3. Iris
3
IRIS
S kipping down the terrace steps, I headed back into the garden. I had a rare reason to visit the house. Thierry asked me to take some old bottles of wine to the kitchen. I’d dropped them off and was returning to the winery with my tail between my legs.
Agnes and I crossed paths in the kitchen and may have had a little run-in. A little spat. I’m sure she was a perfectly lovely person in the right circumstances, but today, she’d been out and out mean. Irrational, even.
She accused me of squeaking! On the flagstone floors. I mean, how did I know Crocs and sandstone didn’t mix? It wasn’t as if I’d left pink marks behind, but she’d asked me to remove my shoes when I was in the house. At least walking barefoot on the cool stone floors had helped deflate my ankles. Shifting boxes for Thierry in the heat of the day was playing havoc with my circulation.
When I stepped onto the sponge-like lawn, the searing sun hit me like a freight train. Would this relentless weather ever stop? Apparently, medieval builders didn’t believe in air conditioning. Even the warriors in the Garden of Girth looked a little on the wilted side this afternoon. Like they were flying at half-mast.
I headed towards the path to the winery, but as I crossed the lawn, something caught my attention. Like the red seas parting for Moses or the pearly gates opening for a new arrival, the blue sparkle of the pool appeared between two ornamental hedges. I stopped, mesmerised by the sun bouncing off the undulating water.
I glanced around. There was nobody in sight. The only sounds were the gentle lap of the water, the buzz of insects, and the thump of my pulse. A bead of sweat made its way between my shoulder blades. I could feel the chill of the water already.
I tugged at my bottom lip with my teeth. I wasn’t supposed to be near the swimming pool. When we’d arrived, Agnes delivered a stiff warning to stay out of the water at all costs. Maybe we’d looked in need of a good wash or like rampant skinny dippers, but there’d been no escaping the menace in her tone. If she caught us in the pool, we could expect immediate and severe consequences.
I should leave. Head back to the winery courtyard and douse myself under the ancient hand pump. Even a trickle of water would take the edge off. But as my pulse beat thickly, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the hint of sparkling oasis that lay on the other side of the bushes.
“Agnes, you were joking, right?” I whispered. I didn’t know who I was talking to, but something inside me wanted to break the silence. If I took a quick dip, a micro-swim, just long enough to cool my body, she’d never know. I licked the salty taste of perspiration from my top lip.
“Stuff it,” I breathed. I’d have to go in my undies, but I was all alone, apart from a garden full of chiselled, silent statues. Who would see?
Changing direction, without a squeak, I followed the hedge to the shade of an umbrella pine. I kicked off my Crocs before pulling my sundress over my head. I smiled, running my eyes over my bra and panties. Not too racy, not too pretty, and not too utilitarian. Just the thing for a forbidden swim. And these knickers had no holes. After six months on the road, I had a few pairs that resembled colanders.
I pulled in a breath. Okay, I was really doing this. I was about to dive into a billionaire’s personal pool and cross “illicit underwear swimming” off my bucket list. Throwing my dress onto a sun lounger, I took one last step forward before lifting my hands over my head and launching into the deep end.
The second I hit the water my body calmed. Calmed, cooled, and why the hell hadn’t I done this earlier? Crisp, refreshing fingers of glorious H2O wrapped around my skin. After gliding along the bottom, I surfaced before flipping onto my back and drifting towards the shallow end.
I counted sixty seconds. One minute was all I dared give myself in paradise. Once my time was up, I stood and moved to the side of the pool, at the shallow end. The cool water tickled my waist, and I giggled before pulling my hair over my shoulder and wringing it out.
A distant bark hit my ears, but I paid little notice. I’d heard it a hundred times before. The gardener always had a dog with him. Instead, I studied the crystal-clear sky, sculling my hands gently and making patterns in the water. Out of nowhere, though, a prickling sprung at the back of my neck, like gentle fingertips travelling across my nape.
I barely contained a shiver before the feeling grew. But this time, it wasn’t gentle fingers stroking at my neck–more like a marauding horde of elephants trampling along my vertebrae. And then a throat cleared behind me, the sound husky and soft.
Blinking water out of my eyes, I squinted into the light. A tall, dark-haired man leaned against the gnarled trunk of the umbrella pine. His white shirt sleeves were loosely rolled up at his elbows, and his bronzed forearms were firmly crossed against his chest. Dark glasses hid his eyes, but the tight line of his lips and the scowl on his brow left me in no doubt he was furious.
“Qui es-tu? Who are you?”
The man spoke in a deep, almost menacing tone, and my heartbeat ticked up to a gallop. Holy crap. Was he security? He wasn’t wearing an earpiece, and I hadn’t seen him surveying the perimeter before, but an estate like this had to have some sort of guard. Yes, he had to be security.
The man repeated his question. “I asked who you were.” He shifted away from the tree trunk, but his arms remained well and truly folded, like a barricade.
