Chapter 10
Ten
ELLIS
“The project is considerably more extensive than we were led to believe. Monsieur Perdue was something of a hoarder, I’m afraid. A significant number of the books are all-but worthless, but they’re pushed in beside rare editions. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It’s as if he was collecting them for the sake of it.”
The Weston University board of directors stare back at me from my computer screen, each in their own respective box, often framed by what looks like an oak paneled study behind them. On the far right is a frowning President Sutton. She leans forward slightly, and even with three thousand miles between us, I get the sense that this woman is seeing far more than I’d like her to. “When you say valuable,” she says, “do you believe the books you’ve seen so far are worth enough to justify your salary, and the salary of your temporary replacement at Montgomery?”
“Ah,” I scratch my chin, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. “Madam President, this morning I found four books worth at least ten thousand US dollars. Each.” This statement is greeted by stunned silence, so I hurry on. “I think it’s safe to say there are millions of dollars in rare books in this house. I’ve already contacted several appraisal experts to examine some of them to verify my preliminary findings, but I’m confident that I’m in the right ballpark in terms of value.”
There’s no mistaking the excited, hungry glint in the eyes of the board. The only one among them who doesn’t appear pleased is President Sutton. Is it because this news could very well mean her daughter will be gone longer? “Thank you for your work on this, Mr. Delvaux. Please keep us updated on your findings.” She shuffles some papers on the desk in front of her, lips pursed.
“I will,” I agree, and with a flurry of pleasantries, I sign off.
Leaning back in the kitchen chair where I took the call, I find myself grinning. Finally, at long last, my life seems to be moving in the right direction—a positive direction. My work is fascinating, challenging and valuable to the university. As far as I’m aware, I’m the only French-speaking member of the library staff, and my progress won’t be slowed down by procurement of a work visa thanks to my citizenship status. They need me, and the knowledge that my job is safe lifts a heavy weight from my back.
Not only is work going well, but Zoe is thriving. I didn’t expect it. Truthfully, I anticipated that the sudden, brutal upheaval of her routine would be catastrophic. Even after Josephine assured me that she would be coming along, there were a few sleepless nights, considering what I would do if the job was just too much for her to handle. My mother lives only a few hours from here, but she is diabetic and tires easily. While she could probably handle a few days with her granddaughter here and there, it wouldn’t be a long-term solution.
Now, just over a week and a half in, it’s becoming clear that I won’t need one.
Zoe is sleeping better, eating better, and I can’t remember the last time we went so many consecutive days without a meltdown. Perhaps she’s picked up on the uptick in my mood, or—more likely—I have Josephine to thank. The woman is endlessly patient, and seems to have taken it upon herself to involve my daughter in virtually every part of her day, from watering the vegetable seeds they planted in the garden to cooking dinner.
Instead of being dragged between school, a hodge podge of babysitters, the library and therapies, my girl finally has a chance to slow down a little. She spends her days exploring the chateau grounds, playing in the stream, walking into the village and doing school lessons on a blanket beneath the great oak tree out back. She’s happy and now, all I need to worry about is what I’ll do when we need to return to reality.
That time is a long way off, though, and I’m permitting myself a brief break from worrying.
Thanks to the time difference, this meeting with the board fell right at Zoe’s usual bedtime. When I hesitantly asked Josephine if she would be willing to handle the nightly routine, she’d only smiled and turned to Zoe, cheerfully asking if that was okay with her. Zoe had brightened, bobbing her head, and judging by the lack of screaming I heard from the upper floors, everything worked out.
Now, it’s not even eight o’clock, and I still have the energy to do more than heat up a microwave meal, shovel it down my throat and pass out on the couch. I’m tempted to find a book or watch one of the three dozen or so tv-shows my colleagues have recommended. Or, better yet, I could knock on Josephine’s door and offer her a game of chess or—I stop the thought in its tracks, embarrassed by my own train of thought. I’m desperately attracted to the woman, and my first thought is to invite her to play chess with me? Good god, have I been single for that long?
Instead of all that, I pick up my phone. While relaxation of any kind sounds appealing, I clearly have some energy to burn off.
Ellis: Did she go down alright?
Josephine: We played tag in the garden after teeth brushing and I had to carry her up haha. There were some half-asleep mumbled requests for Papa, but other than that, no complaints.
Ellis: Thank you so much. I promise I won’t make a habit of asking you to work during your off time. Since she’s down, would you mind if I go for a run? I won’t be out long.
Hopefully. If the sudden attempt to take care of myself doesn’t result in a heart attack.
Josephine: NP! I’m just reading. Watch out for Sean.
Ellis: Sean?
Josephine: The white rooster from the farm across the street. Total dick.
Chuckling, I jog up to my bedroom, pausing only to poke my head in to check on Zoe. Packing my running shoes was awfully optimistic of me, but now I’m glad I did, even if I’m dreading what is about to occur. Considering how long it’s been since I went out of my way to do any kind of exercise, this won’t be pretty.
