One Night in Provence Page 6

  Amazing, how much he enjoyed entertaining her. Yes, part of his enthusiasm was driven by a desire to seduce. He’d never met a woman so determined to keep him at arm’s length. Well, not quite arm’s length, or they wouldn’t be soaked to the skin. But, the last day or so, his desire had taken on another layer. He liked her. She challenged him intellectually, something his usual dates never did, and when he spoke about history, she listened. Actively listened, not the lip service he so often received. Surprised him to admit it, but if their time together never progressed beyond a few kisses and good company, he would still consider the week a success.

  Of course, their time together could be far richer if they explored each other as well as the region. If only she would let herself go.

  It was still raining buckets when they pulled up in front of his building. “So much for drying in the car,” Jenna said as they raced up the front steps. “I think my sneakers are going to squish for days.”

  “We will throw everything in the dryer. It’ll be dry in no time.” He tossed his keys on the table by the front door, next to a stack of mail. The house was hot and muggy after being locked up for several days, making his wet clothes feel ten times heavier.

  Jenna, meanwhile, stood by the door, hugging her frame. Her arms glistened with rainwater. So did her face. Her lips. It was all he could do not to kiss the moisture from her skin.

  “Come with me,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get you out of those wet clothes.” She was far too tempting in them.

  He led her upstairs to his en suite. Thankfully, the housekeeper had cleaned up before taking the week off. Grabbing his robe from behind the bathroom door, he handed it to her.

  “This should keep you warm while your clothes are drying. There are fresh towels in the bathroom as well, if you’d like to take a shower to warm up. Or I could draw you a bath...”

  He liked how her brows knit together as he pointed out the tub. “It looks big enough to swim in,” she said.

  “It’s meant for two people. But in this case, I’m merely offering an opportunity to get warm,” he quickly added. “I will be downstairs ordering dinner.”

  “Thanks, but the towel and the robe are fine. I don’t think I need to go swimming in your tub right now.”

  “The choice is up to you. You can always change your mind later.” Because he couldn’t help himself, he combed the wet hair from her face. “You can have anything you want this evening. All you have to do is ask.”

  * * *

  Philippe was whistling in a room on the second floor when Jenna stepped out of the bedroom. Clutching her wet clothes, she padded her way toward the sound. His “apartment,” as he called it, was really a narrow antique house with the main living quarters on the upper floors. Philippe’s bedroom occupied the bulk of the third floor.

  It was gorgeous. Elegant and masculine, much like the man himself. The entire time she was undressing, Jenna had been painfully aware that she stood feet away from the bed he slept in. When she wrapped his robe around her body, his scent had enveloped her, too. All of it reminding her that all she need to do was ask.

  She found him at the far end of the second floor in what had to be the living room. Again, the decor reeked of wealthy masculinity. Leather furniture. High-end electronics. The perfect bachelor apartment.

  While she’d been upstairs, he’d managed to find dry clothes of his own—a pair of striped linen pants and a shirt that hung loose. He was moving a small table from the corner to in front of the terrace window, the exertion causing his shirtsleeves to tighten around bulging biceps.

  Jenna coughed the sudden frog from her throat. “What would you like me to do with these?”

  “I’ll take them downstairs.” He looked her up and down with a grin. “You wear that robe well.”

  “I feel like a character from those science fiction movies.” The long garment pooled around her feet, and the sleeves wouldn’t stay rolled.

  “You’ll have your own clothes soon enough. I poured us some wine. It’s by the fireplace.”

  Sure enough, two glasses of red wine sat on the fireplace mantel. “You’ve been busy,” she called after him. How long had she lingered in his bedroom?

  There was a photograph on the mantel as well. One of those formal family shots like the ones on display at the hotel, only this one was more recent. In it, a middle-aged man stood behind a sofa, his hand on the shoulder of a beautiful dark-haired woman. A young boy of about eight sat next to her, while she held a baby on her lap.

  Philippe’s family.

  She spied another frame by a lamp. Of two men in bathing suits this time. They stood on the beach, the older one with his arm hooked around the younger boy’s shoulders. Despite the fact both men wore sunglasses, Jenna recognized Philippe’s grin immediately. He’d clearly been a charmer since birth.

  “That was in St. Tropez.” Philippe returned from the kitchen with plates in his hands. “My parents insisted on a family holiday before Felix returned to the university.”

  “You look like you’re having a good time.”

  “That was the last time we were all together. My father flew to Milan in the morning. He was struck by a car leaving his hotel a few days later.”

  No wonder he displayed the photo. Carefully, she set the frame back on the mantel. Meanwhile, Philippe was busying himself by setting the table, carefully arranging the two plates as though hosting a formal dinner. “I thought you might prefer a view while eating. Ideally, I would have preferred to enjoy the fading sun, but it is still better than the dining room.”

  “You don’t like talking about family, do you?”

  “Pardon?”

