He almost chuckled at Piper’s relieved breath.
While Piper went in search of a Wi-Fi signal so she could contact her sister, Frederic made arrangements with Gregory for the next day, then went upstairs to lie down. His head ached. He was not used to traveling outside Paris anymore. Navigating unfamiliar locations and crowds took extra concentration. Especially Saint Pancras station, where he had the additional strain of translating signage.
He’d been pushing himself harder than usual the past couple days. Piper was having such a good time; he wasn’t about to spoil her happiness by asking that they slow down. Besides, the truth was, he didn’t want to slow down, either. He was having a good time, too. No knowing how many more days like these he would have.
He was breaking his own rule about taking things day by day. Something about Piper made him reflective.
As his head sank against the pillows, he turned his focus to a more pleasant thought: the kiss he stole earlier. He’d been craving a second kiss since their first one ended, and after three hours of forced proximity—where her vanilla scent surrounded him like a cloud—he could no longer wait. She tasted as sweet as he remembered. There was a delicious innocence to her kisses. Then, there was an innocence to her, too. As rocky as her childhood was, she still saw beauty in the world. She was the type of woman for whom fairy tales could exist. Look at how she was with her sister, going so far as to email Stuart Duchenko to salvage the sister’s romance. She no doubt thought this portrait she was chasing represented a wonderfully tragic grand passion. It was infectious, this spirit of hers. Why else would he stand stupidly under a tree on the side of an English highway?
It was also why he made sure she understood from the start that whatever was between them would be a very finite fairy tale that would end when she returned to America.
Until then, though, he would show her a romantic time. And while he would not pressure her into his bed—he would never pressure any woman—he would do his best to convince her that his bed was where she wanted to be.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew there was a soft knock on the door.
“I’m sorry,” Piper said when he opened it. “Were you sleeping?”
“Dozing. Happens when I rest my eyes.” He ran a finger through his hair, tugging the roots to clear the cobwebs. “Did you reach your sister?”
“I did. We had a good talk. I’m actually very hopeful for her and Stuart.”
“That’s good.” He stepped aside to let her come in, only for her to start and stop. The way she toyed with the neckline of her jersey suggested she wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to do. Her hesitancy fit with all the other innocent facets of her personality.
It was utterly charming.
“I thought I’d take a walk through the village. See if any of those eight buildings was a gift shop. I was going to ask if you wanted to join me, but if you’re not feeling well...”
“My eyes are tired is all,” he replied.
“Do you want to rest?”
Hardly. “If I stayed behind every time my eyes weren’t one hundred percent, I would never leave my house.” And he would not be that person in a million years. “I would love to walk the village with you.”
“You believe in pushing yourself, don’t you?” she asked when they were downstairs. “I mean, you’re on the go all the time.”
“I don’t believe in holding others back.” An understatement if ever he made one. “And I believe in making the most of every moment.”
“We’ve certainly crammed a lot of stuff into the past couple days, that’s for certain.”
He leaned close and said in a voice only she could hear, “The weekend is still young. Who knows what interesting activities we will discover.” He didn’t need peripheral vision to know he’d made her blush. So adorable.
Based on the village center, Frederic guessed this was not one of the Cotswold villages that catered to weekend travelers. They found a wine shop, a real estate business and a law firm. The only shop was an apothecary, where Piper bought a handful of postcards and two bottles of English lavender bath salts.
“What do you think?” she asked as she held the bottle under his nose. “Will it make a nice souvenir?”
“Very nice.” Although her own scent was much nicer.
They contented themselves with walking the sidewalks after that. Piper was enchanted with the houses and hidden walkways. “I feel we walked onto a Hollywood set,” she said, stopping to smell a hedge of blackberries. “If I were going to make a movie about an English country village, this is what it would look like.”
Frederic had to admit, the gardens and brambles were beautiful. He liked the quiet. Moreover, he liked the comfortable silence the two of them shared. He noticed the other day that there wasn’t a pressure to fill the space with noise the way there was with some of the women he spent time with. He was able to focus on navigating the uneven sidewalks without distraction. Well, almost without distraction, he thought, as his companion stopped to admire another garden. While he had been resting earlier, she pulled her hair into a ponytail. He liked when she wore her hair back; he could see her features better.
Because he could, he curled a stray hair behind her ear. She immediately ducked her head. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. I haven’t eaten since the train,” she said. Did she know her fingers were retracing the path he just made? “The man at the store told me there’s a pub about a half mile to the north. The Hen & Chick or something like that. Should we try it out?”
“I don’t think we have much choice. There seems to be an equal number of inns and restaurants.”
“True,” she said, smiling. “Considering how nice the rest of the town is, I don’t see how the pub could be bad. And you did say to take things as they come...”
The subtext of her comment sent a thrill through him. “Good to see you’re getting into the spirit.”
