“They do not make a good couple.”
Francois stared at him, and Roman realized he’d spoken aloud.
I sound like a jealous ass.
“Don’t be an imbecile. Talk to her. I think it will help.”
“We have nothing to say. She left me to marry someone at home.”
“It’s not my place to say anything, but I’m telling you to speak to her at least once. You will understand why when you do.”
Francois’ cryptic words only irritated him further. “Go home to your fiancée and your daughters, and leave me alone.” A stab of envy pierced his heart.
Francois hesitated, then got up and walked to the door. He looked back once and met Roman’s eyes. Silent now, he turned and walked through the door, closing it behind him.
Alone at last.
He heaved himself out of the chair and started toward his bedroom, but stopped and picked up the bottle. Perhaps it would help him sleep.
And forget.
He’d tossed and turned all night, thoughts of Genevieve filling fragmented dreams and every waking moment. He’d finally given up on trying to sleep and risen before the alarm rang.
He’d needed physical action, and took his tortured thoughts out on the walls he was tearing down in the barn to convert into a studio. He’d been able to relieve some of his frustration and aggression with the sledgehammer.
But a call from Mignon reminded him he still needed to check the fit of Genevieve’s dress. They had not completed the fitting the day before, and he was too much a perfectionist not to check it himself.
She would try the dress on, and he’d get the hell out of there.
He parked in front of the chateau and climbed out of the car. Francois stood at the base of the steps, speaking with a young woman. He hailed Roman.
“This is Sophie Bélanger. Sophie, this is my cousin Roman Duchaine.”
Roman shook her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Bonjour, Monsieur Duchaine.”
“Sophie is part of the International Sommelier program, and is here interviewing for the manager-in-training position for the winery.”
“A very ambitious program. Good luck to you.” He was impressed. She must have started her coursework young.
“Merci,” she said, smiling. “I’ve been working and studying in America the last few years, so it’s nice to be home again. This is the last part of my coursework, and I hope to learn all I can from Monsieur Gaillard.”
“Then let me welcome you home to France. Again, it was nice meeting you.” He turned to Francois. “I have to get to a fitting. I’ll see you later.”
He shook hands with her again, and started up the steps. Glancing back at her again, he thought she looked familiar, but wasn’t sure why. Short, wavy black hair, and a very pretty face, like an old-time glamorous movie actress, but he didn’t think he’d ever met her.
A few minutes later, he walked into the ballroom. The bridesmaid dress hung on the rolling rod, but no one was there.
The door opened behind him.
Genevieve rushed into the room, followed by Mignon. “Sorry. I was delayed in the kitchen.” She kept her gaze averted. “Mignon said you need to check the dress.”
“You can change behind the screen. Be careful so it does not rip further.”
She and Mignon retreated behind the screen. He tried not to imagine her taking her clothes off. Tried not to remember how her satiny skin warmed beneath his fingers.
She emerged a few moments later dressed in the blush pink attendant gown. He would be impartial, as if she were any of the hundreds of models he had used over the years.
He directed her to step up on the platform, and he circled around, looking for any imperfections in the fit.
“Do you have the shoes you are wearing for the wedding? I must check the length of the skirt.”
“They’re in the blue bag by the screen.”
He picked up the bag, pulled the shoe box out, and opened the lid. Strappy sandals dyed to match the dress lay inside. He held the shoes out to her.
She set one shoe on the platform, started to step into it, but she wobbled. He instinctively reached out to steady her.
Electricity sparked up his arm, and his eyes flashed to her startled ones. Did she feel that as well?
She put the other shoe on, and he focused his attention on the skirt. He twitched the organza fabric, looking for the tear he’d heard yesterday. Nothing.
He worked his way up the dress, skimming his hand lightly along her leg. The warmth of her skin soaked through the dress. He reached her upper thigh, and her breath hitched.
At the side of her waist, just beneath one of the fabric roses, he finally found where the stitches had ripped.
“Mignon, I found the tear.” He looked around for her. “Où est-elle allée?”
She looked at him blankly. “What?”
“You don’t speak French any longer?”
“I don’t have much use for it in Atlanta, so I lost whatever I learned.”
“I asked where Mignon went.”
“I didn’t realize she’d walked out.”
“I need the needle and thread.” He turned away and rummaged in the sewing box. Finding the correct color, he threaded the needle, and knotted the ends.
“Hold still, please.” He leaned close to her, concentrated on sewing the small rip in the seam so he would not prick her with the needle. Tying off the thread, he reached into the sewing box for the scissors, but could not find them. He stifled the urge to curse, frustrated. More delays.
“Hold still.” He leaned forward, brushed her breast by accident.
