Читать книгу Tempt Me at Midnight - Maureen Smith - Страница 10

An hour later, Lexi and Quentin were ensconced in the backseat of a chauffeured car bound for Dijon, the capital of Burgundy and the birthplace of Dijon mustard.

The narrow, rambling roads meandered through a scenic countryside of gently rolling hills covered with dense forests and luscious vineyards that cascaded down sloping ridges. The glazed, multihued roof tiles of châteaus added vivid splashes of color to the landscape. It looked like something right out of a van Gogh painting.

“Oh, look!” Lexi said excitedly to Quentin, pointing to a herd of cattle grazing peacefully on a hillside.

Leaning over to peer out her window, Quentin cocked an amused brow at her. “Cows?”

“Not just any cows,” she archly informed him. “Those are white Charolais cattle, which are specially bred to provide the superior quality of beef used in boeuf bourguignon, Burgundy’s most well-known dish.”

“Wait. Haven’t you made that for me before?”

She smiled. “Several times.”

Quentin gazed at the passing herd of cattle with newfound respect. “God bless each and every one of y’all.”

When Lexi laughed, he grinned at her. And just like that, the awkwardness between them was gone. For good, Lexi hoped, though somehow she knew better.

Soon they arrived in Dijon, a gorgeous city characterized by historic buildings and cathedrals, art galleries and museums, upscale boutiques, antiques shops and medieval half-timbered houses nestled along cobbled streets. There were restaurants and cafés with terraces on every corner, offering gastronomic delights to please any palate.

Lexi took in the amazing sights, sounds and smells with the excited wonder of a child, tugging Quentin from one place to the next. The regal Palace of the Dukes of Burgundy was closed for the holiday, but they were able to explore the courtyards and climb up the Philippe le Bon Tower, which offered a wonderful view of Dijon and the surrounding countryside.

Next they visited the church of Notre Dame, an architecturally beautiful gothic building famous for the unusual gargoyles that covered its facade. There was an owl sculpted into one of the stone walls. In keeping with local custom, Lexi and Quentin took turns placing their left hands on the carving to make a wish.

As they started away, Quentin asked, “What’d you wish for?”

She smiled enigmatically. “If I tell you, it might not come true.”

And that can’t happen, she silently added. She hadn’t wished for fame and fortune upon the release of her first cookbook next month. She hadn’t even wished for a better relationship with her mother. Instead, she’d offered up a simple but heartfelt prayer that she and Quentin would always remain the best of friends. Because she couldn’t bear the thought of ever losing him.

After stopping at a sidewalk café to enjoy a local favorite—kir, a white wine and cassis apéritif—they headed to an open-air market that specialized in breads, cheeses, wines, spices and sauces. Lexi had only intended to browse, but as they wandered through the bustling stalls, she found herself reaching for one item after another, her mind racing with ideas for different recipes.

Without being asked, Quentin retrieved a basket for her, a soft, indulgent smile quirking his lips as he watched her shop. “Don’t forget what Asha said.”

Mulling over a wedge of Epoisses cheese that she could serve with a bottle of Chablis, Lexi asked absently, “What’d she say?”

“You and Mike are her guests this weekend, so you’re not allowed to step foot inside her kitchen to cook.”

Lexi groaned. “It’s so unfair. Asking a chef not to cook while in France is like asking a NASCAR driver to remain in neutral on the racetrack.” She scowled. “Damn that woman.”

Quentin laughed. “Tell you what, sweetness. If you don’t want all these ingredients going to waste,” he said, holding up the overflowing basket, “you can cook something for me when we get back home in two days.”

Lexi brightened at once. “That’s an excellent idea.”

He grinned. “Just doing my part,” he said gallantly, as if he were making the ultimate sacrifice by allowing her to prepare a meal for him. But the truth was that he loved her cooking as much as she loved cooking for him. Nothing pleased Lexi more than watching Quentin devour her food. And the more praise he heaped on her, the more she wanted to cater to him.

After depositing the groceries in the chauffeured car, they decided to go for a quick wine tasting. Since Asha’s sommelier had already promised to give everyone a guided tour of the château’s cellars and vineyards tomorrow, Lexi and Quentin stopped by an indoor market operated by a local family of winemakers. The large tasting room lured passersby to venture inside to sample some of the region’s finest pinot noirs and chardonnays.

The place was crowded with holiday tourists. After receiving glossy brochures and a breathless greeting from the harried young woman at the entrance, Lexi and Quentin were pretty much on their own.

At the first tasting table, Lexi showed Quentin the proper way to “nose” wine.

“To really appreciate the flavor of a wine,” she explained, “you sniff it before tasting. The proper technique is to hold the stem of the glass, stick your nose into the bowl and let the scent rise up.” As she demonstrated, she cautioned him, “Don’t try to inhale the scent, or you’ll mostly get alcohol fumes. Here, try it.”