If the rapid increase of gray in my hair is any indication, I’m not getting any younger, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt to lose a few pounds. The unexpected urge has nothing to do with the beautiful woman living just one room over from mine. If my first thought was to ask her to play chess with me, I’m sure that impressing Josephine would take a great deal more than improving my cardiovascular health.
Just as I promised myself before leaving Connecticut, I’ve been trying my best not to think about our night together. As much as I’d like to, however, I just can’t shake it. Memories keep intruding on everyday moments… I’ve never had such trouble controlling my thoughts.
Meanwhile, Josephine seems to be having no trouble at all putting the whole thing behind her. Now that she’s seen first-hand what a mess my life is and the mountain of baggage I would bring with me into any relationship, surely she’s lost any interest she once had. What twenty-two-year-old would sign up for a graying librarian and his stubborn daughter?
Enough is enough. I’m driving myself mad, and I need to find a way to get over this fixation. I change quickly and head back out, careful not to look at the crack beneath Josephine’s door, or strain my hearing as I pass. How she’s spending her night is none of my business.
I’m resolved to at least make it to the end of the dirt road leading to the chateau, but, as I expected, running is a special kind of torture. By the time I reach the gates, my lungs are aching and the muscles in my legs protest every step. I have to slow to a walk twice, but I manage the goal I set for myself—if one counts doubling over and gasping for breath on the side of the road as managing the goal. When I finally make it back, the last traces of sunset are vanishing behind the forest, and the back of my t-shirt is sticky with sweat.
I pause only to down a glass of water in the kitchen before limping upstairs, silently cursing the dust covered treadmill in the garage of my house in Connecticut. Would it have killed me to use it more than twice ?
Forgetting my earlier resolution, my eyes are drawn, as if magnetized, to the bottom of Josephine’s door. It’s dark, and I’m gripped by an irrational twinge of disappointment. Of course she’s asleep after chasing Zoe around all day, and even if she weren’t, the balcony has been empty every night since our first here. If the fact I’d noticed at all isn’t proof of my obsession with this woman, I don’t know what is.
As I shoulder the door closed behind me, I strip off my damp t-shirt, cursing the stifling heat in my room.
The balcony being occupied doesn’t even occur to me as I throw open the door, and my heart jolts when I catch sight of a pair of bare feet propped up on the stone railing.
My heartbeat had only just begun to slow, and now it’s hammering against my ribcage just as hard as it was a few minutes ago.
“Sorry.” I grimace, stepping outside, acutely aware of my lack of shirt and cursing myself for my lack of caution.
Josephine is seated in one of the old metal chairs, a lamp balanced in the open window frame and a book in her hands. She’s dressed in the same oversized t-shirt I saw her in the other night.
It’s so large it falls to her mid-thigh, and I feel a sick, twist of jealousy. Where did it come from? An old boyfriend? It has to be. Surely I’m not the only man on the planet twisted in knots over Josephine Sutton. Hell, she’s been going into the village with Zoe every day now, so I’m probably not even the only man in a five-mile radius.
If another man turned up at the chateau’s door to take her away… Jesus Christ . I’m not sure what I’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Ellis! Hi!” She shoves the book into the chair beside her, cheeks much pinker than usual as she looks anywhere but at me, panic rolling off her in waves.
She’s not the only one.
Seeing her like this, as though she just crawled out of bed—or is about to crawl into bed—is more than a little affecting . Ten minutes ago I was close to dry heaving, and now, just imagining myself peeling that shirt up to expose the rest of her creamy thighs is enough to make my cock throb viciously. All I can think about is laying my stunning, off-limits nanny over my bed and worshiping her until the sun comes up.
I’ve had weeks to come up with a long list of things I would do to her if given the opportunity.
“Um. Good run?”
“Very,” I lie, praying I don’t still sound winded.
God. I’m wearing thin gray running shorts, and my cock is all-but tenting them. How have I stepped back in time to coming up with creative ways to hide my erections? Pretending to be interested in the moonlit gardens, I move casually to the marble railing, willing my body to calm down.
I clear my throat, searching for something to say, and my eyes land on the book she’s shoved into the chair beside her. “Good book?”
“Very!” Her voice is an octave higher than usual. “Awesome. Fabulous. Super… Super good.”
I look over at her grinning, careful to keep my lower half turned toward the railing. “What an excellent selection of synonyms. I’ll have to check it out.”
Her answering smile is coy. “You’re awfully cheeky for a man who couldn’t remember the word for measuring cup this morning.”
“I remembered it in French!” I object with a laugh. In some far corner of my mind, I know I should go back in. Just an hour ago, I was determined to move past this infatuation, and now I’m standing with her under the stars, shirtless. It’s an unnecessary temptation. Why am I doing this to myself and, more importantly; how is it possible I’m more attracted to her now than the night we met?
