Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
She woke with a start and realized to her surprise that long shadows were darkening the lake outside.
They’d arrived there early—she must have slept for hours and no one had disturbed her.
The house was silent except for the quiet lap of the water outside, and she wondered if they had left her alone again.
Leaving Bellagio would be a great deal easier than a farmhouse deep in the countryside, and for a brief moment, she considered it. And then she went in search of food.
Despite its rundown condition, the villa was spotlessly clean, and the rustic kitchen came equipped with a modern, industrial-size refrigerator-freezer full of food.
Chloe opened it and her knees went weak.
There were cans of Diet Coke on the top shelf.
Her latest addiction was Coke Zero, but Diet Coke was close enough and she grabbed a can and opened it.
The first drink brought tears to her eyes, and she wanted to curse.
Crying over a can of Coke was absurd. But it was everything her old life had been, a tiny piece of everything she was in danger of losing.
She blinked the tears away—she could just imagine Bastien’s reaction if he caught her weeping over a can of soda.
Draining the slender can, she dove back into the refrigerator to examine its contents, discovering a tray of lasagne, a pot of red sauce, and a half dozen cheeses.
She glanced over at the counter and found a neat pile of those croissant-like pastries under a glass dome.
Apparently, the housekeeping that came with the house included food, and she accepted that fact with mixed emotions.
She’d actually taken some pleasure from feeding Bastien at the old farmhouse.
She would have nothing to do in this run-down villa but wait and worry.
She took a pastry and headed into the broad living room, feeling defiant.
The room was shadowy in the later afternoon sun, dust motes rising like an invisible snowstorm, and Luc sat sprawled in one of the overstuffed chairs while Bastien stood by the French doors, looking out over the lake.
He didn’t turn when she walked in the room.
“Found yourself something to eat?” Luc greeted her cheerfully.
“The place is very well-stocked. They left lasagne for dinner. And Diet Coke.”
“That must make you feel right at home,” Bastien said without turning from his perusal of the lake, and she wondered whether the lake had something to do with his job.
She couldn’t imagine what they were doing, lounging around.
Up till then, they’d been busy during the day, followed by their poker games at night.
They probably couldn’t play poker with only two of them, she thought, and for a brief moment, she wondered if they’d buried Flambeau out there or left it to the fairy godmother who had provided the farmhouse in the first place. She didn’t want to know.
She would have asked them what they were doing, but she knew she’d simply be rebuffed, so she went over to the shabby sofa and sat, waiting, waiting for whatever they seemed to be waiting for.
There were books on the coffee table, photography books about Lake Como, and she picked up one heavy tome, glancing through it, losing herself in the dreamy pictures of what lay just beyond the doors, acutely aware of Bastien.
He moved away from the view, settling himself in one of the deep chairs, but she refused to look up from her spot on the sofa. Didn’t look up even when she felt his eyes on her.
What was he thinking about, watching her in the shadowy room with the reflection of the water dancing on the painted ceiling? Was he regretting his plans to sleep alone? Was he rethinking his use for her? Was he planning to kill her?
She looked up and met his eyes, and she didn’t look away.
Neither did he. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment.
She could almost convince herself he wasn’t really Bastien—it had been so many years since she’d seen that stark, cold expression on her husband’s face.
Life would be a great deal simpler—she would have managed to get away days ago.
In fact, they never would have caught her in the first place—Bastien had taught her better than that.
But she’d been so desperate to find him that she’d allowed herself to drop her defenses and ended up a hostage.
What would he do if she got up, walked across the room and slapped him across his beautiful face, saying “You’re my husband, damn you. Get over it!”
He’d probably shoot her.
He looked away then, as if she were of no more interest than a piece of furniture, and she resisted the impulse to growl in frustration, returning to the book and the photographs of Villa Foscarelli at the head of the inlet.
She could see it from the windows—a massive, beautiful villa with world-famous gardens, and she wondered if she would have a chance to visit it.
She had to remind herself that she wasn’t there for sight-seeing, but something more ominous.
She gave a little shiver and realized he was watching her again.
He probably knew what she was thinking, but this time, she refused to meet his gaze.
