Reese: The Untamed

As the ball tumbled down she braced her hands on the table edge and leaned toward the wheel, offering him a clue as to what she was like when a sense of urgency overtook her. And the game she didn’t know he was playing with her became more meaningful to him than he’d ever expected.

As temptation poked and prodded him, he shifted his weight, first to one foot and then to the other. The impulse to touch her had him cupping his chin, then rubbing his hand against his cheek. If he leaned forward he could bury his nose in those blond curls to breathe in more of her scent. And make a fool of himself in the process.

She pushed up from the table edge, but the croupier’s call didn’t register with Reese until he saw her eyes light with surprise.

“I won?”

“Oui, mademoiselle.”

Squeezing her hands into fists, she jerked them toward her shoulders and whispered an impassioned “Yyyeesss!” Without looking at him, she wrapped her hands around Reese’s arm and shook him. “I won! I—I—”

“Congratulations.”

Her head snapped in his direction. For one rich, rare moment, Reese focused on the only two things moving: her drop pearl earrings, his thudding heart. He smiled. He was one giant step closer to finding out who she was and what she wanted. And she couldn’t do a thing about it. Then her unquenchable brandy-colored gaze turned from merely startled to purely panicked.

This is happening too fast, she seemed to say as she released his arm. Please don’t make me do this. I’m not ready.

Before he could react, someone bumped into her, sending her against his chest. The next few seconds blurred into a heavenly tangle of blond hair and bilingual apologies. With her breasts pressed against his chest and her lips temptingly close to his, it was all he could do not to sink his fingers into her hair and pull her even closer for a kiss. The only thing stopping him was a whisper in the back of his brain telling him that he’d read her thoughts correctly. Now wasn’t the time. But as she struggled to free herself from the forced intimacy, he could feel himself becoming more and more aroused.

“Careful there,” he warned, curving his hands around her waist. He wanted to settle her hips away from his until he’d regained control, but she arched against him when his fingers touched the bare skin near the base of her spine. With commendable restraint, he forced himself not to massage the satiny depression. Because if he did, the situation threatened to become a lot worse. Or better. Clearing his throat he gently removed his hands and slipped into the crowd.

His exit was less than seamless, but more important, it was what she’d wanted—an end to their embarrassing situation. From the corner of his eye he saw her reaching for her necklace as her lips parted in alarm. He hesitated. Had she wanted him to stay or go? Her fingers were wrapping around her pearl choker as she strained to keep him in view. The next moment pearls were slipping through her splayed fingers and spilling down her breasts, bouncing off the table edge and arcing left and right. Half a dozen men made a mad, inelegant scramble with her to retrieve the pearls. He was several yards away when he turned for a better look. Already on her hands and knees, she didn’t see him looking. Didn’t see him smiling. And didn’t see him stoop to pick up a pearl and slip it into his pocket.

Beth Langdon paced back and forth on the private beach below the Cap Ferrat villa. Hugging the cellular phone to her ear, she responded to Eugene Sprague’s greeting with a rush of emotion. “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked me to do.”

“Beth, you give me this same spiel every time you call. Why don’t you fast-forward to the good stuff. What have you been doing?”

“Skulking around Monaco in a scarf and dark glasses.”

“The trick is to get Marchand to notice you. You’ve been there almost a week now. Aren’t you any closer to making contact with him?”

Contact? Stopping dead in her sandy tracks, she glanced down at her bikini-clad body as she recalled her contact with Reese Marchand. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been embraced…like that. As awkward as the moment was, she remembered thinking how solid he’d felt, how alive she’d felt and how perfect they’d felt together. Then his fingers had settled on the small of her back and she’d lurched forward. The instant she made the move, she’d become achingly aware of his masculinity. Every inch of it.

From her breasts to her knees, every cell sizzled with the memory of her body moving against his. Animals in heat displayed more finesse! Swallowing hard, she forced her attention to the speed boat racing by on the open water.

“Hello, Beth? Are you there? Did you hear me? I said the trick is—”

“He noticed me…when I made a complete and utter fool of myself last night.” Turning away from the sparkling water, she quickly continued. “And don’t ask how. All you need to know is that the next time he sees me he’s going to turn around and run the other way.”

