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One Week With The French Tycoon
Christy McKellen


From holiday…to happy-ever-after!Indigo Hughes spends her life taking care of everyone else. But after she’s unceremoniously dumped, she finally puts herself first and books a holiday on the Amalfi Coast. Fine food, stunning views, and time alone to heal her heart… Bliss!Instead, she’s thrown together with tycoon Julien Moreaux! He’s cynical, sexy, and recently divorced—exactly the kind of man she should avoid. But big-hearted Indigo hopes to help Julien find his faith in love again—she just doesn’t expect to find her own happy-ever-after in his arms!









“Look, Indigo, I should apologize for being so rude last night at dinner.”


She couldn’t meet his gaze, the memory of the humiliation she’d felt burning through her once again. “Forget about it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” He moved his head to the side, then bent toward her, waiting until he’d caught her eye before he spoke again. “Indigo, it does. I’m not normally so unfriendly. You’ve just caught me at a bad time.”

She gave him a shaky smile, cocking her head and splaying out her hands on either side of her. “Okay, I accept your apology.”

There was relief in his eyes and something else. Her lips tingled as his gaze dropped to her mouth and her pulse rocketed.

He looked like he wanted to … kiss her.

The thought lit a fire inside her, burning through her veins and turning her nerve endings into a crackling mass of need.




One Week with the French Tycoon

Christy McKellen





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Formerly a video and radio producer, CHRISTY McKELLEN now spends her time writing fun, impassioned and emotive romance with an undercurrent of sensual tension. When she’s not writing she can be found enjoying life with her husband and three children, walking for pleasure, and researching other people’s deepest secrets and desires.

Christy loves to hear from readers. You can get ahold of her at www.christymckellen.com (http://www.christymckellen.com).


This one’s for my beautiful, witty and fiercely clever sisters-in-law, Kat and Buffy. Thank you for being the sisters I never had and welcoming me so warmly into your family. I love spending time with you. Here’s to spending many more fabulous weekends in London together.


Contents

Cover (#uacb144df-d5ea-5384-8fb1-f4ab65358215)

Introduction (#u1ad078e8-0eb1-5f2d-953a-064d06ea4e49)

Title Page (#ua81642d1-9865-58e5-94aa-944438022d65)

About the Author (#u234a2e1f-650e-5525-883d-0ccc2c698829)

Dedication (#udf39269d-3f80-55a1-9a61-77031ab9c8e0)

CHAPTER ONE (#u6ff6479b-f3c3-5761-bf23-04c29619e4a5)

CHAPTER TWO (#u3d80750b-d042-573c-9833-e930e4556249)

CHAPTER THREE (#u8ee7454c-6f66-5d97-9cef-115eb8c02212)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_612fc595-847e-57ca-a18d-7ac0416006c6)

Arriving in Amalfi—a most lively and dramatic town in which to begin your journey...

WHEN INDIGO HUGHES had spent long hours daydreaming about her walking holiday along the Amalfi Coast of Southern Italy, this wasn’t exactly what she’d envisioned.

Luggageless—after the airline had inexplicably sent her backpack containing her carefully organised walking gear to goodness knew where instead of Naples—and apparently dispossessed, because of a foul-up on the computer with her hotel booking, she was now facing the reality of spending the first night of her much anticipated holiday sleeping rough on the streets of Amalfi.

Whilst she wasn’t averse to roughing it—she’d travelled to enough festivals and partaken in enough camping trips for that not to be an issue—she’d been looking forward to falling into a comfortable bed after a crazy week of late nights and early mornings, and was not in the mood to laugh this off.

‘But my ex-boyfriend booked a room in this hotel months ago,’ she explained again to the receptionist, her voice now projecting the disconcerting characteristic of a crow with a sore throat.

The intimidatingly poised receptionist pursed her blood-red lips and tightened her arms across her impressive cleavage. ‘I’m sorry, Signorina. As I said, I have no record of your booking and we are fully booked. If you had the documents to prove it, or even the credit card it was booked with, I could perhaps do something for you, but as it is...’ From the look on her face, she clearly wasn’t keen on having someone as scruffy as Indigo messing up her beautifully appointed five-star hotel reception desk whilst also challenging her competency.

Panicky heat rushed to Indigo’s face. ‘As I explained, my ex-boyfriend booked the room so I don’t have the credit card or documents. I assumed a booking reference number would be enough.’

The woman’s helpless shrug, then her overemphasised shift in eye contact to the next person in line, tipped Indigo over the edge of frustration into fiery indignation. But before she could draw breath there was a movement behind her and a tall man in a beautifully cut casual suit stepped forwards to stand next to her at the desk.

‘Pardon, mademoiselle,’ he interjected smoothly, his fresh, spicy scent hitting her nose at the exact same moment his eyes locked with hers.

Indigo had never related to the expression of being ‘swept off her feet’ by a man before, but that was exactly how she felt right now. As if the power of his presence had physically lifted her into the air, her internal organs quivering as if she were in free fall. She gazed up at him, his unusual combination of whisky-brown eyes and sandy-blond hair keeping her transfixed as her pulse beat an enthusiastic rhythm in her throat. But apparently she didn’t capture his interest in the same way because, after giving her a curt nod, he turned sharply away, bringing her back down to earth with a thump.

‘I have a reservation,’ he said to the receptionist in a deep, smoky, French-accented voice, which made Indigo think of the actors in the Gallic art house films she’d been so in love with during her college days.

Lounging against the desk, he held up his smartphone so the receptionist could see the screen and type the booking reference into her computer.

Indigo looked from one to the other in disbelief. She seemed to have been well and truly dismissed.

Something she’d become rather too familiar with recently.

Before she could open her mouth again to point out that they were both being utterly rude and that she wasn’t going to be ignored like this, the receptionist shook her head and looked up at the Frenchman, her expression projecting a lot more contrition than when she’d dealt with Indigo.

‘I’m sorry, Signor, I don’t have a record of your booking.’

‘That’s not possible. Check again, please,’ the man replied in a tone that clearly brooked no argument.

Indigo watched with a sense of self-righteous vindication as the receptionist typed the number in again, then checked something else on another screen, her shoulders stiffening as she finally accepted there was a problem with the booking system.

She seemed a little pale when she looked back up at him. ‘My apologies, Signor,’ she breathed. ‘I don’t know what could have happened. It appears there was a glitch with the computer and I’ve given your room away. I only have the honeymoon suite available now, but it would be my pleasure to let you stay there tonight. We will correct the mistake by tomorrow and I will have your original suite available for you then.’

Indigo frowned as she twigged what was going on.

‘Hang on a second. Why didn’t you offer me the honeymoon suite? I was here first!’ she protested, feeling a cocktail of humiliation and umbrage warm her face again.

