She closed her eyes and waitedâ¦waitedâ¦.
âAm I supposed to kiss you now, Anne-Marie?â he said raggedly.
Sheâd have been humiliated beyond endurance if she hadnât detected the torment behind his remark. âHow about a little truth for a change, Ethan? How about âI want to kiss you, Anne-Marieâ?â she said.
âNo,â he muttered. But his hands betrayed him and slid through her hair. âNo,â he said again, almost savagely. âItâll never happen.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause it would be a mistake.â
But either he didnât really believe what he was saying or he, too, was at the mercy of impulses beyond his control, because his head dipped lower and his lips searched out hers. Their imprint scorched her and left her melting against him. At length he broke all contact and stepped back. âI was right,â he said hoarsely. âThat was a big mistake.â
âSometimes people can learn a great deal from their mistakes,â she said.
ETHAN BEAUMONTâ¦Ethan Andrew Beaumontâ¦Monsieur Beaumont. Ever since the wedding date had been set, his was the name on everyoneâs lips; his was the name uttered with the kind of reverence normally accorded only to royalty, popes or dictators.
So given that itâs Philippe Beaumont whoâs marrying my best friend, whatâs wrong with this picture? Anne-Marie Barclay wondered, sipping thoughtfully at her champagne. Why is it that, where other peopleâs weddings are concerned, the bride and groom take center stage, but in this instance, itâs all about Ethan Beaumont? And why is Solange allowing it?
âIf you look just beyond the tip of the starboard wing, Mademoiselle, youâll catch your first glimpse of Bellefleur.â Moving with surprising stealth and grace for such a big man, the flight attendant materialized from the galley at the rear of the private jet, and pointed over Anne-Marieâs shoulder. âItâs the island shaped like a crescent moon.â
She craned her neck and scanned the specks of land floating like emerald gems on the sapphire-blue water, thousands of feet below. âYes, I see it,â she said, and wondered why the sight of the island, tranquil and beautiful even from this distance, should fill her with such odd apprehension. âHow long before we land?â
âWeâll begin our descent shortly. Please remain seated and keep your seat belt fastened.â His smile flashed brilliant white in his ebony face. âNot that you need to be reminded. You havenât moved since we left the mainland. Are you by chance a nervous flyer, Mademoiselle?â
âNot as a rule.â She glanced again out of the window and found nothing but blue sky beyond, as the jet banked in a steep turn. âBut nor do I usually travel in so small an aircraft.â Especially not over miles of open water.
He smiled again, kindly. âYouâre in excellent hands. Captain Morgan is a most capable pilot. Monsieur Beaumont hires only the best.â
There it was again, the Beaumont name rolling off the stewardâs tongue with lilting Caribbean reverence, as if her host ranked head and shoulders above other mortals. And again Anne-Marie felt that disturbing little surge of misgiving. She was not looking forward to meeting the almighty Monsieur Beaumont.
âHeâs nothing like Philippe, although thereâs quite a strong family resemblance, even though theyâre only half brothers,â Solange had told her, when she phoned with news of the forthcoming wedding. âHeâs larger in every respect. Larger than life, almost, and certainly lord of all he surveys. They practically curtsy to him when he passes through the town. I can see why Philippe was a little anxious about breaking news of our engagement to him. Ethan can beâ¦how shall I put it? Un peu formidable.â
âIn other words, heâs a tyrant.â Anne-Marie had rolled her eyes in disbelief. âImagine a grown man being afraid to tell his family that heâs getting married. Itâs positively medieval! If you ask me, all that wealth and power has gone to the formidable Ethan Beaumontâs head.â
A thoughtful pause followed before Solange replied, âOui, he is powerful, but underneath it all, heâs a very good man. Not cuddly like mon cher teddy bear, of courseâheâs much too distant for that. I canât imagine him ever allowing grand passion to rule the day.â
âHe did, at least once,â Anne-Marie pointed out. âHeâs got a son to prove it.â
âBut alas, no wife. Maybe he inherited too much English reserve from his mother, and thatâs why his marriage lasted so short a time.â Solange sighed, and Anne-Marie had imagined her shrugging in that uniquely French way of hers. âSuch a pity! Such a waste!â
âSuch a blessing, you mean! No woman needs the kind of man in her life whoâd deprive her of her child. I feel sorry for the little boy, being at the mercy of such a father.â