Читать книгу Love Story Next Door! - Сорейя Лейн, Rebecca Winters - Страница 13

“SALUT, ma belle!”

She waved to Alex, who stood by the truck, dressed in thigh-molding jeans and another white T-shirt that revealed the outline of his cut physique. The sun brought out the black-brown vibrancy of his overly long hair, a style that suited him to perfection.

He’d seen her coming around the back in her white-washed jeans and T-shirt in her favorite mocha color. His eyes followed her progress with disturbing intensity, making her feel exposed.

“It’s such a beautiful morning I’m not going to ask if you’re fine because you couldn’t be anything else.” He was freshly shaven and the faint scent of the soap he’d used in the shower permeated the air around them.

“You’re right about that,” he murmured. She watched him pick up a pair of long-handled pruning shears. “Shall we be off?” There was a slight curve to his lips she’d only tasted for a brief moment the other night. Unfortunately it had set up a permanent hunger nothing but a much longer repeat of the experience would satisfy.

Dana nodded before following him down the path that bisected the orchard. Maybe she was crazy but she felt something crackling in the air between them, the kind of thing that sizzled during a lightning storm.

He kept walking until they reached the perimeter of the orchard. Juxtaposed was a forest of briars taller than they were. It reached to the river, filling the entire hillside and around the bend. She’d never seen the likes of such a thing before.

A gasp escaped her lips. “The only thing I can compare this to are the briars that overgrew Sleeping Beauty’s castle, but that was in a storybook.”

He slanted her a mysterious glance. “If you recall, it was a French fairy tale.” He folded his arms. “Behold the Belles Fleurs vineyard.”

“No—”

As she tried to take it all in, her eyes smarted. She turned her head so Alex wouldn’t see how it had affected her. Now she understood why he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

“This is what happens after eighty years of neglect,” came his gravelly voice.

She shook her head. “When you drive here from Paris and see the rows of gorgeous green vineyards…to think they can look like this…” It was impossible to articulate her horror.

“Oh, Alex—for your family to let all of this die—it’s beyond my comprehension.” She wheeled around to face him. “How did you bear it when you saw this desecration?”

He put down the shears. “Don’t be too sad.” Taking a step toward her he wiped one lone tear from her hot cheek with the pad of his thumb. As their gazes fused, his hands cupped the sides of her face. “Believe it or not this vineyard is alive.”

“But it couldn’t be!”

“I assure you it is. Deep in those trunks are the makings of chenin blanc grapes grown on Belles Fleurs terroir.”

“I—I can’t fathom it.”

“Vines are unusual creatures. They want to climb. They climb and they climb while the birds eat the fruit and drop the seeds where they will. What you’re looking at is a tangled mess of what is probably the best prepared soil along the Layon. Eighty years lying fallow has made it rich. All the vineyard needs is a little work.”

“A little—” she cried.

Chuckling quietly, he removed his hands and reached for the shears again, leaving her dizzy with unassuaged longings. “It would take five years to turn this into a thriving business again. The first year all these trunks would have to be cut down to three feet, like this.”

She watched him in wonder and fascination as he shaped it down to size like Michelangelo bringing a figure out of the marble. He threw the castoff briars to the side. Dana crouched down to examine one of them. She lifted her head. “Then what happens?”

“The next year new canes appear.” He tossed out another vine. Painstaking work. “They have to be treated like newborn babies.”

When she smiled, he smiled back, giving her a heart attack. “You said five years.”

He nodded his dark head. “In the third year you’d see buds. In the fourth, the first new grapes would appear. By the fifth year they’d be worthy of making a good wine.”

“Five years…” He wouldn’t be here in five years. The thought sickened her and she jumped to her feet. “When I asked you why you weren’t concerned about the vineyard, it’s clear why you chose not to answer me until now. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. In this case it’s more like a billion.”

