Right Name, Wrong Man (bad conversion)

Right Name, Wrong Man Contemporary Romance

by

Mona Risk

Kindle Edition Right Name, Wrong Man - Copyright November 2011 - Mona Risk Kindle Edition, License Notes All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Other books by Mona Risk: TO LOVE A HERO FRENCH PERIL BABIES IN THE BARGAIN PRESCRIPTION FOR TRUST PRESCRIPTION IN RUSSIAN OSIRIS’ MISSING PART NO MORE LIES

“Mona Risk writes heroes with heart, heroines with spunk, in stories and settings that are simply unforgettable.” Roxanne St. Claire, NY Best Selling author.

“I am very happy with our author's research for this story. Perhaps even a bit in awe. A good romance novel: a believable plot, a likeable hero and heroine, and is long enough to flesh out the story, and enjoy the characters.” The Long and the Short Reviews.

“Mona Risk knows how to pull a reader into the minds of her well-crafted characters. Her work takes us on a journey be it local or overseas.” Night Owl Reviews.

Chapter One “Love you, Yves.” Marie-Beth Drake purred and cuddled deeper against her lover’s broad chest. Already half-asleep, Steve squeezed her to his side, with a faint “Hmm”. Soon, his light snores filled the air. Sated and relaxed, she stroked his silvery hair. “Love you—” She froze. What had she called him? Oh God, oh God. Had she said Steve or… Yves? Her fiancé grumbled in his sleep. She immediately yanked her hand away from his head. Her fingers flew to her lips and her stomach somersaulted. She couldn’t have whispered the loathsome name? She’d buried it long ago and forgotten the sexy French doctor and his charismatic smile. Had Steve noticed the slip of her tongue? Heart pounding, she studied his closed eyes and slightly gaping mouth. Not to worry. Her fiancé slept as peacefully as a man content with life—as he did every night. Shivering with mortification, she slid out of his arms. Her throat ached with sudden dryness as she covered herself with a robe and rushed downstairs. In the living room, she grabbed a bottle of Merlot from the bar, filled a glass and swallowed it, and poured a second one. Her mind in shambles, she settled on the sofa to organize her thoughts. Hanging over the fireplace, her fiancé’s portrait focused a serious look at her. She blinked. “I don’t know how it happened. Honestly,” she groaned with an apologetic grimace. Sultry images of the French surgeon obscured her vision. Yves smiling, his knuckles caressing her cheeks, his face reaching closer to hers. She snatched her head back and touched her lips, swollen from Steve’s kisses. And remembered Yves’s passionate embrace. “No, please.” Her world tilted on its axis. Weary and confused, she emptied her glass. “You’re history. Gone, Dr. Malroux.” To think he’d left Boston the next day after the blissful night she’d spent in his arms, and never came back, never called the chubby medical student she’d been then. “No more crazy dreams or heartaches,” she scolded in a strangled groan. Why did Steve have to mention his name a few days ago and ask her to participate in an exchange program of residents with his French colleague? “Nope. Not interested,” she’d immediately replied, and Steve hadn’t insisted. Training with Dr. Yves Malroux would tempt any residents but her. She’d hoped never to set eyes on him again after she’d torn his picture into a hundred pieces. With an automatic motion, she rotated the too-heavy engagement ring, token of Steve’s love and status. He’d forgotten to lock the five-carat diamond in his safe after their evening out. Dear Steve, in a few months, they’d be married, that is, if he didn’t ask awkward questions about her stupid blurt, and… She cringed, anticipating the worst. After two glasses of wine, she’d developed a splitting headache. Torturing herself over the baffling mistake didn’t do any good. She was on call tomorrow and needed her sleep and a clear head to assist in General Surgery. She lumbered up to one of the guestrooms, sprawled on the bed and fell into an exhausted sleep. “Oh Y-Yves, yes, yes.” Sweating and trembling, she bolted awake and clutched the blanket to her throat. “Yves?” Heaving a deep breath, she shook off the haze of the haunting dream. Yves nuzzling her throat, kissing her open lips, caressing her naked flesh. Oh, God, am I losing my mind? In the morning, she shuffled down to the kitchen. Steve didn’t mention anything unusual over breakfast. His satisfied smile contrasted painfully with her restless mood. “You’re very quiet,” he said in a jovial voice that irritated her frazzled nerves. “Contrary to last night,” he added with a wink. “Oh yeah?” she muttered, sloshing coffee over the table. “You mumbled and screamed and butchered my name several times. Reeve,” he mimicked with a strident tone before bursting out in laughter. “Ah?” Thank you, she whispered, as she wiped the table. “Poor sweetheart, I shouldn’t wear you out when you have to work a long shift the next day.” The smug tilt of his lips implied he didn’t mind a repeat performance. “Don’t worry. It was good.” Her weak smile faded as the scorching dream of last night filled her with guilt. “I’m late.” Eager to end the awkward conversation, she swallowed the remaining of her burning coffee and pressed her lips to Steve’s cheek. “Bye, have a good day,” she called over her shoulder and strode out of the kitchen, her thoughts focused on the previous night. At the hospital, she sprinted to the pre-op room, and bumped into a young woman in a white coat. “Hi, Mary-Beth.” Loraine hooked her arm. “Boy, you look terrible.” Never one to mince words, the resident in psychiatry examined her with a professional eye. “Difficult shift, last night?” “No, I wasn’t working.” Mary-Beth tried to disentangle herself and continue her way. “Sorry, I’m in a rush.” “Ah, so good old Dr. Galt gave you a rough night?” With a big laugh, Loraine patted her arm. “Lucky girl, who managed to catch the Mass General Director of Surgery.” “Steve is a great lover. No complaint here.” Mary-Beth chuckled and then sobered. “But I didn’t sleep well because— I have other things on my mind.” “That bad?” Her friend squinted at her. “Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener. I’ll practice my psychiatry on you,” she added with a kind smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not one to let emotions rule my head. It was just a stupid dream.” She snorted and raised her chin. “I can handle it.” “Anyway, you know where to find me.” Loraine continued down the corridor and Mary-Beth entered the pre-op room to scrub up and ready herself for a long day. **** Exhausted from shifts and unending surgeries, Mary-Beth barely saw Steve during the week. By the time he’d arrive home after a conference or late dinner with specialists, she’d have collapsed on their bed, deep asleep. Tonight was Saturday, the evening Steve reserved to entertain his special colleagues. It was also the special night he set aside to make love to her. Every Saturday at 11:00 pm precisely after sharing an after-dinner drink. Driving home to his elegant colonial mansion in Beacon Hill, Mary-Beth mulled over the previous week’s incident. Not to be repeated at any price. After a short nap and a refreshing shower, she flexed her arms and wrapped herself in a warm towel. If she could control her emotions, she’d never blurt a wrong name, right? She rubbed her wet palms against the bath sheet and muttered, “Repeat after me: Steve, Steve, Steve.” Yes, she’d be in full control, and ready to enjoy her evening out with her fiancé.

her evening out with her fiancé. She proceeded to the guestroom closet where she hung her clothes and pulled a printed turquoise outfit. “Love you, Steve. Love you, love you,” she sang with the tune of Beyoncé’s song, Dangerously in Love, to convince her subconscious of the right words to blurt. There would be no mistake tonight. The cheerful color of the dress cemented her determination to have a good time. She held it against her in front of the mirror, and then pirouetted just as Steve entered the room. “Well?” she asked, waiting for his approving comment. “Delightful but...” Arms crossed over his chest, he shook his head. “Too childish for our evening. We’re entertaining Dr. Lee and Dr. Yokamo, and the retired California University Dean of Medicine, for dinner, and then we’re attending Madame Butterfly at the opera.” “How fun,” she mumbled between her teeth as she explored her closet for a more conservative outfit to wear at the black-tie dinner. She’d have to play hostess to visitors who reminded her of great-uncles. Talk about relaxation. Her shoulders sagged at the anticipated boring evening, but it wasn’t worth arguing over clothes. She reached for a sleeveless, black chiffon evening gown with a V-neck, and slipped it on. A pair of matching high heeled pumps enhanced her recent slim figure. “Perfect. Much more elegant.” Steve zippered the back for her, and moved her hair aside to nuzzle her neck. “Love you, Steve,” she said as she turned into his arms. A quick brush of his lips over her mouth assured her he loved her too. “You’re stunning. Lovely beyond compare.” Words like these compensated for the misery of the previous years when she dwelled in self-contempt and dejection. “Thank you.” Heck, she’d rather have Steve with his overprotective and sometimes authoritarian ways, than a womanizer of Yves’ caliber. “Trust me. Didn’t I choose you for my fiancée?” He tickled her chin with his finger and grinned. “That alone attests to my good taste.” She chuckled at his confident arrogance. Here was a man who had scarcely gone out after his wife’s death, yet when he noticed Mary-Beth working late in the library and helped her with a difficult question, he’d immediately decided he wanted to marry her. Superb in his black tux, Steve opened the velvet sachet he held in his hand, slipped the splendid diamond on her finger and kissed her cheek. “We should leave now, my love.” At dinner, she dazzled her old visitors with medical stories and accepted their compliments graciously. In an exceptional effort to mingle with their guests, she lingered for an extra drink after the performance. Steve maintained an approving smile, then glanced at his Rolex watch. “Sweetheart, let’s go home. It’s Saturday night,” he muttered against her ear. Since Steve had proposed, she’d always looked forward to their nights together. “I know,” she said with a soft voice that ended in a silent groan when a different face beckoned with a wicked smile. Her cheeks heated and her stomach clutched at the possibility of another inappropriate blurt. On the way to the parking lot, she mumbled her Love you, Steve, mantra that should wipe her apprehension. To no avail, as if a thin crust of memories had wedged between her and her fiancé. Steve gave her an assessing look before starting his Mercedes. “You look tired, sweetheart. Why don’t you nap on the way home?” She nodded and closed her eyes. Silence hovered in the car while Steve sped through highways and shortcuts. Sleep eluded her. Instead, a guilt-laden panic grew. “Slow down. I’m getting dizzy.” “What?” Doubt underlined his question and he glanced at her. “Since when are you sensitive to speed?” “It happens, sometimes, at the least expected moment.” “Fine.” He patted her knee and decelerated. Even at the slow speed, they reached home too soon. Once in the garage, Mary-Beth darted from the car to the guestroom and jumped into a long cotton nightgown, ready to claim an honest headache. A moment later, Steve stood at the door, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Come on, not that ugly thing.” Her hands clenched on the reassuring plain material as she glared at the bottle of Cognac and the two glasses in his hands. “Wear the short red silk one I bought you two weeks ago.” A suggestive smile formed on his lips. “Darling, it’s Saturday night.” His unspoken demand swirled the gourmet dinner up into her throat. She clutched her middle, gagged and dashed to the bathroom. “You’re not sick? Are you? Not tonight, for heaven’s sake.” No, she wasn’t sick, just terrified of lying with him, making love, and screaming the wrong name again. “Sweetheart, how are you feeling?” he asked from behind the bathroom door. His concern needled her with remorse. “I’m better.” She brushed her teeth, splashed cold water on her face, dabbed it with a scented towel, and donned the tiny silk negligee over her shivering body. She took a deep breath. “I love you,” she said with a forceful voice when she opened the door. “I love you too, my precious one. I become a younger man when I hold you in my arms.” They toasted their future with a drink of Cognac and climbed into bed. In a swift movement, Steve peeled her nightgown over her head and covered her breasts with kisses. Stiff as a board, she watched him wide-eyed. Exasperated, he raised his head. “What’s wrong? I feel like I’m kissing an ice block.” “I’m sorry. I’m tense. Maybe I worked too much this past week.” Alarmed at the possibility of blurting Yves’s name again, she bit her lips. “Let me help you relax. Turn over. I’ll massage your back.” He kneaded her muscles with firm hands and she breathed easier. “Think about something nice. Our honeymoon. We’ll go to France. My friend Yves Malroux has often invited me to visit his chateau.” “No,” she snapped. “I don’t want to go to France.” “Oh, I thought you’d like it. Such a romantic place, perfect for a honeymoon.” “No, we’ll go to Italy, or Greece, or England.” Damn it, anywhere except at Yves’ chateau. If that was Steve’s way of relaxing her, it wasn’t working. “Forget the massage. Make love to me.” She turned around and pulled him on top of her. “My pleasure. Glad I managed to put you back in the mood.” He captured her mouth with eager lips, and she concentrated on his caresses. Steve excelled at everything he did, surgery, research, social life and lovemaking. Soon enough Mary-Beth forgot her inhibitions under his expert hands and kisses. Soon enough she sighed and moaned with pleasure. After they collapsed in panting orgasms, she snuggled against his shoulder. Content, she raised her face for one more kiss. “Love you, Yv...Ste-eve, Steve.” “Love you too, sweetheart.” “Again. Oh God.” She jammed her fist against her mouth as she jumped to her knees and stared at him. Yanked from his happily sated semi-slumber, Steve frowned. “I can’t do it again. I’m not twenty anymore.” “What?” “It’s very flattering, my love, but… Why don’t you come in my arms and try to sleep?” “I’m sorry. Did I scream?” “No, you just whispered in a kiss, ‘Love you Ste-ee-eve’, several times.” He stroked her arm. “That’s what I love about you, your passion for life, your youth. Damn it, you make me feel so good.”

Damn it, you make me feel so good.” Off the hook one more time, she exhaled. She’d caught herself this time, but how long could she keep on saying another man’s name when her fiancé held her? And why on earth, did it happen now? Three years after Yves had left. Did she need a shrink? “You rest,” she said. “I’m going downstairs to review a report.” And ponder how to handle the situation. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he muttered, then rolled to his favorite position and started snoring. Wrapping her robe around her, she lingered an extra moment to trail the lines around his forehead, eyes and mouth, and then contemplated his silvery hair. He was handsome, and kind, and protective. He loved her and would give her a stable life, free of passionate outbursts and wrenching heartbreaks. Wouldn’t that make for a happy marriage? What more could she ask for? The past was over, damn it. Her infatuation with Yves had been a youthful mistake. It should have—it had—worn off by now. Her heart twisted in her chest. If Steve ever figured out her moaning, he’d be deeply hurt, and she’d have only herself to blame. She couldn’t destroy their relationship because of a selfish bastard who’d deceived her three years ago. The plump gullible nerd she’d been at medical school had ceased to exist. Her naiveté had vanished quicker than her pounds. But how could she suppress her inappropriate moaning? In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of milk and carried it to Steve’s office. Her fiancé liked to have her next to him when they both worked on their laptops. She glanced at his mahogany desk and the folders piled neatly next to his computer. The white label Hôpital de la Santé, Summer Training, caught her attention. Ah, the famous folders about medical training in France. No wonder Yves’ name had come to her lips. Those damn folders had been sitting on Steve’s desk for two weeks now, teasing her subconscious with unwanted memories and suggestive dreams. Imagine if she happened to scream Yves or Eel-eve on their honeymoon. How in the world could she coach her treacherous subconscious into proper behavior? Needing reassurance, she stopped by Loraine’s office the next morning. “Hi Loraine. Just a quick question. I had a slip of the tongue.” She bit her lip, paused, and then shrugged, while Loraine patiently waited for more explanation. “I blurted the wrong name when Steve and I were—umm—well, at the wrong time. It’s no big deal, right?” Her psychiatric friend shot her one of those looks that penetrated her mind and searched for tiny details with the accuracy of a microscope. “Oh sweetie, you’re not sure about your marriage, now?” “What are you talking about? Of course, I’m sure. It’s just weird to mention a name I’ve completely, totally, utterly forgotten.” Loraine crossed her arms, glanced at her watch and squinted over her glasses. “Have a seat. Whose name?” All her secrets tumbled out of Mary-Beth’s mouth while Loraine patiently listened. “Is Yves really a lousy womanizer?” “I think, I mean—” “Can it all be in your head?” “Huh?” Her hand flew to her skull, fingering and skimming for a problematic bump. “Do you really love Steve?” “Of course.” Had she wasted a whole hour just to get that stupid question? “Passionate love?” “Yes, I think, I mean I’m sure—” “Is it possible that you think you love him because you’ve decided he was your best option?” Mary-Beth shook her head vehemently and stood to leave. This was going nowhere. Loraine bombarded her with one question after another. Soon she’d make her doubt the wise decisions she’d reached. “It’s all in your head, Mary-Beth. You’ve repressed your emotions and tried too hard to control your feelings. You need to face the reason for your problems and analyze your reactions before you get married.” “Face…Yves? No way.” “Why not? What’s the problem if you’re convinced you don’t care about him?” “I’ve already faced him in my nightmares, and didn’t like it.” “Are you sure you didn’t like it?” Her face in flames, Mary-Beth opened her mouth and closed it. “Join the exchange program, go to France, and get some answers,” the psychiatrist said as she walked her to the door. Later at home, Mary-Beth sat in front of Steve in his office, staring at the screen of her laptop, while he opened the folder on his desk. “Sweetheart, I think you should join the training program.” Always the dedicated mentor, Steve handed her an application form. “Trust me. It will improve your experience in Surgery.” Good God, both the psychiatrist and her fiancé challenged her—for different reasons— to go to France and work with Yves for three months. Would it help her forget the French doc and put the past to rest? Would facing Yves convince her obtuse mind she didn’t give a fig about his devilish smile or his intense green gaze?

Chapter Two “Welcome to France, Dr. Drake.” Stepping back to allow her entrance to his office, Dr. Malroux treated her to the mind-boggling smile he’d probably bestowed on countless beauties he’d escorted. Rooted in the doorway, Mary-Beth stared at the man she had snatched from her heart a year ago. A day’s worth of stubble shadowed his jaws and a lock of dark hair wandered over his forehead. Damn, he was even more handsome than in her nightmares. “Good afternoon.” She couldn’t mutter another word as her eyes fell on the surgical top stretched over his muscular chest. Heat bloomed throughout her body. She clenched the straps of her purse and willed her stupid heart to slow down, certain that the thumping could be heard in the silence. With effort, she recalled the assertiveness she’d painfully acquired over the previous year and extended her arm for a handshake. “I’m here for the summer residency program organized by Dr. Steve Galt from Massachusetts General Hospital.” Standing too close, he shook her hand and held it an extra second. His sandalwood cologne enveloped her. The familiar scent from her days at Harvard Library sent her pulse into overdrive. “Yes, I know. I received your impressive curriculum vitae,” he said with the delightful French accent that had resonated in her ears months after he’d left Boston. “Please, have a seat,” he added, indicating the brown velvet chair in front of his desk. She hastened to sit and put her oversized purse on the carpet. Her back straight, she clasped her hands together in her lap and crossed her ankles to prevent the anxious tapping of her feet. He sat behind his desk and leaned back in an imposing leather chair that enhanced his confident stature. His gaze ambled, paused and assessed. “Dr. Drake, I am delighted you will be working with us at the Hôpital de la Santé.” He doesn’t recognize me. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t recognize her as the heavy frump from the past. Pleased that she had a chance to start her training without painful reminiscences, she suppressed a smile of relief and bore the weight of his scrutiny without flinching. His forehead pleated in a thoughtful frown as he opened the folder on his desk and perused her application. “You mention you decided to train with us to improve your skills in General Surgery. Anything else?” “I also would like to train in Pediatric and Cardiac surgery.” And prove that I’m immune to your charm and marry Steve without reservations. Her voice firmed up as she rubbed her ringless finger. “All in due time. You are not too tired from the long trip, the jetlag?” “No, I slept during most of the flight to Paris and later in the train to Tours.” “Très bien. Very good.” Admiration glinted in his green eyes. “I don’t have time to give you a tour of the hospital now.” He glanced at the screen of his laptop. “We have a few surgeries scheduled this afternoon.” “I’m ready to work.” Ready to do anything that would take her away from his gaze roaming over her face. “In that case, you may assist in surgery.” Dr. Malroux studied his computer again. “We have a tonsillectomy in about an hour. Are you interested? ” “Oh, yes.” The thought of starting work focused her mind and eased the tension of the previous moment. “Excellent.” He stood. “I will call our head nurse, Josephine, to show you around.” Mary-Beth grabbed her purse and walked toward the door. Her confidence rebounded now that the dreaded meeting with her new boss had ended. “By the way, I hope you had no trouble finding Hubert at the train station?” “Everything went fine. I asked your butler to drive me to the hotel near the station, the Pension Iris, where I checked in.” “Hubert should have known better than to take you to the pension. My summer residents stay at Marancourt. Didn’t Dr. Galt explain that to you?” His autocratic tone grated on her nerves. Her sleeping arrangements were none of his business. “Yes, but—” Steve had extended Dr. Malroux’s invitation with an edgy voice and a nervous scowl, and she’d refused to Steve’s sagging relief. “You are not disturbing anyone.” Misunderstanding her reasons, Dr. Malroux waved his hand in a don’t-worry gesture. “The chateau is huge and has many rooms.” “I can’t stay at your mansion.” Fidgeting with the strap of her handbag, she cursed his insistence and wracked her brain for a logical reason. “Pourqoi pas? Why not?” His speculative look annoyed her more than his words. “Uh…” She clamped her mouth shut. The serious doctor facing her didn’t compare to the devilish Yves of her indecent nightmares. Still, there was no need to tempt the devil into sending her a new round of bad dreams. “Dr. Drake, we often have emergency calls in the middle of the night. My residents are expected to get to the hospital as soon as possible and drive my cars if needed. Why should you be an exception?” “Oh, absolutely not. I am used to taking emergency calls at night.” His eyebrows gathered in a scowl, though a hint of a smile confused her. “The chateau currently hosts four men and a woman.” He perched on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes impaling her with a patronizing look. “The welfare of my patients comes before our personal comfort.” Anxiety knotted her stomach and she braced her nerves. How could she argue when he’d put his patients’ care in the balance? “I’ll move my suitcases tonight.” Dr. Malroux rubbed his hands together. “I am delighted you agree with me. Don’t worry about your baggage. Hubert will have a valet fetch your things and bring them to Marancourt. You will not be disappointed by the accommodations,” he said in a gentler tone as if he regretted winning their argument. No need to start her training on the wrong foot. She schooled her expression and graced her host with a delighted smile. “Actually, it will be lovely to live in a real chateau.” “Wonderful. One more thing before I ring Josephine. Please, call me Yves. I hope you don’t mind if I call you Mary-Beth.” “Okay,” she said with a shrug. Calling him by his given name every day would remind her she came to France precisely to confirm that this name held no special significance for her. Yves was no longer the Yves, mon amour, of years ago. Yves treated her to a suave smile. “No need to be so formal when we will work together all day long and live under the same roof at night.” What? His last words hammered her brain. Under the same roof all night. Darn. How big was the chateau? ****

**** Before exiting his office, Yves focused a pensive look on the American resident. Bon Dieu, but she was a knock-out with that glorious chestnut mane that took his breath away. She looked familiar and he recognized the enchanting bouquet of her Chanel No5 perfume. Yet he couldn’t place her. There was no way on earth he’d have seen this lovely woman in Boston and ignored her. For three summers in a row? He, the connoisseur de femmes? In Boston, he’d taken out many young women, doctors, fellows and nurses. But not Mary-Beth. Of that he was sure. He wouldn’t have forgotten those huge blue eyes, violet-blue like the wild irises growing in the fields surrounding his chateau. Nom d’ une pipe, he never forgot an organ he removed from a patient or a woman he dated. Never. “Mary-Beth, where did you study?” His gaze waltzed over her face and figure one more time. A tailored navy skirt hugged her hips and skimmed her legs just above the knees. What a pair of legs, shapely, long, enhanced by high-heeled shoes. A conservative white shirt and blazer completed her outfit. Desire speared him like a sharpened scalpel. Not that it made any sense to him, but he wanted this beautiful girl as he had never wanted a woman since Rose-Anne. “At Harvard. It’s on my résumé. I graduated three years ago,” she said as she walked toward the door. “Hmm. I saw that.” He stepped in front of her to detain her for a moment longer. “You went elsewhere during the summers?” He searched her face for an answer to the questions nagging him. “I was there the whole time.” Sadness and disappointment simmered in her eyes. Why? “All the time, hmm?” He frowned, puzzled. She tilted her head up and held his gaze. “All year long, all day long.” A curious mix of apprehension and candidness played over her exquisite features and tightened his muscles. “So where were you when I was at Harvard as a visiting physician?” Curiosity tinged his voice as he squinted at her. Mary-Beth rolled her eyes. “Trust me. I was there while you were in Boston.” He arched an eyebrow, digging deep into his memory. “In the OR assisting me for surgery?” “No, in the library, researching books and articles for you.” A sarcastic smile curled her lips. “The library?” He scowled as he searched through his mental index of names, beautiful faces and gorgeous figures. “The only person I remember from the library was a young girl I…” He studied the perfect oval of her face, the high cheek bones, the full lips. And the violet-blue eyes of…“Sweet-Mary?” Remorse stung him for not recognizing his Sweet-Mary, the cute medical student who used to hide behind baggy sweatshirts, thick glasses and a book. A furious blush stained her cheeks as their last encounter played in his memory. In hers too probably. The night before leaving Boston, he had stopped by her tiny apartment to thank her with a box of chocolate, a bottle of Chanel No5 and a kiss on the cheek. “Bon Dieu. You are Sweet-Mary? The medical student I met in the library?” That night she’d stunned him by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the mouth. A kiss so full of passion he’d returned it eagerly. They had ended up in bed for one of the most dazzling nights he’d ever shared with a woman. And guilt swallowed him whole the next morning. Such innocence was not for the cynical playboy he had become after Rose-Anne’s death. Terrified of hurting Sweet-Mary, he left immediately, sure that she’d forget her infatuation soon. His eyes widened as he looked at her tiny waist. The shy, overweight girl had become a self-assured beauty. “You have changed.” “You bet.” Her defensive tone seemed to raise a fence between them. “And yet, you haven’t changed that much.” With a smile of appreciation for her wry sense of humor, he took a step closer to toy with a soft curl as he’d done the last time he’d seen her. “I am glad you came to our hospital for the summer. We will be able to discuss many difficult cases again.” She finally smiled at the mention of their medical exchanges. Pleased to have his bright discussion partner back, he cupped her shoulders. “Welcome to France and to my hospital. Allow me to greet you the proper way, Sweet-Mary.” Hoping he hadn’t hurt her feelings by not recognizing her, he kissed her three times on the cheeks—right, left and right again—in the French way. She stiffened under his touch and he immediately released her. “My name is Mary-Beth.” She lifted her chin and scorned him with an icy look. “Can we, please, stop reminiscing?” “Absolutely. We will not speak of the past.” A smile escaped him. “The present is far more interesting.” The present had delivered him a special gift. “I am glad Dr. Galt put your name on the exchange resident list.” Her eyebrows shot up but she didn’t comment. Considering their last—so intimate—encounter, he was surprised she had agreed to come. Did that mean she still harbored feelings for him? Lust lashed at him. His fingers itched to hold her and continue the scene they started three years ago…with a better ending or a new beginning. “You will have a great time in our Vallée de la Loire.” “I’m here to concentrate on the training.” Her firm tone failed to convince him. “Of course.” He chuckled at what he considered a proud lie and tried to see through the mask of indifference she had donned. “I will make sure you benefit from your training. Yet this is a unique opportunity for a medical resident to visit France. Our Vallée de la Loire is a perfect place to have fun, a very romantic place,” he added with a grin. She didn’t move, didn’t lower her head. Her breath hitched and a shadow of regret covered her face. “Dr. Malroux, I’m not here to have fun.” A hint of defiance replaced her previous vulnerability. “I’m engaged and will soon be married.” Disappointment punched him in the gut. “Engaged?” He jolted back and dropped his arms. She would be off limits to him now as she had been in the past—for different reasons. “Congratulations.” His voice flat, he sobered and gave her a polite bow. So she had matured and moved on with her life while changing into a stunning woman. But why was she so aloof, so serious? Had she lost her laughter along with her weight? She didn’t look very happy for a bride-to-be. He cursed her fiancé. What eager groom-to-be would let the love of his life go away for three months just before the wedding? The man might need some coaching on how to guard a lovely bride. “I don’t know your fiancé but I am surprised—” “I’m marrying Steve Galt in four months.” “Sacrebleu, Dr. Galt?” No wonder she wasn’t smiling. Frustration flooded through Yves. “Why are you marrying Galt?” The Massachusetts General Director of Surgery was old enough to be her father. Money? Status? The man had both and could greatly enhance her career. The bright Sweet-Mary he had known would not have sold herself. Had she changed so much? “Because he loves me.” Did he imagine a note of desperation in her voice? She hadn’t mentioned she loved her fiancé, but her eyes remained focused on Yves, daring and assertive. “Don’t you think he is too old for you?” he blurted, too upset to mince words. “Excuse me?” Her lips pinched and the frown on her forehead intensified. She raised her hand as if to shield herself from his verbal attack. “That’s an irrelevant question, Dr. Malroux.” Yves wanted to shake her, kiss her, show her she was making a mistake, but Steve was his respected colleague, a good friend for many years, and a lonely widower

Yves wanted to shake her, kiss her, show her she was making a mistake, but Steve was his respected colleague, a good friend for many years, and a lonely widower who, unlike Yves, didn’t flirt with every pretty woman who crossed his path. Steve was a decent man. He should have done the gentlemanly thing and married a woman closer to his own age. Raking his fingers through his hair, Yves exhaled in exasperation. “Really? I wonder…” he mused, determined to find out why she had come to France—to him—just before her wedding.

