“If you say no after our lunch, then I’ll take you back to the château and that will be the end of it.”
Without waiting for a response, he started the engine. “Louis will be happy to know this speedboat seems to be in fine working order, but I’ll open up the throttle to be certain.”
CHAPTER THREE
ABBY STARED AT this striking man wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. If he were featured on a billboard, the sight of him alone in whatever he wore would be worth millions for the advertisers. She found him more fantastic than any fantasy of her imagination.
“You’re not a Realtor are you?”
In a few minutes, he’d pulled into the slip and turned off the engine, but the blood was still pounding in her ears. “I’m afraid that’s an assumption you made.”
“But you let me keep thinking it.”
He slanted her one of those seductive glances he probably wasn’t even aware of. “Forgive me?”
With a look like that, she could forgive him anything and probably a lot more. That’s what frightened her.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered him. It depends on what you do when you’re not picking up strange females, at a lonely train station, no less,” she went on. “In the middle of the week. In a car that looks like the one De Gaulle rode in on Bastille Day after World War II.”
His quick smile took her breath.
She removed the life jacket and climbed out on her own beyond his reach. Abby felt his gaze on her and knew he was still waiting for her answer. To give in to her desire and accept his invitation would be heaven. But at what cost later on, when he no longer wanted her? After she’d sold her soul, she would never be the same again and would never be able to pick up the pieces.
“Who are you?” she blurted in panic. “What are you?”
“Would it help if I told you I’m a vintner?”
“From Burgundy...” She hadn’t seen that coming, but she should have. Chalk it up to her being turned inside out by his male magnetism. “The clues were there. Not every Realtor knows the intimate goings-on during the pollination season at La Floraison.”
“I left out one detail in my résumé. Auguste Decorvet was a distant relative of mine. The Decorvet family has many offshoots, none of them into the selling of real estate. Years ago, one of them came to Switzerland to buy a vineyard, and to get away from the dark internal fighting and struggles between family members who all wanted to be in charge.”
She smiled. “I’m afraid that’s true of some dynastic-minded families.”
“But not yours?”
“No. My parents are quite easygoing. If I do things they don’t like, they show it by being disappointed. I don’t like to disappoint them.”
“You’re lucky to have grown up in such a household.” The tone in his voice led her to believe he hadn’t exaggerated his family’s infighting, which probably contributed to that brooding countenance. “While we eat, you can ask me all the questions you want. But I need to know what kind of a meal will give me the answer I’m looking for from you.”
“I’m afraid it’s not the white fish entrées they sell along the lake.”
“You really do need a change of scene.”
As they walked to the car, she knew what her friends would say if she said he’d invited them to come to France for a few days. Abby had only spent a few hours with him so far.
You didn’t just go off with a virtual stranger who was a vintner, even if it sounded exciting. Even if he had a legitimate familial tie with the former owner of this vineyard. Even if he had something important he wanted to show her.
But was it really so wrong if she wanted to throw caution aside and enjoy an adventure with him for as long as it lasted? To know what it would be like to lie in his arms and forget the world? Heaven help her that she was even entertaining the idea.
“I... I don’t know how soon my friends will be back,” her voice faltered. “If we eat in the village, they might be able to join us, depending on their timing.”
“Maybe they’ve returned. Let’s drive back to the château and check first.”
When they couldn’t see the red car, he drove them to a sidewalk café. They served the most divine lunch of escalope de veau she’d ever tasted served with peas that had to be fresh from the garden. Halfway through her galette framboise dessert, she put her fork down because his blac
k eyes were studying her.
“Why are you smiling?”