The woman’s gaze slid to hers. ‘Because the gentleman booked a suite, Signorina, so this room is more in his...category.’ She gave Indigo a tight little smile as if to say, That’s not the word I was grasping for, but you get the message.

‘Okay—’ the Frenchman began in his smooth, lyrical accent.

But even the strength of his charisma couldn’t keep the bubble of anger from rising through Indigo’s body.

‘Really?’ she spluttered, taking a step back to run a critical gaze over his long, lean body. ‘You’re really going to take the room when you can plainly see that I was here first!’

He turned to look at her again, his expression giving nothing away as his heavy-lidded gaze swept over her face.

She felt exposed, almost naked under his scrutiny, and had to fight not to wrap her arms around her body for protection against it. Locking her jaw, she stared him out, knowing from experience that not backing down was the only way she was going to get what she wanted. Or, in this case, what she needed—a comfortable bed for the night. Which had already been paid for!

A muscle twitched in the Frenchman’s jaw as he kept his gaze fixed on hers. He really did have the most striking face, with prominent high-set cheekbones and a broad masculine brow above those mesmerising eyes. What was it about French men that made them so unutterably sexy? The ones she’d met throughout her life had all had the same confident, direct gaze that made her feel simultaneously appraised and giddily unnerved. It was as though he was scrutinising the whole of her exterior whilst also looking deep inside her.

The feeling of being so thoroughly examined made her whole body tingle.

She stared harder at him to combat her dip in concentration.

Something flashed in his eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted fractionally. Was he amused by her determination to win?

Scowling as frustration pricked at her skin, she opened her mouth to restate her case—but he beat her to it.

‘You’re right,’ he said bluntly. ‘You must have the room.’

Indigo blinked at him in surprise, snapping her mouth shut. This, she had not expected.

‘Oh! Okay.’ She frowned, a little dazed by how easy that had been. ‘Really?’

Sighing, he ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. ‘To be honest, mademoiselle, I’m too tired to argue. It’s been—’ he winced, his expression turning troubled ‘—an intense day for me and I want to relax before starting my walk tomorrow.’

‘Wait—you’re walking the coast too?’ she asked in surprise. Looking at him, standing there in his expensive suit with his designer bags sitting prettily at his feet, she’d imagined he was here to do some upmarket sightseeing in the town, or perhaps conduct a high-powered business meeting in the hotel.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he half frowned, half smiled. ‘Is that so unlikely?’ he asked, his voice tinged with playful irony.

The bottom fell out of her stomach. ‘No! No, I guess not.’

‘Anyway, what kind of a man would I be to leave a lady stranded in a strange town in the middle of the night?’

Something about the way he said this, with a twist of wry humour, stopped her from telling him she didn’t need a man’s help—that she’d managed perfectly well on her own for the last three months without one, despite the challenges she’d faced.

‘But, Signor, there are no other rooms available in Amalfi!’ the receptionist cut in before Indigo could form a reply. ‘It’s a busy time and all the hotels in the town are booked up. I know this because I’ve already phoned around for another traveller.’

The Frenchman turned to face her. ‘You’re telling me you can’t find me an alternative room for the night?’ he stated with unnerving calm.

She shrank away from his gaze, suddenly seeming a lot less self-assured than she had a few minutes ago. ‘Yes, Signor, I’m so sorry,’ she said, her swallow appearing to catch in her throat. ‘I’ll be able to give you the suite you booked from tomorrow, but tonight there aren’t any other rooms available—’

‘This is unacceptable,’ he said quietly, but with a girder of steel to his voice. ‘I do not expect this level of incompetence from an establishment like this. Fetch your manager.’

The receptionist’s shoulders tensed as if she’d balled her fists and her eyes widened. ‘I can’t disturb him—he is sleeping right now and has given strict instructions not to be woken—’

‘I don’t care. Get him.’ He leant forward, pressing his hands against the desk. ‘Now.’

‘Please, Signor, I’ll lose my job,’ she whispered. ‘I’m new here and I can’t afford to make any mistakes.’ Her brow tensed as her eyes took on a look of abject panic.

The desperation in her voice made Indigo’s stomach tighten as a wave of pity washed over her. She could see by the way the young woman’s eyes had pooled with impending tears that she was both terrified of her boss and totally inexperienced in dealing with this level of cold assertiveness from a customer.

‘Describe the suite to me,’ Indigo blurted to the receptionist before the Frenchman could respond.

The receptionist turned to stare at her in surprise before recovering quickly, using the question as a lifeline to pull her professional self back to safety. ‘There is a beautifully appointed bedroom with a super king-sized bed and an en suite bathroom—’

‘Does the bedroom door have a lock?’ Indigo asked.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Frenchman turn to stare at her in baffled disbelief. She ignored him.

‘Yes, Signorina,’ the receptionist replied, looking confused to have her patter broken into with such an odd question, ‘and the separate living area has the latest entertainment system—’

‘And a large sofa?’ Indigo cut in again.

The receptionist blinked hard and frowned, then her expression softened with a mixture of relief and gratitude as she realised where Indigo was going with this. This time she didn’t falter with her answer. ‘Absolutely! It is very comfortable—large enough to fully stretch out on. There is also a separate bathroom with a whirlpool tub and a waterfall shower.’

Indigo nodded decisively. ‘Okay then, we’ll share it.’

‘What?’ The word jumped from the Frenchman’s mouth as if he’d not been able to stop it.

She took a breath and turned to face his incredulous gaze. ‘I’ll take the sofa in the living room, you can have the bedroom; that way we both get to sleep tonight.’

The Frenchman’s brow crinkled in disdain. ‘Non. Thank you, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t bite, you know.’

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘I’m sure you don’t, but it seems improper to ask you to share your room with a strange man.’

‘You don’t seem that strange to me.’ She cast him a smile, which he begrudgingly returned, one eyebrow raised.

‘But, seriously, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind sharing and I’d hate to feel responsible for this woman losing her job.’

He flapped his hand, dismissing her concern. ‘It wouldn’t be your fault.’

She looked him hard in the eye. ‘But I’d still blame myself and it would ruin my holiday. Anyway, it doesn’t sound like you have a better option.’

He gave a gentle snort and shook his head, wearily rubbing his hand over his forehead, as he appeared to give her suggestion some serious consideration. ‘Are you sure you’re happy to do this?’ he asked, his eyes dark with indecision.

‘Yes, of course!’ she said brightly. ‘When life throws problems at you, you have to do whatever you can to make the best of a situation.’ She produced a firm smile. ‘Anyway, what kind of a woman would I be to send an exhausted man out into the night to sleep on the streets in such a beautiful designer suit?’