Chapter Three Still light-headed and breathless Mary-Beth reeled from their loaded exchange while Yves speed-dialed a number on his mobile phone. A moment later, a middleaged woman entered his office after a brief knock. “Mary-Beth, this is Josephine, our head nurse. Dr. Drake is our newest exchange resident. She has just arrived from America.” “Bienvenue en France.” The nurse approached Mary-Beth, her arms opened wide for a hug and three kisses. “This is our official greeting. You will get used to it.” Josephine chuckled while Yves raised an eyebrow. “Oh, thank you.” Mary-Beth swallowed hard. Yves had already fogged her mind with his French greeting. Her cheeks still burning, she returned the hug of the affable woman. “Are you attending any surgeries today, Dr. Drake?” Josephine’s voice sliced through the tension in the room. Yves answered for her. “Josephine, please show Dr. Drake the prep room. She’ll attend Ariane’s tonsillectomy.” His mobile phone chimed. “I will see you soon, Mary-Beth. We have a lot of business to discuss.” His gaze sharpened on her, brimming with questions. “See you soon, Dr. Malroux.” Her emotions under control, she nodded and followed the head nurse out of his office. “This way.” The nurse guided her through a maze of corridors to the elevator. On the third floor, they strode through more hallways. Josephine indicated the various departments and babbled about the hospital and doctors. “Our hospital, L’ Hôpital de la Santé, is very big, one of the largest in France and Dr. Malroux is the best surgeon in our country.” The woman lifted her head with pride. “Yes, I know,” Mary-Beth conceded. “The Department of Surgery at Harvard invited him three summers in a row as visiting physician. He’s an excellent doctor, no doubt about it.” “He is a workaholic. Totally dedicated to his patients. Every one loves him.” “I can believe that.” She suppressed a chuckle but sobered immediately. I did too. “Dr. Malroux is so busy he does not have a minute for himself.” Josephine let out a long sigh. “We all wish he could finally have a family and an heir.” “Maybe he’s not interested in settling down.” Mary-Beth shrugged. “I think he has not found the right woman yet,” Josephine said, defending her boss with a maternal smile. The right woman? Or the right harem? Mary-Beth snorted and sent a mental kiss to Steve for choosing her as his right woman. Josephine led her to a spacious residents’ room furnished with two beds set against opposite walls with night tables on each side. A desk and a couple of chairs occupied the space opposite to the beds. “Voilà.” The nurse grabbed a plastic bag from one the cabinets that completed the furnishing, and handed it to Mary-Beth. “You can change in one of the locker rooms or shower in the bathroom if you want to freshen up.” Her adrenaline on the rise, Mary-Beth pulled a set of scrubs from the bag and walked toward the door, impatient to start her assignment. “I’ll be ready in a minute. Where do I go when I’m changed?” “The salle d’op is at the end of the corridor. It is marked with a green sign and the prep room is adjacent.” “Thank you.” Mary-Beth showered and changed, and then tucked her hair under a cap and sprinted to the prep room. Her pulse racing with excitement at the prospect of her new challenge, she scrubbed at the sink and walked to the OR where Yves already waited with a brunette nurse. “Julie, Dr. Drake est une nouvelle résidente d’Amérique, a new resident from America,” he explained, as the nurse gowned and gloved him. “Bienvenue en France, Dr. Drake.” Julie repeated the process for Mary-Beth while casting adoring eyes on Yves, who seemed oblivious to her. “Thank you.” Mary-Beth almost rolled her eyes. Of course, everyone loved him, as Josephine had mentioned. Or more precisely every woman did. A moment later, another nurse wheeled in a gurney bearing a little girl with a pink bear clutched to her heart. A woman in a surgical gown held the patient’s hand and wiped tears from her face. “Bonjour, Brigitte.” Yves nodded to the young mother. “I can see your little Ariane is already sleeping.” “A doctor gave her some drugs.” “Perfect. This is Dr. Drake. She will take care of your daughter.” Mary-Beth nodded to the mother. “You have to go now, Brigitte. Ariane will be fine, I promise. We will come to you as soon as we are finished,” he said with a gentle tone—the same gentle tone he’d used with her in the Harvard library. Back then, Mary-Beth would have moved heaven and earth to find him any article in any medical journal. “Thank you for everything.” The young woman kissed her daughter’s forehead and left the OR. “Ariane is five years old,” Yves explained. “She has been sick repeatedly this past year. I fear that her numerous throat infections may lead to rheumatic fever. Removing her tonsils is the best solution and an easy procedure. Do you want to handle it?” “I’d love to.” Her heart thrummed with anticipation as it always did before surgery. She stepped up to the operating table. Yves introduced the nurse anesthetist and got down to business. “Let’s start.” His baritone rang calm and professional. As a student Mary-Beth wasn’t allowed to attend his surgeries in Boston, so she’d watched him operate from the observation balcony and had accumulated enough images in her mind to play her own surgical scenario. Now, she was finally assisting him in the OR. Pleased that the mask covered her mouth, she allowed herself a hint of a smile and followed his instructions. “Done,” she announced an hour later. “Good job.” He peeled off his gloves, lowered his mask and motioned to a nurse to wheel the patient’s bed to Recovery. “Swift and clean.” A satisfied smile escaped her. “Thank you.” Delighted with his compliment, Mary-Beth met his gaze and stared in awe, unable to break contact with the eyes she had loved so much in the past. Her heart wrenched. Why had he left suddenly and never written or sent an email? “I am not surprised at Dr. Galt’s wonderful recommendation.” She blinked. “Huh?” Steve’s name broke the magic of the moment and jolted her to the present. How could she have forgotten her fiancé in the past hour? A punch of guilt spoiled her pleasure at acing her first surgery in France. She spun to the door that had swung closed behind the patient’s gurney. “Do you want me to follow up on the child?” she said over her shoulder. “She is now your patient. Take good care of her.” He glanced at the wall clock and hurried to the door as he gave her more instructions. “I am scheduled for an

“She is now your patient. Take good care of her.” He glanced at the wall clock and hurried to the door as he gave her more instructions. “I am scheduled for an appendectomy. Brief the child’s mother and wait for me in the lobby at six o’clock. I will take you home.” “Home?” She choked on the word and her cheeks warmed. He paused at the door. “Yes, we are going home to my chateau after work.” Every muscle in her body stiffened. She opened her mouth and closed it. Golden sparks danced in the green pools of his eyes as he trapped her gaze, lifted a curious eyebrow and then turned his back to leave. She yanked off her cap and mask, and tossed them in a waste basket. Going home with Yves to his chateau. Good God, Steve would have a heart attack if she repeated that phrase to him. Her lips pinched to suppress a curse. She stomped to the residents’ room, snatched her purse from the cabinet and fumbled inside for her mobile phone. She needed to hear Steve’s voice, to hear him say that he loved her, to tell him that she missed him. “Hi, Steve.” She managed to infuse a happy note in her voice. “Good evening, sweetheart. How was your trip?” “Excellent.” “Did you enjoy your first-class ticket?” he said with a satisfied voice. “I was a little awed by all the fuss.” She sighed, sooner or later she’d have to adjust to her fiancé high-standard of living. “Then I had a glass of wine as you suggested and slept like a baby after dinner. You spoil me too much.” “Not enough, my darling. I’m going to be lonely without you.” Pleased with his tender assurance, she chuckled. “I’m sure you will have many dinners and social affairs to keep you entertained.” “It’s not the same without you. Tell me, Mary-Beth, have you already met Malroux?” “Yes, yes I did. As soon as I arrived.” “Is everything okay?” His sober tone warned her he’d detected an odd note in her voice. She rushed to calm his intuitive worries. “Everything is great. Not only did I meet Dr. Malroux, I attended one of his surgeries.” “Glad you’re already enjoying your training.” “I’m told that he keeps his residents quite busy.” “Great. I knew you’d get a lot of hands-on experience with him. I won’t keep you long. You must be very tired and eager to go back to your hotel.” Hotel? She winced. “All the foreign trainees are lodged at the chateau and carpool to the hospital. So I couldn’t insist on different accommodations. There are five of us, right now.” Silence drifted over the wire while Steve digested this information. A big sigh followed. “Well in that case, make the best of it. Although I’m sure you’d have preferred to be more independent.” “You bet. We’ll see how things go. There’s another female resident but I haven’t met her yet.” That bit of news should calm his apprehension. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning. Bye now.” “Goodnight, sweetheart. Take care of yourself.” “I will.” By tomorrow she’d have adjusted to her new place of work and her new boss, and she would be herself again. “I love you,” Steve added in his paternal voice. “I love you too,” she responded automatically and then shut her cell phone, her mouth puckered. Why was that I love you suddenly annoying her so much? She had hoped Steve would say it. And he did, with the same tone he used every night. The same mechanical tone lacking passion. It had never bothered her before. Right now, she’d better get ready to go home with Yves. Rubbing the back of her neck with nervous fingers didn’t erase her uneasiness. These next three months promised to be a challenge. Mary-Beth crossed her fingers and muttered a prayer to survive her training program without losing her sanity. Or more.

Chapter Four Her mobile phone still in her hand, Mary-Beth debated whether she should get dressed or take a short nap before meeting Yves in the lobby. The door barged open. Two young men in scrubs stopped at the entrance, gaping at her. “Pardon,” one of them said in oddly accented French. “Vous êtes une nouvelle résidente?” “Yes, I’m the newest exchange resident. I just arrived a few hours ago,” she answered in English. “Oh, you’re American. No need to practice our French with you.” They burst out laughing and stepped inside the room, followed by a young woman. “Hello. Jennifer MacLawn from Edinburgh.” The young woman with blonde hair and light blue eyes smiled and plopped on the bed next to Mary-Beth. “I’ve studied at Oxford.” “Mary-Beth Drake from Boston.” She scooted aside to make room for Jennifer. The tall resident who had spoken before shook her hand. “Roberto Marcoli from Milano.” He took Mary-Beth’s hand and kissed her fingers with a deep bow. “Welcome, bella mia.” “Pay no attention to Roberto,” Jennifer said. “He flirts with every woman without discrimination.” “Ah, my heart belongs to you, cara Jennifer. If only you would accept it.” “Carlos de Lopez, I come from Spain, from the University of Madrid,” said the young man with olive skin and narrow shoulders. “Welcome to the historical Loire Valley.” Without hesitation, he kissed her three times. “Unlike Roberto, my heart is available.” “Mine is not. I’m engaged.” Mary-Beth chuckled, delighted to meet her new colleagues. “Too bad.” Carlos shook his head and almost pouted. “The Vallée de la Loire is so romantic one cannot help but fall in love in this area.” God help her. She hadn’t visited the famous valley and already her senses were playing dirty tricks. “How was your day?” Jennifer asked her friends. “Long but good,” Carlos said. “We had to debulk several malignant tumors. It’s a pleasure to work with Malroux. He let us do the actual surgery while he supervised. He’s a good teacher and a great surgeon.” “And such a gorgeous man,” Jennifer added, fanning her face with her hand. “Hey, cara, you are destroying my ego,” Roberto touched his heart with flourish. “Do I stand a chance against this man?” “Roberto, you better turn off the charm button. I leave in a month.” Jennifer shrugged. “Besides, I’m not comparing. Just stating a fact.” “Dr. Malroux is already taken.” Carlos waved a hand to dismiss the subject, but Mary-Beth was interested now. “By who?” she blurted. “Too many women. The guy changes women like I change shirts.” “He is thirty-six. I wonder why he never married,” Jennifer mused, and Mary-Beth held her breath and waited for the answer. Roberto rubbed his chin. “I heard his butler say that the old countess has given up introducing her son to eligible women. Malroux has refused his mother’s protégées one after the other.” “Why?” Mary-Beth asked. “Who knows? Maybe a woman broke his heart in the past,” Carlos suggested. “Really?” Mary-Beth had always thought of Yves as the one breaking women’s hearts, not the other way around. The new concept made him human and vulnerable. “Who cares anyway?” Roberto stood and stretched. “Mamma mia, what a long day. We are leaving now. Mary-Beth, I would have offered you a ride to Marancourt but we are already five in my car.” “Thank you. Dr. Malroux said he’ll take me. So you are staying at the chateau?” “Of course. We couldn’t ask for better accommodations. The place is superb. Aren’t you staying there?” “Yes, but I came directly to the hospital when I arrived.” “Enjoy the ride. He has a terrific car. Mamma mia, you will see.” Roberto shook his hand in awe. Jennifer gathered her clothes and went to the adjacent bathroom to change. One by one they took turns getting dressed. A half an hour later, Mary-Beth found Yves in the lobby. His elbows on the counter, he chatted with the receptionist and chuckled. The pretty redheaded woman threw her head back with a throaty laugh at something he said and covered his hand with her well-manicured fingers. Mary-Beth froze at the sight as the pictures from the past melded with the present. A beautiful woman flirting with him, first a nurse, and now the receptionist. Right after he had been hitting on her in his office when he’d discovered her identity. Irritation nipped at her heart and she cursed her fickle organ. She was here to close an old chapter not to add a messy new scene. “Dr. Drake, how was your first day?” The receptionist called. “Great. Quite interesting.” Yves straightened and spun toward her, a breathtaking smile on his lips. Intended for her or the receptionist? “Mary-Beth, have you met Jeanine Meunier? A pillar of our hospital. She knows everyone and everything about this place.” Jeanine giggled. “Thank you, Dr. Malroux.” Her floral perfume increased Mary-Beth’s headache. “Are you ready to leave, Mary-Beth?” “Yes.” Tingles fluttered in her stomach at the thought she was going home with Yves. “Au revoir, Jeanine. Hold the fort down.” Yves winked at Jeanine who giggled. “Bye. See you tomorrow,” Mary-Beth repeated in English without smiling. God, she was so tired. “This way. My car is not too far.” Yves held the glass entrance door open for her. They crossed the parking lot and he paused in front of a shiny red sports car. “A Ferrari? Is this yours?” Roberto was right. Mamma mia. What a car. A perfect match for the driver. Attractive, dashing and daring. Yves’s beamed like a little boy proud of his favorite toy. “Yes. She is comfortable, fast and reliable.” He unlocked the doors with the remote control. After helping her in, he circled around the car to slide in the driver’s seat and took off. He accelerated along the main road, passing the town hall and an imposing cathedral with a Byzantine dome.

Byzantine dome. “Tours is an old city. This is the Cathedral St. Gatien built in the fifteenth century.” He slowed down to point out the landmarks and allow her to notice the architecture of the historical town. “Now we are crossing the Place du Châteauneuf. Here is the Basilique St. Martin built more than a century ago.” Acutely aware of his close proximity in the narrow sports car, she sat stiffly while Yves kept his eyes on the road and an amiable smile on his lips. Her heart pounding, she listened to his enthusiastic description of his country’s national heritage. “There are so many chateaux along the Cher River. I am sure you will enjoy visiting them, Sweet-Mary.” She didn’t correct the nickname he used. Disquiet tickled her as they slipped back into the easy camaraderie of their Boston days when they’d discussed medical cases and laughed at university anecdotes. They left the outskirts of the town. Soon, the car meandered through a narrow country road. “On your left, you can see the open fields of irises. Here the flowers are blue. Further down the Vallée, they grow yellow and orange.” She admired the blue expanse stretching to the horizon. “It’s beautiful and so serene.” A perfect view that should help her relax. The breeze ruffled his dark curls and his spicy cologne wafted over the balmy fragrance of the flowers. When his head swiveled toward her, his eyes glittered with a sexy starburst of green and gold, and the afternoon sun cast shadows from his long lashes on his chiseled cheeks. Instead of relaxing, her heart sank to her stomach. “As soon as we have a free moment, I will give you a tour of our Vallée de la Loire.” Forget the romantic valley where one couldn’t avoid falling in love, according to Carlos. Yves had ignored her for so long. Why the sudden interest now when she needed to prove to herself that she wasn’t interested in him anymore? She had a fiancé and she was here to work. “We are almost home.” Yves angled the car along a driveway lined with poplar trees. “Here is the chateau.” He hitched his chin forward. She’d been so engrossed in their conversation she hadn’t noticed the change of scenery and the majestic gray stone edifice. “What a gorgeous fairy tale castle,” Mary-Beth exclaimed at the panoramic view of the chateau. “I agree. With its two Romanesque towers, Marancourt is one of the most elegant chateaux in this historical area.” They reached the carefully manicured lawn bordering the terrace. Yves circled the car around the crushed gravel courtyard and pulled to a stop at the bottom of a five-step marble stairway. He climbed out of the Ferrari, walked around to open the door for her, and ushered her up the stairs. She watched with interest as he punched numbers on the security panel of a small wrought iron box affixed on the wall. A panel swiveled open, revealing a four-inch, bronze key. “Hubert,” Yves called after opening the massively ornate front door. “Nous sommes là. We are here. Dr. Mary-Beth et moi.” “Oui, Monsieur le Comte. I am coming.” The lanky old butler, dressed in a bowtie and tux, limped toward the door, his cane clicking on the shiny floor decorated with intricate designs of different colored hardwood. “The suitcases of Dr. Mary-Beth are already in her room.” “Thank you, Hubert. I am sorry for the trouble I gave you.” Mary-Beth smiled at the old man who looked even more aristocratic than his boss. “Please come in. Welcome to Marancourt.” Yves led her inside the impressive foyer. She couldn’t help a gasp of admiration at the antique decor. The credenza and silk chairs belonged in a museum. “You have a beautiful home.” It was the first chateau she’d been in but she already knew it would hold a special place in her heart. “Thank you. I want you to feel comfortable here.” Comfortable in the chateau definitely. Comfortable around her gorgeous host, unlikely. “Tonight, we will have dinner in the rose garden, with the other residents. Nothing formal,” he added. “Monsieur le Comte, Dr. Carlos called just before you arrived. He and the others have left to spend the evening in town.” “Then, it will be dinner for two. Dr. Mary-Beth and I.” “Maybe we should cancel the dinner. I’ll be too tired by then.” “You’re not going to bed without dinner. We have already skipped lunch.” “I can do with a little salad and a sandwich.” “Absolutely not. I’m not used to starving my residents. We dine late in France, around nine. Maybe you can take a nap while I check on the Rose Clinic.” “The Rose Clinic? Is it a doctor’s office?” “Exactly. Marancourt includes about five thousand people. Most of them work in the vineyards and the wineries. At the Rose Clinic, we offer free consultation and treatment to the villagers. The families that live on the estate are my responsibility.” Standing in the sumptuous foyer of his chateau, Yves Malroux represented the perfect count, a hero from a historical novel, with an aura of authority about him and a deep sense of commitment to his people. Mary-Beth blinked to conceal the unexpected appreciation that flooded her heart. “May I visit the Rose Clinic now?” “Don’t you want to rest before dinner?” She chuckled and shrugged. “I’m good and very curious. I’ve never imagined a clinic in a chateau.” “It is not exactly inside the chateau, rather in the South Tower.” He glanced at the magnificent grandfather clock. “Can you be ready in half an hour?” “Sure.” “Par ici, mademoiselle. This way.” Hubert gestured to the marble staircase and leaned heavily on the wrought-iron banister and his cane as he painfully walked up the steps. Mary-Beth climbed slowly and waited for the butler. When Hubert stopped and breathed heavily, she refrained from extending a hand to help him the last two steps. Shouldn’t the man retire? But it was none of her business to voice an opinion. He led her down a wide hallway lined with family portraits. She paused in front of the one that seemed the most recent addition. A formal painting of Yves in a tux. “Par ici, mademoiselle. This way,” Hubert repeated as he passed her and waited for her. His head tilted and his eyebrows arched. “He is handsome our count, right?” “Uh…oh.” She cleared her throat, but her face flushed at being caught ogling her host’s portrait. “The first room here is his bedroom.” Hubert pointed at the double door with brass handles. “And these are guestrooms occupied by the foreign doctors.” They passed several single doors. “Yours is here, next to Dr. Jennifer’s.” “Thank you, Hubert,” she said when he opened the door of the room she would occupy for the summer. Good God, what a room. Walls covered in light green silk and white furniture trimmed in gold. She’d grown up in wealthy surroundings, but nothing this sumptuous. A young maid in a black dress and white organdy apron deposited a tray on the round table with a green granite top. “Voilà le thé et des gâteaux.” “Oh, thank you. A cup of tea is exactly what I need and the cakes look delicious.” “I am Simone, one of the chateau’s maids.” She poured the tea in a gold-rimmed china cup. “Cream and sugar?” “Yes, please.” “I will take care of you during your stay. If you need anything please ring that cord.” She pulled an elaborate silk rope hanging from the ceiling. “It will chime in the servants’ quarters.” Awe tightened her throat at the formality of chateau life. “Thank you. I feel so pampered.” She sat in an armchair and smoothed an embroidered napkin on her lap. “Monsieur le Comte instructed me to take good care of you so that you feel very comfortable here.”

“Monsieur le Comte instructed me to take good care of you so that you feel very comfortable here.” “Oh. That’s so nice of him.” Eager to thank him for the special care she’d received, she sipped her tea without wasting time. Moving aside the draperies printed with red poppies on a green background, Simone pulled open the glass-door to the balcony. Mary-Beth padded across the plush Oriental rug and stepped out while savoring a delicious napoleon, her first dessert in a year. The heady scent of roses wafted toward her as she bent over the wrought iron rails. “What a view.” Well-trimmed bushes separated by decorative clusters of red, pink, and yellow roses. Beyond the backyard, a row of willow trees lined a brook but didn’t block Mary-Beth’s view of endless fields carpeted with hues of violet, blue and purple. Tomorrow, she’d start a daily walk in that natural garden. Back inside the room, Mary-Beth indulged in a second cake, then quickly combed her hair, freshened her makeup and added a splash of perfume. She shouldn’t keep Yves waiting, although she wished she didn’t have to face him again so soon.

Chapter Five Yves almost smacked his forehead. Mary-Beth’s attitude puzzled him. She didn’t fit any stereotype of the women who typically held his attention. Not that he’d cared deeply about any woman since he’d lost Rose-Anne. As always, his gut tightened when he remembered the sweet young woman he’d loved and married while still a medical student. Thirteen-years had not dimmed his pain. Since then he’d dated innumerable women but had never allowed his emotions to be involved. Mary-Beth was different and difficult to understand. Why try to understand her anyway? All he needed was a good surgeon, and she fulfilled that requirement. He shook his head to clear it and watched her come down the stairs, regal and composed. “My room is fabulous. Thank you, Yves.” His given name on her lips sounded like a soft music that brushed his heart, softened his insides, and hardened his muscles. “You are welcome. I will make sure you enjoy your stay in France.” Also, he would make sure she recognized her mistake in marrying a man old enough to be her father. She looked at him and averted her eyes when he smiled. They crossed the terrace and went down the marble stairway. His innate courtesy kicking in, he offered his hand to help her down the steps. “I appreciate the trouble you’re taking to show me my new responsibilities.” A frown knitted her forehead and she jabbered a few breathless sentences, but avoided his outstretched hand. Suppressing a shrug, he crossed his hands behind his back and resumed a professional stance. It would take time to breach her carapace. So be it, he had three months and a lot of patience. “We see about a dozen patients on easy days. More during the flu season,” he said, with his strict hospital tone. “You treat children mostly?” she asked, her voice as crisp as his. “Anyone from a newborn to a hundred-year old. The difficult cases we send to specialists at the hospital.” He turned left into an alley and automatically raised his hand to her back to guide her through an open door, then he checked himself and didn’t touch her. As they crossed a waiting room crowded with at least fifteen villagers, he shook hands and introduced Mary-Beth. She immediately returned the greetings with a kind word to everyone. When Bernard, the old scrooge of Marancourt, grinned, Yves knew Mary-Beth would be an asset to his clinic. “You are doing great. My people already love you.” “I enjoy direct contact with the patients.” Her lips slanted in a genuine smile and her wariness eased as they left the waiting room. In time, he’d bring back laughter to her lovely face. Now, he had patients to take care of. “Why don’t we start with old Bernard? He suffers from acute arthritis and he can talk forever about his gout.” Yves handed her a file. “You will find here a list of his drug allergies.” Yves opened the waiting room door and called for Bernard while Mary-Beth scanned the patient’s chart. The hunched man followed them into an exam room. “You can sit here.” Yves pointed to a chair. Bernard tried to hitch himself onto the examination table. “I would like the lady doctor to check me all over. I have a lot of pain here and here.” He laid his crooked fingers on his rib cage and then his thigh. His devilish grin revealed two-gold capped teeth. Yves frowned. “Last week you said the pain was in your ankles and your hands.” Incorrigible Bernard. The old lecher had already fallen under the spell of the pretty new doctor. “Oui, bien sûr. Yes, of course. I think I may also have pain in other places. The hands of Monsieur le Comte are hard. I am sure your hands are very soft and will not hurt me.” “Okay, Bernard. I’ll examine you. Take my hand. Now, put your feet on the step and lie down on the table. I’ll give you a checkup,” she said, her tone calm and composed, as she helped him onto the examination table, and then fingered his neck, shoulders and chest. “Any pain here?” “A little.” He closed his eyes and smiled ecstatically. “You are going to be here all summer, Doctor?” “Yes.” Mary-Beth’s face remained impassive. After listening to his heart and lungs with her stethoscope, she palpated his legs and moved his ankles. Bernard groaned. “Ouch. It hurts.” His arms crossed on his chest, Yves observed her as she performed the medical exam. “I’m done, Bernard. You can relax now.” She studied his file again. “Dr. Malroux, I’ll increase his dose of salicylate, if it’s okay with you?” A mix of hesitation and confidence danced in her eyes, together with a touch of vulnerability and a special something he couldn’t put his finger on yet. He stared mesmerized. Her heavy lashes arched in a dark fan as she waited for his answer. “Very good.” She was very good. Hmm, Bernard wasn’t the only one with lustful thoughts. Yves linked his fingers behind his back and watched their patient hobbled to the waiting room. Mary-Beth was too good and too beautiful. Too beautiful for the old Dr. Galt and too good for a jaded man like himself. And she had the most sensual lips he’d ever seen, full and heart-shaped, created to be kissed. A French bonbon, a sweet candy, hmm...a forbidden fruit. She deserved to find love and passion with a young man unafraid of commitment. One of his trainees maybe. Yves glanced at his lovely resident and grimaced at the logical suggestion of his rational mind. Forget about young men and logical suggestions. Since when had his attraction to a beautiful woman followed reasonable rules? “Any more patients?” Mary-Beth asked two hours later, after the examination rooms emptied. “We are done for tonight.” Yves brought her back to the waiting room and walked her to the chateau. “Dinner in an hour?” he suggested as they entered the hall. Her gaze flitted from his face to the stairs. She stiffened, raised her chin and then looked him straight into the eyes. “No, sorry. I’m really too tired. I’m going to bed.” “I understand. You’ve had a long day. I will send Simone with a tray.” He brought her hand to his lips and brushed it with a kiss. “Oh.” Her eyes rounded and she jerked back, her composure defeated. Too late he remembered the gallant baise-main was not practiced in her country. “Have a good night, Mary-Beth.” He clasped his hands behind his back to avoid folding her in his arms and kissing the confusion out of her heart. If she’d come to him before her wedding, maybe it was because she was screaming for help without knowing it. She had helped him in the past. He owed it to her to return the favor. But could he protect her from the irresistible attraction pulling him toward her? ****

**** As soon as Mary-Beth entered her room, she closed the door and leaned against it, staring at her hand, still branded by Yves’s kiss. She rummaged in her purse for Steve’s photograph and studied it as if it could give her the strength that had slipped away from her. Emotionally drained, she tossed Steve’s picture back into her purse. Squinting to stay awake, she changed into her pajamas, slipped into bed and covered herself to her chin. After a restless night interrupted by several nightmares, she awoke at 6:00 am. It was midnight in Boston, but she needed to hear Steve telling her he loved her. Pulling her cell phone, she punched his preprogrammed number. His sleepy voice answered. Steve could never stay awake past ten o’clock. “Mary-Beth?” he asked in a groan. “Sorry, I woke you.” “No problem.” A yawn reached her across the line. “Are you okay?” His voiced dimmed as if he was already going back to sleep. “So what did you do last night?” “Huh? Dinner with Robert at Jim’s place. Their wives were playing bridge elsewhere. Then I read a little, had a drink and went to bed.” Predictability was Steve’s middle name. “I better let you sleep now.” “Huh?” Had he even heard her? She didn’t bother to suppress a sigh of frustration. “Goodnight, Steve.” She raised her voice to make sure her words penetrated his fuzzy mind. “By the way, I am in my room at the chateau, a sumptuous room.” “Uh, good. Have fun, darling.” A new yawn ended in a snore. She clicked the phone shut. A wave of uncertainty swept over her. How was she to deal with the sexy Dr. Malroux? As if she had a choice. She would fulfill her contract, go through the summer training and learn as much as possible in the OR. And then go back to Steve who would never abandon her, the way Yves abandoned every woman he dated.

Chapter Six During her first week at L’Hôpital de la Santé, Yves had been as professional as could be, and Mary-Beth had reverted to her hard-working, assertive self. “How is your training with Malroux?” Steve asked when he called at eight o’clock every night, two in the afternoon, his time. Mary-Beth gave him a full report of her surgeries and basked in his compliments. “Don’t let Malroux take advantage of your eagerness to learn,” Steve usually added in a kind voice that filled her with pride. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart. I love you.” “I love you too,” she’d answer with a new bout of energy that faded as soon as she shut her cell phone. In bed, she wasted precious hours of sleep, tossing around and punching her pillow to appease a distasteful frustration. Why wasn’t she pleased with her life? She had everything she worked hard to get. A thorough medical experience, a successful career and a wonderful fiancé she’d soon marry. In the morning, hope and determination replaced gloom. Without analyzing her strange mood of the previous night, she dressed and rushed to the breakfast area where the residents met. “Bonjour, Mary-Beth.” Roberto greeted her with a big smile she instantly returned. “How are you doing, bella mia?” “Perfect. It’s such a gorgeous day.” The sun poured its warmth through the double-paneled windows. “What a pity you never go out to enjoy the area.” Carlos shook his head in disapproval. “You work too hard.” “I don’t mind.” What would she do with free time? “I was like you when I arrived last month. Soon I realized I was getting burnt out,” Jennifer explained. “You should slow down.” Her colleagues’ banter made her smile. “Maybe I will. Thank you for your concern.” “Ride with me today, Mary-Beth,” Jennifer offered. “I’m going home in a few weeks. I’d love to chat with you.” Wishing she had time to eat a healthier breakfast, Mary-Beth gulped the rest of her coffee, grabbed a cookie and followed her new friend. They walked together to Jennifer’s rental car, a little standard-shift Peugeot. “Too bad you’re leaving soon.” A sigh escaped her. “I’ll miss you although we just met last week.” “I’ll miss you too. I had very few friends in my life.” Jennifer started the car and drove on the country road. Surprised, Mary-Beth squinted at her. The British resident looked so assertive. “How come?” “Believe it or not, I was an overweighed nerd, very good at passing exams with flying colors, but I sucked at social grace,” Jennifer said with a half-smile. “No kidding. I had the same problem. Too shy and lonely.” “For years, I watched my sisters change boyfriends regularly and I couldn’t get a single boy to look at me.” “Oh my God, you’re describing my life.” Mary-Beth’s throat tightened as an image from the past popped into her mind—herself in loose clothes, nibbling, munching, eating non-stop, and then crying her heart out as the pounds loaded on her hips and belly. “I never went to a prom or a dance. I lost my parents in a plane crash at thirteen. My sister Kate was only eighteen when she became my guardian. We stayed in my parents’ house. Money was never an issue. Dad left us a big trust. When I went to college, Kate joined a convent.” “Oh, she’s a nun? What about you? Where did you go?” Her friend asked, her eyes focused on her the road. “I lived in the dorms. And later at the hospital. The few people I know are at Harvard and Mass General.” “I’m sorry.” Jennifer offered her a sympathetic smile. “How did you lose weight?” It felt so good to find a soul sister. “I joined a weight loss center. It took me six months on protein and veggies to drop almost fifty kilos. How did you do it? ” “I diet and kept a journal. I had no choice. At twenty-eight I looked like a balloon and my blood pressure was skyrocket-high. My general practitioner scared the hell out of me.” “Oh my god, we have so much in common. I wish I could stay, but I’ve already spent too much time away from Greg,” Jennifer added. “Greg?” “My boyfriend. I miss him.” She patted Mary-Beth’s hand. “I’m sure you understand. You are in an even worse situation. Engaged and away from your love.” “Yes, of course.” Mary-Beth averted her eyes to the side of the road spotted with red poppies. “But my fiancé is the Director of Surgery who organized the exchange program with Dr. Malroux, so he agreed I would greatly benefit from this training.” “Director? Wow, how old is he? Oh, I shouldn’t have asked.” Jennifer crouched in her seat. “Sorry.” “It’s okay. He’s fifty-five. I’m not hiding that he’s older than me. They say, opposites attract, right?” “I see.” Jennifer winked. “You fell in love with your mentor. How romantic.” “Steve is a decent man. I have never seen him flirting with other women.” Mary-Beth stroked her ringless finger. The big diamond lay in its velvet box, safely stowed in Steve’s safe. Romantic wasn’t the word she’d use to describe her relationship with her fiancé. More like practical and comfortable. “He loves me and spoils me. He’s so reliable.” “Reliable?” Jennifer sent Mary-Beth an inquisitive glance. “But…you love him?” “Of course, I love him, and I respect and admire him too. I know he’ll be the perfect husband, gentle and caring, calm and composed. With him there won’t be any tension, or nasty surprises, or—” “Or… magic?” Jennifer suggested with a soft voice. “I don’t need magic.” The magical dreams she had about Yves had broken her heart. “A few years ago, I had trouble coping with loneliness and abandonment. Thanks to Steve, I outgrew both lousy feelings.” “What about love, I mean real love that makes you do crazy things, what about passion?” Her eyes round, Jennifer looked at her as if she’d grown two horns on her head. “No, thanks. I don’t want that.” Mary-Beth tapped the dashboard with firm hands. “With Steve, there won’t be crazy passion and heartbreak.” “Why would there be heartbreak?” Jennifer’s head tilted toward her. “Oh sweetie, someone broke your heart. Is that why you are marrying your old mentor?” “Let’s not talk about that, please.” “Sure. So are you getting married soon?” Mary-Beth nodded. “As soon as I get back.”

Mary-Beth nodded. “As soon as I get back.” “Are you done with all the wedding preparation?” “Umm… we will have a very intimate ceremony.” “Ah, on an island?” “No, at the hospital chapel. And later, we will host a dinner with the hospital staff.” “Don’t be offended if I ask why…” Jennifer lifted a puzzled eyebrow. “I’m not good at tactful questions. What on earth are you doing here instead of enjoying your engagement? It should be such a special time, no?” “Of course, it is.” Mary-Beth gritted her teeth. “Something happened.” Jennifer gave her a knowing look. “No, no, we didn’t fight or argue. It has nothing to do with Steve. I came here to find out …something. You see?” “No, I don’t.” “Damn it, I don’t know, Jennifer, I don’t know what’s the right thing to do. Steve is such a wonderful man.” “Oh love, don’t torture yourself. You have three months here to assess your feelings and decide whether you are making the right decision. Anyway, we’ve arrived at the hospital.” Jennifer parked her car, turned off the ignition key and hugged her. “Too bad you’re leaving so soon.” “I have to.” A wicked smile curled Jennifer’s lips. “I need to convince Greg that he loves me to death and wants to marry me, before someone else snatches him. He’s so handsome, and charming, and funny. Never a dull moment with him.” “Really?” Mary-Beth said with a tinge of envy. “Aren’t you afraid he might cheat on you or dump you, or—” “I’ll take my chances.” Mary-Beth shook her head. “I took my chances once and I got stung so badly. Can’t do that anymore. I’d rather not play with fire.” In the OR, Mary-Beth’s angst melted away and she seemed to breathe better after two difficult surgeries. “Dr. Malroux, à l’émergence. Dr. Malroux,” the loud speaker boomed a few hours later as she reached the nurses’ station to check the schedule board one more time. Yves rushed out of his office. “We have an emergency. Come.” Midway down the corridor, they met nurses running with a gurney. “The ambulance just brought him in. The man has been shot,” one of the nurses muttered. “Salle d’opération 6.” Yves glanced at the patient on the gurney. “That’s André, the clerk who works at the local bank. What happened?” he asked Josephine who held a patient chart. “The police said that André was shot by his girl-friend’s estranged husband who had refused to give her a divorce. The husband still had a key to his apartment. He came back unexpectedly, found them in bed, and lost his head. This is the first time we have such a thing in our peaceful area. The police have yet to find the criminal who is assumed to be hiding in the area. He is armed and dangerous, but it’s a crime passionel.” Josephine nodded with understanding as if that big feeling called passion excused the crime. Mary-Beth’s thoughts flew to her distinguished fiancé. No blazing fire here. Steve would never kill a rival. Would he even fight to keep her? Did she want him to fight for her? To prove he felt passion? No, but… Her morning chat with Jennifer had shaken her more than she cared to admit. Meanwhile, Yves scowled at the growing blotch of blood on the patient’s right side. “Hurry up. He’s bleeding profusely. We need to extract the bullet from his chest.” Carlos and Roberto met them in the pre-op room, excitement shining in their eyes. “If you don’t mind, Dr. Malroux, I’d really like to do the extraction,” Carlos asked. “Roberto will assist. It’s not every day we have a bullet wound.” “No problem.” Yves shrugged as he scrubbed. The sight of this patient’s suffering because of passion stirred unease in Mary-Beth’s mind. A shudder raced down her spine. Forget passion. More than ever she appreciated Steve’s gentle affection. “I’ll watch and assist if you need me.” They prepped, scrubbed and entered the OR room. “Dr. Malroux, the patient is ready,” the anesthetist announced a moment later. “Very good. Dr. Lopez, you may proceed.” Luckily the lead had hit a rib and smoothly deflected down. The operation was not difficult. Yves glanced at the clock on the wall. “Dr. Marcoli, keep working with Dr. Lopez. I don’t expect any complications at this point. Page me if you need me.” He turned toward Mary-Beth. “Dr. Drake, please follow me.” Mary-Beth followed him to the ER without questions or comments. Not that she minded the training, but how could she have any free time when Dr. Malroux assigned her to every other surgery in the hospital?

