by Jules Wake
She came down the steps as if facing a firing squad, her face averted from the mirrors. He felt a pang at her obvious discomfort and wanted to reassure her.
Damn, charming her was one thing but he couldn’t get involved. It wasn’t down to him to look after her. He didn’t like the direction his thoughts were taking. She might well be an attractive woman with lot of unrealised potential but he had to have that Ferrari and not let any feelings side-track him. Nice as she was, he had to remember Laurie was a means to an end − besides she wasn’t his kind of woman. She’d want too much. Commitment for a start, being sensible, planning things, doing the right thing. He thought of his ex-wife and could almost hear her voice thick with disapproval. She’d never been one to hold back on her opinion of other women’s dress sense.
The slap of Laurie’s sandals on the marble white stairs broke his reverie and he stepped forward. Her gaze met his and he almost laughed when she lifted her chin and held it with a regal tilt all the way down. Maybe she didn’t need looking after as much as he’d thought.
She reached the bottom and stayed on the last step gripping the ornate iron banister, as if psyching herself up to abandon the security of the banister and step, to find out just how deep the swimming pool was going to be.
Then again, maybe she knew already.
Chapter 10
Crossing the floor in six rapid strides, he held out his arm for her to link hers through.
‘Allow me.’ She looked up, with a brief flash of gratitude which she quickly doused, as if giving too much away. ‘Your hair looks lovely.’ Deliberately, he let his gaze rove over her waves.
‘Thank you, I think.’ She raised one cynical eyebrow. ‘I think that’s called damning with faint praise.’
‘Would you rather I lied? That dress is hideous, where the hell did you get it from?’
‘I can see why you’re such a hit with the ladies,’ her mouth turned downwards but her blue eyes danced with mischief.
‘Sorry that was ungallant of me and most ladies would have slapped me across the face. I apologise.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not very good with clothes. At least I own a dress.’
‘Mmm.’ It looked more like a recycled bin liner. ‘I was only insulting the dress, I’m sure that underneath …’ Aw, hell where was he going with that one?
Taking pity on him she took his arm and urged him forward. A delicate rose scent reached his nose, old-fashioned and yet eternal; he might have guessed that would be her choice.
Her stride matched his as they went down the hallway towards the salon as directed by Philippe.
‘Ah Laurie, Cam. This is Marie, my wife.’
A woman hopped up beside him from the ornate sofa, upholstered in watered silk. She barely met Philippe’s shoulders. With unabashed curiosity her dark eyes studied Laurie, her head tilted to one side like a delicate ballerina, looking her up and down.
Although he’d done exactly the same, only minutes before, he immediately stood closer to Laurie. Marie’s face dimpled as a friendly smile spread across it and she stepped forward and put both hands on Laurie’s shoulders, kissing her on either cheek.
‘Welcome, cherie. I think you have the look of your mother.’
Laurie stiffened.
Then Marie gave a wicked smile and only Cam noticed the quick dart of her eyes to Laurie’s lumpy black dress. ‘But perhaps not her personality.’
He looked at Laurie’s face. Her polite expression didn’t alter, despite the implied criticism of her mother. What was the story there? Laurie spoke warmly of her father but had yet to mention a word about her mother. Their itinerary took in a visit to the mother’s home on the other side of France but almost like the elephant in the room, neither of them had so much as mentioned it. How did she feel about her mother?
‘Thank you for having me, it’s very kind of you.’ Laurie’s stilted words were brushed aside by the Comtesse, who immediately led her to the ornate marble mantelpiece covered in silver photo frames.
‘Not at all. Miles was a very dear friend.’ Her expressive eyes filled with tears but her smile held as she pointed to a picture of him sandwiched between her and her husband. ‘We owe a huge debt of gratitude to him. Without his help all those years ago … we would have to have sold the Chateau.’
‘So, we should drink a toast to Miles,’ said Philippe, putting his arm around his wife, a tear visible in his eyes too.
A moment later, he crossed the light airy salon to a table settled in a window alcove and deftly removed the foil from a bottle of wine. In perfect synchrony, Marie joined him to sort out five crystal wine glasses.