“I doubt it.”

Why couldn’t she get it through Eugene Sprague’s thick skull that she wasn’t suited for this job? Out of sheer frustration, she grabbed a handful of her filmy cover-up and rubbed at the intricate gold needlework decorating the edge. “You can doubt all you want, but that doesn’t alter the fact that this overblown project of yours is a complete waste of money.”

“Money’s not a problem. Besides, I thought I’d told you that the funding came from a private source. No one’s going to miss it at headquarters.”

“Please!” Letting go of the material, she curved her hand over her sun hat and hunched her shoulders closer to the phone. “I told you, I don’t want to know where the money came from. I wish you’d never bring that up again.”

While Eugene attempted to reassure her that her trip would never be connected to Tyler Pierson’s reelection campaign, she looked out to sea again. One sleek, white boat had broken away from the flotilla and was cruising outside the villa’s private cove. She smiled longingly at the lazy figure-eight pattern the boat was making. That’s where she’d like to be. Out on the water with the wind blowing in her hair and a bronzed hunk blowing in her ear. Away from this tawdry mess, with no place to go and all day to get there. She frowned and looked away. That delicious scenario wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. She’d given her word to see this project through. If there was a chance that her participation could make the difference in getting the president reelected, she had no choice but to continue. With a sigh of resignation she interrupted the president’s campaign manager.

“Are you holding back any information from me?”

“No. Why are you asking that?”

“Because your file on Reese Marchand says he spent four years in the United States, but I heard him speak last night. He doesn’t have a trace of a French accent. He sounds like an anchorman on the six o’clock news back home. Are there any more surprises you’ve forgotten to tell me about?” Glancing out at the boat and the man steering it, she absently smoothed her thumb along the hip string of her bikini. “He doesn’t have a wife stashed around here, does he?”

“What do you care? We’re not asking you to marry him.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if you did,” she said, brushing aside her cover-up to plant a hand on her hip.

Eugene laughed. “In this case the end would justify the means, Beth, because when you consider the alternative…” His voice drifted off for a second. “Can you imagine where we’d all be if Harrison Montgomery made it to the White House? We’re waging war here. Be a good soldier and tell me what you have planned for today.”

The speedboat made a sudden hard turn and was heading straight for her shore. Who in the world…?

“Just a second, Eugene.”

She walked ankle-deep into the water. Squinting hard, she yanked off her sunglasses as she silently mouthed, “Omigod, it’s him.” There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she was right. She’d been trailing Reese Marchand for several days and could pick him out at fifty yards. “He’s…I mean, someone’s coming. I have to go.”

“I’m not done with you. Have the maid send whoever it is away.”

“I can’t do that,” she said, hurrying back to her chair. “I gave her the day off.”

“She’s supposed to be there twenty-four hours a day.”

Beth raised her voice. “The woman has a life, Eugene.” Over his protests, she continued. “I’m hanging up now.” Clicking off the phone, she dropped it into the canvas bag attached to her beach chair.

Her face and hands began tingling with alarm when Reese Marchand cut his motor and dropped anchor. When he dived over the side, she stepped behind the canvas sling chair. What was he doing here? Glancing behind her, she calculated the time it would take to make a run for the hill stairs. She dragged a nervous hand across her bare midriff. She’d never make it, and worse, she would end up looking like a frightened child running away from the school yard. Again. Lord, why had that old nightmare chosen to reassert itself at this moment? She pushed the memory out of her mind as Reese Marchand broke the surface and continued swimming toward her. With his every stroke her pulse tripled. And surprisingly, her daring did, too. Moving out from behind the chair, she walked a few steps away from it and waited.

When he stood up in thigh-deep water and casually shoved his fingers through his hair, she swallowed in awe. Water dripped down his broad-shouldered and beautifully muscled body, rearranging his dark mat of chest hair into a series of arrows. A part of her wanted to linger over his well-toned chest and abdomen, but those arrows kept pointing lower to his aubergine swim trunks. The wet material hung low on his hips, exposing his navel…but not his tan line. She briefly wondered if he had a tan line.