Chapter Seven In the hallway, Yves paused in front of the duty roster on the wall. Mary-Beth sorted through the surgeries, searching for her name. “Salle d’operation 4 for the stomach ablation of an obese patient,” her boss announced. Oh dear, she’d have to cut through an overweight woman. A dreadful period of her life still flashing before her eyes, Mary-Beth remained rooted in place. Her stomach inappropriately gurgled. She winced and pressed her hands to her midsection, hoping Yves wouldn’t notice the embarrassing noise. “It’s already two in the afternoon. Why don’t you go and get yourself something to eat and then join me here.” “I’m good,” she mumbled. Her face aflame, she fidgeted with the mask she held, dropped it, picked it up and crumpled it in her fist. “Something wrong?” “Nope.” She winced, realizing too late that her snappy voice would betray her turmoil. His eyebrow arched. “Sure, you don’t need to eat?” “I can stay till we finish this one.” Straightening, she faced him, as stiff as the board on the wall. It wasn’t hunger that snarled her insides. “In that case let’s go. There is no time to waste.” They changed and scrubbed again before entering OR 4. “She’s ready,” the anesthesiologist said and a nurse removed the tent-like sheet covering a three-hundred-pound woman under full sedation. “Good. We can start.” Yves approached the operation table. “This patient, Sophie Marin, is thirty-one. She has diabetes as a result of the obesity. We will do an incision at the stomach level.” Mary-Beth remained near the door. Her eyes froze on the patient’s enormous belly, and she saw herself lying on the operation table. “Mary-Beth?” He turned toward her and frowned. “You look as if you have seen a ghost. You don’t know the patient, right?” “No, no, I don’t know her.” Hypnotized by the pregnant-size belly of a non-pregnant woman, she stared and took two steps forward. He touched her arm. “Are you sick?” God, she had to overcome her distressing feelings. The past had better stay buried. “I’m fine,” she said with a tilt of her chin to stop him from questioning her further. His penetrating gaze rested on her. “As physicians and surgeons, we face death on a daily basis. You have dealt with bigger traumas than obesity or even diabetes.” “Yes, of course. But maybe this patient had serious problems.” Mary-Beth shook her head and blinked several times to rid herself from her panic attack. “Maybe eating was her only way of coping with her problems, with her insecurities or her loneliness. Overeating results sometimes from depression.” The type of depression she’d drowned in after Yves left Boston. Despair and hopelessness made her eat and balloon almost as much as this patient. “Maybe you’re right. But we don’t have enough time to dwell on the reasons that led the patient to her present condition. We’d better start if we want to help her. Unless, you prefer to withdraw from this case.” His eyebrows gathered in a frown, he waited for her decision. Behind her mask, she inhaled and exhaled, and steeled herself against her previous weakness. “I’ll stay. I can do it.” “I know you can,” he said with a gentle voice. He picked up a knife from the nurse’s hand. “Here is your scalpel. Do the incision between the breastbone and the navel.” For three hours, she followed his instructions with slow precise gestures to minimize the bleeding. “Good. Now, staple the upper part of the stomach, as close as possible to the esophagus.” The nurse handed Mary-Beth a surgical stapler. Yves focused on her gloved hands as she created an upper-stomach pouch about the size of a small egg. “Bien, bien. Good.” His murmured words restored her inner calm. “Now we can close.” Yves turned to the anesthesiologist. “Antoine, how is she doing on your end?” Antoine raised a thumb. “Patient stable. BP and heartbeat regular.” “Good job, Dr. Drake.” Yves clapped his hand. “You’re a great surgeon. I wish I could keep you on my staff.” Joy invaded her heart. Operating next to Yves was a dream-come-true, and she’d helped an overweight patient regain a decent figure. “Thank you.” She nodded, struggling to keep her excitement in check. “The patient will feel full more quickly now. The smaller stomach will reduce the amount of food she eats and thus the calories consumed. Soon, she’ll be slim and pretty.” “She needed the surgery to save her health. The only problem…” He hesitated. “But success rates vary enormously. About 30 percent of patients achieve normal weight, while another 50 percent lose some weight, and regain it just as fast. This is because the new smaller stomach is quite elastic, and by eating larger and larger meals, patients may stretch it and increase their food intake accordingly.” Anxiety knotted Mary-Beth’s insides, replacing her previous triumph. Her eyes glued to the belly she had sewn, she pondered the information he’d just given her. Statistics didn’t lie. This poor woman could recover the lost weight in no time if she’d didn’t control her compulsive eating, thus ruining the surgery’s benefits and causing a new series of health problems. A wave of nausea shuddered Mary-Beth’s insides. This patient could have been Mary-Beth, if she hadn’t heeded her doctor’s orders. Without waiting for Yves to order the gurney rolled out to Recovery, Mary-Beth trashed her mask and gloves. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll help her and follow up. No way, I’d let her go back to where she was.” Her hands clutching her stomach, Mary-Beth rushed to the pre-op room, and bent over the sink to empty the bitter liquid from her stomach. “Mary-Beth? Are you sick?” Behind her, Yves sounded seriously worried. She turned on the faucet and rinsed her mouth. “I’m sorry.” Embarrassment flamed her face. “I’m better now.” “Did I push you too hard with four surgeries in a row?” He gently touched her shoulder. “I should have insisted you eat before performing surgery.” “I’m used to our hectic schedule.” Her nausea wasn’t due to a lack of food, but she couldn’t confess her stressful worries. “I should have eaten this morning.” She glanced at the door to the OR and chewed on her lip. “I hope she doesn’t put the weight back on after all she went through.” “Pardon?” “The patient. I hope she—” “Bon Dieu. There are more serious illnesses.” Puzzlement underlined his tone. “You don’t understand.” Her head swiveled toward him and she pierced him with a meaningful look. “I went through a similar ordeal.”

“You don’t understand.” Her head swiveled toward him and she pierced him with a meaningful look. “I went through a similar ordeal.” “No way. You had surgery? What for, when you had a special glow many women would envy?” Surprise and delight flooded her at his spontaneous assessment. Was that how he saw her when she had carried so many extra pounds? Thank God, he hadn’t met her again the year after he’d left Boston. “No. Not surgery. I lost the weight on my own.” “You are making a big deal out of a few extra pounds.” “Few? Ninety pounds.” Her eyes froze wide-open as soon as she blurted the number and her cheeks burned. “Well, you are a woman after my own heart. Such strength of character. Such discipline. What a great success story.” He rewarded her with a smile, his face gleaming with admiration. “In a way, I’m not surprised. You seem to always achieve what you aim for.” Mary-Beth gave him a sidelong glance. She didn’t like the way her pulse raced whenever he paid her a compliment or the way her obtuse heart stupidly fluttered when he came close. Hadn’t she come all the way to France to make sure she’d completely forgotten him? “Feeling better, Mary-Beth?” He squeezed her hand as if to impart her with his strength. She followed the stroke of his thumb over her knuckles. Tension eased away and comfortable warmth spread to her throat and her breasts. Covering the antiseptic smell of the prep room, the scents of his cologne and her perfume mingled and dazed her. She leaned back against the sink and shut her eyes. “Yves,” she whispered as a forbidden hunger gnawed at her stomach. “Oui?” His breath teased her forehead. “Yes?” Yes, what? Good Lord, was she out of her mind? She freed her hand and jolted away. For heaven’s sake, why was she still lingering in the scrub room? The patient had been rolled out to Recovery a while ago, and Mary-Beth would do well to get out of here. Stat. She glared at his chest, hating its seductive strength and her out-of-character weakness. With new determination, she steeled herself and slammed down on her emotion. “Is there another surgery scheduled for today?” she asked with a crisp tone. For once, she wished she had no more work to do. “We have been locked in the salles d’opération all day.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Almost five. Why don’t you give Hubert a call and ask him to pick you up? Unless you prefer to wait for me?” “No,” she blurted. “No, don’t worry about me,” she repeated in a softer voice, with barely controlled impatience. “I’ll call Hubert.” Yves was her boss, not her friend, not her date, and certainly not a prospective lover. Just her boss. “I will see you tonight for dinner.” “I don’t think so. I’ll grab something to eat at the cafeteria while waiting for Hubert and I’ll a good night’s sleep to recover from my nausea,” she said with a firm tone. His gaze darkened but a sympathetic smile curled his lips. “In that case, if I don’t see you tonight, have sweet dreams.” Nope. She’d rather have no dreams at all. No nightmares like the one she had last night. A nightmare where Steve and Yves dressed like pirates wrestled to snatch her from a sinking ship. And definitely not sweet dreams where Yves won and carried her away.

Chapter Eight “Thanks, Carlos, I’d love to go out with the gang on Saturday.” A night out with her friends would be fun, a great escape from her overwhelming boss and his fabulous chateau. With a relieved sigh, she switched off her cell phone and stowed it in her pocket as she sauntered down the corridor to check on Sophie Marin. “Bonjour, Dr. Mary-Beth.” As usual the young woman greeted her with a huge smile. “Dr. Malroux said I could go home tomorrow. I will miss you.” “I’ll miss you, too. But that’s good news. How do you feel, Sophie?” “I feel great. I am still on a soft diet though. When will I be able to eat normal food?” “We’ll talk about it in a moment. Let me check you.” Mary-Beth untied the hospital gown to reveal the distended area divided by a red and purple line crisscrossed by dark stitches. She examined the incision line. “You’re healing nicely.” She pulled her stethoscope and listened to the heart, lungs, and flat belly area. “Let me ask Dr. Malroux if I can remove your stitches now.” Mary-Beth pulled her cell phone and punched Yves’s number. “Hi, I’m in Sophie Marin’s room. I already examined her. Do you want to check her yourself?” “Is she ready?” “Yes.” “In that case, go ahead and remove the sutures. I will be with you in a minute.” After she’d turned down Yves’s dinner invitation a couple of times, their conversations had dwindled to medical exchanges and reports. So far, he’d accepted her cool reserve without much ado. Mary-Beth asked the nurse to get her a suture removal kit. “Sophie, while we wait for the nurse and for Dr. Malroux, I want to talk to you about your diet. I’ll give you a printed regimen. You have to go easy on carbohydrates and fat.” “Why? I can’t gain weight now that I’ve had the surgery.” Yves’s statistics rang in Mary-Beth’s ears. “Not true. Fifty percent of the patients regain their weight if they don’t pay attention.” “You mean I can’t eat chocolate, or crackers, or pizza?” “You’d better stick to proteins, vegetables and fruits.” “It’s difficult.” “If you feel tempted, call a friend and talk to her about it. It helps.” Sophie’s fingers clenched on the blanket and tears welled in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” “I live alone. I have no one to talk to. Chocolate really helps when I feel lonely.” How often had Mary-Beth said those same words? She shook her head with understanding. “If you’re depressed, put your sneakers on and go out for a walk. Please, when you go home tomorrow throw out everything you have in the fridge and fill it with healthy food.” Sophie bit her lip and lowered her head. “I will never be able to change so radically. On my own.” Mary-Beth considered her for a moment. “I understand. I was in your shoes only three years ago. Always on my own. Always lonely. Always munching. I was so desperate. It took a lot of willpower to break the vicious circle.” She touched Sophie’s arm with sympathy. “You’ve already coped with enough misery before your surgery. I won’t let you plummet to such a low point again. I’ll be here for ten more weeks. How about giving me a call if you need to talk?” Sophie’s eyes rounded. “But you are a doctor.” “So?” Determined to help her, Mary-Beth patted Sophie’s hand. “I’ll be your support system.” A smile brightened the patient’s face. “You really mean it? Thank you so much, Dr. Drake. You are the best.” The nurse came back with the requested kit and wiped Sophie’s chest and abdomen with an antiseptic. Mary-Beth picked up a knot with the sterile forceps, cut it with surgical scissors, and slowly pulled the loosened suture. Sophie winced and Mary-Beth cringed. “Does it hurt?” “Not really. It feels like a quick sting.” “Dr. Drake has a light hand.” Yves walked into the room and watched her remove the rest of the sutures. “Sophie, you can’t drive yourself home tomorrow,” he said as the nurse cleansed the line of red dots and applied adhesive strips to allow the wound to strengthen. “I have to.” Her cheerful mood ebbing at Yves’s curt statement, Sophie sighed. “I left my car in the hospital parking lot.” “Forget it. I’ll take you home in your car,” Mary-Beth suggested. Sophie shook her head as she tied the belt of her hospital gown. “Dr. Drake, you are very kind. I can’t impose—” “Don’t worry.” Mary-Beth raised a hand to stop her protest. “Tomorrow is Saturday. I’m on call until noon. I’ll drive you home as soon as I finish my shift and we can buy you some healthy food on our way.” Yves squinted, an ironic gleam in his eyes. “I can see you’re in good hands, Sophie.” Was it a compliment or a critique? Warmth spread over Mary-Beth’s cheeks and throat. She bit back a retort. “Dr. Drake has offered to help and encourage me.” “Really?” Yves’s eyebrow shot up. “We will let you rest now. Dr. Drake will discharge you tomorrow when she finishes her calls. Bonsoir.” “Bonsoir, Dr. Malroux. Dr. Drake, I don’t know how to thank you. It’s a relief to know I can count on you to help me resist binging.” “You’re welcome. See you tomorrow.” Mary-Beth left Sophie’s room and strode down the corridor to the elevator, Yves’s footsteps closely behind her. “It’s very kind of you to offer to drive her home. But I can’t believe you want to do her grocery shopping. You’re her doctor, not her—” “I’m her doctor and her friend now that she’s out of the hospital.” Frowning, she jutted her chin. “Does that bother you?” His lips twitched. “I can see you are determined not to let her jeopardize the success of your operation.” Mary-Beth jammed a finger on the elevator button several times and endured his infuriating smile. “She needs help at the moment, and I have nothing more important to do after work tomorrow.” Somehow, she found it difficult to breathe with Yves standing so close to her, his gaze gliding over her face with unbearable slowness. “Is that so? I didn’t realize you had any time to spare. I hardly saw you this week outside the hospital. Where have you been hiding?” Her exasperating boss crossed his arms over his chest, surveying her with interest.

his arms over his chest, surveying her with interest. “Nowhere else than the hospital and the clinic, and my daily jog early in the morning. I know the fields pretty well by now.” “I’m glad you enjoy your time here. Just don’t get too involved in a case, especially if it reminds you of your own problems. You may lose your objectivity.” Her head jerked up. “Dr. Malroux—” She bit her tongue in the nick of time. Could she tell her boss to mind his own business and stop psychoanalyzing her reasons for helping her patients beyond the OR? Where was the elevator for heaven’s sake? She smacked again on the down arrow, not ready to put up with more inspection of her motivation or feelings. Yes, Sophie reminded her of herself, and that was precisely why she wanted to support her effort. “I just want to help the poor woman become self-sufficient and break free from her food addiction.” The archaic elevator finally stopped in front of them. They stepped in, but no matter how much she squeezed against the wall, Yves occupied too much space in the narrow cage that could hardly fit three people. The machine chugged and inched down as he turned to face her. Soon the air vanished, replaced by the lime scent of Yves’s new cologne and his raw masculinity. Mary-Beth swallowed, rubbed her neck, and pressed against the wall as if she could get the elevator to speed up. It stopped at the third floor. The door slid open. A burly man negotiated his way inside. Yves inched toward her to allow him to enter. “Oh,” Mary-Beth squealed when the cabin moved and jolted Yves against her. He raised his arms and flattened his palms against the wall on both sides of her head. They were squashed body to body, her breasts poking into his chest. “Sorry,” Yves said without easing away, a devilish smile curving his lips. “Relax. It’s only three more levels.” “Huh...” Three more levels at turtle’s speed. Yves’s eyes fixed on hers with a blazing intensity. An unexpected heat launched in her throat, winged to her chest, and inflamed her belly. She’d be in a raging inferno by the time they landed. **** Yves shifted to give Mary-Beth more room and ended up rubbing his abdomen and thighs against hers. “It’s a bit inconvenient when there are more than two people in these old elevators,” he grumbled. His blood turned hot, his body hard, and his brain lustful. It took all his willpower and the presence of an orderly to prevent him from wrapping his arms around her and tasting her luscious lips. By the time the antiquated elevator reached ground level, he was as flushed and uncomfortable as she looked. The door finally opened. Once free of the close confines, he loosened his tie, air whooshing from of his lungs. Mary-Beth immediately strode away and their sounds of relief echoed in the silence. “Mary-Beth.” Yves called after her. Since she’d arrived two weeks ago, he’d kept to himself, losing interest in his friends. “What?” She stopped but didn’t turn around, her exasperated tone a sure sign she couldn’t wait to get away from him. “You mentioned earlier, you didn’t have anything better to do tomorrow afternoon than to drive Sophie Marin. I assume you have a free weekend.” Now she’d had time to grow accustomed to the hospital and the clinic, he wanted to get to know her better. “Will you join me for dinner at my favorite place in the Vallée de la Loire?” “I’m sorry I have another commitment tomorrow evening.” She started walking again. He strode after her and grabbed her arm. Electricity arced between them. Was she feeling it too? He inhaled deeply to cool his blood and his brain. Her perfume assailed his senses and stirred his blood. She glanced at his fingers and gave him a questioning look, her lips parting. All woman, alluring and vulnerable. “Come with me tomorrow,” he whispered, his head mere inches from hers. She eased her arm from his grasp. “No.” Her eyes darkened, angry and distrustful. “I’m going out with Carlos, Roberto and Jennifer,” she threw over her shoulder as she rushed away. Casting her back an irritated glance, he watched her disappear down the hallway. A curse escaped him. His eyes on the marble floor, he strode to his office, torn between the urge to shake her and the desire to kiss her. So, it wasn’t that she didn’t have time or inclination to go out because of a ludicrous loyalty to her fiancé. She was going out, all right. But not with Yves. No, she simply didn’t want to be with him. He dropped onto his leather chair behind his desk and played with a pencil. Would he ever be able to understand her? Why did he care? She was just another doctor, a resident in training for three months. And a woman with an angelic face and bewitching figure. Merde, but he did care. He lingered at the hospital, made another round, and filled out some paperwork. At nine, he drove back home and settled in his office, his mind still preoccupied with one particular resident. Was she really in love with Steve Galt? Doubt invaded his mind. He debated the question for long hours and reached a personal conclusion. Mary-Beth and her fiancé had nothing in common. How could he convince her she should reassess her decision before committing to a loveless marriage? She should enjoy her youth and taste passion. Ah, chérie, wake up. Come to me. His mind conjured lusty images and his pants tented. He’d been celibate for too long and needed companionship for the night. His intercom buzzed. He pushed a button. “Monsieur le Comte, Mademoiselle Chantal au téléphone.” Someone up there had listened to his plea. Right prescription, wrong woman. “Hubert, tell her that I am not home.” Tonight, he couldn’t flirt and laugh, or even chat with anyone but Mary-Beth. He’d rather remain on his own reading and working. “Oui, Monsieur le Comte,” Hubert answered with an exaggerated sigh to show him he was fed up playing accomplice to his boss’s amorous life. The placid villagers and nosy hospital staff loved to gossip about his weekends in Paris. They probably would be disappointed to learn their count spent most of his time away from home, discussing export deals for the Marancourt wine rather than entertaining another beauty. I want you, Mary-Beth. He scoffed at his alien new attitude. It was certainly not like him to remain lonesome, waiting for a woman to notice his interest. They usually pursued him and fell into his arms without much effort on his part. Around eleven at night, ready to retire earlier than he’d ever done in recent years, Yves pulled the heavy curtains of his bedroom. In the faint glow of a crescent moon, he noticed a sporadic beam of light zigzagging along the alley of poplar trees. He opened his window and stepped onto the balcony. The beam disappeared and reappeared a few minutes later casting shadows of someone running. Mary-Beth? He saw her reach the field of irises and cross through. Had she lost her mind jogging on her own that late at night? André had been shot in the area a week ago and the criminal hadn’t been apprehended yet. Yves swallowed, fear for her safety turning his blood ice cold. He slipped on a pair of pants and a t-shirt, and dashed down the stairs. He ran as quickly as he could toward the edge of his estate, stopped to listen and tried to follow the beam of light. By the time he emerged out of the field, MaryBeth had turned left toward the village. What had prompted her to go there at night? It did seem rather late to be jogging. Slowing his pace, he looked right and left, as he entered the village. Where had she disappeared? The pungent smell of a cigar wafted toward him. “Bonsoir, Monsieur le Comte.” Old Bernard sat in a rocking chair in front of his house smoking. “Have you seen Dr. Drake by any chance?”

“Have you seen Dr. Drake by any chance?” “Oui, she went to Madame Brigitte’s place. Little Arianne had a high temperature and she vomited. The pretty doctor went to see her.” “Merci, Bernard.” Yves had stopped wondering long ago how Bernard knew everyone’s news in the village. Why had Brigitte called Mary-Beth instead of contacting him? Regardless, he didn’t like the fear that gripped his heart when he saw her darting through the fields and imagined her fending off a vicious aggressor.

Chapter Nine Kneeling by the sofa to examine little Ariane, Mary-Beth shifted her gaze to the out-of-breath and visibly upset count. She had never seen Yves disheveled before, a t-shirt flopping over his blue jeans, his messy hair sticking to a sweaty forehead. “What happened, Brigitte?” After a knock strong enough to wake the neighborhood, he had stormed into the quaint living room where aromatic potpourri spilled the warm fragrance of cinnamon. Her hand clasped to her heart, Brigitte bolted out of her chair. “Why didn’t you tell me your daughter needed help? Why do you disturb Dr. Drake in the middle of the night?” Yves’s questions pierced the silence. “I am sorry, Monsieur le Comte. Last night, Mary-Beth insisted I call her if Ariane’s fever rose again.” “Maman,” the five-year old cried and cuddled against Mary-Beth. “See what you did?” Mary-Beth glared at Yves. “You’ve scared Ariane with your banging and shouting.” What was the matter with him? “You told me to follow up on our little patient. I gave Brigitte my cell phone number and specifically instructed her to call me if Ariane’s conditioned worsened. Why are you upset?” “Because it’s the middle of the night.” His controlled voice grew as menacing as his scowl. “So? Am I supposed to refuse to treat a patient because it’s night? Only eleven, by the way.” “You are not supposed to run in the night by yourself. You could get lost or hurt or even killed. Especially when there is a criminal on the loose.” He seemed really upset. And worried. About her? She opened her mouth and closed it. No one—not even Steve— had worried about her since her sister Kate had left for the convent. Steve trusted her to act with a level head and she always did. “You don’t have to worry,” she said with the gentle voice she used to talk to Ariane. “I know my way. I jog along that path every morning. And I was here last night.” “At what time?” He sounded like a district attorney. Mary-Beth shrugged. “Never mind.” His scowl menaced so fiercely Brigitte cowered. “I called Mary-Beth at three in the morning. She stayed until six because Ariane’s fever rose to 40o Celsius.” “I seriously considered moving her to the hospital,” Mary-Beth added. “The Motrin I’ve given her worked wonders last night. But the fever came back again,” she explained with a reasonable tone, hoping he had calmed down. “Now, may I finish examining her?” “Go ahead. I’ll wait.” His scowl relaxed and he focused a gentle look on their little patient. “I can use a second opinion. If that’s what you mean.” “I trust your judgment. The medical one.” Did he imply she was lacking otherwise? At the moment, Dr. Malroux would not appreciate a comment on his lack of judgment. She swallowed a snappy retort. “So why are you waiting?” “To escort you home when you are done. You don’t expect me to let you run alone again through the fields?” No need to contradict him in front of his own villagers, when he was so irate on her account. “Whatever you want.” She resumed sliding the stethoscope on Ariane’s back. “I hear a wheezing I don’t like. It wasn’t there last night. Can you check?” She handed him her stethoscope. “I think the poor sweetheart has the croup.” “Open your mouth, my little doll,” Yves tickled Ariane under her chin. The girl chuckled and obeyed. “I will go back to the chateau and get her an antibiotic,” he said after examining her carefully. “I brought it with me. Brigitte, may we have a glass of water?” The young mother scurried to the kitchen and came back with the required glass. Ariane took her pill without fuss and asked to go to bed. Yves scooped her up in his arms and walked toward the bedroom. Mesmerized, Mary-Beth relished the new side of Yves—a tender Yves who had worried about her to the point of losing his calm, and now gently cuddled a little girl. Her heart gave a jolt and heat surged up her neck. She followed behind Brigitte to the bedroom. “Bonne nuit, ma petite poupée. Good night, my little doll,” Yves said with a soft voice as he bent and kissed Ariane’s forehead. Gnawing on her lip, Mary-Beth beheld the rare image of Yves as a loving father cooing to his child. So far Yves had been a model for charm and suave seduction. Had he ever thought he’d make a wonderful daddy? A new angst uncoiled in her chest. Had she been harshly judging him as a cold, insensitive heartbreaker? “Brigitte, I will take Dr. Drake home now. If Ariane is not better in a few hours, call me.” “Can I call Mary-Beth? My daughter loves her.” Mary-Beth’s skin prickled as his questioning gaze rested on her. “Of course, you can call Dr. Mary-Beth. And she will contact me. Agreed Dr. Drake?” “If you insist.” Mary-Beth shrugged and collected her backpack. “Good night, Brigitte.” They left Brigitte’s house and Yves led her to the road lit by a few old lanterns supported by rusted poles. “You know you can really be infuriating when you set your mind to it.” She chuckled and abstained from goading him. He’d been worried enough about her. “Thank you for taking such good care of Ariane.” He touched Mary-Beth’s arm, a simple touch that generated tingles in her belly. “You are so dedicated to your patients. They are lucky to have you.” Her boss’s praise was music to her ears. “Thank you.” “I heard both Brigitte and Sophie call you by your first name. You have built a special relationship with them based on friendship and respect.” Gosh, she wanted to hug him for the reassurance he gave her after almost yelling at her earlier. “I did what I have been trained to do. Help a patient in time of crisis. You would have done the same if Brigitte had called you.” “Yes, of course. I would have answered her call right away. But jogging alone at night in the fallow fields beyond the chateau’s land is a no-no.” His gaze softened and caressed her face. “Have you ever done this in Boston?” “In Boston? Are you kidding? Except for Harvard square and the university grounds that are always lit and crowded, I wouldn’t venture out alone at night. I see your point. I’m sorry you had to worry about me.”

your point. I’m sorry you had to worry about me.” Really sorry, and inexplicably happy. Not that it affected her decision to be careful around him and keep her emotions safely in check. “Don’t mention it. Next time call me or Hubert or one of the residents. We will come with you. Or take a car.” “I thought Marancourt was a safe place.” “It is, usually. Remember the shotgun wound Carlos operated on. Until the murderer is apprehended, I don’t want you to take unnecessary risks.” A strange fire gleamed in his eyes, before he quickly turned his head. “I feel responsible for you. I wouldn’t want any harm coming to the residents in my exchange program.” Responsible? Mary-Beth’s smile faded. So, that explained his sudden concern. “I understand perfectly well,” she said in a crisp tone. To think that for a moment she basked in his compliment and believed he’d worried about her in particular. No, sir. She’d better stop seeing nonexistent emotions in Yves’s mind-boggling smile. Just a cold, calculating reasoning. If she got into trouble, it might affect his program. When it came to rationality, he could give a hand to Steve. “Can you walk a little faster?” Mary-Beth accelerated her pace, stomping the ground with rising frustration. “If there is danger we shouldn’t linger in the fields. Besides I’m eager to go back to bed.” She took off at a jog, only to hear him gasp and catch up with her. His laughter rang in the night as he adjusted to her speed. “All this energy, to jump in bed and sleep.” She blushed to the roots of her hair. It was good that he showed his true nature again. She wouldn’t have to fight the annoying warmth that fuzzed her mind when he came too close. An hour later, she cursed. He must have jinxed her because she tossed in her bed, unable to sleep. His last sentence echoing in her ears, she hugged her pillow and sighed. How would it feel to have him with her now and spend her pent-up energy in a more pleasant distraction? Their one night together played in her mind like a forbidden video. The scenes scrolled behind her shut eyelids. His arms around her waist, his hand massaging her neck, his fingers fondling her… Stop it. Are you crazy? She was so hot, perspiring, her breathing labored. Even her panties were drenched. Blame it on the sweltering July weather. An absolute calamity. The chateau overflowed with elegance but lacked adequate air conditioning. The heat was responsible for her restlessness and the incongruous fantasy that assailed her now. She yanked off her long nightgown and replaced it with a short linen one. The cooler material and shoulder straps slithered down her overheated flesh. The one night she wasn’t on call and would benefit from a good rest, she couldn’t sleep. She’d bet her meager monthly salary that Yves was sound asleep right now. No wonder he looked so fresh early in the morning. Why couldn’t Brigitte or Sophie or the hospital call her with an emergency, and give her a good reason to escape her bed and dissipate her troublesome energy? A chat with Steve would erase her nervousness. She reached for her cell phone. It was midnight, six in the evening in Boston. Steve should answer right away, but his line rang a few times, and then his voice mail asked her to leave a message. Why wasn’t he available when she needed to talk to him? Exasperated, she slammed her phone shut. Two hours later she was still awake, tossing and punching her pillow. She’d never used sleeping pills. A glass of milk would certainly help. No need to waste time. A glass, or better two glasses of milk would ensure a good night of sleep. She covered her nightie with a silk robe, and dabbed her forehead and face with a towel. Damn the scorching heat. The robe only made her hotter. She tore it off and stepped into the hallway, confident no one else was awake in the chateau. The hallway nightlights illuminated her path. She tiptoed down the stairs, cursing the old wood for creaking, and exhaled in relief when she reached the kitchen without hindrance. She opened the fridge and poured herself a mug of milk. “I think a glass of wine would be a better remedy for insomnia.” “Aahh.” Mary-Beth jolted back, sloshing half her milk on the floor. Yves switched on the kitchen lights. She swallowed and stared at his bare torso and thighs. “Sacrebleu.” His Adam’s apple jerked up and down as his gaze skimmed her naked shoulders and legs. “Huh…I’m sorry.” She pulled a sheet from the roll of paper towels and bent to mop up the floor. And realized she’d given him a full view of her backside in bikini briefs. Throwing him a suspicious look, she crouched to finish her task and found herself at eye level with the tent in his shorts. Double damn. He was as aroused as she was. She closed her eyes and pressed a shaking hand to her heart. It was beating so hard it hurt. Hyperventilation. She stood up, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “You’re sure you don’t want any wine?” He uncorked a bottle of Merlot and poured himself a glass. No kidding. Did he expect her to sit and chit-chat and admire his pecs…and abs…not to mention his absolutely gorgeous thighs. Oh dear, she was staring again. She averted her eyes from his attributes, held her glass of milk with both hands, and turned to leave. “Goodnight.” “Please, stay, Mary-Beth. We are both insomniacs tonight. Have a seat and let’s talk while we drink our sleeping potions.” He settled at the kitchen table with a wholesome smile and pulled out a chair for her. Rooted in place, she zeroed in on his chest, blinked, and lowered her eyes to her glass of milk. “Talk?” She had trouble focusing on anything but his mass of naked muscles. “Uh… Ariane must be doing better since Brigitte didn’t call. Sophie will be discharged tomorrow. Bernard’s arthritis is improving,” she recited with a tremendous effort to clear her mind. “And the patients we operated on today—” “Enough hospital talk. Tell me about yourself. I want to know you better.” His eyes fixed on her décolletage. Yeah, sure. She straightened her shoulders. The damn strap slid down her arm. Well, she’d better move her leaden limbs and escape from the kitchen before he came up with more dynamic ideas about getting to know her better. “I’m a medical resident from Harvard. I’ll marry as soon as I return to Boston, and there’s nothing more to tell. Good night, Dr. Malroux.” She turned her back and shuffled toward the hallway, careful not to spill more milk with a sudden movement. “Fine. I will tell you about myself.” “No, thanks,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m not interested in hearing erotic stories about your string of girlfriends.” “My what?” Oh God, she’d lost her mind. Her breath lodged in her throat as she spun to stare at him. “Uh… no… nothing,” she stuttered, her gaze focused on his patrician nose and sensual mouth. She gulped her milk while his green eyes studied her with shocked curiosity. How could she have blurted out such a crazy thing? Why did she care about Yves’s girlfriends when she was engaged to another man, and not interested in Yves and in any serious relationships with him, for that matter? Serious? Yves had never used the word to describe any relationship. She should learn from his example. No entanglement was his motto. Enjoy life, and to hell with the rest. “Mary-Beth.” Yves’s voice reached her like a tender caress. His arms and his open palm beckoned and tempted. “Yes?” Yes, her heart and body screamed together. “No,” her disciplined mind chastised. “No,” she repeated loudly. “Why do you want to marry the old doctor?”

