Weddings: The Proposals: The Brooding Frenchman's Proposal / Memo: The Billionaire's Proposal / The Playboy Firefighter's Proposal

“You surprise me,” he said after starting the car.

“What? That I didn’t run away from you?” She sighed. “I’ve been kissed before by men I didn’t know, even when I wasn’t saving their lives.” Enjoying turning this back on him she added, “If you were that anxious, you should have taken advantage while we were in the pool last night, but then I suppose you stopped short because you were afraid someone might be watching.”

The car leaped ahead. His eyes burned like black fires. “Were you disappointed?”

“I think so.”

“Only think?” he challenged.

For a moment he sounded playful rather than serious, catching her off guard. She couldn’t help smiling.

If this was part of his game, he was good at it. He was gorgeous, too. The most beautiful man she’d ever met in her life. Southern California was full of them. Her husband, Ted, had stood out, but no one came close to the gut-wrenching sensuality of Raoul Laroche.

Then his eyes narrowed on her mouth before his expression hardened, causing lines to darken his features. He turned his attention back to the road leading out of the marina area and in a flash, when she’d felt buoyant for no reason, the moment disappeared as if it had never been.

Instead of the interrogation he’d subjected her to on the way to Antibes, he remained silent during the picturesque drive into the colorful hills with their patches of tuberose and jasmine. The tension between them was almost palpable, but until he explained himself, Laura had nothing to say.

Though she was tempted to ask him to take her home, her pride had gotten in the way. She didn’t want him to think his tactics back there had succeeded in destroying her confidence.

The scent of flowers grew more intoxicating the higher they climbed to the craggy summits. His Porsche was made for these hairpin turns on narrow roads. He handled his car like a Formula 1 driver, removing the worry she wasn’t safe. Any fear she harbored came from her own susceptibility to his potent charisma. Just watching the way the steering wheel responded beneath his strong hands, the fluid motion of his powerful body when he moved, brought her pleasure.

Before long they entered a quaint medieval village perched on a spur of land with a stream running through the rocky gorge below. The sign said Tourettes Sur Loup. She loved the unique names.

He pulled into a parking lot full of other cars and turned off the motor. “I’m confident the artist in you will find something to purchase once we’ve eaten. The village is full of local artisan crafts.”

She listened for that dreaded trace of mockery but didn’t hear it. Relieved he’d decided not to hound her for the moment, she alighted from the car before he could help her. Laura would be all right if he didn’t touch her. If someone was photographing them from a distance, she wouldn’t provide them another opportunity to catch her in an intimate moment with Raoul.

They entered beneath an arched porte with a tall clock tower and followed the main street through the oldest part of the town filled with tourists. “The village was fortified in the Middle Ages,” Raoul explained. “These are the only walls remaining.”

“It’s unreal,” she cried softly, her gaze traveling down a sunken, stone-paved path centuries old.

He led them to a little café where they ate steak aux frites and topped it off with a tarte à l’orange, a village specialty. Replete after the delicious meal, they explored the myriad of shops displaying local crafts. Laura wanted to buy everything, but in the end she purchased nothing except an oval-shaped, locally woven basket full of violets that grew in the region. Their deep-purple color thrilled her.

“I’m paying for these,” she announced, putting some Euros in the woman’s hand before Raoul could pull the necessary bills from his wallet.

He eyed her skeptically. “You’re sure this is all you want? You can’t take flowers back to Los Angeles with you.” Oh how politely he’d said the words, like he was speaking to a child. She got the impression he couldn’t wait for her to announce her departure plans.

For a little while she’d forgotten that Raoul was her enemy, and with that reminder the enjoyment of the last hour vanished.

“They’re for Chantelle.” A thank-you gift for allowing her to stay in their home. “She misses puttering in her garden. I thought she might enjoy these.” Laura buried her nose in the petals to inhale their sweet perfume.

When she lifted her head, she caught a look of something she couldn’t decipher in those black depths before he took the basket from her. A small shiver ran through her as they retraced their steps to the car parked beyond the walled town.