“Vineyards are a business and family concern. Without one, or one that can’t pull together, it doesn’t warrant the effort it takes to make wine.” There was a residue element in his voice, maybe sadness. It brought a lump to her throat.

“No. I can see that…” Her voice trailed. “Does this mean you’re considering leasing the vineyard or even selling it to a prospective vintner?”

“I’m not sure.” They started walking back. She could tell he was eager to get busy in the orchard. It was time to change the subject.

“Alex? You know what a bookworm I am. Would you consider it a horrible invasion of your privacy if I went through some of the boxes in storage, just to see what was in the library? I don’t speak French, but I can read enough to understand titles and that sort of thing.”

“Be my guest.”

Excitement welled inside her. Maybe she’d find some family records or scrapbooks he would enjoy looking at. “You mean it?”

His dark eyes seemed to be searching her very soul. “What do you think?”

“Thank you!” she cried. Without conscious thought she put her hands on his upper arms and raised up on the tips of her sneakers to kiss his jaw. What happened next happened so quickly, she never saw it coming. Alex dropped the shears and crushed her against him, covering her mouth with his own.

She didn’t know who was hungrier. All that mattered was that he was kissing her until she felt pleasure pains run through her body clear to her palms. Though she knew she couldn’t die from rapture, she felt she was on the verge.

When she moaned, he whispered, “My sentiments exactly. Your mouth tastes sweeter than any Anjou wine in existence.”

“Alex—” Her body shook with needs bursting out of control. She circled his neck with her arms in order to get closer and pressed little kisses along his jaw. While Dana couldn’t get enough of him, his hands splayed across her back, drawing her up against his chest where she felt the thud of his heart resound.

“You’re so incredibly beautiful, Dana. Help me stop before I can’t.” His breathing sounded shallow.

She hushed his lips with a kiss. “I don’t want to stop.”

He groaned. “Neither do I, but someone’s coming.”

Thinking that whoever it was was ruining the moment, she had to force herself to leave his arms. Still breathless from their passion, she turned in time to see Saskia in the distance. She walked toward them with purpose.

Of course. Who else.

“Well, hello,” Saskia said on her approach, eyeing Alex in stunned surprise that any man could be that attractive. At thirty years of age, Saskia looked good herself and knew it. She eventually tore her eyes away to stare at Dana. They looked greener than usual. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Saskia Brusse? Please meet Monsieur Alexandre Martin, the owner of the estate. Alex, Saskia is my father’s girlfriend. She also happens to be one of the actresses in the film.”

“But my part doesn’t come until we’re in Germany which is lucky for me.”

“And what part is that?” Alex asked.

She blinked before staring at Dana. “You mean you haven’t told him?”

Dana refused to be put off by her. “We haven’t discussed the script.”

Alex shook hands with her. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Brusse.”

“Thank you. You know, I was hoping to talk to you this morning. That’s why I drove over here with Jan this early.”

“Why did you want to see me?”

“Didn’t Dana tell you about that, either?”

“I’m afraid we’ve had other matters on our minds. Please enlighten me.”

While Dana willed her heart to stop racing, little red spots tinged Saskia’s cheeks. She didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “Jan told me Dana was staying here at the château. I wondered if I might occupy one of the rooms for the rest of the month, too. While we’re here in France I have a lot of time on my hands and this is such a beautiful place.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Alex said with a smile. “But I don’t allow anyone to live here with me except my staff. Dana is helping me put Belles Fleurs’ library in order. It’s quite a task. Since you’re acquainted with her, then you’re aware she’s an historian like her father. Both are brilliant.”

He picked up the shears. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have to get to work. It was nice meeting you, Mademoiselle Brusse. When the film is out, I’ll look forward to seeing it.”

Dana had never seen anyone think on his feet that fast! Poor Saskia didn’t know what had hit her. For that matter, neither did Dana…No man had ever shown her the respect or treated her the way Alex did. To defer to Dana and compliment her in front of Saskia was a new experience.

