[Montacroix Royal Family Series 01] - Guarded Moments (25 page)

The reluctant love he felt for her was so apparent in his eyes that Chantal had to bite her lip to keep from crying out his name. "Caine," she uttered simply.

It was only his name, but her tone spoke volumes. Before he could respond. Drew walked in the door, two FBI men right behind him.

"Nice of you to drop by," Caine said.

"Hey, you said you wanted first dibs on the guy," Drew said with a broad grin. "I figured you'd have everything under control by now." He put away his gun. "So your hunch about the cousin proved right, after all."

Chantal stared at him. "You knew about Stephan? How?"

Caine shrugged. "All this seemed so personal, I started wondering if your would-be assassin's grudge might be against your father rather than you. Remembering what you said about his first wife's insanity, I called the institution where she'd been hospitalized and discovered that she had committed suicide shortly before the first attempt on your life."

"Since that pointed toward a motive for revenge, we ran a check on all the family members and discovered that not only had Clea's nephew, one Stephan Devouassoux, recently visited Montacroix, but his credit card revealed that he was also in Washington, New York and Philadelphia on the same days as your exhibit," Drew tacked on.

"Figuring he'd try again, we asked Burke to tell him where you were, if he happened to ask," Caine continued, "which he did. But since we didn't have any hard proof that he was behind your rash of accidents, and simply wanting to know your whereabouts wasn't any crime, we've had the guy under surveillance ever since his call to you in Milwaukee."

"But you didn't say a word," Chantal said.

"I was going to, as soon as we got to L.A. But the way things were going between us, I didn't think you'd believe me."

Chantal looked down at the two men on the floor, one rubbing his battered face as he groggily regained consciousness, the other glaring up at her with an icy malevolence that chilled her blood. "I probably wouldn't have. It's so unbelievable. Stephan and I were always so close." She shook her head.

Displaying the tenderness that had been missing froth their relationship during the past two days, Caine put his arm around Chantal's waist. "Ready to go back to the hotel?"

She was in no mood to argue. "Ready." Leaning against him, she allowed him to shepherd her to the car.

The following day, Chantal was alone in her hotel suite, packing to return to Montacroix, when there was a knock on her door. Opening it, her heart soared when she viewed Caine standing there. She hadn't seen him since the FBI and the Los Angeles police had questioned her last night.

"Hi," she said, feeling unreasonably shy.

Caine looked no more comfortable. "Hi. I came to see if you're ready for your bags to be taken downstairs."

"The bellman could have done that."

"As you so succinctly pointed out three weeks ago, it's my job to carry all those bags. I like to see a job through to the end."

She forced a smile. "I'm almost finished. Would you like to come in and wait?"

"Sure." Clothes were piled high on the bed, colorful, expensive silks and satins, most of which he recognized. "I got a call from Montacroix this morning."

Chantal looked up from her renewed packing. He was standing in the bedroom doorway, military straight as always, his expression unreadable. "Oh?"

"Clea's father has been arrested for plotting your murder. Since there's no sign of mental instability, it doesn't look as if he's going to be able to use Stephan's insanity defense, so I suspect he'll probably be put away for a very long time."

She shook her head as she picked up a peach-colored satin teddy that unstopped a flood of memories Caine had been struggling to forget. "Poor man."

Caine fought the urge to go to her. "That poor man tried to kill you, Chantal."

"I know." Tucking the teddy into a corner of the suitcase, she began folding the ivory nightgown she'd been wearing the first time he'd made love to her.

Desire slammed into Caine. He unrelentingly forced it down.

"But it's such a tragedy, Caine. So many years. So many lives."

"I talked with your father. He's relieved. But I think he's feeling a bit guilty about everything, too."

"Papa has this unfortunate tendency to believe that he can control the entire world around him," Chantal observed.
Like someone else I know
, she could have tacked on. "Whenever things go awry in his carefully constructed Utopia, he believes it to be his fault."

When Caine didn't answer, Chantal fell silent, as well. "Well," she said at length, "I guess that's everything."

He'd never wanted a woman more than he wanted Chantal. Never needed a woman more than he needed her. "So, looks as if you're all set."

"I suppose so."

As Caine struggled to keep his expression from revealing his inner turmoil, he marveled at Chantal's ability to conceal her own thoughts so well. Her too-pale face was disconcertingly void of expression.

"I'm supposed to be downtown at police headquarters for a debriefing in thirty minutes, so Drew was scheduled to drive you to the airport," he said. "But I don't think Lieutenant Martin would mind if I changed our appointment to later this afternoon."

Chantal stared up at him, wondering if this was Caine's way of telling her that he'd changed his mind. But then she read the terrible finality in his eyes and realized that all he was offering was companionship to the airport.

"Drew's been doing all the driving up until now," she said. "He may as well continue."

Caine shrugged. "Whatever you want."

It was a statement Chantal didn't dare answer. She refused to give the man the satisfaction of knowing that her heart was breaking. Instead, she walked from the room, leaving Caine to follow with the bags.

They stood close together on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. "Chantal—"

"Yes?" Hope leaped into her eyes, only to fade away as she took in Caine's shuttered gaze.

"Take care."

"You, too," she managed through lips that had turned to stone. "And thank you. For everything." She turned away, then, unable to leave without one last bittersweet memory, she lifted her hand to his cheek. "You know, Caine," she said softly, "no one expects you to be bulletproof." Going up on her toes, she pressed her lips against his, igniting a quick flare of heat that was too soon gone.

