A pleasant evening breeze cooled the air to drive away some of the afternoon’s heat. They stepped through the slow revolving doors and a soft sigh escaped Rachel as she inhaled the fresh, cool air. The angry barks of powerful engines had been put to rest in their pit garages for the evening, and from the nearby yacht harbor came the pleasant sound of halyards clanging against metal masts in the breeze.
They turned toward the sea where the early evening sky was still tinted in a lingering, deep mauve, and slowly meandered in the direction of the Monaco yacht basin. Alain draped his jacket over his shoulder and she realized that he, like her, was happy to leave the stuffy, crowded atmosphere of the ballroom.
“Better,” he said, rather than asked. He lifted his gaze and stared out onto the ocean as they continued their slow walk to the harbor. A small frown played on Rachel’s face and she briefly pondered her decision to leave the ballroom with this man — a virtual stranger. Oddly, she felt completely safe and quietly at peace walking beside him in the last light of the day. She glanced sideways at his lean, muscular frame, broad shoulders, and long legs, and then flipped her hair back with a determined look on her face.
What’s wrong with a bit of innocent fun?
They continued their conversation, switching between music, politics, and other topics with ease. When Rachel briefly mentioned her love for museums, Alain impressed her with his knowledge of nineteenth-century art. She was delighted to learn they shared a deep respect and admiration for the work of artists Degas and Rodin. His voice filled with passion when he described particular aspects of their techniques, and she was left with a strong impression that he might be a proud collector of their work. But she didn’t inquire, reluctant to interrupt the enjoyment of watching him talk, taking in his beautiful face and hands. His dark, almost black eyes shone bright with intelligence and passion, a ready laugh always waiting to escape.
They came to a low concrete railing overlooking the yacht basin. The air was filled with the sounds of joyful laughter and soft music from the gleaming yachts below. Alain raised his hand to return a wave from a blond giant on a sleek super-yacht lying to his left, the name Vintage displayed in discrete transom lettering. The giant beckoned toward them.
“You know him?”
Alain nodded. “I should. He’s my best friend. More like my brother, I guess.”
She looked down at the scene below them. The elegant yacht must have been at least a hundred and fifty feet long. The deck was bathed in soft light from the luxurious interior, where about a dozen people were enjoying drinks and canapés.
Alain turned to her as she was taking in the scene on the yacht. “Let’s join them?”
“And crash their party?” She searched his face for signs of levity. Surely he couldn’t be serious?
“Not at all. They’re expecting me — but unfortunately my attendance at the sponsors’ event was unavoidable.” He shrugged his broad shoulders once. “Business.”
She bit her lower lip as she considered his invitation.
“You don’t have to stay long … I will walk you back if you’re uncomfortable,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at the impressive façade of the Hôtel de Paris, now dressed in bright lights.
“Just for a while then.” She flipped open her phone to call Tina.
Alain waited for her to finish her call and then walked to an entrance gate, swiped his access card over the reader, and pushed the spring-loaded gate open for her.
As they approached the sleek, dark blue hull of the sailing yacht, Rachel saw she had underestimated the size of the vessel. Two slanted masts disappeared in the dark evening sky high above them. The spacious teak deck was uncluttered and wide, with several people milling around, enjoying the relaxed hospitality.
They were met at the ship’s gangway by the tall blond man, his long, curly, sun-bleached hair tied back in an unruly ponytail. He flashed Rachel the most brilliant, white smile.
“Rachel, meet my friend Marque. Marque — Rachel,” Alain introduced them with casual ease. Rachel acknowledged Marque’s warm smile and stepped out of her platform sandals before boarding the yacht. She looked up in mild surprise at Alain’s lengthy frame.
He’s at least six inches taller than me. At five feet, eight inches, Rachel preferred the company of tall men.
Marque reached out to help her on board and she noticed the dry, steel-hard hand of someone who filled his days with physical activities. A fellow yachtsman, she thought.
Intelligent, gray eyes, playful and ready to smile, met hers as he greeted her in a soft, relaxed voice. “Well, well, well. Now I see why you’ve left us for the Empire ballroom, Alain. Enchanté Rachel, enchanté.”
“Nice to meet you, Marque.” His casual demeanor was infectious.
“I like your yacht.”
Marque chuckled and shook his head. “Thanks, Rachel, but I sail a real yacht,” he replied, smiling at Alain.
She raised her eyebrows at Alain, trying to fathom the meaning of Marque’s words.
“Vintage is mine, but Marque despises her — not enough of a true racing yacht.” Then, laying a familiar hand on Marque’s shoulder, Alain continued in a melodramatic voice, “His one and only true love is called Pure Joy, and she lies at anchor in St. Tropez, where she eagerly awaits the return of her master, ready to take on the challenge of the next regatta.” For his remark, Alain received a playful punch from Marque on his shoulder.
“Let’s get a drink,” Alain suggested and turned, laying a light hand onto her lower back. She inhaled at the pleasure of his touch as he guided her toward the luxurious interior. Soft background music played from the hidden speakers of the entertainment center. Acutely aware of Alain’s warm presence at her side, they made their way inside.
