Sleeping Love (Work In Progress)

Chapter One


Sabrina glanced out of the window watching the moon cast her silvery shadow over the pretty French countryside. The black Mercedes glided over a hill following a narrow ribbon of road towards the illuminated Chateau Valois, suddenly dominating her view. A majestic building set in vast grounds, its tall cream fairytale turrets capped with smooth grey strained to their fullest height. It only served to show that the house was not just a home but also an impenetrable fortress like its owner. She'd expected something grand, after all her host was a wealthy businessman who appeared to own most of Paris but this was beautiful. It could have been stolen out of a fairytale.

The car travelled over a drawbridge that lay over the moat surrounding the chateau. It drove through an arch nestled between two towers, and Sabrina heard the car's wheels softly crunch over the gravel of the inner courtyard opening out in front of them.

He was there striding out of the house as the car came to a halt. His tall intimidating frame sent a curious mixture of excitement and fear tingling the length of her spine. It was a feeling that had seized her the first time they met and continued to intrigue her curiosity. He opened the door before the chauffeur could even manage to open his door and offered his hand giving her no choice but to accept his assistance in alighting. She felt his hand linger, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. It was an intimate caress, one of lovers that startled her senses and made her pull away her hand in embarrassment.

He gave her a hooded smile as though he fully expected the reaction and remarked on the coldness of the weather. Expressing his concern that she would be feeling the chill, his arm hung loosely around her waist bringing a healthy flush to her cheeks as he guided her into the house.

The housekeeper was waiting for them. She gave Sabrina a cordial but guarded greeting making her believe that the woman was unsure about her presence in the house. She led them both up the snaking stone staircase blanketed by a luxurious red carpet to Sabrina's room.

"I put you in this room Sabrina because it has a good view of the grounds," her enigmatic host told her as they entered one of the guest rooms. Do you like it?" he asked moving away towards the white marble fireplace at the side.

He appeared eager for her approval but it was hard to look at her surroundings when Raoul Valoire was around. His very being dominated the pretty blue room with its mahogany four-poster dressed in sensual blue and white satin bedding. Somehow he made it's luxurious splendour insignificant.

"Yes, of course I do. It's beautiful. Being here makes me feel as if I have stepped into the past," she gushed nervously.

Raoul was on his hunches stoking the fire to make it blaze higher. He stopped for a moment and she was sure she could see his mouth curve into a knowing mocking smile. She prickled. Why did she get the unsettling feeling Raoul Valoire knew more about herself than she did and was enjoying it?

She began removing her gloves, loosening the buttons on her coat, her mind echoing with abuse, arrogant, pompous… She stopped as he stood and turned to advance towards her. He dwarfed her small curved form and she found herself straightening her back to rise to her full petite height.
"You haven't taken your coat off yet," he said with a frown. "Is there something wrong? Are you cold, Sabrina?"

It was the way he said her name, the way it rolled off his tongue with that sexy melodic French lilt, like an intimate caress that made her soften.

"No, thank you. I'm fine. I was just about to."

But he was there before she could raise her hands to begin the task, slowly slipping the cashmere coat from her shoulders and depositing it on the bed behind her. Why stop there she mused with irritation at the liberty he was taking. Cold? How could she be? Every time he was near her she quietly burned with the warmth of a blazing furnace ever since their first meeting. And he knew it. It was disturbing. It wasn't like her to allow any man to have this effect on her. Yet here she was allowing Raoul Valoire to exert his power and reel her in like a fish. Damn it, Sabrina. Get some control.

The man was a virtual stranger. She knew nothing about him but her body spoke to her in fleeting images of them of past encounters entwined together in unbridled passion. It was crazy. They were so vivid they felt like memories. She looked up at him wondering if somehow he'd seen it too.

