“Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Be fair,” he said coaxingly. “Haven’t I saved you any number of man-hours sweating in these fields? You owe me.”
“You wanted to help.”
He nodded. “And now I want you to walk with me.”
“Where?”
He pointed to the south.
Caitlin hesitated, then started at a brisk pace in the direction he had indicated.
“Caitlin!”
Adrienne’s small son, Gaston, was standing in the road, gazing pleadingly at her. His face was dirty, his brown hair tousled, gleaming, in the sunlight. “Tonight?”
She shook her head. “I have no time tonight.”
His blue eyes filled with tears of disappointment and, as usual, she melted. “Tomorrow night. But you must ask your mother first and you must get all your chores done before you come.”
His face brightened. “I will. Can I press the buttons?”
She smiled. “But of course. What would I do without you? You’re a great help to me.”
He gave her a toothy rainbow smile, and the next minute he was gone, racing down the road after his mother.
“What was that all about?” Alex asked.
“He likes to come to the perfumery when I’m studying the Wind Dancer and work the remote.” She gave him a sly glance. “He thinks it’s magic.”
“Abracadabra.” Alex echoed her own word to him. “I’m surprised you put up with him. I received the distinct impression intruders aren’t welcome in your Wind Dancer domain.”
“Gaston’s no bother.” She shrugged. “Well, maybe a little bother, but children usually give more than they receive. They teach us wonder.”
“Do they? I’ve never been around them much.”
“And he loves the Wind Dancer. Children always do.”
“Whom does he belong to?”
“Adrienne and Étienne. He’s one of my godchildren.”
“How many do you have?”
“Twelve.”
“Quite a family.” He fell into step with her. She was almost as tall as Alex and their strides matched comfortably.
“What do you want to ask?”
“Wait.”
The sun was shining, the scent of earth and blossoms heady in her nostrils and Alex’s presence oddly companionable. It had been a long time since she had walked with anyone merely for the sake of walking. She always had something to do, somewhere to go, someone to see.
“You don’t chatter,” Alex observed after ten minutes of silence.
“Neither do you.” She looked at him quizzically. “Was that a sexist judgment? Chattering isn’t only a female characteristic. Pierre Ledux shoots words out like bullets from a machine gun.”
He made a face. “I noticed.”
“Jacques says you’re a good worker. If you ever lost your money, he’d hire you on in a minute.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Has Jacques been the overseer here long?”
“Since before I was born. Jacques grew up on Vasaro. I can remember him lifting me onto the bed of the truck with the blossoms when I could only toddle.”
He nodded to the white flowers growing in the field to their left. “That’s jasmine, isn’t it?”
Caitlin nodded. “It will be ready for picking by the end of next week.”
“What else do you grow here?”
“Orange blossom, geranium, bergamot, tuberose, hyacinth, cassia, mimosa, lemongrass, palmaros—”
“Wait.” Alex held up his hand. “Perhaps I should ask what you don’t grow?”
She smiled. “Not much. The ground is very fertile. We limit our output to meet demand, but Vasaro has experimented with almost everything over the centuries. We’ve even had a small success with some of the tropical plants like the vanilla orchid.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Dear God, I love the smell of jasmine.”
“Is that why you made it the top note of your perfume?”
“I don’t know.” She stared bemusedly at the white climbing jasmine. “Perhaps. I remember coming down here to the fields with Jacques at twilight when I was a little girl, and it was as if we entered a magic world. A golden haze seemed to hang over everything. The light turned the blossoms to rich cream and the sky was lavender and pink and scarlet. Sometimes I’d play hide-and-seek with Renée and Pierre and I’d run through the fields and shriek and—” She stopped and thought about it. “Memory. I guess that’s why I used the jasmine. I wanted to hold on to a memory.” She turned and smiled at Alex. “I suppose that’s what perfumes are all about. We want to relive an old memory or create a new one.”
“Jacques brought you down here? Not your father?”
Her smile faded. “Jacques brought me here only on the nights there was a party at the house. My father always said a grown-up party was no place for children.” She glanced away and her pace quickened. “There were lots of parties at Vasaro in those days.”
She could feel Alex’s gaze on her face, but he didn’t pursue the subject. They both fell silent again.
Alex didn’t speak again until they had crested the next hill and a breathtaking panorama of sea, sky, and mountains lay before them in the distance. “What city is that?” He pointed far below them at the city curving along the coastline of the Mediterranean. “The cities along the Riviera all seem to jumble together.”
“That’s Cannes.” She pointed to the gravel road leading around the cliff and down the hill. “About five miles away that road joins with the main highway that leads to Cannes. You brought me here to ask about those little towns?”
“No, I wondered about that house.” He waved his hand to indicate a small stone cottage with a thatched roof a few hundred yards distant at the foot of the hill. “Who lives there?”
“No one.” Caitlin smiled. “That’s the Cottage of Flowers.”
“It looks very old.”
She nodded as she started down the hill toward it. “Philippe Andreas built it on the property before the French Revolution. He managed Vasaro for Catherine Vasaro.”
“Was it used for a storage shed?”