“Your yacht?” she said, lifting her eyebrows to take in the polished mahogany woodwork, the gleaming stainless steel winches, and expensive electronics.
“I enjoy the ocean. It relaxes me.” He nodded toward the people mingling on the deck. “And I often use it for business. Come, let me show you around.”
Rachel accepted his invitation and Alain took her on a short tour of Vintage. With evident enthusiasm, he explained the yacht’s features, reaching up with his long, muscular arms to point to the tops of the masts, or stroking an instrument lovingly with his strong, sensual hands. Rachel followed close on his footsteps, reveling in the deep, reassuring sound of his voice, hearing, but not necessarily listening — enjoying herself.
Alain came to a halt and she bumped into him, grabbing at his steely biceps for balance. Her hand lingered on his upper arm with a will of its own. She blushed and dropped her hand.
“And this is the master stateroom.” Alain’s voice turned low and husky.
Aware of his eyes on her, she glanced around the cabin, taking in the luxury of the beautiful wood paneling, the deep, piled carpeting, and the two Cezanne paintings — softly illuminated. With just a tang of excitement, her gaze drifted to the oversized, carved mahogany bed dominating the room. She noticed the fine, crisp Egyptian cotton linen, and the scattering of large, soft pillows. The air in the room turned warmer.
Alain’s eyes locked onto Rachel and her heart started racing, thumping wildly in her chest. He took one step toward her.
“Anyone object if I kiss you now?” His voice was hoarse. Rachel had to part her lips to breathe, the air suddenly thin, and her heart fluttered like a trapped wild bird in her chest at the closeness of his magnificent body. A warm tightening started swelling deep inside her.
He gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and she inhaled sharply at the electricity of his sensual touch on her skin. She cleared her throat and stepped back. The edge of the bed touched the back of her legs. With slight alarm she realized she was trapped; but then, strangely, the thought thrilled her — the thought of being vulnerable to his power.
“Anyone?” he demanded in a low voice, and she craved the warm, manly odor of his body as he leaned closer into her.
“No … nobody,” Rachel answered, amazed at her own bravado, her voice a soft whisper. A strong arm encircled her, and leaning farther into her, Alain pushed her back, lowering her slowly onto the bed, his lips brushing briefly against her face. Nervous, Rachel placed her hands on his muscular upper arms, aware of the trembling strength dancing under her fingers. She sank back into the luxury of the bed and the feathery touch of Alain’s lips stroked her neck, slowly moving toward her ear. A hot thrill of pleasure raked her body as he nibbled her earlobe, kissing his way to her mouth.
Their lips touched. Alain tugged sharply on the tender flesh of her lower lip, and then caressed it with his tongue. With another sharp tug he whispered, his voice hoarse, “I’ve been wanting to do this all evening … your mouth is so beautiful, so inviting … ”
Rachel groaned a soft reply. “Alain, please … ”
With urgent passion, Alain claimed her mouth and lowered his upper body, his chest weighing down gently onto her breasts. Her nipples hardened in response.
Something deep inside stirred. A low arousal, a lust, woke in her, growing, eager and hungry. Surrendering, she opened her mouth, moaning softly as she invited Alain’s tongue to explore. She met the hard, powerful thrust of his lower body against her pelvis, grinding herself into him.
A deep groan rumbled in Alain’s chest, his breathing coming faster as the warmth of his arousal pressed against her body.
“Alain! Where’re you guys? The fireworks are about to start!” Marque’s voice boomed from the deck above.
Shock splashed over Rachel like cold water and her eyes shot wide open. With a deep moan, Alain tore himself away. Rachel sat upright on the bed, passion thundering wildly through her body. She raised her chin and straightened her hair, avoiding Alain’s eyes on her.
Alain stood, and extending his hand, he helped her up. “Best we join them — they might think I’m holding you captive down here.” She smiled, suddenly self-conscious, but collected herself, and stood to make her way back to the deck.
• • •
Alain followed right behind Rachel, watching the sensuous sway of her slender hips as she stepped up onto the deck to join the rest of the party in watching the fireworks. A strange, deep desire rushed over him. He tilted his head and frowned in the darkness, struggling to rationalize the strange, new feeling with logic.
The urge to kiss her — where did that come from?
He was no stranger to lust, but this was something different — almost tender. He simply couldn’t stop himself — this had never happened to him before. The sweet taste of her mouth, the delicious smell of magnolia on her silky skin, the soft moan from her throat — all lingered in his mind. He frowned, puzzled. Then he turned to study Rachel’s upturned face where she stood next to him, her gaze on the spectacular explosions high in the sky.
“I think I’ve taken enough of your time,” Rachel’s spoke, her eyes still on the fireworks above them. Then she turned to face him. “Time to leave you so you can tend to your guests.”
Alain smiled down at her and made a swift decision. “I’ll walk you back now, but you must agree to see me tomorrow. Can you join us on my yacht for the race?”
“No, I can’t — my friends will be expecting me,” but he noted the disappointment in her reply.
“Then I will see you at the gala dinner,” he insisted, and Rachel nodded in agreement.