“Why do you want to marry the old doctor?” “Oh, God.” She dashed up the stairs as if the devil was on her heels and locked her door the second she entered her room. Sprawled on her bed, she hugged her pillow against her hammering heart. Why was she marrying Steve? The spontaneous because I love him and he loves me didn’t pass her lips. Why? Why? She punched her mattress with each question. Because the loneliness of her twenties still stung and she couldn’t cope with abandonment again. Because Steve was reliable, in control, and stable. Were those answers good reasons to tie herself to a man for the rest of her life? With Steve ten thousand miles away, she was so lonely again. She needed friends, many friends. Jennifer was on call today and probably at the hospital now. Mary-Beth dialed her cell phone. “It’s Mary-Beth. Am I disturbing you?” “Not at all. I just finished my round. I’m in the residents’ room. Glad you called. How come you’re not asleep?” “I’m too nervous.” “Go drink a cup of milk in the kitchen. It helps usually.” Mary-Beth harrumphed. “The cup of milk didn’t help this time. It made matters worse.” Jennifer’s chuckle chimed down the line. “What happened?” “Dr. Malroux was in the kitchen, too, having a glass of wine.” “And you had a chat?” The resident’s tone sounded so interested. “He wanted to chat. Imagine, I was in my nightie and he wore nothing but his shorts.” “I bet he was gorgeous. Dang, I missed that.” A giggle reached her. “Oh, he looked good all right. Way too good.” Guilt and lust twisted her insides and she sighed. “Sweetie, relax. Just because you’re engaged doesn’t mean that you can’t look.” “Do you look? I mean—” “Of course I look, if only to compare and reassure myself that I got la crème de la crème with my Greg.” “Oh. I’m not marrying Steve because of his abs and his pecs. I’m marrying him because he’s a reliable—” “I know, reliable, calm, composed, faithful, etcetera. I got it. You said it so many times you convinced me. Did you convince yourself?” Her friend’s laugh grated on her ears. “Jennifer, stop it.” “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Silence hovered for a moment. “Mary-Beth, how did Dr. Malroux react when he saw you in your nightie?” She couldn’t suppress a gasp and was relieved Jennifer was tucked at the hospital and couldn’t see her blush. “How should I know?” “He didn’t try to…to flirt a little bit?” “Nope.” “So his reputation of playboy is really overrated.” “Maybe. Anyway, thanks for the chat. I’ll try to sleep now. Good night, Jennifer.” Flirting with Yves? The idea was simply ludicrous. She could flirt with Roberto or Carlos, but never with Yves because…because Yves had been Yves, mon amour. Good God, she couldn’t crave his kisses. She was engaged to Steve.

Chapter Ten A week later, Mary-Beth was too exhausted to remember anything but work. They had faced an unusually high number of surgeries at the hospital. The situation was even worse at the clinic, with a local epidemic of intestinal flu. Mary-Beth hadn’t had the time to jog, or check on little Ariane or Sophie. Since she hadn’t heard from them she assumed they were doing well. As she tidied the clinic before leaving for the night, she heard the roar of an engine followed by banging on the door. “Come in. It’s open,” she called and rushed to the reception area. Hubert walked in, a hand clutched to his chest. “Where is Monsieur le Comte?” he asked in a groan, his shallow breathing louder than the words. “Oh, my God, Hubert. Sit down. Are you having pain here?” She pointed to his heart. He gasped for breath. “Monsieur…” “Dr. Malroux isn’t here right now. Let me call an ambulance.” “My Jeep is out…short cut, a path through the field…faster than ambulance,” he panted. “You may be right. I’ll get you something to help you, and then I’ll rush you to the hospital.” She dashed to one of the consultation rooms, grabbed two vials, and poured a glass of water. “Swallow this aspirin, please. Good. Now, put this nitroglycerine under your tongue.” “I want Monsieur…” “I’ll take you to him right away.” She helped Hubert to the door and walked him to the Jeep. With the rugged vehicle, she knew she could negotiate her way through any terrain. “Lie down in the back. I’ll drive.” Not giving him the chance to protest, she helped him into the back seat and jumped behind the wheel. She cut through the fallow fields, took sharp bends, and raced to the hospital in less than ten minutes. At the ER, Hubert was rushed to an examination room. A trio of nurses swarmed around the old butler, gave him oxygen, took his vitals, inserted an IV drip in his arm, and drew several syringes of blood. Mary-Beth requested an ECG, X-ray of the chest, and blood tests. “I suspect a heart attack,” she remarked to the cardiologist as soon as he arrived. “We took an initial ECG. It’s not normal. We’ll have another soon.” The heart specialist studied the serial ECG tracings. “You said he’s the chateau’s butler. He hadn’t seen a doctor for many years. I’ll proceed right away with a catherization. Dr. Malroux is busy in surgery, so I’ll let you explain to Hubert what we will do. Do you want to assist?” “Yes, please.” “Go scrub. I’ll see you in the cath lab.” A moment later, Mary-Beth bent over her patient who had closed his eyes and now breathed through oxygen connectors. “Hubert, can you hear me?” He opened his eyes. “We’re doing a procedure to check your arteries. If there is a blockage in one of the arteries, Dr. Julien will immediately enlarge it. You’ll be awake but you won’t feel any pain. Do you follow what I’m saying?” He blinked several times. A shadow of fear twitched the corner of his eyes. “Please, doctor…” She had trouble hearing him. “Don’t worry.” She held his bony fingers and squeezed them gently. “I’ll stay with you. Dr. Malroux will come as soon as he’s out of surgery.” She walked beside the stretcher as two nurses wheeled Hubert to the dimly lit cath lab, moved him to a table and started prepping him for the procedure. “Hubert, if you look up, you’ll see a large camera and several TV monitors.” Hoping to lift his spirits, Mary-Beth pointed to the instrument that the nurse anesthetist rolled next to the gurney. “You can watch the pictures of your cardiac catherization.” “I will see my heart? Interesting.” He smiled and began to relax after the nurse gave him a mild sedative. “Keep your arms and hands down at your side,” Dr. Julien said, while the nurse placed the electrodes of an ECG on his chest to monitor the heart activity. “Dr. Drake, we will do a brachial approach. You may start.” Mary-Beth injected a local anesthetic in Hubert’s arm and made a small incision over the blood vessel. “Do you feel any pain?” “Non.” “Very good.” Dr. Julien inserted the catheter in place and injected a contrast material to outline the vessels and heart valves and chambers. “Feeling hot, Hubert?” “Oui.” “Hubert, what happened to you?” Yves walked straight to the table, in sterile gown, cap and mask. “Ah Monsieur le Comte, you are here. Now I can relax.” “Any pain?” Dr. Julien asked. “Non.” After the procedure, Dr. Julien and Yves joined Mary-Beth to study the X-ray photos. “Mon Dieu, he has a coronary blockage and I never suspected anything.” A mask of anxiety twisted Yves’s face. “It’s only one blockage. He’s lucky he won’t need a by-pass. I will immediately do a coronary stent.” “I will assist you.” Yves waved to Mary-Beth to move away. She understood his need to help his old servant and stepped back to watch the delicate procedure. If they were in the U.S., the cardiologist would have asked Yves to leave the OR during surgery on a patient he personally knew. In this hospital Dr. Malroux was next to God. No one dared question him as she’d discovered in the last four weeks. His face etched with tense lines, he didn’t interfere but closely followed Dr. Julien’s careful moves. “Hubert, do you feel any discomfort?” “Non.” He smiled weakly. “Glad you are here.” “Done,” Dr. Julien said a moment later. “I wish all our patients were as good as you, Hubert.” “Thank you, Julien, for acting so swiftly.” All the while, Yves kept rubbing Hubert’s shoulder with as much tenderness as if the old butler was his father. “I will have him admitted. We will keep him under observation for a couple of days,” Dr. Julien told the nurse who waited next to the gurney. Yves frowned. “I will play it safe and keep him here until we are sure he is completely recovered.” “As you wish.” Even the eminent cardiologist didn’t question Dr. Malroux’s orders. The nurse wheeled Hubert out. Yves walked beside the gurney and Mary-Beth followed to see how she could help. When Hubert was settled in a room in the

The nurse wheeled Hubert out. Yves walked beside the gurney and Mary-Beth followed to see how she could help. When Hubert was settled in a room in the Cardiac Unit and hooked to a heart monitor, she approached the bed. “You’re in good hands. I’ll go home now and come back first thing tomorrow.” “Dr. Mary-Beth, thank you. Without you driving so fast, I could have died.” “What do you mean?” Yves spun toward her, his eyebrows arched. “Why didn’t you call an ambulance?” “I was about to. Hubert said we’d go faster if we cut through the fields in his Jeep.” “Oh, mon Dieu. I can’t believe my ears. You drove that old piece of junk without doors? Through the fallow fields? At night?” “Yves,” Hubert said, forgetting his usual decorum. “She was superbe. She drove even faster than me.” Yves paled. “I think I am the one having a heart attack now. Mary-Beth—” “Don’t say a word. I had to get Hubert to the hospital within ten minutes. The ambulance would have taken at least fifteen minutes to reach us through the normal roads and fifteen more to come back to the hospital.” “She saved my life.” The look the butler gave her overflowed with gratitude. “It was the least I could do. Good night, Hubert.” She bent and kissed his cheek. When she raised her head, she was surprised by the intense look Yves fixed on her. As she stepped out of the room, he followed and walked beside her. She stopped. “Yes? Do you need something?” “No. I am just taking you home.” “Yves, don’t start—” “You have already given me my quota of angst for the day. I’m not going to worry about you while you careened through the fields at 11 pm. Hubert’s Jeep is as old as he is and breaks down ten times a month. I’m thirty-six, a ripe age for heart attacks.” He gave her a devilish smile. “Do you want to have mine on your conscience?” She burst out laughing. “You’re impossible, you know.” “Come. Don’t waste time. I need to be back soon to stay with Hubert overnight. Go change. We’ll meet in the lobby in five minutes.” He firmly pushed her toward the elevator. When she arrived in the lobby dressed in the maroon pantsuit she wore at the start of the day, she found him in a white shirt and striped tie, as conservative as he always looked when not in scrubs. He led her to his Ferrari. “We will use my car. I am not taking chances with Nascar.” “With who?” “Hubert didn’t tell you he calls his Jeep Nascar?” She chuckled. “I didn’t know. What an appropriate name.” She slid into the passenger seat and sent him a sidelong glance. “You’re very fond of him.” “He’s been more of a father to me than my real father.” She sobered. “Excuse me?” Yves started his car and proceeded at a leisurely speed. “Hubert raised me. When I was born, he had already lost his only son to typhoid. His wife became my nanny. By the time I was four, Hubert decided I needed a manly influence to keep me on track. He taught me to ride and fence, swim and play football, your American soccer. He encouraged me to go to medical school.” Yves chuckled at his own reminiscences. “You can’t imagine the number of times he spanked me to teach me to be a noble comte as he said.” “Spanked you? I can’t believe it. He’s always so formal.” “When I turned eighteen and went to the Sorbonne, he started calling me Monsieur le Viscomte, and after my father died, Monsieur le Comte. Without Hubert and his wife I would have been a very lonely child, deprived of parental love and guidance.” Lonely and emotionally deprived as she’d been after her parents’ plane accident. A wave of sympathy swelled in Mary-Beth’s heart. Amazing, she’d never imagined she and Yves had anything in common except their medical profession. Was it because he’d been neglected by his parents that he’d avoided making any lasting commitments to women? She looked at him as if she had begun to discover the real Yves—nurturing and warm-hearted—under the charming heartbreaker’s façade. The one who cared for his villagers and treated his butler like a father, the one who’d worried about her because she’d been out in the night alone. The few loving bonds he’d developed were as solid as gold. She liked that man and wanted his friendship with every fiber in her body. Not only for the two more months of training left, but for much longer, if possible. How? In two months, she’d be married to Steve and would have to forget Yves and her residency program in France. Too busy attending a conference on a cruise ship, Steve hadn’t called for several days. And she hadn’t missed him. What was happening to her feelings for her fiancé? “What feelings?” a voice whispered from deep in her heart. A voice she’d so often ignored. Her heart pinched and nausea roiled in her stomach. Why was she marrying Steve? She had mulled over Yves’s question at length and hadn’t come up with an acceptable answer. Suddenly, the idea of getting married to her old mentor terrified her more than the loneliness she had endured after Yves left her. How could she marry Steve when the impending wedding loomed over her like a storm of anxiety and apprehension?

Chapter Eleven A short while later, Yves pulled his car along the sidewalk lining the Cher River and turn off the ignition. Tonight, he’d finally managed to take Mary-Beth out to dinner and he hoped to improve her opinion of him. Before exiting the car, she looked right and left. “We’re not at Marancourt?” “No. We are going to my favorite restaurant. We both deserve some relaxation and a good meal. I’m famished.” “What about Hubert?” “I gave orders for Hubert to be monitored until I get back to the hospital. We can dine without worry.” “I’m sure he must be asleep by now.” What, no argument? No protest? He wanted to punch the air victoriously. He got out of the car and circled to open the door for her. She accepted his hand to get out of the low seat and immediately shook from his grasp. “Lovely place,” she said when she entered the cozy yet stylish dining room. “It used to be an old country-style canteen that was renovated a few years ago.” “Really?” She surveyed the place with an admiring gaze. “Country-style with all these paintings and statues? I feel like I’m in a little museum. Look at these stained-glass windows.” Delighted with her enthusiasm, Yves smiled. “A table for two, Sylvie,” he told the beaming woman who greeted him at the reservations desk. “Monsieur le Comte, you didn’t go to Paris this weekend? What a pleasure to have you here for the evening.” The corners of Sylvie’s eyes crinkled with curiosity as she flicked intermittent glances toward Mary-Beth. Couldn’t the woman keep her mouth shut? Marancourt was even worse than the hospital when it came to spreading gossip. Yves guessed that every member of his community had learned to share stories about the chateau’s owners the moment they learned to spell their own names. At least their hostess seated them in a discreet booth in the small annex to the main dining room. “A bottle of Château Marancourt as usual?” She sent furtive glances at his lovely companion. “Of course. We don’t want to help the competition. This wine comes from our own vineyards,” he added after the hostess came back with a bottle of red wine. Yves rotated the bottle between his hands, tilted it to examine the label and uncorked it himself. He poured a small glass and brought it to his nose. Closing his eyes, he inhaled. “Dry, fruity, sublime.” He savored slowly. “A wine unique in texture, created for the discriminating palate. Mary-Beth, you must taste this.” He handed her a glass and raised his in a toast. “I hope you will continue to enjoy your stay in our Vallée de la Loire.” She took a sip. “Hmm, it’s good. I’m not a wine expert, but I love the smooth taste. ” “Château Marancourt is one of the best reds of la Touraine, the finest cabernet in France.” Gazing at his drink, Yves rolled the stem of his wineglass between his fingers. “This wine was the pride of my grandfather and father.” “You produce your own wine?” “We have one hundred acres of vineyards in Marancourt. I moved back to the chateau after my father’s death to take over the business.” “Is that a big business?” Her eyes rounded with an admiration that pleased him immensely. “It is now. We meet the local consumption and have started exporting to other European countries. Soon I hope we can target the U.S. markets and compete with the Napa Valley brands.” He lifted his palms in a wishful gesture. “You’re involved in so many different endeavors. When do you find the time to deal with all this work?” “I have several managers in charge of the vineyards. Others supervise the wine production, the marketing and sales. I don’t get involved unless there is a problem.” He smiled delighted by her interest. “Another glass perhaps?” “Sure.” She chuckled, a crystalline laughter that chimed like music. “I’m developing a taste for it.” “Magnifique. How about steaks for dinner with Sylvie’s famous sauce and potatoes?” “I’d love to try Sylvie’s menu.” He arched his eyebrows. Mary-Beth was so easy-going tonight, he should pinch his arm to make sure her laid-back attitude wasn’t a product of his imagination. “Were you supposed to be in Paris today?” It would have been too much to hope she hadn’t heard the comment about his weekends in Paris. He shrugged. “I haven’t been to Paris since last month.” She tilted her head. “Why not?” “There’s nothing for me in Paris. The Vallée de la Loire is by far more pleasant at the moment.” His meaningless Parisian escapades had lost their appeal since Mary-Beth had arrived at his chateau. His thoughts in chaos, he relished the glimmer of her violet-blue eyes and the lusciousness of her sensual lips. He could rhapsodize about her beauty forever, although at the moment he’d rather listen to her easy chat and bubbly laughter. “I’m not in the habit of paying attention to gossip.” She chewed on her lip and paused. “But I have to warn you that the hospital and village are rampant with stories about the Parisian weekends of Monsieur le Comte.” She chuckled, merriment dancing in her huge eyes. “Did you believe them?” “Every one of them,” she said with an adorable smile. He’d never blushed in his life, but to hear Mary-Beth tease him without batting an eye was rather disturbing. Sylvie helped him recover by bringing another bottle of wine for him to test. Yves filled two wineglasses, inhaled its aroma, and swallowed a large sip. “It’s good. Santé.” He clinked his glass against hers. “Cheers.” She sipped slowly and glanced at him above the rim of her glass. “About your stories, wanna hear my favorite?” Mon Dieu, he wanna kiss the mouth bubbling with laughter. He burst out laughing. “Tell me your favorite one.” Apparently the wine had loosened her tongue. He couldn’t wait to hear her special story. She smoothed her napkin on her lap and primly crossed her hands on the table. “It’s about a certain…” She paused, looked right and left, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “A certain Amélie who had locked you stark naked in her closet, because she thought her father was coming, and it turned out it was her fiancé who—” “Enough.” Sacrebleu, he couldn’t believe that story had gotten out. If he ever saw Amélie again, he’d wring her pretty neck. And then it hit him. He didn’t care

“Enough.” Sacrebleu, he couldn’t believe that story had gotten out. If he ever saw Amélie again, he’d wring her pretty neck. And then it hit him. He didn’t care about Amélie, or Chantal or anyone. He just wanted to share a good time with the lovely woman sitting in front of him. “You’re right. Now I find it hilarious. I stayed half an hour in there and tried not to listen to the poor guy’s effort to seduce his unfaithful fiancée. When she finally pushed him to the door and opened the damned closet, I left without a word and never talked to her again.” He covered both of Mary-Beth’s hands with his. “Would it be possible for you to forget the stories of my unsavory past?” “Why?” Her gaze tangled with his as if she wanted to study and assess him before passing final judgment. “Because…” Still lost in the blue depths of her eyes, he paused. He was more than ready to give up his mistresses and his past life-style, and taste monogamy with her. His Adam’s apple jolted. “Because the present is always more fun than old gossip.” “The present?” Mary-Beth wasn’t helping him one bit, but she wasn’t laughing anymore. How could he forget? Her present was a fiancé he wanted to kick out of the way. She shrugged. “My present is my training here. Then I’m going back to Boston, to Steve and a successful career,” she continued in a weaker voice. Yves raised his hand and reached for her cheek. “About Steve—” “Please, I’d rather not discuss my fiancé with you.” Her tone suddenly frosty, she lowered her eyes and crumbled a piece of bread. He clenched his fist and dropped his arm. After dinner, he drove her home. A heavy silence settled in the car as if Steve’s ghost haunted them. Unfortunately, Steve Galt was no ghost but a major pain in his ass. In the foyer of the chateau, Yves bowed over her hand and kissed the tip of her fingers. “Thank you for taking care of Hubert. I’ll be forever grateful.” “Don’t even mention it.” “I have to return to see him now. Bonne nuit.” He pulled her against him, kissed her on the cheeks three times, then steeled himself and held her at arm’s length, holding her gaze. “Yves,” she murmured his name as if she returned his caress. They still had two months of the allotted three together. Only two months for him to convince her that Steve Galt was not the right man for her.

Chapter Twelve Alone in her room, Mary-Beth grabbed her cell phone and clicked on Steve’s picture. Her eyebrows gathered in a scowl as she studied the features of the man she had to marry in two months. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.” A knock on the door interrupted her musing. “Come in.” “I came to say goodbye. I’m leaving tomorrow.” Jennifer entered and closed the door behind her. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to cry.” “I can’t do it. I can’t marry Steve.” “Oh, sweetie, it was obvious all along.” Mary-Beth extended her hand, showing Steve’s picture on her cell phone. “He’s still a handsome man.” Jennifer frowned as she carefully examined the picture. “In spite of the puffiness under his eyes, the lines curving around his mouth.” “What? Where?” Her finger trailed over the picture. “Oh, I guess I never noticed. He’s kind and protective. Maybe too protective at times, but I felt so secure at his side. And he pampered me and showered me with gifts and advice. I thought he was the right one for me.” “Sweetie, he’s your fiancé, not your dad.” Her friend cupped her shoulders and shook her. “Wake up. A woman needs more from her man. What about kisses and caresses? Greg makes me scream with pleasure. Don’t you need that too?” Warmth crept over Mary-Beth’s cheeks. “I slept with him for three months.” “And? How was it?” Mary-Beth lowered her eyes and twiddled her thumbs. “Look at me. I’m your friend. Did you sleep the whole night in his arms?” “At the beginning,” she said with a sigh that spoke volumes. “And then later, you went to the kitchen for a glass of milk or you read a book in the living room or watched a late movie.” Mary-Beth spun toward her friend. “How do you know?” “I’ve been in a boring relationship. A wrong relationship. I left after a few months.” “How did he cope with the break?” “He married another woman a year later.” She squirmed under Jennifer’s sympathetic gaze then stared back at Steve’s picture. “Is that why you came here before the wedding? To avoid him?” Jennifer said with a gentle voice. “No.” “So why you did come to France?” A sheepish smile escaped her and she sighed. Jennifer would not betray her secret. “Because I mumbled another man’s name during our lovemaking.” “Oh my.” “Thank God he didn’t hear me but it triggered an alarm in my mind about…about getting married to Steve while still carrying a torch for another.” “My poor Mary-Beth.” Jennifer shook her head with understanding and then arched an eyebrow. “If I were you, instead of flying all the way to France to get distracted, I would have arranged to meet the man I loved and check my feelings.” Mary-Beth glanced at her friend and fiddled with the phone still clutched in her hand. “I mean, why come to France when your secret flame is still at home in the U.S.? It’s not like you to run away.” Jennifer focused a sharp look on her—too sharp. “Oh my God. He can’t be… Yves? Oh, my God, sweetie. It makes sense. Yves, Steve. The names sound close enough. No wonder your fiancé didn’t notice. But where have you met Dr. Malroux before?” Mary-Beth raised her head. “In Boston. When he came for three summers in a row. Don’t get any illusions. Dr. Malroux went for glamorous women, not plump, nerdy, chocolate-munching students. Nerds like me were not his type.” She couldn’t control the bitterness in her voice. “So he never knew you loved him?” “I wish. Somehow, he granted me one night. The most beautiful night of my life. I was stupid enough to tell him I loved him. I never saw him again.” “Oh, sweetie.” Jennifer hugged her. “I feel like crying.” “What for?” Mary-Beth returned her hug and stiffened. “I cried for a year and then I stopped rehashing the one-night stand.” “That’s when you accepted Steve’s consolation.” “Don’t be naïve. Steve wouldn’t have looked at me back then. Before I lost weight.” A glint of pity glimmered in Jennifer’s eyes. Mary-Beth shrugged. “I taped a magazine shot of Yves on my fridge. For every ten pounds I lost I tore off a little piece. After a year, the picture was completely shredded. I achieved both goals.” She raised her chin proudly. “I dropped the weight and dropped him out from my heart.” “You’re amazing. I never would have been able to recover on my own.” “I did, but I also pledged never to give in to crazy useless passion. That’s when I agreed to date Steve.” She tapped her hand on her temple. “I went from one mistake to another. Oh Jennifer, what am I going to do?” “You know you don’t have a choice.” Her heart heavy with guilt and apprehension, she twitched her lip. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings. He’s been so kind to me when I needed him.” “Do you think your decision will break his heart?” For a moment, she imagined Steve’s reaction and frowned. “No, he’ll be shocked. Maybe disappointed. Definitely upset. But not heartbroken. Steve is a rational man who doesn’t let emotions rule his life. He likes to be obeyed and always wins arguments. He’ll resent me for disturbing his plans.” “Tough. Don’t worry too much about him. Many doctors or nurses will be eager to help him recover from his disappointment.” “I’m sure. Dr. Barbara Perry won’t wait an hour to console him. She’s the Director of Pediatrics. She can’t stand me.” “Let her have him.” “Thank you for reassuring me, Jennifer.” “You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for.” They hugged each other and smiled. “What about you, Mary-Beth? What’s next for you?” “Freedom.”

“Freedom.” “And Yves?” “Sweetie, I’m not going to jump from the frying pan into the fire. For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of being on my own. Isn’t that wonderful?” “Fabulous. I’m proud of you. Come on, let’s go get a glass of wine. No sissy milk tonight.” “I need more than a glass. It’s not going to be easy breaking with Steve.” Jennifer squeezed her hand, and they ran down to the kitchen. “Here’s to a safe trip home, Jennifer.” Mary-Beth clinked her glass against her friend’s. “I’m so glad I met you. Thanks for your support.” “I hope you’ll visit me in Edinburgh.” “Send me an invitation to your wedding.” She winked at Jennifer. “Soon, I hope.” An hour later, Mary-Beth was back in her room. She opened her cell phone to look at Steve’s picture and touched her finger to his face. “I’m sorry, Steve. I can’t smile and fake happiness. I can’t lie to you and to myself.” Oh God, should she wait until she went back home and talk to him face to face? No, she’d better call him now. Maybe she should call Loraine in Boston and seek some support from her unofficial shrink. No, she’d hesitated long enough. Her heart somersaulted for an anxious moment as she struggled for courage. If she wanted to be in control of her life, she had to start now. With a trembling hand, she clicked on Steve’s programmed number. “Mary-Beth, finally. Where were you all evening?” Steve demanded, before she had time to utter a word. Taken aback by his question, she frowned. “Having dinner. I mustn’t have heard my phone. When did you return from your cruise?” “Last night.” “Oh.” He hadn’t called her all day. “Did you have a good time?” “Excellent.” He cleared his throat. “But I missed you a lot.” “Really? That’s nice. Thank you.” She collected herself and focused on her decision. “Steve, I have to—” “Honey,” he interrupted with an impatient tone.”Listen to me. I’m flying you here next weekend.” “What? I can’t leave. I’m right in the middle—” “It’s important to me. I need you here by my side.” “Oh.” To think she didn’t believe him when he said he missed her. Guilt invaded her chest. “I have great news. The American Society of Surgery has nominated me as Best Surgeon of the Year, and the hospital is throwing a banquet to honor me. Honey, I booked you an electronic ticket. I want you to be with me to share my joy.” “Ah.” She tilted her head, her mind raging with contradictory responses. “Aren’t you proud of me?” “Yeah. Sure. Very proud.” And stunned. “It’s a black-tie affair. Do you have a nice dress? Other than the boring black ones you’ve worn too often. Well, don’t worry about that. I’ll buy you a new gown. I’ll ask Dr. Perry to help me choose one. A long red gown. It’ll look nice on you. Barbara has a great taste. I’ll have my lovely fiancée on my arm. Oh, and I should get your engagement diamond and my gold cufflinks from the bank. What do you say, my sweet doll?” Moving her cell phone from her ear, she glared at it. He’d get her to fly back to Boston just to have his lovely fiancée—a beautiful ornament— to parade. In red, to attract all eyes to him. Is that what she had always been to him? A lovely ornament? And a sweet doll to cuddle at night to help him relax and go to sleep quickly. “Mary-Beth? Honey?” “Yes, I’m here.” “You don’t sound too pleased. What’s going on?” His irritation grated on her nerves. “Steve, I can’t just dump my patients and fly all the way to Boston for a party.” “Don’t worry. I’ll clear it with Malroux. He can do without you for a weekend.” Clenching her phone, she wished Steve was standing in front of her. So that she could throw it at his head. “So you’ve decided everything without asking my opinion?” To think of it, when had he ever asked for her opinion? “What are you talking about? Aren’t you happy to come and see me? To be with me during this memorable time?” No kidding, he sounded disappointed, hurt even. “Steve, I would have preferred you ask me rather than order me to come.” Her voice rising with each word, she continued to vent her frustration. “I would have preferred that you announce your good news and let me decide what I want to do.” “Why would I waste time asking? The banquet is next weekend. I had to book your ticket.” “I would have preferred to be treated like a mature adult, an intelligent doctor. Not like a child, you always protect and order around.” Her voice shook with frustration. “Come on, Mary-Beth, don’t make such a fuss over nothing. I didn’t think for a second that you’d hesitate to come.” “Steve, is that how our life together is going to proceed? You making the decisions and me blindly obeying?” Good God, was that what she’d been doing all last year? Had she used his protection, his fame, even his authority, to avoid rejection and life’s insecurities? Pathetic. Silence settled on the line, interrupted by his heavy breathing. She swallowed the tears that clogged her throat. She had wanted stability and affection from an older man. He’d given her all that and more. But it wasn’t enough. “Mary-Beth,” he said in a sober tone. “Are you having second thought about getting married?” She raked her hand through her hair and nodded. How could she explain her sudden change? Sudden for him, not for her. How could she tell him she had been ready to break their engagement? “Mary-Beth, are you there?” “Yes, Steve, I’m here.” “I think you’re tired. Malroux must have worked you too hard. Sweetheart, you need a good night rest. I’m changing your reservation to a one-way ticket. You’ve done enough training.” “Good God.” Gritting her teeth, she froze. Her training and her career were the most important things in her life. No one was allowed to take that from her. “I should have never let you go to France.” Anguish underlined his words. “Maybe you shouldn’t have.” She let the tears slide on her face and didn’t bother to wipe them. “It’s too late now.” “Too late? What…what do you mean?” Too many feelings rattled in her heart. Guilt, apprehension, regret. She was about to hurt the man who had cared for her, the one who’d rescued her from a

Too many feelings rattled in her heart. Guilt, apprehension, regret. She was about to hurt the man who had cared for her, the one who’d rescued her from a depression and given her confidence in herself. She should be grateful and show Steve her affection. Remorse overwhelmed her heart, but it had to be done. “Steve, I’m sorry. I’m not coming back this weekend. I’m not coming back to you. I am so sorry.” “I love you, sweetheart. You have to stay with me.” She swallowed the lump clogging in her throat. “I know you love me, with a good solid affection, exactly as I love you. I also admire and respect you. I always will. Steve, I am very pleased that you’ll be honored this weekend. But I’m not the right person to be on your arm.” “Mary-Beth.” An indrawn breath of outrage whipped across the line. “Please, try to understand me. We…I…I made a mistake,” she murmured, unable to control her shaking. “Mistake?” His groan filled the phone followed by a precarious silence. “This isn’t a rash decision on my part. I was about to call and explain that I…that I no longer…that I can’t go on—” “Is that so?” Cold and sharp like the blade of a scalpel, his voice sliced through her. “Then good-bye, Dr. Drake.” A sharp click ended the conversation and ended her engagement. Throwing her cell phone on her bed, she hugged herself and closed her eyes. I had to do it. She couldn’t have spent the rest of her life pretending to be happy. Their marriage would have been a sham. A moment later, she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, before opening her cell phone to display Steve’s picture again. She stared at his silvery hair, his handsome features and confident smile. Please, don’t hate me. He didn’t need her to be happy. Many women would rush to console him. Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she lifted up her chin and erased Steve’s picture. Now she was free to make her own decisions and choose her own path.

