Everything You Want: Everything For You Trilogy 2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

farmhouse. It’s marginally further but I don’t think I can handle any more of jealous Jack and the farmhands right now.
    “Wait here. Don’t. Move.”
    A warning if ever I heard one. He sets off up the road at a clip. Considering he’s wearing flip-flops and the day is scorching and the air still, he can’t half shift. I lean against the tree to close my eyes for a minute.
    * * *
    “Tabitha?” Jack shakes me by the shoulder gently to wake me. I hear the concern in his voice.
    “Mmm?”
    I sit up in the grass where I’ve been lying, push my hat up and look up to see a dusty deux cheveaux parked on the track. The little yellow Citroen 2CV belongs to the farmhouse. I smile. I have fond memories of that ancient car. I decide never to tell Jack any of them. They include Laurent and the boys on crazy teenage nights, running wild. Innocent fun.
    “What are you smiling at?” He feels my forehead as if he thinks I’m suffering from sunstroke and am delusional.
    Nothing I do gets past Jack. That strikes me as strange when Amanda’s intrigues seems to go straight over his head. Is he so blinded by love for her he can’t see her for who she truly is?
    “I know that car.”
    He hands me a bottle of water and makes me drink it all down. It isn’t hard to do when I’m as parched as powdered chalk. I spill a little down the front of my dress deliberately, over my hot skin. It’s ice cold and my nipples react to it. Jack’s eyes follow the widening wet patch as it reveals the contours of my breasts. Something in the Brittany air today makes me feel irresponsible and free.
    “I borrowed it to get you home,” he explains. “Put your arms around my neck.”
    “I’m not an invalid,” I protest, trying to stand.
    “Do as you’re told, Tabby.” He places my hands around his neck and I grip tightly. I know when I’m outgunned. Most of the time.
    He lifts me into his arms and places me gently into the passenger seat. The car is already facing the chateau and it doesn’t take us long to get there. The canvas sun-roof is peeled right back and all the windows are wide open. Even then, the car is boiling hot.
    “And Madame?” I want to know if he gave her the weekend off.
    “She’s pretty mad at you and so am I.”
    I frown. “What for?” Someone’s always mad at me.
    “You haven’t eaten in days. You haven’t slept. You’ve cried yourself sick.”
    I didn’t want Jack knowing any of that. Now I’m annoyed at Madame too for spilling my secrets. Although what woman can resist Jack’s persuasion? I relent. “She’s exaggerating. You know what French women are like. Toujour l’amour .” I try to sound theatrical and mimic the complete set of Gallic shrug and nonchalant, air-expelling pout.
    It doesn’t wash. “When we get in, you’re going to eat. Everything I cook for you.”
    The idea of Jack cooking for me is sweet. I briefly wonder what the Dublin boy can manage without a chef on hand. Baked beans on toast? He won’t find any tins here. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”
    “What?” His foot poises over the brake ready to slam the car to a halt.
    “The food? We were going up to the farmhouse to get fresh supplies.”
    He relaxes and accelerates all the way to the back door. He’s also forgotten this isn’t his Italian Pagani sports car. “In the boot. Madame wouldn’t let me leave until it was loaded full up. And why was she humming Brit chart songs?”
    Oh hell. “How would I know? What sort of songs?” I feign ignorance. He’ll never know the significance.
    He does. “ Bleeding Love . Leona Lewis. Adele. Someone Like You . Crazy sad shit like that.”
    Because I was playing them over and over, like a broken record, on my violin late last night and every other night too. I’d hoped she was asleep by then. No wonder she decided I was going crazy. I was probably driving her crazy. Now she can’t get them out of her head. “No idea. They do have TV and radio out here, you know.