When another man might have let her sleep in the château using her sleeping bag, he’d gone out of his way to pamper her like a cherished guest. The night she’d had car trouble, he’d been there for her in an instant. He worried about her safety.

Alex was the antithesis of her father.

From the corner of her eye she noticed Saskia watching his hard-muscled body with a combination of anger at not having gotten her way and undisguised hunger. Suddenly she turned to Dana. “I saw you two before you saw me. Mixing business and pleasure can be risky.”

“As you’ve found out with Dad,” Dana drawled. “Given enough time we all live and learn. Talk to you later, Saskia.” Without staying to listen to anything else, Dana hurried up the path and around to the side entrance of the château.

Alex was already up in a tree pretty much out of sight. Although he’d only claimed that Dana was working for him to checkmate Saskia, he’d given Dana permission to rummage through the boxes on the third floor. He was wonderful!

Because of his generosity, she was determined to find out anything she could about Belle Fleurs’s history. Surely there’d come a day when Alex would want to know more. After she’d fixed the lunches, she’d go up and make an initial foray.

In the meantime she needed to keep working on his dinner for tonight. She wanted to cook him something authentically French. Yesterday she’d bought all the ingredients for it and had already done some preparations. On her way into the kitchen, she plucked her mother’s French cookbook from the pantry shelf where she’d left it. She opened it to the desired page.

Soak an oxtail, cut in joints, in cold water for several hours.

“I’ve already done that.”

Wipe with a clean cloth, and brown in butter with four onions and three carrots, coarsely chopped. When the meat is brown add two crushed cloves of garlic. Cover for two minutes, then add five tablespoons of brandy. Light this and let it burn for a moment, then add one half bottle of dry white wine, and enough bouillon so that the meat bathes in the liquid. Add salt, pepper, a bouquet garni, and cook slowly for three hours with the cover on.

In a little while she had it cooking on the stove. Next task.

Saute in butter one half pound of mushrooms, a good handful of diced fat bacon and about one dozen small onions.

She’d do that after she made the lunches and delivered them.

Later on in the afternoon she checked the recipe for more instructions.

Add the meat to this and pour over all the liquid which has been strained and from which the fat has been removed. Cover and cook for one hour more in a slow oven. The meat should be soft and the sauce unctuous without recourse to thickening with flour.

During the hour it was cooking, she hurried up the stairs. A few of the crew waved to her, but no one wanted to talk. Her dad was somewhere around, but they didn’t bump into each other. That suited her just fine considering that Alex had put Saskia’s ski jump nose out of joint. No doubt she’d already reported to Dana’s father what she’d seen in the orchard and had distorted it further.

Eager to explore, Dana took one of the side staircases to the third floor and walked the length of the château to the turret round. When she opened the door, all she saw was a sea of boxes in the musty room. Dozens and dozens of them. None were marked. Whoever had packed things up hadn’t bothered to take the time to label anything. What a shame.

She tried opening a few, but she would need a knife or scissors to do the job. Some markers to identify what was in the boxes wouldn’t hurt, either. And she’d need a chair. And some rags to clean off the dust. Tomorrow when she came up, she’d be prepared.

Once she’d returned to her bedroom, she put a change of clothes and some nightwear in a large bag she’d bought yesterday. It could hold most anything and was a lot easier to carry than a suitcase. A few toiletries and the contents of her purse and she was ready to go.

Dana stood at the top of the staircase and waited until no one was in the foyer, then she descended quickly and darted to the kitchen. It smelled good in here if she said so herself. In fact, it smelled the way a proper French kitchen should.

Pleased with her efforts, she turned off the oven, took the pot out and set it on one of the burners of the stove. With everything in order, she went over to the table and pulled out her notepad.

Monsieur Martin— Better put that in case anyone came in here and read it. Your dinner is on top of the stove. All you have to do is heat it for a few minutes. Just so you know, I’ll be staying in Angers overnight, but I promise I’ll be back in the morning.

