She was alone on the wide, half moon of asphalt, her car the only one parked on the turnout some twenty miles north of the King winery. Highway 1 traveled up the length of California, going through tiny towns, and winding along the rugged coastline. Up and down the state there were wide pullouts just like this one, where tourists could stop, park the car and take photos of the incredible scenery.
Ordinarily, Julie would be just as caught up in the beauty of the place as anyone else. But today, all she saw were the gathering dark clouds on the horizon and the never ending stretch of steel-gray sea. It was as if the whole world were suddenly in black and white. And she knew that’s how Travis would see this little meeting of hers. Black and white.
Friend and enemy.
If he discovered that she’d come to meet Jean Claude of her own accord…“Oh, don’t even go there, Julie,” she told herself, backing away from that thought as she would have from a rabid dog.
She deliberately kept her face turned away from the highway and the forest. For all she knew, there might be reporters and photographers out there, aiming their telephoto lenses and parabolic microphones directly at her. Not that she was paranoid or anything, but over the last two weeks, she’d been dissected for public consumption almost every day.
Which is why she’d asked Jean Claude to meet her here. Even if it was a stupid maneuver, at least she felt as though she was doing something to try to stop all of this.
A car pulled up beside hers and Julie stiffened as she turned to watch Jean Claude park his spiffy, two-seater sports car. He climbed out lazily, a man completely at ease. His blond hair lifted from his forehead and Julie absently noted that it looked thinner than she remembered.
“New car?” she asked. A splashy one, too. Leave it to Jean Claude, to whom appearances meant more than anything else. He used to love talking about his grandfather, who had been a minor member of the aristocracy. No doubt, Jean Claude was just loving being the center of a media storm. Everyone wanted to talk to him. Tabloids and TV stations were willing to pay him to smile on camera and dish out dirt that made him look like a forgotten lover.
All he’d had to do was sell her out and make her and Travis’s lives a living hell. Julie’s insides twisted as she watched him shoot a loving glance at the sports car.
He trailed one finger along the shining red hood. “Yes, lovely little thing, isn’t it?”
Obviously, Jean Claude was enjoying the money he’d made both from the blackmail and the constant streams of interviews he’d given.
He walked toward her, a smile on the face she’d once thought so handsome. “Julie, ma chérie, what a delight it is to see you.”
She backed up, keeping a safe distance between them. She didn’t think she’d be able to stand it if he got close enough to touch her. How could she ever have convinced herself she loved this man enough to marry him? She was such an idiot.
He smiled again as if he knew what she was thinking. God, was she doing the right thing by setting up this meeting? Would this only make things worse? If Travis found out about this—
“Jean Claude—”
“This is very sexy, no?” He glanced around at the empty area, then shifted his gaze back to her. “Just the two of us. All alone.”
She only hoped they were alone and that there were no reporters or photographers hiding somewhere nearby.
“No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “I mean, yes, we’re alone, but no, it’s not sexy.”
The wind whipped his blond hair back from his forehead, displaying a lot more forehead than she remembered. Apparently being a full-time jerk caused premature balding. Small consolation.
“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “If you do not wish to enjoy a clandestine tryst, why did you want to meet?”
“A tryst?” Her mouth dropped open. “Are you insane?”
“Do you not remember how it once was between us, chérie?” His voice was low, and what he no doubt considered his “seductive” tone.
But when Julie thought back on her time with this man and then compared it to the nights spent in Travis’s bed, the differences were nearly laughable. Jean Claude thought a lot more of himself than he had a right to.
Obviously, he read her expression clearly because he shrugged again and said, “Fine, then. Tell me what you want from me.”
“I want you to stop what you’re doing to me and Travis.”
“Stop?” His eyebrows lifted and a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Haven’t you done enough, Jean Claude?” she asked, taking a step toward him before stopping again. “Haven’t you made enough money off of embarrassing Travis and I?”
He straightened. “No. I believe there is much more to be had and I am not finished.”
Her stomach felt as if an invisible someone had dropped a cold rock into it. She had known going into this meeting that he would fight her on this, but she had had to try.
“Jean Claude, you’re ruining a man who doesn’t deserve this. And I’m not going to let you.”
“How will you stop me?”
“I’ll go to the police. Travis won’t, he wants to handle this himself. But I’ll have you arrested. For blackmail.”
He smiled at her and clucked his tongue. “Chérie…”
“Stop saying that!” She walked even closer, poked him in the chest with her index finger. “Back off now, Jean Claude.”
“Why should I?” he interrupted with a laugh.
“I’m not the foolish woman who once married you. I’m willing to see you in jail, or deported.”
“You wouldn’t. Besides you have no proof.”
“I can get it. Don’t push me on this.”
“I don’t believe you.” Then he bent his head and kissed her before she could jump out of the way.
Wiping one hand across her mouth as if she’d been poisoned, Julie stumbled backward, her gaze fixed on his. “You stay away from me, Jean Claude. And you back off of Travis before you end up behind bars.”
“Is that a threat?” He laughed and folded his arms over his chest. “Perhaps I should alert the papers that now Travis King is threatening me—the poor, set-aside lover.”
“Travis didn’t threaten you, Jean Claude. I did.” She glared at him and it only irritated her further that he didn’t look the least bit worried. “Blackmail is a crime, Jean Claude.”