She worried at her lip.
Would she quit doing that? It appealed to every heroic instinct he had—and he had a lot more of them than she gave him credit for—the thought of swooping in and protecting that lip from her cruelty. Offering himself to her teeth in its place. . . .
He shifted, wondering what her head was doing with his increasingly obvious arousal. Anyone would think she would like it, since he aroused her, but apparently it couldn’t be that easy.
“And I want subsequent editions to acknowledge me under each recipe that’s mine. Created by Gabriel Delange works fine. For the remaining print run of this first edition, you can just insert one of those slips of paper that corrects errors. It’s not ideal, but it’s either that or make you destroy the entire run.”
That lower lip got more punishment. Her physical awareness of him faded as her worry rose. Merde. You’re not the knight in shining armor, you’re the beast, remember? She’s never in a million years going to think of you as the hero. Women never did. “I’m just starting out as a food writer,” she said, low. “If I have to get my publishing house to do all that, they probably won’t ever work with me again.”
Gabriel sat still for a moment, his fingers pressing into that rough stone. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes, concentrating on the distant sound of his fountain, below in the square. “I’m never going to get any damn justice, am I?”
She said nothing. When he opened his eyes again, she had her arms wrapped even more tightly around her knees, and she was watching him with a mixture of worry and apology.
Bordel. “It is so like that salaud to have a stroke just before that cookbook came out.”
“As if he did it on purpose!”
Yes, all right, she loved her father. Le connard. He got three daughters to love him, even though he didn’t deserve it, while Gabriel lost his girlfriend of six years—sixteen to twenty-two—and had had a really lousy success rate when it came to long-term relationships ever since.
How did Pierre Manon always manage to manipulate his situation to get everyone else to give him their all, so much more than he deserved?
“Forget it,” he said roughly, shoving to his feet. “Don’t mess up your career with your publishing house. I’ll think of something else.”
He headed back toward the hotel door and paused in front of her. Her eyes ate him up, making him very conscious of his naked upper body, of the way his shoulders blocked out her moonlight. Chaton, you don’t have to just look. I know what I make might mislead you, but I myself am more than happy to be devoured like junk food. “Do you have a boyfriend or something? Fiancé? Married?”
Her eyes went enormous. She tightened her computer over her breasts, a defensive shield, but he saw her throat work again. “No,” she whispered.
He shook his head, feeling heavy, puzzled. Like some damn beast who had wondered out of the woods and gotten lost, baffled, in society. “Then I don’t understand why, when you want me to kiss you so damn badly, you’ll get so mad if I do.”
He strode out before he could crack and try it anyway and heard her tablet smack onto the stone terrace behind him.
Fallen out of her lap as she lost herself in dazed arousal? Or just poorly aimed at his head?
Why was he so bad at this? Surely no other man had to sue a woman just so he could make her put up with him long enough that he had a chance to figure out how to talk to her.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the wonderful Virginia Kantra, whose insight into story really helped me find the right track again on this book, after some unexpected events derailed it in the summer. She is not only a fantastic author, whose feedback is invaluable, but a true friend. Many, many other authors and readers offered to beta read, too, and I want to thank all of them for the impulse to help. I know how hard it is to take time from your own obligations to help someone else, and it’s truly appreciated.
And thanks also to my daughter Mia, for all the straightforward advice!
In the research for this book, I owe a huge thanks to Joseph Mul, who has one of the real last great valleys of roses in France, and who allowed me to come “help” with the harvest, play in his roses, and interrogate him relentlessly as to the career and life of a rose-grower in the south of France. I am deeply grateful also to Jean-François Vieille, who answered all my often-clueless questions about the extraction process for roses. Carole Biancalana, of the Domaine de Manon Plascassier, also graciously allowed me to visit her domaine and answered my many questions.
And these thanks would not be complete without mentioning the wonderful Lynne de R., the artisan perfumer who, in partnership with Guy Bouchara, has a shop in the old streets of Grasse and who spoke to me and my toddler from a doorway one hot Provençal afternoon, when I was finding all other doorways into the close-guarded perfume world of Grasse quite closed. Not only did she prove a fount of information about perfumery—research that will come out in another book—but she is the one who put me in touch with M. Mul and finally made the setting of this book possible.
And I want to give a shout-out to the wonderful graphic novelist Zeina Abirached, whose work inspired the backstory for Layla’s mother. (And who did, indeed, make a video about her “sheep hair” which you can find on YouTube.) While any other resemblance is completely accidental, her beautiful curly hair did inspire Layla’s.
And a huge thank you, of course, goes to all my readers for your patience in waiting for this book and for all your support. I hope you enjoy this world, too!
ABOUT LAURA FLORAND
Laura Florand burst on the contemporary romance scene in 2012 with her award-winning Amour et Chocolat series. Her international bestselling books have appeared in ten languages, been named among the Best Books of the Year by Romantic Times and Barnes & Noble, received the RT Seal of Excellence and starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, and Booklist, and been recommended by NPR, USA Today, and The Wall Street Journal, among others.
After a Fulbright year in Tahiti and backpacking everywhere from New Zealand to Greece, and several years living in Madrid and Paris, Laura now teaches Romance Studies at Duke University. Contrary to what the “Romance Studies” may imply, this means she primarily teaches French language and culture and does a great deal of research on French gastronomy, particularly chocolate.
COPYRIGHT
Copyright 2015, Laura Florand
Cover by Sébastien Florand
ISBN-13: 978-0-9885065-6-5
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected].
The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. www.lauraflorand.com
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