Royally Seduced

chapter 9


LILY HAD SLEPT only until dawn. Jack was apparently an early riser in more ways than one. But she wasn’t sleepy at all, thanks to the major endorphin buzz running through her veins. She and Jack making love…well, it was magical.

He came into their room as she was attempting to fix the nightmarish tangle of sheets that had once been neat and flat. They looked beyond hope. “Madame Roussel says our room is reserved for tonight and we need to find something else.”

Lily straightened and nodded. The B and B room had been cozy but cramped, and the lack of connected bathroom was no fun. “You’re the expert. Where’s a good place to stay?”

He thought for a second. “There is a lavender farm up in the hills. My friend is the farm manager and I have stayed in the guesthouse before.”

“Really? A lavender farm?” That sounded impossibly romantic.

“They are beginning the harvest, so it is a busy time, but Jean-Claude would not mind. What do you think?”

“It sounds wonderful, but I don’t want to impose.”

He waved a hand. “No imposition. Jean-Claude will be glad to see us.”

“Well, okay.” Lily began gathering her scattered belongings. “How far is it?”

“An hour or so, depending on traffic.” Jack was much neater than she was and started rolling his clothing into tight rolls. “There is a nice pool and terrace with views of the fields. And a washing machine and dryer.”

“Ooh, a washing machine?” That settled it. The bohemian life was fun, but dirty socks weren’t part of the fun.

“Always practical, Lily?”

“Not always.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Flying to France alone and letting a sexy Frenchman sweet-talk me into his bed should qualify as extremely impractical.”

“For the French, affairs of the heart are always practical,” he informed her.

“Affairs of the heart—I like the sound of that. How do you say it in French?” She walked her fingers up his chest and curled them around the curve of his ear.

“Les affaires de coeur.” He turned his face to nibble at her fingertips.

She leaned into his chest and cooed up at him. “Ooh la la.”

He lowered his face to hers and captured her lips. She eagerly accepted his kiss, warm and affectionate, but playful and sweet.

A throat clearing from the hallway startled them apart. Madame Roussel eyed them knowingly and told Jack something.

His cheeks flushed. “She needs us to check out so she can clean the room.” He bent to whisper, “And change the bedding.”

Now it was Lily’s turn to blush. She faced their hostess. “Merci beaucoup, Madame.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Pas du tout, pas du tout.”

“Is that the same as de rien?” Lily asked Jack. He nodded. See, she was learning more French every day, although she’d bet several euros that several of the phrases he’d taught her last night were for bedroom use only.



JACK RELAXED KILOMETER by kilometer as they climbed into the rocky hills. Lily dozed in the seat next to him. He thought about pointing out some of the sights but decided there would be enough time for them to explore the outdoors later.

He glanced down at her. She was so beautiful lying next to him. He hadn’t had the opportunity to watch her, except surreptitiously. He’d been right—she was a golden goddess in the pure sunlight, her honey-blond hair shining and her tanned skin glowing with good health.

The guesthouse he’d mentioned had actually been his uncle Pierre’s house, an old farmhouse on the property. His uncle had decided to fix it up because it was far enough away from the main villa for privacy but close enough for the housekeeper to bring meals without the food getting cold. Oncle Pierre had been eminently practical.

The house had had the perfect setup for whatever sexual exploration he and Lily wanted—pool, hot tub, tiled terraces and a nice high wall around most of it to keep out prying eyes.

He knew she wouldn’t be tanned all over thanks to her admitting she’d never sunbathed nude, but he was hoping he could convince her to try it with him.

He shifted in his seat as his cock hardened. Spreading coconut oil to slick her nipples and ass, their hot flesh sliding together as the sun beat down on them. He groaned and adjusted himself, but to little avail. The only thing better would be to take her without any barrier between them, his bare cock dipping into her tight wet depths. She would squeeze him, milk him dry as their juices mingled.

It was such a potent fantasy for him, the doctor who had never once in his disease-fearing life had unprotected sex. Dangerous, dirty and raunchy, but oh, so tempting.

He groaned again and forced himself to concentrate on his driving.

Lily opened her eyes sleepily and moved her seat upright. “You shouldn’t let me sleep when I want to see the sights,” she complained, rubbing her eyes. To his chagrin, her gaze fell on Jack’s lap. “My, that is a sight.” Her lips pulled back in a sly grin. “How long have you been driving around like that?”

“Not very long,” he muttered. “Oh, look at that old barn.” He was trying to distract her with the ancient building. It had been abandoned for years, and the scrub bush was starting to overtake it.

Lily glanced out the window. “Interesting. Can we see it up close?”

“We’re almost to the lavender farm, and that is much more interesting.” He needed to get her naked in that big four-poster bed in the master bedroom.