She heard the noise—the rumbly sound of what must be a sports car over the quiet lap of the water, and she sat up, closing the book. “Someone’s here,” she said, but neither Luc nor Bastien moved.
There was no missing the sound high heels made on the stone terrace, and a moment later, a woman appeared in the door, carrying a garment bag over her arm.
Chloe caught her breath. She was probably the most beautiful woman she had ever seen—a cloud of black hair fell to her shoulders, her eyes were huge and smoky-looking, and her lipsticked-mouth was ripe and full.
She wore designer clothes—of course she did—and those beautiful eyes raked over her before settling on what she was looking for. Bastien, of course.
“Darling!” she cried, flinging the garment bag on the floor and advancing on Bastien. Neither he nor Luc had moved, though she felt the sudden tension in the air. The woman threw herself at Bastien, landing in his lap with both arms around his neck as she put that ripe red mouth against his.
She would have hoped Bastien would dump the woman off him, but instead, he kissed her back, with a lazy competence that caused her stomach to ache. The woman took one hand down from his neck and put it between his legs, and Chloe emitted a small, choked sound.
No one heard it. The kiss went on forever and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from them. At the last minute, she turned away, unable to watch any more, and caught Luc’s eyes. He was looking at her with pity, and she wanted to cry out.
Finally, the couple surfaced, and her eyes were reluctantly drawn back to them. The woman looked both satisfied and slightly dazed. Bastien was cool and unmoved, and some of Chloe’s pain lessened.
He made no move to dump the bitch from off his lap. “What are you doing here, Maddelena?” he demanded with the chill of a man who hadn’t just been kissing her.
“Can’t a wife visit her husband?” she cooed. “I’ve missed you, Jean-Marc!”
She would not throw up, Chloe told herself, the book lying forgotten in her lap.
“I’ve told you not to bother me at work,” he said, and Chloe didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.
“This is work, caro. I’ve brought a dress for your little plaything.” At that, the woman looked over at Chloe with a condescending smirk. “She doesn’t seem your type.”
“She’ll do,” Bastien said graciously, and she wanted to stab him. And the woman. And Luc as well, just for good measure. She kept her face blank.
“She’s barely going to fill out the dress I brought.”
“That’s your mistake then. I’d already made arrangements for something.”
“Of course you have,” she cooed. “But I wanted to see you.”
“Go home, Maddelena,” he said, finally dumping her off his lap. “We’re busy here.”
To Chloe’s regret, the woman didn’t land on her ass—she scrambled off him with unexpected grace. “It’s too late to go back this afternoon. I’ll leave tomorrow. After we spend the night together.”
He didn’t move. “I already have a woman in my bed,” he said repressively, not even glancing at Chloe.
“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had two,” Maddelena cooed, her smoky eyes surveying Chloe. “I don’t mind.”
“I do.” To Chloe’s absolute horror, he crossed the room to her, catching her limp hand and dragging her to her feet. Before she could figure out what he intended, his mouth was on hers, and he’d plastered her body against his.
Part of her cried out at the feel of him. So familiar and yet so strange, and she stood still and unmoving in his arms as he kissed her with the same cold expertise he’d shown his so-called wife.
“She doesn’t seem that enthusiastic,” Maddelena drawled.
Bastien lifted his head. “Unlike you, she doesn’t like an audience.”
“That’s no fun. If you won’t fuck me, I thought I could at least watch.”
“She’s shy.” He kept his arm around her, plastering her to his side, and she was torn by the temptation to shove him away and her desire to best this woman. She didn’t move.
Maddelena shook her head, her cloud of dark hair flowing around her shoulders. “You’ve been on this job too long. I’ll go back in the morning. In the meantime, this run-down place must at least have one extra bedroom. Or I could always sleep with Luc.”
The expression on Luc’s face was comically horrified.
“There’s an extra room,” he managed without a stammer.
He rose from the chair where he’d been observing the whole thing.
It was a Noel Coward drawing-room comedy crossed with Martin Scorcese, and Chloe wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry.
“Suit yourself,” Bastien said. “You’ll have to make yourself at home—it’s time for our afternoon siesta.”
Maddelena pouted those puffy lips. “That’s hardly being a good host, caro.”
“You aren’t wanted,” he said with brutal finality.