One Night in Provence Page 5

  Tonight, Jenna had to agree. Plucking a flower from its stem, she twirled the blossom between her fingers and imagined the subtle scent drifting upward. Maybe she’d go back to wearing perfume after all. Then when she wanted to remember this trip, she need only inhale.

  “You said you grow these in Grasse?” she asked.

  “We grow everything in Grasse,” he replied. “Roses in the spring. Jasmine and lavender in the summer. You can tell the time of year by how the air smells.”

  He lifted her hand to smell the flower she was holding, touching her for the first time since the walk began. “Jasmine suits you,” he said.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because it is sweet but subtle. Rose is too floral and lavender too heavy. Jasmine, however, entices without overpowering. It doesn’t need to advertise its beauty. Rather, it is perfect in its simplicity.”

  “Are you saying I’m simple?”

  “Ma chère, you are far from simple. But you are perfect. And enticing.”

  While he was speaking, he slipped the flower from her and traced it along her cheek. Jenna’s eyes fluttered shut. “You’re trying to seduce me,” she whispered.

  The blossom brushed her lower lip. “Is it working?”

  More than it should, and it frightened her. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring into his, their color darkened to fine wine by the night sky. So dark she could almost imagine the light reflecting in them was from the stars. It left her feeling off balance.

  Intoxicated.

  “Philippe...”

  “Shh.” He pressed the flower to her lips. “Don’t say no. Not yet.”

  Jenna didn’t want to say no. That was the problem. What she wanted was for Philippe to kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. The moment was right there. All she needed to do was whisper one word, and he would sweep her away.

  Only to wake up in the morning hating herself. Try as she might, she couldn’t do it. As magical as the moment felt, it was all surface magic, designed to seduce. She’d grown up witnessing the damage romantic illusion could do. She saw how a few well-played promises could lure a woman into believing they meant more. No matter how badly she was tempted, Jenna refused to let the moment sweep her away.

  Ignoring her racing pulse, she stepped back. It wasn’t a huge step, but it was enough that the temperature around her cooled. “I think we’d better call it a night.”

  “Are you certain?” His expression was dangerously understanding.

  “Yes, very.”

  “Very well. I will walk you to your door.”

  “The elevator will suffice.” Truth be told, she didn’t trust herself not to weaken if they made it anywhere near her bedroom. Already, she could feel the prickles of remorse nipping at her insides. That was the curse of leading with your head.

  They resumed their walk in silence, the awareness from before replaced by a different kind of tension. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed,” she caught herself saying, despite having nothing to apologize for.

  He replied with a shrug. “C’est la vie. I told you before, I only go where I am invited.”

  “Dinner truly was lovely.”

  “I am glad you enjoyed yourself. Perhaps tomorrow I can impress you again. I thought you might like to tour the Pont du Gard and have a picnic by the river.”

  “Tomorrow?” Was he asking her out a second time? Even after she...?

  “My ego is not so fragile that I would walk away from an interesting woman simply because she ended the evening early,” he replied. “I have been in need of...company...this week, and you are exactly the breath of fresh air I was looking for. So, tomorrow. Shall I pick you up in the morning? The bridge is best enjoyed before the crowds.”

  “I—I had signed up for a bus tour.” She meant the response as an excuse, but the words lacked conviction. Philippe made for a far better guide than any professionally run tour.

  Plus, the prospect of seeing him again made her spine tingle. “Will nine o’clock work?” she asked him.

  “Perfectly.” His face brightened with satisfaction. “I shall see you then. And who knows? Perhaps tomorrow night you will reconsider issuing an invitation.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” she replied.

  “Oh, but I like to gamble.” Shivers passed through her at the way his voice dropped. “And now,” he continued, “I will say good-night.”

  “But...we’re not at the elevator.”

  “I know, but I thought it best we stop here.”

  “Why?” She looked around. They had stopped at the edge of the gardens, at a point where the pathway intersected with a concrete sidewalk. The door to the hotel was a few feet away, guarded by a pair of olive trees.

  Fingers curled around the shell of her ear. “Because, ma chère, I plan to kiss you good-night, and I prefer privacy.”

  Jenna’s mouth ran dry. “Oh.”

  The kiss was gentle to start, as though he were waiting for her to kiss him back. Which Jenna quickly did, their lips sliding into a natural rhythm. The kisses grew deeper, and soon she found herself pressed tight against him, her hands clutching his shoulders.

  No one had ever kissed her like this. With such passion and patience. He didn’t grope or try to rush things to the next level. He just held her and tasted her as deeply as he could.

  Until suddenly, abruptly, he broke away, leaving them both struggling to breathe again.

  “Good night, Jenna,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”

  After a kiss like that? Jenna wasn’t sure that was possible.

  * * *

  Philippe couldn’t remember the last time a woman rejected him and he went home smiling. Never? More proof that Jenna Brown was what he needed this week.