D.

She put the note on the counter by the sink where he always washed his hands. That way he’d be sure to see it. With that accomplished she slipped out through the pantry to the side entrance and walked around the front of the château to her car.

Some of the cast and crew were getting in their vehicles. They all said hello to each other before she drove off. If Alex could see her leaving from his high perch in a treetop, so much the better.

After the way she’d responded to him in the orchard, she didn’t want him thinking what he was entitled to think. Heat poured into her cheeks remembering how she’d practically devoured him. At eight o’clock in the morning no less!

Last night she’d practiced painful self-control and hadn’t joined him when he’d phoned her. Tonight she knew she’d cave if he so much as looked at her. The only wise thing to do was remove herself from temptation in the hope of gaining some perspective. Since meeting Alex, she had absolutely none.

Dana must have brought Alex his lunch while he’d been sawing and couldn’t see her. When he came down the ladder, there was the basket sitting on top of his truck. Though disappointed she hadn’t called to him, he found himself salivating for his meal.

Tonight he intended to take her out for dinner and dancing. She couldn’t plead fatigue two nights in a row! He needed her in his arms and wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

Making it an early night, he did his last haul at six and slipped into the side entrance of the château with his basket, eager to find her. When he walked through the pantry to the kitchen, something smelled wonderful. His gaze went to a covered pot on the stove.

He set the basket on the counter and drew a fork from the drawer. Dana had cooked something that smelled sensational. He lifted the cover, unable to resist putting one of the pieces of beef in his mouth. It was kind of fatty and mild, but the stock was rich. He needed a spoon for it.

As he reached for one he saw a piece of paper lying near the sink. The note was short and sweet. He let out a curse. Dana Lofgren—What are you trying to do to me?

Before he exploded, he needed to calm down. If she thought she was going to hide from him tonight, she could forget it. He’d find her at one of the hotels Paul had lined up for everyone. After her scare on the road the other night, she wouldn’t dare go anywhere else.

His eyes flew to the pot. Alex wasn’t about to eat the rest of it without her. Forget dinner and dancing! He made a place for the pot in the fridge and left the kitchen.

By the time he’d showered and changed, the château had emptied. He locked up and left for Angers, driving his truck over the speed limit. This time he wouldn’t forewarn her with a phone call. No more of that.

He stopped first at the Beau Rivage, but they had no listing for her. His frustration grew when the Chatelet could tell him nothing. By the time he approached the concierge at the Metropole, he was beginning to wonder if she’d checked in at another hotel altogether.

“Bonsoir, monsieur. My name is Monsieur Martin from the Belles Fleurs estate in Rablay.”

“Ah…it’s a pleasure to meet you. I understand the members of the Pyramid Film Company staying with us are shooting a film at your château.”

“That’s right, monsieur. It’s very important that I speak to Mademoiselle Brusse. I understand she’s in room 140.”

“Non, non. The beautiful actress was staying in room 122, but she’s no longer with us. Mademoiselle Lofgren, the director’s daughter, is occupying that room now.”

“You have no idea where Mademoiselle Brusse went?”

He leaned forward. In a low voice he said, “I believe with the director.”

It seemed he and Madame Fournier had a lot in common. “You’ve been very helpful. Merci, monsieur.”

“Pas de quoi.”

Now that Alex knew where his fetching cook would be spending the night, he left the hotel to do a few errands.

Heat from a hot sun still lifted off the cobblestones. A summer night like this was meant for lovers, but he’d never been affected to such a degree before. He was aware of wants and needs growing beneath the surface. To feel emptiness and dissatisfaction with his life after a hard day’s work was a new phenomenon for him.

His jaw hardened. After discovering Dana would be gone until tomorrow, the idea of spending the night alone at the château sounded insupportable. How was it she’d become so important to him in two weeks’ time?

Before long she’d be off to Germany. And then what? Paul intimated she had plans to become a director.