“As far as dinner is concerned, anyway.” She ducked her head again, but he caught the tiny smile she was trying to hide nonetheless.
“Dinner’s always a good start,” he told her.
They started walking again. “I wonder what the chances are that this place has a traditional pub menu. I’ve always wanted to try steak and kidney pie. And steamed pudding. Like spotted dick or treacle.”
Frederic had to laugh at her enthusiasm over her potential menu. “I’m beginning to understand why you became a chef. You clearly love food.”
“Good food,” she corrected. “I’ll try anything once, but to be honest, some of the froufrou stuff I can do without.”
“Froufrou?” He didn’t understand.
“Overly fancy. I’m not a fan of when chefs try too hard with food. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for mixing things up, but sometimes a steak is best when you leave it a plain old steak.” She let out a soft laugh. “Guess that explains why Chef Despelteau hates me. He’s the king of froufrou.”
“I’m sure you’re exaggerating, and he doesn’t hate you.”
“Don’t be so sure. I know you think he’s pushing me to be better, but I think he just doesn’t groove on the way I cook. Hasn’t since day one.”
They were passing under an oak tree. She reached up and plucked one of the leaves. “You know, the other day when you found me crying in the kitchen, I was thinking of quitting,” she told him.
“Really?” He knew she was upset, but thought she simply had a bad day. If she had quit, they wouldn’t be walking this sidewalk. “What made you change your mind?”
“We worked too hard to get me to Paris. It’d be wrong not to see things through.”
We. Meaning her sister and her. Frederic wasn’t sure why, but talk of her sister and culinary school together unsettled him. There was an element of obligation to the way she talked about
the combination that he didn’t like.
“Surely if you are unhappy, your sister would not want you to continue.” At least not the sister she’d described to him. “She’d want you to be happy.”
“Oh, she does,” Piper replied. “She would tell me to come home in a second, but like I said, quitting doesn’t feel right.
“Besides,” she added, “I’m not unhappy. Not right now, anyway.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His satisfaction almost outweighed the uneasiness he was feeling on her behalf. “So you finish your coursework. What then? What will you do when you go back to Boston?”
“Get a job at one of the local restaurants and work my way up the chain,” she said. “Isn’t that what one does with a culinary certificate?”
Yes, but one usually sounded more enthusiastic about the prospect. Then again, most students enjoyed school as well. This was one of those times when he wished he could walk and focus on his companion at the same time. To be able to see what she was thinking.
“You could open your own restaurant. Café du Piper.”
She laughed. “Someday, maybe. A little bistro where I could design my own menu. Patience and I used to talk about my doing that.”
Again, Patience. The woman was beginning to bother him, she was so ubiquitous. “Are all your dreams tied to your sister?” he asked, sharply.
“No.” But her voice was too defensive to be convincing. “I have plenty of my own dreams.”
“Like what?” Suddenly, very interested in hearing what she wanted, Frederic stopped walking and positioned himself so he could look her in the eye. “If you could do anything you wanted, what would it be?”
“Cooking, of course.”
“Is that all? Just cooking? Tell me, what is Piper’s passion?”
He was glad he stopped if for no other reason than he was gifted with the sight of her lashes sweeping downward like a thick black curtain. “You’ll think it’s silly.”
“No, I won’t.” There was nothing about her he’d ever find silly. “I’d truly like to know.”
“All right, but I’ll warn you, it’s not all that fancy.”
“No one said it had to be.”
She took a deep breath. “If I could do anything in the world, I would spend my time cooking wonderful meals for the people who matter to me. Food was there for me when I needed a friend. I would like to give people the same gift.
“Told you it was silly,” she said, turning her head.
“Not silly at all. It’s a lovely sentiment.” One that fit her perfectly. How lucky those people would be.
Leaning close, he kissed her cheek. “I hope you get your dream,” he whispered.
Don’t let it die for your sister’s sake, he added silently.
* * *
The pub was called the Hen & Rooster, and while the plaque next to the front door said it was established in 1666, Piper was pretty sure it had been modernized many times. The blast of comfortable, clean-smelling air that greeted them upon entering was her clue.
Aesthetically, the inside looked exactly like a seventeenth-century tavern. So much so, in fact, that Piper almost expected the bartender to be wearing period clothing and a leather apron. The floors were slanted. The walls were uneven. As they were walking into the dining room, Frederic clipped the top of his head.
“Must not have had too many people taller than six foot,” she teased.
“More like five. There should be a sign warning people. Or padding on the cross beams.”
“Poor baby. Does this help?” She massaged the top of his head, where he had tapped the beam.
“Much better,” he replied. She couldn’t see his eyes for the sunglasses, but she could feel their stare on her skin nonetheless. Felt as if he was concentrating all his attention on her face. Her mouth, to be precise. Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips. “Thank you.”