Chapter Thirteen The next morning Mary-Beth showered and dressed in all haste. She couldn’t wait to call Loraine and share her news. “I’m a free woman, Loraine. Thank you for encouraging me to come to France.” “You’re welcome. How do you feel about it?” “Surprisingly, I slept without nightmares or dreams.” The heavy slumber that had claimed her last night, also restored her faith in the future. “Good. Any plan for the future?” “No. I just want to enjoy life. On my own.” She sucked in a deep breath. “And Loraine, for the first time since my parents’ death, I’m no longer afraid of loneliness or rejection. I’m ready to grab any new opportunities and tackle my problems. On my own,” she repeated. “Enjoy your new life, sweetie. I’m glad to see you in control.” “Loraine, you’re a damn good psychiatrist.” “So glad to hear you say that. Unlike you, I never aced in med school and I was so anxious about succeeding in the residency I chose.” “I guess we all have insecurities on one subject or another.” “Take care of yourself, Mary-Beth. I’m not worried about you anymore.” In the breakfast room of the chateau, Roberto and Carlos lingered over coffee. “Good morning, bella.” Carlos greeted her with a wide smile. “Have a seat. I’ll get you a coffee.” “Thanks, but I have to run.” She chose a bagel from the bread basket and rushed outside to the parking lot and her rental car. Usually, she hardly glanced at the fields of iris as she concentrated on the road and pondered her situation. Today, she intended to enjoy the drive and she blanked all thought from her mind to admire the flowers and inhale their perfume. At the hospital, she went straight to check on Hubert. “Oh.” She stopped in her tracks at the door of his room. Yves slumbered in a chair next to the bed, hands crossed on his flat belly, his longs legs stretched in front of him. “Shh…” Sitting upright, his back cushioned against several pillows, Hubert raised a finger to his lips. With a big smile, he pointed to Yves whose head had rolled down to his left shoulder. Silky dark strands of hair flopped over his forehead and gave a boyish softness to the sharp angles of his face. God, he’d never looked so attractive. Mary-Beth took a deep breath to regulate her heartbeat and suppressed the urge to stroke her fingertip along his jaw and lips. She’d seen many doctors drowse at meetings, after a night on call, but Yves dozing was a sight to behold. With his hand, Hubert beckoned her to come closer. “He just fell asleep,” he whispered in her ear. “Okay.” She checked the BP monitor and raised a thumb to Hubert. “You’re doing great.” A medical technician rolled in a clanking cart to take blood samples from her patient. Yves stirred, opened his eyes, and groaned. “I think I dozed off for a while.” “Only fifteen minutes,” Hubert said with a paternal tone. “Mon petit, you must go home and rest. You were up all night. Dr. Mary-Beth can check on me between her rounds.” It was funny and touching to hear Hubert call Yves my little one. “Hubert is right,” she chimed in when Yves straightened and spread his arms to work the kinks in his neck. “Go to bed. I’ll see you later.” “Really?” He smiled wickedly, misunderstanding her on purpose. She blushed to the roots of her hair and scowled at him. He burst out laughing. She narrowed her eyes, but grinned, happy to maintain an easy camaraderie between them. “Out you go, Yves Malroux. And don’t come back until you’re fully rested. Doctor’s orders. Don’t worry about Hubert. I’ll take good care of him.” “I don’t doubt it.” A soft flame burned in his eyes and warmed her all over. “Au revoir, Hubert. I can use some sleep. I’ll come back in the evening.” Hubert stoically let the technician draw three syringes of blood. “Are you sure you left something in my veins?” The heavy woman laughed and pinched his cheek. “See you after lunch.” “Vampire,” Hubert grumbled. “I don’t want her here again.” “Come on. Be a good patient. She’s only doing her job.” Mary-Beth adjusted his pillows so he could rest. “You don’t know that woman. Béatrice couldn’t get me after my wife died. So now she sucks my blood.” Mary-Beth chuckled. “I didn’t know there was something going on between you two.” “Not on my part. She’s the one hovering over me, ready to suffocate me with her hundred and some kilos.” “Hubert, you male chauvinist. Don’t make fun of heavy people. Once upon a time, I was as big as her.” “Really? And you became so slim. Can you help Béatrice?” “Are you talking about me, Hubert?” the nurse asked with a delighted smile. Hubert fixed an assessing look on her figure. “If you want to accompany me to the fête champêtre, you should do something about your weight,” he said in a blunt tone. “Oh, mon chéri, you would take me as your date?” “Only on the condition that—” “Thank you.” Béatrice bent over him, cupped his face and kissed him on both cheeks. “Help, she suffocates me,” he shouted. “I need oxygen.” “I promise I’ll be beautiful for you.” Béatrice left the room her hand on her heart. Mary-Beth shook her head at Hubert’s antics. “What is the fête champêtre?” “It’s the village fair to celebrate the new wine of the season.” He glanced at the door and the departing nurse. “I wouldn’t mind wrapping my arms around her, but my hands won’t reach each other around her back.” “You’re as bad as your boss when it comes to flirting, right?” Darn, she’d never have guessed that the stern Hubert had an eye for beautiful women. “I resent that, Dr. Mary-Beth. For Yves and for myself. I had a happy marriage with my wife, and Yves… Poor Yves.”

“I resent that, Dr. Mary-Beth. For Yves and for myself. I had a happy marriage with my wife, and Yves… Poor Yves.” “Why poor?” “First because of his family, his parents. The countess and the late count Louis married in their early twenties. An arranged marriage. He had the title. She brought the money.” “A typical French aristocratic marriage. Yves mentioned something about that.” “Oh, he did? So I can tell you the rest.” She nodded, waiting impatiently for the rest, whatever it was. “The young couple was delighted to have a son, an heir to the fabulous name of Malroux de Marancourt. But soon they forgot that an heir is a child in need of love and attention. The count neglected his wife and had a string of mistresses, like his father and grandfather before him. The countess became depressed and then got involved in her social life. She headed multiple charity organizations, and…” Hubert paused and averted his gaze as if he’d already said too much. Mary-Beth evaluated the information. “But later, when Yves grew up, things improved with his parents, no?” Hubert made a scornful gesture with his hand. “Nothing improved. My wife and I, we did our best when he was growing up, but we are servants.” “You did a wonderful job.” Mary-Beth patted his hands, sincerely grateful to the old man who loved his young master so much. “Yves told me you were like a father to him.” “Yves needed a substitute for the affection he never had from his parents. He tried to find it with the girls. He loved a pretty one while at the university.” Hubert shook his head. “Poor Yves, he was not lucky.” “Why? What happened?” Did she dump him or had he left her? Enthralled by each word the butler uttered, Mary-Beth bit her lips. “They dated for two years. His parents didn’t want the wedding because she wasn’t from an aristocratic family and she wasn’t rich. Two conditions that the count and countess insisted upon. Yves left home and married her anyway. And then Rose-Anne became very ill. She had leukemia. Yves spent days and nights at her bedside. He did everything he could for her but…” Sadness overshadowed Hubert’s face. “Oh God, he must have loved her so much.” “Yes, very much. He called the Rose Clinic after her.” To receive such love and then die. Her chest tightened for the young woman. “It’s so sad.” And yet, a tinge of envy invaded her heart. “Yes, very sad. That is why he remained a bachelor.” “Oh.” Now, she understood why he left her after that crazy night together, why he ran away when she said she loved him. It was the only decent thing to do. “To cope with the tragedy, he dedicated himself to his patients, got involved in the winery and kept very busy.” Busy dating pretty women. Mary-Beth stifled her exclamation in time. “Now his mother wants him to marry, and me, too, by the way. We want Yves to give us some babies to love.” Mary-Beth shrugged. Considering Yves’s flirtatious streak, why would he burden himself with a wife? “He doesn’t want to marry, right?” Hubert chuckled. “A butler is not supposed to divulge family secrets. But I can tell you because you saved my life. Yves said he’ll get married. Eventually when he reaches forty or forty-five, or even fifty.” “Forty or fifty?” She pursed her lips, not sure if she was amused or distraught at such evidence of Yves’s aversion to commitment. “He keeps postponing, but his mother is trying to locate a bride.” Mary-Beth stood. She had one last crucial question, and then she’d stop quizzing her patient and let him rest. “Considering his parents’ example, wouldn’t it be better if he first finds a woman he wants, and then marries her?” “You are right, but I think Yves suffered so much after Rose-Anne’s death he won’t put his heart at risk again.” Good thing, Mary-Beth had rid herself of any romantic notion concerning her charming boss, even if she appreciated his professional compliments, even if she was tickled by his failed attempt at flirtation. Now she saw him as an excellent surgeon and a great mentor, and maybe a friend for the next two months. “I think the best he can give his life partner is friendship and respect.” Hubert shrugged. “I can’t blame him, although I wish he could change.” She snorted. Hadn’t she believed in that theory too? “Friendship and respect aren’t enough for a good marriage.” Hubert nodded. “I completely agree with you. Besides, as far as I know, Yves never had friends. Hey, don’t chew on your nails, Dr. Mary-Beth. It’s not healthy. ” She pulled her hand away from her mouth, looked at her damaged nail and rubbed it. “Okay, I’d better ring your nurse to bring your medicine. You need to rest. I’ll go on rounds and be back in an hour.” “Dr. Mary-Beth, I wish you were free, and French. You would be so good for my boy.” “Why, thank you, for your generous compliment.” She was free, but not French, and completely opposed to marriage, especially to his boy. Yves’s heart still belonged to his wife.

Chapter Fourteen Mary-Beth straightened her back and rolled her shoulders. She was exhausted. What a long day. After her usual rounds, she’d checked on Hubert again at two o’clock, then left to visit Sophie. As Mary-Beth strode across the parking lot toward the hospital, Yves waved from the sidewalk. “You’re back again?” He came to her and kissed her on the cheeks three times. Taken by surprise, she jolted back and tried to ignore his heart-stopping smile. “What’s wrong? Friends greet each other with three kisses in France. Don’t you know this by now?” “Yes, of course.” So what if he gave her a peck on the cheek? Right, left and right again. Everyone in France welcomed her in the same way. Except that Yves’s pecks were…ahem…definitely not like Sophie’s or Brigitte’s, or even Roberto’s or Carlos’s. They were not light, or swift, or impersonal. They were gentle, insistent, lingering, delicious. Was she supposed to ignore the incandescent heat that lit her cheeks the minute his lips touched them? “I…I want to check on Hubert again.” Oh dear, she could become addicted to Yves’s friendly kisses. They were more invigorating than a shot of adrenaline, more uplifting than a glass of bubbly Champagne. “Hubert is fine, but you don’t look well. Tired?” He gave her a professional once-over. “Just out of breath. I’ve been at Sophie Marin’s to check on the progress of her recovery.” “And?” he asked as he led her down a corridor to the elevator. “She’s doing great with the diet I recommended. I also took Béatrice, Hubert’s friend, with me.” “Hubert’s friend?” Yves burst out laughing. “More like his oppressor. One day she will suffocate him with her attentions,” he said as they entered the elevator. “Hubert asked me to help her lose weight before he takes her to the wine festival.” “Really? Hubert with a date. The heart attack has definitely changed his philosophy on women. So, did you help Béatrice?” Yves pressed the button for the fourth floor. Too late Mary-Beth remembered she’d sworn off these asphyxiating machines. His after-shave and minty breath wafted in the confined space and his lips twitched as he devoured her with his eyes. She frowned and pressed herself against the wall. Would she ever get used to these tiny elevators? Too narrow, too slow, too old. What did he say? Oh, yes, Sophie and Béatrice. “I ended up examining both women. Then I baked a healthy snack for us and low calorie cookies. I left them with a brochure I’d printed from the Mayo Clinic website about obesity and the need to eat the right food and walk an hour every day.” “I can never say it enough. Your patients are lucky to have you for their doctor.” Mary-Beth blushed at the admiration she read in his eyes. “I enjoy cooking and baking the healthy way.” “I see that. Would you like to establish an official support group for the people of Marancourt who want to lose weight? I can let you use a room at the free clinic.” “That would be wonderful. I’d save so much time if I could gather them twice a week at the clinic. Can we give this support group a name?” The elevator finally lurched and stopped. Alleluia. “How about ‘Santé et Beauté Clinique’ for ‘Health and Beauty Clinic’?” “Perfect name. Thank you for your thoughtful gesture,” she said with a big smile. Before they entered Hubert’s room, Yves held her arm. “Do you have a previous engagement for tonight?” “Not anymore. Roberto and Carlos offered to take me to Paris for the weekend. Can you imagine I haven’t been there yet? But I canceled. I can’t leave Hubert until he recovers.” “Good.” His lashes covered the burning flame in his eyes. Was it only gratitude, friendship, or part of a flirtatious game, something she’d rather ignore? “To thank you for taking such good care of Hubert, I would like to take you to Paris. Maybe next Saturday? We can leave early morning and be back late at night. What do you say?” “It’d be wonderful. I’ll definitely wait for you to give me the grand tour.” “So tonight you’re available,” he said with a crooked smile. “Excuse me?” Incorrigible playboy. “What do you mean?” He chuckled. “Just checking if you will have dinner with me at the chateau. I would also like to show you the different clinic rooms and let you choose one for your new group.” “Oh, sure.” How embarrassing. He only meant dinner, while she imagined a fiery kiss, maybe more. Oh dear, she was the one with the lusty mind. That should teach her to jump to the wrong conclusion regarding Yves. **** Suppressing a smile, Yves knocked on Hubert’s door and let Mary-Beth pass in front of him. She trusted him now and he’d have her to himself tonight for a cozy dinner, then next Saturday for a sight-seeing tour of Paris and hopefully the week after for the wine festival. By then, he’d hope he could convince her of the big mistake she’d be making if she married her fiancé. “Bonsoir, Hubert.” Yves gently squeezed his butler’s hand. “Hi, feeling better?” Mary-Beth asked Hubert groaned. “I would be much better if that woman stopped sucking my blood all day long. Do I have any red fluid left in my veins? I think she’s making excuses to come here and nag me.” “You’re talking about Béatrice?” Mary-Beth twitched her lips at Hubert’s blatant aggravation. “I just left her at my friend’s house an hour ago,” “Well, she is back. She was here a minute ago, and she rattled on about how beautiful she will be for the wine festival. Just for me.” Mary-Beth chuckled. “You’ve given her a terrific incentive to improve her health. And she’s put in a lot of effort to lose weight.” “Talking about the wine festival,” Yves said as he turned toward Mary-Beth. “It’s something you’ve never seen before. I would like to take you.” “Carlos and Roberto have already asked me and Sophie, to go with them. Sophie will be fine by then.” “I’m not worried about her. She should be completely recovered. And there will be enough doctors around her, though one of the residents will have to be on call

“I’m not worried about her. She should be completely recovered. And there will be enough doctors around her, though one of the residents will have to be on call that night. I better tell Carlos ahead of time not to make plans.” Her eyes narrowed, Mary-Beth considered him for a moment. “I guess one of them has to stay behind. I’m glad you’re letting Roberto come, because Sophie is interested in him.” “I’m delighted it’s working well. Now why don’t you examine Hubert?” Back in his professional skin, Yves observed Mary-Beth as she listened to their patient’s breathing through her stethoscope. “His lungs are clear.” She uncovered his chest, raised his arm, and examined the incision site where the catheter had been inserted. “He’s healing well.” Yves studied the heart monitor. “BP 120 over 60. Not bad at all. Dr. Julien may let you out soon.” “The cardiologist said that I should begin to walk around. I can be out of this place the day after tomorrow. I can’t wait to be home and away from Béatrice’s claws.” Yves burst out laughing and then tsked. “You taught me to always be courteous with the ladies.” “I also taught you to have good taste, my boy. And not to interfere in other people’s business.” Shaking his head, Yves snorted. “He’s recovering quickly, all right. He’s getting his strength back and his argumentative mind.” An aide brought Hubert’s dinner. Yves helped him sit up, and Mary-Beth rearranged the pillows behind his back. “We are going to let you have dinner. I will be back to spend the night at your bedside.” “No, it’s my turn,” Mary-Beth said. “You haven’t slept all night.” “Thank you for the offer. I have to be with Hubert. He’s my closest… He’s my responsibility. Let’s go home now and have dinner.” He’d almost left the room, when Hubert called him. “I need a word with you.” “Sure. Excuse me, Mary-Beth.” He strolled back to the bed. Hubert beckoned him to come closer. Yves bent toward him. “Yes? What is it?” “Too bad she’s not French and rich. She would make a perfect countess.” “Hubert, are you out of your mind?” “I mean it, Yves. She could be the one—” “First, I will never marry a woman for her money. I’m escalating the wine production. Hopefully, the next cuvée will win the Napa contest.” “I don’t want you to kill yourself working.” “And second, how about not interfering in other people’s business, as you reminded me a few minutes ago?” “I still believe she would be the best for you, my boy,” the stubborn man insisted with a hopeful glance toward the door. “For your information, she’s engaged, and I’m not ready to marry yet.” “I know she’s engaged, but you can change any woman’s mind if you want. Mary-Beth is worth it, and she’s leaving in a month and a half.” Yves stiffened. Less than two months with Mary-Beth? He’d better make the most of this time. “Au revoir, Hubert. I don’t have time to argue.” At the chateau, Yves was faced with the annoying news that his cook had left for the evening, thinking that Monsieur le Comte would dine in town. “We will have to turn around and go to a restaurant.” “No, please. I’m not in the mood to eat out tonight. Would you mind if I fix us something?” Mary-Beth suggested. “Not at all.” She’d cook for him? How sweet. He couldn’t ask for more. “Look in the freezer. We have various packages of meat and vegetables.” Not that he’d ever looked at these packages before, but if Cook had put them there, they were probably edible, and if Mary-Beth cooked them they’d be delicious. “I’ll grill us some veal, sauté artichokes and mushrooms with a sauce béarnaise, and I’ll fix a spinach soufflé.” He’d be damned if he could differentiate raw veal, from raw beef or lamb. Wine he could discuss all day long. “These are French recipes, right?” She mesmerized him with her smile. “Just because they have French names doesn’t mean they’re restricted to France. I love to cook. Next time, I can make you something Italian.” “Whatever you like. I trust you to eat healthily.” As long as there’d be a next time, he’d eat anything out of her hands. He wouldn’t mind eating out of her mouth too. Those pretty lips would cause his downfall if he kept staring at them. “Can you drink while you cook?” “Of course.” He poured her a glass. “It looks like you are accustomed to our wine now.” “Unfortunately, yes. It adds a lot of calories.” “Oh, please. Save the lecture for Béatrice and Sophie.” Mary-Beth defrosted the meat in the microwave, shook it in a plastic bag with some herbs, and added half a glass of wine. Any food cooked with wine got his stamp of approval. He never expected her to find her way around a kitchen as easily as the OR. “Can I help?” “Set the oven to bake and adjust the timer to thirty minutes.” He obeyed, happy to share in the work, and remained close, enjoying the sight of her, all flushed from the oven heat and her effort, while she cooked the vegetables and mushrooms. The smell of garlic and spices floated in the kitchen. He licked his lips, ready to savor every morsel she prepared. He wished he could taste the cook as well. Inching closer to her, he inhaled deeply. A scent of vanilla and mandarin invaded his nostrils and the fragrance of her perfume spread to his lungs and numbed his brain. If only he could hold her for a minute. His blood roared with impatience and his whole body grew harder. “Yves, the timer is buzzing. Turn off the oven.” “Yes, yes.” He did as she asked and went to sit at the opposite end of the kitchen, away from temptation. His gaze swung in cadence with her backside as she bent to open the oven, turned toward the sink, twisted to reach for a plate, stretched to pull a measuring cup from the cabinet. He dabbed beads of perspiration from his forehead. It was too warm in the big kitchen with the heat generated by the oven and the enticing view of her derriere. “Yves, please, over here. I know you’re hungry. It’ll be ready in a minute.” He groaned and dragged himself next to her. “What can I do?” There was so much he wanted to do. “Can you set the table?” “Sure.” Where the hell did Hubert keep the china and the silver he used when they had guests? Yves shrugged. He’d never cooked an egg or set a table in his life. Hubert didn’t deem it necessary for the future count to learn such trivialities. “Why are you opening all the cabinets? The plates are in this one, up here.” She pointed to a particular cabinet. “And the silver is in the drawer on the extreme right. There.” She shook her head with disbelief at his ignorance and opened the drawer for him. “Obviously the kitchen is not my domain.” But the bedroom is. This was turning into an obsession. Think of something else. Fast. “Another drink?” “No, I haven’t finished this one. We can eat right away.” She pulled the soufflé out of the oven. Yves couldn’t recall if he’d seen her prepare it. “Should I take the china to the dining room?” “The formal dining room? Of course not. We’ll eat in here. It’s more cozy.”

“The formal dining room? Of course not. We’ll eat in here. It’s more cozy.” He wasn’t sure she’d like to hear his definition of coziness in a kitchen. A picture of Mary-Beth sitting on his lap, feeding him with her lips, popped into his mind. He loosened his tie, sucked in a deep breath, and gulped his wine. “Bon appetite, Yves.” “Bon appetit, chérie.” Too late he realized he used the wrong endearment. Her eyes widened and then lowered to her plate. He had to distract her, quickly. “It’s very, very good. Succulent.” He savored his veal and took a bite of soufflé. “I never knew you were such a good cook.” She smiled. “I took cooking classes. I always loved to cook and I wanted to do it the healthy way.” Of course. Cooking healthy was her obsession. When she married, she’d make her husband a happy man. Merde. His jaw locked at the thought of Steve Galt eating the delicious meals she’d cook for him, or holding Mary-Beth and kissing her. “Non. Impossible.” He couldn’t allow it. “No what?” She looked at him with a frown. “I mean, no, I’ve never eaten such a delicious meal.” He kissed the back of her hand, and turned the delicate wrist to kiss her palm. “Merci beaucoup.” “You’re welcome.” A lovely pink blossomed on her cheeks, but she didn’t withdraw her hand. Maybe she was getting used to his manners. “I’m so happy you let me cook for you.” Chérie, I’d like to let you cook for me as long as I live. Say it, you idiot. Say it out loud. Hubert had claimed he could make any woman change her mind. His wife’s picture floated in his mind. Thin, pale, and staring at him with sad eyes. He couldn’t push her away. He couldn’t replace her in his heart. At least, not yet. His gut writhed with a sense of betrayal as he contemplated his charming chef. Wincing, he resolutely put his distressful past away and slammed the lid on his memories. “I’ll bring the dessert.” Mary-Beth hurried to the fridge while his gaze followed her. The only dessert he wanted was Mary-Beth with a cherry on top. But he wouldn’t risk spoiling their good time together just because he had trouble dealing with his new chastity. The peach cobbler with non-dairy cream and Grand Marnier liqueur turned out to be as delectable as the dinner. Mary-Beth tried to do the dishes. “No, leave them in the sink. The dishwasher boy who helps Cook wouldn’t be pleased if you deprive him of his job.” Yves walked her to the bottom of the staircase. “We don’t have time to take a tour of the clinic now for you to choose a place for the Health and Beauty Clinic. There is an empty room. I’ll order tables and chairs moved there. You can start in a couple of days.” “Thank you so much.” “My pleasure. I’m going back to stay with Hubert now. Thank you for a delicious dinner. Goodnight.” He kissed her on the cheeks three times. “Goodnight, Yves. Give Hubert my best.” She hugged him in return, her arms hooked around his neck and her forehead nestled in the curve of his shoulder. A sweet hug that knotted every one of his muscles with want. He needed to push her away from him, to keep his sanity and her friendship. The refreshing scent of her skin and her lingering perfume invaded his senses, and his self-control stretched to breaking point. But he couldn’t seduce her and he wouldn’t take advantage of her moment of weakness. She was engaged to his colleague and not free to flirt with him. He placed his hands on her arms and set her away, groaning inwardly at the self-inflicted pain. “I know you don’t want to talk about…about your relationship with Galt—” How could he tell her delicately that such a marriage would be a huge mistake? She raised her head and stared at him with a grave look. Merde, he had upset her and ruined a lovely evening. “Yves, I broke off the engagement.” Her breasts heaved as she lowered her head. “Pardon?” He arched his eyebrows. Had he heard her correctly? “You are not going to marry him?” She shook her head. “No. I realized that we were not suitable for each other. We said our good-byes a few days ago.” He exhaled and struggled to suppress a smile. “I see.” Relief and satisfaction swelled in his heart. Should he offer his congratulations or his regrets? Definitely no regrets here. “I assume you analyzed the situation at length before making such a difficult decision?” “Yes, it wasn’t easy to break up with him because he was there for me when I needed help. But gratitude is not a sufficient reason to marry,” she explained in a reasonable tone that amused him. “And a marriage based only on respect and appreciation won’t last long.” “Absolutely right.” Bon Dieu, she had definitely changed in the past month. Nothing could please him more. “So, you are a free woman now?” “Free as the wind. Free to do as I want.” Yves’s pulse raced and his resolve faded. She was free to do as she wanted. And he wanted her badly. Her bosom rose on a deep sigh and she smiled, a delightful smile that threatened to consume him and smother his honorable resolutions. “So what are your plans now?” “My training, my patients, my career,” she recited. “And I hope I can enjoy life.” Her eyes glittered. The flame burning in the violet-blue depths of her eyes stopped all thought. His lips brushed her mouth, soft at first, urging her not to withdraw. “Yves,” she whispered as her cool assertive façade melted into eagerness. Pressing herself against him, she stroked his nape and raked his skin with her nails. “Don’t play with fire, chérie.” Too late. She’d already ignited an inferno in his body. He slanted his mouth over her parted lips, caressing and tasting. She moaned, and he deepened his kiss to brand her with his passion. Suddenly he remembered the time, and groaned. “I have to go back to the hospital.” He wished he could stay with her, keep her in his arms all night. “Yes, yes, go.” She tilted her head and licked her lips. Her hands slipped down to rest on his chest, warm and tantalizing, but her eyes widened in confusion. “Oh, God.” “Mary-Beth?” With his finger he smoothed the frown gathering on her forehead. “I hope you don’t regret our kiss? It was spontaneous. Something we both wanted, we both needed.” She shook her head, then straightened her shoulders, and sighed. “Well, we got it out of our system. A kiss is just a kiss. No big deal, right? Can we forget it now?” she suggested with a weak voice and bit her lip. He wasn’t about to forget a single detail of their kiss, her warm response, or her body molded to his. His pulse drummed in his ears, and his throat went dry. He captured her gaze to read her emotions. “Is that what you want?” Lust streamed through him. “Uh…” Her voice quivered and her eyes glittered with desire.

Chapter Fifteen Forget Yves’s sizzling kiss? Mary-Beth snorted. Why on earth had she suggested such a stupid idea? If they hadn’t been so busy last week, she’d have sat on her bed daydreaming for hours about their romantic interlude. Unfortunately, Yves didn’t have trouble acting as if they’d never shared the most earthshaking kiss. “Dr. Drake, you can close. Dr. Drake? You can stitch here.” “Yes, I heard.” Dr. Drake this. Dr. Drake that. Except for their time in the OR, he’d stayed out of sight. He’d probably forgotten their dinner, their kiss, and even his suggestion to take her to Paris on Sunday. She finished stitching the patient and lingered in the OR to tidy up. After the nurses wheeled the gurney out, Yves suddenly acknowledged her existence. “We’re going to Paris tomorrow.” Her eyes rounded. “Paris? I thought you forgot?” “Never. I didn’t forget a thing. I hope you didn’t?” His wicked grin sent a surge of want to her belly. Reassured, she stifled a smile. “I remember we talked about Paris. What about Hubert?” “Béatrice will keep an eye on him while we are away. Meet me at 7:00 am in the breakfast area.” Would she be totally depraved if she admitted she wouldn’t mind another taste of Yves’s delicious lips? You can’t blame him this time. She worked hard and was in France for a short time. She deserved some fun. And fun with Yves would be heaven. That’s the problem, her conscience muttered. Shut up. A little bit of fun can’t hurt. She was a free woman now. Freedom tasted good in Yves’s arms. Her body thrummed with yearning. The next day, Mary-Beth woke up at the crack of dawn to shower and get ready. She slipped on a black and white knit dress that stopped at five fashionable inches above the knee and slid on a pair of black patent shoes. A silver chain around her neck and a pair of matching hoops on her ears complemented the contemporary design of her outfit. In front of the bathroom mirror, she applied a peachy-bronze blush over her cheeks, a smidgen of mascara on her eyelashes, and a shimmery pink gloss on her lips. After examining herself in the mirror, she dabbed perfume behind her ears and on her throat, collected her black purse and white blazer, then sauntered downstairs to grab a cup of coffee. Yves laid down the newspaper he’d been reading at the kitchen table and stood. He looked smashing in dark green pants and a moss polo that matched the color of his eyes. “Perfect timing.” His gaze skated over her face, dress, legs and shoes, and reversed direction with excruciating slowness. “Ravissante. You’re ravishing, gorgeous.” He came toward her, held her shoulders and gave her three kisses. “Thank you.” Was it her licentious imagination or had his mouth feather-brushed her lips by accident on its way from one cheek to the other? Her pulse raced, as it always did, but today an unbearable heat singed her throat and skidded down to collect in a fiery ball in her belly. She inched away from him, sat at the table and relieved the sudden dryness of her throat with a sip of coffee. A whole day in Paris with Yves. Was she awake or still dreaming? “Mary-Beth?” She jerked out of her reverie. Yves peered at her, his eyebrow arched. “Aren’t you going to eat something?” “I’m not hungry this early in the morning.” At the moment, she wouldn’t be able to squeeze a single bite through her constricted throat. “In that case, let’s go. We will have breakfast at a sidewalk café in Paris.” Yves folded the newspaper and swallowed the rest of his coffee. She quickly finished hers and followed him to the back terrace. The fragrant scent of the roses wafted through the breezy morning air as they strolled through the backyard. Silence drifted between them. Why was he so quiet? They’d never run out of conversation before. She needed to calm down, say something, and stop ogling the man next to her. “Why is the garage so far from the main building?” “It was an old barn that my grandfather turned into a garage. Later, my father had a small stable built to house three horses.” He opened the door of the Ferrari for her. She slid inside and he sat behind the wheel. Keep talking. Anything was better than the awkward silence that amplified her heartbeat to a loud drum. “Do you ride often?” “Not often enough. I don’t have time. Would you like me to teach you?” “I know how to ride. I had a horse that was stabled at a farm, and I used to ride every weekend. Of course, I stopped after I went to med school. No time as you said.” “We will make time for horseback riding together. There are paths through the fields and the adjoining forest.” Oh, so he wanted more outings with her. Elation fluttered in her stomach. She leaned against the back of her seat. “That’d be cool.” Any activity would be cool if shared with Yves. To think more than half of her training time had flown past in the blink of an eye. He backed out of the garage, drove through the grounds, and then zoomed along the road. “We’re going by the expressway. The country roads are picturesque, but would take too long.” Yves turned on the radio to French songs. Two hours later, the high-rises of the French capital and the top of the Eiffel Tower broke the horizon. She pulled her camera from her purse. “Acting the tourist today?” he asked with a chuckle. “I want to bring back a lot of souvenirs.” “You will.” He gave her a strange smile. “Today you will discover Paris through the eyes of a Frenchman, although we won’t have time to see much in one day. First a panoramic view.” “From the Eiffel Tower,” she said without hesitation. “Not yet. Be patient. You’ll see.” He wound through narrow streets and large avenues, and zigzagged up a hill to a huge church. He parked and opened the door for her. “This is the Sacred Heart church built by Napoleon. Come and look at the view.” Stepping out of the car, she gasped in amazement. Paris spread at her feet like a map. “There,” she pointed with enthusiasm. “I see the Eiffel Tower.” “Exactly. And there the Arc de Triomphe.” She raised her camera and took her first picture.