Raoul's eyes were dark and fathomless. They were dangerous eyes, the type that swallowed you whole and didn't allow you up for air. She heard herself give a small inward gasp as they drew her in and held her prisoner.
Nervous at the curious effect he was having upon her, and feeling a sudden chill she pulled away to admire the roaring fire, rubbing her arms. A part of her knew this man intimately and he her. She didn't know how. Maybe it was that past life nonsense her friend Lorna kept on about. No it was ridiculous. Yet she'd experienced the same strange feeling when Raoul had first been introduced to her at that drinks party only two weeks ago. There seemed no logical answer for it.

"Are you feeling all right, Sabrina? Is there anything I can get you?" he asked.

She turned around. There it was again, that knowing smile, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling and it amused him. She studied his face looking for some clue as to the game he was playing but he was giving nothing away.

Sabrina watched him smile innocently clearly aware of the purpose of her scrutiny. Every time she looked at him he took her breath away. That was what made him so deadly, she decided. He possessed the type of looks that would seduce a woman from a mile away. An English mother and French father provided a light Latin warmth to his skin and an aristocratic smoothness to his face. His short hair was an enticing mixture of dark brown flecked intermittently with a lighter version of the colour. It's spiky style at the fringe begged for her to run her fingers through its rich texture.

Sabrina began stepping backwards both alarmed when he strode towards her but there was no safe retreat. Her back was just about hitting the fireplace and the heat of the fire was about to scorch and melt the leather of her boots if she got any closer.

Her blue eyes searched his looking for some explanation when his own narrowed at her. She made an attempt to move away to the side but found her chin being lifted and her head tilted sideways.

Raoul trailed the warm tips of his fingers along her neck, gently probing the aching stiffness that tormented her so often. She closed her eyes feeling surprised pleasure at his touch and allowed him to turn her around to face the fire. Too mesmerised by his gentle healing massage to object.
"You are always tensing, Sabrina. When will you ever learn to relax?"

It wasn't even his words that shocked her, it was the gentle familiarity with which he spoke them. Her mind was screaming caution but her body had a will of its own paralysing any movement she made to escape. The aching muscle softened, melted against his fingers. Somehow he knew exactly where to touch, to soothe and to deepen the massage to ease her pain. She would swear to it. What was happening? More to the point, what was she doing allowing him to touch her like that?

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," the housekeeper stopped her speech abruptly, her eyes resting anxiously on her employer. They hadn't even heard her knock.

Raoul lowered his hands and Sabrina edged away afraid to meet his eyes or the housekeeper's for the sake of embarrassment. She thanked the woman and announced that she would dress and be downstairs as soon as possible. It was the cue for both of them to leave and the housekeeper took it at once but Raoul lingered. Sabrina felt afraid and for a moment considered making some excuse to leave. But her common sense made light of the situation. She was imagining it. He obviously liked her and she was complimented. Perhaps it was simply wishful thinking that she'd known him before. But she had come to do a job and she wasn't leaving until it was done. She would conduct herself professionally from now on and stop acting like a school girl.

Yet the strangeness of the whole occurrence kept intruding on her thoughts and try as she might she could not put it aside. There was something about this house and the people who inhabited its walls, a familiarity she couldn't quite explain. It was just like déjà vu.
Raoul interrupted her ruminations. His hands were firmly in trouser pockets as if to keep them from further mischief, his speech formal and distant once more.

"I will see you later. Please call myself or my staff if you require anything."

Smiling he headed for the door and took his leave. Sabrina was left wondering what other excitement the evening would bring and what part Raoul would play in it.

Sabrina changed into a short off the shoulder black dress. It was the only dress she possessed. She preferred trousers. They never let her down. They hid the petite legs she always unjustifiably condemned herself for owning but defined her small waist to perfection along with the feminine curve of her hips. She looked at herself in the full length mirror and groaned, trying to pull the dress down a little further to her knees.

