They’d been thrilled about the project and had become friends.
Magda had assigned each of them a different area in Europe to do research, and Abby had been sent to Switzerland. Now, because of their “great work”—Magda’s words after they’d turned in their information—she’d delighted them with a reward. It turned out to be a vacation at a château and vineyard called the Clos de la Floraison on the shores of Lake Geneva. Nothing could have pleased them more.
Magda explained she had a permanent arrangement with the old owner of the vineyard. From time to time she used it for herself and guests to enjoy. They could stay there while they did all the touring they wanted around the region.
Since the three of them had to return to their teaching assignments for the upcoming fall semester, they planned to take advantage of this time together and sightsee to their hearts’ content.
As they had another month before going back to the US, Abby was also hoping to find evidence of a poem that Lord Byron had been rumored to write called Labyrinths, or some such title, while he’d been in Switzerland. But it was a work that had never seen the light of day and many experts dismissed it as sheer fiction. But Abby hadn’t given up on the possibility of finding out the truth, if it existed.
Recently a fragment of a memoir by Claire Clairmont, who’d traveled in Switzerland with Byron, had been found in a branch of New York public library. It had shed new light on Lord Byron and Shelley. What Abby would give to unearth a find equally sensational, but no amount of digging had been successful so far.
While Abby sat there beneath a sunny sky, wondering where else she and the girls might look while they were here for the month, she noticed a vintage black Renault drive up and park.
Out stepped a tall man, maybe early thirties, who stood fit and lean. With his overly long black wavy hair, he epitomized her idea of the quintessential drop-dead sensational male. She didn’t know such a person existed.
Only a Frenchman had that appeal, the kind she’d conjured in her mind and fantasized about from time to time growing up. He had an expression much like the one she’d seen on the French actor Charles Boyer who had played the lead in a famous old film classic The Garden of Allah.
Abby had been a teenager when she’d first watched it and had fallen in love with the actor. He played the part of a monk who ran away from a monastery in North Africa and fell in love with an Englishwoman. They went out in the desert together, but he carried a terrible secret.
At times his sadness combined with his male beauty was almost painful to watch. Abby had watched it over and over again. His performance had seemed so real that she always been haunted by him and had decided there was no Frenchman alive more captivating.
Until now.
Abby couldn’t take her eyes off the stranger, something that had never happened to her before, not with Nigel or the boyfriend she’d loved earlier in her life. There was a brooding aura about him that caught at her emotions though she fought not to be attracted.
Who was he? Where had such a man come from?
Abby felt as if he was burdened by a great weight. It was there in the way he carried himself. The lines radiating from his eyes and around his mouth spelled pain. His work clothes, a white shirt with the sleeves shoved up to the elbows and dark trousers, told her he’d stopped whatever he’d been doing to get in his car and drive here.
This was the magnificent someone who’d come for her?
His bronzed complexion, close to a teak color, overlay chiseled features. The man worked in the sun. Beneath black brows his midnight-black eyes met hers and roved over her with an intensity that sent a ripple of sensation through her. She trembled for no good reason, something she couldn’t prevent.
There was an unrehearsed sensuality about the way his hard mouth smiled almost derisively, as if he knew she’d shivered slightly and found it amusing. Even though he’d caught her staring, she refused to avert her eyes. Her pulse raced as he approached her.
“Mademoiselle Grant?”
Those two words, spoken in a deep seductive voice, curled their way through to her insides. She heard no trace of the singsong French spoken in this part of Switzerland. He was a Frenchman down to every atom of his hard-muscled body.
“Yes. You must be from La Floraison.”
He nodded. “I was told to look for a woman with golden hair.” His excellent, heavily accented English came as a shock.
“You have the advantage. They didn’t tell me your name.”
“Raoul Decorvet.”
“I thought Magda’s friend was a great deal older.”
“He was. Sadly, Auguste died a month ago at the age of eighty.”
“Oh, no—” she cried. “We didn’t know. Magda didn’t tell us.”
“You weren’t supposed to know.”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m here negotiating the sale of this property business for the former owner. Auguste had a bad heart so he never knew how long he had to live. The vineyard managers, Louis and Gabrielle, have said that you and your friends are welcome to stay here for the month. I was on hand when Gabrielle received a distress call from your friends. She was busy so I offered my help.”
“Thank you, but this isn’t right. We don’t want to put anyone out.”
Again, she felt his penetrating gaze wander over her, missing nothing before it rested on her hair. “It’s no imposition. If you’ll get in the car, I’ll explain while I drive you to the château.”
His potent male charisma made her so aware of him, it was hard to act natural. She felt nervous. After her experience with Nigel, Abby was almost frightened by her visceral response to this total stranger who blew away every man she’d ever known. He reached for her suitcase and helped her into the front passenger seat before putting it in the back.
After he’d started the car, she said, “I’m sorry you had to come for me. I could have waited until my friends showed up. Providing taxi service is hardly the work of a busy Realtor.”
“Pas de problème.”
