She squeezed his bicep. It didn’t even leave a dent. ‘Were you surprised when she took off with Jackson Kerr?’
He grimaced. ‘Hardly. The guy’s a stud. Isn’t that what you women think?’
‘He might well be for all I know. He is cute. Nice abs.’ She laughed. ‘Sorry. Just teasing. No, actually …’ She took a deep breath. ‘You may get a bit of a shock at what I’m about to tell you.’
She related the story Manon had told her in the patisserie, about falling in love and knowing it was the right thing for her.
Luc sat bolt upright as if electrified. ‘What? Are you serious? She told you this?’
Shari nodded. ‘She did. She told me things you wouldn’t believe.’
‘What things? Things about me?’
‘No, no. Other things.’ Realising she’d come close to saying too much for any macho guy to take on board at one time, she gave him a womanly glance to warn him off sacred ground. ‘What we call in Australia secret women’s business.’
‘Comment?’ His brows bristled with intrigue.
‘Put it this way.’ She hesitated, casting about for words. ‘Her affair with Jackson Kerr was just a flash in the pan. Doomed to extinguish itself while she was working herself out.’
‘Ah.’ Luc’s brows zoomed high and he looked keenly at her, his eyes glittering with an intense light as he tried to conceal his excitement. ‘So … Are we saying …? Does this mean that er … sooner or later Manon would have left me regardless of how much of an insensitive voyou I am?’
Shari could hardly restrain a grin. He looked so chuffed to be off the hook.
‘I dare say. Although she deserves a medal for how long she hung in there with all this ghastly yellow.’
He gave her a playful punch. ‘She wanted it.’
She smiled. ‘Yeah?’
Maybe she did. And maybe she didn’t.
THE wedding was a glorious affair. There might have been Parisian couples in the past who’d outshone the Valentins, but most of those had been royal.
The ceremony in the mairie’s office was purely a bureaucratic formality, though the room had been decked with pink and white roses and a red carpet laid for the bride and groom. The real ceremony came afterwards, at the Eglise St-Eustache, a sixteenth century church with exquisitely stained glass.
The service itself was austere and beautiful.
Shari had forgotten Luc’s connections in the air industry, or she wouldn’t have been so surprised to discover that a friend of Luc’s had volunteered his private jet to transport Neil and Emi, their children and two nannies to Paris for the festivities.
As it was, Shari was overjoyed.
Strangely, Neil and Emi were not as totally astounded by her and Luc’s falling in love as Shari might have expected, though their approaching parenthood had come as a surprise.
As well, an elderly gentleman from Venice made the journey. When he’d first strolled into the mairie’s and sat down beside his wife, Shari glimpsed a sudden rare shimmer in Luc’s eyes.
A magnificent reception was held at the Ritz, one of the Hotel’s last great events before it shut up shop for renovation. Everyone Shari and Luc knew in Paris was there, including some friends Shari had made at her language class.
Even if Neil hadn’t been able to come, even if Shari hadn’t been wearing a Valentino original, cut specifically to reveal the blue bird of happiness on her shoulder, just seeing her lover’s joy would have made the day fantastic. As it was, it was sheerest heaven.
After the dancing, the toasts, the love and bonhomie of family and friends, Luc whisked his bride upstairs for one last splendid night in their favourite suite. Then in the morning, after a long and leisurely breakfast, he flew her to Italy for their honeymoon, where they planned to explore the Amalfi Coast for some weeks while their apartment was being renovated.
This time in palest ivory trimmed with softest aquamarine and a pale, pale, very watery blue, shades Shari knew suited her complexion perfectly.
It was a beautiful time of life.
‘HERE,’ Luc said. ‘Give him to me. We don’t want him to catch a chill.’
They were strolling together in the Rue Montorgueil. It was late in the day, and Shari felt the sudden cool snap in the breeze.
Although their baby boy was dressed well, the air could turn frosty in a second. Luckily Luc was wearing his padded jacket.
Shari handed the precious bundle over and Luc positioned him carefully inside his coat while Shari drew up the zipper.
‘Not too far, now,’ his father warned. ‘Let him see out.’
Shari laughed as Luc-Henri chortled and his eyes, brown now and growing darker by the day, opened wide at the sudden change in his circumstances.
‘There, now, isn’t it lovely being held in Papa’s arms? I quite like it myself.’ Luc laughed with her, then she noticed him glance up at a passer-by and wave, his face alight with pride and pleasure.
Shari looked at the stranger. ‘Who’s that? Do I know him from somewhere?’
‘Remember? He’s the boulanger from the bakery near the fruit market.’
‘Oh, of course. I know. How nice of him to wave. He must have noticed that ours is the most beautiful babe in Paris.’
‘And he has the most beautiful maman.’
She smiled and planted a kiss on his bristly jaw. ‘Thank you. That reminds me. Have you ever read The Outlaw Earl?’
He lifted his brows. ‘I don’t believe so. What happens in it?’
‘Well, this beautiful lonely maiden is kidnapped from the home of her greedy parents by a wicked, but really hot earl.’
‘Ah. And then what?’ His eyes gleamed with a piercingly sensual light. ‘Tell me.’
No Going Back
Karen Foley
No Holds Barred
Cara Summers
No One Needs to Know
Debbi Rawlins
Karen Foley
KAREN FOLEY is an incurable romantic. When she’s not working for the Department of Defense, she’s writing sexy romances with strong heroes and happy endings. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two daughters, an overgrown puppy and two very spoiled cats. Karen enjoys hearing from her readers. you can find out