The Vintner and the Vixen (Vintage Love Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter 4

Maya woke to a pounding on her front door. She opened one eye and squinted at the clock. Seven a.m. On a Saturday. Someone was about to die.

She grabbed her wrap as the pounding continued, tying it as she raced down the stairs. There was no peephole, and given her state of undress, she called through the closed door, “Who is it? And I only ask so I know what name to give the paramedics when I beat you senseless for waking me at this hour.”

A masculine chuckle was followed by Jacques’s deep voice. “I come with coffee. And pastries.”

She opened the door a crack and peeked through. Any other man showing up at a woman’s door with coffee would carry it in two paper cups. Not Jacques. No, he held a tray with a silver coffee carafe, two porcelain gold-rimmed cups, and cream and sugar in tiny silver pots. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted over to her. A basket covered with a lace-edged tea towel hung from the crook of his elbow. It was that, and not the sexy smile, that made her open the door wide.

“You should thank your chef. Pastries saved your life this morning,” she said, gesturing for him to enter.

Jacques hesitated for a second then stepped into the cottage. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be sure to thank him. I’ll set up breakfast in the kitchen while you get dressed.”

“Don’t you like what I’m wearing?” Who knew she was such a pyromaniac, always playing with fire?

“Too much. Get dressed, Maya. In twenty minutes there will be a half dozen men here to install a security system. If you’re still wearing that, I may never be able to get them to leave.”

She scurried up the stairs, returning ten minutes later in an aqua-colored crop top and white jean shorts. She’d pulled her hair into a messy bun at her nape, brushed her teeth quickly, and applied a coat of mascara. The man had brought pastries after all. He deserved something decent to look at while he ate them.

When she returned to the kitchen, Jacques had breakfast set up on the small table. The back door was open to let in the fresh morning air. He stood gazing out the doorway, and she took the opportunity to stare at him. He’d replaced yesterday’s suit with lightweight, tan pants and a short-sleeved blue shirt. The latter was stretched tight across his back and shoulders. And when he bent over to toss a bit of bread to an animal outside she was able to appreciate his other fine assets. He turned around at her audible intake of breath.

His gaze ran over her, lingering on her exposed midriff and belly button ring. The temperature in the kitchen ratcheted up a couple more degrees.

“Don’t you have any clothes that cover your whole body?” he asked.

She shrugged. She didn’t dress to please a man. It was warm, and she wanted to be comfortable. “Not at the moment.” Taking a seat at the table, she poured them both a coffee and added a spoonful of sugar to hers. Still he stared. She shifted in her chair. Who was off balance now?

“How did you get a crew to install the security system on such short notice and on a Saturday?” Was he going to change the access code the minute her back was turned so she couldn’t get in? She had the law on her side; the deed to the cottage was safely locked away. But she couldn’t risk going to court and the whole dispute becoming public. So she’d let him think he was winning. For now.

“I’m Jacques de Launay. When I pick up the phone, people come running.” He sipped his coffee and continued to stare at her over the rim.

She was used to male attention. Hell, she’d worked as a nude model at her art school to pay for some of her classes. And not a night went by at the club without at least three propositions. But the look in Jacques’s eyes was different.

“That easy? Must be nice.”

“Most of the time.” He handed her the basket of pastries, and she selected a
pain au chocolat
, her favorite. “I can see that if the security people are going to finish today, I’ll have to keep you away from here. Would you like a tour of the estate?”

“Is that some sort of veiled insult?”

“No, it’s a compliment as to your ability to distract even the most determined of men.” Was he referring to himself? Surely the great Jacques de Launay had more to do on his Saturday than escort an improperly dressed Canadian girl around his estate.

“I’m supposed to meet with your grandfather at ten.”

He pulled apart a croissant. “Consider me as his stand-in. I left him a note saying you’d be with me today.”

“That was presumptuous of you.”

“I prefer the term self-assured. Makes me sound less obnoxious.”

“If you say so.” But she did want to see her inheritance. “Will you show me the ten hectares I own?”

His mouth tightened. “We need to discuss that. The land is an integral part of the winery and the whole estate. You must sell it back to the family.”

“I
must
do nothing.” She put down her cup and crossed her arms.

“Are you always this disagreeable?”

“Always. Still want to show me your estate?”

He sighed, although it was accompanied by a wicked smile. “I can see no other way.”

“Bite me.”

“With pleasure.”

Before he could take up her challenge, the sound of vehicles at the front of the cottage announced the arrival of the security system people. Jacques rose and went to the door, and she followed after popping the last bit of croissant into her mouth. He greeted each of the workers with a handshake and asked the name of two he didn’t already seem to know. A man who took time for the little people. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all.

“When will you be ready to go?” Jacques asked after he introduced her to the lead man. Workers were already swarming all over the cottage.

“Five minutes,” she replied, hurrying to the bathroom before that, too, was invaded. It was going to take a hell of a lot longer than five minutes to prepare herself for a day in the company of Jacques de Launay.

***

Jacques put the milk in Maya’s fridge and the remaining pastries in her bread box while she finished getting ready. Grand-Papa may have prohibited him from kicking Maya out of the cottage, but he hadn’t said anything about getting the land back. If Maya didn’t return the ten hectares his grandfather had so foolishly gifted to the woman who had stolen his heart, then the winery would go under. The key for Jacques would be to keep his focus on business and off Maya’s body.