Abby was sure that wasn’t true, but Raoul Decorvet had a certain air of authority. She didn’t want to argue with him since he’d put himself out on her behalf, so she kept quiet while he started the car. They headed toward the road and wound around the village toward the hillside. En route she detected a flowery scent.
“What is that fragrance I can smell in the air?”
“La Floraison is greeting you.”
She studied his striking profile. “What do you mean?”
“The flowers of the grape vines open in June. This is the reason why Magda wanted you to come now. For the next fifteen days, they’ll emit their intoxicating perfume while they undergo automatic pollination. Their dual reproductive organs, mostly female among the male, ensure the future of the species.” Their glances fused. “Nature’s way is remarkable, n’est-ce pas?”
For some reason the subject of their conversation sounded personal, especially the way he said it in that deep, silky voice. It brought heat to Abby’s cheeks. “Have you found a buyer yet?” she asked in order to change the subject, hoping to break his spell over her.
“Oui. It’s already done. The new owner will take possession at the end of June.”
“Please don’t tell me you put it off for the benefit of me and my friends.”
“For your information, it’s to honor the commitment Auguste made. While you’re here, Gabrielle will take care of you. You’ll be staying in the unattached farmhouse next to the château and should be comfortable there.”
“I’m sure it will be wonderful.” Magda had seen to that, but the appearance of this fascinating Frenchman had knocked the foundations out from under her.
Before long the château came into view. Abby marveled at the gray stone structure. It reminded her of a small fortress and caught at her imagi
nation. In former times it would have been a commanding landmark.
He drove them along rows of lush vineyards in full flower and past a thriving vegetable garden until they arrived at a charming farmhouse with a mansard roof.
“There’s Gabrielle now. It’s getting late in the day. She’ll make something for you to eat if you’re hungry.”
“No, no. I’ll wait for my friends.”
Abby spotted the wiry, middle-aged woman wearing a straw hat with a broad rim, who came around the side of the farmhouse. She was dressed in slacks and a tunic.
“Bonjour!”
The woman’s warm smile made Abby feel welcome. She got out of the car, liking her already. “Bonjour, Madame.”
“Soyez la bienvenue!”
“Merci. Thank you.”
“I see Raoul found you.” The Swiss people impressed her with their ability to speak good English. “My husband is up in the higher vineyard and I was doing some pruning. When your friends called about their difficulty, Raoul volunteered to take our car and go for you.”
“I’m very grateful to both of you.”
“I understand they should be here soon. Come inside with me.” She reached for Abby’s suitcase. “We have five bedrooms with en suite bathrooms. Since you are the first one to arrive, you may have your pick.”
“This is exciting. I’ve been looking forward to this vacation for a long time.”
Abby turned to Raoul. He was too gorgeous and too intriguing. She should be relieved to say goodbye to him, yet deep down she would rather have stayed outside to talk to him, which was crazy. He had the power to sweep any woman away, especially Abby. She couldn’t believe her feelings were so strong, not when she’d promised herself never to get seriously involved with any man for the rest of her life.
“Thank you for picking me up.”
His brooding dark eyes narrowed on her features. Again, she sensed he was in some kind of turmoil. She could feel it. “Don’t forget this.” He handed her the purse she’d left in the car.
What on earth was wrong with her? In his company she’d forgotten all about it and had left it lying on the seat. The slight contact of skin against skin sent another shiver through her body. “À bientôt, mademoiselle.”
She knew that phrase well enough. It meant “see you soon.” To read any real meaning into it meant she was a fool. But he had called her mademoiselle. Maybe he’d noticed she wore no rings. For that matter she hadn’t seen a wedding ring on his finger either, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t married.
Abby turned and followed Gabrielle inside the house, but her mind was filled with unanswered questions about him. Why would a French Realtor be doing business here?
Maybe he lived on the French side of Lac Léman and was authorized to operate in both countries. In that case he wouldn’t be staying at the château. If he had a car, where was it? She wondered if he’d be leaving soon. The manager would know the answers, but if Abby were to ask her anything, it would suggest she was interested.
Don’t do this, Abby. Don’t be a fool.
Gabrielle led her through the beamed common rooms. She found the restored nineteenth-century farmhouse warm and inviting. They went upstairs to the bedrooms. Each had a mini fridge filled with drinks, and every room had a basket filled with fruit and Swiss chocolate.
Abby chose a room that looked out over the vineyard to the west. She could see the estate workers. One of them was probably Louis. Of course there was no sign of Raoul.
“If you need anything, pick up the bedside phone and ring the château. I’ll answer. Your friends know to come straight to the farmhouse. Your breakfast will be laid out at seven every morning in the dining room.”
Abby turned to Gabrielle. “Everything is perfect. Will it be all right to open the window? I love the fragrance coming from the vineyard.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
“De rien. À tout à l’heure, mademoiselle.”
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER GABRIELLE LEFT, Abby undid the lever and pushed the window open. The smell was divine. She unpacked her suitcase. With that done she put her purse and laptop on a round table in the corner around which several upholstered chairs had been arranged.