“No.”
“Then why did he build it?”
She chuckled. “He was the local Don Juan. He used to bring the peasant women here for romps.”
“Droit du seigneur?”
“Oh, no, the women were willing enough.” She opened the door and entered the cottage, wrinkling her nose at the musty smell of dust and decayed wood. Cobwebs were everywhere. The only article of furniture was the single bed beneath the window across the room. The cotton spread covering it was mildewed and yellow with age. The wooden floor seemed to be in good shape but as filthy as the rest of the cottage. The hearth of the brick fireplace at the far end of the room was as cobwebbed as the rest and looked as if half the thatching from the roof had fallen through the chimney. “It’s pretty dilapidated, isn’t it? No one ever comes here anymore. We’ve always tried to keep it in good shape, but I haven’t had the time or money to have it repaired lately.”
He strolled over to the small brick fireplace. “Why bother if you don’t use it?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “It’s part of Vasaro’s history.”
He turned to look at her and bowed mockingly. “Forgive me, I should have realized that anything connected with Vasaro was sacrosanct. Even the love nest of a libertine.” He glanced around the cottage. “Where do you think he had his way with his paramours? On the bed over there?”
Caitlin was suddenly acutely conscious of the dimness of the cottage, how alone they were, Alex’s blazing energy. She glanced toward the bed in the corner. “No, the bed wasn’t here then.”
Alex looked intently at her. “Where?”
“According to Catherine’s journal, there was a sort of pallet. Philippe would spread a satin coverlet over the pallet, strew it with petals, and then make love on top of the petals.” Alex’s intensity was making her nervous and she laughed shakily. “That’s why they call it the C
ottage of Flowers.”
“But it wasn’t love, was it, Caitlin?” His voice was very soft. “They came with him because they were hot and lusty and wanted him to give them what they needed. And he brought them here to do just that.”
She smiled with an effort. “No, I guess he didn’t make love to them. A poor choice of words.”
“Choosing the right words is important. Honesty is important.” Alex paused. “I want you every bit as much as Philippe did his peasant women. More.”
She went still. “What?”
“You heard me.” He met her gaze. “And I think you want me too. I’m saying I want to have you, but that it would be sex. Not love. Damn good sex and nothing else. I won’t lie to you. I don’t think there is such a thing as romantic love. I’ve certainly never run across it. Have you?”
“No.” She stared at him, stunned. “You’re certainly not trying to sweep me off my feet with sweet words.”
“But they’re honest words.” His next words were halting, almost awkward. “Sometimes I may seem a cold man, but I’m not. I know many ways to please a woman.” He paused. “And I would be kind to you. Kindness is important too.”
“Yes, kindness is very important,” she said abstractedly, still grappling with the main issue. “I didn’t expect this. I’m a little . . . confused.”
“I thought I’d made myself clear.” That almost Slavic awkwardness of phrasing again. “Shall I be more explicit?”
“You’ve been explicit enough.” She backed away from him. “I don’t think we should have come here. The atmosphere must have taken you a little off balance.”
“Philippe’s lair didn’t bring this about. For the past three days. I’ve been intending to ask you to sleep with me.”
“You’ve scarcely looked at me.”
“Because I hurt when I do,” he said simply.
Her eyes widened in surprise, not so much at the information as the fact that a man as guarded as Alex admitted such a thing.
“I’ve wanted you from that first night, but I didn’t want it to come to this. I thought if I worked hard enough I’d be so tired I wouldn’t—” He shook his head. “It didn’t help. It’s worse than before, and I knew I had to put an end to it. I considered seducing you, but that wouldn’t have been fair. You deserve honesty.”
“Thank you,” she said dazedly. “Are you finished now?”
“Almost. I’ve told you only that I want you.”
“What else is there?”
“I need you.”
The word was spoken with such intensity, it sent an electrifying shock through her. He was telling the truth. For some reason, he did need her, and so urgently, the raw power of it was acting as a magnet drawing her toward him.
She took an impulsive step forward and then stopped. Sacrebleu, what was she doing? She didn’t want this. “No.”
He drew a deep breath and then exhaled it slowly. “Think about it. No ties, just mutual respect and nonstop erotica until we both grow tired of it.”
“I don’t want to think about it.” She turned to leave. “The whole idea confuses me.”
“I’ll wait until you get used to the idea.” He opened the door and stepped aside to let her precede him. “But I’ll try again, Caitlin.”
She knew he would. She had watched the single-minded drive he had exhibited in the fields for the past few days. “I won’t change my mind.” She met his gaze directly. “You’re too intense. You drive too hard. You’d interfere with what I want for Vasaro.”
“Try me. What can it hurt?”
She had a notion it could hurt a great deal. She had already acknowledged to herself she didn’t have the right psychological makeup for a casual relationship. Alex seemed to be certain he could keep emotionally uninvolved, but she wasn’t as sure about herself. In the short time he had been at Vasaro he had exerted a strong fascination and stirred her imagination more than any man she had ever met.
“Try me,” he said again.
She didn’t answer him as she started quickly up the hill.
