Resolutely Polly held the glass up over the man’s face and tipped it. A perfect stream of cold water fell like rain onto the peacefully slumbering face below.
Polly didn’t quite know what to expect: anger, shock, contrition, or even no reaction at all. He was so very deeply asleep after all. But what she didn’t expect was for one eye to open lazily, for a smile to play around the disturbingly well-cut mouth, or for a hand to shoot out and grab her wrist.
Caught by surprise, she stumbled forward, falling against the chaise as that hand sneaked around her waist, pulling her down, pulling her close.
“Bonjour, chérie.”
His voice was low, gravelly with sleep, and deeply, unmistakably French.
“If you wanted me to wake up you only had to ask.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Saying au revoir, of course.”
He had shifted position and was leaning against the back of the chaise, his eyes skimming every inch of her until she wanted to wrap her arms around her torso, shielding herself from his insolent gaze.
“Au revoir?”
“Of course.” He raised an eyebrow. “As you are dressed to leave I thought you were saying goodbye. But if it was more of a good morning …” the smile widened “… even better.”
“I am not saying au revoir, or good morning, or anything but What on earth are you doing in my office and where are your clothes?”
An ex au-pair, bookseller, marketing manager and sea-front trader, JESSICA GILMORE now works for an environmental charity in York. Married with one daughter, one fluffy dog and two dog-loathing cats, she spends her time avoiding housework and can usually be found with her nose in a book. Jessica writes emotional romance with a hint of humour, a splash of sunshine and a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes.
CHAPTER ONE
My Secret Bucket List
Swim in the sea, naked
NB: in azure warm seas, not in the North Sea
Sleep out under the stars
Have sex on the beach
NB: the real deal, not the cocktail
Drink an authentic margarita
Fall in love in Paris
POLLY READ THE list through for the last time, feeling the carefree joie de vivre fall away and the old, familiar cloaks of respectability and responsibility settling back onto her shoulders. They were a little heavy, but maybe that was to be expected after three months away.
Three months, five wishes. And she’d achieved four out of the five, which wasn’t bad going. The heaviness lifted for a second as the highlights of the last three months flashed through her mind and then it descended again.
What had she been thinking? She might as well have written the list in a silver pen and decorated it with pink love hearts and butterflies, pinning it on her wall next to a lipstick-kiss-covered poster of a pre-pubescent boy band.
Polly pulled the page out of her diary and, without allowing herself a second’s pause to reconsider, tore it into pieces. It was time to reposition her three-month sabbatical into something more appropriate for the new CEO of a company with a multimillion-pound turnover.
She chewed on the end of her pen for a moment and then started a new list.
My Bucket List
Travel to the Galapagos Islands
See the Northern Lights
Walk the Inca Trail
Write a book
See tigers in the wild
There, two achieved, three to aspire to and all perfectly respectable. Not a grain of sand in any place it definitely shouldn’t be...
The large luxurious town car drew to a smooth halt and jolted her back into the present day, away from dangerous memories. ‘We’re here, Miss Rafferty. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home first?’
Polly looked up from her diary and drew in a breath at the sight of the massive golden stone building stretching all the way down the block. She was home. Back at the famous department store founded by her great-grandfather. She hadn’t expected to ever see it again, let alone to walk in as mistress of all that she surveyed.
She stared at the huge picture windows flanking the iconic marble steps, her heart swelling with a potent mixture of love and pride. Each window told a tale and sold a dream. Rafferty’s could give you anything, make you anyone—if you had the money to pay for it.
‘This will be fine, Petyr, thank you. But please arrange for my bags to be taken back to Hopeford and for the concierge service to collect and launder them.’