What could I say? “I’m just a sweaty backpacker looking to cool off” didn’t sound very impressive. Maybe I could pass myself off as a pool cleaner. Except with this family’s money, the pool cleaners probably wore Chanel suits and carried handbags.
The man was almost to the edge of the pool now, and I still hadn’t uttered a word. He stopped, and I stared at his smart black shoes, which reached my eye level.
“I’ll ask you one last time. Who are you?” His words were softer now but no less laden with suspicion. His thick French accent rolled over me like a tropical wave.
“I work here,” I said.
One of his brows crept higher. “I see. Does Ms. Duval allow you to swim in the pool?”
I grimaced and shrugged, waving my arms around, sending splashes of water onto his shoes. “Well, sometimes. I was checking for… umm… she asked me to…” I dropped my voice. “No. She doesn’t.”
He nodded slowly, his brows closing tighter together. “I thought not.”
“I’m so sorry. I really am,” I stammered. “I’ll get dressed and leave. I promise not to swim here again and never in my underwear.”
At my words, I swore one corner of his mouth trembled a little. Damn those dark glasses. I wished I could see the eyes behind them.
“Allow me to assist.” His hint of a smirk disappeared, and the man leaned down and picked up my dress, as if it were on fire. He held it out to me, like an order to exit the water as soon as possible.
I sucked in a huge breath, clamping my arms across my chest as I climbed the steps out of the pool. The man turned his head away, offering me the dignity that I’d plainly rejected up to this point. I reached to take the dress, but a flurry of barks startled me, and a white, outsized hound came bounding around the corner of the hedge.
I’d seen the Great Dane before with the gardeners, but he’d been under control. Right now, he was charging towards the two of us like a toddler whose parents left them in charge of a cotton candy truck. Crazed. He romped towards us at freight-train speed, his long pink tongue lolloping out one side of his mouth.
I backed away. I liked dogs, but not when they looked as if they could devour me whole. The animal was almost on top of me. He made a grab for my dress at the same time I did. His jaws clamped around one end, and my hand fisted the other. Mister grumpy-security-guard let go. Instead, he gripped the dog’s thick leather collar, pulling him back. But even Thor would’ve had trouble keeping this beast under control. He was bucking and tugging at my dress as if this was the best way he could dream of spending a Thursday afternoon.
“Give it back,” I squealed. But at my renewed yanking, the dog pulled even harder.
“Apollo!” the man growled. Like, literally growled, as he tried to rein the beast in. I almost looked up to check he hadn’t shape-shifted into a wolf, but with the pool water still dripping from my body, I had other, more slippery, concerns. I stood on the grass now, with a muddy quagmire forming at my feet.
“Stop!” Would it be inappropriate to swear?
“Apollo,” the man growled again, this time a little louder. Stronger. But the dog was still living his best life with his teeth clamped around what was probably my smartest dress. The size of his head rivalled a family car, and I swore I could hear the fabric ripping with every jerk of his slobbering mouth.
Maintaining my footing grew harder by the second. “Give it BACK!” I yelled, putting all my weight into giving my dress one last heave.
With a lurch, the dog gave up on his game and his grip loosened. I swear a triumphant grin crossed my face for a millisecond. But just as fast, I lost traction on the slippery grass, and I fell through the air, heading straight back into the pool.The last thing I heard before I hit the water was a bark of delight. The last thing I saw was the shape of both the dog and the guard coming in after me.
I surfaced first, gasping for air. Why hadn’t the man let go before he fell? He would have found it impossible to contain the woolly-mammoth-sized animal in his grip.
The dog’s paws flailed too close to my face for comfort as it splashed around, barking at the top of its lungs. The security guard came up seconds later, his luxurious dark hair completely plastered over his face and his sunglasses hanging off one ear. I fought to contain a tug at the corners of my lips. How the mighty had fallen. But then he opened his eyes and looked at me.
I swallowed. They were a startling blue, fringed by thick dark lashes rivalling a cow. I stood transfixed for the longest beat, but then the dog threatened to push the man under again, so I waded over and pulled the wildebeest away. I held his collar as he circled his paws like a paddle boat .
My actions gave the man the chance to brush his hair back from his face and remove his sunglasses. He pushed them onto the top of his head before he took the dog by its collar and waded over to the steps.
“Merci,” he threw over his shoulder, guiding the dog out of the pool. Water saturated his clothes, and his shirt clung to his shoulder blades as he moved. Its translucency highlighted his slim waist, and his black trousers gripped an impressively high bottom. I swear I licked my lips.
He didn’t say another word. Didn’t even look at me. Perhaps he was struggling to breathe. I could offer CPR. Mouth to mouth. I mean, his lips looked entirely kissable. It wouldn’t be a hardship.
When the dog reached the top of the stairs, it paused, before steadying himself and shaking the excess water from its body. The man and I both took cover behind our hands. Considering how wet we already got, why bother?
