Latin Lovers: Seductive Frenchman

Gorgeous, tall, bronzed … Who wants to resist a romantic Frenchman who will sweep you away to luxury and bliss?

Latin Lovers

SEDUCTIVE FRENCHMEN

Three fabulous stories from some of our readers’ favourite authors: Abby Green, Chantelle Shaw and Fiona Lowe

LATIN LOVERS COLLECTION

COLLECT ALL SIX!

Latin Lovers

Seductive Frenchmen

Chosen as the Frenchman’s Bride

Abby Green

The Frenchman’s Captive Wife

Chantelle Shaw

The French Doctor’s Midwife Bride

Fiona Lowe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chosen as the Frenchman’s Bride

Abby Green

About the Author

ABBY GREEN worked for twelve years in the film industry. The glamour of four a.m. starts, dealing with precious egos, the mucky fields, driving rain … all became too much. After stumbling across a guide to writing romance, she took it as a sign and saw her way out, capitalising on her long-time love for romance books. Now she is very happy to sit in her nice warm house while others are out in the rain and muck! She lives and works in Dublin.

For Lynn and the women upstairs …

Prologue

The poolside, Hotel Lézille, 8.30pm

HE NOTICED her as soon as she appeared in the archway between the lobby and the pool, his eyes drawn there as if pulled by a magnetic force. A rare excitement stirred his pulse. He told himself that he hadn’t come especially to seek her out. She seemed slightly hesitant, unsure. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she had a stunningly natural quality about her, which in his world was rare, compelling. In a simple black dress that outlined every slender curve and a generous bosom, she caught his eye again, and he couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to.

The soft waves of her dark hair framed her face. Intriguingly, she seemed to be slightly self-conscious. Or perhaps, he thought with a hardened cynicism that had been honed over years, she carefully projected that vulnerable fragility. God knew she had managed to capture his attention in the street yesterday. Her huge, striking blue eyes had momentarily stunned him, rendering him speechless. And he was never stunned, or speechless. Something in their depths had caught him, combined with that lush mouth, looking up at him so innocently, full of a shocked kind of awe.

Then, amazingly, when he had seen her on the island earlier today, he had followed some base instinct to see her up close again … She was everything he remembered, and more. He recalled how she had trembled under his hands in the street yesterday, and under his look earlier today on the island. He couldn’t ever remember a woman being so blatantly responsive.

His mouth compressed when he thought of her refusal to have dinner with him. That certainly hadn’t happened in a while, if ever. Was she playing some game? He wouldn’t be surprised … He was constantly amazed at the lengths some women went to just to get his attention. Playing hard to get wasn’t a new trick …

He mentally dismissed the bottle redhead to his left, who was chattering incessantly, oblivious of the fact that his attention had long wandered from her far too obviously surgically enhanced assets.

With a barely perceptible flick of his wrist a man materialised at his side, bending low.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Who is that woman?’ He indicated to where she stood.

‘She’s not a guest with us, sir, but I can find out if you like …’

He just shook his head and dismissed him.

The ennui that had settled over him recently was definitely fading as he took in her graceful progress through the tables to reach her companions. With a skill based on years of reading people and body language, a skill that had tripled his fortune many times over, he assessed them in seconds, focusing on the man he guessed was her date. No competition. His heart-rate speeded up pleasantly as he contemplated them from under hooded lids. He decided now that he would conveniently forget the blow to his pride when she had refused him earlier. She was definitely worth pursuing. A surge of anticipation and desire made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in months …

Chapter One

Earlier that day …

JANE VAUGHAN wandered up and down the bustling jetty with a frown appearing over the ridge of her sunglasses. She couldn’t remember exactly which gate she’d been at yesterday; now there were lots of bobbing boats and people lining up to get on board. The man she’d approached had taken no deposit, nor given her a ticket, but instead had reassured her that if she came back to him he would make sure she got on the right boat … the only problem now was that she couldn’t spot him anywhere.

