Page 43 of Provoked

She nods. “I know we have to compromise. You can’t exactly move your entire law practice to Montana.”

“No, I can’t. But what I can do is cut back on the hours I spend in the office. The accident did prove that the office can function without my daily presence, so I’m willing to consider something within, say, a two-hour drive from the city.”

Instead of smiling, Ingrid frowns. “That’s too much driving. I don’t want to get a call that you’ve been in another accident.”

“Then did you have another idea?” I’m becoming slightly exasperated because if she doesn’t like Manhattan and doesn’t like the suburbs, what else is there?

She nods firmly. “What if you sell your penthouse and we bought one of those old mansions in Riverdale? We could fix it up and then I’ll buy us a getaway spot in Montana where you will promise to spend one month every year without work relaxing.”

I consider that plan. It’s fairly sound. Not exactly the spur-of-the-moment kind of idea. “With that kind of price tag, you might have to give up one of your private jets,” I say slowly.

Ingrid simply smiles. “I only need one to kidnap you and take you to Montana.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” I ask, wondering if I’m the last to know and figuring I probably am.

She shrugs. “A while. Rose pointed out that I was being atad selfish, expecting you to throw everything away to do what I want to do.”

I frown at that even harder. “I still think your friend is a bad influence.”

Ingrid giggles. “Why? Because she thinks your career is important to you? She’s right and you know it.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “It’s not more important than you are, Ingrid.”

“I know. That’s why I’m willing to evaluate alternatives.”

As if by mutual concession, we return to our meals without saying more on the topic. I have a feeling it’s settled.

There’s still one more hurdle to jump, however, and I turn my attention to it on the final leg of our journey.

23

“Oh, my God!” I squeal like a little kid when we enter the circular driveway in front of the chateau. It’s like something out of a fairy tale. Not the castle-y kind of chateau, but the type of adorable mansion a princess would escape to. There are flower boxes all across the front, dripping with pink and purple posies.

I jump out of the car and wait impatiently for Justin to emerge. He frowns at me indulgently, then pops the trunk. “Why don’t you see if you can find the key? It’s supposed to be under a flowerpot by the side entrance. At the time, I didn’t think that would be much of a challenge.”

I scamper down the length of the building and around to the side. No door there. I run back the other way. Justin is calmly placing shopping bags by the front door. This other side does have a small entrance. Nothing grand but charming all the same, with three little steps leading up and each is adorned with two pots of hot pink geraniums. I start tippingpots to look for the key. I finally find it when I realize they didn’t simply leave it to shine on the stone of the steps. It’s discreetly slipped into a matchbox that fits into a recess of one of pots.

Breathlessly, I scurry back to the front door. Justin is calmly perusing the landscape, his hands in his pockets. “Found it!” I announce with glee.

“Good. It would have been embarrassing to have to call for help with that.” He grins and takes the key from my hand. He unlocks the door and pushes it open before bending and picking up several bags in each hand. “Go on then, Ingrid. Go explore. Pick whichever bedroom you want us using tonight. You can always switch tomorrow until we’ve tried them all.”

I don’t wait, bouncing into the house with a happy sigh. I want to explore all of it but that would mean Justin standing there with the bags while I figure out where they should go. So instead, I head straight for the elegant staircase to explore the bedrooms. I’ll know the right one when I see it, I figure. Except they’re all beautiful. Each with its own adjoining bath. I settle on the smallest of the lot, but it’s the one with a peek-a-boo view of the sea in the distance, as well as the scent of jasmine wafting up from the gardens below. I poke my head out into the hall to shout to Justin, “This one!”

He patiently drops the bags onto the bed. “You won’t need most of these. You should plan on being naked for most of our stay here.”

I pout. “What about all the pretty lingerie?” I ask with a smirk, fully expecting him to give those an exemption.

But Justin shakes his head. “No, save those for when we get home. I might be too tempted to just rip them off of you now. And I do not want to have to spend another day replacing what we just bought.”

My skin goes warm. “Rip them off of me?” I hesitantly approach him, studying his face. “I didn’t realize you wereholding back that kind of passion.” I’m skeptical, and Justin picks up on that immediately.

“Gentle words are not my strong suit, Ingrid. I’m good at winning arguments, not expressing emotions. For example, I never did say thank you for rescuing my public image,” he says huskily, his mouth a tantalizing inch from mine. I’m tempted to break the anticipation and just kiss him, but I want to hear what else he has to say.

“I did that for both of us and the rest of your family. It was slightly selfish,” I confess.

“Nonsense. It was sweet and generous, both qualities I’m completely lacking,” he argues, before dropping a swift kiss on my lips. “Now, put your bags away however you want and then take a bath. When you’re done, I’ll have dinner waiting for you on the balcony.” He nods towards the French doors leading out to a small terrace.

I stare after him when he leaves for at least ten seconds. Why do I feel like I’m about to know Justin on an entirely different level? Yes, I know he plans to fuck me tonight. I’m not oblivious to that, but this feels like something more, something deeper. Turning back to the task at hand, I sort through the bags until I find a couple of casual outfits and a handful of everyday underwear. Every day by French standards isnotplain white cotton! I set those in a drawer and stuff the rest of the bags into the bottom of the carved wardrobe.

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