Josephine’s eyes are sparkling as she stands, stretching. “That’s a big help to the English-speaking women you live with.”
It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to stop myself from looking at her bare legs. Unfortunately, while my attention is focused on my eyes, my mouth takes liberties of its own. “I did promise to teach you,” I say, bracing my forearms on the rail. “We can start with cooking implements.”
“Practical, in this household.” She giggles, teeth catching on her plump bottom lip.
The night gets heavier as quiet stretches a beat too long between us. Jo clears her throat, stepping backwards toward her open door. “Well, I should say goodnight.”
“Yes,” I agree unnecessarily, bobbing my head like an idiot. “Goodnight.”
As she slips into her room, closing the door behind her, my eyes fall to the book she wedged beside the faded cushion of the lounge chair. Curiosity getting the better of me, I cross to pick it up, my eyebrows lifting at the unfamiliar cover.
I open it to the page her bookmark is on.
“Oh god,” I cry, the aftershocks of my orgasm still surging through my body as he pulls out and flips me over, reentering me with a low groan of pleasure. He's so handsome that just looking at him steals my breath all over again, and I reach up to grab his tux, dragging him down to kiss me greedily.
Three days ago, I’d never had an orgasm, and now I’m naked beneath a fully dressed, much older man, my pussy stretched around his thick cock.
“You like it when Daddy takes you rough, don’t you, sweetheart? Like feeling me use your little hole?” Judah growls in my ear, his pace faltering slightly when I clench the muscles of my sex to make myself tighter for him. “Tell me.”
“Good book, Ellis?”
I was so absorbed in what I was reading, caught somewhere between being turned on and shocked, that I didn’t notice Josephine reemerging from her room. At the sound of her voice, I jump, letting the paperback flip closed.
Merde.
“I’m sorry.” It’s not true, but I should be sorry. As soon as I saw the cover, I knew what kind of book this was, and I opened it anyway.
Josephine moves forward to snatch it out of my hands. “You can read it after I’m done, if you want,” she says cooly.
“I think I know how it ends,” I reply with an uncomfortable chuckle, rubbing my stubble absent mindedly. “I really am sorry. It was none of my business.”
Josephine gazes at me for a moment, then gives a little nod, her expression softening. “It’s fine. You probably didn’t expect—” She lets out an uncomfortable little laugh, her cheeks glowing pink in the light from her window. Seeming to shake herself, she looks up at me again, smiling valiantly through the embarrassment. “Okay. Well. I really should get to bed. There are strawberries in the field, and I told Zoe we can pick them tomorrow and make jam.”
My chest warms. “You know how to make jam?”
She snorts. “God, no. Google always knows. I mean, probably. At least, that’s what Google wants us to think.”
A summer breeze raises goosebumps on my skin and catches the ends of Josephine’s hair. I swallow, and I know the way I’m staring at her is a little too intense for the circumstances. “There are some recipe books in the library. If you stop by tomorrow, I’ll help you find one that’s helpful.” I eye the book under her arm, filled with a new type of curiosity.
Is that what turns her on?
Does she hold a vibrator in one hand and the book in the other, making herself come to the words on the page? I shouldn’t be thinking like this, but I have a habit of being weak where this woman is concerned and— damn me —the possibility alone is ruinous enough.
When she rode my cock in the back seat of my car, did she want to call me daddy?
Josephine pauses in the doorway, obviously regaining some of her composure, and the warm summer night seems to grow hotter. “Will I need a library card to check that out, Monsieur Delvaux?”
It’s as if all the air has been sucked from my lungs, leaving me lightheaded and off kilter. She’s flirting with me. For a moment, I allow myself to succumb to the fantasy, imagining crossing the distance between us, fisting the curtain of dark curls and kissing her until neither of us can breathe. I could walk her backward into my room, pull that damned t-shirt away and see her properly.
Never in my life have I wanted anything more.
“I can make an exception,” I say at last, and the corners of her lips curl in a pleased little smile. By now, I’ve been looking—staring—at her for far too long, but I can’t help myself.
Neither of us moves.
Something is happening here, but pausing to examine it seems akin to poking a sleeping beast. It might be fine, or it might awake with a vengeance and destroy everything in its path. Until now, I didn’t allow myself to hope that I wasn’t alone in this. Just as it did that faithful night we met, her wanting me has seemed far too good to be true.
Here we are, though. Thousands of miles away from where we started, wanting each other .
“I should go in and shower,” I croak, praying it’s too shadowy for her to tell how goddamn hard she’s made me.
Jo nods hurriedly, already turning back toward her room. “Goodnight, Ellis.”
It’s not until the door has closed behind her for a second time that I manage to speak. “Goodnight, Josephine.”