Bumping into that stranger in the street just afterwards must have scrambled her brain more than she’d thought. She shook her head wryly. She’d never thought herself to be the kind of woman that would spend a night fantasising about someone she had bumped into for mere moments. A newly familiar heat flooded her belly, however, as his tall, powerful body and hard-boned face swam into her mind’s eye, his image still as vivid as if he were standing right in front of her. She shook her head again, this time to shake free of the memory. Honestly, this was so unlike her.

She went towards a gate that looked familiar, tagging onto the end of a queue. When she got to the man at the top he seemed a little harassed. At her query of, ‘Excusez-moi. C’est le bâteau pour les îles?’ he just gestured impatiently into the boat. She hesitated for a moment, before figuring what was the worst that could happen? So if she didn’t end up exactly where she’d expected to then it would be an adventure. They were going somewhere, and she was on holiday, not everything had to be strictly organised. She needed to relax more.

Once they were underway she had to admit grudgingly that she was enjoying the breeze and the sun across her shoulders and bare legs. The brightly patterned halterneck dress she wore was a present from her friend Lisa, given with an order to make herself more visible.

She pushed her sunglasses onto her head, tipping her face up to the sun, and for the first time since landing on the Côte D’Azur a week ago felt a rush of wellbeing and freedom. She didn’t even really miss her friend’s presence. Lisa was meant to have travelled with her—after all, it was her family’s villa that Jane was staying in. But at the last minute Lisa’s father had been rushed into hospital with a suspected heart attack, and this very week was undergoing a delicate operation. The conversation she’d had with Lisa the night before her departure had been rushed, but her friend had been insistent.

‘Janey, if you don’t go then I’ll feel guilty on top of everything else. Anyway, you’ll be doing us a favour. No one has been at the house for months, and it needs to be aired, so look at it like that.’

‘But I can’t just leave when you might need me most …’

‘Look,’ Lisa pointed out, ‘you know my family. It’ll be like Picadilly Circus in the hospital, and we’ve been assured Dad is going to be fine … Seeing your little face here would only upset me, and I mean that in a good way.’

She knew Lisa was just being brave, that the outcome was anything but assured, and didn’t want to put her under any more pressure.

‘OK, OK.’

Jane had given in. Lisa was right; there wasn’t anything she could do. With a formidable mother, four sisters and three brothers she would only get in the way. And of the three brothers one in particular was intent on pursuing Jane. Not sure how she felt about Dominic, who was lovely, if a little dull, Jane was well aware that the campaign would have been taken up with enthusiasm by Lisa had she had the opportunity.

She got up and wandered over to the railing, shades back on against the glare of the sun, the sea spray catching her every now and then.

She still couldn’t help a little pang of guilt at enjoying her solitude so much. She really hadn’t expected to embrace it, but for the first time in her twenty-six years she was truly alone, without the crushing responsibility she’d carried for so long.

And it felt good!

Looking up from her contemplation of the foaming sea, she saw that they were approaching an island. Something about it, rising majestically from the water, made her shiver—as if someone had just run a finger down her spine. It was a forbidding rock, softened only by the sandy beach and picturesque houses that surrounded the small harbour. The sun glinted off the water as the boat docked and they disembarked. On the jetty, as she waited with the other passengers to be told where to go, her mind wandered back to danger territory, as if it had been waiting patiently in the wings until she’d stopped thinking of other things. She tried to resist, but it was too strong, yet again she re-lived the events of yesterday … that burning moment in the streets near the harbour came flooding back.

She’d escaped the crowded pedestrian area, feeling somewhat claustrophobic, and stumbled into a charming winding street that had been blessedly quiet, with no sign of any tourists. She had looked for a street name to figure out where she was; she wanted to explore more of this sleepy part of the town.

With her map open, trying to walk and read at the same time, she’d been unaware of the approaching corner. She had looked up briefly, there had been a flash of something, and she’d crashed into a wall.