Alex should never have insisted she stay. Knowing she was around day and night had him tied up in knots. Yet if he were honest with himself, he’d be just as nuts if she’d stayed at the Hermitage. No hiding place was too far for him to find her, and find her he would, father or no father.

He’d decided to give her until ten o’clock. It was five to now. After putting his purchases in the truck bed, he returned to the hotel. Mademoiselle Brusse’s room was on the third floor at the end of the hall. This experience reminded him of musical chairs, a game he’d once played in elementary school. Tonight, however, the adults had decided to make it musical bedrooms minus the accompaniment.

“Dana?” he called to her as he knocked. “It’s Alex. I know you’re using this room, so it would be useless to pretend otherwise.”

“Why would I do that?” came a familiar voice behind him. He swung around in surprise to see her coming toward him in the same clothes she’d had on that morning.

The humidity had brought a flush to her cheeks. Her hair had little golden curls with more spring when she walked. His fingers itched to play with them. She was clutching a carton in her arms. Her eyes questioned his without flickering. “If you wanted to talk to me, why didn’t you phone?”

He sucked in his breath. “Would you have answered?”

“Of course.”

Since he hadn’t tried, he couldn’t accuse her of lying. “Why didn’t you tell me you planned to leave the estate tonight?”

“Didn’t you get my note?” She could play the innocent better than anyone he knew. “I left it by the kitchen sink.”

“I saw it,” he clipped out. “I’m talking about this morning.”

A tiny nerve throbbed at the base of her throat. “If you recall, we were…interrupted.”

“My memory’s perfect,” he murmured, unable to look anywhere except her mouth. She’d started a fire with it at the vineyard. “What about at lunch when you came and went so fast I wasn’t aware of it.”

She averted her eyes. “I didn’t make the decision to stay in town until later in the day.”

He glanced at the carton. “What have you got there? You’re holding it like it’s a newborn baby.”

The color in her cheeks intensified. “Actually it’s something very old and priceless.”

Alex couldn’t imagine. “In that case let’s take it home in my truck where it will be safe and we’ll enjoy that delicious dinner you made. The aroma that filled the kitchen was mouthwatering.”

Her startled gaze flew to his. “Then you haven’t eaten it yet?” She sounded disappointed.

“I ate part of it, but when I realized you’d gone, I put the rest of it in the fridge for us. After the trouble you went to, I didn’t want to eat all of it alone.”

It frustrated him she still wasn’t convinced. When he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with her, he tried a different tactic. “Why don’t I hold the carton while you gather your things. Tomorrow I’ll drive you back for your car. I have to come in town again anyway on business.”

She bit the underside of her lip, increasing his desire for her. Hopefully it was a sign she was weakening. “All right,” she finally sighed the words, “but please don’t drop it. I couldn’t replace it for a long time.”

That sounded cryptic. At this point he was consumed by curiosity.

“I promise I’ll guard it with my life.”

It could be your life, Alex.

With her heart hammering, Dana handed him the carton. A few minutes later she’d packed everything in her bag and they left the hotel. In truth she hadn’t wanted to stay here at all and had dreaded returning to the sterile room after accomplishing her objective. For him to have shown up tonight thrilled her to her tiniest corpuscle.

When they reached the truck, she lowered her bag behind the cab, then took the carton from him while he opened the doors with the remote. “Let me hold it again until you climb inside.”

Alex could be so sweet. When she was settled, he gave the carton back and carefully shut the door. After they left Angers he flicked her a penetrating glance. “Did you discover anything of interest when you were opening boxes today?”

“Without tools I couldn’t see inside one of them and none are marked. It was very frustrating, but tomorrow’s another day. How’s your orchard going?”

“Thanks to those lunches, I’ve accomplished two more hours of work this week. At this rate I should be finished by the end of the next one.”

The days were going by too fast. Dana was starting to panic. “What’s your next project?”

“To tackle the undergrowth between the château and the winepress building.”