He looked at her intently for another few seconds, as if giving her the chance to change her mind, and when she resolutely kept her mouth shut he gave a sharp nod.

‘Okay, but you take the bedroom so you can lock the door; that way you have no reason to feel unsafe. I’ll take the sofa. I’ll be up and out early in the morning so I won’t be in your way.’ Without waiting for her response, he bent down to scoop up his luggage.

‘I’m getting up early myself,’ she said to the top of his head, her cheeks heating a little as she realised how defiant that sounded. For some reason she didn’t want him to think she was some kind of lazy slob.

‘Then we’ll each have to pretend the other doesn’t exist,’ he said with a flash of droll humour in his eyes as he looked back up at her, pushing a hand through his hair as he righted himself.

An impossible feat, Indigo thought, her eyes following the movement of his long fingers and the way his hair fell perfectly back into place, as if it didn’t dare defy him. There was no way a man like this could ever be ignored.

Turning back to the receptionist, he held out his passport. ‘If you’ll give us two key cards we’ll find our own way up to the room.’

With an air of sombre apology, the receptionist checked the passport, then picked up Indigo’s—which was still lying on the reception desk—and tapped something into her computer. After swiping a couple of key cards through a machine, she handed everything back to the Frenchman. ‘There are extra blankets and pillows in the wardrobes. I hope you will be comfortable,’ she said sheepishly, before scurrying away to serve someone who had just arrived at the other end of the desk.

Handing Indigo her passport and key card, he turned abruptly on his heel and, without another word, strode away from her, bags swinging from his hand.

Clearly he was a leader, not a follower.

Indigo paused for a moment, staring after him, suddenly feeling a little unsure of herself.

Had she really just offered to share a suite with a complete stranger?

She was so used to figuring out quick fixes at work it hadn’t struck her exactly what she’d committed to until it was too late to back out of it.

As she watched him reach the elevator and jab the button to call it, exhaustion from the mad scramble to get her community café in good shape so she didn’t have to worry about it whilst she was away hit her like a wallop to the gut. The last three months had been tough, filled with worry about whether the funding she’d applied for in order to keep it running would materialise, and it all seemed to be catching up with her now.

Ironically, this week away was supposed to be a break from the stress of it. Initially it had struck her as ridiculous to come on holiday when she had the possibility of losing everything hanging over her head, but she’d dropped the ball and made a few silly mistakes recently that, while fixable, had meant she’d cost the café some money it could ill afford. As her friend Lacey had jokingly pointed out, it would probably do both her and the café some good to have some time apart.

Added to which, all the travel and accommodation for this week had already been paid for and was non-refundable, so it would have been a waste of money not to come.

Wastage was something she felt very strongly about.

Anyway, it was too late to change her mind now—even if she let the Frenchman have the suite to himself. She didn’t have the money to pay for a room in another hotel, let alone the energy to face the monumental task of finding one.

This was her only option.

Hurrying after him, she caught him up just as the elevator door opened with a smooth swish.

‘Okay, let’s do this,’ she said, her words coming out a little breathlessly after her dash across the room.

He just smiled in a perplexed sort of way that made the skin prickle on the back of her neck, and gestured for her to walk into the elevator before him.

‘No, no, after you,’ she said, sweeping her own hand in an exaggerated arc towards the centre of the car.

Shaking his head in amusement, he stepped inside and moved to the back to allow her plenty of room to follow him in.

Once she was safely past the doors, he hit the button for their floor and the doors closed on them with another gentle swish.

Heavy silence fell between them.

Indigo shifted from one foot to the other.

Well, this is awkward.

‘Perhaps we should introduce ourselves, since we’re going to be suite-mates,’ she said, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. ‘I’m Indigo. Indigo Hughes.’

‘Julien Moreaux,’ he replied, catching her off guard by stepping forwards and kissing her gently on both cheeks.

Being English, she’d forgotten about this traditional French greeting and almost jumped away in shock, only managing to hold her nerve at the last second. His scent hit her nose again, even more intensely this time due to his proximity, and instinctively she breathed him in, intuiting cool nights after hot days, the crisp tang of cold wine in the sunshine and the musky scent of warm skin.

Delicious.

After he’d stepped back it took her a full couple of seconds to pull herself together again. She gave him a friendly smile, but what she really wanted to do was pull him back towards her, bury her face in the scoop of his neck and drag his scent deep into her lungs again.

What was wrong with her? She’d never had this kind of visceral response to a complete stranger before, but there was something so commanding about this man. He made her feel safe, somehow.

Oh, get a grip, Indigo!

The honeymoon suite was exquisite, decorated in those amazing heritage colours that Italians employed so effortlessly, the furniture simple but refined, with an art deco theme tying the room together. Romantic aspiration seemed to ooze from the walls, as if they’d been infused with the happiness of all the newlyweds that had stayed there over the years. She felt sure this place had to have been included in every World’s Best Honeymoon Suites article written for the glossy magazines she judiciously avoided buying these days.

After thoroughly investigating the suite with her eyes, she turned to look at Julien and realised that he hadn’t even glanced around him and was instead staring down at the screen of his phone.

Clearly he was already au fait with the finer things in life.

Shaking her head at his lack of interest, she went to explore the bedroom, which was just as overwhelmingly beautiful as the rest of the suite. This whole experience was like stepping into a fantasy.

Despite her protests about it being a waste of money, Gavin, her ex, had insisted on booking the first night of their stay in this expensive hotel—he’d wanted to start the holiday in style—before spending the rest of the week moving between smaller, more basic places. So this would be her only chance for luxurious pampering.

She was going to have to make the most of it.

After grabbing a blanket and pillow for Julien from the wardrobe, she floated back out of the bedroom and dumped them on the sofa before turning to find he was still staring down at his phone, lost in his own world.

‘Stay in the honeymoon suite a lot, do you?’ she asked, edging her voice with dry amusement.

He glanced up at her and for a split second a dark expression flickered across his face. ‘Only once.’

His change in demeanour unsettled her. ‘You’re married?’ she asked to cover her discomfort.

‘Not any more.’

She could have sworn the temperature dropped a few degrees.

‘Oh. Sorry to hear that.’

He flipped her his teasing grin again, breaking the tension. ‘You English are always sorry for something.’

‘I was just being polite,’ she said, bristling.

His grin deepened.

She cocked an eyebrow back at him.

He looked at her for a moment longer with amusement in his eyes before turning away to drop his bags next to a mosaic-tiled coffee table in the middle of the room. ‘Well, I’m going to—what do you English say?—crash out,’ he said.

That was her cue to leave. And not a moment too soon. Her whole body felt hot and tingly with the awareness of being alone with him.

‘Me too,’ Indigo said, backing towards the bedroom. ‘So I guess I won’t see you in the morning.’

