by Alexia Adams
“Sounds like your great-grandmother got what she deserved.” If looks were poison, he’d be writhing on the ground in death throes.
“No one deserves to be abandoned. She made a mistake, chose the wrong man. She let love blind her to great-grandfather’s real nature. It happens all the time.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
A shadow crossed Maya’s eyes. Maudit, he was supposed to convince her to sell the land back to him, not delve into her past. The truth was, Yvette had taken advantage of his grandfather’s gentle heart. Jacques had to get back the property that rightfully belonged in his family.
“The women in my family are crap at choosing men. It’s almost as if someone cursed us to marry losers once Gran-Gran left Charles.”
“I don’t believe in curses. But I do believe in trust. Once that is broken, it can never be repaired. And that’s one thing a marriage should have—trust.”
“Not love?”
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. When had the pleasant day turned into a soul-baring interrogation? “Love is for romance books and to sell songs. I prefer to live in reality.”
“I’m not so sure I like your reality. What’s your problem? Did your wife cheat on you or something?”
“Or something.”
“And that’s it? You give up on love because one woman didn’t live up to your ideal of what a wife should be? I think maybe you need to let it go and lighten up.”
The coffee is his stomach began to boil. “Lighten up? Perhaps you think I should be more like my wife? Clarisse thought only of herself and having fun. She was reckless and irresponsible and end up killing not only herself but my unborn child as well.”
Bile rose in his throat and he strode through the winery doors, not caring if Maya followed or not. Why the hell had he told her that? He couldn’t bear to live through that again. Clarisse had been texting, driving too fast, and not wearing her seat belt when she died. And he’d been the one to find her mangled body. He’d looked into her dead eyes and realized he’d never hold the son he’d been so excited about. Her irresponsibility had been the ultimate betrayal.
Maya grabbed his arm, put one hand on his face, and gazed into his with her unforgettable eyes. “I’m so sorry, Jacques. Not only for my words but for your loss. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose a child. If you want to cancel the tour, take me home, I completely understand.” Her voice was soft, caring.
It was the out he wanted. He could go back to the chateau, or better yet, return to Paris and forget all about the woman with the cognac eyes. So why did his chest tighten at the thought of not spending the rest of the day with her?
“No, I want to show you why it’s important that you sell the land back to me,” he said.
Merveilleux, now I’ve started lying to myself. This was going to end in disaster.
Chapter 5
After a tour of the winery and a brief stop to see her grapes—which looked like the million others around her—Jacques pulled up next to a picturesque lake, not a soul in sight. It was surrounded by terraces of vines; a few tall trees provided shade, but it was the view of the chateau in the distance that really sold the scene. It was the perfect location for a period film.
“This place is stunning. How come we’re the only ones here? A beautiful day like today, I’m surprised it’s not crowded.”
“It’s private property. My property.”
“Damn, man, you have it all, don’t you?”
“Not everything,” he replied. He grabbed a blanket off the backseat and passed it to her. “Can you spread this out? I’ll get the food.”
She took the blanket and wandered over to the lakeshore. What was she doing here? The gangster’s girlfriend and the billionaire. She needed to shatter the romantic mood before it sucked her in. The best way she knew to do that? Bring up the exes.
“I bet you and your wife came here all the time,” she said as she placed the blanket on the ground. The grass was salted with tiny daisies.
“Clarisse thought eating on the ground was for the poor. And if there wasn’t wait staff to cater to her every whim, she wasn’t interested.”
“Oh.” Mission accomplished—Maya no longer felt romantic. As the silence lengthened, she tried again. She needed Jacques not to fight her staying in the cottage; she had nowhere else to go. “How about when you were a kid? Did you come here often then?”
“Daniel and I used to fish in the lake. And he used to bring girlfriends here. He was the one who suggested it as a good picnic spot.”
“So while Daniel was romancing the girls, what were you doing?”
He placed the picnic hamper on the edge of the blanket. The first thing he pulled out was a bottle of wine and two glasses. Not the plastic kind with the removable bottom that most people used when they went on picnics. No, Jacques had real crystal with gold leaf around the rim. He poured her a glass, taking his time about answering her question.
“I was studying and hanging around the winery. Daniel’s always been the ladies’ man.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think you did too badly. You have that whole brooding, tortured hero thing down pat. I’m sure you were beating the girls off in school. Or did you go to one of those all-boys schools?”
“No, we went to the local school. After my father died and Maman remarried, Grand-Papa wanted to keep us at home so we didn’t feel abandoned. And he didn’t hold with rich kids going to school with only rich kids. Said they then never learned to interact with everyday people. Anytime we pretended we were better because we lived in the big house, he’d make us spend the day with the staff, doing their bidding.” He handed her a china plate and real silver cutlery. Picnics de Launay style were a whole ’nother level.
“Your grandfather is amazing.” His eyes flashed a warning she didn’t understand. What, did he think she was going to seduce his grandfather? She’d done a lot of things in her life, but she was no Anna Nicole Smith.
“He’s pretty special. And even though Daniel isn’t technically his grandson, he never treated him any differently from me. What about your family? You mention your great-grandmother frequently but not your parents or grandparents.”