Of course Quentin inhaled, then gasped as the pungent fumes shot up his nose. He took a hasty gulp of wine that went down the wrong way and sent him into a violent coughing paroxysm.

Alarmed, Lexi took the glass from his hand, set it down and pounded him on the back as he wheezed and choked.

“Are you all right, sweetie?” she asked worriedly as several curious heads turned in their direction.

Quentin staggered back a step, his eyes rolling up in his head.

Lexi swept a panicked glance over the crowd. She was about to call out for a doctor when she saw the mischievous grin on Quentin’s face.

“Gotcha!”

Torn between relief and fury, Lexi punched him on the arm. “Idiot! I thought you were choking to death!”

He laughed. “From inhaling wine?”

She skewered him with a glare. “You play too damn much, Quentin.”

As she turned and stalked out of the market, he caught her from behind, engulfing her as he draped his long arms around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

“Come on, Lex,” he cajoled. “Don’t be mad. I was just having some fun with you. I love it when you kick into professor mode. You’re so serious and adorable.”

“Don’t call me adorable,” Lexi grumbled darkly. “Not when I’m seriously contemplating how to kick your ass.”

Quentin laughed, the deep, rumbling sound sending heat from the base of her skull to the bottom of her spine. Although his legs were much longer than hers, he effortlessly matched her stride, step for step. As though it were as natural to him as his own heartbeat.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Lex. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

She frowned. “One of these days you’re going to push me too far, and I’m not going to forgive you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d break my heart.”

“It’d serve you right.” But she was smiling now. She couldn’t help it. He was downright irresistible when he said things like that to her. And he knew it.

“Hold up.” He drew her to a stop. “Stay right there.”

Puzzled, Lexi turned and watched as he sauntered over to a street vendor selling flowers. He exchanged a few words with the woman in his adorably rudimentary French, which Lexi had been teaching him. When he flashed his killer grin, the vendor blushed and beamed at him.

Lexi sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. Another one bites the dust.

A group of tourists strolled by, blocking her view of Quentin. She stood on tiptoe, wishing, not for the first time, that she were taller. Her height, topping out at five-two, had been the bane of her existence for as long as she could remember.

Which was why she hated supermodels.

Like Giselle.

Moments later Quentin reappeared, his arms tucked behind his back.

Lexi shook her head at him. “I don’t care how pretty—”

He handed her a beautiful bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, and she gasped with shocked pleasure. Roses and anemones, from her favorite van Gogh print that he’d given her years ago!

“Oh, Quentin… Damn.”

He smiled down at her. “Truce?”

She buried her nose in the fragrant flowers and sighed. “Truce.”

His smile widened.

“You are very lucky woman!” the street vendor called out to Lexi.

“Merci beaucoup!” she called back, not bothering to correct the woman’s assumption that she and Quentin were a couple.

Quentin glanced at his watch, then took her hand and started purposefully down the cobbled street.

“Where are we going?” Lexi asked curiously.

“We have an appointment.”

“To do what?”

“You’ll see.”

Something in his enigmatic tone sent off warning bells in her head. She pulled up short, tugging her hand free of his. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me where we’re going.”

He scowled at her. “Damn, baby girl. Why can’t you just go with the flow?”

“Quentin,” she said warningly.

He heaved a short, frustrated breath. “I’m taking you on a hot-air balloon ride.”

“What?” The blood drained from Lexi’s head. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’ll be fun. Flying over the region, getting an aerial view.”

She swallowed dryly. “It’s too cold.”

He gave her a knowing look. “We’ve been walking around for hours, and you haven’t complained about the weather once.”

“Yeah, but going thousands of feet into the air—”

“Ever heard of heat rising?”

“Actually, that’s a myth. Nice try, though.”

He groaned. “Come on, Lex. You can’t visit Burgundy without taking a hot-air balloon ride.”

“Why not? I’m sure plenty of other people do.”

“They’re not you,” he countered. “The woman I know experiences life to the fullest. Always has.”

She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t, Quentin.”

“Tell me why.”

She exhaled a deep breath and met his direct gaze. “You know I’m afraid of heights.”

“I know.”

Of course he does. “So why are you pressuring me to do this?”

His gaze gentled, his hazel eyes plumbing the depths of hers. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She gave a grim, shaky laugh. “If the balloon malfunctioned, Q, there’d be nothing you could do about it.”

“Do you trust me?”

She searched his solemn face and had the uncanny feeling that he was referring to more than the balloon ride.

“Of course I trust you,” she said quietly. “You’re my best friend.”

“Then fly with me.”

She stared at him for a prolonged moment, then swallowed hard and nodded, taking the plunge. “Okay,” she whispered.