She slipped her hand free and fought the urge to run it nervously across the back of her neck. Amazing how the air between them shifted so quickly, easy one moment, humming with awareness the next.
Of course, the fact that he’d kissed her twice in ten minutes probably helped that cause along.
Other than a pair of men at the bar, the restaurant was empty. That didn’t stop the hostess from placing them at a table in the corner near an unused fireplace. Intimate and romantic. What a surprise. Maybe there was a competition between France and England, after all. To see which one could make her fall under Frederic’s spell the fastest.
She could have told them they needn’t work so hard. Frederic was doing fine without their help. Desperate for a distraction, she studied the single-sheet menu the hostess handed her.
“Do they have your pie?” Frederic asked.
“Afraid not. Looks like the chef prefers more continental than traditional British. Unless quinoa is an English staple I didn’t know about.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” she said, giving an exaggerated sigh. More to best him in the dramatics department than anything. “I’ll simply have to make do with roasted guinea fowl.”
“Poor baby.” Just like that, the mood went back to being easy. If only they’d struck up a friendship earlier in her employment. The year could have been so much nicer. In the back of her mind, she sent up a silent thank-you to Ana. Without her portrait, they would still be virtual strangers.
“Good evening. Can I take your order?” The bartender appeared at their table with a pad in his hand. Piper gave her order.
“The same, along with a bottle of sauvignon blanc,” Frederic said when she was finished.
“Did you even look at the menu?” She saw him fingering the paper, but the sheet never actually left his plate.
“I trust your judgment. Plus, I left my magnifying glass in my overnight bag.”
“Ahh, the truth comes out. Now it’s my turn to hope you aren’t disappointed.”
“I haven’t been so far.”
A flutter danced through her. Better be careful. She already liked him more than she should.
Now that they were seated, he’d removed his sunglasses, giving her the chance to study him straight-on. What she saw left her feeling guilty. There were lines around his eyes and mouth. The kind that came with fatigue. He was rubbing his thumb and middle finger across his eyebrows, massaging the skin underneath.
She waited while the bartender served the wine, then asked him, “Eyes still tired?”
“A little.”
She had a feeling the two of them had different definitions of the term. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. I could have gone sightseeing on my own.” Wouldn’t have been as enjoyable, but she would have endured.
“Absolutely not. I told you before, I am not going to sit in my room acting like an invalid because of a little eyestrain.” The fierceness with which he spoke startled her. Way more than you’d expect for a simple suggestion.
He must have realized how sharp he sounded, too, because when he spoke again, his voice was softer and more in control. “I thought we settled this back at the inn.”
“We did. But then I started thinking about how tired you looked. I feel bad that I didn’t think about your needs.”
Apparently, she said something wrong, because he immediate stiffened. “My need is for you not to accommodate me,” he said, glaring over his wineglass.
“I only meant...”
“I know what you meant.” Again, he corrected his voice, clearly trying to cover whatever nerve she’d touched with her comment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to be sharp. Let us say I have done my share of accommodating people’s needs in the past and it wasn’t pleasant.”
Clearly. “Would it help if I told you I won’t be one of those women?” It was the
only thing she could imagine had happened. That a former girlfriend had been overly demanding.
“It wasn’t a woman.”
Who, then? Piper watched as he rolled the stem of his glass back and forth between his fingers. His eyes were focused on the contents, but she had a feeling he wasn’t really looking at the wine. Rather he was debating what kind of answer to give.
She wasn’t sure why, but she expected some kind of clever deflection. Thus it surprised her when he said, “The problem with accommodating is that it is very easy for a person to turn someone else into their servant.”
A harsh way of thinking. Whoever this person was must have really been demanding. “All I said was I could have gone to the drugstore alone. It’s not like I offered to cut your meat or anything. Although technically you could order me to do that since I am your servant.”
That should have earned a laugh, but it didn’t. Frederic simply went back to rotating his wineglass. His features had grown stormy; in the dim light, his eyes were like thunderclouds.
“My mother did everything for my father,” he said.
“Some women are traditional that way.” Even as she spoke, however, the words sounded flat.
“This had nothing to do with traditional. My father was incapable of doing anything without help. He needed my mother constantly. She had no life of her own. Everything revolved around him.”
“You don’t have to explain.” She hoped he would—there was so much she wanted to know about him—but from his sudden hoarseness she could tell the subject was a painful one.
“What about all the things she did with you? You said the other day she exposed you to art...”
“I said she made sure I was exposed. The nanny would take me, and when I came home, she and I would talk about what I saw.” He looked down at his wine again. “To be fair, if she had a choice she would have taken me herself.”
Piper knew all about not having choices. “Why was he so...” She wanted to say selfish, but it didn’t seem her place.
Beauty & Her Billionaire Boss Page 9