Laurie reminded Cam of a stork, standing on one leg and then the other, then crossing her legs and uncrossing them. She was clearly uncomfortable with the emotion running high and at being the centre of attention. Funny how he’d only been on the road with her for twenty-four hours but he was already picking up on the nuances of her personality.
Philippe poured them all generous glasses of rich ruby red wine. With a chink they all murmured. ‘To Miles.’
‘May he rest in peace,’ Philippe added, trying to look solemn. ‘But I doubt it. Wherever he is, he’ll be stirring things up. He did so love to meddle, interfere and get involved.’
‘And we are very grateful for that,’ interjected Marie, scolding Philippe. ‘He took our wine and made sure lots of important people tasted it, he created the demand for it and we sell out every year now. How many vineyards can say that in this day and age?’
Cam took an idle sip of the wine and was almost knocked sideways by the intensity of flavour. This was not your ordinary vintage. While he wasn’t an expert, he’d tasted enough of the good stuff at Miles’ place to know that this was a seriously good wine. He glanced at Laurie to see if her palate was as finely-tuned as she’d intimated at Miles’ funeral. Her eyes were closed and there was a dreamy smile on her face. The most expressive he’d ever seen on her.
‘The 1997,’ she pronounced opening her eyes, looking surprised by her knowledge.
‘Splendid. I thought you might have forgotten. Miles trained you well.’
‘I … er …’ she shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea how I know. I just do.’ Her brow wrinkled in confusion.
‘A type of muscle memory. When you came here, you were fourteen. We tasted our way through fifty wines. You had an amazing recall of flavours even then.’
‘Did I?’ She had no memory of being able to taste wine. Although she knew what she liked and it had always been a bit of party piece that she could identify wine varieties. Not that she went to many events where that sort of wine was served. In fact it caused more embarrassment. On one occasion Robert had won a meal at a posh restaurant and she’d ordered the wine. When it came it wasn’t what she’d ordered and to Robert’s absolute mortification, she’d asked to see the bottle beneath the napkin wrapped around the neck. To the wine waiter’s chagrin, it was indeed an inferior bottle.
Marie clapped her hands. ‘You did, you did. I think we should have a cellar visit after dinner. Don’t you think Philippe? We could get the ’96 out … and the 2001 and …’
Laurie looked alarmed. ‘It’s OK, I don’t want to …’
‘An excellent idea.’ Philippe beamed. ‘Yes, yes. Jean, go and tell Albert to set up the cellar room for a tasting.’
Laurie turned worried eyes towards Cam. He winked at her.
Already Marie was sweeping Philippe out towards the dining room, keen to move things along.
‘Don’t look so panicky,’ Cam whispered as they followed behind. ‘They’re loving this. They obviously adored Miles …’
‘Yes, Miles. Not me. He was interesting, funny …’ Her mouth twisted in self-deprecation.
‘And …? Just be yourself.’
‘Easy for you to say that.’ She tossed her head and rolled her eyes.
‘Why?’
‘Come on. You mean you didn’t catch a glimpse of yourself in all those mirrors. Mr Sex-on-legs. I’m s
o gorgeous I can—’
The horrified look on her face as she came to an abrupt halt amused him more than the words.
‘I think … although I’m not precisely sure … I might be flattered, although I don’t think you meant to compliment me.’ He thought of his earlier clumsy compliment to her.
Pausing, he dug his hands deep in his jeans pockets and cocked his head to one side. ‘Sex-on-legs, hmm.’
Her face fired up with a delicious blush.
‘Or maybe you did,’ he teased.
Her eyes widened and she stared at him.
The innocent, unambiguous gaze hit him, and a sudden unexpected bolt of lust shot through him, tightening his groin.
For the first time in his life he’d stepped into unfamiliar territory and he didn’t have a clue what to do. Instinct told him that kissing her now would be a seriously big mistake. It would reinforce everything she thought about him and he really needed her to like him.