‘Probably not,’ he said, flopping down on to the sofa and stretching his arms above his head.

She came to a halt in the doorway and watched with fascination as he put everything he had into the stretch, the pleasure of it rippling across his face as he released the tension in his muscles. Forcing herself not to run her eyes up and down the powerful length of his body, she gave a stiff bob of her head, then turned to walk into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her, pushing away the ridiculous urge to lie down on top of him—chest to chest, thigh to thigh—just to feel the solid strength of him beneath her.

It brought it home to her how much she’d missed being touched, being held, just being physically close to someone since Gavin had left her. Now she had the time and space to think about it, the after-effects seemed to be coming out in the strangest of ways.

She turned the key decisively in the lock, hearing it click.

Flinging herself at Julien was definitely not the way to deal with things.

Okay, time to put the sexy Frenchman out of her mind and get practical.

Striding purposefully away from the door, she dropped the small rucksack she’d used as hand luggage on to the bed. Thank goodness she’d had the forethought to pack a few essentials into it for just such an occurrence.

Even so, after spending a lot of time planning for this trip, it was unnerving to find herself without all her carefully thought-out trekking gear. She didn’t even have her walking boots with her, so she would have to walk for at least five hours each day in the trainers she’d changed into at the last second at the airport because her feet were so hot. What an unfortunate decision that had been.

Hopefully the airline would find her bag soon and send it to one of the hotels on the route. She’d left her details and itinerary with the lost luggage desk at the airport and they’d promised—after what seemed like hours of form-filling—to send it on once it had been located.

The biggest problem she faced was that she’d put half of her money and her emergency credit card into the lost backpack too, not wanting to carry it all in her hand luggage in case that was stolen. At least her breakfasts were already paid for, so she could eat heartily in the morning and maybe skip lunch in order to eke out what little cash she had to feed herself in the evenings. Just until her backpack turned up. Which would be okay. She was used to budgeting and eating frugally.

It would all be part of the adventure.

Emptying out her rucksack on to the bedspread, she took an inventory of what she had with her: one extra pair of knickers and one pair of socks—that she’d have to alternate with the ones she had on and wash each day—a toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste, a spare T-shirt and a short cotton skirt which she’d interchange with the shorts and vest she had on, a pack of mints, a mascara that promised to give you ‘Hollywood eyes’ and her trusty liquid eyeliner, a packet of painkillers, her wallet and passport and a book on walking the Amalfi coast. She didn’t even have her mobile phone with her, she realised with a lurch, because she’d packed that into her missing luggage too, determined to only use it for emergencies on the trip so that she’d make the most of the scenery and social life and not be constantly diverted by the online world.

After packing everything carefully back into the bag, she took a refreshing shower in the floor-to-ceiling marble bathroom, lathering herself with the zingy-smelling complimentary shower gel, before sliding between the crisp cotton sheets of the bed.

What luxury!

Stretching herself into a starfish shape, she brushed her fingertips over the smooth mahogany headboard and sighed hard, painfully aware of how much empty space there was on either side of her.

The cruel irony of staying in the honeymoon suite had not been lost on her.

In a parallel universe—where Gavin hadn’t fallen in love with another woman—she’d be tumbling into bed with him right about now.

What would he have said about staying in this room? She pictured them laughing about it, ribbing each other about how much sex they should be having to keep up with all the former inhabitants. Out of nowhere a feeling of utter desolation hit her right in the chest. It had been three months since they’d split up and she’d not allowed herself to fall apart since the day it had happened, keeping herself busy and using this holiday as a bright spot to look forward to when she felt glum. But the realisation that this was it—that she was here now, on her own, and this was the reality of her situation suddenly brought her low.

She thumped the mattress on either side of her. She was not going to let it get her down.

As she’d learnt from an early age, crying and whinging didn’t get you anywhere. That was what growing up in an all-male household and having four smart, alpha, and now highly successful older brothers would teach you. She’d never won an argument or topped a challenge by turning on the waterworks or asking for special dispensation, and that was the way she preferred it. Everything she’d achieved had been on her own merits. She’d fought just as hard—if not harder—than her brothers for her successes and she was proud of what she’d achieved.

Unfortunately, Gavin hadn’t understood that drive to succeed on her own, and had cited her desire to pour too much time and energy into making her café a success and ‘excluding him from parts of her life where he wasn’t necessary’ as the catalyst for their breakup. According to him, she treated him like one of her projects and acted as if she had more love for the strangers who frequented the café than for him. That had been particularly gutting to hear because she liked to think of herself as a perceptive and caring partner.

Pushing away the threatening gloom, she sat up and punched her pillows back into shape before flopping back down and wriggling further into the sumptuous bed.

Well, from this point on she was looking after herself.

Whilst she was here she was going to get some fresh air and exercise, meet people outside of her small sphere of work and recharge her batteries before returning home feeling refreshed and more positive about her future.

As she lay there, willing away the lingering tight feeling in her chest, something about her earlier head-to-head with Julien suddenly occurred to her. He’d conducted his whole conversation, even the bit with the receptionist, in English. Had he done that so as not to exclude her? Or was he just better at English than Italian? From her experience with him so far, she got the impression he’d be good at everything he did—he certainly exuded that kind of confidence.

Except for that moment when he’d talked about how intense his day had been. There had been a vulnerability to his voice that hadn’t been there for the rest of the time.

Whatever could have affected him so deeply? Could it have something to do with his failed marriage?

Perhaps he, too, was here to get a new perspective on life after a bad breakup.

She knew first-hand how demoralising it could be going through a divorce. Gavin, her ex, had been an utter mess when he’d first moved into her spare room—which she’d offered to him as a favour to a friend of a friend after his wife demanded they separate. At that point it had been six months since her father had passed away and she was finding it very lonely living in their empty family home without him, so it had been nice to have the company.

She’d found comfort in taking care of Gavin: making him healthy meals when she discovered he wasn’t eating properly and sitting with him, listening to him talk through his pain and humiliation for hours and hours.

At the time, she hadn’t anticipated it turning into a relationship, but there it was. In retrospect, it seemed inevitable now that something more would have developed between them, especially when they’d grown so emotionally close.

A prickle of disquiet ran up her spine.

She really should have asked Julien if he was okay when he’d mentioned his divorce. In her experience, whenever people brought up things like that it was usually because they wanted to talk to someone about it, but she’d blithely ignored his prompt, more concerned about rebutting his teasing. It was possible she could use her experience to help him out in some way, though. As one concerned human being to another. Considering he was here on his own, she wouldn’t be surprised to find he didn’t have anyone at home he could talk to about what he was going through.

