Cinderella on His Doorstep

by Rebecca Winters

  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 alo
ne.”

  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!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ALEX’S explosion of laughter echoed off the limestone walls. It was the deep male kind, so infectious her tears turned to laughter, too.

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it. His touch shot warmth through her system. “I’m touched that you went to so much trouble for me.”

  “I should have fixed you something I love. Because you’re the kind of man you are, you would never say anything to hurt my feelings, but even I can tell this would have to be an acquired taste. It’s too mild and fatty, a terrible thing to serve a hungry man.”

  “Terrible,” he teased. His gaze slid to hers. It was alive with emotion. “Let’s have some wine with it.”

  “No—wait—”

  Her cry resounded in the room, wiping his sensual smile away. “Why? What’s wrong now?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that I bought us a special surprise while I was in town. Since I didn’t think I’d be seeing you before tomorrow evening, I hadn’t planned on producing it yet, but under the circumstances I think now is the perfect time.”

  “Do I get to open it?” He looked and sounded like an excited schoolboy waiting to tear away the wrapping on his long-awaited birthday present.

  She nodded.
“But please be careful.”

  In a few swift strides he reached the counter. She got to her feet and moved closer to watch him. The carton encased an old green bottle of wine packed in straw. He drew it out to examine the magenta and cream label. She’d already had the privilege. In fact, she’d stared at it for a long time, hardly able to believe she’d been able to buy anything so precious.

  His face paled. “Domaine Belles Fleurs Coteaux-du-Layon Cuvee D’Excellence, 1892, Anjou, France.” As he spoke the words, he sounded like a man who’d gone into shock.

  Suddenly his eyes shot to hers. They were on fire. “Where did you get this?” His voice trembled.

  “I went to an impeccable source. Madame Fournier was able to put me in touch with Monsieur Honore Dumarre, a wealthy businessman and wine connoisseur living in Angers. He had three bottles of Domaine Belles Fleurs from different vintages in his wine cellar. When I explained why I wanted one, he was gracious enough to sell this to me.”

  She could see Alex’s throat working. Even his hand was trembling. “A bottle like this can cost upward of five thousand dollars. Even meeting his full price, he’d have an almost impossible time parting with it.”

  Dana smiled. “Once in a while it helps that I’m Jan Lofgren’s daughter. The fact that he’s shooting his latest film on the Belles Fleurs estate went a long way to make up his mind for him. I threw in the fact that the new owner lived on the other side of the world until now and has never tasted his family’s wine before.”

  Alex resembled a war victim suffering shell shock. “I have no words for what you’ve done,” he whispered, “but you have to return it and get your money back.”

  She took a fortifying breath. “I knew you’d say that, but I did it for the pleasure it gave me. Do you know he wants to meet you? He’ll be phoning you to make the arrangements.”

  Alex’s face darkened with lines, revealing the remote quality she sometimes glimpsed, the quality that made her shiver. “Didn’t you hear me, Dana? If you don’t return it, I will.” He’d already taken possession of the bottle and put it back in the carton. It sounded like he hadn’t heard anything else she’d told him.