With Marie’s vivacity, Philippe’s charm and Jean’s cheerful conversation, dinner was a lively affair and Laurie found herself able to relax, fascinated by the obvious and open affection between them. It also stopped her thinking … no she was not going to dwell on it … not even going to …
She sighed. Stealing a look at Cam, talking torques and tyres to Jean, she couldn’t help her eyes being drawn to his lips or remember the tingle when she thought he might kiss her. Get a grip. He probably kissed girls all the time. It meant nothing; time to stop thinking about what it might feel like … a hesitant touch … soft skin … the speed of her pulse and the touch-light to desire.
She wanted to clamp right down on that thought. Ignore the glow between her legs.
Novelty. Hormones. Normal bodily response. That’s all. She’d never been kissed by anyone other than Robert for years, it meant nothing. And Robert. So they’d had a row. If only she’d managed to speak to him before she left. Sort things out. He’d decided to play silly buggers, not answering his phone or responding to her calls and messages. Typical Robert, being stubborn and childish. He’d come around eventually … after she’d apologised at least ten times.
‘Laurie?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I was just asking if you’d like coffee or shall we go down to the cellars now? You might need a chale,’ Marie looked to her husband for the word and spoke to him in quick fire French.
‘Wrap or a cardigan,’ translated Philippe with a smile. ‘It’s quite cool down there.’
Laurie caught Cam’s eye. Wrap? Cardigan? All she had was an old fleece or the tatty beige cardigan, which would make her look like a bag lady next to the impossibly elegant Comtesse.
‘Marie, do you have something Laurie might borrow?’ Cam leaned across the table, shaking his head. ‘I’m afraid I was very strict with her baggage allowance.’ He flashed her another of those self-deprecating grins.
‘But of course. Sorry.’ Marie jumped up and as she hurried from the room called to Philippe, ‘Make sure you do not buy one of these silly little cars.’
Laurie snorted at the outraged expressions on the men’s faces.
‘Sacrilege,’ murmured Cam and his host’s head nodded vehemently in agreement.
Laurie narrowed her eyes, undecided as to whether she liked his intervention. For sure, he’d saved face for her but he’d assumed she had nothing suitable. The most galling thing was that he’d assumed correctly. Shooting a glare at him, she stiffened her shoulders. He’d obviously hung around too many high maintenance women.
Even without his friendship with Miles, Cam had been lucky enough to mingle in the sort of circles that made fine wine a priority. He might not know much about the subject, and to be honest really wasn’t that interested, he liked the taste and could appreciate good wines but that was as far as it went.
Philippe’s enthusiasm and passion made him a generous host as he kept producing top notch bottle after bottle. What fascinated Cam the most was Laurie. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was like seeing a different person.
Philippe had set up six bottles each with a set of short stemmed long bodied glasses around them. He talked through each one, inviting them to taste them, to compare and discuss. Cam tuned out, sipping from the one glass, focusing on Laurie.
Her approach reminded him of a racing driver, the moment before he climbed into the driver’s seat. She took each glass, her forehead furrowed, swirling the wine and holding it up to the light to watch the legs, as Philippe had described the viaduct loops of liquid that formed. Then with eyes squeezed shut, she took a deep sniff at the top of the glass, a faint smile playing around her lips as she inhaled.
Then she tasted. He saw the pleasure on her face, the blissful expression and the catch of her hand against her heart as she savoured the flavours. Watching her became addictive.
He became observer, as she steadily worked through the wines, chatting with Philippe and Jean. Suddenly animated, her hands talked; the slender fingers expressive and balletic.
Her whole body, in shadow, appeared more graceful as she moved from bottle to bottle. Cam edged closer to hear what she was saying.
She’d reached the final table and judging from Philippe and Jean’s bated breath, they were anxious to find out what she thought of this one.
Taking her time, she twisted the glass in her hand, her wrist held high. Cam’s eyes followed the movement, her fingers firm on the stem. Her mouth parted with anticipation. For a moment, she looked totally uninhibited. She closed her eyes and as she tasted the wine, she let out a low moan of sheer pleasure, her throat bobbing as she swallowed.