She raised her camera and took her first picture. “May I have it?” Yves held out his hand. “I’ll take a picture of you with Paris as a background.” Just as he was getting ready to click a passerby approached them. “I can take a picture of both of you, if you want.” “Merci.” Yves handed him the camera and moved closer to her. His arm stretched behind her shoulders, he said, “Smile,” as the benevolent photographer snapped a couple of shots. The gentleman had barely walked away before Mary-Beth took a few more from pictures different angles. Then Yves led her to the church. “Light a candle and make a wish,” he suggested with a smile. “Will it come true?” He shrugged. “Some people believe it does.” “I’ll take a chance.” She lit her candle and prayed for time to stand still, for her training in France to never end. They returned to the car and drove through the heart of Paris. Yves pointed out monuments and palaces, and explained their history. Pride oozed from his voice. He parked his car in an underground parking lot and led her up an old stone staircase. As soon as they exited on to a crowded sidewalk, Yves waved to another huge cathedral. “That’s Notre-Dame de Paris,” she exclaimed. “Bravo. You recognized it.” Mary-Beth could have spent endless hours admiring every column and sculpture, but Yves pulled her out after a brief tour of the Gothic cathedral. “I’m starved. It’s time for a brunch.” They sat at a sidewalk café overlooking Notre-Dame. Yves ordered a typical French breakfast of baguettes with ham, marmalade crepes and coffee. An hour later she finished her crepe and licked her lips. And blushed furiously when he focused on the slide of her tongue. “Ready to walk again?” he asked as his gaze lingered on her mouth and his hand closed over hers on the table. “Rested and ready. Let’s go.” She stood, unable to cope with the heat radiating from his touch. They strolled along the bank of the River Seine and stopped to look at exhibits of old books arranged without any particular order on wooden tables set on the sidewalk. “These are the bouquinists, the secondhand booksellers where you can find real treasures sometimes.” Mary-Beth rummaged through the various displays and discovered a fifty-year old French-English dictionary. “I’ll take this one.” When she fumbled through her purse for money, Yves stalled her hand. “Please, let me take care of that. You are my guest today.” He ignored her protest and paid the bouquinist. “Thank you.” She smiled and held the dictionary against her heart. Her only gift from Yves. The musty scent of old paper smelled like heaven. They drove down the Champs-Elysées and parked along a side street. Like thousands of tourists, Mary-Beth enjoyed the leisurely walk to the Arch of Triumph where she lingered to read the inscriptions about Napoleon’s battles. The day passed too quickly. She took more pictures than she could count. The best were those shot by passersby of Yves standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders or waist. They would go into a special folder on her laptop to become her screensaver. “It’s already six o’clock. We haven’t seen the Eiffel Tower yet, and it’s getting cloudy,” Mary-Beth complained. “Be patient. I won’t let you miss it. It’s open until midnight.” He stopped at a store and insisted on buying her a red T-shirt with a big I Love Paris embroidered on the front. A book, a shirt, and dozens of pictures would remind her of her visit to Paris with Yves. Before she could stop herself, she tiptoed and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Yves.” “My pleasure.” He smiled slowly, and then pointed to a street ahead. “Now, we walk to the Eiffel Tower. Look to your right. You can see it from here.” “Oh, my God.” So that was the Eiffel Tower. “I didn’t realize it was so high. Impressive. How do we go up?” “By elevators. We will stop at each of the three levels.” The view was incredible from the first level, and even more beguiling from the second, but she winced as the third elevator began its spectacular eighteen-meter ascent. Yves, always attentive to her comfort, grabbed her hand as they stepped on to the outdoor level. Mary-Beth stared awestruck at the breathtaking scenery. The sun slowly dipped down, and soon dusk hovered over Paris. “It’s so beautiful.” Yves stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. She closed her eyes for a second, and made a wish—her one and only wish—as she leaned into him, and he tightened his hold. “I am glad you are enjoying your day.” His husky voice against her hair sent tremors down her spine. She turned to face him. Yves’s eyes held her captive more surely than his arms, her lips dangerously near his. He didn’t come closer, and she didn’t ease away. They just looked at each other. She sighed and averted her eyes, only to glance at one couple hugging and another kissing. A curse of frustration escaped her, and she focused her gaze on Yves, on his lips, his aristocratic nose, and hard jaw. He wasn’t smiling as he peered into her eyes, waiting. Luscious memories of their last kiss shivered through her. She didn’t want to wait anymore and waste their precious moments together. She tilted her face higher, her chin a mere inch from his, and inhaled his masculine scent and lemon aftershave mixed with the crisp freshness of a Paris night. Her pulse quickened, raced, slowed, and almost stopped before resuming its erratic pace. “Yves,” she whispered, her lips gliding against his throat. “Kiss me.” “Chérie.” He lowered his head and molded his mouth to hers. She closed her eyes and laced her fingers behind his nape. Feeling, tasting, enjoying. His tongue slipped between her parted lips and met hers in a wild dance. She pressed herself against him, not wanting to let him go. She was on top of the world in Yves’s arms. Warm and secure, and kissing him. He released her mouth and rained kisses on her forehead, cheeks and throat. “Yves, the Eiffel Tower is more beautiful than I ever imagined.” The breeze fluttered her hair over her face. He smoothed it back with a gentle caress. “Tonight, I, too, find it unique.” He captured her mouth and lavished her with kisses, and she responded with all her pent-up passion, her heart beating against his in the same rhythm. She pulled back and snatched a breath, her whole body still clutched with want. Far below, the city sparkled like a black velvet cape sprinkled with millions of diamonds. Yves waved his hand. “Paris by night.” She turned around, her gaze encompassing the unending view. “Wait. One more picture with the flash.” He asked a guard to shoot the picture. “This one is for me.” Mary-Beth nestled in his arms and smiled. “I’ll keep a copy.” He thanked the man and took back her camera. “Let’s go down. We still have more things to do.” She didn’t ask where they were going. As long as she was with him, she was in paradise. When they reached the ground, Yves led her to the riverbank of the Seine and escorted her to a boat docked against the bank. “How about a dinner cruise? The bateau-mouche will take us down the Seine and back while we dine.” He

and escorted her to a boat docked against the bank. “How about a dinner cruise? The bateau-mouche will take us down the Seine and back while we dine.” He helped her over the gangplank and into the boat. “A table for two, please.” They sat at a table against the window. Yves ordered the wine. “Would you choose the menu for me?” he asked with a smile. “I trust your selection will be healthier and more delicious than mine.” She chuckled and obliged. “Santé, chérie.” He raised his glass. Darling? She flinched, afraid to ask risky questions. Afraid to see the evening end. She didn’t want to go back to the chateau, the hospital, and her dull reality. Tonight was out of this world with her special friend. Too special. She shivered as the inner thought opened a whole world of implications she couldn’t afford to consider. “Are you cold?” Yves covered her hand with his. “No, I’m fine. Did you notice it’s raining?” She glanced at the window where heavy drops pelted against the glass. “Don’t worry. It will soon stop. Enjoy your dinner.” The waiter brought their plates and they chatted while eating. “It’s already eleven o’clock. Will we spend the night in Paris? I mean isn’t it too late to drive back?” He gave her a strange look. She bit her tongue and blessed the dimness of the restaurant that hid her blush. “I mean I know you have an apartment…huh...I didn’t mean…damn it. I’m making a mess of what I want to say. I’m just worried about you driving at night during a storm.” He squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you, chérie. I can drive without problem. And I won’t take you to my apartment.” He let go of her hand and cupped her cheek. “You’ve heard enough gossip about it, although I haven’t been there in a long time.” “I didn’t mean—” “I know you didn’t.” He leaned across the table and kissed her lightly on her lips. “I can’t afford to lose your friendship. The temptation would be too strong there.” I want the temptation. She lowered her head so he wouldn’t read the depth of desire in her eyes. Couldn’t their friendship survive one night in his arms? Just one time before she went back to Boston. She swallowed her wine in a big gulp. Frustration gnawed at her belly. She was afraid to acknowledge the strong but subtle feeling insidiously invading her heart. “Why the frown?” “Nothing.” She kept her voice cheerful and warm in direct contrast to the fearful roiling in her stomach. “I had a great day.” She immediately smiled, asked for another glass of wine to smother her insecurities. His fingers caressed her cheek. “We both had an incredible time.” Incredible was the word. She would never forget her first visit to Paris. What more could she ask for? God, she was afraid to answer her own question. She wanted so much more now. The boat docked against the bank. Yves led her to the exit, a warm hand pressed on her back. As they reach the deck, a blast of wind and rain hit them in the face. “It’s pouring. We don’t even have raincoats.” “Don’t worry. We’ll take a taxi to the garage.” The restaurant’s receptionist opened an umbrella and walked them out of the boat to the sidewalk where a line of taxis waited. After they settled in the backseat, Yves gave the address of the garage where he’d parked his car. As they sat in the Ferrari, thunder exploded. Mary-Beth jumped. “Oh God, it’s getting nastier by the minute.” Yves wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulder. They buckled up, and he started the engine, but she grabbed his arm. “You can’t drive to the chateau in this weather. Seriously, it’s not safe.” He arched an eyebrow. “The alternative is to stay at my apartment tonight. It’s only a ten-minute drive from here.” “Well, let’s go. It would be crazy to hit the roads now.” “You don’t mind?” He tapped the steering wheel as he considered her anxious frown. “Why take a risk when we don’t have to? We’re not on call.” “True. The apartment has two bedrooms anyway.” As they left the garage, he turned the windshield wipers on at full speed and concentrated on his driving. Mary-Beth suppressed a smile. A moment ago, her overactive senses wanted temptation. It was coming at her head-on. She almost giggled. A thought hit her. She sobered and tortured her bottom lip. She had initiated their two kisses. Not Yves. By now she knew him well enough to understand he enjoyed the challenge of conquest but never took advantage of a woman. Yet other than the three kisses of greeting he distributed indiscriminately, he didn’t seem to see her as a challenge or a conquest. More like an agreeable pastime because no one else was around. Her heart sank and she slouched in her seat. During the past month, she’d matured and learned that life should be lived to the full. Not evaded. With only a few weeks left on her training in France, she wanted more keepsakes than a bunch of pictures. She wanted wonderfully hot memories only Yves could provide. His eyes on the road, he drove carefully while the rain pelted against the window. He would have driven all the way to Marancourt so she didn’t have to stay at his love-nest. “You’re awfully quiet.” He glanced at her as they arrived in front of a five-story building and entered the garage. “I was just…thinking.” Her heart twisted with mingled distress and expectation. “And worrying probably.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a kind reassuring smile. “Well, don’t worry. We’ll wait until the rain stops, then drive back to the chateau.” “Sure.” He’d shove her in the guestroom and would gallantly close the door behind her until the weather improved. Disappointment spiraled through her. Her whole body still reeled from his kiss. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to experience a night in Yves’s arms. “Easy on the car. You don’t have to stomp on the floor.” He put a restraining hand on her knee. His touch ignited tongues of fire along her thigh and an incandescent ball in her belly. Her tapping redoubled and he chuckled. “I know the rain is getting on your nerves.” She studied his handsome features and the twinkling in his eyes. Just take me in your arms. But he’d already turned his head and opened the door of the car to get out. Either he had more will power than she gave him credit for, or… Oh my God, he was used to more experienced women who could please him while she… Tears of frustration prickled her eyes. She blinked them back, climbed out, and slammed the door of the car behind her. His jaw slackened as he stared at his precious Ferrari. “Sorry.” Without adding another word, she followed him to the elevator and rode to the fourth floor. He unlocked the door of his apartment and let her pass in front of him. “It’s not big but comfortable. I don’t really live here.”

He unlocked the door of his apartment and let her pass in front of him. “It’s not big but comfortable. I don’t really live here.” Sure. He made love here. Her nerves as jittery as a hot wire, she scanned the white leather sofas and glass cocktail tables and bar, so different from the antique luxury of the chateau. “It’s nice.” The words squeezed out of her mouth with effort. Did he always have to be the aristocratic count? Why couldn’t he ignore his ingrained politeness and be really interested in her?

Chapter Sixteen Yves smiled and helped her out of her blazer. She was so cute with her mussed up hair framing her face and the sexy dress molding her perfect figure. He squirmed, growing hard, and walked to the bar. “A liqueur, perhaps?” “No, thank you.” When they were at the Eiffel Tower, she had shed her icy don’t-mess-with-me attitude and sought his kiss. Big progress he fully appreciated and enjoyed. Since then she’d seemed to regret her bold move and had often frowned. Even if it killed him, he’d tread carefully around her until she loosened up. Setting back the bottle of Cointreau on the bar without filling a glass, he opened a door to reveal an elegant bedroom. “Here is the guest room. It has its own bathroom.” Mary-Beth crossed her arms and eyed him. Merde, she was upset all right. He knew it was almost sacrilegious to bring her to his love-nest where so many women had visited over the years, but he was doing his best to behave properly. “Go ahead.” He led her to the guest room. “Make yourself comfortable.” He clasped his hands behind his back, hoping his perfect behavior would compensate for the reputation of his apartment. “This room… The guest room.” She jerked back, visibly offended. Yes, he shouldn’t have brought her here. He respected her too much for that. This respect would surely kill him. Shoving his hands in his pocket to keep from reaching to her, he glanced at the bar. He could use a drink. He stared at her, for once at a loss about what to do. “Mary-Beth, if you want us to leave right away, we can go.” Her mouth puckered and she averted her gaze. “No. It’s still pouring.” “It’s not a problem, I can dr—” “No.” She spat the word without looking at him. What was wrong with her? He took a step toward her. She backed up, her mouth set in a stern line and her eyes flat, giving him nothing. He cursed under his breath and slammed his arms against his side. For a connoisseur de femmes, he’d grossly failed to understand the woman he valued above others. Mon Dieu, she was the only one he wanted to hold in his arms and cherish. “Mary-Beth, something is bothering you.” She twitched her lips and frowned. “I thought you had a wonderful day. I know I did.” “Oh yes, it was a wonderful day.” She sighed and faced him with regret and hope in her eyes. “So?” It wasn’t like Mary-Beth to remain tight-lipped when something upset her. Her shoulders slumped. “An out-of-this world day.” This was going nowhere. Crossing the space between them, he cupped her shoulders and steeled himself not to pull her into his arms. “Mary-Beth?” he gently probed. “Is it so difficult to tell me what is bothering you? “Yves, I know you can choose any woman you want. I mean you only had beauties in the past. Except once… I mean I want... Oh damn… I’m blabbering. Please, forget what I said… You’ve already been the perfect host today. Thank you.” Her beautiful eyes glistened with tears and with the fire he’d seen when he kissed her. Hope burst into his heart. Earlier, she’d asked him to kiss her but then withdrew. Could it be possible she wanted him as much as he wanted her? “You don’t have to thank me. I enjoyed every moment as much and more than you did.” He pulled her against him and stroked a soothing hand over her head. “Especially our kiss.” How long could they ignore the chemistry sizzling between them? “Please, don’t pretend.” Pain rippled beneath the ice in her voice. “Pretend what?” His body hardened. His pulse raced. Forget respect, forget friendship. She was free and he wanted the dazzling woman he had in his arms. Now. “That … I am not your type of—” Tears of frustration tickled her eyes. “I never pretend. I never lie. And right now I want you more than any other women.” His lips covered her mouth, brushed, tasted, devoured and demanded she believe him. In the silence of the room, their hearts drummed against each other in a joyful echo. He released her suddenly and peered into her eyes. “Mary-Beth, I’m not good enough for you and I don’t like strings. You would resent me forever if I gave in to temptation.” “No, I won’t resent you.” Her face brightened with a lovely smile. “Yves,” she breathed against his mouth. “I just got rid of my own strings.” She squirmed. “In the past—” “Stop thinking about the past.” He wouldn’t let her inhibitions destroy their present. “You were a cute virgin then. Now you are a stunning woman, a man’s fantasy. I can’t keep away from you in spite of my efforts. I need you. I need to feel your face, your hair, your body, even your smell,” he added as her perfume enveloped him and he inhaled the delicious scent that had tantalized him for a month. **** Mary-Beth tried to read his eyes. Yves didn’t give her time to answer. His mouth took hold of hers before she collected her thoughts. To hell with thoughts. Having coherent thoughts when Yves kissed her was impossible. She played with the silky hair at his nape and allowed him to take control of her senses. His tongue did its crazy dance inside her mouth. His burning hand closed over her breast and gently fondled. Warmth spread to her chest and belly while she melted against him. He scattered kisses over her cheeks, along her jaw and down her throat. “I want you,” he murmured against her skin as he swiftly unzipped her dress. “I want you too.” With shaking fingers, she slid her dress down her legs and tossed it away. His eyes burned her as he slowly appraised her breasts, overflowing the lace bra— the only part of her that had never lost weight over the years. She hid them with trembling hands, worried he wouldn’t like what he saw. “Don’t,” he ordered, his voice husky. He drew her hands away. “Don’t deprive me of the pleasure. I have waited long enough.” His fingers trailed over the lace that covered her. “Your breasts are the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

that covered her. “Your breasts are the most beautiful I have ever seen.” Her heart beat a joyful tremolo against her ribs. “Oh, Yves,” she murmured. Inappropriate words of thanks lumped in her throat. “Let me honor them as due.” His smile sent searing heat to her face and her chest. He unclasped the bra, peeled it away and bent his head to trail kisses over her quivering flesh. When he sucked on a nipple, she moaned and combed his hair with her nails, pressing his head against her. He savored her other breast with the same fervor until her knees buckled. Attentive to her reactions, he tilted her chin up with a finger to peer into her eyes. “Chérie, be patient. We have all night.” His gaze glittered, carrying a promise of pleasure she was eager to feel. She shivered in anticipation. “All night? I can’t wait.” “No waiting required, my dearest Mary-Beth. We enjoy each other. I caress and taste you, and you feel.” “But I want to caress and taste, too.” He burst out laughing. “Always assertive and thorough, Dr. Drake. I like that.” “I like it, too.” She reached unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, concentrating on the task, and pulled it open to reveal tanned skin over toned muscle. “I mean I like your chest.” She grazed his abs with delight, raking her fingers through the soft hair. She would have her night of love, of passion and fire. A night to last her a lifetime. Her stomach clenched with desire. She gulped a breath, unbuckled his pants, glanced up at him, hesitating, her hand frozen on his zipper. He watched her intently and caressed her cheek. “Need help?” “Nope. I can do it.” She bit her lip while she lowered the zipper and pushed his pants down his legs. “I know.” He chuckled. “You’re a temptress. A good one, and I want to be tempted.” The bulge in his briefs confirmed his words. Her breath lumped in her throat. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed her with so much strength she couldn’t breathe. His lips glided over her mouth, her closed eyes, her cheeks, her throat. “Oh, ma chérie. It’s my turn again now.” He laid her down on the bed and slipped off her high-heels, rubbed her toes, and stroked her ankles. Goose bumps sprouted over her skin. She shut her eyes and reveled in his erotic massage of her feet. He drew a fiery path of kisses along her legs and thighs. When she shivered with delight, he slipped her thong off and got rid of his briefs. Lying down beside her, he played with her breasts and laved their hard peaks with his tongue. Blazing sensation singed her skin. Tension built. He was too slow, deliciously slow, and she was on fire. She bent over him, licked his nipple, and sucked on it until he tensed and pulled her face away from his chest. “Enough,” he groaned. “Let me take care of you first.” “See. I want more…I mean less…” she cried her frustration. “You’re too kind, too slow, treating me like a virgin.” She clamped her mouth shut not to tell him she was about to explode with need. Turning to her side, she threw her leg over his hip, and cupped his buttocks, trying to pull him hard against her. He captured her mouth and kissed her deeply. Their tongues tangled as his finger slid into her moist heat. “Yves.” She shuddered and wrapped her fingers around his erection, stroking fast as her own pleasure escalated. A growl rumbled up from his chest. He moved her hand away from him and rolled her onto her back. Reaching for the night table, he opened a drawer, withdrew a silver pack and protected himself. His head lowered and he licked her belly button, while his finger waltzed inside her. “Oh … no …please,” she moaned. His caress steadily eroded her ability to think. His lips rubbed against her most intimate part as his tongue teased her pleasure button. She arched and quivered against his mouth while wave after wave of sensation rippled through her. When he rose, she opened dazed eyes and clasped her hands on his shoulders afraid to lose him so soon. He gave her a satisfied smile and gathered her closer, covering her with his body, pleasuring her as if they had all the time of the world. Yes, they had the whole night, just for themselves. She smiled back. His lips were on her mouth working their magic. He slid inside her, withdrew, and plunged again. She moaned and wrapped her legs around him, unable to withstand the sweet torture. “Yves,” she whispered in a breath. “Oui, chérie.” He accelerated his tempo. She dug her nails into the muscles of his back, then smoothed her palm over his sweat-damp skin, breathed his scent, masculine and exciting. He sank deeper inside her. His tongue thrust in her mouth, his erection followed the same crazy rhythm. A rainbow of colors shaded all thought as she exploded in ecstasy and moaned the name Yves with the right man. “All yours, chérie,” he groaned and climaxed with her. And she lost track of time. How long did they remain entwined? Her face nestled against the hollow of his neck, she basked in the aftermath of their lovemaking, happy and serene. Reluctant to move and wake from her incredible fantasy, she pressed her mouth to his collarbone. His erratic pulse drummed against her lips. Her fantasy was real, and her hero magnificent. **** Yves hauled a deep breath and rolled over, tugging her on top of him. She lifted her head and smiled. “That was fantastic.” “Amazing.” He stroked her back and cupped her softly rounded behind. “For you too?” “Oh, yes.” With a gentle caress, he pushed away the strand of chestnut hair falling over her face. “Why don’t you sleep in my arms? We’ll have to leave by dawn to be back at the hospital on time.” “Ouch, you have to remind me?” “I wish we could stay longer.” Yves nipped the delicate skin of her throat and inhaled the fragrance of her perfume and the smell of her, still lingering on his fingers. With infinite care, he gathered her in his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder. A few minutes later, her regular breathing told him she was asleep. He tightened his arms around her. He wouldn’t be able to close his eyes. Not with Mary-Beth naked in his arms. He hadn’t lied to her. The chemistry had been incredible. He’d never enjoyed making love to a woman as he did tonight. The thought stunned him. Heat spread through his body and he felt hard again. So soon? She was here for a month. She could sleep in his arms every night. He smiled at the lovely woman resting against his chest now. His assertive Mary-Beth, so sweet and innocent in her sleep. Having her in his bed every night would be wonderful. Pure heaven. And absolutely unfair to her. She wanted stability and security in her life. He couldn’t give her that. Stay away from her. She stirred and cuddled closer, waking softly, demanding him. Yes, stay away from her, he pledged as he tightened his embrace around her and rained kisses on her forehead and cheek. Tomorrow, maybe.

Tomorrow, maybe. Yes, yes. Tomorrow or later. But not now. He kissed her deep on the lips and slowly slid into her warm wetness.

Chapter Seventeen Mary-Beth stretched her arms high above her head in front of the vanity mirror of the bathroom. She was still sleepy, dazed, languorous. Waking up in Yves’s arms, with their bodies joined was more than she’d ever dared to fantasize. With a giggle, she squinted at the bedraggled woman in the mirror. Mascara ringed her eyes and her hair tangled in disparate strands. Lord, she was a mess. A deliriously happy mess with swollen lips stretched into a big smile. Am I in love? I think I’ve always been in love with Yves, mon amour. Free and in love. She had the best of two worlds. What more could she ask for? In a month, she’d leave his hospital. She’d make of this month an unforgettable heaven. Maybe by then, Yves would want her forever. Doubtful, but a girl could always dream. And she had to keep in mind that for better or worse was not part of his vocabulary. He didn’t like strings. So? She just snipped hers and would rather taste life on her own, without new strings. “Chérie, are you ready?” he called from behind the closed door. “Give me a few minutes.” She’d dawdled enough this morning. “We have surgery at seven. It’s already 4:30.” “Yes, yes.” She hurried under the shower. “Back to earth, Dr. Drake,” she muttered as the let the water refresh her overheated body and dazed mind. Who knew what the next days would bring? Five days after their visit to Paris, Mary-Beth’s heart squeezed with mortification. Every time she’d tried to talk to Yves, he’d slipped away into a different OR, an urgent meeting, or an important conference. Was he avoiding her? If it wasn’t for the multitude of photos she’d saved in a computer folder labeled A Day in Paradise, she’d believe she’d imagined the whole thing. “Dr. Drake, you’ll assist Dr. Julien on a pediatric cardiac surgery. Dr. Marcoli, you’ll work with Dr. Barrot on a brain tumor. Dr. Lopez, we will be covering emergency cases.” Yves’s brisk tone filled the silence as he read from the assignment board hanging on the wall of the corridor in the surgery wing. He hadn’t even glanced at her. What the hell was the matter with him? He couldn’t regret their night together, could he? She blinked rapidly and tried to slow the erratic race of her pulse as she focused on his proud profile. “Dr. Drake, you look puzzled. Any questions about the assignments?” What assignments? Had she missed something while ruminating on his behavior and her feelings? “No,” she quickly answered, hoping he wouldn’t ask her specific questions. His instructions completed, he caught her gaze and frowned. “Go ahead, doctors. Dr. Drake, please come to my office. I have a paper for you.” A paper? She sighed and followed him. As soon as they were out of earshot, he paused, the deep green of his eyes simmering with concern. “Are you okay? You don’t look your cheerful self.” She clenched the hem of her scrubs shirt to avoid reminding him that he was the one acting weird. For the last few days, he’d acknowledged her presence with a brief nod of the head, and then scowled and walked away. After their day in Paris. Was their wondrous night to be a one-night stand? Disappointment pooled in her stomach. “I’m fine. Perfect.” She exhaled and clamped her jaws shut. He arched an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on her clipped tone. “We have been so busy I haven’t found the time to talk to you. I saw the request form you completed for training in pediatric surgery. I’ve arranged for you to assist our cardiologist, Dr. Julien. You will be working with him for the rest of the week.” In other words, he’d made sure she was out of his hair. “Thank you,” she said and gritted her teeth. Take a deep breath and relax, Dr. Drake. She’d just received an exciting assignment for more in-depth training. “I’m sure you will do a great job as usual. Go, he’s waiting for you.” She turned to leave, still seething. “Mary-Beth.” He touched her arm. “Don’t forget you’re coming to the fête champêtre with me on Saturday.” She spun around, eyes wide-open. “The wine festival?” Was he seriously thinking of taking her after his recent arctic attitude? “Yes. I hope you haven’t changed your mind?” “No, I haven’t. I thought you did.” She shook her head as she saw his scowl. “Never mind.” He certainly knew how to confuse her. Her temples throbbed with pain. “I’ll pick you up on Saturday at five o’clock.” He waggled a finger. “And please keep smiling. Frowning all day long is not good for the health. It also causes wrinkles.” He winked saucily. Of all the insufferable men. She cursed herself for falling in love with him. “I may go with Roberto and Sophie.” His forehead knit with a new scowl. “I said I-will-pick-you-up.” Maybe she should have chosen psychiatry instead of pediatric surgery. Was there a specialty called Male Behavior of the French Aristocrat? **** Standing next to Dr. Julien, Mary-Beth couldn’t believe her previous lack of enthusiasm. The whole medical team of surgeons, anesthesiologist, and nurses surrounded the warmer of a baby with hypoplastic left heart syndrome. “I believe I can deliver blood to the left side of Baby Luc’s heart. Although I don’t know if the heart will respond. It’s a complicated case, but we will go for it.” Dr. Julien explained they could do a Norwood operation or a heart transplant. Since the requested heart hadn’t arrived yet, Dr. Julien couldn’t wait. They would do a Norwood operation. No one dared to speak while Dr. Julien and his team worked on the baby’s heart. The OR was quiet save for the rush of air-conditioning that kept the room cold, the hum of the bypass machine, and the door whooshing open occasionally as a technician or nurse came or went. Every minute counted. Any wrong move could cost the baby his life. Mary-Beth bit her lip, praying for the tiny heart to start contracting. The surgeon removed the cross clamp, allowing blood to flow to the muscle itself. But the heart didn’t begin to beat. Instead, it fibrillated. Dr. Julien asked MaryBeth to administer a cardiac depressant that suppressed arrhythmias. God, the heart didn’t respond. Julien asked for a shock. Mary-Beth gave him the paddles, and he delivered a pop. Luc’s heart continued to wiggle, contracting sporadically, then stopped. Julien gave it another shock. And another. Nothing happened. Luc’s heart remained motionless, and Mary-Beth’s heart skipped a beat. “We’ll put him on bypass.” Dr. Julien worked to get blood to the baby’s left ventricle. But the echocardiogram taken was not better than the previous.

“We’ll put him on bypass.” Dr. Julien worked to get blood to the baby’s left ventricle. But the echocardiogram taken was not better than the previous. Mary-Beth shivered. After five hours of uninterrupted work and excruciating concentration, her first pediatric surgery was about to end with a baby’s death. Life sucks. The door opened. Yves walked in. “How’s it going?” His shoulders slumped, Julien looked at the baby. “I think we’ve failed. It may be the end for him.” “I just received a heart. We can still save him.” “Let’s go for it. Come and help here.” Julien ordered. “I can use all the hands I can get.” Mary-Beth exhaled a breath of relief. She’d fought to save that baby and he’d become important to her. A dear little thing she desperately wanted to help live. She bent over the operating table. “You’ll be fine. I can feel it.” She also knew now pediatric surgery was exactly what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Her time in surgery today almost made up for the frustration Yves had caused her in the morning. Loving her French count could be her downfall. Saving babies would never disappoint her. **** Where was Mary-Beth? Her car was still parked outside. She obviously hadn’t gone home although her shift had ended a few hours ago. Yves had looked for her in the residents’ office, in the library, on the whole surgical floor. He went back to ask the front desk of the hospital, but the security guard assured him that Dr. Drake hadn’t left the hospital. On his way back to his office, he met one of the nurses. “Danielle, have you seen Dr. Drake?” “Yes, she’s in the Pediatric ICU.” Just like Mary-Beth to be checking on her latest patient when she should have been long gone. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “Thank you, Danielle.” He sprinted toward the PICU. Sure enough, Mary-Beth stood in front of Luc’s isolette, her finger gently rubbing the baby’s foot while she cooed to him. Such a lovely picture. Yves scrubbed and entered the sterile area. Mary-Beth turned around. “Isn’t he gorgeous? I hope he’ll make it,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion. “I hope so too. We did our best for him.” “Thank you for letting me be a part of Dr. Julien’s team today. This is going to be my specialty. I’m convinced that pediatric surgery is the right thing for me.” He nodded and watched her smile at the baby through the glass crib. “You will make a good pediatric surgeon. You are thorough, persistent, and compassionate.” She’d also make a wonderful mother. She loved children. He loved them too. A longing he’d never known before tightened his throat. He clenched his fists to stifle those impossible dreams. “I’ll apply for a fellowship at Columbia University, when I leave in three weeks,” Mary-Beth said without taking her gaze from the baby. Yves’s Adam’s apple somersaulted. “Only three weeks?” Sacrebleu, she couldn’t leave now, not when he’d become addicted to her lovely face, to her smile and her voice. He wanted her in his arms, in his bed. Forever. Maybe she’d agree to stay until he found a solution. “Mary-Beth, let’s have dinner tonight. I absolutely need to talk to you.” Her head spun toward him and she raised her delicate eyebrows. “A serious talk?” “Very serious.” “About what?” Her beautiful violet-blue eyes suddenly sparkled as she gave him a long look. “Uh…about your fellowship at Columbia.” “Oh.” She shrugged and averted her gaze. “It’ll have to wait. I’m exhausted now. Actually, I’ll have a glass of wine to help me sleep better after today’s excitement.” She turned toward him and smiled—a sad little smile that didn’t brighten her face. “Even two glasses. See, I’ve learned your French ways fast.” “Wonderful.” Where was the spark of liveliness that glittered in her eyes a week ago? She turned her head and focused on the baby as if she forgot Yves stood next to her. What did he expect? Recently, he’d done his best to stay away from her, even ignore her. His throat tightened. He was responsible for her melancholy. Could he take her in his arms and kiss her now? Explain his reasons? He scanned the nursery where several preemies struggled to live. Too many nurses came and went to care for the babies. The statuesque Laure entered and smiled at him suggestively. He nodded without a hint of a smile on his lips and left. She didn’t compare to Mary-Beth. No one compared to Mary-Beth. It cut him to the core to think he might lose her in three weeks. **** Yves lingered in the kitchen of the chateau hoping that Mary-Beth would come for a glass of wine. He poured himself a glass of Château Marancourt, sat the bottle on the table and settled in a chair waiting for her. Half an hour later, he exhaled with frustration. Either, he had missed her and she already had her drink, or she’d changed her mind and went to bed already. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. He smiled and straightened. “Monsieur le Comte, you are not sleeping yet?” Yves’s smile faded. “Oh, it’s you.” Hubert arched his bushy eyebrows. “I am sorry to disappoint you. I was coming to get my medicine that I left in the cabinet here.” Staring at his wine, Yves nodded. “What’s wrong, my boy? You look awful.” Hubert said, reverting to his paternal persona. “Nothing special.” “Really? Since your last trip to Paris, you haven’t been yourself. You hardly talk to anyone and when you do…” Hubert flapped his hand. “Let me guess. You didn’t have a good time. Dr. Mary-Beth ignored you. Maybe she wants that fiancé of hers more than we thought.” Yves shrugged. “There’s no fiancé anymore. And she didn’t ignore me.” “Ah?” Hubert’s face brightened with a huge smile. “Très bien. So what is the problem? She’s available, pretty and fun, a smart doctor.” The old man rubbed his hands. “The Lord up there answered my prayers.” “No.” “What do you mean?” Not waiting for an invitation, Hubert pulled a chair and sat across from Yves. “She has only three weeks left.” Yves poured a glass of wine for Hubert and emptied his own, only to refill it. “So? It never stopped you with others,” Hubert said with a little smile of pride in his protégé’s ability to seduce a woman. “When things became too serious with other women, it was never a problem.” “You let them go with a friendly peck, an expensive gift, and sometimes a few tears on the woman’s part.”

“You let them go with a friendly peck, an expensive gift, and sometimes a few tears on the woman’s part.” “I can’t do that to Mary-Beth. I can’t take advantage of her and then let her go.” “Ah?” His butler’s tone sounded interested. “It would be terrible, horrible, degrading.” “Because?” “Well, because she’s Mary-Beth. She’s… too special.” “Crystal clear, my boy.” Hubert didn’t smile ironically, but nodded with understanding. “That should explain why you want her so much and why you can’t behave like a selfish womanizer.” “Then what should I do?” Yves stroked his forehead in an effort to decrease his pounding headache. “I already tried staying away from her.” “What? Why?” “For her own sake, but it didn’t work. She looked depressed, and I could think of nothing else but how to bring her back in my arms. All I can offer her is passion, fun, wonderful nights.” “It sounds great to me.” “No, it sounds pitiful, not different from what I have shared with previous dates.” He slammed his glass on the table. “There should be an honorable way to keep her without losing her friendship, without feeling like a selfish jerk.” Hubert tilted his head and squinted. “Honorable solution? That phrase used to be a synonym for marriage.” Yves rubbed his neck as if a noose slowly slithered around it and strangled him. “Out of the question. The countesses of Marancourt never boasted of being happy wives. My mother and grandmother have cried in their rooms. Others before them had followed their husbands’ examples of unfaithfulness. I can’t expose Mary-Beth to such a life of misery.” Hubert rolled his eyes. “Why do you anticipate infidelity before even marrying?” “Because from what I have seen in the Marancourt family, marriage meant arguments, fights, adulteries, and a painful life for the children.” “Not always, my boy. When there is love in a marriage—” “Don’t talk to me about love. I loved Rose-Anne with all my heart, with all my energy. I was young and intrepid when I fought to marry her. Was she happy?” He shook his head and clenched his fingers around the stem of his wineglass. “No. She lost our baby, and then the cancer invaded her body. Our marriage caused her death. Two years of hell for her.” “It’s not your fault that she was so frail and sick. You did your best to alleviate her suffering.” “I was an arrogant third year medical student who thought he knew it all. I couldn’t save my sweet angel. If I had listened to her father when he said her health didn’t allow her to marry and have a family, maybe she wouldn’t have weakened herself with a pregnancy. Maybe she’d have better coped with the chemo and survived.” He lowered his head, his jaws set in a tight grip. “Don’t torture yourself with sad memories.” “Don’t you understand? My life shattered as I watched her suffer and die. I promised her on her deathbed I will never forget her. Never.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling as if his sweet angel could hear him and be reassured of his everlasting love. “Mon petit, Rose-Anne loved you too much to hold you to such a ridiculous promise. I’m sure she’d like to see you happy. You will never forget her, but it’s time to live again and love.” “I can’t afford that all consuming love again. I can’t expose myself to such a torment,” he muttered when two years of constant pain played before his eyes like a sad movie with a horrific ending. “Mary-Beth is healthy and strong. You shouldn’t compare her to your delicate wife.” “Regardless. Why are we even talking about marriage?” He shrugged. “Marriage is not for me. And probably not for Mary-Beth. She told me she wanted to enjoy life and didn’t plan to marry.” “A woman says those things and doesn’t mean them. But you, my boy, have developed a mortal allergy to the word and what it entails.” “There should be a safe compromise between marriage and losing her.” He punched his open palm, hating the gut-wrenching loneliness he knew he’d face if he let her go. “So you want her. But you can’t pay the price for making her your own.” Yves cursed under his breath. As if he could. His gut twisted at the confused glances she’d thrown his way when she thought he wasn’t looking. If only she knew about the confusion roiling in his gut. “I have to find a solution before her time in France is over.” “Why does she have to leave so soon? Does she have a job to report to?” “No, no job, no fiancé, nothing urgent.” Yves studied his wine as if an answer to his dilemma would pop out of the burgundy liquid. He wished he had more time to sort his feelings, to convince her she was special. “Why can’t she stay longer?” “She could if…if she had a job here.” He raised his head and stared at the old man who focused a concern glance at him. “A fellowship. That is the solution. Hubert, you are a genius.” “I know.” His butler chuckled. “But I hate to tell you that you are not making any sense.” “Mary-Beth mentioned she wanted to apply for a fellowship in Neonatology at Columbia. Instead, I will get her one for three years at our Hôpital de la Santé. During the day, we will be together at the hospital where she can continue her training. And in the evenings …” He broke into an ecstatic grin. “I can see the picture.” “Now I have to convince her to stay in France and give us more time to know each other better.” “You mean to give you time to digest the ideas of commitment and marriage.” Hubert clapped him on the shoulder. “All in due time, mon petit.” Would Mary-Beth agree to trust him when he’d already broken her heart before?