“Good morning. Mind if I join you?”

His baritone voice vibrated through her like a second heartbeat. The bizarre sensation made her forget to breathe for a second. He took a few steps toward her, then stopped and looked her over with sincere curiosity.

“You look startled. Have I come at a bad time?”

She shook her head until she located her tongue. “No,” she finally managed when he walked out of the water. As his gaze wandered over her, she slipped off her broad-brimmed hat and held it first in front of her and then behind her. Why, why, why hadn’t she burned this thong bikini and replaced it with a less revealing swimsuit?

“Reese Marchand,” he said, reaching out a wet, well-tanned hand. “We shared an awkward moment together last night at the casino. Do you remember?”

“Vividly,” she said, as he closed his hand gently but firmly over hers. His physicality was as powerful this morning as it had been last night, but she promised herself she wouldn’t lose her ability to speak this time. From this moment forward she was going to be clever and witty and sophisticated. Really, she was. Just as soon as she thought of something to say. She looked down at his hand, still holding hers. His cool grip was strangely reassuring in the Mediterranean sunshine. As she looked up at him again, her gaze skimmed over the confident curve of his lips and the hint of dimples creasing his cheeks to lock into his relentless gaze. Far from intimidating her, the warmth in his smoky topaz eyes offered her humor, patience and an unnamed challenge. She started to return the smile, but calmly eased her hand from his when something else struck her about Reese Marchand’s eyes. Whether it was their shape, their color or their intensity, they bore an uncanny resemblance to Harrison Montgomery’s. She fought for a deep, calming breath as a prickling sensation zipped through her stomach.

“My name is Beth Langdon. How did you know where I was staying?” she asked, trying not to look at the stray water droplets still dribbling down his body. His muscular, masculine and perfectly sculpted body.

“Monte Carlo is a small town. Word gets around,” he said, glancing toward the flower-edged steps leading up to the villa. “Have you known Billy for long?”

“Billy?”

“Billy Waleska, the owner.”

“Oh, Billy.” She smiled. “Yes, for quite a while.”

“Then you’re lovers?”

“Lovers?” She wouldn’t know Billy Waleska if he’d popped up on her doorstep with a rose between his teeth and a bottle of champagne in his hands. But that was beside the point. Now wasn’t the time to melt into an embarrassed mound of middle-class mush. This was Europe. More than Europe. This was southern France. “Mr. Marchand—”

“Reese,” he said, his quiet response blending with the soft shushing of the sea.

“Reese.” Tilting her head, she nodded in a way that she prayed made her appear unruffled. Fat chance of that. Smiling, she slid on her glasses. “If it pleases you to think we’re lovers, go right ahead.”

“I’d rather not,” he said, in a way that made her smile disappear and her gaze narrow.

Moving away from him, she headed for the security of her beach chair. Dear Lord, where had she come up with such glib drivel? Damn you, Eugene. What else did you conveniently forget to tell me? Dropping her hat in the sand, she sank down in the striped canvas seat and sighed.

Following her a few seconds later, Reese took something from the tiny waistband pocket of his swim trunks. Squatting in front of her, he placed a small object in her hand.

“You dropped this last night.”

She looked down and saw a pearl resting in the center of her palm. The humiliating moment when she’d lost the pearls and whatever dignity she had left came back to her in one cheek-stinging rush of recognition. “But I thought you’d left. How did you know…?”

“I don’t miss much, Beth,” he said, taking a leisurely inventory of her face and then her body as he stood. “Will you be staying for the season?”

Crossing her legs, she casually rearranged her royal blue, knee-length cover-up across her thighs and shrugged. “If nothing else interests me more, I will,” she said, as she noticed him realize the filmy material was see-through and covered up nothing.

His gaze lingered over her, making her feel as closed in as that moment she’d been thrust against him last night. Only this time, they were inches away and all alone on a private beach in the middle of a sun-drenched morning. She squirmed in the chair. The scent of roses and the sea were mixing in the steamy atmosphere surrounding them. What happened to that lovely breeze just minutes ago? She was positively melting.