Jacques placed a container with tiny appetizer bites between them. Each looked like a miniature work of art. She picked up a few and put them on her plate arranging them into an empty square. If he knew why she’d really moved into the cottage, he’d definitely have a fit about security. But even her brother didn’t know where she was living now. He had only a phone number.
“My parents are okay. Opposite spectrum to your family. They live in a trailer park on a piece of land prone to flooding. My dad is a deadbeat and my mother works two jobs. I have a twin brother; he’s a teacher—one of those they make movies about. Always trying to save the kids in trouble, running youth programs, trying to get the druggies to turn to sports to get their kicks, that sort of thing.”
“And your grandparents?”
“I never met my dad’s parents. Dad emigrated from Ireland when he was twenty, and they died when I was young. And my mother’s mother is a hippie; not sure who my grandfather is on that side. She lives in a commune. Last time I saw my grandmother she was going through a nudist phase. Let’s just say it was a very short visit and I haven’t been back since.”
He nearly choked on his canapé. “And do nudist tendencies run in your family?”
“I refuse to answer that question,” she replied with a laugh. “Just make sure you knock when you come to the cottage.” This was better; if she could make him laugh, maybe he wouldn’t try to get rid of her. Maybe they could even be friends. Then he looked at her with those gorgeous blue eyes. Nope, she could never be “just friends” with this man.
“We’ll see. At dinner you said you went to live with your great-grandmother when you finished school. Why didn’t you stay nearer your parents?”
She shifted and stared at the lake for a moment. “The art schools in
Montreal are better. And Gran-Gran was getting old and needed someone nearby.”
He paused for minute; hopefully, the interrogation was over. Then he asked, “Why do you have your great-grandmother’s maiden name and not your father’s?”
She popped a canapé into her mouth to buy time. “I got into a bit of trouble, and the best way to distance myself from that seemed to be to change my name.” Too bad it hadn’t worked.
He stared at her a moment but thankfully let the topic drop. “What kind of art do you do?”
Phew, at last something she could talk about for hours without incriminating herself. “So far, mostly painting and some sculpting with clay. But I’m hoping to do some larger pieces, maybe with wood when I get a chance. I’d love to paint you. You have a very interesting face.”
He pulled out another container, this one with a green salad with tiny strips of steak. As he lifted the lid, the aroma of garlic and spices tickled her nose.
“As interesting as my face may be, I’m sure you can find a more worthy subject to paint. Would you like more wine?”
That was the politest rebuff she’d ever received. But she was sure she could paint him from memory. Every time his lips twitched upward, her blood rushed a bit faster around her body. Maybe she should bring up her exes to kill the mood again. But which one? The murdered one? The one doing twenty years for murdering someone else? Or the one who’d used her to get into an organized crime ring and then dumped her when he’d achieved his goal? She was definitely skilled at picking losers.
Perhaps a neutral topic of conversation would be better. “Can you tell me about the history of the chateau? Did anyone important live there?”
“Aside from the current residents?” He laughed, and the deep rumble set off an avalanche of sensation inside her. But at least getting a history lesson kept them going through the rest of the delicious meal.
She was lying back on the blanket, watching the clouds drift by when he said, “Maya, we have to discuss the land you own. We’ve been maintaining the vines for the past seventy years. If we hadn’t cared for them, they would be worthless now. The grapes you own are critical to the success of the winery. They’re a special varietal we haven’t been able to successfully grow elsewhere on the estate. Without them, our product is mediocre to say the least. And I won’t put out a mediocre product. My grandfather gave the best to your great-grandmother. We must have it back to keep the winery profitable. At least fifty people depend on it for employment.”
Although he laid out a compelling argument, the underlining tone was “you have no choice. Give me back what’s rightfully mine.” Well, she did have a choice, and a title deed. But she also had security issues, so she needed to tread carefully.
“I’m not selling, Jacques. But as I can’t possibly eat ten hectares of wine grapes, I’ll let you use them to make your wine. Despite what you may think, I haven’t come to destroy your family, or the winery. I just want to start over and work on my art.”
“That’s not an answer I can accept.”
She sat up. “Tough. It’s the only answer you’re going to get. If these grapes are so important, why didn’t you contact my gran-gran years ago and try to get her to sell? I’m sure you checked her out; you knew she wasn’t rich. If you’d have made her an offer…” Would Gran-Gran have taken the money? She’d been so adamant that Maya not sell, maybe Jacques had been in contact before.
“My grandfather insisted that I leave things as they were. Out of respect for him, I did so, even though I hated having this issue unresolved.”
“Well, after all this time, one more year won’t make any difference.”
“So, you’ll return the land next year?”
“I’ll look at all my options next year.” If I’m still alive. She didn’t need the land, but knowing how desperate Jacques was for it, she now had some bargaining power if things went sideways.
He tightened his lips but said nothing more. They packed up their lunch and headed back to the Land Rover. Maya bundled the blanket in the backseat and stood by the door as Jacques returned the picnic basket to the trunk.
