The Vintner and the Vixen (Vintage Love Book 1)

by Alexia Adams

  Jacques picked up his wine and took a drink. Was he trying to get the taste of her out of his mouth? Eventually he spoke. “I’m not a criminal. I’m not a drug-dealer. And as enticing as you are, I’m pretty sure you won’t turn me into one. But I appreciate your honesty, so I’ll reciprocate. I married to secure an heir. I was busy working, turning around companies my father looted to fund his playboy lifestyle. I didn’t have time to date and I didn’t want a woman to distract me from business. So I took my mother’s suggestion and married her best friend’s daughter. Clarisse was beautiful, poised, and so completely self-centered that she never noticed if I was around or not. There was no love between us, but we got on tolerably. The first spark of happiness in our marriage was when she told me she was pregnant. Then she killed our child by her recklessness.”

  “At last something we have in common. We both make lousy choices when it comes to our personal lives.”

  “Well, I’m never going to put myself in a position again where a woman has the power to destroy my world. Not only do you make me lose control, you seem to attract trouble, and I don’t need that in my life.”

  “I understand.”

  “Then I wish you a good night.” He rose, and after a slight inclination of his head in her direction, disappeared around the side of the cottage.

  If Jacques knew her life was in danger, he’d probably find a way to bar her from the property. This was her only safe refuge. She’d have to keep her distance and her head down.

  So what if her heart ached like she’d just lost something important.

  Chapter 7

  Jacques woke with a pounding headache. He rolled over, but the empty sheets taunted him. Even when he was married, Clarisse had always insisted on having her own room. So why did his bed seem so empty now?

  A faint buzzing sound infiltrated his brain. Either a swarm of bees had invaded his bedroom or a gardener was on a drunken rampage with a hedge trimmer. Either way, Jacques wasn’t going back to sleep. He flopped out of bed and peeked out the curtain to see if the topiary unicorn stallions were now all geldings. But aside from horrifically blinding sunlight, the garden was clear of crazed staff. And the sound appeared to be coming from the cottage.

  What was the woman up to now? Maybe if he took her coffee and pastries again she’d shut the hell up. He could also deliver the maintenance invoice and sort out the land issue before the grape harvest.

  When he parked his grandfather’s electric golf cart in front of the cottage the noise was deafening. No point knocking; she’d never hear him. He ventured around the side of the building carefully, in case he startled Princess and ended up gelded himself. The dog was nowhere to be seen. But Maya was up a ladder, clad in overalls, wearing a hard hat with full-face protector, thick gloves, and wielding a big-ass chainsaw. Another chunk of the huge log fell to the ground. She leaned back, her head cocked to one side as if considering her next cut, and wobbled on the ladder. He raced over to stabilize it before she had a nasty accident.

  She shut off the chainsaw, but his ears still buzzed with the noise. When she raised the face shield her smile blinded him almost as much as the sun had earlier.

  “I’m going to get you a cape.”

  Every time he talked with her, he felt he’d walked in in the middle of the conversation. “A cape?”

  “Yeah, you’re always rescuing me. You need a cape. Any hope I could convince you to show up in Lycra next time?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Pity. You’ve got an ass that could really rock the Spandex.”

  “Thanks, I think. Can I ask what you’re doing? And don’t you dare say—”

  “Building a catapult?”

  “Dieu, woman, why is it so hard to get a straight answer out of you?”

  She was still several rungs up the ladder, and his head felt like it was about to fall off. Which in his current state would be a blessed mercy. “Because you ask too-obvious questions. I can’t help teasing.”

  “Can you tease at ground level? I’ve got a killer headache, and staring up at you is making it worse.”

  She climbed down, carefully placing the guard on the chainsaw. “I rather liked having the height advantage. But you do look like you’ve just had the shit scared out of you, so I’ll be nice for once.”

  “I brought coffee and pastries if you promise not to use the chainsaw again until I feel better.”

  “Deal. I need to map out the rest of my cuts anyway.”