  He inhaled, letting the jasmine and lavender fill him. Every season, the pungency caught him off guard. One would think, after a lifetime of harvests, he would remember. Hadn’t he told Jenna one never forgets a perfume?

  His brother loved the smell, as did his parents. Usually, the scent filled him with melancholy, but not tonight. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, the floral scent accompanied more pleasant thoughts.

  Should he feel guilty, pursuing Jenna so ardently? After all, he was everything she oh-so-cynically accused him of being.

  Then again, she was a grown woman, intelligent and strong enough to know whether she wanted to sleep with a man.

  He ran a thumb across his lips. How enjoyable it would be if she invited him into her bed. He certainly looked forward to convincing her she should.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU tell me you were afraid of heights?” Philippe asked.

  “I’m not afraid of heights. It’s narrow, circular stairs I don’t like.” One hundred forty very narrow stairs that were expected to accommodate both up and down traffic. Every few steps, Jenna found herself having to hug the railing in order to allow a descending tourist to pass.

  “Relax.” Philippe’s voice sounded in her ear. “I’m standing right behind you. You’re not going to get knocked over.”

  “You better hope not, because I’m pulling you down with me to break my fall,” she told him.

  They were in Nîmes, climbing the famed Tour Magne, a thousand-year-old tower that promised panoramic views of the city. It had been four days since their dinner on the terrace. Four days of romantic outings followed by Jenna sending Philippe home to sleep in his own bed despite wanting to do the opposite. No matter how enticing Philippe’s kisses, a voice told her to hold back.

  He was too perfect; that was the problem. Charming. Witty. Sexy. Always knowing what to say. And none of it dipping below the surface. Except for that one slip of a moment on the terrace, he kept his true self at bay, as much a stranger as the day they met—albeit a very enticing stranger.

  At the top of the stairs, they p
assed through a doorway and onto a stone observation deck. “See?” Philippe said. “I told you the view was worth it.”

  He was right. All around them spread the city of Nîmes. Despite the dark clouds rolling in over the mountains, the view was spectacular. In the distance, Jenna could see the walls of the arena of Nîmes, the famous Roman amphitheatre, while if she looked down, she could see the walls and waterways of the public gardens. They made their way to a spot along the wall and stood one in front of the other, Philippe’s arms holding her in place. “I see what you mean now about the gardens being designed so you can view them from above,” she said.

  “The tower wasn’t originally this tall. After Rome conquered the area, Augustus doubled the height for protection purposes.”

  Of course, he knew such a fact. “Is there any piece of local history you don’t know?”

  “Not really.”

  “I feel spoiled, having my own walking, talking guidebook,” she told him. One whose eyes lit up when sharing interesting facts. She wished they weren’t standing back to front so she could see his eyes right now.

  “We aim to please.” His arms came around either side of her to rest on the top of the battlement.

  Maybe standing back to front wasn’t so bad after all.

  She snuggled into his space while he pointed out landmarks and shared historical anecdotes.

  “You should have been a history professor,” she said after a while. She could imagine how popular he would be with university students. The waiting list for his class would be a mile long.

  “Believe it or not, there was a time when I wanted to do just that.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “The business needed me. My parents were gone. Felix’s illness made it hard for him to keep on top of everything. Since I’ve a knack for numbers...”

  “You stepped up to help.”

  “I had to. What good is D’Usay International without a d’Usay at the helm? Some of these companies have been dealing with our family for nearly a century.”

  “Tradition is important to you, isn’t it? Forget I asked.” The answer was obvious, given his passion for history.

  A man who valued the past but lived for today. Quite the contradiction.

  “When you belong to a family with deep roots, you cannot help but respect tradition. The d’Usay name has been an integral part of Provence’s history.”

  With him being the last of them. “The pressure is on for you to boost the family numbers.”

  “Or let the name die out.”

  “You don’t plan to have children?”

  “Good Lord, no. Not on purpose, anyway.”

  “Really?” She was surprised. For someone who believed in honoring the past as much as he did, you’d think he’d want to preserve that history into the future for as long as he could.

  “Children and relationships require commitment,” he replied. “In case you haven’t guessed, I prefer to stay as entanglement-free as possible.”

  Hopping from one good time to the next. Didn’t that sound familiar? “You’re not afraid you’ll get bored? Even pleasure seeking has its limits.”

  “Not if you do it right,” he teased.

  Releasing her from his arms, he came around to face her. The wind had ruffled his curls, adding emphasis to his devil-may-care remarks. “Not everyone in the world is meant to settle down, ma chère.”

  “But what about your family legacy?” The history he so respected. How could he, on one hand, talk so reverently about his ancestors, and on the other, talk about never settling down?

  “Families die out.” As he spoke, a cloud passed in front of the sun, casting his face in shadows. “If the d’Usays were meant to continue, there’d be more family around than only me.”

