Rags To Riches: A Desire To Serve: The Paternity Promise / Stolen Kiss From a Prince / The Maid's Daughter

It happened during the walk back to their hôtel. Blake indulged her with a stroll through the town’s pedestrian-only center, stopping repeatedly while she oooh’ed and aaaah’ed over shop windows displaying Provence’s wares. One window was filled with colorful baskets containing every imaginable spice and herb. Another specialized in soaps and scented oils. Hundreds of soaps and oils. Delighted, Grace went inside and sniffed at products made from apple pear, lemon, peony, vanilla, honey almond and, of course, lavender. A dazzling display of stoppered vials offered bath oils and lotions in a rainbow of hues.

The clerk obviously knew her business. She sized up the diamonds circling Grace’s finger in a single glance. With a knowing look, she produced a cut-crystal vial from a shelf behind the counter.

“Madame must try this. It is a special blend made only for our shop.”

When she removed the stopper, an exquisitely delicate aroma drifted across the counter. Lavender and something else that Grace couldn’t quite identify.

“The perfumers extract oil from the buds before they blossom. The fragrance is light, oui? So very light and yet, how do you say? So sensuelle.”

She waved the stopper in the air to release more of its bouquet. Grace leaned forward, breathing deeply. She knew then that whatever else happened in this marriage, she would always associate the scent of lavender with sunshine and brilliant skies and the smile crinkling the skin at the corners of Blake’s eyes as he watched her sniffing the air.

He didn’t remain an observer for long. Sensing a sale, the shopkeeper dipped the stopper again. “Here, monsieur, you must dab some on your wife’s wrist. The oil takes on a richer tone when applied to the skin.”

With a good-natured nod, Blake took the stopper in one hand and reached for Grace’s wrist with the other. His hold was loose, easy. As light as it was, though, the touch sent a ripple of pleasure along her nerves. The ripple swelled to a tidal wave when he raised her arm to a mere inch or so from his nose.

“She’s right,” he murmured. The blue in his eyes deepened as he caught Grace’s gaze. “The warmth of your skin deepens the scent.”

Warmth? Ha! She’d passed mere warmth the moment his fingers circled her wrist. And if he kept looking at her like that, she suspected she would spontaneously combust in the next five seconds.

Thankfully, the shop clerk claimed his attention. The distraction proved only temporary, however. Eager for a sale, the woman urged another test.

“Dab a little dab behind your wife’s ear, monsieur. It is of all places the most seductive.”

Grace’s internal alarm went off like a klaxon. Every scrap of common sense she possessed urged her to decline the second sample. The sun and the wine and this man’s touch were bringing her too close to the melting point. So she was damned if she knew why she just stood there and let Blake brush aside her hair.

The crystal stopper was cool and damp against the skin just below her earlobe. An instant later, her husband’s breath seared that same patch of skin. Their only physical contact point was the hand caging back her hair. If the shock that went though her was any indication, however, they might have been locked together at chest and hip and thigh. Thoroughly shaken, Grace took a step back.

The abrupt move brought Blake’s head up with a snap. He didn’t need to see the confusion on his wife’s face to know he’d crossed the line.

The line he’d been stupid enough to draw! He was the one who’d assured her they would work things out. He’d spouted that inane drivel about giving their arrangement time.

To hell with waiting. He ached to drag Grace out of the shop, hustle her back to The Elms and strip her down to the warm, perfumed flesh that was sending his senses into dangerous overload.

“Monsieur?”

The shop clerk’s voice cut through his red haze. Before Blake could bring the woman into focus, he had to exercise the iron will that allowed him to appear calm before judges and juries.

She finally appeared, smiling and eager. “Do you wish to purchase a vial for your so-lovely wife?”

God, yes!

At his nod, she whipped out a sales slip. “Do you stay here in Saint-Rémy?”

He knew his address would up the asking price by at least half but was beyond caring. “We’re at Hôtel des Elmes.”

Her glance sharpened. “Ahhh. I recognize you now. You came to Saint-Rémy last year, oui? With… Er…” She broke off, then recovered after an infinitesimal pause. “With your so very charming mother.”

Riiiight. Blake seriously doubted his twin had timed a visit to the villa to coincide with one of their mother’s protracted stays. Alex and Delilah were both obviously well-known in town, however, so he didn’t bother to correct the clerk’s misconception.

“We’ll take a bottle of that scent.”

Beaming, she rattled off the price for a three-ounce bottle. He was reaching for his money clip when Grace gave a strangled gasp.

“Did you say two hundred euros?”

“Oui, madame.”

“Two hundred euros?”

“Oui.”

“That’s like…”

Blake paused in the act of peeling off several euro notes while she did the mental math.

“Good grief! That’s almost three hundred dollars U.S.” Horrified, she closed her hand over his. “That’s too much.”

A pained look crossed the salesclerk’s face. “You will not find a more distinctive or more delicate scent in all Provence. And…”

Her glance cut to Blake. When she turned back to Grace, a conspiratorial smile tilted her lips.

“If I may say so, madame, your husband does not purchase this fragrance for you. He is the one who will detect its essence on your skin. If it pleases him…”

Her shoulders lifted in that most Gallic of all gestures, and Grace could only watch helplessly as Blake dropped the euro notes on the counter.

Seven (#ulink_df682f0f-e0d1-5178-8ef1-b5b92dce5921)

Even with Grace’s seductive scent delivering a broadside every time Blake turned his head or leaned toward her, he didn’t plan what happened when they returned to the villa. His conscience would always remain clear on that point. When he suggested a swim, his only intent was to continue the easy camaraderie established during lunch.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the kick to his gut when Grace joined him poolside and slipped off her terry cloth cover-up. He’d already done a half dozen laps but wasn’t the least winded until the sight of her slender, seductive curves sucked the air from his lungs.

“How’s the water?”

Blake tried to untangle his tongue. Damned thing felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool. “Cool at first,” he got out after an epic struggle. “Not so bad once you’re in.”

Oh, for God’s sake! Her suit was a poppy-colored one-piece that covered more than it revealed. Yet he was damned if he could stop his gaze from devouring the slopes of her breasts when she bent to deposit her towel on the lounger. That unexpected jolt was followed by another when she turned to dip a toe in the water and gave him an unimpeded view of the curve of her bottom cheeks.

“Yikes!” She jerked her foot back with a yelp and zinged him an indignant look. “You think this is cool? What’s your definition of cold? Minus forty?”

He grinned and tread water as she dipped another cautious toe. Her face screwed into a grimace. She inched down a step, her shoulders hunched almost to her ears. Eased onto the next step. The water swirled around her calves, her thighs.

“Coward,” he teased.

She took another tentative step, and his grin slipped. The water lapped the lower edge of her suit. The bright red material dampened at the apex of her thighs and provided a throat-closing outline of what lay beneath.

“Oh, hell.”

He barely heard her mutter of self-disgust. Or felt the splash when she gathered her courage and flopped all the way in. She bobbed up a moment later, her hair a sleek waterfall of pale gold. Sparkling drops beaded her lashes. Laughter lit her eyes.