingers from around the leather grip.

“I am sorry for my boorish behavior.” His voice is low and gravelly. “It’s just, you see, I am rather a private person, and, well, I have these old-fashioned notions about courtship. If there is something you wish to know about me, I would prefer you to ask me. Less confusion that way, don’t you think?”

It’s nearly impossible to think clearly when he is stroking my hand with his thumb and pressing his knees against mine. I want to move closer to him, close my eyes and sink into the heat of him. I imagine it would be like taking a nap on the beach, losing yourself to the feel of the soft sand, the heat warming you clear down to your bones . . .

“You weren’t boorish,” I say, looking down at the strings of my racquet. “I would have been mortified if the tables had been turned and I happened by as someone was shouting my name into their phone. I feel the same way about my privacy. And, Olivia is always teasing me about my old-fashioned notions about c—” I look up. “Wait a minute. You did say courtship, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That means dating.”

He laughs. “Yes, it does.”

“Are we dating?”

“Unless there is someone else?” He continues to make slow, nonchalant circles on my hand with his thumb, but there is a new intensity to his gaze. Our knees are still touching, and yet, I feel as if he has moved away from me. “Is there someone else, Manderley? Do you have a boyfriend waiting for you back in California?”

“Of course not! I wouldn’t be here with you if I had someone waiting for me back home.”

He smiles. The clouds move away and the sun returns, the fleeting darkness I sensed about him has vanished.

“Bon. I know you are leaving for Monte Carlo soon. Until then, let’s enjoy our time together and get to know each other better.”

The memory of last night creeps out of the dark, quiet recesses of my subconscious into my active consciousness, like a brash uninvited guest crashing a party. Loud, disturbing memories as difficult to ignore as a slinky gold dress moving through a dimly lit parking lot at night. Does Xavier have someone waiting for him at home or, perhaps, upstairs? I want to ask him, but I am afraid to confess I was spying on him.

“What is it, ma bichette?” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses the spot where his thumb had just been. “Something is bothering you.”

For once, I wish I had the confidence to respond like a silver-screen ingénue. Lauren Bacall. Bette Davis. They would look into his eyes and say something dismissive, like Don’t be ridiculous, darling. What could possibly be bothering me?

I am not a sultry, sharp-eyed, knows-what-she-wants kind of woman like Lauren Bacall. I don’t have Bette Davis’s brashness and talent for clever dissimulation.

“It’s only . . .”

“Only what?”

“I saw you.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

He narrows his gaze and two deep creases appear between his eyebrows. “Last night, when?” he asks, letting go of my hand.

“When you were returning from your engagement.”

He leans back slowly and lowers his chin, studying me through the veil of his thick lashes. “Did you follow me?”

“What?” My legs begin to tremble and I have to push my thighs together to keep my knees from knocking. “Why would I follow you?”

“Why would you google me?”

“I didn’t! Olivia did.”

He glares at me and the trembling spreads throughout my body. Did you know Lauren Bacall came up with her sultry camera “look” by accident because she was so nervous the first time she acted in a film she pressed her chin to her chest and looked up at the camera? She said the position helped calm her. I want to channel Lauren now, but am afraid I would only end up making her sultry look psychotic. Instead, I take a deep breath and hold it for several seconds before exhaling.

“I had insomnia last night,” I say. “I was sitting on my balcony, drinking a cup of tea, when I saw you walk up to the hotel.” He nods his head, silently commanding me to finish my story. “I was about to go back to bed when I saw a beautiful woman—the same woman you met in the lobby the other night—get out of a car and approach you. I don’t know what was said, but I could tell it wasn’t a pleasant exchange.”

“You are correct. It was not a pleasant exchange.”

“Is she your . . . someone?”

He clenches his jaw and a muscle beneath his cheek contracts. “Definitely not.”

“But she was, once?”

“What?” He scoffs. “Jacqueline has never been, nor will she ever be, my someone. I always want to be honest with you, Manderley, but I would prefer not to talk about Jacqueline. All you need to know, for now anyway, is she played an insignificant role in my life once, a part of my life I am trying hard to forget.”

“I understand, Xavier.”

“Do you?” He exhales heavily and rubs his forehead. “I don’t think you do, but you’re kind to say so.”

“I want to understand.”

“I know you do, and I thank you for it.” He leans forward again. “So, you haven’t said if you will go out with me tonight.”