Climbing into the front seat of the limousine, she quickly closed the door, continuing to stare straight ahead out the windshield until Drew had driven the car around the corner. Then she buried her face in her hands and wept.

After a time her sobs diminished, and Chantal drew in a deep, painful breath as she accepted the clean white handkerchief Drew extended across the center console.

"Thought you might need this," he said simply.

As she wiped her eyes, Chantal couldn't help wondering why she hadn't been smart enough to fall in love with a simple, uncomplicated man. A man like Drew Tremayne, for instance.

"You're going to make some woman a wonderful husband."

He grinned. "That's what my mama always says, right after she asks me how come I'm still not married."

"And what do you tell her?"

"That if I ever find the right woman, I'll move heaven and earth to get her."

And he would, too, Chantal knew. Drew was the kind of man who'd put his head down and forge full steam ahead. Depending on the woman he chose, such a damn-the-torpedoes, single-minded pursuit could either prove exhilarating or frightening.

"I love him, Drew."

"I know, honey. And I think you're a smart enough cookie to realize that he loves you, too."

"So where does that leave us?"

He reached over and took her hand in his. "Give him some time, Chantal. Caine's not as dumb as he looks. He's bound to realize that he can't live without a certain princess in his life." He shot her an encouraging grin. "In the meantime, there's a little going away present for you in the glove compartment."

Leaning forward, Chantal investigated, laughing in spite of her pain when she discovered the cache of chocolate-covered peanuts.

Two nights later, Caine and Drew sat in a dimly lit neighborhood bar where the jazz was cool and the drinks weren't watered. "I always knew you were an idiot," Drew said, popping a handful of beer nuts into his mouth. "But I never realized you were certifiably crazy."

Came lifted the bottle of dark beer to his mouth and took a long pull. "Now you're talking about Chantal."

"Who else? Do you have any idea how many men would commit murder to be in your shoes? She loves you, Caine."

"And I love her. But it's not enough."

"So you keep saying." Drew leaned back in his chair and took another handful of nuts. "You know, women have an unfortunate tendency not to wait around forever. Even for a man they love." Calm brown eyes observed Caine soberly. "Go to her, Caine. Before you spend the rest of your life wishing you had."

Drew wasn't saying anything that Caine hadn't been telling himself over and over again since he'd watched Chantal drive out of his life. "I'll think about it," he muttered, ignoring his friend's triumphant expression.

It was a warm spring evening, that special time between afternoon and night when the world seems to stop and catch its breath. The sun was a brilliant orange ball dipping into Lake Losange, turning the cloudless sky to jeweled tones of ruby, amethyst and gold. A light breeze rippled the sun-gilded water.

She was sitting on a rock, looking out over the lake, clad in a snug tank top and white shorts that displayed her long legs to advantage. It had been two weeks. Fourteen long and incredibly lonely days and even lonelier nights.

"Looks like good sailing weather."

At the sound of Caine's voice, Chantal closed her eyes briefly, then turned around. Noel's dream, predicting it would happen exactly this way, had been the only thing that kept her from going to Caine in Washington. She'd wanted to believe her sister; she'd clung to the happy premonition the way a seven-year-old clings to thoughts of Saint Nicholas. But deep in her heart she'd been afraid that it was only wishful thinking.

"Hello, Caine," she said with studied calm, wondering if he could see the galloping beat of her heart. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Her haughty tone was pure princess, but in her eyes he caught a glimpse of the Chantal he'd come to love. "I don't suppose you'd believe I came to bring you these." Reaching into his suit-jacket pocket, he pulled out a handful of silver-wrapped chocolate kisses.

She longed to go to him, but pride kept her where she was. "Since Switzerland is just across the border and world famous for its chocolate, I feel obliged to point out that it's a bit like carrying coals to Newcastle."

She wasn't going to make it easy on him. Caine wondered why he'd thought she might.

"I lied." He dropped the candies back into his pocket.

"Oh?"

"I didn't come all this way to bring you any damned candy."

"I didn't think you had." Something else occurred to her. "How did you find me out here?"

"Burke gave me a ride from the airport. Noel said you liked to walk along the lake this time of day."

"It sounds as if my family's orchestrating my life again."

"They love you...I love you." He was amazed at how good those three simple words made him feel. Why had it taken him so damn long to say them?

"I know."

She was too calm. Too remote. He walked over to her, his stomach twisting into knots as he took both her hands in his and drew her to her feet. "And you love me," he insisted.

"I did." She took a deep breath, trying to turn away, but Caine wouldn't let her. "I don't any longer."

"And I thought
I
was a rotten liar."

"Even if I did love you," she said reluctantly, "and I'm not saying I do, what difference would it make? Someone once told me that love wasn't always enough." The hardness in her eyes was softening slowly, hesitantly. But it was a beginning.

"I've always thought you were an intelligent woman."

"I thought I was, too."
Until I let my heart run away with my head
, she could have added, but didn't.

"So why would such an intelligent woman pay any attention to an idiot jerk who didn't know what he was talking about?" The evening breeze ruffled her hair; Caine brushed it away from her face with hands so remarkably gentle that Chantal's breath caught in her throat.

"If I remember correctly, you were against marriage because of your career. It was too dangerous, you said. Have you changed your mind in a mere two weeks?"

"I may have been wrong about that," he admitted. "But it's a moot point. I've resigned from Presidential Security."

"But why?"

Caine shrugged. "Several reasons. One of them being all the guns I've had pointed at me in the past three months. I'm getting too old for that cops and robbers stuff."

"What will you do?"