Her attention turned to her breasts and produced another groan. They were generous and voluptuously round. She had no wish to over amplify their size but the dress wasn't giving her a choice. About to decide to rebel and pull on her jeans she became distracted by a new torment. Her hair. Half an hour later she finally gave up the ghost on trying to soften and straighten her defiant bob of black curls. A quick glance at her watch had her cursing her lateness and heading for the door.
Her host was about to knock on her door when she left, making her think he'd been prowling around outside waiting for her to come out all of that time. But he had changed. He was in a black suit and casual white designer shirt open at the neck. Those dark eyes scanned her dress and came to rest on her breasts. She was treated to an approving smile. Triumph that he found her attractive in the dress warred with her indignation at his intimate assessment.

"You look beautiful Sabrina but you should have worn something warmer. The chateau is full of drafts," he teased.

"I'll be fine Monsieur Valoire," she insisted, irritation audible in her tone. She edged away to maintain some distance between them. But his hand rested firmly against the smooth satin skin of her bare arm when her distracted mind tried to lead her in the wrong direction and brought her back to heel.

They walked through a string of rooms until they finally reached the dining room. It was decorated in a deep earthy gothic red, garnished with Flemish tapestries and portraits of the chateau's previous owners. The long oak table was dressed with elaborate candelabra dripping lightly with molten wax. The flames of the candles flickering shadows around the room as they entered. It was just the way she liked to have dinner, romantic by candlelight, and in this chateau it was a dream come true. How did this man know all of her secrets?

Maybe he'd had her followed, checked out. She wouldn't put it past a rich man like Raoul. He pulled out a high back chair covered in Spanish leather for her to sit next to him at the head of the table.

"So Monsieur Valoire, when can I expect to view the historic documentation you possess on your ancestor Martin Valoire so I can begin my research?" she asked as they were served a light started or goat's cheese and salad dressed in aromatic oil.

He caught her eyes as the butler poured ruby wine into the crystal glasses.
"You are a work alcoholic, Dr Michaels. I thought you could take a few days to relax and enjoy your stay and allow me to show you around the Loire Valley."

He was looking at her so intently she felt her eyes lower and her cheeks flush in response.

"I would have liked that very much but I have to give a lecture in Paris in a couple of days and I need to prepare."

He was undeterred.

"Well, we will just have to see what we can achieve in the time we have together."

Sabrina managed a nervous smile. He was making it no secret that he wanted her and he wasn't about to let her go. He continued their conversation, his deep velvety tone playing havoc with her every attempt not to melt and fall at his feet like some love struck teenager. Damn it, he knew, knew the effect he was having. She could see it playfully dancing with humour in his eyes, and she was helplessly playing along to his piped tune. She didn't like being manipulated.

"I have read your book and recent articles Sabrina. I am especially interested in your research concerning gender issues in popular culture in Europe. You are a hopeless feminist, aren't you?"

It was her turn to smile.

"Does that threaten you, Monsieur Valoire?"

"Please call me Raoul. Why would I feel threatened? I admire it. Well, to a certain extent,' he grinned. "As long as it suits me. I just wonder whether or not you have considered how a man would have felt about the way he was forced to live in those times?"

"I can assure you Monsieur…Raoul that I make adequate recompense to the issues of masculinity, that is why I intend to write a biography of your famous ancestor…" she told him firmly feeling her temper rise at his questioning of her professional work ethic as a gender historian.
But when she heard him laugh and realised with embarrassment that he was merely teasing she halted her passionate speech and bent to eat her food feeling foolish.

An awkward silence ensued and Sabrina began to feel more uncomfortable. Ribbons of light from the candles danced across Raoul's handsome face giving him a dark and mysterious air when he broke the oppressive silence.

"I'm sorry, Sabrina. I was only playing with you,' he smiled warmly. "I enjoyed reading your academic work. It raises some interesting questions."
She nodded accepting the apology but felt reluctant engaging in any further conversation, suddenly feeling very tired and on edge. The more she looked around the room, the more convinced she was that she knew had been in it before. She couldn't explain it. Maybe she'd visited the place as a child. But the explanation didn't seem adequate. Even the tapestries and the scenes they depicted were more than familiar.

