“Yes. I think tomorrow.” He checked his watch. Nine o’clock. It was probably about noon or so in L.A. “You should give her a call later.”
“I will.”
“How about your parents?” Julian set his plate on the ground. She did the same. “Should we invite them over?”
Her response was a resounding headshake. Why didn’t she want her parents there? Because it wasn’t real.
“It would look more authentic if they were to attend.” The urge to caress her face overwhelmed Julian. “Besides...they’d forgive you, if it involved a trip to Europe, wouldn’t they?” Julian threw imperatives at her disguised as choices, hoping to distract her while he let his desires get the better of him. Her skin was soft. So soft.
She stiffened and inched back. He didn’t like that.
“Chéri...?” He reached out to her, risking touching her again. Risking being rejected. Again.
Camille shook her head and turned so slowly toward Julian that she seemed to be running out of steam—or hesitating. The latter was most likely the case since she avoided looking at him. “I don’t have any parents.” Her voice broke, and splintered Julian’s soul.
“I’m sorry, Chéri.” Julian paused, feeling a chip had been taken from his heart. “Your parents have passed away?”
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that.” She broke into a bitter laugh that Julian was eerily familiar with. It was the same laughter he and Andre had often used when they were trying to cover the pain of their real mother’s demise.
“My father, and I use that term loosely.” Camille dragged Julian away from his bitter memories. “Dear old Dad took off when he found out my mother was pregnant.” Her unforgiving tone filled him with sorrow. “Never heard from him. Never met him.” She avoided looking at him. “My mother...and I use that term just as loosely...the only difference was, she took the trouble to actually let me be born, rather than taking the easy route and opting for an abortion.” Her body jerked, with tears bathing her eyes. He suspected her grief was well on its way to escaping, and that saddened Julian. “Mommy dearest didn’t bother sticking around afterwards, though.” Camille’s empty gaze finally met Julian’s. “I wasn’t worth the time and trouble.”
The near-full moon cast a glow over Camille, emphasizing her mouth as it tightened and a tear spilled down her cheek.
Julian skimmed a hand up her arm and nudged her closer. Sitting up, he pulled her to him. “Chéri...you are definitely worth the time and effort.”
Camille was anything but trouble, and absolutely worth the effort.
She let the tears pour, and he tightened his embrace. Her head moved until their faces met. Their lips brushed, accidentally, and desire swept through Julian. He wanted, needed to shower her with kisses. To comfort her, to let her know just how much she was wanted and needed.
Camille welcomed his overtures with warm, inviting enthusiasm. Their lips met again, their tongues danced, their hunger ignited.
And then, like a bad dream, she let out a disapproving groan, broke the kiss and backed away. Avoiding eye contact, she said, “I’m sorry, Julian. I didn’t mean to...” She sprang up and moved toward the surf.
Julian followed her to the warm, soothing water’s edge. “Chéri.” He struggled with the urge to touch her. Embrace her. Comfort her.
But the girl was truly troubled, and he couldn’t in good conscience take advantage of that. Nor did he want her thinking she’d have to spend the next six months enduring unwanted sexual overtures from him. He needed a wife. One that was temporary and make believe. He needed Camille.
“It was just a heat of the moment kind of thing on both our parts. No worries.” He tried to sound reassuring and unaffected. “And besides, if Papa’s watching...and he probably is...our kiss, however impromptu, was a good thing.”
Julian smiled, kissed her forehead and drew her back into his arms, having found the perfect excuse.
Papa was watching.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Camille awakened to bright sunshine and the chaos of loud voices filtering in from Julian’s adjoining room. Although muffled, she was able to identify the voices and their words.
“Julian, how could you do that to your father?” a woman said. Camille thought it might be Claudette.
“How could I do that to him? How could he do this to me?” If Julian’s tone was any judge, he wasn’t holding back, even though it might have been the gentlemanly thing to do.
Camille shoved aside her fledgling concern over his insensitivity.
“What exactly has Maurice done to you? Except provide you with a caring and stable home?” Her scolding tone was just as passionate as Julian’s. “Let’s not forget the birthright your father’s built for you. A legacy that most of Europe envies.”
Julian’s laughter traveled through the walls but nothing about it indicated amusement. “The whole of Europe might not envy me quite so much if they were privy to the strings that come attached to father’s legacy.”
“Oh, Julian.” Her voice blasted Camille with its impatient tone. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Dramatic...?” Julian rumbled like a volcano. “Papa brought Madeleine here. Why would he do that, knowing I’m coming home with the woman I’m about to marry?”
Camille leaned against the wall separating her room from Julian’s. A touch of the old childhood fear washed over her, leaving her with feelings of abandonment. Again.
“Tell me, Julian...” The woman’s voice softened. By now, Camille knew it was Claudette. “Who are you more upset for? Madeleine’s feelings or your new bride’s?”
Yeah, Julian? He’d kissed Camille last night like nobody’s business. But she wanted to know right now if she was getting dumped.
His response came through in low, barely audible, muttering. He had an opinion but damned if Camille heard what it was. She sighed and wandered to a plush chair facing the window.
God, this place was beautiful. It was impossible for the view not to calm her insecurities—at least it overshadowed them for a moment or two. Camille understood why Madeleine wanted to be mistress of Pacifique de Lumière. Between the house, the grounds, and Julian’s to-die-for kisses...a girl could get swept off her feet.
Under ordinary circumstances. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. Camille could never let herself forget that. The world was not her oyster. Maybe somebody like Madeleine’s, sure. But not Camille. She’d had one painful reminder after another since birth that she had not been smiled upon by fate.