Neither of them spoke again on the way back to the manor.
He was watching her again.
Caitlin’s glance sidled away from where Alex was working to the stem of lavender she had just snapped off the branch.
He wasn’t trying to make her aware of him. She knew instinctively he was as helpless to keep himself from looking at her as she was to keep from looking at him. She tossed the blossom in her basket and reached out blindly for another flower.
Dieu, it had gotten to the point that she didn’t need to look at him to still see him in her mind’s eye. It was hot today, and he and the other men had stripped off their shirts. A gleam of perspiration gilded the tanned flesh of his chest and shoulders, and she had glimpsed small, hard nipples through the dark triangle of hair thatching his chest. He had tied his black hair back from his forehead with a blue and white handkerchief he had borrowed from Pierre, and the band gave him an air of primitive savagery. As he bent and twisted with the rhythm of picking the flowers, the muscles of his flat stomach rippled and pulled with every movement.
“Not bad.” Renée slanted Caitlin a mischievous glance. “Now, if I weren’t married to my gorgeous Pierre, I’d envy you.”
Caitlin’s nostrils should have been filled only with the scent of the lavender she was picking. Yet she could swear even across the field she could smell the faint fragrance of lime and musk that was distinctively Alex’s. “There’s no reason to envy me.”
“No? Having that hunk just down the hall?” Renée tossed a blossom into her basket. “Or is he still down the hall?”
“He’s down the hall.”
“You always were a little crazy in the head. Why not enjoy him?”
Caitlin didn’t answer.
“He looks at you like he wants to eat you. Maybe he does. Did any man ever—”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“You probably didn’t. That Claude you told me about was pretty much a kid, wasn’t he? Missionary position?”
“I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Oh, I am.” Renée looked over her shoulder. “He’s looking at you again.”
She wouldn’t look across the field. It would only disturb her more and there was no sense to it. She would ignore Alex and keep on working.
Slowly, helplessly, she looked across the field at him.
He was staring at her.
She forgot to move.
A breeze stirred, touching her face and throat with its hot breath, pressing the cotton of her shirt against her breasts.
She heard a low whistle from Renée. “If it’s that bad, you’d better move down the hall, my friend. A bed’s softer than the ground.”
Caitlin pulled her gaze away from Alex and started to pick again.
She wasn’t waiting for him to come back, she told herself. It was only that she couldn’t sleep and needed some fresh air.
Caitlin shifted on the cushions of the window seat, her gaze on the fields below. She was lying to herself. If she couldn’t sleep, it was because Alex was out there somewhere.
For the past two nights she had stood at her window and watched him stride down the hill and into the fields, his steps charged, restless. Both nights he had been gone for hours and, sleepless and tense, she’d waited for him to return.
He was coming now, moving swiftly, lithely, up the hill. The night was so still, she could hear his passage through the grass and the even tempo of his breathing. The moon highlighted the luster of his black hair and outlined the definitive line of his body. Then, just before he reached the stone steps, he stopped and his head lifted to gaze at her window on the second floor.
She drew back into the shadows of the alcove in sudden panic.
“Caitlin?”
She didn’t answer.
“I know you’re there. I saw you.”
She didn’t speak.
He bit the next words out, each one weighted with pa
in. “Don’t make me wait any longer. I need you.”
He had said that once before.
Dear God, she was beginning to think she needed him too.
He stood there for a moment longer, perfectly still, every muscle of his body rigid with tension. Then he moved slowly, heavily, up the stone steps and out of view.
She found herself holding her breath as she heard his step on the stairs leading to the second floor.
He passed her door and continued down the corridor to his own room.
“Perhaps you’d better skip picking in the fields this morning. Aren’t you feeling well, Caitlin?” Katrine asked with a frown as she handed her the cup of coffee she had just poured. “You’ve been very quiet lately.”
“I feel fine.” Other than being in heat, she thought desperately. She wondered what Katrine would say if she actually burst out with those words. She imagined sex for Katrine would have to be as candy-box pretty as the other elements in her life. She wouldn’t understand this almost animalistic craving. “Perhaps I’m a little tired.”
“Alex was saying just last night at supper that you work too hard. After all, you could stop for supper when we have a guest.”
“Alex isn’t a guest. He’s our business partner.” She wished Katrine would quit talking about Alex. She took a hasty sip and put the coffee cup down. “I have to go now.”
“Aren’t you going to wait for Alex? You haven’t waited for him for the last two days. I’d think since he’s being nice enough to help you in the fields that you’d have the courtesy to—”
The kitchen door slammed behind Caitlin, cutting off Katrine’s words.
Two minutes later Alex caught up with Caitlin and fell into step with her as they walked toward the field. She didn’t look at him.
“It can’t go on.” Alex’s voice was low. “There’s no sense to it. Why are you fighting me? I won’t hurt you.”
She swallowed to ease the tightness of her throat and kept her gaze straight ahead.
“I’m healthy and not particularly kinky. You’ll like me.”
The sun was rising, spiking the lavender fields with purple splendor, but she was scarcely aware of the beauty spread before her.
Reap the Wind Page 8
