Chapter 28
Lucien
I retired to my bedroom below deck, breathing heavily. Through the sweeping window, I watched as the smaller boat carried Caroline Fairfax back to the island.
Back to Harrison Blackstone.
Only when the boat was making the return journey to my yacht did I tear my gaze from the island. My heart was still pounding against my ribs as I brushed my teeth and got in bed.
This was unlike me.
I was a man of fine tastes. I indulged in wonderful foods, expensive wine—and women. The latter was my favorite vice, and my greatest weakness. I loved every woman I was ever with, in my own way. And I rarely said no.
Why deny myself the most wonderful pleasures in life?
I had thought about Caroline, and nothing but Caroline, since meeting her in Paris. It had become an obsession. That was the reason I had diverted my yacht here. Not to frustrate Harrison or flaunt my presence to the guests at his party.
It was for Caroline.
I never expected her to try to kiss me.
Every ounce of my soul wanted to kiss her back. To wrap my arms around her and hold her close as we surrendered to our primal urges.
But a woman like Caroline was not some meal to be devoured as quickly as possible. She was a Michelin star meal. She deserved to be savored.
I knew I needed to take my time. To make sure this was what both of us wanted.
A knock came at my door. My valet stuck his head in a moment later. “Vivian has inquired about your presence here,” he said in French. “She saw the yacht and would like to know if you are interested in drinks tonight.”
Vivian was a supermodel who had leveraged her relationship with another rich man into her own line of cosmetics. I had not realized she was one of Harrison’s guests on the island.
“Send the boat for her,” I replied.
I changed back into proper attire and met her on the lounging deck.
Vivian was an undeniably beautiful woman, all cheekbones and cleavage and legs that were made to stride down a catwalk in expensive silk.
She kissed me on the lips in greeting before pouring herself a glass of wine from the freshly-opened bottle.
But my heart did not desire her tonight. Not even when she ran her foot up my leg, and batted her eyelashes at me, while pursing her lips in that way that normally drove men mad with desire.
After a respectable amount of time, I told her I was not feeling well. Several apologies later, she was on the boat returning to the island.
“Send her a bottle of the Gamay,” I told my valet. “With a hand-written note reiterating my apologies.”
“Of course.”
As I retired to my bedroom, I caught the scent of something that stirred my soul. It was the shirt I had worn at dinner tonight, hanging on a hook next to the closet. I pressed my nose against the fabric and inhaled deeply.
Caroline’s perfume. It still lingered after we embraced.
Sighing, I turned out the lights and got in bed. Patience was not always a virtue for me. I was, famously, an impulsive man.
But a woman like Caroline?
She was worth waiting for.