Notorious in Nice by Jianne Carlo Read Free Book Online

brogue curling the Rs just so. A low heat started in her belly.
    “In the hotel suite,” she muttered, her voice a bare croak, and the heat turned into a dozen buzzing bees warming her insides.
    “Are the relatives hovering?”
    “Uncle James and Aunt Emma have gone out with their friends for dinner.”
    “With the stick woman and her husband from lunch?”
    She giggled and cupped a hand over her mouth before replying, “I think so.”
    “I missed you today.”
    “Oh.” She drew a circle on the carpet with her big toe.
    “Did you miss me, darlin’?”
    She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her, and blurted, “Yes.”
    “Any chance of you playing hooky tomorrow and spending the day with me?”
    “We’re going to Cannes.”
    “I guess I’ll just have to curb my impatience, darlin’. You will join me for drinks in my cabin on Friday?”
    “Yes,” she breathed, her voice a hint above a murmur.
    “Keep the phone on you. I’ll call you again.”
    “Okay.”
    “Tell me something no one else knows about you. Something just for me.”
    His voice had gruffened.
    “I dreamed about you,” she whispered, everything solid in her body skittering and sliding into a sort of loose languor, as if a hypnotic paralysis froze her limbs while sparking the veins feeding them.
    “Hell, darlin’, I thought I was dreaming when you came into the steam room. I couldn’t believe my luck. And now we have three glorious weeks together. What more could a man ask for?”
    What more could she ask for? How to reply to that?
    “I have to go, darlin’. Catch you later.”
    She did cartwheels around the suite in between a fits of giggling and finished with a double somersault. Energy spent, she curled up on a fat chair in her bedroom, ordered a chocolate mousse and a concoction described as decadent devil’s cake from room service, along with a half carafe of red wine.
    All night long, delicious dreams filled her head.
    Her lips broke into a broad smile the minute light hit her pupils the following morning. Not wanting to wake her relatives, she brushed her teeth, dressed, then slipped out of the suite.
    Hotel guests bustled in the lobby, rolling suitcases to the reception desk or sinking into plush upholstered couches armed with folded newspapers. A colored section of a Nice-Matin lay below the top of the concierge’s desk, which stood unmanned at the moment. She studied the folded newspaper, cricking her neck to read the words upside down. Beneath a bold headline, a grainy black-and-white photograph, which looked vaguely familiar, caught her attention. An unfocused uneasiness made her reach over the counter.
    “Mam’selle Taylor. What can I do for you this morning?” The young concierge who’d helped her last evening smiled as he asked the question. He leaned forward and she retreated, tucking her hand behind her back.
    “Um, is that the paper?”
    “Oui, mam’selle. You prefer French or an English version?”
    “English, I suppose, although I’ve been trying to practice my high school French.” She accepted the folded newspaper he handed over. “Thank you. I’ll read this while having a cup of coffee.”
    Su-Lin read the Matin cover to cover but couldn’t find the photograph that had caused the hairs on her forearm to rise. Unsettled, she paged through each section one more time before abandoning her hazy, unprovoked apprehensions. Her stomach growled, and she ordered a raisin muffin to go. Wandering barefoot through lapping waves, face lifted to the sun, she allowed the warm sea wind to disorder her long hair in between bites of the moist muffin.
    Terry called around ten.
    “Sounds as if you’re outside.”
    “I’m walking on the beach,” she answered, enjoying this new intimacy, speaking with him on a cell phone.
    “What are the plans for today?”
    “Lunch and shopping in Cannes this afternoon. Tonight we have dinner with my uncle’s English friends, some business colleagues of his.” She wanted to ask