Except it hadn’t been a wall, because a wall wouldn’t have reached out and clamped hard hands on her upper arms. Winded and stunned, the map slipping from her fingers, she’d realised that she’d bumped into a man. Her gaze, on a level with a T-shirt-clad broad chest, had moved up, and up again, before coming face to face with the most beautiful pair of green eyes she’d ever seen—like the green of a distant oasis in the desert—in a dark olive-skinned face, with black brows drawn together forbiddingly. Her jaw had dropped.

It had been only then that she’d become aware of her own hands, curled around his biceps, where they had gone automatically to steady herself. And with that awareness had come the feel of bunched muscle beneath his warm, silky skin. They had flexed lightly under her fingertips as his arms held her, and out of nowhere came a spiking of pleasure so intense and alien through her entire body that she’d felt her eyes open wide in shock. His gaze had moved down to her mouth, and she’d had a weightless, almost out-of-body feeling, as if they hadn’t been in a side street, as if this hadn’t really been happening.

The spell had been jarringly broken when a shrill voice had sounded. Jane’s gaze had shifted with effort to take in a stunning blonde woman rounding the corner, her stream of incomprehensible French directed at the man. His hands had tightened momentarily before he’d dipped from view and come back up with her map in his hand. He’d held it out to her wordlessly, a slightly mocking smile on his mouth. She’d taken it, and before she had even been able to say sorry, or thank you, the blonde had grabbed the man’s attention and with a scant glance at Jane had urged him away, looking at her watch with exaggerated motions. And he had disappeared.

Jane had stood, still stunned, her body energised to a point of awareness just short of pain. She had still been able to feel the imprint of his hands on her arms. She’d lifted fingers to her lips, which had tingled … as if he had actually touched them. It had been just seconds, a mere moment, but she’d felt as though she’d stood there with him for hours. The most bizarre and disturbing feeling. And then she had remembered his enigmatic smile, as if he’d known exactly what effect he was having on her. Arrogant, as if it was expected.

Jane’s reverie ended abruptly as she found that she was following the other tourists onto a small air-conditioned bus. She vowed that that was the last time she would indulge herself in thinking about that man. The last time she would indulge the fantasy she’d had of sitting across a table from him, sharing an intimate dinner, candlelight flickering, picking up the silverware and sparkling glasses. Those green eyes holding hers, not letting her look away. She quashed the silly flutter in her belly and took in the other people on the bus, leaning over to a young couple about her age across the aisle.

‘Excuse me, do you know where we are?’

The woman leant across her boyfriend, replying with a strong American accent. ‘Honey, this is Lézille Island—but you’d know that, coming from the hotel … aren’t you a guest?

‘No!’ Jane clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m not in a hotel … I thought this was just a general trip …’

Dismayed, she wondered what she should do, she hadn’t paid for this trip … She belatedly remembered asking the man if this was the boat to les îles—the islands, in French, which sounded exactly like the name of this island. Lézille. No wonder he had just ushered her on board.

The other woman waved a hand. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I won’t say anything, and no one will notice … you just bagged yourself a free trip!’

Jane smiled weakly. She hated any sort of subterfuge. But maybe it wasn’t such a big deal. She could always follow them back to their hotel afterwards and offer to pay for the trip. She felt a little better with that thought.

The woman told her that they were due to visit a vineyard for some wine-tasting, and afterwards to take in an aerial display. Jane gave in and relaxed, and started to enjoy the mystery tour nature of the trip … this was exactly what she needed.

The vineyard was enormous, with beautifully kept rows of vines. They were shown every part of the winemaking process—which Jane had to admit was more interesting than she would have expected. The name on the bottles sounded familiar—as had the name of the island.

When they emerged at the other end of the buildings, they could see what looked like a medieval castle in the distance. Again she felt that funny sensation … almost like déjà vu.

‘You know this island is owned by a billionaire who lives in that castle?’

Jane looked around the see the friendly woman from the bus. ‘No … no, I don’t know anything about it.’

Her voice lowered dramatically. ‘Well, apparently he owns half the coast too—his family go back centuries … He’s so private, he only allows people to visit a few times a year. There’s all sorts of stories about—’ She broke off when her boyfriend came and dragged her away to see something.