"Are you ill Sabrina? You look a pale,' he asked.

"No, no I'm fine. I just have this weird déjà vu feeling that I've been here before. It's silly really," she joked. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. "Maybe in my last lifetime."

He said nothing taking another sip of wine. For a moment his eyes avoided her. She found it odd that he would not make some remark or even a joke.
"I look forward to reading your work on my rogue ancestor but for now I want to hear all about you," he insisted putting down his glass, quickly changing the subject.

His eyes never left her face as she took a hurried sip of her own wine.
"There isn't much to tell I'm afraid," she said nervously. "Maybe we should talk about something more interesting."

She smiled sweetly, expertly covering the pain that slashed at her insides with a knife. But he was to remain annoyingly inquisitive.
"No. I'm intrigued. Tell me about yourself."

She didn't miss the command in his tone. There was no escape. He was not about to allow her to bow out gracefully. There was nothing to tell. Nothing she could remember beyond ten years ago when she'd woken up in a London hospital badly beaten without her memory. She didn't want to talk about it. Sometimes when people pressed her for details of a past and family she made up stories. They were better termed fantasies. She didn't want to do that tonight. Besides she had the feeling Raoul would see right through them. Her voice stalled in her throat and another awkward silence fell upon the dining room. Sabrina looked away desperately searching her mind for a way of excusing her behaviour.

"Well, I don't see you wearing a wedding ring, so I take it that you aren't married?" he quizzed. His voice was soft but Sabrina could hear some malice lingering in his tone. What was his problem? She'd had enough of his games. Maybe she should really leave.

She jumped when he suddenly picked up her hand that rested on the table, and began to gently examine her fingers. He stroked each one sensually, circling the pad of his thumb in the middle of her palm. She watched entranced, completely under the spell created by the rhythmic stroking.
It was a normal thing to ask, to see if there was any competition. He wasn't hiding his interest. But there was a curious firmness in his tone that appeared to challenge her answer, dared her to say no.

"No I'm not married," she told him truthfully.

She felt herself begin to tremble when his eyes directly stared into her own, narrowing with a dark primitive anger.

"I think you are lying." the words were spoken coldly, a streak of menace lining every one. 'Where is your wedding ring, Sabrina?'

Sabrina's heart pounded in her chest. Confused and terrified she attempted to pull her hand away. His response was to hold it tighter making her cry out with the strength of his grip. Once more he demanded angrily, 'Where is your wedding ring? Did you throw it away? Why did you forget? Answer me, Sabrina or so help me. . .'

Almost as if on eerie cue the wind that had been building outside swirled around the chateau with a deathly cry from an open window extinguishing the burning flames of the candles. The lamps at intervals on the walls also went out as if a fuse had been blown. Sabrina felt suffocated as the wall of darkness imprisoned her sight and pressed down upon her. She was terrified of the dark and had never known the reason. She struggled violently in Raoul's hold unable to stand it anymore.

"Hush, Sabrina. I know you have been frightened of the dark since you were a child. It will only last for a few moments. The lights are always going out. It happens in old buildings," he told her with impatience.
She heard him stand and felt him pull her struggling form into his arms. His fingers stroked soothingly through her hair but she was not to be placated.

'What is going on? You've been acting strange with me since I arrived? Why are you asking me about a wedding ring? Let me go. I want to go home,' Sabrina insisted.

"You're not going anywhere, Sabrina,' he told her firmly transferring his hold to her wrists in an effort to stop her moving. "You belong here. This is your home and I am never letting you leave again."
"What are you saying? Who are you? How do you know so much about me? She stopped struggling, more from shock than anything else.

"You really don't remember do you?' he sounded disbelieving, dismayed, barely able to contain his frustrated anger. "You are my wife."