Crimson infused the man’s face, and he clamped his jaw tight. He mumbled something that sounded a lot like curse words from behind his fingers, and I couldn’t help but let out a giggle. He looked so cross, so bedraggled. Who wouldn’t find the situation funny?
He turned back, his blue eyes finding me, before a scowl crept across his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” I said, offering a sheepish grin. Without a word or a smile of his own, he stretched his arm down to me, offering me his hand like a lifesaver. His soft, warm palm bore no grape-picking calluses, and it fitted around mine like a glove. He helped me up the stairs, avoiding my gaze. But man, those eyes. They sparkled like they had their own life force, their own battery pack to maintain their startling brilliance.
We stood together at the top of the steps, pulling in matching breaths. His hair curled down over his forehead, leaving trails of water on his golden skin. I raked my eyes over his firm, muscled chest. Impure thoughts crashed into my traitorous mind—thoughts of reaching out and tracing my fingers over the fabric of his shirt, wondering how his hard body would feel under my touch, how hot his skin would be.
I clamped my teeth onto my bottom lip, realising how few clothes I had on.
“Monsieur Du Comtois?” came a curt, female voice.
The man’s eyes widened before we turned to see Agnes standing, hands on hips, between the gap in the hedge. Her eyes swept over me like a lighthouse, taking in my state of undress. An icy dread seeped through my body. But it had nothing to do with Agnes’ pursed lips.
Monsieur Du Comtois? I swallowed. The man standing sopping wet next to me wasn’t a security guard at all. He was my boss. The abs-laden man Chloe had talked about. My mind flew back to the three grainy pictures she’d left pinned to our corkboard. I’d only given them a cursory glance, but the details checked out—dark glasses, casually slicked-back hair and deep scowl—holy freaking hell.
“Mademoiselle Hawthorne.” Agnes’ voice grated like steel against my eardrums. She spoke hurried words in French to our boss. I had no idea what she said, but her glower spoke volumes. She looked at me, her gaze raking from my shoeless feet to my dripping hair. Her eyes narrowed, and she gave the tiniest shake of her head.
“I am sorry, sir. I gave strict instructions to all staff that they are never to swim in the pool. This… this… girl has disobeyed the rules.”
She spoke in English now, obviously for my benefit. And what did she mean girl ? I was nudging thirty!
My boss nibbled his lower lip, and he looked at me askance. He gave me no “thank you for saving me from Cujo. All is forgiven.” Instead, he tipped his head to one side and raised his eyebrows .
A heaviness settled in my chest. Would he fire me? On the spot, probably. Let me go for being undressed, unnecessary and completely unaware of who he was. If I lost this job, I wouldn’t be able to pay off my debt to Nathan and get Stuart back.
His eyes roved over my face, and my cheeks burned under his tight-jawed consideration. He exuded the dark smoulder Chloe mentioned. I shifted from one foot to the other, willing him to take pity on a poor, innocent–well, mostly innocent–cat-mama. But even in the tree's shade, his glare burned hot enough to flay the skin from my bones.
After the longest beat, something less abrasive, even approaching warm, made its way through the hard flint of his stare. He gave a faint sigh. “It wasn’t her fault. I asked her to help me with something.”
“In her underwear?” Agnes asked, her voice higher than usual.
My heart skipped a beat. I still stood in my bra and knickers! I glanced around wildly. Scanning the pool for my pink sundress. It floated in the deep end, the pump mechanism chewing one of its straps.
I turned, fully intending to jump in and retrieve it, but Captain Smoulder pre-empted me. He cleared his throat, undoing his buttons. Heat coursed over my face. What the hell was going on? Was he about to strip? Go in again and rescue my dress? Take one for the team in the name of my modesty? I held my breath.
Instead of jumping into the pool, though, he shrugged off his wet shirt and handed it to me. “It’s not ideal, but take this.”
His bronzed chest glistened in the sun, and the lightest smattering of hair peppered his skin. I sucked in a slow breath. Wordlessly, and trying not to gape like a halfwit, I took the damp offering. He gave me the tiniest of nods before stalking to Agnes. I swear the old harridan blushed as he approached. The corners of my lips peaked. Wait until I told Chloe our nemesis had a crush on her boss.
When he reached Agnes, he stopped—glanced at his watch—and said something in French; something far too fast for me to understand.
Agnes shook her head. “Non.”
With the biggest scowl yet, he sighed and headed through the gap in the hedge, back towards the house. I glued my eyes to his back as he walked away, each muscle under his skin moving in glorious synchronisation. I shook my head to dislodge my thoughts and fed my arms into his shirt. Even damp, the cotton slipped easily over my skin. It probably cost a bomb. I hugged the fabric around my body, and a hint of his scent crept into my nose. Spicy and warm. I smiled. If nothing else, my smouldering, grumpy boss had great taste in cologne.