Rebecca Winters - Having the Frenchman's Baby

The maddening smile she remembered flashed once more.

“There are two versions to every story. The police are more likely to believe that you were all over the road because you’re used to driving on the left and became confused.”

“Considering they’re French, they probably will,” she countered. “Now that you’ve had your fun, please leave that wine bottle on the table and go away.”

“I noticed you enjoying it.”

He wasn’t about to quit.

No doubt this man, who was too attractive by far and knew it, found it amusing to flirt with what he considered an available female. Particularly one drinking alone in public and enjoying it so much she’d been sitting there with her head tilted back, eyes closed, unaware of the people around her.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it happens to be the best white wine I’ve ever tasted.” And that was saying a lot…

He seemed to ponder her comment before he said, “I’m glad to hear it, Ms Valentine. Nineteen ninety-eight produced an excellent vintage.”

She blinked. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

He put the bottle back on the table. “Luc Chartier. I understand you wanted to make an appointment with me.”

He was that Chartier?

Rachel sat up straighter in the chair. “I thought your secretary was going to phone. I had no idea you would take the trouble to come to the hotel this evening.”

He gave an elegant shrug of his broad shoulders covered in a light gray silk suit. “Why not? I was in the area when I received a call from my secretary, Philippe.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet a new wine buyer, especially one who has already sampled the goods with such uninhibited relish.”

His lips twitched again, rekindling her anger.

“Because of you, I almost missed the experience.”

He cocked his dark head. “What do you say we call a truce to the Hundred Years War and start over again? You’ve already admitted the Pinot Gris has no equal. I’d like to make up for the fright I caused you by giving you a personal tour of the domaine.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “In that rocket you call a car? No, thank you. I have little desire to end up as twisted wreckage around a bunch of grape vines.”

“I’ll make a concession and drive you in the estate Wagoneer,” he inserted. “That way we can go off road. I swear I’ve never had an accident with any of my prospective buyers.”

She believed him. Yet even if it weren’t true, Rachel imagined his charisma got him what he wanted no matter how audacious he was. But not this time.

“I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind about making an appointment.”

“I prefer to be spontaneous too,” he came back. “What are your plans after dinner?”

“Surely that’s not any of your business.”

He examined the shape of her oval face until her cheeks grew warm.

“The last thing I meant to do was frighten you on the road today. I’ll admit I had serious matters on my mind. Forgive me.”

Forgive him?

Where had that apology come from? It sounded a hundred percent genuine.

She could feel the ice cracking.

“Whether you do any business with me or not, I’d like to make it up to you, Ms Valentine.

“If you’ll give me half an hour, I’ll come back for you. While we talk wine, we’ll take a ride through the vineyard. Now that it’s in flower, it’s especially beautiful at dusk.”

Rachel sat back. “You’re making this very difficult for me. If I refuse to accept your apology, then I come off being the lesser person.” After a slight hesitation, “I suppose it’s possible I was so enthralled with the view, I forgot I wasn’t the only driver on the road.”

“An honest woman,” he murmured.

“A man who can say he’s sorry. I guess we’re even.”

“Pax?”

Rachel nodded. “Pax. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit I’d enjoy seeing your vineyard. But only if you’re sure it’s all right with your wife.”

There was a distinct pause before he said, “If I weren’t divorced, my wife would be the one showing you around. As it is, you’re stuck with me.”

“Since you’re the owner of Chartier et Fils, I have no complaints,” she quipped to hide a myriad feelings she didn’t dare examine too closely.

Some unnamed emotion produced a glimmer in the dark recesses of his eyes. It caused her pulse to race for no good reason.

“In that case, I suggest you change into something casual. Lovely as your outfit is, you won’t find it suitable if you want to get out and do a little walking.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“Until you’re surrounded by the vines, you can’t fully appreciate what a miracle they are.”

He’d just expressed the thoughts she’d always held.

Whatever else went on inside him, she sensed he was a man who was in love with his work. Apology aside, not many vintners she’d met cared enough to go out of their way to this extent for a buyer.

“What color is your Wagoneer?

“Blue.”

“I’ll watch for you.”

“Bon. Enjoy the rest of your meal. A bientôt.”

As he walked away Rachel noticed that quite a few interested female eyes followed his progress from the room.

After eating a little more of the delicious vegetable entrée, she charged the bill to her room, then went upstairs to change. She took the wine bottle with her for a souvenir of her first day in Alsace.

Once she’d slipped into jeans and a plum-colored knit top, she put on a pair of well-used walking shoes she’d packed in her suitcase.

With twenty more minutes to wait until he returned, she decided to do something productive in order not to think too much.

Before she’d agreed to go with him, she’d been so furious, she’d actually shouted names at him. That was something she’d never done to anyone in her life.

Not wanting to think about how badly she’d lost control, or, worse, how easily he’d won her around, she decided now would be a good time to make a call to the UK.

Pulling out her cell phone, she punched in the digits. After three rings a familiar male voice answered.

“Grandfather? It’s Rachel.”

“How’s my Black Beauty this even—”

But before he could even finish the question, a coughing spell ensued. The doctor explained it was to be expected with a pulmonary embolism, yet it still alarmed her.

“Just a minute,” he said in a croaky voice.

“Take all the time you need.”

She adored her Grandfather William, who’d called her his Black Beauty from the time she was a little girl.

Though she’d grown up tall and slender, her thick hair had some brown mixed in with the black, but he didn’t worry about small technicalities.

He’d given her the book of the same name before her mother had taken her and Rebecca to live in New York when they were ten.

His present for Rebecca had been a magnificently illustrated book of Sleeping Beauty.

“These are so that neither of my little beauties will forget me,” he’d whispered in a loving voice.

“I don’t want to leave you and Daddy,” Rachel cried between sobs. The divorce between his son Robert and their American mother, Diana, had taken a traumatic toll on the entire family.

His gray eyes moistened. “I know. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to do. But I’ll come to visit you, and when you and Rebecca fly to London to stay with your father, you’ll have sleepovers with your grandmother and me.”

True to his word, there were sleepovers, and her grandparents did make trips back and forth from the UK to Long Island when they could get away from the restaurant business long enough.

On those occasions he would say, “You’re the thoroughbred of the Valentine family, Rachel. Of course, you inherited your mother’s famous Crawford smile and her large blue eyes. On you their tinge of gray gives them a wistful quality.