The bathroom contained every amenity. Once she’d refreshed herself and put on her frosted tangerine-colored lipstick, she went downstairs and walked outside.
There was no point in lying to herself. While Abby waited for the girls, she felt compelled to see Raoul again and couldn’t understand it. What was it about him? How could he create all these feelings and yearnings roiling inside of her in one short meeting?
Again, she had to question her sanity after what she’d experienced with Nigel. But she’d never felt like this with him. Not even close. Their attraction had grown over time with mutual interests.
Nothing could match this violent explosion of feelings that had made her heart trip over itself from the moment Raoul got out of the old Renault and walked toward her. The Frenchman had caused her to forget the lesson she’d thought she’d learned following Nigel’s treachery.
Something was definitely wrong with her. It scared her that she was so drawn to him. Afraid of her feelings, Abby ran back toward the farmhouse and waited in front to watch for her friends.
She checked her watch. Since boarding the train, time had gotten away from her. It said 5:00 p.m. Concerned at this point, she pulled out her cell to call them. But just then she saw a dark red car pull up. She put the phone away and ran toward them.
“You’re here at last!”
Her friends got out and both hugged Abby. Zoe smiled at her. “You look great!”
“So you do you guys.”
“Sorry we’re so late, but nothing’s perfect.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m thankful we’re all here in one piece.”
“Obviously you were picked up at the station.”
An image of Raoul flashed through her mind, causing her body to melt like butter in the sun. “Their Realtor picked me up.”
Ginger eyed her. “What Realtor is that?”
“Why don’t we drive to the cheese fondue restaurant Magda told us about and I’ll tell you everything. But first let’s get you settled.”
When the girls heard the news about Auguste, they would feel as sad as she had. Abby decided that it would be better to prolong their happiness by eating first. “Sounds great.”
The three of them hugged again. She helped carry their things inside and led them up the stairs. “You have your choice of four rooms.”
Zoe entered a room with an antique armoire and declared it her home away from home. Her dark blond hair worn in a windblown style had new highlights streaked by the sun while she’d been in Greece. With her azure blue eyes she was a knockout.
Abby’s friends were both attractive. Ginger’s gray eyes combined with her cap of black curls made her look French. She could be taken for a movie star. They inspected the other three rooms and she chose one that looked out on the lake. After opening her window, Ginger turned to them.
“I’m starving, you guys. We had to wait forever for the car. I say we unpack later and go eat!”
“You won’t get an argument out of me.” Abby ran to her bedroom for her purse and hurried outside with the girls.
Since Ginger had done the negotiating, she was the designated driver. That was fine with Abby who kept her eyes glued for any sign of Raoul, but he didn’t make an appearance. She should be thankful, not crushed that she might never see him again.
Determined to put him out of her mind, she sat back, resigned to enjoy the bucolic scenery. But that was easier said than done. Raoul’s image wouldn’t leave her mind.
Zoe served as navigator and pulled the directions Magda had given them out of her purse. “We have to drive to the small village o
f Chexbres, which according to Magda is seven hundred feet above the lake. We should pass through the most important Swiss wine region. Apparently their main product is a table grape wine.”
“The Swiss call it chasselas,” Abby added her two cents. She loved the sound of the word. “I’ve learned a lot about it while I’ve been working here.”
They drove higher, gasping over the landscape. “You guys—” Ginger cried out. “Look at those rows of grape vines going up that steep hill! It’s amazing!”
“That’s why they have to be terraced,” Abby explained. “Sometimes they use pulleys and have to be irrigated because the Rhône valley can get warm and dry here.”
Zoe had opened her window. “I love this climate. Smell that air. Delicious.”
Her comment reminded Abby of those moments with Raoul when he’d told her about the fragrance from the flowers at La Floraison. Nature truly was remarkable to have created a man like him, but she kept that memory to herself.
They continued to drive until they reached the town of Chexbres with its magnificent view. “There it is! The Lion d’Or.” Ginger pulled over to the curb near the restaurant and they went inside for a feast of cheese fondue eaten with French bread.
Their hunger was at a pitch and they ate every morsel of bread accompanied by goblets of chasselas.
“Before we plan what we’re going to do tomorrow, tell us about this Realtor who picked you up. You’ve been kind of quiet about that.”
Abby looked at Zoe. The time had come. “I have something important to tell you guys. It came as a shock to me.”
“What?” Ginger asked.
“Magda’s friend Auguste, the owner of the château, died last month.”
Both girls fell back into their seats. “What?”
“I think the man who came to get me must be a Realtor because he’s been here selling the estate. His name is Raoul Decorvet. We’ve been allowed to stay on until the end of June when the new owner takes possession. It’s Magda’s wish.”
Ginger frowned. “You’re kidding! She never said anything. We can’t go on living here now. It wouldn’t be right.” Zoe shook her head in agreement.
Captivated by the Brooding Billionaire Page 2