Turning over and letting out a huge yawn, she told herself that if she saw Julien again on the walk she’d make an effort to check that he was okay, just to set her mind at rest. But that would be it. The whole experience with Gavin had made her very wary of getting romantically involved with a divorcee again—she never wanted to be someone’s rebound relationship ever again.

So for now, she was going to put the sexy Frenchman—unnervingly close on the other side of the door—out of her mind.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_0d82807e-fe3a-53e2-baa0-7a606c4b8447)

The Ravello Circuit. A tricky walk with lots of steps. We recommend breaking the walk at the magnificent Villa Cimbrone gardens before visiting Ravello, then stopping for a scenic lunch break in Pontone...

JULIEN MOREAUX AWOKE to find the sun streaming in through the large windows of the honeymoon suite. He rubbed a hand across his bleary eyes, forcing his thoughts into some kind of coherent arrangement.

He was here, in Amalfi. Finally.

It hadn’t mattered to him exactly where he’d end up when he’d asked his PA to book this break for him—all he’d stipulated was that he wanted somewhere where he could move from one place to another so he didn’t feel trapped into having to see the same people in the same place every day—and he was pleased with her choice.

This walking holiday had been marked in his mind for some time as the beginning of the return to the way things used to be, and he’d been looking forward to losing himself in the monotony of hard exercise and self-imposed solitude.

Not that the solitude part had worked out well so far.

He grimaced as the events of the previous evening came back to haunt him. Sharing his suite with a bohemian idealist with an overblown zeal for life had not been an ideal start, but after sensing Indigo’s desperation to fix the situation amicably and seeing the earnest pleading in her eyes, he’d known there was no way he could refuse her suggestion.

And he was tired of being the bad guy.

A huge yawn hit him and he rocked his head back against the soft cushions of the sofa, giving his body a long, hard stretch to wake up his cramped muscles.

Considering the way he was feeling this morning, he suspected, if he allowed himself, he could easily spend the whole week sleeping. Not that he was going to do that. He’d come here for a change of scene and a reprieve from the pressures of life and there was no way he was wasting his time in Italy staring at four walls. Even if they were as magnificent as the ones in this hotel.

This observation led his thoughts back to Indigo’s wry comment about him being familiar with staying in the honeymoon suite.

A cold prickle ran across his skin.

The last time he’d been in a room like this he’d thought his life had been on the up and up, but look at him now, barely two years later, holidaying alone only hours after signing his divorce papers, with the ink of his signature still drying in his mind.

Swinging himself into a sitting position on the sofa, he stifled another yawn behind his hand and rubbed his face hard to get the blood circulating.

He really needed to get up and out before Indigo emerged; he didn’t think he had the mental energy this morning to deal with another awkward scene with her.

Glancing towards the bedroom door, he was surprised to see it standing wide open.

Huh, weird. He checked his watch. Seven o’clock. So she hadn’t been joking when she said she’d be up and out early too.

Hauling himself off the sofa, he went to investigate further.

‘Indigo?’ he called gently, so as not to startle her in case she was still in there.

There was no reply.

Poking his head around the doorway, he saw that the bed was empty, with the sheets pulled haphazardly back and the door to the en suite bathroom flung open.

She was gone.

That was a relief.

Feeling the tension leave his shoulders, he went back into the living area and pulled out the clothes he was going to wear for his walk today, before heading off for an invigorating shower.

There had been something about her that intrigued him, though, he mused as he felt the soothing water cascade over his aching back—her determination and bolshie confidence perhaps. She certainly wasn’t his usual type, with her leggy, voluptuous figure and short, feathery bobbed hair in a shocking shade of red, which had reminded him of the colour of the sea of poppy fields behind the house in Provence where he’d grown up. Historically, he’d always been attracted to petite women, usually blondes, with more of a delicate air about them, but there was something incredibly alluring about Indigo, with her wide, open smile and playful gaze.

She was sexy.

He shut off the water and reached for a towel, drying himself vigorously. If he was being honest, she’d probably only captured his interest because it had been refreshing to meet a woman who didn’t want to take something from him and just walk away for once. He was used to being the one to sort out other people’s problems, and it had been a long time since someone had done something benevolent for him.

It would be better if he didn’t see her again, though, he told himself, flinging the towel into the bath. He wasn’t in any state to be sociable at the moment.

After shaving off his morning stubble, he pulled on shorts, a light breathable T-shirt and the brand new walking boots that his PA had sourced for him, and gave himself a nod in the mirror.

Okay. Now he was ready to face the day and whatever it might bring.

He checked his email on his phone as he travelled down in the elevator ready to grab some breakfast in the restaurant, pleased to find there wasn’t anything that needed his urgent attention. That was sure to change by the end of the week, though.

After dropping by the reception desk to confirm they’d have the suite that he’d booked available for him when he returned from his hike, he was about to walk away to get his breakfast when curiosity about Indigo’s situation stopped him. He should probably check whether he was likely to come across her again, just so he could prepare himself for it.

He turned back.

‘Did you find another room here for the woman I shared the honeymoon suite with last night?’ he asked the receptionist.

Confusion flickered across her face, until recollection seemed to strike her. ‘The lady from your suite checked out, Signor.’

That must mean she wasn’t doing the Ravello circuit and coming back to Amalfi today, which meant there wasn’t any danger of bumping into her again.

Good, that was good, because he’d feel compelled to acknowledge her if they saw each other again, which would encroach on his much anticipated alone time.

‘Okay, thanks,’ he said, giving the receptionist a nod before heading over to the breakfast room at the other end of the lobby.

Considering it was still pretty early, the place was already buzzing with guests, and he grabbed the only spare table near the back wall. After seating himself, he took a look around him, soaking up the animated vibe. Quite a few of the guests seemed to be dressed in walking gear, like him. Clearly the coastal walk was a big draw to the area. Hmm, perhaps it wouldn’t be as solitary an experience as he was hoping, he reflected with a twinge of annoyance.

A flash of bright red on the other side of the room caught his eye and, heart thumping, he quickly leant back, using the couple sitting at the table next to him as cover. Grabbing the menu in front of him and holding it to hide most of his face, he gradually leant forwards again to take another look. As he suspected, it was Indigo, standing at the breakfast buffet with her back to him, her hair damp and gleaming and her small rucksack slung over one arm.

She looked refreshed and energised this morning, her skin glowing with health and her posture relaxed. His gaze followed her as she moved smoothly along the buffet, seemingly checking over her options before making her choice. She grabbed an apple and a couple of bread rolls from the display and he stared in baffled amusement as she slipped them into the gaping opening of her bag. After a quick check around, she seemed to discern that no one was watching her and popped a couple of slices of Parma ham and a small bottle of mineral water from the cooler section in there too. Next went in a pat of butter and a little package of cheese.