Jane looked back to the castle. It certainly looked as if it could have been around in the Middle Ages. On a small island like this, she guessed it could have been some kind of protective fortress.

After another short trip in the bus, along a picturesque strip of coastline, they were deposited in a big green field, full of wild flowers, with an airstrip at the far end. A dozen planes were lined up in readiness. There was a fiesta-like atmosphere, with families stretched out around the ground with picnics, stalls set up with drinks, food and handicrafts. A small stone building to the side looked like some kind of museum, and on closer inspection Jane discovered that it was. She just gave it a brief look, before wandering over to see the stalls, where she bought some bread and cheese for a light lunch, noticing that everyone else seemed to have brought picnics.

Suddenly her arm was grabbed. ‘We haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Sherry, and this is Brad. We’re on honeymoon from New York. You should stick with us if you’re on your own.’

The woman from the bus barely allowed Jane to get a word in edgeways to introduce herself as they led her away to a spot they had picked out on the grass. It was nice to have the company as she ate her meagre lunch, and they turned out to be very friendly, insisting on sharing their wine and fruit.

After lunch Jane noticed men in flight suits walking towards the small planes from a hangar area, and the crowd got up and started to cheer. Soon there was one last pilot walking to his plane. With the sun in her eyes, he just was a shape in the distance.

A hush went around the field and, wondering at the strange reaction, Jane lifted a hand to shade her eyes—and stiffened when she saw more clearly who it was. It was the man from the street; she was sure of it. He was unmistakable. His impressive build and height set him apart.

Before she knew what she was doing she was on her feet with the rest of the crowd. He had an innately powerful grace, commanding attention as he strode towards the plane. Clearly the leader. On a gesture from him, the other pilots started up.

When he got into the plane, something in Jane’s stomach fell, and she found she couldn’t sit down again and relax. As they took off one by one, he being the last, she unconsciously clenched her fists. The display probably only took fifteen minutes but to Jane it seemed to go on for ever. Her eyes never left his plane, a ball lodging in her gut. She couldn’t explain or fathom the completely irrational fear she felt; she just knew that nothing could move her from the spot until that plane was back on the ground and he walked out, safe.

He flew as though he had a death wish. Dizzying turns and ever increasingly daring stunts had the crowd gasping in unison and clapping. He was the last to land, watched by the other pilots, their respect obvious.

When he stepped out of the plane to thunderous applause, Jane unclenched her fists, noticing that her nails had carved half moons into her palms. Unbelievably she felt anger towards him—this complete stranger!

The sun must be getting to her, she thought, unable to tear her eyes away. As the crowd surged towards the planes, his head turned, and even though at least fifty metres separated them, his gaze caught hers. She had a freefall feeling, couldn’t move. She felt as if he had reached out and touched her with those amazing eyes. With a supremely difficult struggle she turned away, and almost fell to the ground beside the American couple, who were chattering happily, oblivious to her inner turmoil. Maybe she had actually become delusional … conjured him up out of her rampant imagination.

When Brad and Sherry got up to check out the small museum she followed gratefully, feeling inexplicably as if she was escaping something …

She cast a quick glance back towards the planes, unable to help herself. She could just see the top of his dark head, surrounded by people—mainly adoring women from the looks of it.

She turned away resolutely and ducked inside, reassuring herself that by the time they came out all the pilots would be gone. After a few minutes she was feeling somewhat calmer, and walked around taking in the information with genuine interest. From a small plaque that was tucked into a corner she learned about a devastating earthquake at the turn of the century, which had reduced the population of nearly a thousand to a few hundred. It was only in recent decades that the island had begun to thrive again.

Apparently it had been in the hands of one family since the time of the crusades. They were called Salgado-Lézille, and had come originally from Spain. That would explain the hacienda-like houses Jane thought, remembering seeing them dotted around the harbour and elsewhere. And in retrospect there was something vaguely Moorish about the shape of the majestic castle.

She had turned to follow the crush out the door when the light was blocked momentarily and someone came in.