  She’d been around enough difficult conversations, not to mention ducking more than a few herself, to recognize avoidance tactics when she saw them. Philippe’s sad family history was none of her business, but the sadness in his voice when he mentioned his father’s death called to her. Just like when he mentioned his brother the other evening, she saw a glimmer of what lurked beneath his perfect surface, and the sight had her wanting more. To quote someone in the room, she wanted to know him inside and out.

  “Whenever the topic comes up, you change the subject. It’s happened three times now.”

  “Has it?” He shifted one of the plates an inch to the left. “Interesting you should notice, seeing as how you do the same thing.”

  Touché. “That’s different,” Jenna replied.

  “How so?”

  “Your family is worth talking about.”

  Her comment, which came out before she could censor herself, hung in the silence, waiting for elaboration. There was no way Philippe would let her move on until she did. Not after she’d challenged his reluctance to share. Taking a long drink of wine for fortification, she thought of how to best explain.

  “My mom stopped living the day my dad moved out,” she started.

  “I’m confused. I thought your mother was alive.”

  “She is, but there’s a difference between being alive and living.”

  “I see.”

  “She wakes up, she works, she does all the things she’s supposed to do, but...” Jenna’s hand tightened on the goblet. As was the case whenever she talked about her mother, she felt the frustration squeezing at her throat. “It’s like she hit pause the day he moved out and has been on hold ever since. Waiting for my father to come home.” Never moving forward. Never giving up hope. “Twenty freaking years.”

  “And your father? Does he know?”

  “Oh, he knows all right, and he loves it. Encourages it, actually. Every few years, he pops up, like a bad penny. Usually around the time his current relationship is on the rocks, and he needs an ego stroking. Last I heard, he was shacking up with some girl half his age. To be honest, I lose track.”

 
“He has a lot of relationships.”

  “He is a jerk,” Jenna replied. “He uses women, makes promises he has no intention of keeping and is out the door as soon as something better comes along.” Thinking of him left a bad taste in her mouth. “Pretty sure the only reason he stuck it out with my mother for as long as he did was because Grandpa threatened to kill him.”

  “Must have been very hard for you growing up.”

  Jenna swallowed the mouthful of rosé she’d gulped. “I caught on to his bogus promises in the sixth grade. Mom, though...” She shook her head. A lifetime wasted waiting on a man who didn’t love anyone but himself. “See why I’m not keen on talking about my family? At least your family accomplished things. Your father loved your mother. My mother sat on the sofa waiting.” She stared into her glass.

  “Maybe she waited because she didn’t know what else to do?”

  “Clearly.” She let out a harsh breath. “I’d understand if my father were some kind of prize, but he isn’t.”

  The sofa sagged as Philippe joined her. A moment later, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close.

  Leaning on him was dangerously natural.

  “My mother sketched,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?” His comment didn’t make much sense given their conversation.

  “After my father’s accident, my mother took up drawing. Day in, day out, she sketched things. Fruit. Furniture. Page after page of unrecognizable objects. You might say it was a compulsion.”

  “Why?”

  “Felix asked the same question. She told him it was to make the day go by faster. She didn’t know what else to do with herself. Felix took over my father’s job. Her job had been to take care of my father.”

  “And you,” Jenna replied. “Weren’t you only a teenager?”

  “Yes, but I also had the life of a teenager. I didn’t need my mother the way I once did.”

  His fingers combed through her hair as he talked. “Perhaps your mother waits because she doesn’t know how to draw.”

  Jenna didn’t know what to say. When she first mentioned the photograph, she hadn’t expected the conversation to turn into a bearing of souls. But, here they were, sharing.

  Lifting her head, she looked at Philippe and was taken aback by the seriousness of his expression. How beautiful he looked when stripped of all pretenses. It was a face she imagined the world seldom got to see, and she was honored he showed himself to her.

  A wall shifted inside her. She’d been attracted to Philippe since first glance, but the attraction was deeper now. Underpinned by a layer of connection that came from two people sharing their hidden selves.

  Suddenly, she wanted to be closer. In a few days, she would be back in Nantucket, and she wanted this night, this closeness, to be the memory she carried home.

  “Philippe?” she whispered. “Do you remember when you said I could have anything I wanted?”

  She caught him by the chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. Watching the violet slowly turn to indigo as he realized what she was saying. “I’m asking.”

  * * *

  Jenna woke to an empty bed and the sound of Philippe on the phone speaking in rapid French. When he saw her sitting up, he winked and pointed to a tray on the dresser where a carafe of coffee and two mugs sat. After shaking the sleep from her curls, Jenna padded over to pour a cup.

  “Dits Pierre d’embaucher quelques mains supplémentaires s’il est en désavantage numérique. Nous ne pouvons pas tomber en retard sur l’horaire. Dior s’attend à tout pour être envoyées par la huitième,” she heard Philippe say.

  He could be discussing plumbing fixtures for all she knew, but it didn’t matter. The language sounded beautiful dripping off his tongue. Setting herself on the end of the bed, she watched how the muscles played across his bare back each time he gestured with his arms. Memories of different, soft French words came back to her. Words of encouragement and pleasure. The muscles in his arms flexed, reminding her how they’d held her close.