Evidently deciding she had enough food stashed away, she strolled nonchalantly away from the buffet, slinging her bag over her shoulder and shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her shorts. He half expected her to start whistling Food, Glorious Food as she made her getaway.

She was staying in a five-star hotel, but she was too cheap to buy her own lunch? What was that about?

He allowed himself one last look at her long, shapely legs as she disappeared out of the room, then turned to gesture for the waitress to bring him some coffee.

And that, he guessed, feeling an odd twinge in his chest, would probably be the last he’d ever see of Indigo Hughes.

* * *

Indigo had thought she was in pretty good shape. She went to the gym at least a couple of times a week and opted to walk around London as much as possible instead of jumping on public transport, but by the time she’d climbed what seemed like a thousand steps leading away from Amalfi—pausing on her journey to walk through the ancient brick-walled walkways hung with canopies of vibrant greenery in the Villa Cimbrone gardens—then on to the quaint little town of Ravello, she realised her fitness levels were nothing like as good as she’d imagined.

Still, she’d made it here without incident, and after wandering around the quiet streets crammed with cool artisan shops and visiting the simple but atmospheric cathedral, it was a relief to walk downhill to the little village of Pontone and stop for a rest and to eat her lunch.

Sitting on a wide grassy viewpoint which looked out over the dramatic drop down to the coast, she was just about to take the final bite of the sandwich she’d made out of the food she’d filched from the breakfast buffet when she noticed a familiar figure making his way across the grass in the direction of the trattorias that, according to her guide, were favoured by walkers on the route because of the incredible views from their balconies.

After spending the whole morning trying not to think about the sight of Julien lying bare-chested on the sofa, looking utterly divine in repose as she tiptoed past him, she was disconcerted to see him again in the flesh. Not that she was going to let that stop her from being friendly. She’d made that promise to herself to check he was okay here on his own, so that was what she was going to do. Just because he was ridiculously sexy and ever so slightly intimidating it didn’t mean she couldn’t have a friendly chat with him.

‘Hi there,’ she called as he came level with where she was sitting.

He didn’t appear to hear her.

‘Julien! Hey, Julien, over here!’ she shouted this time. She could have sworn she saw him flinch before turning to look over to where she was sitting. He raised a hand and gave her a nod of acknowledgement, before turning back and continuing on his journey.

Huh.

Perhaps he assumed she wouldn’t want to be disturbed whilst eating her lunch. Yes, that must be it; he couldn’t be deliberately avoiding her.

Could he?

No—she was being paranoid.

Jumping up and grabbing her daypack, she made after him, having to pick up her pace in order to catch up with him before he strode out of sight.

‘Hey, Julien, wait!’ she called, a little out of breath by the time she reached him.

He turned around and gave her a look of expectant concern. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, his gaze flicking behind her as if he was worried she was being pursued.

‘I’m fine,’ she panted, ‘just wanted to check you’re enjoying your day. You seemed a little—er—’ she flapped a hand at him ‘—stressed yesterday.’

He took a small step backwards and let out a sharp snort. ‘Yes, I’m enjoying it so far.’ A small frown flickered across his face. ‘Thank you.’

There was a pause while she waited for him to ask if she was having a good time too.

He didn’t.

‘Okay, good.’ She clapped her hands together awkwardly. ‘Well, I just wanted to say hi. So, hi!’ she blurted, sincerely hoping he’d assume the blush travelling up her neck was a flush from the sun and her mad dash across the grass.

‘Hi,’ he replied flatly, folding his arms across his chest.

There was another heavy pause where he blinked at her, as if waiting for her to make her excuses and leave. Well, she wasn’t going to. She’d learnt over the last year whilst working at the café that just because someone seemed unfriendly when you first spoke to them, it didn’t necessarily mean they didn’t want to talk to you. They were probably just distracted by something they’d been thinking about, or they were hungry, or concerned about the tightness of their trousers or something. Not that it appeared as though any of his clothes weren’t fitting him perfectly. In fact, he looked as if he’d just stepped off a page in one of the hiking gear magazines she’d pored over whilst preparing for the holiday, before realising she could afford exactly none of the items in it.

‘Did you like Ravello? All those steps up to it nearly killed me!’ she joked, cringing inside at the hint of desperation in her voice.

He didn’t even break a smile. ‘Yes, it was an interesting place.’ His brow creased into a frown. ‘They told me at the reception desk you’d checked out. I didn’t expect to see you on this circuit today.’

She stiffened, wondering why on earth he seemed so irritated about her walking the same route as him.

‘I have another hotel in town booked for tonight. A better organised one, I hope,’ she said, shrugging off her discomfort and forcing a smile on to her face.

‘Okay. Bon.’ He took a deliberate step backwards, then froze as her words seemed to sink in. ‘Do you mean you’re staying in Amalfi again tonight?’

Another wave of warmth began to creep up her neck. ‘Yup.’

His brow crinkled in confusion. ‘Then why are you moving hotels after only one night?’

She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I like to change things up. It keeps me on my toes.’

And I can’t afford to stay in that hotel again, not that I’m admitting that to you, Monsieur Moneybags.

He nodded slowly, his gaze searching hers as if he was trying to rootle out a lie.

She just raised both eyebrows at him, determined not to give in and blurt out the truth, trying to ignore the way her pulse had sped up.

Letting out a sharp huff of a laugh, Julien broke eye contact and glanced behind him as if looking for an excuse to leave. Not that she could blame him; the conversation wasn’t exactly flowing well and she was tempted to slink away herself. But she wasn’t going to; she was going to see this through to the bitter end, as a matter of personal fulfilment.

‘So, are you going to try one of those trattorias for your lunch?’ she pressed, nodding in the direction he’d been heading.

He closed his eyes for a second and pulled in a sharp breath, then smiled politely. ‘Oui. I didn’t have the forethought to bring any food with me.’ He gestured towards the remains of her sandwich, which was still clutched in her hand. ‘Where did you get your lunch today?’ The dry irony in his tone suggested there was more to his question than a simple polite query.

He must have seen her take the food from the buffet. The realisation sent a prickle up her spine. Normally she would never have done such a thing, hating the idea of stealing anything from anyone, but with the limited funds she had available until her bag turned up, it was necessary to bend her rules a little.

‘I purloined it from the breakfast buffet,’ she admitted, forcing herself to keep her chin up and her gaze locked with his. ‘I thought the least the hotel could do was gift me a lunch after their mess-up with the room last night. Anyway, a place like that always puts out more than is consumed. I was helping with their wastage problem,’ she finished, aware that her tone was edged with defensiveness.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as his wry smile deepened. ‘Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me,’ he murmured, leaning closer and enveloping her in his delicious scent.