It was him. Even before she saw his face she knew. He scanned the room as people passed by him, and Jane held her breath. Slowly his gaze came to rest on her and stopped. Immediately her heart started to thump and her legs turned to jelly.

He stared at her.

Jane shook herself mentally. This was crazy. How could she be reacting like this again? She turned away and looked back at a document behind the glass, but she could see his shape reflected. He wasn’t moving. She forced herself to walk around the exhibit again and admonished herself. She was going to have to leave sooner or later, and there was no way he would have come in just to stare at her.

But he was. She could feel it.

All she had to do was walk past him. Easy.

She followed the chattering line of other tourists heading out, drawing ever closer to the door, looking anywhere but at the disturbing man and his large, broad-shouldered body leaning insouciantly against the wall. She sensed his dark gaze, hot and heavy upon her, like a physical caress, and trembled.

Now there were only two people in front of her. Why had they stopped? She dampened down her irritation. Her reaction was completely over the top. She just needed to get back out into the fresh air. That must be it, she comforted herself—the heat. As if to prove her point, she felt a trickle of sweat between her breasts.

She could see his long legs crossed at the ankles. She focused on the back of the heavy loud man in front of her. Maybe she could pretend she was with him, ensuring a smooth passage past. She had no idea why it was so important; she just felt it deep in the core of her being.

She was almost beside him now, the breath hitching in her throat. He took up her peripheral vision. She didn’t have to be looking at him to know what he was like. Despite only the brief moment the day before, and her distant view earlier today, she knew she would be able to describe him in detail.

Thick dark hair, swept high off a strong broad forehead. Harsh, vitally masculine face, lines broken only by an aquiline nose, sensually sculpted lips. And those mesmerising eyes, the eyelashes visible even from a distance. His flight suit enhanced his commanding physique.

‘Oh, my God, he is gorgeous.’

You don’t say, Jane thought wryly at Sherry’s indiscreetly loud whisper behind her. Without looking she could feel his sardonic smile. He had heard and understood; he must speak English.

She was almost at the door, almost home free, when her wrist was captured in an electrifying grip by a familiarly strong lean hand. The people behind her jostled, and to avoid a crush she had to move closer, go with the pull of the hand. Her blue eyes huge, she looked up at him.

He drew her in, close to his body, the people pushing past her inadvertently moving her in even closer. She could feel the heat of his thigh, hard against her own through the thin material of her dress.

What was happening?

She looked up, the question on her face, captivated by his gaze, which looked back down at her, lazily assessing. This man who had dominated nearly her every thought since yesterday.

‘What are you looking at?’ she croaked.

‘You,’ he answered with deceptive simplicity, and the word rocked through Jane’s body.

‘Who … who are you?’

He didn’t answer, just kept a loose, yet immovable grip on her wrist. She could feel her pulse thumping against the warm skin of his hand like a captured bird. Something in her blood leapt, and excited anticipation built in her belly. The part of her that he had reached yesterday, unknown and alien, was coming to life again … just under his look. He smiled indolently, before his eyes left hers to look her up and down so thoroughly that she felt naked, exposed. A flush spread from her belly all the way up to her neck. She tried to yank her wrist away to no avail; his grip only tightened. He couldn’t possibly remember her, could he?

Nerves made her blurt out, ‘Who do you think you are? How dare you look at me like that …?’

His eyes bored into hers, the green becoming darker, making him look dangerous, ‘You pretend to not recognise me?’

He remembered.

‘No … well, that is, yes. I saw you yesterday in the street … when you bumped into me.’

‘As I recall it was the other way around, n’est ce pas?’

His voice sounded as though it had been dipped in honey treacle, deep and dark, with only the barest hint of an accent, his English flawless. She was finding it hard to concentrate.

‘I was just reading a map. Surely you saw me …’ She cursed the breathless tone in her voice.

He ran a quick glance up and down again. ‘Oh, I saw you all right.’

She saw the amusement lurking in his eyes and she tried to pull away again. This time he let her go, and she felt inexplicably bereft.

‘You should have been looking where you were going. You could have collided with a more … immovable object.’