  But if he had children... Jenna kept her thoughts to herself and instead stared out at the city below. Terra-cotta roofs and white marble dotted with evergreen spires. It wasn’t Philippe’s fault he’d picked at an emotional scab. What did it matter to her if he spent the rest of his life jet-setting around the world? In fact, more power to him for being honest than misleading women with false hopes.

  “You’re frowning.” Philippe’s fingers played with the hair by her ear. “You’re disappointed with me.”

  “Quite the opposite, actually. I was thinking of someone who should have taken a page from your book. Might have saved a whole lot of pain.”

  “Someone broke your heart?” His hand combed through her hair before coming to rest on her shoulder. “The man is a fool.”

  His sentiment made her smile. “Not my heart,” she told him. “My mother’s. My dad never should have married her. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as forthright as you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It is what it is. I figured out a long time ago I’m not responsible for my parents’ mistakes.” Not even if she was one of them. “You learn to deal.”

  Unless you were her mother, that was.

  Jenna could feel Philippe’s eyes on her as he waited for her to go on. She didn’t want to. Talking about her family, even in the most vague of terms, depressed her, and she didn’t want to spoil the afternoon.

  “Anyway, you’re right. Relationships take commitment, and if that’s not your thing, more power to you for realizing before someone gets hurt.”

  “Precisely. Thank you for understanding.”

  Jenna shrugged. “I take it I’m one of the few?”

  “There are women who consider my resolution a challenge,” he said, “and therefore feel the need to take up the gauntlet, so to speak.”

  She could only imagine what the gauntlet entailed. “Let me guess. You don’t let these women down gently.”

  “Sometimes bluntness is the only way to get the point across.”

  “What about you?” Philippe asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Are you looking for marriage and children?”

  “Not with you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she replied. “But eventually, I suppose. If the right person comes along, and if his heart doesn’t have vascular ADD.”

  “Vascular what?”

  “It’s a term Shirley and I came up with to describe guys who can’t stay committed longer than a month before falling in love with someone else.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, I can promise you, I do not have vascular ADD. My heart doesn’t wish to commit, period.”

  Leaning closer, he added in a low voice, “You realize you are making the perfect argument for our enjoying each other’s company for the remainder of the week. Because we are both on the same page.”

  His logic was hard to follow with his breath tickling her neck. “Are we? On the same page?”

  “I like to think so. Don’t you?”

  Jenna shouldn’t have turned to meet his eyes. The promise in his voice already conjured up way too many delicious connotations. Falling into the purple, she felt her resolve fraying. It would be so easy to tumble and get lost, she thought. But, oh, how tempting.

  “But if I say yes, then who’s to say I’ll see you again?” she asked. Surely part of his attraction was the challenge.

  “You are far too interesting for me to lose interest in one night. I find myself wanting to know every bit of you. Inside...” He traced his index finger across her collarbone. “And out.”

  Jenna started to melt, the way she always did when he turned seductive. “You make a strong argument.”

  He caught her face. The feel of his palms on her skin reached all the way to her toes. “I can make a stronger one, if you’d like.”

  Oh dear. Jenna’s mouth ran dry.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. “It’s going to storm,” she managed to say.

  The sky above them was quickly darkening. The tourists who’d been enjoying the view aro
und them began filing their way down the stairs.

  Philippe stopped her when she started to follow. “We have time,” he told her.

  “For what? Getting struck by lightning?”

  “We will be fine. I want to take advantage of the privacy to finish explaining myself.”

  “I really don’t think...”

  He kissed her. Oh. That explanation.

  Jenna fell into the kiss.

  * * *

  They got caught in the rain. A drenching downpour of a storm that left them soaked to the skin before they could sprint to the car. Hardly the romantic moment Philippe had planned for.

  It was his fault, of course. He got caught up in the kiss and completely forgot about the advancing storm. Jenna’s kisses had the strangest effect on him. The taste of her went straight to his head the way champagne used to when he was a boy. Only she tasted much sweeter.

  He could only imagine what taking her to bed would be like.

  From the passenger seat, Jenna flashed him a valiant smile. She was soaked. Water dripped from her curls and ran down the sides of her face, and her once brightly colored outfit stuck to her skin. Although he’d turned the air temperature as warm as he dared, goose bumps still covered her arms and legs. She looked miserable. Beautiful, but miserable.

  He spied the road sign ahead and made an executive decision.

  “I don’t remember taking this turn on the drive in,” she said.

  “We didn’t. I’m going to my apartment in Arles instead.”

  Right on cue, the wariness flashed across her face. “To dry off and get something to eat. Unless you’d rather stay in those wet clothes for an extra thirty minutes.”

  “Not really,” she replied. There was a moment, though, when he saw her considering the option. Fortunately for them both, common sense won out.

  “Then it’s settled. We’ll find you some dry clothes and I’ll order us some dinner from Chez Marguerite.” The café on the corner was one of his favorite haunts. His living room looked out on the amphitheater. He could set up a small table so they could enjoy the view.