“No, no. This looks great. I want to take some pictures.”

He’d distracted her too well. He sighed and pulled off the road, circling the bumpy road to the back of the barn. It was the typical creamy limestone found in almost every building. He cut the engine and undid his seat belt, but before he could get out, Lily’s hand was on his lap.

He looked at her, startled. She smiled at him. “I think I found something more interesting than an old barn.” She slowly undid his belt and zipper, and he bulged through the new opening.

She stroked the tight fabric over his erection as he stared dumbly at her. “What were you thinking as you were driving?”

“What?” He couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking as her fingers traced his shaft.

“Driving. Erection. You. And me, I hope.”

“Of course. You, naked and slick in the sun.”

“Mmm,” she hummed approvingly. “What else?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to frighten her or make her distrust him with his fantasy of unprotected sex.

“Must be something really naughty.” She shook her head. “You’ll tell me sooner or later. Lean your seat back.”

“No, Lily,” he protested, but she pulled his briefs down and he jutted into the narrow space between his belly and steering wheel.

She traced a finger over his tip. “Now, how am I supposed to suck on you when I can’t even reach you?”

He groaned and reclined the seat, a flush of needy embarrassment climbing his face.

She laughed softly. “Oh, Jack, so shy?”

“No,” he choked out.

“Good.” She gently kissed his tip. “I’ve wanted to do this since last night. I didn’t get a good look at you.”

“And what do you think?”

“Very nice.” She cupped his shaft and played with the head. “You really want me, don’t you?”

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “What gave you that idea?”

“I’m a good guesser,” she teased him.

“No guessing needed. You ask me and I’ll tell you the truth.” At least part of it.

She smiled and gently blew on him.

“Ah, Lily.” He threaded his fingers down to her scalp, pulling out the band holding her hair back. The golden brown mass fell over her rosy cheeks and brushed his groin.

She enveloped him with her mouth and he clenched her hair. She was wet and warm around him, like last night. He thrust up between her lips.

It was heavenly. Lily was heavenly. She sucked deeply on him, jolting his nerves from head to toe. He dug his heels into the floormat, her hair wrapping around his hand.

She gave an utterly feminine hum of satisfaction, the vibration buzzing his shaft. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his shirt. She swirled her tongue around the head of his cock and then licked him from the base to the tip as if he were an ice-cream cone.

His balls tightened and he gasped in pleasure. He’d never been so decadent, so intoxicated with lust, the southern sun burning him from the outside as Lily burned him from within. The cicadas buzzed and blood pounded in his ears. “Ah, Lily,” he moaned. “Stop, stop. I’m losing control.”

She laughed and lifted her mouth for a second. “Good, that’s the idea.” She resumed her tender caresses and sucked him deep.

He couldn’t hold back any longer and exploded, Lily draining him dry until he stopped bucking and jerking under her.

She finally lifted her head and smiled at him. “Jack.”

He stroked her silky hair down to the nape of her neck, amazed at her sexiness and sheer generosity. “Lily, you didn’t have to do that—I never expected you—”

“I know.” She smiled mischievously at him. “I’m learning to expect the unexpected this whole trip. But it was all my idea and I really wanted to pleasure you like you did for me last night.”

“Thank you, Lily.” He pulled her into his arms and hugged her.

She shook her head. “No thanking allowed. Unless you want me to start thanking you for everything you’ve done.”

“No.” He didn’t want gratitude from her. “I want your warmth, your passion and the pleasure of your company. Gratitude is not on that list.”

“That sounds lovely. You’re lovely.” She smiled at him and his heart flipped.

“Don’t be silly,” he said gruffly, trying to cover up his unruly emotions. “Men aren’t lovely.”

“You are.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Can you show me around the barn?”

Jack laughed and fixed his clothes. “Back to work, eh?”

“A freelancer is never off the job.” She started to blush. “Except for certain occasions.”

“Exactly.” She charmed him with her mix of boldness and shyness. He hopped out of the car and helped her out of the other side, where she oohed and aahed over the typically Provençal building.

Jack smiled to himself. If she liked this old wreck, she’d fall in love with the estate’s guesthouse. And he’d love seeing her there.



FORTUNATELY FOR LILY, there was plenty on the drive to distract her from memories of her boldness. She’d never imagined she’d do that to a man in a parked car, but she couldn’t help herself. Seducing Jack was as intoxicating as the local wine, and much more fun.

It was so flattering to know that watching her sleep aroused him to a fever pitch. And to feel him under her mouth—wow. It had been incredibly arousing and she couldn’t stop thinking about the next time they would make love.

She knew it was just a vacation fling, but sex with Jack was more than scratching an itch—she was glad to be with him and get to know him in and out of bed.