  “Je suis désolé, ma chérie,” Philippe said when his conversation was finished. “I am sorry. They are behind schedule in delivering the lavender to the distillery. The oil isn’t perfect unless the flowers are at their freshest. We already have enough competition with Egypt undercutting us on price. The least we can do is deliver on time.” He set the phone aside and joined her on the bed. “I told them I would go back and cut the branches myself.”

  “Would you?” she asked.

  “It would not be the first time. And good morning.” Leaning in, he gave her a lingering kiss before slipping the coffee from her hands and helping himself to a sip. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Very.”

  “Good. I am glad. I apologize for not letting you sleep in, but as it turns out, it’s for the best that you’re awake. I wasn’t joking about heading back to supervise the harvest.”

  So much for her keeping him interested. Having finally succeeded in seducing her, he was saying goodbye. No more reason to play tour guide. “You want to head back to the valley.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have a choice. My absence is part of the reason they have slowed down, so I need to make an appearance. Which is why it is good that you’re awake. Now we have time to see a bit of Arles after breakfast.”

  “You’re still playing tour guide?”

  He cocked his head. Their night had left his hair wavy and askew, making him more beautiful than ever. “Unless you’d rather take a swim in my tub,” he teased.

  Was he serious? There wasn’t going to be a quick goodbye? No morning drop-off at the hotel with a kiss before he drove out of her life?

  “You’re frowning again,” he said, brushing a thumb across her lips. “You didn’t believe me yesterday, did you?”

  “I...”

  “I told you yesterday. You are far too interesting to let go after one night. You don’t leave for five more days, correct? The way I see things, that means we have five more days to enjoy each other’s company. That is, if you enjoyed last night.” His knuckle caught her chin. “Did you? Enjoy it?”

  Jenna nodded. She was getting lost in his stare again. Those magnetic violet eyes were going to be the death of her.

  He smiled. “So did I, ma chérie. So did I.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AS FAR AS Philippe was concerned, it wasn’t unusual for him to have a lover stay around the morning after. He’d even been known to enjoy a romantic weekend or two. But he’d never found himself eager to spend an entire week with someone, let alone two. While he’d begun this venture looking for a few days’ distraction, he hadn’t anticipated being so thoroughly entertained.

  They ended up in the tub after all, the notion of seeing Jenna glistening wet again too enticing to pass up. Later, they lingered over coffee and croissants as they waited for the market to open. There he helped her pick out French perfume. He’d been right that first evening. Jasmine did suit her.

  The entire time, he could tell, she was waiting for him to say goodbye. Therefore, it was no surprise to see her eyes widen when he drove past the hotel entrance and headed straight to Château d’Usay.

  “You would rather go to your room?” he asked.

  “Eventually,” she replied. “Seeing as how that’s where my clothes are.”

  He thought of telling her not to worry about something she wouldn’t need, but thought better. “We’ll go together once I finish my meeting. Do you mind waiting?”

  “No. If you don’t mind me giving myself a private tour. I missed a few rooms when I was here earlier in the week.”

  That was when it hit him how much time they’d spent together. Five days had never passed so quickly. Suddenly five more didn’t seem like enough.

  The meeting lasted longer than he intended. In an effort to keep costs low, Pierre, his manager, had hired fewer workers,
a mistake, as it turned out. Now they were going to be forced to pay for extra help at the height of harvest season and recalculate their production schedule.

  As a result, two hours passed before he returned to the house.

  “Jenna, are you here?” The quiet upon entering made him nervous. She might have gotten bored and gone back to the hotel on her own.

  “In the room next to the salon,” she called out.

  His great-grandfather’s library. He found her curled up in the desk chair studying the photos that lined the bookshelves behind her. For a moment, he simply stood in the doorway. The desk was near the back window where it got the afternoon sun. Flecks of dust floated in the beam like tiny little lights. It was like looking at an angel.

  “My mother used to call this room a dust-collecting nuisance,” he said, finally announcing his presence.

  She looked up, and the smile she greeted him with took his breath away. “Tu es belle,” he caught himself saying.

  “I really need to brush up on my French,” she replied. The blush on her cheeks said she guessed at the meaning, if not the literal translation.

  Interesting that she would blush at his compliments now.

  Strolling to the desk, he saw that one of the photographs rested on her lap. It was his parents by the Eiffel Tower. “I believe that was taken on their honeymoon.”

  “They look very happy.”

  “Oui. They loved each other very much. They were always laughing and enjoying themselves.” Until his father died and his mother stopped laughing, that is. He took the photo out of her hands. “In many ways, she is like your mother. Part of her died with him. Perhaps that is why she didn’t put up a fight when she got sick.”

  “How did she die?” Jenna’s question was soft and hesitant.

  “Meningitis. It was very quick. One day she had a terrible headache and a stiff neck. A few days later, she was gone.”

  A thickness filled the air, not unlike the thickness in his throat. Jenna reached across the space and touched his arm. No words. Just a touch. Philippe felt more comfort than he had in years.