Chapter Eighteen What a week. Nonstop surgeries in Pediatrics during the day, and two evening consultations at the new Health and Beauty Clinic. Béatrice and Sophie had each brought a couple of friends who wanted Mary-Beth’s advice about healthy diet, weight loss, and restful sleep. It was no surprise that Mary-Beth hadn’t seen much of Yves. On Saturday morning, she had found his note stuck on her bedroom door. He would meet her at five o’clock on the terrace to take her to the wine festival. After a round at the hospital to check on three adorable babies, she came back at noon to eat lunch and nap. Time to practice what she preached at the clinic by sleeping a little more. Besides, she wanted to have fun tonight and enjoy a type of party she’d never attended in the U.S. At four-thirty, she dressed in the flared skirt, blouse, and sandals her friends had recommended to join in dancing on the grapes. She found Yves pacing on the terrace. She’d expected him to wear a casual outfit. He surprised her by appearing in well-pressed pants and white cotton shirt, his every-day attire at the hospital, except that he’d skipped the tie. She paused and surveyed him. He smiled and came to her. “Prettier than ever.” He kissed her on the cheeks. Why the three kisses now? She squirmed to disengage herself from his hold and frowned. Did he expect their plain friendship to resume after the night they’d shared? He grinned. “Tonight I want to have fun with my date.” “Your what?” she whispered on an indrawn breath. Her heart plummeted to her toes as she stared at him, trying to make sense of his cheerful smile. The first smile he’d granted her in a week. “Tonight, we have the opportunity to have a good time.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Are you planning to be difficult?” She stepped back and crossed her arms. Her heartbeat accelerated as her angst bubbled beneath her apparent calm, and old memories surfaced back. “We need to talk first. Seriously talk.” The emancipated woman she considered herself after breaking her engagement needed to assess the rules prior to playing the game, and discuss a few things with a cool head. She could do with no strings, but she’d never accept an unfaithful lover again. “We will talk right after the wine party.” He cupped her face. “I promise. Trust me, please.” “The last time I trusted you—” His kiss interrupted her sentence and the flow of her thoughts. A delicious earth-shattering kiss that buckled her knees and curled her toes. Gripping his shoulders, she steadied herself and pulled out of his arms. She shivered, suddenly cold, and covered her cheeks. They were hot, burning. Yves’s gaze eyes reflected the blazing desire that raged like an inferno in her belly. She stifled a groan and swirled around. God, why did she love him so much? “Let’s go. The party is about to start.” Yves took her hand and led her away. “What will the villagers think when we arrive together?” “Hand in hand you mean?” He completed her thoughts with an irritating chuckle. “As I said, they will think you are my date. Why do you care?” Really, why would she care? She shrugged without answering. She’d be gone soon. Her breath caught in her throat. In less than two weeks, she’d no longer see Yves, no longer talk to him, and worst of all, no longer kiss him. Only thirteen days left. She’d better make the most of them. Yves kept her hand tucked in his while they strolled to the village of Marancourt. A stage had been erected and long tables and chairs were arranged around the central plaza. The crowd stood to greet them. Yves walked directly to the podium sweeping her along with him. She looked at him questioningly. “Stay next to me, please.” He stepped onto the platform and faced his people. The crowd cheered. “Monsieur le Comte. Vive Marancourt. Long live Marancourt.” A band of five musicians played the national hymn, La Marseillaise. Yves and the villagers sang together. Delighted to share the place of honor with him, MaryBeth listened in awe to his baritone voice and patriotic enthusiasm. When the last musical note died, Yves raised his arms to request silence. He addressed his people, wished them health and prosperity and announced the beginning of the new wine season and the escalation of production. “More work and higher salaries, as we enter the new wine in the Napa Valley Competition.” The crowd exploded in applause. “And now, I urge our lovely young ladies to crush the first grapes.” He pointed to a circular wooden tub set on the stage and half filled with grapes. “Ladies, come up front.” A dozen young women sauntered toward him, took off their shoes, and primly raised the sides of their skirts. A young man lifted a woman up into the barrel and then another. The band played while the two girls danced, crushing the grapes under their bare feet. The men helped them out of the tub, kissed them, and assisted two more women into the barrel. “Mary-Beth, you too,” Yves said. Intimidated by the watchful crowd, she shook her head vehemently. “No.” “Please,” he urged with his breathtaking smile. She bit her lip, hesitating for a few seconds. The crowd chanted, “Allez-y. Go, go.” “I promise you’ll have fun.” Yves held his hand to her. A quick glanced around reassured her she was surrounded by friendly faces. No one would scorn the serious Dr. Drake for having fun like the locale women. With a nod, she yanked off her sandals and put her hand in his. Yves lifted her up and lowered her onto the grapes. “Just follow their example.” She laughed, grabbed the hem of her skirt, and danced like the others. Soon, the smell of the smashed grapes enveloped her. She breathed deeply. The fruity fragrance and the cheers of the crowd acted like an aphrodisiac. Giggling with pleasure, she danced, and swayed, and accelerated her pace, her hair bouncing over her back and shoulders. Her gaze never wavered from Yves who clapped his hands and sang with his people. A burning jolt zipped through her body when he hoisted her from the barrel and kissed her. “How was it?” he asked as he set her on the ground. Out of breath, she laid her forehead on his shoulder. “Fun. I’ve never laughed so much.” “Come, wash your feet here.” Her sandals swinging from his hand, he led her to the memorial fountain adorned with a statue. Bunching her skirt in her hand, she

“Come, wash your feet here.” Her sandals swinging from his hand, he led her to the memorial fountain adorned with a statue. Bunching her skirt in her hand, she wadded in the clear water and then sat on a wrought-iron bench to slide her feet in the sandals. “Allow me.” He dried her feet slowly. Warm and tantalizing, his fingers lingered on her ankles in an erotic caress that shot hot flames along her legs and thighs. Was she Cinderella? Her Prince Charming laced her sandals and then let go of her feet to gather her hands in his and brush kisses on each wrist. “Now we drink wine.” His voice jolted her out of her daze. “Yes, of course.” How could she have forgotten for a moment it was a wine festival after all, and they were surrounded with people? Waiters circulated, holding trays with goblets of wine. Yves handed her a glass and took one for himself. When the young women finished crushing the grapes, Yves stepped back on the stage and raised his glass in a toast. “To the people of Marancourt.” “Marancourt,” the crowd chanted, as they clinked their glasses and laughed. “Now, we go to the buffet.” Yves escorted her to a long table covered with French delicacies. “Here are the plates. Help yourself. Let’s sit at this table with Roberto and Sophie.” Hubert and Béatrice came to join them. “Yves, I switched on the lights in the Pompadour room before coming,” Hubert said. “What room?” Mary-Beth asked Yves, her curiosity awakened by everything related to the chateau. “It’s a room in the North Tower of the chateau. It’s rumored that King Louis XV came to Marancourt for a hunting party. While he was here with his court, his mistress, Madame de Pompadour, had a tryst with the count of Marancourt. The king never heard of it, but the villagers were very proud of their count for seducing the king’s own mistress.” “They were proud?” Mary-Beth snorted. “Did they consider it an achievement?” “It was the mentality of the time,” he said with a very French shrug. “I don’t like cheaters.” She gave him a significant look he shouldn’t fail to understand. “These are famous historical people,” he said, his tone defensive as if she’d accused him personally. He rubbed his chin. “Anyway, the name stayed with the room. A very pretty room by the way. We keep it lit during our festival to commemorate the event.” “May I visit the room sometime?” “Sure.” His gaze rested on her face for a brief moment. “I can take you there tonight, right after the party, if you want.” Remember, you only have thirteen days left. She nodded and sighed. The band played while a singer entertained them with French songs. Yves led Mary-Beth to the dance floor where they swayed and twirled to the fast tempo tune. Then the music slowed to a languorous melody. Yves gathered her to him and pressed his cheek against her hair. “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?” She chuckled. “As a matter of fact, you did.” He was so tender with her tonight, her heart melted and her pulse raced. How could she not love him? If only he shared her love, life would be much simpler. He kissed the top of her head and exhaled. “Mary-Beth, you are very special to me.” The incandescent light in his eyes dazzled her. Could it be true? How special, Yves? A special friend? A special date? Or a special woman he …? The word died in her thoughts. She closed her eyes, tucked her head in the hollow of his shoulder, and let the music lull her. She wanted so badly to be special to Yves. Why did he have to be a French aristocrat who didn’t believe in love and commitment? The music stopped, and they eased apart. Yves held out his hand. “Come, the fireworks are about to start. We can see them better from the fields.” She put her hand in his without hesitation. His fingers closed on hers, strong and warm. Prickles of awareness shot up her arm as they strolled away from the lights of the plaza and the din of the crowd. Soon darkness surrounded them. He paused and turned around, his head tilted toward the sky. She raised her head too. Behind her, Yves wrapped his arms around her waist and she leaned against him, her body thrumming with a new hunger. Together they watched the display of colored lights illuminate the blackness and fade. Would her dreams fade in the same way? “About your dream …” Yves started. Had he read her mind? She spun to face him, her pulse racing. “About your dream to apply for a fellowship in pediatric surgery,” he repeated. “Oh, that dream.” She grimaced. Men. What did they know about dreams? A fellowship in pediatric surgery represented a goal and a plan, not a dream. “You said you want to go to New York and train at Columbia University.” “Yes.” She shrugged. Would he have a better offer? “I have a better idea.” He drew her closer to him. “How about remaining in France and doing your fellowship here? With me.” Her breath lodged in her throat. She looked at him, not sure she understood. “I know our Hôpital de la Santé is not as glamorous as Harvard or Columbia. However, you already have those elite references on your résumé.” “You want me to stay in France for three more years?” “Oui,” he whispered against her hair. “And even longer.” Her heart somersaulted. She eased away and tried to read his eyes. His mouth took hold of hers before she could voice her concern. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him back, teased his tongue the way he’d taught her last week. His hand gently fondled her breast. She moaned and pressed against him. Nothing compared to Yves’s kisses. Dare they glide to the ground and make love in the fields? Yves released her mouth and rained kisses over her face. “Ma chérie. Stay in France, please.” Her face flushed. Stay as what? Was it an attempt at proposal or a convenient escape from commitment? She stole a glance at his rugged profile, her pulse accelerating as contradictory thoughts churned in her mind. Stay in his arms. Stay as his one and only love. Or just stay to work and… and sleep with him when he had time for her? She wrapped her arms around her chest, her heart about to explode with hope. “I have to think about it.” In the dark fields lit by a full moon, she tried to read his eyes and waited for …the rest. “You don’t look well. Are you too tired?” Her shoulders slumped, and she exhaled. Yves had offered the maximum he could offer, considering he had deleted the word marriage from his vocabulary. During the past month, she’d often repeated to herself she wanted no strings, but deep in her heart was she ready for his type of relationship? He grabbed her hand. “Come. Let’s go back.” Her stomach flipped and her gaze dropped to the ground. “To the festival?” she asked as she struggled to control her disappointment. “No, to the chateau. The Pompadour room. You wanted to see it.” “Yes. Let’s go,” she said, her voice firm. They strolled in companionable silence. She was more eager to be en tête-à-tête with Yves in a quiet place than admire a room that was a tribute to the Malroux’s infidelity. Behind them, people still drank, danced, and sang. The breeze carried notes of French melodies as the chateau appeared in front of them, all dark except for one light at the top of a tower. “Is that the Pompadour room?”

“Is that the Pompadour room?” Yves quickened their pace. “Yes. It’s quite secluded.” Her heart drummed against her ribs, drowning out the distance music. Would they share another unforgettable night of love? Instead of going up the marble steps to the front door of the chateau, he turned to the right. They reached a small wooden door that he opened with an antique bronze key he took from a box on the wall. He entered first, switched on the light to reveal an unfurnished foyer with a mosaic tiled floor and a spiral staircase. He closed the door behind them. “I hope you don’t mind climbing. It is six stories high.” “No problem.” He led her up the stairs until they ended at another closed door. He opened it and scooped her up into his arms. She squealed with surprise. “There is a legend. If a woman crosses the threshold of this room in her lover’s arms they will find happiness together.” “Wow.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Are you wishing for the legend to come true?” He chuckled as he crossed the room with her in his arms. She blushed. Hooking an arm around his neck, she cupped his cheek with her other hand. “I love your legend, and I love your chateau and its many stories.” He kissed her and lowered her to a canopied four-poster bed. Switching off the ceiling chandelier, he left on only the lamp on a night table and pulled the drapes at the window. “Chérie, I would like to make the legend come true,” he said as he came to sit beside her on the bed and gathered her in his arms. “How? By making love to me?” Eyes narrowed, she tilted her head. He blinked at the sarcastic tone of her voice and smiled devilishly. “I am always ready for that. But first I want your promise to consider a fellowship in France. Promise? Good.” His expression determined, he crushed her in his arms with a passionate kiss. She wriggled but soon forgot her protest to link her fingers behind his neck. When he released her, she mumbled, “Yves, I—” “Relax, chérie. The Pompadour Room is a place for romance and love, and I want to lavish you with both.” His lips grazed her ear and skimmed her throat. “Yes,” she whispered. Making love here should be a good omen. Of that she was sure now. Her tension dissipated and she sent a grateful thought to the duchess who gave her name to this room. Her eyes closed, she let him take control of the moment. He pulled her blouse over her head and rained kisses along her throat and the edge of her bra while she played with the hair at his nape. So soft and silky and deliciously arousing. Her skirt bunched at her waist and slid down her legs driven by expert hands that hugged and caressed her hips and her thighs with excruciating slowness. She twined his curls between her fingers and tugged when his lips jolted a new sensation from her flesh. A swoosh of cool air alerted her that her unclasped bra had followed the rest of her clothes to the floor. His lips glided in the valley between her breasts, tasting and laving, and branding her with his special fire. His mouth pressed against her stomach and her navel, as he fondled her thighs. Her thong disappeared, snatched away by a swift hand. His palms froze on her belly, and his head moved away from her skin, interrupting the dance of her fingers in his hair. Why had he stopped his torrid caresses? She opened her eyes and gasped as his rapturous gaze roamed over her nudity. Warmth engulfed her and she blushed to the root of her hair. “You are gorgeous. I could look at you for hours.” “Oh, Yves.” Happiness bubbled in her heart. Unable to withstand the intensity of his eyes, she smiled and lowered her lashes. A shudder coursed through her when his finger slid into her wet softness, soon replaced by his tongue lapping at her intimate folds. She writhed and twisted, and yet dragged him tight against her. Thunder and lightning exploded in her head. On fire, she grabbed his head and pulled him up, kissed him and smelled her intimate scent, his raw masculinity, and the alcohol of his wine. “I want you.” She reached for his shirt. “Take it off,” she ordered. He unbuttoned it and slipped it off while she unzipped his trousers, grabbed pants and underwear to lower both at the same time. “Patience, chérie.” “No,” she sputtered, hardly able to breathe. He chuckled and obliged. “Voilà.” He stepped out of his clothes gloriously naked, his penis strong and erect. “Oh, yes. Yes.” She panted, not making much sense to her fuzzy mind. “You are beautiful too.” He laughed and pushed her down, then lay next to her. She wrapped both hands around his shaft and gently stroked. He stopped laughing and groaned. Moving her hands away, he latched on her breast, rolled and teased her nipple with his tongue. His shaft slid between her thighs, pressing and taunting. When she moaned, he entered her slowly, millimeter by exquisite millimeter. Throwing back her head, she bit her lip to stifle her cries of pleasure. She wrapped her legs around him, and urged him to accelerate the tempo of his thrusts. “More please. No, not yet.” She hardly knew what she said. “Oui, chérie. Yes.” They rocked together. Light flashed behind her lids as the pressure built. He gathered her tightly, and they both climaxed. Satiated and pleased, Mary-Beth tucked her head into the hollow of his neck. “I’ll never let you go,” she whispered. He caressed her face with incredible tenderness. “I’m not going anywhere, and you are staying with me,” he said against her hair. She drifted off in his arms, happy for the first time in her life. They made love again in the morning. She kissed him, unable and unwilling to get out of bed yet. “I love your Pompadour Room.” “I love it too. From now on, it will be very special to me.” He grinned. “We can make a pilgrimage to this room every year,” he said with a wink. Every year? Would she be here every year? Or even next year?

Chapter Nineteen “We are both off today. Is there anything special you would you like to do?” Yves said when they met in the breakfast room for coffee and croissants. “I am about to visit Sophie and—” “No, I want you to spend the day with me.” His tone brooked no discussion and made her chuckle. “Do I have to take orders from my boss even when I’m off duty?” For an annoying second, Steve’s voice echoed in her ear. “Chérie, I am begging, not ordering.” “In that case, I’d love to spend the day with you.” Steve had never begged her for anything—just expected her to do as told. “Let’s see. Would you like to walk along the Cher River, or visit Tours?” “How about a horseback ride through the fields and the forest? I haven’t done that for so long. I just want to be carefree today. No talk about work.” Or plans, or goals or the future. Whether she stayed longer in France or went back at the end of her training, she promised herself she wouldn’t let any word or deed dim her special memories. “Anything you want, chérie.” The look in his eyes told her she was special. An hour later, she dashed back to the breakfast room, in blue jeans and the red shirt Yves had given her in Paris. Dressed in riding breeches, boots, and a polo shirt, he came to greet her with a heart-stopping smile. “You’re wearing your new shirt.” “I love Paris,” she read as she glanced at the inscription on her T-shirt. He kissed her and led her to the kitchen where Hubert handed him a bag and a picnic basket. “I already called Simon, the stable boy, to ready Carnation for you. She’s a gentle mare.” Hand in hand, they strolled toward the barn like two teenagers off on a picnic. When they arrived at the stables, Simon held two horses by the reins. Yves helped her mount the mare, handed her the reins, and secured the basket and bag to the saddle of a dappled gray gelding. “I haven’t been on a horse for ages.” “Do not worry, Dr. Drake,” Simon said. “It will come back. Besides, Monsieur le Comte is with you.” Yves swung into the saddle and looked every bit the gorgeous knight of her dreams. He rode alongside her, down the front drive to the gate, and then trotted through the fields to the nearby forest. As they penetrated the denseness of the trees, Yves showed her a meandering path that led to a stream. They skirted the ribbon of water until they reached a clear pond. “My favorite spot. Let’s picnic here.” He dismounted, then helped her down. The balsam scent of poplar trees and fresh fragrance of pines permeated the air and soothed her overactive brain. She wouldn’t mind spending more off-duty hours here. “This is heaven.” Yves with her, alone in the secluded forest of his estate. “Nobody comes here?” She took off her boots, rolled up her pants, and waded into the clear water. “No. The villagers don’t own horses, and no one would brave the forest on foot. It’s easy to get lost. One day we’ll come back here to swim.” He winked at her. “In the nude. It will be more fun.” “Wow. Wicked.” Heat spread to her belly. She giggled and almost lost her balance. “But so much fun.” He caught her in his arms and kissed her soundly. “Shall we eat?” She walked with him to the horses. Yves handed her the lunch bag and carried the basket. He opened them and spread a blanket and a small tablecloth on the ground. “Make yourself comfortable.” He placed the china, wineglasses, and a bottle of wine on their tablecloth. “Here, we have turkey sandwiches and salad,” he announced as she sat on the blanket and he served the meal. “Hubert thought of everything, even the wineglasses. To be honest, this is the first time in my life that I’ve drunk wine on a picnic, in the right wineglasses.” She chuckled as she tilted the stem of her glass. “Wait let me take a picture while you pour.” He obliged, and smiled while she snapped her picture. “I will take one of you now.” She posed with a standard smile on her lips, not daring to tell him she’d prefer to be with him in the photo. “Too bad there are no passers-by in a forest to take us together. Not that I’m complaining about our open-air privacy. Santé, chérie.” He clinked his glass against hers, his eyes glowing with blazing heat and unspoken promise. “Cheers.” She slowly sipped her wine. Warmth invaded her chest. To break her unease, she took a bite of sandwich. “Delicious,” she said, her gaze still captured by his. “Very.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist and then her palm. “Mmm, delectable, scrumptious.” “Oh, Yves.” A different hunger knotted her stomach. Yves took the sandwich from her and laid it on a plate. “We will eat later.” “Later?” “After I…taste you.” His lips trailed along her bare arm to the sleeve of her T-shirt. A frisson of pleasure sparked down her spine as he eased her onto the blanket. She chuckled to dispel the wave of excitement building in her belly. “You sound like the Big Bad Wolf about to devour Red Riding Hood in the forest.” “Not devour, my dear. Just taste, very slowly and delicately,” he added with a seductive smile. “I feel too warm here.” He tore off his polo and slid her shirt over her head. “What if someone—” “We have already established no one comes here. Now where were we?” He arched his eyebrow in an I-am-the-count way and bent over her mouth. She laced her fingers around his nape and sighed with pleasure. This was what she called a lovely vacation day. Kissing the love of her life in a romantic setting. Hadn’t Carlos warned her that one couldn’t not fall in love in the Loire Valley? Yves’s kiss deepened. His expert tongue waltzed over her lips and twirled inside her mouth until she swooned with want. His hands deftly unclasped her bra. Anticipation thrummed through her blood. He closed his palm over her breast, caressing and teasing. Desire and frustration warred in her heart. In spite of the privacy he claimed to have in the forest, there was no way on earth she’d make love in the open-air. Yves didn’t wait for her to voice a protest. His fingers had already unzipped her jeans and delved into her intimate folds. She bit her lips to stifle her moans. Unable

Yves didn’t wait for her to voice a protest. His fingers had already unzipped her jeans and delved into her intimate folds. She bit her lips to stifle her moans. Unable to control, her shuddering, she pushed him away. “We can’t here.” She pointed at a couple of squirrels ogling them. “Trust me, they can’t tell on us.” He groaned, his voice so husky she hardly heard him. He picked up a fallen branch and waved it. The squirrels scurried away. “Better, now?” “I think.” Her eyes narrowed, she surveyed the trees. Birds chirped. “Ah—” “They are singing for you, ma chérie. We couldn’t ask for a nicer melody.” Still uncomfortable, she frowned. “I’m not sure it’s the right place to...” “Wait. I have a solution to protect us from peeping squirrels.” With a grin, he yanked the blanket from the ground. Scooting back against a tree, he tugged at her hand. “Assume we are camping.” He tented the blanket over them. “Please notice that my hands are busy maintaining our privacy.” He winked at her. She chuckled, lowered her jeans and thong, and set them aside. “Now, I’m ready. How about you?” His jaw sagged, and his gaze trailed her legs and skimmed her thighs. “I’m more than ready. Come, sit across my lap.” “Not yet.” She planted her feet on each side of his thighs and bent over him. Without hesitation, she unzipped his pants, held his erection with both hands and straddled him. “Oh…ah.” A grunt escaped him, and he licked his lips. The blanket fell from his fingers on her back while she rocked herself, up and down, back and forth. His groans mingled with her moans as he thrust inside her until she collapsed on his chest and let his heartbeat lull her into a happy dream. A moment later, she raised her head and looked at him. She loved this man so much. “Mary-Beth, mon trésor, my treasure, say you will remain in France. We need time together.” She smiled and brushed her lips over his mouth. She needed a lifetime with him, but he wasn’t ready to talk about forever. Would he ever be ready? A lump of uncertainty grew in her throat while she wiggled back into her clothes. “I need to think about it.” “Think seriously and quickly.” He readjusted his pants and slipped on his polo. “How about eating now?” He spread the blanket again and showed it to her with a flourish. “Your seat, Madame.” They ate and drank, and chatted and laughed for what seemed like an eternity. Today she’d had the best lunch, the best picnic, the best afternoon she’d ever had in her life, but all good things had to come to an end. She helped Yves collect the used plates and glasses and stack them into the basket. On the way back, they rode their mounts through the same trail they’d followed in the morning. After talking for a moment, they trotted side by side and fell into a shared silence. Her heart reeling with joy, she jabbed her heels to the mare and left him behind. “Wait. Slow down,” he called after her. She reined in her horse and waited for him to catch up to her. “You’ve asked me to seriously think about your offer to remain in France for a couple of years. I’m trying to.” “Good, but please don’t ride your mare too hard.” He adjusted his pace to hers. “Don’t worry. I used to ride my Lucky twice a week and gallop along the trails of Lexington.” Lost in her memories, she thought of happy times she took for granted years ago, and urged her horse ahead in the narrow path. Dust spurted up and the smell of fresh air and pines wafted around her as she cantered along. Yves caught up with her and rode quietly for a moment, respecting her musing. “I promise we will ride often if you stay.” His devilish smile tempted her while the same questions twirled in her mind. Should she accept a fellowship in France and enjoy Yves’s presence, or go back to Boston and settle in her big family house? Her former life didn’t appeal to her. Steve was out of the picture but too many stressful memories dwelt in Boston, ready to suffocate her. And Columbia University would offer the same stuffy atmosphere as Harvard. “What is there so special in Boston?” Yves’s question reflected her thoughts. Her eyes met his. Had he read her mind? “Nothing.” “Although I don’t mean to influence your decision,” he said, his very persuasive voice and earnest expression contradicting his words. “I am convinced you should move ahead. The Loire Valley offers so many avenues for work and entertainment. If you stay here, you’d gain more medical experience, with the fringe benefits of us being together.” “Being together?” Pondering his offer, she glanced at him. “Every day. Every night. Give us time, chérie, to know each other better.” Hubert had hinted often enough that after the sad experience of losing his first wife, Yves had an aversion to marriage. Besides, she wouldn’t enter a new relationship on the rebound from her broken engagement. Why not stay in France and enjoy a no-string involvement with Yves? A chuckle escaped her at her new relaxed attitude toward commitment. “You said you have no family who will miss you in the U.S.” “My parents died years ago, and my sister Kate is a nun in a convent. She continuously prays for my happiness.” “Ahem… don’t give her too many details.” They burst out laughing. Mary-Beth averted her gaze, weighing her choices with a clear mind. It made sense to stay in France. At least, she wouldn’t wallow in regrets about missed opportunities. “Mary-Beth, you are very dear to me. I want us to taste life together and savor passion.” His words ignited a fire in her belly, and her heart swelled with tenderness. Savor passion in his arms every day, the way she did last night and a moment ago. That would be heaven. “Oh, Yves, I care for you, too.” If she continued to stare at him like a star-struck lover, he’d soon guess the extent of her love. No strings meant no show of unnecessary emotions. Soon she sobered. What if he tired of her and dated other women? She scowled at the aggravating but plausible eventuality. It might happen, considering his substantial experience at attracting women and slipping away from their eager arms. “What’s wrong? Share with me.” He lifted a questioning eyebrow. She puckered her mouth and squinted. “How long did you keep your latest girlfriend? And the one before?” “Pardon?” Under furrowed brows, he considered her for a moment. “Have you been listening to more gossip? My entourage delights in exaggerating my reputation. The truth is I haven’t had any girlfriend for a long time. You probably heard I am a confirmed bachelor. The women I dated complained when I spent long hours at the hospital or worked on export deals for my wine during the weekends. They left me, and I never tried to keep them. You are different, Mary-Beth. I can’t let you go.” Sincerity gleamed in his eyes. One thing was sure, hiding from love out of fear of rejection hadn’t helped in the past. Sleeping in Yves’s arms was heaven and a risk she was willing to take. She’d deal with new problems when the time came. With a flip of her hand, she dismissed all negative thoughts. “You are free to do as you want, right?” His suggestive smile promised so much. “Why not enjoy life together?