After she climbed in, he placed the basket on the floor behind her seat where the flowers would be protected. This time she was careful not to look at him. That way she wouldn’t be subjected to any more fiery darts of accusation.

Once again they were traveling along the back roads of Provence that were more alive and colorful than any painting she could ever create. They eventually passed through another charming town whose name she couldn’t pronounce.

“This was the home of Marcel Pagnol,” he informed her in a gravelly voice. “In case you don’t know wh—”

“I know,” she cut him off. “Hollywood made his novels world famous. I’ve been seeing Jean de la Florette around every farmhouse and fountain.”

By the shifting of gears she realized she’d irritated him. “You could have played the part of Manon. She was a child of nature, too.”

“You mean the girl who had every man in the village lusting after her?” she inquired. She shook her head despairingly. “You might have spared me that.”

Through the grimace he said, “You’re the one who chose to read something negative into my remark. In my own apparently obtuse way I was attempting to pay you a compliment.”

“You mean to make up for your uninvited advance in front of the real estate agent?”

His lips thinned in response. “I preferred Jean-Luc to think I was having an affair with you.”

“Nice,” she bit out. “There’s nothing a woman loves more than to be considered a man’s girl-toy. Yet I have to admit I’m surprised that a Frenchman like you who knows he’s attractive and can obviously have his pick on a whim has to prove anything.”

She smiled in satisfaction to see the way his fingers tightened on the wheel. Unable to resist she said, “Evidently your agent is a member of the good-old-boy’s network. Every society in the world has them, especially among the exceptionally rich and famous.

“Are you hoping word of me will get back to your latest girlfriend? Or your wife? Or possibly your ex? Or maybe your almost ex? Now I have to ask myself if you’re praying she’ll finally leave you alone, or maybe this woman is another man’s wife and you’re counting on her jealousy to bring her to heel.”

She heard a volley of French invective that needed no translation. “That’s quite a tongue you’ve acquired.”

“It’s been sharpened on wealthy men like you who collect women like some people collect shells.” The Stillman men led the pack.

“How many have there been?” he ground out.

“Thousands! However, I dare say that’s not as many as your fertile imagination suspects.” Laura laughed in pain. “Me thinks I’d better get myself away to a nunnery quick before you become my next victim. Heaven forbid, eh?”

“Heaven forbid,” he muttered so morosely, she felt it to her bones. Ridiculous as it was, his repudiation stung.

They’d reached Nice and were following the signs for Cap Ferrat.

“Now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way, Raoul, maybe we can both enjoy the rest of the short drive back to the villa. The next time you decide to invite me anywhere, better not obey the urge or I’ll know you’re only lusting after me. For your information, that’s the biggest turn-off to a woman there is.”

He turned his head in her direction. “Then how do you explain your response when I kissed you?” came the slithering taunt.

The man was a devil. “Chemical reaction.” Knowing what question he would ask next, she answered it. “And yes, it happens every time. It’s my nature. You already called it and you’d be right because clearly you’re a very intelligent man, so consider yourself warned.”

She was sure he drove them above the speed limit to reach the villa. The second he pulled to a screeching halt, she got out of the car and reached for the basket of flowers. As she turned around Guy came down the steps to greet her. He waved to his brother.

The sight of him was like a balm to her soul and she flew toward him. He put his arm around her, flowers and all and smiled warmly at her. “How was your day?”

“I discovered it’s true. Provence is God’s garden. These are for Chantelle.”

As he took the basket from her, his eyes misted. “Let’s take them in to her. She’ll love them.”

Without a backward glance Laura walked into the foyer with him. The click of the door coincided with the squeal of tires out on the gravel.

Guy looked askance. “Did Raoul tear around with you the whole day like that?

Now would be the perfect time to confide in him about his brother, but she couldn’t do it. Whatever rush he got out of insulting her, it would grow old with time. She could outlast him.