From what she could remember, all too well, he had been like a wall … a wall of hard-packed muscle. She felt her legs weaken. More than disturbed by the effect he was having on her, she looked at him incensed,

‘The street was empty … it’s hardly a crime to divert one’s attention for a moment.’

He inclined his head in a surprisingly old-fashioned gesture. ‘Maybe we can agree that we were equally to blame.’

She huffed slightly. ‘It’s no big deal.’

‘Yet you are the one who seems to be upset about it,’ he pointed out, picking up on her discomfort.

Jane looked around then, and saw that they were alone in the building. Everyone else had disappeared. When had that happened?

She looked out through the door and sighed with relief when she saw the bus, where the others were embarking. She turned to find him right behind her, and stepped back hurriedly.

‘I have to go … that’s my bus leaving now.’

He caught her hand just as she turned away. Her pulse leapt again.

‘Would you do me the honour of being my dinner guest tonight? To … foster a truce and allow me to make amends for my part in our collision.’

He was smooth, and practised, and too, too seductive. Jane shook her head, slightly dazed. He was asking her out for dinner? Her eyes met his. No way, no way, went through her mind. This man was so out of her league that he might as well be from another planet. She didn’t have the wherewithal to sit across a table from him! She’d dissolve in a puddle within minutes. And the way he was looking at her … as though he wanted to have her for dinner!

‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly, pulling her hand free. ‘I … I have arrangements made already, but thank you for asking.’

His eyes probed hers for an uncomfortably long moment, and then he shrugged lightly, a shuttered look descending over his face. ‘Very well.’

Now she had offended him, she thought miserably. Without knowing what to say or do, she stepped away and half ran, half walked back to the bus.

She sank into her seat breathing heavily. She felt hot and bothered, her hand still tingling where he had caught it. Jane evaded Sherry’s very pointed look and stared out of the window.

All the way back to the mainland she veered between feeling as if she had made a lucky escape and extreme self-recrimination. Since bumping into him she had thought of little else, even fantasised about having dinner with him, but when she was offered the opportunity what did she do? Refused point-blank.

She didn’t deserve a date with such a man if she couldn’t even handle being asked out. And why had he asked her out? She couldn’t fathom it. She could tell that he was mannerly—perhaps it was a pilot thing, a code of conduct? Although somehow he didn’t look like just a pilot. Her brain began to throb. She couldn’t help but feel as though she had let herself down in some way. She could well imagine Lisa’s reaction.

Back on land, she sighed to herself, trying to catch a glimpse of the island which was too far away to view in the late-afternoon haze. She would just have to put it down to experience. A man like Lisa’s brother Dominic was obviously all she could handle … maybe this was a sign.

When she saw the others get on the bus for their hotel she followed them on board.

Fifteen minutes later they pulled off the road and into a resort. It screamed extreme wealth. Immaculate lawns and manicured gardens led up to a beautiful hacienda-style building, all in white. In the early dusk lights shone from the windows, gauzy curtains fluttering in the breeze. She read the name of the hotel carved discreetly into a low stone wall, and only registered then how well dressed her companions were.

She had tagged on to a day trip from one of the Lézille Hotels. No wonder the name had sounded familiar. The owner of the island obviously also owned this very well-known string of resorts dotted all over the world in prime locations and renowned for their discretion, luxuriousness, exclusivity.

She followed the others into the lobby and they split off in different directions. Just as she went to look for the tourist office Sherry stopped her. ‘Hey, Jane, why don’t you come back here for dinner tonight? You said you were on your own, and we’ve made friends with a guy from Washington DC who works in town … We could make a foursome; he’d love your accent.’

Jane opened her mouth on reflex to say no, and stopped herself. Had she learnt nothing from her recent experience? Here she was, being offered another chance. She smiled at Sherry. ‘I’d love to.’

‘Plus, I want to hear all about your conversation with Mr Gorgeous!’

Jane’s smile faded. They would most certainly not be discussing that. She made a mental note to make sure the conversation never strayed into that area.