“You haven’t asked me out.”

“I haven’t, have I?” He chuckles.

I shake my head.

“Very well.” He grabs his shirt and pulls it over his head, then he takes my hand and holds it, absently stroking his thumb over my knuckles. “Manderley Maxwell, would you like to have dinner with me tonight? We could go dancing afterward at a lovely rooftop bar with sweeping views of the sea.”

My heart misses a beat. Spending the evening with Xavier is exactly what I want, but I wish he hadn’t asked me to go dancing. I am not a good dancer and I have never been into the club scene. Someone as athletic and sophisticated as Xavier probably dances beautifully and visits the most exclusive clubs.

I remember Olivia’s words about losing my groove and realize I have never had a groove—and if I keep living for my work and everyone else, I won’t ever develop one.

“I would love to go out with you tonight.”

“Would you? Bon! It’s settled then.” He stands and pulls me to my feet. “Now, why don’t I walk you to the courts so you can play your tennis game?”

He grabs his towel, tosses it over his shoulder, and rests his hand on the small of my back—a gesture that is fast becoming familiar to me, one I will forever associate with Xavier, like the way he furrows his brow when he is listening intently, or the way his thumb feels when he traces circles on my skin. Other men I have dated held my hand or put their arm around my shoulder when we were walking in public. Xavier is the first to touch me in this chivalrous way, and it excites and pleases me more than any touch ever has.

We arrive at the courts—two magnificently maintained clay courts bordered by tall Italian cypress trees—and find Olivia locked in a fierce match with a handsome man in tennis whites. We stand in the shade of a cypress, Xavier’s hand still on the small of my back, my pulse racing faster than Olivia chasing her opponent’s rapid volleys.

“She’s good,” Xavier says.

“Olivia is brilliant at everything she does.”

“You admire her, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.” I turn to face him, tilting my chin up so I can look into his eyes. “What kind of woman would I be if I didn’t admire my best friend? Mutual admiration, a desire to encourage each other to reach new heights, these are the foundation stones of all of my deep relationships.”

He leans down and presses his lips to mine, kissing me in the shade of the cypress tree, with the fierce thud-thud-thud of my pulse pounding in my ears.

“We’ve only known each other a few days and already I feel admiration for you. Admiration, and a deep desire—”

“There you are!”

Olivia notices us standing on the other side of the fence and walks across the court, her hips doing a sexy Marilyn Monroe sway. She sticks her finger between one of the chain links and crooks it. I step closer.

“It’s Gaspard!” she breathlessly whispers. “He’s free this afternoon and asked if I might like a lesson. You know? Improve my stroke.” She winks saucily and my cheeks flush with heat. “Do you mind?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. Have fun.”

She looks around me, raises her hand, and waves at Xavier. I look over my shoulder in time to see him return her wave.

“Are you kidding me?” she says, raising her voice. “I am going to spend the afternoon getting hot and sweaty with a gorgeous Frenchman. I can’t think of a better way to spend the day, can you?”

“Olivia!”

“By-ee.” She giggles before hurrying back to Gaspard.

“So,” Xavier says, taking my racquet from me. “Are you going to follow your best friend’s advice?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you want to spend your afternoon getting hot and sweaty with a Frenchman?”

Sweet Lawd in heaven! My pits and palms are moist, my lady parts are damp. I am already hot and sweaty because of a Frenchman!

He notices my wide-eyed expression and laughs.

“Relax, ma bichette. I was only suggesting we spend the afternoon at the beach, perhaps swim and relax, catch up on some reading. Though, if you would prefer to go back to my room and make mad, sweaty love, I would be happy to—”

“The beach sounds lovely. I will just pop up to my room to change into my suit and meet you in the lobby. Does half an hour sound good?”

. . . Because I am going to need to spend fourteen minutes of it giving myself a major pre-game pep talk. “Great moments are born from great opportunities, Manderley, and that is what is being presented to you now. So, get out there and win-win-win.”

“I will reserve two loungers, grab a few things from my room, and meet you in the lobby.”

He rests his hand on the small of my back and we walk to the lobby. He pushes the elevator button, the doors slide open, and we step inside. My legs begin to tremble again as adrenaline rushes through my veins. In a few minutes, I will be lounging beside the most virile man I have ever met—and, I will be naked, except for a bit of silky fabric covering my lady parts.