Before long everything on the outside would be done. That left the interior. With his work ethic, he’d have the place ready for tourists in no time.

She felt his eyes travel over her. “What are you thinking about so hard?”

“All the work you’ve been doing without any help.”

“It’s the kind I like.”

Dana admired him more than she could say. “You obviously love the outdoors.”

“I’ve always needed my freedom.”

Oh—she knew that. Alex had already defined the boundaries of their relationship to the month of August. How else had he managed to elude marriage all these years? Deep in thought she didn’t realize they’d entered the estate until she heard the gate clank behind them. He drove around to the side entrance and turned off the engine.

When he got out of the cab and opened her door, he flicked her what looked like a mysterious smile. “I’ve been looking forward to a midnight supper with you. It appears tonight’s the night.”

She’d dreamed of such a night. “Aren’t you tired after slaving out in the heat all day?”

“On the contrary, I feel energized.” On that exciting note he used his remote to let her in the château and turn on lights. While she hurried through the pantry, he followed with her bag and some purchases of his own.

“Where do you think you’re going in such a rush?” He’d taken the pot out of the fridge and placed it on the stove to heat.

“I thought I’d put this away first.”

He eyed the carton. “It’s dark upstairs. You might fall and break whatever it is you’re guarding so jealously.”

Dana couldn’t afford for that to happen. “You’re right.” She put it down on the counter.

“Why don’t you sit on the bench while I wait on you. After slaving over our dinner, you deserve a rest.”

“I’d rather help, but first I need to wash my hands.” She walked to the sink where she saw the note she’d left. When she’d written it, she never dreamed Alex would have come looking for her to bring her back. Her pulse was off the charts.

His actions had to mean something, but she was a fool if she thought he wanted more than a few weeks pleasure with her under his roof. Like this morning when she’d succumbed so easily, she could do it again and that frightened her.

Dana had been the one to ask if she could stay at the château. If anything, she’d been the one to take advantage of Alex, not the other way around. Whatever happened from here on out, she would have to accept the consequences and live with them.

Soon the smell of the meat wafted past her nostrils. When she turned, she noticed he’d already set the table. Along with French bread and the bottle of the wine they’d enjoyed the other night, he’d added an old silver candelabra with new candles.

Once he’d lit them, he turned off the kitchen light, transforming the room into an incredibly intimate setting. His eyes beckoned her to come and sit. The gleam in those dark depths sent a tremor through her body.

She twisted her napkin nervously as he brought the contents of the pot to the table in a wonderful old round bowl with handles. After sitting down opposite her, he ladled a portion for both of them onto their plates. “Bon appetit.”

Dana hoped it was good and took a first bite. To her surprise it didn’t taste like anything she’d ever eaten before. She took another, but it needed something. Maybe a baguette would help.

Alex had already eaten most of his. “My compliments to the chef. Among your many talents you’re a superb cook, Dana.”

She put her spoon down. “No, I’m not.”

He flashed her a curious glance. “Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s awful. I—I wanted to make you something spectacular,” she stammered. “It’s not.”

“What do you call it?”

“See?” Tears threatened. “Even you don’t know what it is.”

“Isn’t it beef?”

“No.”

“If you’re trying to tell me this is pickled pigs feet, I’m surprised it’s this delicious.”

“Wrong animal.”

One dark brow lifted, giving him a sardonic look. “Cow?”

“No.”

“Horse?”

“No!”

“Frog’s legs?”

She shook her head. “You’ll never guess. I found the recipe in my mother’s French cookbook I brought with me.”

He cocked his head. “Then this could cover anything from brains to innards to tongues.”

“This is more of an ‘end’ thing. The marchand at the boucherie told me it was a great delicacy,” she confessed.

“An end thing…” She could hear his brilliant mind turning over the possibilities.

When nothing was forthcoming she said, “It’s oxtail. How can the French eat it? I think it’s disgusting!”