She inhaled sharply, and shrank away from him.
Perversely pleased at her reaction, he laid his cheek against her, his head pressing into her softness. He took his time biting off the thread. His heart raced. Pulling back, he noticed goose bumps break out on her arms. He glanced at her face.
Her eyes were closed, almost as if she were in pain. Alarmed, he noticed her face had grown pale.
He started to reach for her, but her eyes opened and she glared at him.
“Are we done here?” she snapped. “I’ve still got a lot to do before the party tonight.”
He’d intended to throw her off balance. But now he was the one suffering. He forced his traitorous body to relax, hating that he’d gotten hard the minute he touched her. Especially since she feels nothing but disdain for me.
He walked around the platform, purposely running his hands over her body to check the fit. He was frustrated, and wanted to lash out at her. “I’ll be finished when I’m finished. I don’t let my women wear my designs unless they are perfection.”
“Your women? Your women? First, I’m not anyone’s woman. And second, I sure as hell ain’t yours. I’m here to do a job and to stand up with my cousin at her wedding. I’m not one of those women splashed in the magazines and on the internet who drape themselves all over—”
Chapter 5
She winced, knowing she’d gone too far, and sounding like a jealous shrew.
His eyebrow quirked, and he turned his face to hers, smirking.
She wanted to wipe the smug satisfaction off his face.
He stepped back. “You may go.”
She stepped off the platform and ducked behind the screen. Stretching her arm behind her, she tried to reach the zipper. No good. She tried her other arm, but her fingertips only brushed the zipper pull.
“May I assist you?” Roman’s deep voice rumbled behind her, and she whirled around. He leaned against the wall, watching her.
“Where’s Mignon?”
“She still has not come back. I have one seamstress out ill, so I assume Mignon is working on the other attendant dresse
s.”
“Great.” She huffed out a breath and turned her back. “Please. I can’t reach the zipper.”
He moved behind her, crowded her in the tiny cocoon behind the screen. They could have been separated from the rest of the world. Beads of perspiration popped out on her forehead.
His fingers brushed a long curl of hair over her shoulder.
She must look a fright, her hair springing loose from the bun. She reached up and yanked out the scrunchy. Her hair tumbled loose.
He groaned, his breath warming her neck.
The sound echoed through her, shivering down her spine, all the way down to her toes.
She scooped her hair back up and into a tight knot.
She felt him grip the zipper pull and begin tugging it down. Inch by agonizing inch. His fingers traced down her spine, following the zipper, branding her.
It was one thing to see his pictures on the internet or in magazines. It was another to have the living, breathing, flesh-and-blood man standing behind her. Talking to her, touching her.
After all they’d shared so long ago.
She shivered.
“What’s going on here?”
She looked up and caught Daniel watching them over the screen. She clutched the bodice of the gown as it started to slip down her chest. “He had to check the alterations, and fix the tear from yesterday.”
“And he plays lady’s maid as well?” Daniel glared at Roman.
“I couldn’t reach the zipper.”
“Huh.” Daniel craned his neck over the top of the screen. “Looks like it’s down now. Does he need to help you with anything else?” He jerked his head at Roman.
She glanced at Roman, startled to see his jaw clench.
He inclined his head. “Thank you for taking the time for the fitting. I am finished with you.” He left the small dressing area, and she heard his footsteps ring across the marble floor. The door banged shut.
Why does that sound so final? She winced. It’s what I want, isn’t it?
She glanced up to see Daniel still looking over the screen.
“What?”
“Exactly what was going on back there?”
“I told you, I couldn’t reach the zipper. He was the only one around to help me. Now move, so I can get dressed.”
He backed away from the screen to give her privacy. “Huh.” He snorted, his voice drifting to her. “Considering he’s such a world-class designer, you’d think he’d have all kinds of assistants underfoot.”
“He has a couple here, but one is down sick.”
“Oh yeah? And what else do you know about his affairs?”
She zipped up her slacks, and stepped into her clogs. She started to put the long-sleeved shirt back on, but she was still hot. She put her chef coat on over her bra and snapped it top to bottom. As long as she stayed buttoned up, no one would know. Folding the t-shirt, she walked out from behind the screen.
“He just mentioned it to me during the fitting.” She glanced at the expression on his face. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
He scoffed and jerked his shoulder. He softened, and touched her arm. “I’m worried about you. You see this jerk-face after fifteen years . . . All I know is, I came looking for you only to find him undressing you.”
“He wasn’t undressing me. I had to take the dress off.”
“Your back was to him. You didn’t see the look on his face.”
She stilled. “What do you mean?”