  She pulled off the hard hat and shook her hair loose. The auburn strands caught the light and it was like his own private sunset. When she started to unzip the coveralls he made a strategic retreat to get the promised breakfast. He was in no state to deal with a disrobing Maya.

  How the hell had he missed the massive log in her back yard yesterday? Probably because it had been dark and he’d been concentrating too hard on her.

  When he entered her kitchen through the open back door, she’d set the small table. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, the tattoo at the base of her neck calling out to be explored by his lips.

  She motioned for him to sit. “Sorry if I woke you,” she said as she poured the coffee for them both. “The wood was delivered yesterday and I’m dying to get carving. But it’s been so hot that I figured I’d better start early as I have to wear all that gear…” Her voice turned into a buzz and he found it hard to focus on her face. What had she been saying? “Jacques?”

  “Sorry, I…” He closed his eyes, willing the hammering at his temples to stop just long enough for him to get back to bed.

  “You really are sick. Should I call a doctor or get your grandfather?”

  “No. It’s just a migraine. If you could drive me back to the house… I brought my grandfather’s cart, but I don’t think I can see well enough to make it home.”

  “I don’t think you’ll make it to the cart. Come with me.” He was concentrating too hard on keeping his head on his neck to argue. She put an arm around his waist and led him up the stairs to her room. “Sit.” She left his side for a second and the room went blissfully dark. Still, he closed his eyes as the room started to spin. He opened them again when he felt her fingers against his throat.

  “Maya…”

  “Relax, I’m not about to ravage you. Can you undress yourself? My mother suffered from migraines, and I’ve got some stuff that will help. Unless you have a prescription at the big house that I can get for you.”

  “No prescription. Don’t get them often enough.” He forced his fingers to work the buttons on his shirt. She was gone an eternity, but he still hadn’t got his belt undone before she was standing in front of him again.

  “Here, let me,” she said. She pushed his hands away and made quick work with his belt and the zipper on his jeans. A groan escaped his throat. In any scenario where he’d imagined Maya removing his clothes, it hadn’t been while he was struggling to remain conscious. “Lay down now with your head at the foot of the bed.”

  He did as she instructed, although why he shouldn’t lay down the proper way, he couldn’t ask. Being horizontal felt too good to question the orientation. She propped his feet up and wrapped them in a warm towel before gently putting a light sheet over top of him. She then put his hands on something cool. He closed his eyes, relief already stemming from her care.

  “Do you mind being touched when you’re like this? I used to give my mother cranial massages to help her get to sleep.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll let you know if…” Her fingers put light, then firmer pressure on his temples, and a strong smell of peppermint and lavender filled his head.

  Dieu, Maya’s touch was magic.

  ***

  He was in hell. It was the only way to account for being so hot. At least his head felt better, which seemed odd given his damnation. He opened his eyes to check out his new residence. Hell dressed as heaven—ingenious. Had he known demons looked like Maya, he wouldn’t have worried so much as a youth about his eventual destin
ation.

  Maybe it was heaven after all. Maya certainly looked at peace. She was curled up on the bed, her head resting on the pillow next to his feet. He shifted to give her more room, and her eyes fluttered open. Merde, he’d gone from migraine to heart attack. Although he could think of worse places to die than Maya’s bed. Too bad it hadn’t been after an epic round of lovemaking.

  “Hi.” Her voice was so soft, he was only sure she’d spoken because he’d seen her lips move.

  “Hi. How long have I slept?”

  “Five hours, give or take.”

  “I’m sorry. You probably had plans for the day.”

  “Nothing that couldn’t be rescheduled.”

  He eased himself into an upright position. So far, so good. The headache was gone and the dizziness faded after a couple seconds. But where were his clothes?

  “I’ll get some lunch together while you dress. I put a fresh towel out if you want a shower first.” Maya rose regally to her feet, picked up the book that had fallen on the floor, and left the room without looking back.