Did the house he had mentioned have a nice bed? Anything would be better than the tiny one they’d shared last night, but they had managed just fine.

“Almost there.” Jack turned down a narrow unpaved lane saved only from tedium by a row of trees on each side. Their trunks were silvery-white and mottled, almost as if some avant-garde artist had sculpted them out of concrete and then sandblasted them to make them look old. The branches grew straight up with glossy green leaves.

“What kind of trees are these?”

He slowed the car to avoid kicking up dust. “Ah, plane trees—from what you call the sycamore family. These are very old and have been trained over the years to grow upward, unlike the ones in the village that grow horizontally.”

“Mmm.” Lily pointed her camera out the window and took several shots. It was like driving in a green, leafy tunnel, much nicer than the New York underground version. Then the tunnel opened up on a stunning view of a gigantic stone manor house with a fence surrounding it. Lavender fields grew in the distance, their purple rows stunning alongside the low-growing orange spelt crop. “Holy cow, Jack. Whose house is that?”

He smiled at the building. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s been here several hundred years and the owners have enlarged it over the centuries.”

“This is your friend’s house, then. What’s their name?”

“The de Brissard family owns it.” He shifted in the seat. “The guesthouse is another couple kilometers down the road and past that are the lavender fields and the farm buildings. There is even an old lavender press dating from the early Middle Ages. The farm, however, now uses a more modern facility in a nearby town.”

“Hygiene and regulations suck the romance out of everything.” She shook her head. “And I suppose you can’t have the peasants crush grapes with their feet anymore, either.”

He laughed. “Not unless you want to make the bureaucrats faint from horror.”

They passed the main house and Lily craned her neck. “Can I have a tour of the mansion sometime? I’d love to see the inside.”

“The housekeeper would love to give you one. They are very busy this time of year with the beginning of the lavender harvest. Many migrant workers come and Marthe-Louise and her staff make sure they all have enough to eat and drink. We keep the best workers that way.”

“Oh. But if they’re so busy, they might not want us borrowing the guesthouse.”

“No, nobody is using it now and we are well out of the way of their work.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am positive,” he said firmly. “Please do not worry that you are imposing because that is not the case. I would never put you into an awkward situation where you are not welcome.”

“Thank you, Jack.” She couldn’t reach him to kiss his cheek, so she patted his knee.

He smiled at her, his warm, relaxed smile that was appearing more and more frequently as they settled into Provence. “You are most welcome.” He covered her hand with his and steered around a corner with his left hand. “And here we are.”

Lily gaped at the guesthouse. It was smaller than the main house but no less impressive. Jack parked the car in the circular gravel driveway next to a limestone fountain. She hopped out to admire the two-story stucco building. It was a lovely weathered peach blush color with pale blue shutters and white trimmed doors. The roof was Spanish-style red clay rounded tiles. She guessed it was too dry to grow a traditional American lawn since the grounds were landscaped in beds of carpet-type junipers, silvery hedges and tall evergreens pruned into perfect slim columns.

“This is called la petite maison—the little house.”

“Little? How many bedrooms?” Her shoes crunched on the pure white gravel as she approached the fountain.

He hopped out of the driver’s seat and looked up at the house. “Four, five if you consider the den has a sofa with a pullout bed.”

“Oh, only five bedrooms—a real hovel.” She twisted her camera strap. “Jack, this is too much. We can’t just show up, even if they are your good friends.”

He caught her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Would it make you feel better if I called the farm manager and talked with him first?”

“Yes.” She smiled in relief. She had no desire to do firsthand research on what the local French police did to trespassers. Not exactly good blog material.

“Good.” He reached into the backseat and pulled out a water bottle. “Here, have a drink while I call Jean-Claude. I’m going to walk down toward the main house where the signal is better.”

Lily nodded and unscrewed the bottle. Jack flipped open his phone and gave her a reassuring smile as he walked down the driveway.

She turned to look up at the guesthouse—the “little house.” It would be wonderful to stay there, a luxurious hideaway of all the best of Provence.

Undoubtedly there was a beautiful garden in the back and killer views. But the best part would be spending time with Jack, to explore its four bedrooms with him. Five, if they considered the den, but Lily didn’t expect a sleeper couch mattress would be all that comfortable.

She sighed. Maybe she was getting in over her head. Anybody would be. A chance meeting two days ago with a sexy Frenchman, a trip to Provence, unexpected passion last night and the prospect of even more in idyllic settings would turn any red-blooded American woman’s head.

Lily would have to be careful to keep a good head on her shoulders. She was a writer in search of interesting stories, not a sappy tourist who, disillusioned with American men, had come to Europe in search of “true love.”

And was it possible to be disillusioned if you had few illusions in the first place?