The Hotel Riviera(38)

He caught my chin and planted a kiss firmly on my bruised mouth. And then he was gone.

And I had a big smile on my face.





Chapter 33




With the dream of last night’s lovemaking in my head, I was excited as a girl at her first prom. Tonight, everything must be perfect, including myself.

I rechecked the table I’d checked at least ten times before, I smoothed the linen cloth and refolded the napkins, feeling them between thumb and finger to make sure they were crisp. I adjusted the position of the plates, fussed over the silverware, and gave an extra polish to the bubbled green glass goblets. I fiddled with the bunch of white daisies, then, dissatisfied, hurried back to the kitchen and changed the crystal vase for a squat yellow jug. My fingers itched to light the candles but it was too early, and instead I rushed around redistributing lily-scented candles on the stone fireplace and floating votives in bowls of water on the coffee table.

It was all as ready as it could be, I decided, as I ran back up the path to the kitchen.

The restaurant was closed and the staff had the night off. The kitchen was all mine and I twirled, surveying “my home.”



It was still my home, and I wasn’t going to think about all the worries and problems. Tonight was “tonight” and my love, Jack Farrar, was coming to dinner.

I piled everything for our d?ner-à-deux into containers, took them back to the cottage, and set the food out on the counter ready to serve.

Then I ran a bath, flinging in perfumed oils with abandon, lying there with the water up to my neck, thinking lascivious thoughts about my Naked Man that I told myself if I were a “lady” I should certainly not be thinking. So I pulled out the plug, turned the shower onto cold, and stood under it as long as I could bear.

Now I was freezing, I even had goose pimples. I toweled my hair, shook it free to dry; then lotion, powder, and the Tendre Poison scent.

I hurried into the bedroom to dress, and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I stopped and took a long, severe look. Tan lines and goose bumps notwithstanding, I thought there was a kind of glow about me tonight. I lingered over my reflected image, running my hands over my breasts, still high and firm; then over my belly—a little too curved and a touch Rubenesque, but hey, I’m a chef; then along the length of my thighs—firm and muscular because I’m on my feet all day. Somehow my fingers managed to tangle in the bush between my legs—it’s redder than the hair on my head and almost qualifies me as a true redhead. I stared at myself in the mirror, pink-cheeked, red-haired, and glowing like the votives I had so carefully arranged, and felt last night’s thrill all over again.

I took a deep breath and turned guiltily away, tugging on my underwear—lace of course, but a bikini not a thong, which I’ve never been able to get accustomed to. And cream, not black, because I think black seems to say, hey, here I am, ready and waiting and all yours. Even though I was, I didn’t want to advertise it. The matching bra felt like a whisper against my skin, and I heaved a deep sigh of pure pleasure. Was that just great sex? Or was I falling for him? Who knew? Right now, all I knew was it was the best thing to happen in a long, long time.

I wore the gauzy apricot dress I’d almost worn the time Jack had come to the Hotel Riviera, then taken off at the last minute in favor of Capris and a tee. I still thought it swirled rather charmingly around my knees, especially when I had on the beribboned espadrilles, though I doubted they were meant to go with the dress. Big gold hoops in my ears—the thin kind; a jangly bead bracelet bought in Saint-Tropez market; a run of the hands through the hair so it ended up in its usual disarray. And there I was. Ready.

I headed outside, waiting until I saw the dinghy heading for my cove. Then I went back inside and lit the candles.





Chapter 34




Jack

Jack strode up the path to Lola’s house on the dot of nine, bearing flowers. The door stood open, the bead curtain was swinging in the breeze, and he almost expected Scramble to poke her head out and give him the once-over. Instead Bad Dog galloped up from the beach with what could only be described as a big silly grin on his face.

“Better behave yourself,” Jack warned, pushing aside the curtain. And she was looking at him, looking at her in her slinky little peachy dress, with those silly espadrilles strapped around her skinny ankles in cute little bows.

“Sorry, guess I should have dressed.” He glanced down at his crumpled cotton pants, the old loafers, and the ancient denim shirt he would never part with unless his very life depended on it.

“You look…scrumptious,” Lola said.

“Do you relate everything to food?”

“In your case, yes. You’re edible,” she said, moving into his arms.

“And you.” He gave her the same up-and-down look she’d given him. As he kissed her, he thought she looked so girly and vulnerable, it almost brought a lump to his throat.

She pulled away from him. “For a minute there, I thought you hated the dress.”

“I love the dress.” He was still standing on her doorstep, still clutching the bunch of flowers. Suddenly Bad Dog dashed past, almost knocking them off their feet.

He aimed a mock-kick at Bad Dog’s butt. “Sorry, he’s a street dog, never could teach him manners.”

“Hey, boy, sweet dog,” Lola said, and the dog came running.