  The lure of a cool shower was too much to resist, so it was fifteen minutes later before he joined her in the kitchen. He scrubbed his hand along his stubble-covered jaw as he contemplated his hostess bustling about the kitchen, putting together a fruit salad. She sliced with efficient movements, but her hips swayed to a different tune.

  Princess saw him before Maya. The dog gave him a wary eye before coming over to inspect him. Maya turned when the dog gave a low woof in greeting.

  “Feel better now?” she asked, handing him a glass of water. How had she known he was thirsty? He hadn’t been so cosseted since he was a child and had been struck down with chicken pox. Except then it had been a fifty-something nanny who had cared for him, not a gorgeous twenty-something femme fatale.

  “Much. Unfortunately, large portions of this morning are a complete blur. Without wanting to be rude, how did I wind up upside down in your bed wearing only my underwear?”

  “You don’t remember the trapeze swing at all?” For a millisecond he searched his brain before the teasing light in Maya’s eyes told him she was kidding. “Evidently you had some weird objection to me using a chainsaw at five o’clock in the morning. You lured me away from my work with pastries, but then seemed on the point of passing out. So I took you upstairs, made you comfortable, and you fell asleep. Your virtue is intact, no need to worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried. Just didn’t want to have missed anything.”

  “Nothing worth writing in the diary.” She shrugged and went back to slicing an apple. “I’ve got yogurt and fruit salad and, of course, the pastries you brought with you this morning. After a migraine my mother said her stomach could only handle simple foods. But if you want something more substantial…”

  “No, what you have is perfect. Again, I’m sorry. I haven’t had an episode like that…” Since Clarisse died. “…in a long time.”

  “I can’t bear to see anyone in pain. I did what I could to help.”

  Help was an understatement. Last time he’d had a migraine, he’d been in bed for two days with it. Maya was a miracle worker on that score.

  He grabbed a piece of apple from her pile. Not much had changed in the small kitchen in the ten days since she’d moved in, except it now looked lived in. Loved. A jug of fresh flowers graced the table, a few herbs grew in pots on the windowsill, and a painting smock hung on a peg by the connecting door to a small anteroom. Through the open door he spotted an easel and made his way over to see what she’d painted.

  On a large canvas was an extremely good painting of Daniel in his racing overalls, his helmet tucked under his arm. So, Maya had chosen to paint his younger brother. Well, she had asked Jacques first and he’d refused. So he couldn’t blame her that she’d moved on to Daniel. But maybe he’d misread the passion between them. Maybe she preferred his brother after all.

  “What do you think?” Her sultry, sexy voice washed over him. He should skip lunch and go back to the house.

  “It’s very good. Are you waiting for Daniel to come back to complete his face?”

  “No, it’s done. He gave me a couple of publicity photos.”

  “Then why is it blurry?” Jacques stepped closer. Every sponsor badge, every tiny element of design on Daniel’s crash helmet was in clear perspective.

  “Daniel the racer knows exactly who he is; that’s why his racing gear is clear. Daniel the man’s not so sure. So I’ve only drawn his features in lightly. Until he figures out who he is apart from his career, this is how I see him.”

  “Really?” Jacques studied the painting some more. How had Maya seen so perfectly behind the facade Daniel showed to the world? As far as Jacques knew, only he and his grandfather were aware of the turmoil that drove his younger brother to live life on the edge and not let anyone close.

  “Yes. He pretends to be a playboy, but I think it’s a front, something he feigns to keep people from actually knowing him.” She was spot on. Jacques shifted his weight from one foot to the other. What else had her artist’s perception picked up?

  “And how do you view me?”

  “Would you like to see?”

  Did he really want to know what this woman thought of him? Talk about shining a light on a dark place. “You’ve painted me as well?”

  “Not yet. I sketched you while you slept. I’m sorry if you consider it an invasion of privacy. But you were in my bed.” Maya left and returned a few seconds later with the book she’d taken from the bedroom. He could see now it was a sketchpad. She flipped a few pages, stared at one for a moment, and then handed the pad to him.

  He sucked in a deep breath. Mon Dieu.