It was all she could do not to take a great gulping breath of it through her nose. What was it that made his smell so enticing to her? Was this what people called the pheromone effect? She’d never experienced it before.

‘Thanks,’ she deadpanned.

He gave her a curt nod. ‘Well, I’m going to go and eat.’

‘Okay, enjoy,’ she said, disappointed that he was leaving now. Despite his standoffishness, she’d enjoyed chatting with him after spending her morning alone. All the other English-speaking walkers she’d encountered on the route seemed to be part of a group, which she hadn’t had the courage to try and break into yet.

She watched him stride away, trying not to stare at the way he moved his large, fit body with such powerful grace.

Judging by his troubled mood, she guessed he must be struggling with some serious emotional turmoil, which she knew from personal experience could make for a pretty lonely existence. She hated to see people in pain, especially if she thought she could do something to help.

Well, she’d just have to keep an eye out for him, just in case he fancied some no-strings company later.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b6aaafa0-3690-5608-834c-a51a76b67852)

Back in Amalfi. Make sure you take advantage of the wonderful selection of restaurants and eateries after visiting the imposing cathedral in the centre of the town...

AFTER THOROUGHLY ENJOYING the solitude of his walk earlier in the day, Julien had been looking forward to finding a place to grab a peaceful lunch when Indigo had run over and accosted him.

It had taken everything he’d had not to be rude and pretend he hadn’t heard her calling out to him, then continue with their stilted conversation when it became clear she wasn’t going to let him get away without extracting some kind of information out of him.

He wasn’t sure why she’d been so keen to chat. Perhaps she was lonely and hadn’t found any other English speakers to buddy up with. He hoped she’d got the message that he preferred to holiday on his own now though, and wouldn’t bother coming over to talk to him should their paths cross again.

A niggle of shame twisted in his gut. He felt bad about being so unfriendly, but she’d picked the wrong time to try and get to know him.

If that had been her objective.

Perhaps she was looking for something more. If that was the case, she was bang out of luck. After the train wreck of his marriage, he wanted nothing to do with women and relationships again for a very long time.

Even spirited ones with legs that went on for miles and eyes you could get lost in.

When he got back to the hotel, he took a long cooling shower then a refreshing nap before striking out for dinner, strolling through the centre of Amalfi on the way to the restaurants on the marina that the hotel receptionist had recommended he try.

Diverted by the magnificence of the Duomo in the town centre, he climbed the wide steps and walked through the Arabic style Cloister of Paradise, looking out through the grand archways at the panoramic view of the town, with its pastel-coloured stone buildings wrapped with iron balconies.

He knew what he was looking at should have blown him away, but ever since his life had fallen to pieces he’d had trouble finding pleasure in things. He felt desensitised to beauty, as if he was viewing it from inside a plastic bubble. Nothing seemed to touch him any more.

Shaking off the building tension at the base of his skull, he was just about to turn and walk back to the steps when a bright flash of red caught his eye.

Was that Indigo again?

Craning his neck, he tried to see past a crowd of tourists blocking his view and catch another glimpse of her so he could make sure to walk in the opposite direction, but she seemed to have disappeared. Was his brain playing tricks on him? No, it must have been her. That hair colour was so unusual it couldn’t be someone else with the exact same shade—and he knew for a fact she was staying in Amalfi tonight.

Walking slowly down the steps, he forced himself to take a deep breath and relax, telling himself it was unlikely they’d cross each other’s paths when it was so busy.

Reaching the Popolo fountain in the middle of the piazza, he sat down on the stone edge of it and ran his fingers through the water, enjoying the cooling effect on his skin. What was wrong with him today? His heart seemed to be racing and his palms felt sweaty.

The heat must be getting to him.

Someone sat down next to him and on impulse he glanced round to see who it was.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ Indigo said, with a mischievous lift of her eyebrow.

He snorted and shook his head at his terrible luck. What was it about this woman that kept drawing them together?

‘It’s a small town centre; I guess we were bound to bump into each other at some point,’ he said wearily.

She leant back on her hands and studied him. ‘Are you off to forage for some supper?’

He raised his eyebrows, bemused. ‘Forage?’

‘Looking for a place to eat.’

‘Oui.’

‘On your own?’

‘Oui.’ He tensed, anticipating what was coming next.

‘You’re welcome to join me if you’d like,’ she said brightly, confirming his fear. ‘I was just about to grab a slice of pizza at one of those small family-run eateries just off the square.’

‘You mean the cafés with the plastic tables? Non—’ he began to say, but she cut him off.

‘You’d be doing me a favour,’ she said. ‘I’ve been on my own all day and I’m beginning to have conversations with myself out loud, which is never a good sign. If you don’t come and have dinner with me there’s a good chance I’ll be arrested by the end of the night and taken to a secure facility.’ She sat up and folded her arms. ‘Anyway, you owe me.’

He frowned, perplexed. ‘What for?’

‘For letting you share my room.’

‘Your room?’

‘I was there first, remember?’

He sighed, fighting a smile. ‘How could I forget?’

‘So what do you say? Can I tempt you with a slice of pizza?’ She looked so hopeful it made something twist in his chest. But he needed to stay strong.

‘I’m going to try out one of the restaurants down on the marina,’ he said, giving her an apologetic look. ‘Apparently they have fantastic à la carte menus with a good selection of locally caught fresh fish and seafood. Word has it the lobster spaghetti is not to be missed.’

Her eyes seemed to glaze over as if she was picturing the food he’d described. ‘Sounds awful,’ she joked, flashing an impertinent grin. ‘Anyway, those places are a total tourist rip-off.’

‘And the pizza joints aren’t?’

Spreading out her hands, she gestured around the square. ‘They’re part of the local colour. You can eat overpriced gourmet food in Paris, or wherever you’re from. Come and support the underdog for once.’ She stared at him hard, like she’d done the previous night, dipping her head to one side and looking up at him through her thick black lashes, and something twisted again inside him—then broke.

Despite his earlier determination to keep to himself tonight, he realised he had no choice but to go and eat a huge greasy slice of pizza with this woman. Maybe then she’d leave him alone.

‘Sure.’ He threw up his hands in surrender. ‘Pizza sounds good.’

‘Great!’ she said, breaking into a huge smile.

He hoped she wasn’t going to read too much into this. Whilst he was prepared to spend the next hour with her, he didn’t want her thinking he wanted to buddy up for the whole week.

As they walked away from the piazza towards one of the back streets that housed the pizza outlets, they passed a homeless person slumped on a filthy-looking rug next to one of the souvenir shops. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Indigo reach into her pocket, then discreetly drop a handful of coins into an empty hat by the side of the man, before strolling on as if nothing had happened.

* * *

As soon as they’d ordered their slices of pizza and drinks from a very jolly waiter at a café with red plastic tables and chairs arranged out on the pavement, Indigo excused herself and went inside to find the bathroom and splash some cool water on to her face.