Dieu
, when she’d appeared in that sexy top and ass-hugging shorts … this day was going to test his restraint to the limit. He pulled out his wallet and the sonogram photo he kept there. It had been folded and unfolded to the point of ripping, the picture faded by the heat from his body. Didn’t matter; the image was etched in his heart. When he’d been given the picture of his son, everything had seemed right in his world for the first time. Now it was a reminder of why he couldn’t get involved with another woman. Ever.

By the time Maya returned, he had himself under control. She’d slipped on a pair of canvas shoes and had a small backpack slung over her shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Almost.” She strode over to him, reached up, and ran her hands through his hair. Shock rooted him to the spot. “There, that’s better,” she said as she stepped back, her head cocked to one side. “I can’t spend the day with a man whose hair looks better than mine.” The smile she gave him left him like a deer in the headlights.
Merde
.

He resisted the urge to smooth his hair back into place. If being a bit disheveled was what it took to get on Maya’s good side, he could play along. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that the feel of her fingers on his scalp lingered, sending tingles down his spine. If he was as smart as people said he was, he’d introduce Maya to his estate manager and head back to Paris, find the first available woman in his address book, and forget Maya Tessier even existed. But he couldn’t leave his grandfather vulnerable to this woman’s charms.

He steered her towards the underground garage, the doorway cleverly concealed in some shrubbery.

“Are you taking me somewhere they’ll never find my body?” she asked as he opened the door and gestured for her to precede him. Her body was tense, her eyes wary.

“No. This is where we park the cars. We may be at odds about your inheritance, but I would never hurt you.”

She searched his face. “Why is your car down here?” She walked down the cement steps, her light scent lingering behind her.

“One problem with owning a sixteenth century house is that the original builders forgot to leave a place for parking. And the French Heritage Society wouldn’t let us put up another building on the grounds, so we went underneath the rose garden.”

“Clever.” She looked around the assortment of super-cars. “Whoa, this place would make Iron Man rust with envy.”

“Most of these are Daniel’s. He’s the car buff. We can take one of them if you prefer. He won’t mind. I have the Land Rover and the BMW; my Audi is in Paris.”

“Whatever you want.”

“If we take the Land Rover, we can go off road. There’s a little lake where I thought we could have a picnic lunch.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He pulled a set of keys out of the lock box and opened the vehicle so she could get in. As she settled into the seat, wiggling her bottom as if to embed herself, he was surprised at how much he was now looking forward to spending the day with Maya.

When they arrived at the winery building, Maya hopped out of the vehicle without waiting for him to open her door. Out of the air-conditioning, the day was becoming very warm. Maya, however, looked delectably cool, and he had to force his hand from touching the bare skin at her waist.

“Wow, it’s hot,” she said as she pulled the elastic out of her hair that had been holding it at her nape and refastened it into a high ponytail, revealing a tattoo on the back of her neck. He took a step closer to read the intricate font.

“Grace and serenity?” They weren’t the first two words that came to mind when he thought of Maya. More like sexy and trouble.

She laughed. Definitely sexy trouble. “That was my great-grandmother’s catch phrase. She said you can’t control what life throws at you, but you can control your reaction. If you deal with adversity with grace and serenity, then nothing can ever keep you down. I probably should have had the tattoo on my forehead though, as my reaction is more often anger and denial.”

“Your great-grandmother sounds like an interesting woman.”

“She was incredible. I wish I were half the woman she was at my age. By the time Gran-Gran was twenty-six she’d already lived through a war, been married and abandoned, and had a three-year-old daughter. All I’ve done is get in a load of trouble, definitely without grace or serenity.” Her eyes went from liquid cognac to solid amber.

“I have a feeling your time will come. The war made people grow up faster. Why didn’t your great-grandmother return to France after her husband left? She had family here, didn’t she?”

“Gran-Gran said she’d made her choice and had to live with it. Your grandfather was married. And she couldn’t live near him and not be with him.”

“She left Grand-Papa for another man two weeks before their wedding. I don’t think she could have loved him that much.”

“And your grandfather married some other woman two weeks later. He couldn’t have been that heartbroken either.”

“There was no love in my grandfather’s marriage. I think he married to hide his shame at being left by Yvette. My grandmother died before I was born, but not even my father had fond memories of her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Gran-Gran wasn’t happy either. My great-grandfather was a drinker and a gambler. He lost all his money and then ran away, leaving his wife and newborn child destitute.”

“Sounds like your great-grandmother got what she deserved.” If looks were poison, he’d be writhing on the ground in death throes.

“No one deserves to be abandoned. She made a mistake, chose the wrong man. She let love blind her to great-grandfather’s real nature. It happens all the time.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?”

A shadow crossed Maya’s eyes.
Maudit
, he was supposed to convince her to sell the land back to him, not delve into her past. The truth was, Yvette had taken advantage of his grandfather’s gentle heart. Jacques had to get back the property that rightfully belonged in his family.

“The women in my family are crap at choosing men. It’s almost as if someone cursed us to marry losers once Gran-Gran left Charles.”

“I don’t believe in curses. But I do believe in trust. Once that is broken, it can never be repaired. And that’s one thing a marriage should have—trust.”

“Not love?”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. When had the pleasant day turned into a soul-baring interrogation? “Love is for romance books and to sell songs. I prefer to live in reality.”

“I’m not so sure I like your reality. What’s your problem? Did your wife cheat on you or something?”

“Or something.”

“And that’s it? You give up on love because one woman didn’t live up to your ideal of what a wife should be? I think maybe you need to let it go and lighten up.”