Jonquils for Jax (Blueberry Lane 3 - The Rousseaus #1) - Katy Regnery Page 0,5

light pink and slightly chapped, were flumed and full. She took a deep breath, and soil, lavender, and leather made for such an unexpectedly appealing combination of smells, she had to fight against closing her eyes again. Or sighing.

No more sighing. She was sighing altogether too much around this man.

She flattened her hands on either side of her hips, intending to sit up, but he placed a rough, warm palm on her bare skin, under her throat, above the neckline of her dress, pressing down lightly on her chest as he shook his head. “Nope. You’re not leavin’ yet.”

Panic sluiced through her veins, immediate and shocking. His lips parted and his eyes darted to his hand, which he lifted like her skin was on fire. He leaned back from her, putting both of his hands up, palms out.

“No harm meant. Just…don’t sleep and don’t bolt up. You were unconscious for a few minutes there. I’m worried about a possible concussion. Breathe. Give yourself a minute, okay? I wouldn’t have saved you if my intention was to hurt you, Jacqueline.”

His voice was warm. Soft and gentle. And the way he said “Jacqueline” with his indecipherable accent—like a very, very rough and naughty version of how her Parisian-born family said it?—she sighed. Again. Merde. But she couldn’t help it.

I wouldn’t have saved you if my intention was to hurt you.

Part of her knew she shouldn’t trust him—knew that men could make you trust them only to take dirty pictures of you and post them all over the Internet, or charm you into putting your defenses down so you’d say something they could take out of context and use against you. But this man…well, she didn’t know why she trusted him, but she did. Something about him just felt safe. She looked into his dark-brown eyes, searching them for only a moment before nodding.

“I believe you.”

“Then let me tend to your head, huh?”

He reached for the reading lamp and refocused it on her forehead, squinting as he cleaned the cut with a soft cloth and warm water. She was so mesmerized by his face so close to hers, the smell of alcohol didn’t register immediately, but she winced with pain and cried out as he pressed the antiseptic to her temple.

“Ouch! Stop!”

“Hold still. I’m cleanin’ it.”

“It hurts!” she wailed.

“It’s better’n gettin’ an infection.”

“Says you! You’re not the one being tortured.”

“Tortured.” He chuckled softly, rolling his eyes. “Hardly, Duchess.”

Finally he smoothed a Band-Aid over the cut, taking a deep breath and sighing as he stared at his work, his face less than an inch from hers. As she watched him, his eyes slid from her injury to meet her gaze and her heart skipped a beat.

“What, um, what is this place?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he leaned away from her. “Apartment attached to the back of the gardener’s cottage.”

Now that he’d drawn away, she missed having him so close.

“You’re…staying here?” she asked.

“For now.”

She cleared her throat. “Can I sit up now?”

“Go crazy,” he said, looking into her eyes for a moment before standing up. He leaned down and gathered the cloth, container of alcohol, and box of Band-Aids together before returning them to the bathroom.

Jax sat up slowly, lowering her feet to the floor and realizing that she only had one shoe on. “Where’s my other shoe?”

The gardener turned around in the bathroom doorway, crossing his arms over his massive chest as his nostrils flinched into a slight sneer. “With your…friend. I guess.”

With two older brothers, Jax was accustomed to swearing, but she’d never heard Jean-Christian or Étienne say “fuck” as darkly as this man had just uttered the word “friend.”

“He wanted a kiss,” she murmured.

“Guessin’ you didn’t have one to give?”

“I do, actually…I do have one to give,” she whispered, the words coming from nowhere she recognized as she held his eyes from across the room. “But not to him.”

The stranger’s eyes widened, then narrowed, his large body still as he searched her face. Suddenly, he dropped her gaze and sighed. “C’mon, Duchess, I’ll walk you back to Le Chateau.”

Jax’s cheeks flushed hot as a sound like a plane crashing reverberated through her aching head. Ugh. What the heck was she doing? Making passes at strange men—at strange gardeners, no less—wasn’t exactly commonplace for Jax. She wasn’t given to seduction, and she wasn’t very good at it. Obviously.

“No, thanks,” she said, embarrassed beyond belief. Thanking God that Kate English had chosen bridesmaids’ gowns that included deep pockets, she fished