“You are free to do as you want, right?” His suggestive smile promised so much. “Why not enjoy life together? “Together.” She relished the word and the feeling. “Yes,” she shouted in response. Her heart fizzed with happiness. The wind blew her hair back from her face and fluttered the horse’s mane. “Yes, I will stay,” she repeated to herself. Hoof beats pounded behind her. “Yes? Mary-Beth?” She’d reached the most important decision of her life. Right now she needed a dose and a half of passion with the man she’d always loved. She turned her head and glanced over her shoulder to reassure him. “I want—”

Chapter Twenty The mare swerved, bolted, and sent her flying from the saddle while a terrified furry ball raced across the track and scurried off into the woods. It all happened so quickly. “Mary-Beth.” Horror speared Yves’s heart at the sight of the empty saddle. Mary-Beth hadn’t even screamed before she tumbled off and hit the ground. She lay flat on her stomach, sprawled over leaves and surface roots. Her arms crossed under her face as if she’d tried to protect her eyes when falling. He stopped abruptly, leapt down, and ran to kneel by her side. “Oh, mon Dieu. Ma chérie.” He touched her neck, feeling for a pulse. It was slow and irregular. She was alive, thank God. Merci, mon Dieu. Afraid to move her and hurt her spine, he carefully looked at her back and examined her with a feather light touch. His eyes widened as he noticed the red wetness on the ground. Blood? His breath caught. She was bleeding. From where? He couldn’t see the cut. “Mary-Beth, mon amour. Please don’t die on me.” He pulled his cell phone from his belt and called an ambulance. “I have a woman who fell from a horse in the forest. She’s bleeding.” He quickly gave directions. “Come as close as you can. We’ll have to carry her out to the fields.” His gut wrenched with pain. He stared at her motionless form and prayed help would arrive fast. Obviously, the ambulance wouldn’t be able to maneuver through the woods or even the fields. Yves called Hubert. “Mary-Beth fell from the horse.” He indicated the place where Hubert should meet the ambulance. “Bring the paramedics and their stretcher on your Jeep. Bring Simon to handle the horses.” His calls done, he checked his watch and sat on the ground, next to Mary-Beth, his pulse as erratic as hers. With shaking fingers, he gently cleaned her hair of leaves, dirt and splinters of wood, and bent to kiss her head. “Chérie, please, don’t die on me.” A scalpel-sharp sting pierced his heart. “Mary-Beth, my darling. I have so many things to tell you. Don’t leave me,” he said, hoping she could hear him. He wished he could gather her in his arms and carry her out the forest, but it was too risky to move her. He could exacerbate her injuries. He glanced at his watch again. His heartbeat ticked with the seconds. Louder. Only two minutes had passed. “Ma chérie, help is on the way. The paramedics will be here soon. And Hubert too,” he gently explained as he caressed her hair and brought a lock to his lips. She would at least need stitches on her forehead and around her face to help her cuts heal fast and without scars. Cursing his apathy, his selfishness, his fears, he wrung his hands. If she hadn’t been mulling over his offer, she would have concentrated on the path. A disgusted groan escaped him. What offer? It was just a selfish request on his part. She might die because of him. A familiar honk sounded in the silence of the forest. Help had arrived. Yves bolted to his feet. “Over here,” he shouted. The Jeep jolted to a stop. Simon darted from the vehicle and gathered the horses while the paramedics jumped out the back with a stretcher. Yves led the two young men to Mary-Beth. They wrapped a collar around her neck and turned her on her back. Yves gasped. His heart almost stopped. A stick protruded from her chest. Blood oozed from the entry point. He gritted his teeth and fought the bile that rose in his throat. With a superhuman effort, he sucked in a deep breath and concentrated on saving Mary-Beth. “Easy now.” The paramedics slid her on top of the stretcher and strapped her down to avoid any movement. Fighting bare-knuckle with his anxiety, he issued orders. “Louis, sit in the back. We’ll hand you the stretcher.” Yves glanced at both paramedics and ascertained they understood his directives. “Ready? One, two, three, up with the stretcher. Slow-ly. Keep her immobile. Don’t jolt it at all.” “Yes, Dr. Malroux.” “George, sit next to Louis, in the back of the Jeep. I’m holding her with Louis. Can you take her from this side?” “Yes, Dr. Malroux.” Yves whipped out his cell phone and speed-dialed the cardiac surgeon’s number. “Julien, Dr. Drake fell from a horse. She’s bleeding. Prepare for emergency surgery right away. We are in the ambulance and on our way.” Shoving his phone in his belt, he motioned Hubert away. “Move over. I’m the one driving.” He wouldn’t let his butler zoom at his usual crazy speed. “Are you holding on back there?” He started the engine and drove as smoothly as possible. “God, please,” Yves mumbled under his breath. “Let us arrive in time.” When he stopped in front of the ambulance he exhaled his temporary relief. His eyes on Mary-Beth, he prayed they could reach the hospital before it was too late. The paramedics moved the stretcher into the vehicle. They immediately applied oxygen and started an IV. One medic took her vital signs and placed her on the monitor while Yves watched from the door. As soon as he slipped in next to the driver, the ambulance sped along the open country road with siren wailing. At the hospital, the trauma team waited with Carlos in the ER. The attending doctor ordered x-rays of her chest, arms, and hips. A short time later, Yves and the radiologist focused on the X-rays as they hung on the lighted screens. “Malroux, this is more serious than we expected. She has a broken rib close to where the stick entered. And a broken hip,” the radiologist explained. “Yes, but we can fix all that.” Stay positive. She will be fine. “The stick only penetrated the external tissues,” the radiologist said as he assessed the ultrasound video. “Wait. There is a broken piece of bone here…” The specialist scowled as he marked the exact location of the bone. The hair on the back of Yves’s neck stood on end. He scrutinized the bone adhering to the lower part of the heart cavity. The blood drained from his face. If a broken bone had touched the heart, Mary-Beth could bleed to death. Quickly. He swallowed and clutched the side of the monitor screen as he stared at the sonogram. “It is embedded in the pleura. See, it didn’t penetrate the heart.” The radiologist pointed to the piece of bone while they all focused on the ultrasound film. Yves closed his eyes and mumbled, “Merci, mon Dieu.” “We can disengage the rib without damage to the heart. But she has a pneumothorax,” Julien added. “I will insert a chest tube in the collapsed lung.” “Go ahead. We can’t waste time,” Yves said, eager to start the surgeries that would save Mary-Beth. “We need to remove the stick and stop the bleeding.” “Dr. Malroux, Dr. Julien, salle d’operation 3 is ready. Dr. Lebel, the orthopedist, and Roberto are already scrubbed,” Carlos announced. “Let’s go.” Yves trotted alongside the stretcher and left at the door of the OR to change and scrub. Would he be able to do the surgery himself? He would never let any emotionally involved surgeon operate on a patient. But the patient was Mary-Beth, the woman so dear to him. He had to be in the OR and watch what was

any emotionally involved surgeon operate on a patient. But the patient was Mary-Beth, the woman so dear to him. He had to be in the OR and watch what was going on. By the time he entered the OR, the nurses had cut away Mary-Beth’s clothes and prepped her for surgery. She was already under anesthesia. Yves thought he could remove the stick once they opened her chest. The moment he held the scalpel to make the incision in her skin, his hand shook. “Julien, you cut. I will assist you.” “Understood.” His colleague nodded solemnly. “She is your resident.” Yves wasn’t hiding his feelings anymore. He wanted the whole world to know how much he cared about her. “A very dear resident.” The gasps echoed around the room as a dozen pair of eyes stared at him. A hum of hushed words whizzed behind him. “In that case, you shouldn’t even be in this room. Get out,” Julien ordered. “No way.” His eyes narrowed on his friend, warning him not to contradict him. “That dear?” Julien winked and nodded. “Well, then don’t distract me. Step back.” Yves didn’t answer. No force on earth could get him away from Mary-Beth. The surgeon made an incision across the front of her chest and around the stick. Yves swallowed hard, clutched the side of the operation table, and held his breath while Julien operated on her chest cavity. Julien confirmed the stick didn’t penetrate deep. “The bleeding inside her chest is from the broken rib. Dr. Lopez, Dr. Marcoli, suction.” Yves released a sigh of relief as Julien grabbed the stick with forceps and pulled it out in one swift motion. “Good. It’s done. Suction and irrigation,” he ordered the residents. “Malroux, you want to inspect?” Under his mask, Julien’s voice had an ironic edge. Yves didn’t let it intimidate him. He lowered the magnifying lens over his eyes and bent to look at the thoracic area. “Good. Next, the broken bone from the rib. I will do it.” Yves was calm now, determined to save Mary-Beth. Moving this piece of rib required an excellent general surgeon. He was the one. His colleague nodded, understanding his feelings. “Just pull it out.” Yves felt the piece of rib with his finger. The jagged head was not embedded deeply. He grabbed it with forceps and gently extracted it. If she didn’t make it, he’d never forgive himself. He should have discussed his feelings with her and acknowledged the incredible love that swelled his chest and scared the hell out of him. “Dr. Lebel, your turn. I’ll stitch her face later. Julien, stay around until we’re done with the thoracic cage.” “Of course.” “The fractured rib will heal on its own since you removed the broken piece,” the orthopedic surgeon said. “I’ll nail her hip now.” They worked deep into the night to finish the surgeries. Yves closed the cuts on her face with minute stitches. For nothing in the world, would he allow himself or anyone to mar the features he loved so much. By midnight, he thanked his lucky stars that no further complications arose. A nurse rolled Mary-Beth to the recovery room. “She’s weak and still not out of danger.” His gaze fixed on the door, Yves tossed his mask and gloves in a wastebasket. “She’s young and healthy. Her odds are good. Malroux,” Julien paused for a second. “I’m sorry about what happened to Dr. Drake. I didn’t know you and her… It may be the wrong time, but I want to say you’ve made an excellent choice.” Yves’s shoulders slumped. Would she want him when she recovered? “I just hope it’s not too late.” To think she’d resented him before coming to France. Now she’d have good reasons. A mending heart, broken rib and hip, maybe a limp. Mon Dieu, how he hated himself for not telling her how much he loved her. “Come on, man. Don’t look so devastated. Things will improve. Give her time to recover. Soon you’ll both forget this nightmare.” Julien clapped Yves on the shoulder. “We haven’t had a wedding in Marancourt for a long time. Don’t worry I’ll cover for you while you stay at her bedside.” “Thank you for everything.” A wedding in the little church of Marancourt? A picture of Mary-Beth in a white dress and long veil, holding his arm, made him smile, but his smile faded to a grimace and his throat filled with an acid taste as an image of Rose-Anne tortured his spirit. Had the Malroux de Marancourt ever seen a happy marriage? He shouldn’t have messed with Mary-Beth. He had caused her fall. His heart heavy, he changed into clean scrubs and headed back to the recovery room where he checked her BP, pulse and oxygen rate on the heart monitor. Thank to Julien’s offer, Yves would dedicate every minute of his time to Mary-Beth and wouldn’t worry about neglecting his other patients. He sat in a recliner beside her bed and waited for her to open her eyes. Around six in the morning, Yves woke from his doze. Had he heard a moan? He leapt off his chair and leaned over her. “Mary-Beth?” She turned her head toward him, her eyes still closed. Yves pulled out his stethoscope, listened to her heart and lungs. Her pulse was slow, as expected after her long anesthesia. Thank God, her BP was normal. He caressed her cheek. Was it too hot? Or were his hands unusually cold? He touched his palm to her forehead. She was hot. He called a nurse to take her temperature. She stuck a thermometer in Mary-Beth’s ear. “38O Centigrade.” “Too high. She’s developed an infection. Get blood counts.” Julien came to check on her. “She’s coming around,” Yves said. “I want her in ICU for a few days.” “Absolutely. Did you check her?” “Yes, but, please, do it again. She has a fever.” “Not good. It could be from the surgeries, or an infection from the dirt on the stick or on her face.” “I asked for a blood analysis, but I’ll up her antibiotic dosage right away.” Yves raked his fingers through his hair. “Good. Now, you should get some rest.” “Don’t worry about me. I had a few hours of sleep in that chair.” His eyes fixed on his precious patient, Yves sat back in the recliner and pledged not to leave Mary-Beth until she recovered.

Chapter Twenty-One Mary-Beth slowly emerged from a deep slumber. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if they’d been stuck together with crazy glue. Too tired to open them, she squirmed. It hurt so much. She cringed and brought a hand to her chest. A stabbing pain held her immobile. Carefully she reached up to rub the painful area and winced. Her fingers touched gauze stretched over her breasts. With tremendous effort she raised her eyelids, enough to let in a thin beam of pale light. Where was she? The hospital. Of course, she was always at the hospital. She worked there every day. She closed her eyes, exhausted by the effort. Something in the back of her head told her it was unprofessional to sleep at the hospital. How could she doze on duty? She’d better get back to work right away. She tried to move. An iron grip crushed over her back or rather her hip. She whimpered and grasped her side. Another dressing here. Damn it. Had someone cut her in pieces and tied her into a coffin? She screeched and flung her arms to get up, to run away. “Mary-Beth, mon amour. It’s okay. You are going to be fine.” Yves’s voice reached her through the daze. She tried to talk to him, to beg him to help her. No sounds came from her throat. And she still couldn’t open her eyes. Terrified, she rolled her head from side to side and felt tears wet her cheeks. A finger softly caressed her face. “I am here, my love. You will be fine.” His soft voice lulled her. She relaxed and drifted. **** “It has been five days since Mary-Beth’s fall. How is she doing?” Hubert asked Yves from the door of the intensive care unit after studying her face. The whiteness of the sheets and covers extended to her neck and cheeks. Her hair was pulled back from her sunken eyes and the sutures on her forehead. “She had complications, high fever and delirium. Today her fever dropped a little bit, but she hasn’t awakened yet.” Yves gazed at her lovely features so ghostly pale at the moment. “I am sure she will soon.” A nurse came to draw blood from Mary-Beth’s arm. Hubert greeted her with a wide smile. “Bonjour, Beatrice. Don’t suck out all her blood.” “Don’t worry. I am very careful.” She pulled two vials of blood without Mary-Beth batting an eye. “Shall I see you tomorrow, Hubert?” Beatrice asked in a subdued voice Yves had never heard her use in the past. “Of course, ma chère. I will pick you up at six sharp for dinner.” Beatrice injected more antibiotics in the IV line. “Au-revoir. I hope she feels better soon, Dr. Malroux.” After the nurse left, Yves raised sarcastic eyebrows at Hubert’s besotted expression. “You two are dating? You couldn’t stand her when you were in the hospital.” “She is so beautiful and she cooks so well. Did you notice how she’s lost weight to please me?” Yves frowned and shook his head. “I don’t think she has changed, but if you think so…” “My boy, I think I am in love.” Look at Hubert. “In love with the woman you called a vampire a month ago?” “I will probably marry her soon.” “To marry is a big step.” “Loneliness is the worst thing for a man. He keeps tumbling from one woman to another, until he wakes up with no one to love him. Right?” Hubert focused a knowing look on him. “Enough.” Yves exhaled loudly. “Why don’t you go take care of the chateau?” Mary-Beth whimpered in her sleep. Ignoring his butler, Yves turned toward her and sighed. “I can stay with Dr. Mary Beth. You look like a zombie, my son. You better go and rest.” “No. I want to be with her when she wakes up.” “I just want to help.” Hubert raised his hands. “If you’re staying beside her, at least try to doze.” “I will.” After Hubert left, Yves slumped onto the recliner and stretched his legs on the footrest. If only she would wake up from this lethargy that scared the hell out of him. Rehearsing for the millionth time the sweet words he’d tell her soon, he contemplated her cherished face and cursed the fear of commitment that had prevented him from facing the truth. He loved her, as much—if not more—than Rose-Anne. Why was he even comparing them? Rose-Anne had been sick and weak from the day he met her. He’d had to protect her after she got pregnant and lost their child. She had needed him every hour of her short life. Mary-Beth didn’t need him. Not even now when she was gravely injured. When she recovered she’d get on with her career and her life. But he wanted to be part of both, her career and her life. He wanted to marry her and keep her with him forever. It was time to enjoy the passionate love they had shared in the past few days. “I can’t marry you. I can’t.” The muttered words jolted him from a light doze. “What? Why?” Yves leaned over her bed to catch the words rumbling between her lips. Her eyes closed, Mary-Beth scowled. “Sorry, Steve. I can’t forget him.” Her head tossed right and left while Yves listened to the unconscious woman spill the nightmare that had tormented her for years. “I tore up his picture. I love you, Steve. I don’t love you, Yves. No, no Steve. I don’t love you. I love Yves. Go away. Go away, Steve. Yves. Steve, no. Yves.” Tears flowed over her cheeks as she screamed his name between incoherent sentences. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry.” Guilt tore at his heart and his gut squeezed at the pain he had caused her. He’d felt badly about her accident, but the gravity of her moral injuries was as serious. How long had she lived with that conflict, marrying a man she didn’t love to avoid the one she loved? Skimming her burning face with careful fingers, he murmured sweet words. “I love you, Mary-Beth. I love you, Sweet-Mary.” Had she heard him? She whimpered in her fever. “Shh, calm down, mon amour, my love. You don’t have to run away from me. I promise I will never leave you.” He dampened a towel and softly pressed the cool cloth to her forehead. “This will make you more comfortable.” She sighed and seemed to calm down as he changed the compresses and soothed her with soft words and caresses. **** “Quiet, please.” Mary-Beth’s voice came as a hoarse whisper. Yves opened his eyes. Her finger across her lips, Mary-Beth scowled at a nurse. He bolted out of his chair.

Yves opened his eyes. Her finger across her lips, Mary-Beth scowled at a nurse. He bolted out of his chair. “Mary-Beth, you’re back.” She slowly turned her head toward him, eyes huge. “Back from where?” “How are you feeling, chérie?” “Sore. Everywhere. My face, my chest, my side.” She moved her hand over her head and body as she enumerated the places that hurt. She looked around. Fear spread over her face. “I’m at the hospital? I mean in a hospital bed? What happened?” “You fell from the horse.” “The horse?” She narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead in an effort to remember. “Please, chérie. Don’t think about it now. It will only hurt. I promise we will talk later and clear the air. But not now, not when you have been through so much.” He gently stroked her cheek and bent to press a light kiss on her lips. “Even if you hate me now, and you have the right to, allow me to help you heal first.” “No, no.” Her eyes filled with panic. “I never hated you. Never. I love you.” She sighed and closed her eyes, her hand outstretched toward him. He grasped it and covered it with kisses. “Just rest now, sweetheart.” “I fell from a horse. Why?” she asked, her voice hardly audible. Was it possible she had a short-term amnesia due to the fall or the long anesthesia? If only he could change the past. “A squirrel darted in front of your mare and frightened her. She reared and you fell.” Mary-Beth opened her eyes and squirmed. Her head frantically dug in her pillow. “I can’t remember.” “We’ll talk about it later. When you feel better. Can you trust me for now?” He smoothed her hair away from her suture points. “Of course, I trust you.” She smiled brightly, and immediately grimaced. “Ouch.” She felt her left cheek and rested her hand next to the base of her ear. “I have stitches?” “Yes, a couple of them on your jaw and three more on your forehead.” “Yves, what exactly are my injuries?” He swallowed. Should he give her the worst right away or explain them by order of gravity? “The pain in my chest?” She touched the dressing on her breasts and heart. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “When you fell, you impaled yourself on a stick.” “I’m still alive, so I assume it didn’t pierce the heart,” she said in a cold, dispassionate voice as if she assessed a patient. “Dr. Julien removed the stick without problem. You also had a broken rib that penetrated the pleura.” She looked at him and chewed on her lip. “You removed it?” “Yes. Julien and Lebel performed the major surgeries. Carlos and Roberto assisted. I couldn’t. I just stitched the cuts on your face” “All in all, I guess I’m lucky I came through without permanent damage.” “There is more. You broke a hip.” “That explains the pain in my side and my back.” She tried to move and shrieked with pain. She cringed and tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t move, my love.” He injected morphine into her IV. She whimpered, closed her eyes, and didn’t ask more questions. A moment later, her regular breathing indicated she’d drifted off. Yet Yves couldn’t relax. Not when his mind reeled and his heart worried and wrenched. She said she still loved him but…. Eventually he’d have to remind her of his selfish request that she stay in France. **** How long had she slept this time? A weird noise startled her. Mary-Beth opened her eyes and slanted a glance to the right. Slumped in the recliner next to her bed, Yves softly snored, his hand clutched to the metallic disc of his stethoscope as if ready to jump at the first emergency. Such an endearing sight. Her heart swelled with love. Had he been here continuously? For how many days? She smiled and lifted her arm to reach him. The effort exhausted her. Footsteps entered her room and she closed her eyes bracing against the noise that pounded like a hammer on her skull. Next to her, Yves stirred. “How is it going at the hospital, Julien?” Yves asked in a sleepy voice. “Great. You may be indispensable, but somehow we managed without you.” Yves sighed. “I can’t thank you enough. You saved this place.” “Our sleeping beauty regained consciousness two days ago.” No kidding. She’d slept two more days? “Yes, and she’s not over it yet.” Yves’s deep sigh worried her more than his words. “It’s time you get out of here and take a good nap in a real bed. She’s out of danger now. Out. Doctor’s orders. And this time you’ll follow them.” “Okay. Just call me when she wakes up.” Yves sounded so weary. Why? She winced, too tired herself, to voice her concern. “I will.” Mary-Beth must have briefly drifted off. When she awoke the next time, Yves had left. Sophie Marin, her former obese patient sat in the chair next to her bed. “Sophie, when did you get here?” “An hour ago.” Sophie took her hand and squeezed it. “You gave us a good fright with your fall, Dr. Drake. All the ladies at the Health and Beauty Clinic send their best wishes for your recovery. As soon as you can stand, I will give you a big hug on their behalf. We have all been so worried about you since Hubert stopped by and told us you fell from a horse.” “Oh, I see.” She knit her eyebrows thinking hard. Why had she been on a horse anyway? Robert and Carlos walked in. “How is our favorite patient?” Carlos asked with a big smile. “Not good I suppose. I have stitches on my face. My body is covered with bandages and aches all over. And I can’t remember why I was riding.” “Let see if we can help you,” Roberto said. “Do you remember the wine festival? You danced on the grapes with the other girls. We had dinner and then you left with Dr. Malroux.” Her face warmed. Oh yes, she remembered the festival and the Pompadour room. How could she ever forget the most beautiful night of her life? “Hubert said that the next day you went riding with Dr. Malroux. Remember?” Yeah, it was coming back, the picnic on the grass and…and… she smiled. “I remember.” While riding on the way back, she’d assessed his request to stay in France. She’d turned around to tell him she accepted. Now it was too late for these happy plans. She’d have to go back to Boston and follow a strict therapy until she improved. “Where is Dr. Malroux?” “Mary-Beth, Dr. Malroux sat next to you for the last seven days,” Carlos said.

“Mary-Beth, Dr. Malroux sat next to you for the last seven days,” Carlos said. “Are you sure?” She didn’t need to ask the question. Every time she’d come out of oblivion, she’d seen Yves in the chair next to her. Had he told her he loved her? Or was it her imagination playing tricks? Roberto nodded. “He hasn’t budged from that chair. We all worked extra shifts to cover for both of you. He’s only done a few surgeries since your accident.” Her heart pounded in her chest. She brought her hand against her body and patted her hip and the dressing. “Thanks, guys. Do you know when I can get out of this bed?” “You will have to ask Malroux or Lebel,” Carlos said. “They will probably move you to Rehab soon, now that your temperature is normal.” “Can you ask Yves to come, please?” “Dr. Julien said he sent him to get some sleep, not long ago.” “Yes, I forgot.” She propped herself up on her elbow. “Ouch, it hurts. Can you help me and raise the bed? I’m sick of lying down.” “Just stay put.” Roberto adjusted the bed and fluffed up a couple of pillows behind her back “Is that better?” “Perfect. Thank you.” The new position improved her morale tenfold. And then there was the fact that Yves had been constantly at her side. Wasn’t that proof of love? “Mon Dieu, you are awake, sitting up and smiling.” Yves stood, rooted at the door as if he couldn’t take another step. Her smile faded. My goodness, what happened to the well-groomed Comte de Marancourt? He wore green scrubs and a white jacket on top. Stubbles darkened his jaws and gray shadows ringed his eyes. He raked his fingers through his disheveled hair. Was she the reason for his ghostly appearance? “Malroux, what are you doing here? I told you to go and rest.” Rushing in behind him, Dr. Julien crossed his arms on his chest, but his grin belied the chastisement. “I did, for a few minutes. I wanted to check on Mary-Beth.” “In that case, I’ll let you check her at length.” He gave Roberto and Carlos a wink. “Come with me, doctors. You are needed in the OR.” They all bustled to the door. Sophie followed them. “I will come to see you tomorrow.” “How are you feeling?” Yves asked as he carefully sat next to her on the bed. “Better, I guess. Can I stand up and walk?” “Wait.” He pulled a stethoscope from his pocket and listened to her heart and lungs. “Everything sounds normal.” He unfastened her hospital gown and examined the stitches. “Oh, my bandage is gone.” “You are healing nicely. I will ask Julien to examine you before I removed your sutures. Let’s look at your hip. Not bad. Lebel may have you start therapy tomorrow.” He reattached the straps of her gown. “I’m fed up with this bed. Can you help me to a chair?” “Hold on a second.” He approached a recliner and gently turned her around to let her feet dangle from the bed. She winced. “Does it hurt?” “A little bit. My side.” “Here, lean on me.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and slowly lowered her to the floor. She took two steps that hurt like hell and felt dizzy. He immediately sat her onto the recliner, raised the footrest, and covered her with a blanket. “Breathe deeply and relax.” She obeyed and smiled. “Much better.” “Good.” Yves sighed and walked to the door. “Where are you going?” “You need some quiet time to rest now.” “Stay, I want to talk.” She stretched out her hand toward him. “You’re not up to it.” “Please, Yves. I need you.” Right word. He immediately brought a chair and sat in front of her. Silence drifted over them. She was the one who had something to say. She bit her lip, brought her hand to her chest, felt her stitches and the thump of her heartbeat. She crossed her fingers in her lap. “Yves, remember you asked me to stay in France and do a three-year fellowship here? I was about to tell you I decided to take the offer when I was thrown. Now, I can’t stay here and work. I have to go back to Boston and heal.” She lowered her head and sank against the back of her recliner. **** Yves flinched at her sadness and disappointment. She was recovering from an accident and major surgeries. And he loved her more than he thought he could ever love a woman. He crouched in front of her and took her hands between his. “Look at me, Mary-Beth. I am the one responsible for this mess. I couldn’t get myself to completely commit. To tell you I love you.” He covered her hands with kisses and then pressed them against his cheek. “When I saw you on the ground and thought you might die, I nearly lost my mind.” Her eyes shadowed with uncertainty, she bit her lip. “You can throw me out of your life. But Mary-Beth, know that I love you. I think I loved you in Boston three years ago as the cute, adorable and funny SweetMary with the bubbly laughter and sharp mind. And then when you arrived, I discovered a gorgeous woman who stole my breath. I couldn’t resist the attraction even though you were not free.” “My darling.” Tears shimmered in her eyes, as she frowned and chewed on her bottom lip while studying him. “Do you believe me, Mary-Beth?” “Yes. Yes, I do. I love you. Kiss me, please.” He straightened and bent over her to deposit a chaste peck on her cheek. “Can’t you do better?” With a hiss of frustration, she grabbed him by the lapels of his white jacket. “I didn’t want to exhaust you. Mon amour, your wishes are my command.” With a big smile, he leaned over her and molded his lips to hers. She hooked her arms around his neck and darted her tongue into his mouth. He let her play at her own leisure, carefully responding. She eased away, and he smiled as he stroked her cheek. “Good to see the anesthesia and morphine injections haven’t doused your ardor.” “Last time, it was… There was… ” He understood her reference to their lovemaking and chuckled. “Sparks?” “More than sparks, flames, fire.” Standing next to her, he traced his knuckle along her jaw. “It can be the same every day, every night of our life.” He cradled her face and captured her gaze. “Mary-

Standing next to her, he traced his knuckle along her jaw. “It can be the same every day, every night of our life.” He cradled her face and captured her gaze. “MaryBeth, my love, I want you to marry me.” Her blue eyes widened like a mesmerizing sea. “I love you, Yves, and nothing could make me happier than—” “How is my patient?” Dr. Lebel strode to her side as Yves released her and jumped back with a merde muttered between his teeth. “I’m fine. Really, I feel great,” she said with a bright smile. “Good, we should start the therapy right away. Dr. Drake, I won’t hide from you the fact that the break in your hip was not a clean one. It may leave some… ahem… “ “Some what, Dr. Lebel? Please say it straight. I’m a doctor, too. I can take it.” “Well, you will have a little claudication. Of course, with time…huh, it… ” “You mean, I will limp.” She slumped back, against her pillow, eyes closed. Yves shot a scathing look at Lebel and took Mary-Beth’s hand. “Chérie, you’re young, athletic and otherwise healthy. With intensive therapy you will walk straight.” She looked at him, deep lines gathered between her brows. “Don’t try to sugarcoat the diagnosis.” Her voice broke as she averted her gaze. “You will go at it with all your energy and you will succeed in overcoming any limp. If not, we’ll operate again. Right, Lebel?” “Yes, of course,” Lebel said with a doubtful shake of his head. Yves shoved him out the door and shut it behind him. “Ma chérie, what’s wrong with you? Are you going to give up?” He stepped close to her and cupped her cheeks. “Where is my assertive resident who believes in herself and always succeeds?” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’ll do my best and I’ll fight to walk.” She shook her head. “But I can’t marry you if I limp.” “Sacrebleu, what has the way you walk got to do with us getting married?” “Can you see a limping woman on your arm, after all the beauties you paraded in the past?” She slanted a pitiful glance at him. With his fingertip he dispelled the frown on her forehead. “The only woman I can see on my arm is you, mon amour, only you.” Her jaws clamped in a stubborn lock. “Thank you. I don’t want sympathy.” “What are you talking about? I love you, Mary-Beth. I adore you.” He held her shoulders, and stifled the urge to shake her when she turned her head away. “No, Yves. You always professed your absolute refusal to get married. We even agreed that we both enjoyed having no strings attached. You changed your mind after my fall.” “Yes, because when I saw you on the ground, hurt, bleeding, and almost dying, I was so terrified of losing you I realized how much I love you, how much I need you in my life.” “You proposed only because you felt guilty, because you think you caused my fall. Rest assured, you didn’t.” Looking at him straight, she clenched the sheets. “I shouldn’t have turned my head when riding. My bad.” “Mary-Beth, listen to me carefully.” He held her shoulders to make sure he had her full attention. “I felt guilty because I should have asked you to marry me earlier.” Her chin tilted in a determined set. “Once before, I accepted a proposal for the wrong reasons. I won’t repeat that mistake.” “Bon Dieu, you are driving me crazy.” He racked his fingers through his hair. “Someone up there is having fun at my expense. The big mistake here is that the woman I want to marry is rejecting me.” He enveloped her in his arms. “Mary-Beth, ma chérie, we love each other. We deserve to be together.” Trailing kisses against her temple and cheek, he waited for her to digest his words and trust him. When she sighed and didn’t pull away, he brushed her lips, then deepened his kiss as she hooked her fingers around his nape and responded to him with her usual passion. He wanted to brand her with his touch, with his kiss, with his love. “Can’t you see we belong together, mon amour?” “Yves, as long as I limp, I can’t—” He covered her mouth with his palm. “I want you to tell me, ‘yes, I will marry you’. Or I won’t let you out of my arms, understood?” She squirmed and chuckled. “Stubborn aristocrat. Yes, I’ll marry you if you still want me by the time I finish my therapy.” He scowled. “With or without a limp, you are beautiful.” “Now you listen to me, Yves. I’ll stay in France, at your chateau, and I’ll go through therapy, but I won’t walk down the aisle until I can walk straight. Without a limp.” “Thank you.” His heart lurched with relief. He bent over her and sealed their commitment with a deep kiss. “You make me a very happy man. I know you will be back to normal in no time.” She threw away her blanket. “Help me up. I’m going to therapy.” “Let me get you a wheelchair. You have been in bed too long to walk on your own all of a sudden.” “I—” “Shush. A good patient should listen to her doctor,” he said with a smile. She burst out laughing, and her eyes sparked with joy. His heart hummed with happiness. A minute later, he came back, scooped her up into his arms and carefully lowered her into the wheelchair. He cradled her face between his palms. “I am proud of your willpower. But I love you as you are, slim or heavy, limping or not.” He sealed his words with a kiss. “I will always love you,” he whispered against her lips.

Epilogue Two years had passed since the night Mary-Beth had spent with Yves in the Pompadour room. A night she’d remember as long as she lived. A night with so many incredible and unexpected repercussions. The legend that claimed couples who made love in the historic room found happiness had turned out to be true. Yves had never looked at another woman and their initial no strings involvement had morphed into the strongest commitment. Mary-Beth stood stoically in the small room in the old Gothic church of Marancourt while Beatrice re-arranged her veil and Sophie fretted with her bridal train. A bang on the door saved her from her overzealous bridesmaids. “Are you ready?” Hubert’s voice bellowed through the closed door. “Just a moment, mon chéri.” Beatrice answered her husband before adding one more pin to secure the white tulle expanse around Mary-Beth’s high chignon. “We can’t wait forever, Dr. Galt and I.” “Hurry,” Mary-Beth ordered. “Steve has been at the door for ten minutes now. “Oui, oui.” Sophie opened the door wide to allow the bride to pass without brushing her gown against the doorframe. “As expected, you look gorgeous, sweetheart.” Steve nodded with an appreciative smile. “Thank you for coming all the way to France,” Mary-Beth said as Steve placed a careful kiss on her forehead. “Barbara and I enjoyed our honeymoon in the Loire Valley so much that when Malroux invited us to stay at the chateau, we couldn’t wait to come back here. And I wouldn’t have missed your wedding for the world.” “Oh, Steve, you were my mentor and you’ve always helped me. I’m so relieved you didn’t resent me for—” “Forget the past, sweetheart. We are both happier now. I’m glad to see you in control of your life. I’m also thankful you allowed me to play surrogate father and walk you down the aisle.” Steve hooked her hand in the hollow of his elbow. “Let’s not make the groom wait longer. Are you ready?” “Yes.” Her voice wobbled, and then firmed. “Yes, I’m more than ready.” “He already waited two and a half years.” Hubert chuckled. “Justice poétique. The man who claimed he would not marry for five or ten years has spent two years begging Mary-Beth to set a date for the wedding.” “How could I marry? I was limping and had to go through intensive therapy and additional surgery to recover the flexibility of my hip.” “Hurry up. The bishop is here and the church is full,” Roberto called. “Oui, mon chéri. My husband is so impatient,” Sophie said as she collected the bride’s train. They followed Hubert through a corridor leading to the sacristy where they gathered. Yves had invited all the residents of Marancourt to share his happiness. Dinner would be served to family and intimate friends after the ceremony. Tables had been set around the downtown fountain for the reception that would follow the wedding supper. Mary-Beth peeked at the interior of the old church through a crack in the door. Elegant French aristocrats occupied the front pews and the countess of Marancourt sat enthroned in the first row, with Steve’s wife on one side and Kate in nun’s habit on the other. Behind them, Jennifer and her husband Greg chatted together. A hundred villagers in Sunday suits crowded into the back of the church and many times more stood outside on the village plaza. The wedding march of Lohengrin filled the high cupola of the church as Mary-Beth proceeded toward the altar on Steve’s arm, her eyes fixed on her groom. “You are so beautiful.” Yves held her hand between his warm fingers. “You, too.” She smiled, and his green eyes glittered with admiration and love. The bishop came to stand in front of them while the priest intoned the French equivalent of dearly beloved. Later, the bishop blessed the rings. Yves slid a gold and diamond band on her finger and brought her hand to his lips. “Congratulations, my lovely countess. Now I should kiss my bride the American way.” Without waiting for the bishop’s permission, Yves drew her into his arms. The congregation burst into applause and the priest cleared his throat. When he released her, her knight in an Armani tuxedo rearranged her veil and whispered, “I will love you forever, mon amour.”

A word about the author... Mona Risk never thought that hazardous waste analysis would lead her to writing novels! When her Ph.D. and work in chemistry landed her international contracts to refurbish laboratories, she traveled to more than fifty countries on business or vacation. To relax from her hectic schedule, she avidly read romance novels and mentally plotted her own books. Eventually she left a scientific career to share with her readers the many stories brewing in her head. M. Risk likes to set her stories in the fascinating places she visited from exotic Belarus, and historical France, to the beaches of Greece, the monuments of Egypt and the mysterious Islands of Seychelles.

“Mona Risk writes heroes with heart, heroines with spunk, in stories and settings that are simply unforgettable.” Roxanne St. Claire, NY Best Selling author. “I am very happy with our author's research for this story. Perhaps even a bit in awe. A good romance novel: a believable plot, a likeable hero and heroine, and is long enough to flesh out the story, and enjoy the characters.” The Long And The Short Reviews. “Mona Risk knows how to pull a reader into the minds of her well-crafted characters. Her work takes us on a journey be it local or overseas.” Night Owl Reviews.

Mona Risk can be found at: www.monarisk.com