Cam had to turn away. Would she look like that in the throes of sex? An image of her beneath him stole his breath as a punch of lust slammed into him.
Unnerved, he grasped the glass in his hand and knocked back the entire contents in one shocked mouthful. What the hell was wrong with him? Laurie was not his type. Plus she was engaged. Plus she was not the sort to indulge in affairs, long or short. Plus, he kind of liked her. Plus sleeping with her would definitely muddy the waters for the rest of the trip. Four good reasons not to go there. Not one of them was having any effect on the erection pressing uncomfortably against the zip of his jeans.
Chapter 11
The next morning as they drove away, they received a handsome send-off which included several bottles of Chateau Miroir wedged into every spare bit of space in the boot. Laurie’s head throbbed from over-indulgence, not a full blown hangover, but the evening’s tasting had been rich beyond compare. Her senses were still reeling from the assault of fine wine on her taste buds.
As they approached the car neither said a word. She watched as Cam dug the keys out of the tight back pocket of his jeans and her gaze lingered a little longer on the view. Robert never wore jeans and if he did, he wouldn’t fill them out quite the way Cam did. The taut denim outlined his butt rather nicely and drew attention to the long lean thighs that were going to be a hand’s touch away from hers for the rest of the day. Her mouth went dry. He wore his jeans in an unselfconsciously masculine way. All man. A stab of guilt made her look hard down at the ground. Robert was more of a chinos man and there was nothing wrong with that.
Not looking where she was going she collided with Cam. He smelt fresh with citrus undertones. Last night’s almost-kiss came back to her. How tempting it would be to lean over and run her lips along his lightly-stubbled jawline. Lust coiled in her stomach, snaking downwards between her thighs.
With a squeak she let out a whimper of surprise and prayed he wasn’t a mind reader.
‘You all right?’ asked Cam.
‘Bumped my nose,’ she hedged quickly.
The blue eyes honed in on her nose. ‘Daydreaming? I was just about to hand the keys over … now I’m not so sure.’ His eyes glinted with humour.
She could feel a blush lighting up her cheekbones and felt the accompanying hot flush sizzle through her. Ducking her head down, she ignored his outstretched hands. ‘I’m not driving,’ she gro
wled and stomped around to the passenger side.
He took a step back and held up his hands. ‘OK.’
She felt she should apologise but instead tried to open the door with shaking fingers. It was locked and she had to wait for Cam to get in and lean over from the driver’s seat to unlock the other door. There was no central locking when this car was made.
As they headed down the hill, her face cooled and she managed to get her equilibrium back.
She waved the postcard Philippe had kindly given her. A variety were sold in the Chateau’s tasting room and shop and this one depicted the Chateau and vineyards in early morning sunshine, doused in dew.
‘I need to stop in the village to post this. I need a stamp.’
‘No worries,’ Cam glanced at her, ‘they’ll have a tabac. You might as well get quite a few. How many more postcards do you have to send in?’
Laurie pulled open the file and studied the route Ron had outlined on an A3 Sheet photocopy of Europe. They were now about to double-back on themselves heading up to Paris. She’d already sent the cards from Calais, Honfleur, Le Mans and Orleans.
‘Two from Paris, both sides of the river? Troyes, Chaumont, Bresancon, Basle, Zurich, Monstein, Bormio and Maranello.’
‘Miles certainly chose a convoluted route, some of it I get the reasoning …’
‘There’s reasoning,’ sighed Laurie gritting her teeth. She was not looking forward to going to Bresancon.
Cam glanced at her, but in typical Cam fashion didn’t ask. He had an uncanny knack of knowing when not to push it. Unlike Robert, who still hadn’t called, although she’d received another text.
Kitchen tap leaking, we need a plumber. Your house, your call.
The idiot had included the plumber’s number.
The tabac was easy to spot in the small village which seem to consist of one road, straddled by a few shops and houses on either side. In no time they were heading north east towards Paris. They stopped for lunch at a pretty roadside café which looked promising due to the large numbers in the car park. Laurie caused great offence with her order for well-done steak and fries, while he received a gracious nod from the waiter when he selected the Moules Marinières.