Maybe insisting on bringing Julien here had been a little extreme, she deliberated as she patted her face dry with a paper towel. He’d not exactly been enthusiastic about taking her up on the offer of company—but she couldn’t shake the concern that it would have been a miserable experience for him, eating dinner on his own, and she was pretty sure if she was patient he’d thaw out eventually.

Sometimes people put up barriers for whatever reason and you had to coax them out of their shell. She’d seen it a lot throughout her time running her café and evening classes. People could appear to be confident on the outside, but when you dug a little deeper it became apparent they were dealing with some tough issues and putting a brave face on things. Often they just needed someone to ask if they were okay, then listen to them.

Which was exactly what she’d done for Gavin, she remembered with a lurch. Not that he’d appreciated it in the end.

Sighing, she rubbed a hand over her face. Was she setting herself up for more trouble here, getting involved in Julien’s drama?

She stared into the mirror, looking deep into her own eyes. No. Because this wasn’t going to turn into anything more than a brief encounter—hopefully just one of many connections she’d make during her week here. She was here to socialise and have fun, new experiences this week after all, but that was all it would be.

Pulling a face at herself, she smoothed down her hair then pushed back her shoulders, wishing she’d had something other than her walking clothes to put on tonight. It wasn’t that she wanted to impress Julien exactly, but she felt scruffy next to his overt sophistication, and less confident because of it.

Returning to the table, she saw that the waiter had brought their slices of pizza, as well as a beer for Julien and a glass of tap water for her.

Julien looked so strikingly out of place—sitting there on his cherry-red plastic chair in his designer jeans and beautifully cut open-necked shirt, with his golden hair swept back from his face and aviator sunglasses perched on his head as he read something on his smartphone—that she couldn’t help but smile.

Taking her seat, she gave him a friendly nod as he looked up to acknowledge her return.

‘Great, the food arrived while I was away; I love it when that happens,’ she said, picking up her glass and taking a sip of water to cover a sudden bout of nerves at being there with him.

He just looked at her as if she was slightly loopy.

Swallowing hard, she put her glass down and leaned forwards, propping her arms on the table. ‘So, tell me, Julien, why did you choose to walk the Amalfi coast?’ she asked brightly in an attempt to get the conversation started.

He took his sunglasses off his head and slid them on to his nose so all she could see now was her own reflection in the lenses. ‘It seemed like a good place to get away from it all.’

‘Apart from all the tourists.’ She gave him a smile, which he didn’t return.

‘I didn’t realise how popular this place was.’

‘You mean you didn’t do your homework? Somehow I find that hard to believe,’ she said.

He frowned. ‘Really? Why?’

‘I don’t know... You just seem very—together. Very—businesslike.’

He huffed out a dry laugh and picked up his beer bottle, taking a long pull. ‘Why did you choose to come here?’ he asked, gesturing to their surroundings with the neck of the bottle.

She paused, arranging her answer in her mind. ‘I’ve wanted to do this walk for ages and I finally got round to booking it this year,’ she said, uncomfortably aware of a jolt of sadness in her chest. She and Gavin had talked about coming here since they’d got together, when things had been good between them. Before he’d started to resent her.

Julien leant back in his seat and studied her. ‘Do you often holiday alone?’

‘No, just this time.’ She took a breath, deciding she might as well be straight with him.

‘Actually, I was supposed to come here with my boyfriend, but we split up three months ago. He didn’t want to come with his new partner, so I figured, since it was non-refundable, I may as well use it as a chance to get away for a bit.’ She was aiming for a breezy and upbeat tone of voice, but from the look on Julien’s face she suspected she must have fallen well short.

Still, perhaps her confession would open up an opportunity for him to talk about his own situation.

‘How about you? Were you supposed to come here with someone?’ she asked, perhaps a little desperately.

He avoided her gaze, looking instead at the waiter who was busying about nearby. ‘Non,’ was all he said, picking up his slice of pizza and taking a large bite.

‘Oh.’ She tapped her toe gently against the plastic leg of the table, then picked up her own slice and studied it, uncomfortably aware that she’d lost her appetite now.

‘Well, it’s really nice to be here, anyway,’ she continued, to cover the now rather prickly silence. ‘I haven’t had a holiday in a couple of years—if you don’t count the four days I spent at my oldest brother’s house over Christmas, which wasn’t exactly a relaxing break. Three of my brothers have kids—one of them has four boys—so it was more like staying in a soft play gym crossed with a zoo.’

Picking up his beer, Julien took another long pull. ‘You don’t have your own kids?’ he asked.

There was a sharp spasm in her chest. She’d fantasised about her and Gavin having kids, once upon a time. Another thing to mourn the loss of. ‘Not yet. Hopefully one day. I’m sure it’ll happen when it’s the right time.’

He grimaced as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. ‘The right time,’ he repeated flatly.

‘Yeah, I firmly believe that kids turn up when you most need them to.’

Looking over the top of his sunglasses, he gave her a withering stare.

Irritation pricked at her skin. ‘So I’m guessing you don’t have kids either?’ she asked, determined to ignore his negativity.

‘Non.’ The word was terse and had a definite full stop at the end.

‘But you’d like to, one day?’

‘Can we change the subject?’ he said levelly, but with an undertone of steel.

‘Um, sure.’ Clearly she’d hit a nerve.

Perhaps it was for the best that they talk about something else anyway. The subject wasn’t exactly an inspiring one for her now that she was single.

Indigo nibbled at the crust of her pizza while she thought of a new topic of conversation.

‘Your English is very good. Where do you live?’

‘In Paris, but I conduct a lot of business in the English language.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

For the first time that night he seemed to relax, pushing his sunglasses up on to his head again and sitting back in his chair. ‘Oui. My business acquires and renovates high-end holiday homes in France for clients all over the world. We also source and maintain corporate Parisian apartments for executives to live in whilst they conduct business in France.’

‘Nice.’

‘I enjoy it.’

‘Lucrative.’

‘Oui.’

‘Good for you.’

‘What about you? What do you do?’ He took another large bite of his pizza.

‘I run a café that uses mostly surplus and past best before date food from supermarkets and restaurants. We sell affordable meals for people on low incomes so they can come and get a square meal at least a couple of times a week. Since we opened, we’ve had a lot of elderly gentlemen come in who’ve lost their wives and have no idea how to cook, so I started running cookery lessons in the evenings aimed specifically at people like them, to give them a grounding in making basic, healthy meals for themselves at home. It’s going well so far, but it’s been hard work. We rely a lot on donations and public grants so there’s loads of form filling and face-to-face negotiating, and quite a bit of pleading on bended knee.’




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