“He was looking at you like he wanted to strip the dress off you completely and . . . and . . .” His face reddened, and he scrubbed his hands over his face, something he only did when he was frustrated. “Not to sound like one of your bodice-ripper novels or anything, but I’ve never seen such raw passion on anyone’s face. He looked like he wanted to devour you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—maybe even dessert, too. With fresh whipped cream and a cherry on top.”
She held up a hand to stop him. Confusion rushed through her, and if she admitted it, some small amount of satisfaction. I may be getting older, but wow. That kind of gives me a boost. She smiled to herself and looked up.
Daniel frowned. “You’re not considering getting involved with him, are you?”
“No. No. Not a chance. But come on, he can have anyone . . . and probably has. To think he would be interested in me after all these years, if there were the slightest chance, and I can turn him down? I guess there’s a small mean part of me that would gloat.” She opened the door to leave the ballroom, but stopped and turned back to him. “And you better not tell anyone I just said that.”
He nodded.
“I mean it, Daniel. Pinkie-swear.” She held out her little finger.
He gripped her finger with his own, held her still. “Honey, who was there when you were in the hosp—”
“Hush! Don’t say it. I don’t want anyone to know about the accident.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything else. But do you really think I want to take the chance he’ll hurt you again?”
She searched his face and realized he was concerned for her.
“You’re the best.” She hugged him hard, thankful she had him in her corner.
“Of course I am, Sugar. You’re lucky to have me for your BFF.”
She rolled her eyes and left the ballroom.
The other gowns were now complete, ready to be fitted. If only his studio were complete, he wouldn’t have to work out of the chateau. Less chance of running into her.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything all day. Preparations for the wedding feast were taking place in the main kitchen, so he detoured down the hall to the smaller kitchen for a snack.
He entered the airy room, but it was already occupied. Genevieve stood bent over the marble counter, piping icing onto cookies. She glanced up at him, a dollop of icing hanging from the pastry bag. She had tidied her hair into a tight bun, and wore a white chef coat in lieu of an apron.
“I don’t mean to interrupt you. I did not have time for lunch earlier, and I need a snack.”
She was silent, and flicked a glance at the door, almost as if she wanted to run.
He clenched his teeth, then winced, rubbed his jaw. “Your husband has quite a temper.”
“Husband? He’s . . .” Her words trailed off and she straightened, staring at him. She set the pastry bag down.
“He’s what?” he asked, forcing his voice to be casual. He opened the stainless steel refrigerator door. He scanned the shelves, but every fiber of his being was tuned to the woman behind him.
“He’s very protective of me.”
He shut the door, then opened the pantry. He stared, unseeing, at the food on the shelves. His thoughts churned.
“Do you want a cookie?”
He turned around.
She pointed to a basket at the end of the counter. “Those are the cookies I can’t use for the party. Help yourself.”
He reached into the basket and pulled out a piece of cookie. Biting into it, the flavors exploded on his tongue. Delicate and light, he tasted sugar, vanilla, and hints of lemon.
She turned back to the counter and picked up the pastry bag. “Take the basket with you. I need to get these finished,” she said, dismissing him.
He should leave. Why would I want to be around her? Yet here he was, leaning against the counter, watching her work. Her movements were graceful, and precise. He could tell she knew what she was doing, and was very proficient.
For the first time, he looked at what she was working on. Heart-shaped cookies lined the trays, frosted to look like the bodice of wedding dresses. She had even piped tiny pearl necklaces on each cookie. He was charmed in spite of himself.
“You always were very talented.”
He nodded. “They will go . . . what was it you used to say? They will go like hotcakes at a church fair.”
Surprise flashed across her face. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember a great many things about you.”
She looked down, but her cheeks turned pink. He detected a slight smile.
“I think it’s wonderful the villagers are throwing a party for Connie Sue and Francois,” she said.
“It is a close-knit community, and many of the villagers are employed here at the winery. Francois is a very kind boss, good to his employees. He has instituted great change since he became in charge.”
“Connie Sue mentioned he took over when his father passed away, and began making a lot of changes. Sounds like he’s turned the place around into a thriving business.”
“Constance has been very beneficial in her role as Marketing Director, and great help to him. With her assistance, and his new direction for the winery, Francois has reached a greater audience for the wines.”
“She’s always been good at her job,” she said.
He detected a note of pride in her voice.
She set the pastry bag down and picked up the tray, carried it toward the alcove off the kitchen.
He noticed for the first time a tall cart on wheels. She pushed the tray onto the rack. Curious now, he followed her. Row after row of cookie trays filled the rack. The lower shelves held trays of cookies that were dressed in black and white icing tuxedos.
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