The Vintner and the Vixen (Vintage Love Book 1) (7 page)

He turned then but it was too dark to read his expression. She slung back the wine, not bothering to taste it. Liquid courage was all she had to tell him her story.

“What do you mean?” He refilled her glass. And his own. Then he sat on the chair next to the table. Candlelight flickered over the hard planes of his face.

“My first boyfriend was a drug dealer and a gang member. I pretended I didn’t know for a while, but when he gave me diamond earrings worth two grand for my sixteenth birthday, I figured the money wasn’t from his paper route.”

“What happened to him?” His tone was neutral, as though he were asking about her day. No biggie that she’d just confessed to consorting with a criminal.

“He was on his way to pick me up for my high-school graduation party. First he collected my best friend. Then two blocks from my place he and Kelsey were shot to death. I remember being mad that he was late, then hearing the sirens. I thought maybe he’d been arrested. My brother went to check it out and told me the news. If I’d been picked up first, I’d be the one dead, not Kelsey.”

“Is that why you went to live with your great-grandmother?”

“Yes. My parents wanted me out of that life, away from my former friends, so they sent me to Gran-Gran. I even changed my last name to distance myself from my past, kind of a turn back time thing. She took me in on two conditions.”

“What were they?”

“One, that I stop swearing. She hated profanity. The other that I keep away from gangs and drug dealers. Unfortunately, I only kept one of those conditions.”

“You stopped swearing?”

“Yeah. I was good for a few years. Gran-Gran and I got on great. She loved art and encouraged me in my studies, pulling some strings to get my paintings into a gallery run by one of her friends.”

“And then?”

“I got impatient. I wanted instant success. Raj, my first boyfriend, had showered me with money and gifts. I hated having to scrape every last penny together to make my bus fare to go to class. Then I met this guy.”

Jacques shifted in his seat. He no longer looked at her. Good, she’d turned him off. It was better this way. Let him know how bad she truly was. Then he’d leave her in peace and she could get on with her art. It was what Gran-Gran had wanted. It was what she should have done in the first place.

“He was a criminal, too?”

“Victor was a lot more discreet than my first boyfriend. I should have read the signs, but I was too stupid. For one, a computer sales rep shouldn’t have had the money he did. But he told me it was family money. And he was so nice. He bought me things, treated me to dinner in fancy restaurants, drove a cool car, took me to clubs. Then one night we were at a house party, some other guy grabbed me, and a fight broke out. Victor stabbed the guy in the heart and he died. At the trial I learned they were both drug dealers and had a history going way back. Evidently Victor had uttered death threats against this guy before. So the court found him guilty of first degree murder, and he’s serving a life sentence.”

“You don’t do things by half, do you?” He put his wineglass on the small table, and she was sure he was about to walk away. “Do you use drugs?”

“I’ve tried a few, but I don’t like the way they make me feel. I get sick, not high. So I haven’t touched them in years. And I stopped smoking when Gran-Gran was having trouble breathing after a bout of pneumonia.”

“Anything else?”

“No.” She hadn’t told him about Etienne or that Big Tony wanted her dead. But there was only so much soul baring a woman could do in one night.

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 destination.

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
.