Rebecca Winters - Having the Frenchman's Baby

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she came back, striving for a steady voice. “The more I learn, the more I find out I don’t know, but I want to learn as much as I can.”

“Then you’re a rare species.”

She held his enigmatic gaze. “Since I’m fortunate enough to be in the presence of a master vintner, I realize my good fortune. So let me warn you that I’m prepared to pick your brains for as long as you’re willing to indulge me.”

The second those words came out of her mouth, she couldn’t believe she’d said them. He probably thought she was flirting with him. Maybe subconsciously she was. What on earth was wrong with her?

In the fading light she couldn’t see the expression in his eyes, but she felt them studying her intently before he answered her question.

“Limestone, granite, clay, marl—”

“Marl?”

“A crumbly mixture of clays, carbonates, shells and magnesium. Each vineyard’s soil is different and suitable for a certain kind of grape.

“Did you know, for instance, that wild grape vines grew here before the Romans domesticated them?”

“How fascinating! Even then the conditions were perfect,” she said in awe.

“Yes. The aroma you enjoyed from the Tokay grape earlier this evening came from the soil at St Hippolyte.”

“It was wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I detected woodsmoke, a touch of honey and something else I still can’t identify.”

“Licorice?”

“Yes!” she cried softly.

His eyes gleamed. “I have to admit I’m impressed, mademoiselle.”

Evidently she’d passed some sort of initial test or he wouldn’t have said anything.

He shifted his weight. It threw his profile into relief, drawing her attention to the lines bracketing his mouth.

Whatever his experiences of life, which included the grief of divorce, they lent him a brooding demeanor. Yet his sensual appeal was so compelling, she had to tear her eyes away.

“It would take more than a lifetime to learn everything you know, monsieur, so don’t mind me if I hang on to every word.”

His eyes smiled. “In that case I’ll tell you the most important thing to remember. You won’t ever detect that same aroma again if it comes from a different terroir.”

A wry smile broke out on her face. “I’m going to hold you to that claim and sample every type of wine from your various vineyards.”

After a slight pause, “That could take some time.”

“How many wines do you produce?”

“Sixteen.”

A higher figure than she’d presumed. He’d just provided her with an excuse to linger in his kingdom a little longer. But if she were wise, she wouldn’t give in to that temptation or he would know she’d lost sight of her professional objective because of her growing attraction to him.

“Now I’m the one impressed,” she declared. “What days are your wine cellars open? I know tomorrow you’re closed.”

He let the soil fall from his hand. “Nevertheless I’ll ask my manager, Giles Lambert, to phone you and make himself available in the morning.

“The old man’s a walking encyclopedia of information. He’ll be delighted to brainwash you into making Domaine Chartier your exclusive white wine source.”

With those words, Monsieur Chartier had just brought this unexpected interlude to a close. Knowing he wouldn’t be around tomorrow should have eased her mind, yet she felt a strong sense of disappointment, which was ridiculous.

Hopefully her expression didn’t give her away. “If it won’t be an imposition for him.”

“He lives to talk about our precious vines.”

Her mouth curved upward. “Then I assure you I’ll be a captive audience. The Tokay I was served at dinner convinced me I don’t need to look elsewhere this trip.

“One thing I’ve learned about wine—I don’t like being overwhelmed by too many choices. I’d rather concentrate on your Pinot Gris and Riesling while I’m here.”

“You’re very wise,” he muttered, sounding as if her comment had surprised him. “If you’re ready, I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

Unable to help it, she found herself examining his firm jaw and the slight cleft in his chin. Her gaze wandered higher to his straight nose. He had well-shaped brows. All in all the arrangement in such a patently masculine face made him irresistible.

Rachel didn’t want to leave the vineyard yet, but he’d given her no choice. He had some place else to go.

Walking ahead of him, she reached the Wagoneer first and got inside before he could assist her.

He didn’t seem inclined to talk. When she thought about it, she realized he hadn’t asked her one personal question. There’d been no show of curiosity on his part, not even about the kind of restaurants she represented.

Rachel on the other hand was the one guilty of so many unanswered personal questions about him, she was ready to burst.

Yet she realized that a man like him didn’t come along often. To imagine he might be available to her, let alone interested, was absurd.

Any woman who misread the signals and tried to step over the invisible line he’d drawn would soon feel the fool.

What she should do was thank him for deputizing his venerable vineyard manager to educate her about the fabulous wines the Chartier family had produced for generations.

But she refrained from saying anything when she sensed a curious tension coming from him since they’d driven away from the vineyard.

As he maneuvered the curve that led them back to town she noticed the way his suntanned fingers tightened almost compulsively on the steering wheel.

Evidently he had something serious on his mind far removed from the possible sale of wine to some nebulous restaurants in the UK.

Was it the same thing that had been on his mind earlier today right before their near miss?

Not wanting him to think she expected tonight’s experience to be repeated, the second he pulled up in front of the hotel she opened the door and slid out while the motor was still running.

Facing him the way she would any business person at the end of a successful meeting, she said, “You’ve made my introduction to Alsatian wines the highlight of my trip.”

“Even if our initial meeting caused you some tense moments?”

She smiled. “Even then. Seriously, I’d like to thank you for giving me this much time. I’m looking forward to meeting with your manager tomorrow. Goodbye, monsieur.”

She shut the door.

If he said anything in response, she didn’t hear it as she hurried inside the hotel.

Since she wouldn’t be seeing him again, she intended to put all personal thoughts of him out of her mind.

After reaching her room, she picked up the bottle of Tokay and opened it once more to inhale the aroma.

Licorice… Of course. He knew all its secrets.

Too exhilarated to think of sleeping yet, she set up her laptop and began recording the evening’s events.

She didn’t want to leave out a single piece of information or a bit of wisdom he’d imparted. One day all this research would go into her book.

When she finally went to bed, she was still reliving the time spent with him.

“Please don’t let him be too unforgettable,” she begged of the darkness before closing her eyes.

ON THE forty-minute drive back to St Hippolyte, Lucien Chartier, whom everyone called Luc, got on his cell phone to Giles.

“We have a potential buyer from the UK staying in Thann at the Hotel du Roi. According to Philippe, Mademoiselle Valentine buys for three London restaurants, all called the Bella Lucia.

“I asked him to check them out for me. They’ve been established since nineteen forty-six and are reputed to be some of the most exclusive restaurants located in London.”