Nicole turned to face the darkened lavender fields again. She didn’t want Mark to catch a glimpse of her smile, but she’d asked Henri to come out here precisely for this reason. To see if Mark would follow them.
She sensed him behind her, as though they stood no more than a pace apart.
“Thank you for this.” She lifted the brandy glass to her lips.
“My pleasure,” he intoned. The timbre of his voice thrummed through her center.
She shook away the feeling. He had followed her, of course, but it wasn’t because he was jealous. If he was, it wasn’t about her. He didn’t care abouther. He only cared that another man was sniffing around something he considered his. Mark was arrogant and competitive. If thecomtehad been out here with his cigar box, Mark would have arrived and demanded its return. In fact, if she didn’t mistake her guess, he was probably itching for a fight. She should warn Henri to stay away from him.
She sighed and settled her shoulders into a straight line. “So, what did you want to speak with me about… alone? I told you I’d give you my conditiontomorrow.” She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed speaking her native language. Even though she’d learned Frenchfrom tutors as a child, English with its crisp syllables and sharp consonants was her first language love.
Mark turned to face the fields, too. He leaned down and braced his forearms on the balustrade. He was so close their arms nearly touched. The scent of him, his subtle cologne, teased her nostrils.
“Were you going to allow thecomteto kiss you out here?” he asked.
Her brows shot up of their own volition, but she hid her surprise behind her glass, thankful for the darkness on the balcony.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Were you going to kiss the butterflies?”
“Butterflies?” Mark’s brow knitted into a frown.
“Yes. You had quite a group of young ladies surrounding you earlier.”
Mark scratched at his jaw, a jaw Nicole couldn’t help but notice hadn’t been shaved since this morning and was slightly stubbled. She remembered how that stubble felt against her—she flipped open her fan and fluttered it in front of her face.
“Girls aren’t my type. I prefer women.” Confidence dripped from his voice.
“Do you?” She flipped the fan closed and took a small sip of brandy, trying not to think about the women he’d, ahem,preferred,since last they’d been together.
“Yes.”
“Like?” She braced herself for the answer. How in the name of Hera had they got into this dangerous conversation?
“You.”
For a split second her breath caught, but then sheforced the laughter through her tight throat. “Trying to flatter me, so I’ll agree to your request.”
He turned his face away from hers and stared out into the fields. “Is it working?”
“It depends.” Another single shoulder shrug.
He turned back and studied her, his face surprisingly somber. “On what?”
“On whether you’ll agree to my condition.” She hadn’t meant for her voice to sound quite so imperial.
“Which is?” His firmly molded lips quirked into a half smile, but he turned his face back to look at the fields again.
She blew out a deep breath. “Something I’m not prepared to tell you until tomorrow. I haven’t changed my mind, but I admire your tenacity.”
He watched her out of the corners of his eyes. “You knew I’d be here tonight, didn’t you?”
She nodded and lifted her glass to her lips. “Of course.”
“Is that why you came out here on the balcony with thecomte? To make me jealous?”
She touched her fingertips to one diamond earbob. “Areyou jealous?”
“Excessively so.” He said it with enough of a hint of sarcasm that she wasn’t certain he wasn’t jesting.