He smiled.

She melted a little more.

He leaned close and a drop of water fell from his chest and plopped on her knee. For a crazy moment she thought he was going to kiss her. For a crazier moment, she wanted him to.

“Mind if I use your phone?” he asked, reaching into the canvas bag beside her.

“Not at all,” she said, but he’d already clicked it on and was punching out the numbers.

While he stood next to her, waiting for his party to answer, she stared at her toes, half buried in the sand. Men like Reese and moments like these only existed in James Bond movies. Didn’t they? She pressed her lips together to suppress a giggle. She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. Shoving her toes deeper into the sand, she tried putting his surprise visit into perspective, but making sense of the last few minutes wasn’t easy. She had serious business to attend to, yet here she was dressed in a scandalously small thong bikini, listening to a drop-dead handsome man having a conversation in French on her cellular phone, and she was on the verge of having a full-blown fit of nervous laughter. This was unreal. What would her sister think of her lazing on this beach below her very own villa next to…him? Sliding her sunglasses down her nose, she glanced up at Reese, then shook her head. Teddy would definitely eat this with a silver spoon.

Leaning back in the chair, Beth laced her fingers across her middle and pretended to relax, while Reese continued his conversation. By the time he dropped the phone in the bag, she was certain she had herself under control again.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yes. They’re expecting us for dinner at ten tonight.”

“They? Us?” Grasping the arms of her beach chair, she planted her feet flat in the sand. “Dinner?” Twisting her head to look up at him, she hadn’t realized he was already moving away. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t think I came all the way over here just to deliver your pearl?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I assumed that was a random act of kindness.”

“Not when I was delivering it to someone as senselessly beautiful as you are.”

“You know, you are a little presumptuous.”

“Sooner or later one of us had to be, Beth. I’ll pick you up at your front door at nine,” he said, sloshing back into the water.

She was on her feet and running after him. “Hold on.”

“Can’t. I have a tennis match in half an hour.” He kept on walking away, his powerful legs stirring the water into a churning froth of bubbles.

“What makes you think I’m going out with you tonight?”

“Because we have so much to talk about,” he said, raising his voice for her to hear.

“Is that so? Like what?” she shouted as she waded in ankle-deep.

“Like why you’ve been following me around town for the past four days,” he said, before diving beneath the surface.

Two

After several well-aimed spritzes, Beth thunked the crystal perfume atomizer onto the vanity, then leveled a warning look at the mirror. Under no circumstances was she allowing Reese Marchand to get under her skin again. The humiliating moment at the casino when she’d panicked at his touch should have been lesson enough. Obviously it wasn’t, or he wouldn’t have been able to catch her off-guard at the beach this morning and then make matters worse by leaving her standing there slack jawed and speechless a few minutes later.

“You’re not seven years old anymore,” she murmured as she reached for the gold watch beside the perfume. Her heart fluttered as she noted the time. Reese Marchand was due in five minutes, and she was going to be just fine. Snapping on the watch, she centered the mother-of-pearl face on her wrist, then fingered the bracelet-styled band. Expensive but understated, the watch, like the rest of the jewelry Eugene Sprague sent with her, was exquisite. When she caught the beginning of her smile in the mirror, she dropped her hands to her sides and glared at her reflection. “This is not your first visit to the county fair, Beth. This is work.”

Grabbing her evening bag from the vanity, she hesitated before starting toward the front hall of the villa. Her work clothes never looked like this. Staring into the mirror again, she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. She owned evening clothes, too, but they were all bought off the sale racks, for crowded campaign banquets and stuffy receptions. None of those clothes made her look and feel this way. This sexy. This powerful.

Mesmerized by her new image, she slowly traced the swells of her breasts above the plunging neckline of the designer dress. Turning around, she looked over her shoulder at the way the dress flattered her slender curves. The simple white lace number with the saucy kick pleat sent out sixty different messages. Demure, devastating, capable, sweet, sophisticated, ready…the list went on. All Reese Marchand had to understand was one message—she’d dressed with him in mind.