“You’ll do it?”

“Yes.” She shot him a surly glance. “But if something goes wrong and we plunge to our deaths, just know that my ghost will haunt yours for all eternity.”

Quentin laughed, kissing her forehead. “I’ll take my chances.”

The ballooning company was located along the Burgundy Canal. The friendly, English-speaking pilot introduced himself, went over some housekeeping rules and explained their flight itinerary. And then, before Lexi could change her mind, they were boarding the hot-air balloon. The interior was divided into compartments that separated the pilot from the passengers, giving them a sense of privacy. The basket was lined with cushion and seemed sturdier than Lexi had feared.

But minutes later when the balloon lifted off, her stomach pitched sickeningly. She clung to Quentin, closing her eyes and burying her face in the cool, battered leather of his jacket. He wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking his hand up and down her back and whispering to her the way he might soothe a frightened child.

She could feel the balloon rising higher into the air, soaring toward the sky. Her heart galloped into her throat. A clammy sweat broke out over her skin and she shivered uncontrollably. Quentin opened his jacket and she shamelessly burrowed against his broad chest, taking refuge in the masculine heat and strength that enveloped her.

“You’re going to be okay,” Quentin murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. “Just take slow, deep breaths.”

Lexi did as he told her. She hated this irrational fear of hers, hated that it made her so vulnerable. So pathetic.

She didn’t know how much time passed. At some point the gripping panic receded, giving way to a sense of calm that made her feel stronger, more in control of herself.

“Lex,” Quentin said softly. “Look what you’re missing.”

She cracked one eye open, then another.

Her breath escaped her in a soft gasp.

They were floating—floating!—over Burgundy.

A spectacular kaleidoscope of shapes and colors bombarded her at once. She could see every shade of green covering the slopes of the vineyards. The shiny roofs of châteaus and castles glistened under the late afternoon sun. Clusters of cottages and ancient stone churches were scattered across picturesque villages. The dark ribbon of a canal meandered lazily through forests. The lush beauty of the Saône river valley beckoned, and a rich palette of brown and gold identified the fields of Cote-d’Or.

Lexi stared out in rapt fascination. “Oh, my God, Quentin,” she breathed. “This is… I’m speechless.”

Quentin grinned down at her. “That doesn’t happen very often.”

“Very funny,” she retorted, barely sparing him a glance. She was afraid the stunning vistas would disappear if she so much as blinked.

Keeping one arm securely around her waist, Quentin shifted so that they stood side by side.

Lexi raised her face to the azure sky, soaking up the sun and wind as the balloon glided smoothly through the air. It was absolutely exhilarating. A feast for the senses.

Over the next hour she and Quentin took in the sights, mostly communicating without words. When Lexi excitedly pointed something out to him, he’d nod and smile in shared appreciation. The pilot rarely interrupted to narrate, leaving his two passengers cocooned in their own private world of enjoyment.

When Quentin left her side, Lexi murmured softly, “Hurry back.”

A moment later, she was startled by the sound of a bottle being uncorked.

Turning, she watched as Quentin poured champagne into two glasses and handed one to her. Surprised, she arched a brow at him. “I thought the champagne toast is traditionally done after the safe landing.”

“I asked them to make an exception this time.” A crooked grin curved his mouth. “I’d figured at some point during the flight, you’d appreciate some alcohol to help calm your nerves.”

Lexi chuckled. “Good looking out.”

“Always.” Sobering after a moment, Quentin raised his glass in a toast to her, his eyes glowing with warm pride. “Here’s to you. For bravely conquering your fear of heights.”

Lexi smiled shyly. “I don’t know if I’ve completely conquered it.”

“You’re up here, aren’t you?”

Her smile turned quiet and grateful. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Quentin.”

His gaze softened. “We make a good team.”

“Always.”

Their glasses clinked musically and they drank, smiling at each other.

After a few moments, Lexi sighed contentedly. “What an amazing day this has been. I almost wish we didn’t have to go back home on Monday.”

“Me too,” Quentin murmured.

“I’d love to have dinner tonight in one of those Michelin-rated French restaurants.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“We can’t,” she reminded him with a rueful smile. “Asha’s chef is preparing a special New Year’s Day dinner. Besides, we don’t have reservations.”

“Then we’ll come back tomorrow night.”

“Mmm. Sounds like a plan.”

“Good.” Quentin reached out, his fingertips brushing her cheek as he gently pushed her windswept hair off her face.

Their gazes caught and held. A strange, intoxicating dizziness swept through Lexi.

Altitude, she told herself. Or too much wine in one day.

But she knew better.

The winds of change were upon her and Quentin. That stolen kiss on the balcony had set something in motion between them. Something that had sent them hurtling into the unknown.

Where they landed, only time would tell.