The peacefulness of the spot had been ruined by their argument. Next time she’d come alone and bring her sketchbook. Or she’d come early with her paints and a canvas and capture the sunrise over the chateau. She was so intent on studying the scene before her, she didn’t notice Jacques come to stand next to her until he spoke.
“What now? Thinking of upgrading from the cottage to the chateau?”
She ran a hand over the back of her neck. Grace and serenity. Here goes nothing. “Jacques, I don’t want to fight with you. Can we call a truce? For your grandfather’s sake?”
“How’s this armistice supposed to work?” His eyes were riveted on her lips.
She lowered her chin, forcing his gaze to hers. “You carry on like I’m not here, and don’t mention me selling the cottage and land. And I work on my art and stay out of your way.”
“I foresee one problem with that plan.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re not a woman I can ignore.”
“I’m not?”
“Nope. Even angry at your refusal to sell, I still want to kiss you.”
“You didn’t last night.”
“Last night I was laboring under the false impression that I can resist you.”
“You need to work on that.” Great, now her voice was all breathy, like she wanted him to kiss her or something.
“Believe me, I’m trying. But you have a spot of chocolate on the corner of your mouth, and all I can think about is licking it off.”
She lifted her hand to remove the chocolate but found it trapped between their bodies as he pulled her against him, his head descended and his tongue removed the chocolate before plundering her mouth. He tasted of wine and chocolate and kissed like her like he had every right to.
To prove him wrong, she kissed him back. Two could play this sexual domination game. Her hand slid into his hair. The other found its way under his shirt to run over the muscles of his back. Damn, he felt good. All hard muscles. Strong. Safe.
His lips left hers and trailed kisses over to her ear where he whispered, “Dieu, Maya, you’re driving me insane.” His breath was hot against her skin, scorching a path followed by his lips. As he traced the cord of her neck with his tongue, she felt her bra give way. His hand eased between their bodies to cup her breast. She moaned in pleasure as his thumb circled her already hard nipple. His other hand slid into the back pocket of her shorts and pulled her up against him so she could feel his erection. She shimmied her hips against him and his whole body shuddered in response.
They’d gone from negotiating a truce to removing her clothes in seconds. This wasn’t loss of control, it was total annihilation of restraint. Despite her reputation, she wasn’t one to jump in bed with someone within hours of meeting them. But it was like she’d known Jacques a lot longer. Or been waiting for him. That idea was enough of a shock to snap her back to reality.
“Wait, Jacques, do you have protection?”
He stopped instantly and stepped back, his breathing as rapid and shallow as hers. His hair was thoroughly disheveled, his shirt half unbuttoned—when had she done that?—and an impressive bulge distorted the front of his pants. He was so sexy … why had she stopped? Oh, yeah, because we only freaking met yesterday.
His eyes were dazed. “I only meant to kiss the chocolate away. I didn’t mean to…” He waved his hand in the air in a Gallic gesture for “how the hell did this happen?”
She refastened her bra and tried to reengage her brain. “You don’t have to apologize. If I didn’t want you to kiss me, you’d be lying on the ground clutching your manhood. This was inevitable. I think we both need to work on our restraint. Especially now we know that it’s too…” What word did you use to describe all-out, mind-blowing pleasure?
“Explosive?”
“I’ll go with that. So maybe we need a couple of rules.”
“You don’t seem like a rules type of woman.”
“You’re right, I’m not. But I’m trying to turn over a new forest, remember?”
“New forest?”
“More than a leaf. I want to start a new life. I can’t do that wrapped around you. So, rule one: Hands off, and that applies to both of us. Rule two: Bring a condom for when rule one fails.” She was nothing if not realistic. He was right; she’d never been good with restrictions, even her own.
“Agreed.” He handed her the keys to the vehicle. “Why don’t you get in and turn on the air conditioner? I need a moment before I can sit.” He wandered back down to the lake.
She climbed into the SUV, started the engine, and cranked the AC to high, directing the flow at her face.
She’d just gotten her breathing under control. Then her cell phone rang. Only one person had this number, her brother. And he knew it was for emergencies only.
Her brother didn’t even bother with pleasantries. “Maya, the RCMP were just at my door.”
“Is it Dad? Mom?” He heart stalled then went into overdrive.
“They’re fine. The police were asking about you.”
Shit, shit, shit. The cops had found Sean. The trouble she was in now was monumental compared to the trifle she’d left behind as a teen. Hopefully Big Tony wouldn’t think to check if she’d ever changed her name. Maya Murphy had only ever existed in British Columbia. She’d become a Tessier before she’d arrived in Montreal, and as far as she knew, Tony Chartrand’s criminal organization was limited to the east side of the country.
“What did the police say?” She held her breath.
“They want to know where you are. They’ve issued a subpoena for you to testify in court.”
“I can’t come back. If I testify, I’ll be dead in days.”
“They say they can protect you.” Her brother had always been on the good side of the law. He still believed their promises.
“Like they protected the other two witnesses? Did they tell you they were dead, which is why they now want me to testify?”
“God, Maya, what have you gotten yourself involved with?”