Heading for the entry hall, she felt a surge of confidence that wiped away any niggling doubt about her ability to deal with Reese. Whatever that challenge that she’d seen in his eyes was, she would be ready for it. Thrill for thrill, she would match him, and when the opportunity arose, she would do her best to surprise him. Delight him. Entice him. And maybe seduce him. When she finally gained Reese’s confidence she would find a way to the truth about his relationship to Harrison Montgomery. And she would do it all, because as outrageous as it sounded, sometimes the ends justified the means. If it took the scandal of an illegitimate son to derail Montgomery’s campaign, then this was one of those times.

As she entered the intricately-styled entry hall the doorbell began ringing. She reached for the door, but stopped short when her stomach began doing flip-flops. Strange flip-flops. The kind tinged with misgiving…and maybe a little guilt. What was she up against, really? According to his file, a high-society, highly successful champagne executive with stellar connections and a penchant for high-risk sports. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them to look around the pink-and-yellow hall with the wedding-cake trim. If she was going to pull off this charade with Reese Marchand, she had to put everything else out of her mind and start playing the palace princess. Now.

The bell rang again as she was opening the door. Reese had casually leaned his six-foot-plus, tuxedo-clad body against the doorjamb, crossed his arms loosely over his waist and was giving her a killer wink. At first glance, the light from the portico’s lamp seemed to shine only on him. And why not? He looked as if he’d been ripped from the pages of GQ.

Courage.

Coaxing a tiny smile onto her lips, Beth let it linger as she gave him a slow once-over that started and ended on those smoky topaz eyes of his. His steadily growing smile told her he liked her bold stare. And then he took his turn. Slowly and with lingering intensity, he drank in every detail available to his eyes, and some, she guessed, that weren’t. The moment was both mellow and electrifying, sending tiny tremors of awareness through her. As he opened his mouth, every intimate part of her quivered with anticipation.

“So, Beth Langdon, why have you been following me for the past few days?”

Pressing her evening bag against her collarbone, she widened her eyes and gave him the answer she’d been rehearsing all day. “Me following you? I think you were the one following me.” She shook her finger at him. “It’s true. Walking in the old city…along the harbor…at the Café de Paris…well, everywhere I went, there you were. Imagine my surprise when we bumped into each other at the casino last night.” Smiling, she held her breath to see if he would buy it.

He didn’t.

Nodding once, he stood away from the door and studied her. “That was very good,” he said, pretending good-naturedly to be impressed with the way she’d fielded his question.

Off the hook for the moment, Beth let her gaze drift away from him. The confident smile she’d kept on her face suddenly disappeared when she saw the Jaguar convertible parked in the portico. “We’re going in that?” she asked in a whisper of unmistakable admiration.

“We could catch a bus,” he said teasingly, as she pulled the front door closed. He patted his pockets. “Oops, I don’t have my schedule with me.”

“I was joking,” she murmured, walking past him to the car. She ran her hand along the gleaming door, then reached over and gave the leather seat a testing push. “Mmmmm.” Soft as a marshmallow. Stretching, she drew her fingertips around the top of the wooden steering wheel and then along the dash. Richly grained walnut, she was sure of it. If there was ever an automobile she’d secretly coveted, this was the one. And Reese had even selected her favorite color combination: a highly polished, deep green body with a light, buttery tan leather interior. Braced and leaning over the Jaguar, she thought about her secondhand car back in Bethesda. Dented and badly in need of a paint job, the economy model took up far less space than this one, didn’t require gourmet gasoline and in six more payments she would own it.

“Careful,” he said, moving up behind her. “Stroking it like that may get it excited.”

Biting back a laugh, she removed her hand from inside the car and pushed herself away. It was just a car, she reminded herself. And she was after far more important information about Reese Marchand than his taste in automobiles. Still, if there was such a thing as a sexy automobile, Reese owned one. She turned to get a peek at the side mirror and tapped her fingernails on the polished exterior and sighed. There was no denying it, luxury felt awfully good. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to ri—” Withdrawing her hand as if she’d been caught with it in the cookie jar, Beth moved two steps back this time. “What I meant to say was, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to drive one of these.”