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Curiosity flickered across the housekeeper’s broad face, but she simply dipped her head. “Very good, M’sieur. If the young lady will come with me…”
The foyer was all tile and polished wood, with a high ceiling and a brushed-steel chandelier. It opened into a living room with wall-to-wall windows, that like the foyer, was built on clean, open lines, with glossy modern furniture and more brushed-steel fixtures. Cobalt vases stuffed with wildflowers—sky-blue cornflowers, cheerful daisies, ferns, Queen Anne’s lace—perched on the slim steel-and-wood tables.
Lougenia explained that the beach house was on a cliff, its main rooms in a straight line so that they all had a view of the ocean. “This is the upper level,” she said, leading me past the living room down a hallway a good twenty yards long. “There are four suites on this level. The kitchen is on the lower level along with the dining room. There’s a gym down there, too, and a more formal room for entertaining. Not that M’sieur Gabriel ever has anyone out here to entertain.”
“No?” I gazed around, head spinning. It was so big, and magazine-perfect.
“He doesn’t come here often. He bought the house three years ago and then…” She moved a sturdy shoulder in a shrug.
We passed two closed doors before stopping at a third. “This is your suite, and the master’s rooms are there.” She nodded at the closed door at the end of the hallway.
As we entered my rooms, I sucked in a breath. I’d half-expected a small, bare cell. This was anything but. It wasn’t a suite; it was an apartment, big and gorgeous, with white walls and a polished maple floor. The furniture was pure beach house: a large, comfortable-looking couch and chairs in a blue-and-white striped fabric.
“This is your bedroom.” Lougenia opened the door to a cozy-looking space with the bed set into a nook with sloped ceilings. This time, the colors were reversed, with the walls sky-blue and the bed made with an embroidered white coverlet and a mound of plump white pillows. The side facing the ocean had a large bay window with a window seat that invited you to curl up and dream.
“And the bathroom is here.” The housekeeper indicated an open door on the opposite side of the bedroom.
I poked my head inside. There was both a walk-in shower and a tub the size of a small pool. Fancy soaps and creams were arranged on a tray on the granite counter, and a small table held a large vase of sunflowers. I fingered a fluffy towel, feeling like I’d been plucked out of my real life—the one where I had to steal food to survive—and dropped into a fairy tale.
From the doorway, Lougenia’s smile was satisfied. “It will do, Mam’selle?”
“Oh, yes.” I beamed at her. “Thank you.”
She shrugged a beefy shoulder. “It’s as M’sieur requested. Now,” she said, bustling into the bathroom, “everything you need tonight is here.” She opened a linen closet to show all the supplies anyone could need for a month’s stay—brushes, toothpaste, shampoo, lotion, and so on.
“You’ll find a bathrobe in the bedroom closet,” she continued, “and if you give me your size, I’ll have your new clothes here by morning.” She cast the red dress a dubious look. “You’d like more dresses like that?”
I winced. “God, no. A pair of shorts and a couple of T-shirts are fine.” I glanced toward the dark bay window and the ocean I could hear beyond. “And a bathing suit, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course. The currents in the ocean here are too dangerous for swimming, but we have a pool on the grounds. What about shoes?” she asked as we returned to the living room.
“Sneakers, please, and maybe a pair of flipflops?” I gave her my sizes and she noted them on her phone. “Oh,” I said, “don’t forget underwear.”
Something made me turn my head. Gabriel stood in the open doorway, watching me through hooded green eyes.
My breath snagged.
My fairytale prince had arrived, and he was nothing like the stories we tell children.
“Thank you, Lougenia,” he said without taking his gaze from mine. “You can go to bed now. Mila won’t be needing you until the morning.”
The housekeeper nodded and headed for the door. Gabriel moved aside to let her pass, then put his hands on the door jamb, blocking me in the suite with him.
I moistened my lips. My stomach chose that moment to growl.
“Lougenia?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Bring Camila something to eat.”
“Very good, M’sieur. I’ll send it right up.”
Then she was gone, and I was alone with Gabriel. I took a few steps back. He shut the door and followed me, step by step, with that lean predator’s grace.
He drew a slow breath. “You’re afraid.” This time it wasn’t a question.
My hands gripped my skirt, inching it higher. His gaze flicked to the tear over my hip. When I glanced down, I saw skin and a scrap of the tiny satin panties they’d given me—black satin with little red hearts, like it was freaking Valentine’s Day.
“No,” I lied.
I adjusted the skirt, trying to cover myself, but instead, I somehow made the tear even larger. If I kept this up, I’d be standing before him wearing nothing but a few tattered scraps.