  Chapter 8

  Maya stared at Jacques’s face while he examined her sketch. While he’d slept she’d become obsessed with the beauty of his features, relaxed of all the worries and responsibilities he carried around with him. That wasn’t what concerned her, however. It was the look she’d put in his eyes. A look of love, of longing, of hope. That was how she wanted him to be. Not the bitter, resigned man who stood in her cottage, holding one of her best pieces of art in his hands.

  “You’ve sketched me with my eyes open.”

  “Yes, I propped them open with toothpicks. You were so gone you didn’t notice.” She tried for a tease, but he wasn’t having it this time. He waited. The only sound was Princess panting in the other room.

  “Why have you drawn me like this?”

  “Because that’s the man you could be. If you could just let go of the past.”

  His gaze met hers and she read the warning loud and clear before he even spoke. “I can never be this man, Maya. If this is who you’re waiting for, I’m sorry to disappoint you. My past made me who I am today. It can’t be undone.”

  She opened her mouth to refute the statement but closed it again. You could lead a man to a mirror but you couldn’t make him see.

  “Let me tell you what I’ve learned about the past. If you don’t come to terms with it, it will destroy your future. Do you know how many mornings I woke up over the past ten years wishing I’d made different choices in my life? Every single one of them. If I hadn’t gotten involved with Raj or any of the others; if I’d studied harder in school, gone to university, got a degree, and a regular job… Know what? I didn’t. I’ve had to become who I am today to survive. But I’m determined not to stay that way. I’m going to move on with my life. Make myself better. Do something worthy. Make up for my past mistakes. I promised Gran-Gran I would, and I won’t let her down. You have a choice, too. You can continue to live your life in fear of more heartache. Or you can move on. It’s entirely up to you. My advice? Don’t rule happiness out of your future. Don’t let Clarisse kill you, too.”

  He stared at her as if she’d just slapped him. Nothing like hitting the man recovering from a debilitating migraine over the head with some hard truths. A strategic retreat was needed.

  “Let’s eat,” she said then turned on her heel and s
trode back into the kitchen, fussing with the salad until she was back in control.

  When he sat opposite, however, it wasn’t her emotions she was worried about revealing. A trickle of sweat dripped into the pool that had formed in her bra. And there was only so much moisture Victoria could keep secret.

  “It’s like an oven in here. You haven’t got the heating on by mistake, have you?” he asked.

  “No, of course not. But the whole front of the house, including my bedroom, is south facing. And the frothy white curtains don’t keep out the heat. So by midday it gets warm.”

  “It’s unbearable. How have you slept?”

  “Mostly on the sofa. In the evening I open all the windows and doors, hoping to catch a cross breeze. By midnight it’s usually cool enough to sleep downstairs anyway. At least it’s cured me of sleeping in all morning. Although for some bizarre reason, my neighbor objects to me firing up a chain saw at five a.m.”

  Jacques opened his mouth, but it was his grandfather’s voice she heard. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all morning, Jacques. I guess next time I should try the cottage first.” Charles appeared at the back door and tipped his hat in greeting.

  As though he were caught somewhere he shouldn’t be, Jacques jumped to his feet. “I came to stop the racket Maya was making and had to wait out a migraine,” he replied.

  “Okay, if that’s the story you’re going for.” Charles chuckled, his blue eyes full of laughter.

  That sounded like an opening for an argument. “Would you like to join us, Charles? We’re having a late breakfast, or is it an early lunch?” She rose to grab another place setting, but in doing so wound up centimeters from Jacques. Now she and Jacques looked even guiltier.

  “No, thank you. I’ve already eaten. I just came to reclaim my golf cart.” He took his hat off and waved it in front of his face. “Mon Dieu, it’s hot in here. I forgot this place doesn’t have air-conditioning. I’m so sorry, Maya.”

  “It’s okay. I spend most of my time outside anyway,” she replied.

  “Nonsense,” Charles said. “Until the heat breaks you can stay up at the chateau. We have air-conditioning, at least in the bedrooms.”