“Seriously?”
Was she imagining the tightening of his lips? The look on his face that spoke of impatience? A moment later, the expression was gone, a smile taking its place. “Not now and not here.” He jerked his head towards some workers, carrying a timber crate of grapes into the barn.
Skye waved to the people she’d been working with all week, then returned her focus to Matthieu, his eyes were still steadily trained on her face.
“Then where?” She hated that the question emerged breathless!
“I have a cottage here.”
She nodded. “Over the hill. I know.”
“Come with me. We’ll talk there.”
“I need to shower first.”
“I have bathrooms there.”
She stared at him, unable to put one thought after the other at first. That ringing in her ears was getting louder, dominating her every thought. “But no clothes,” she pointed out.
“That’s strange, because I seem to be wearing clothes every time I emerge.”
“I mean, no clothes for me.”
“But a washing machine and dryer, that will return these to their usual condition.”
“And what –,”
“And in the meantime, a bathrobe for you to wear.”
The idea of being naked beneath a bathrobe in this man’s home was too much. She knew she should say ‘no’, but every fibre of her being was jumping up and down in excitement and anticipation. But anticipation of what? It wasn’t as though he was making a marriage proposal, for goodness sake!
“Or, I can go to your room and get clothes. Whatever.” The impatience was back, his eyes narrowing, so she regarded him more thoughtfully. She didn’t know much about Matthieu, but she did know he ran the business, and that his leadership had turned an already successful and long-vaunted luxury brand into something of a global icon. In that moment, she felt the steel of his determination and it was pushing hard into her.
Apart from anything, the idea of Matthieu in her room made her body flush with heat. She shook her head quickly. “That’s okay.” She cleared her throat. “Let’s go.”
“Good.” His approval warmed her blood. She looked away, hoping he didn’t see the look of gladness on her features.
The cottage that belonged to the family was a fifteen minute walk away, across the vines and into a private garden, with a hedge of tall, bushy pine trees that shielded the property completely from view. In fact, Skye wouldn’t have known it was even part of the winery were it not for the warning she’d received on the first day to stay away. “It’s private,” Etienne had said with a shake of his head. “You will not need to go near it.”
And she hadn’t. Even as they approached it now, with Matthieu at her side, she still hesitated, pausing to look over her shoulder, feeling as though she was breaking some vital rule by being here with Matthieu.
“Come.” Sensing her hesitation, Matthieu put his hand in the small of Skye’s back, guiding her forward. She startled, the touch unexpected and far too welcome, heat radiating through her. She took a step to the side, out of his reach, keeping her eyes trained on the opening in the hedge so she didn’t see the knowing smile that tilted his lips.
“It’s fine. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
The words were flirtatious, whether knowingly or unconsciously, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same. She couldn’t look at him.
An old, wrought-iron gate stood closed. While it looked as old as the winery itself, there was obviously a sophisticated security system at play; as they neared it, Matthieu swiped a small fob and there was the unmistakable click of a lock separating, then he pushed open the gate and stepped through, holding it wide for Skye. She hesitated another moment before taking his lead, following him onto the red brick pathway that led to…
“That’s not what I’d call a cottage,” she spat with disbelief. “I mean, come on.”
He tilted his face towards the place, as though seeing it for the first time. Skye couldn’t look away. Not from the old stone walls, nor the red terracotta roof, the size of it more like a generous country home than a cottage. Each ancient window had rippling glass and turquoise shutters, with window boxes filled with geraniums – bright red and pink and lush green leaves. The path leading up to the house was winding, and on either side there were big, tufty bushes of lavender that filled the air with that familiar scent. Rosemary formed a hedge along the front steps, and two doors stood at the top of the steps, painted a glossy black, with a big brass knocker. To one side there was a verandah, with cane furniture and potted plants overflowing with greenery – bay trees, citrus and delicate little flowers. On the far side of the house, there was a vine scrambling all over the walls, bathed now in the golden sunshine the afternoon brought.
It was heavenly.
It wasn’t until he reached out and pressed a finger to the underside of her chin that Skye realized her jaw had dropped.
Embarrassed, she threw him a quick glance. “Just, wow.” She was aware of how unsophisticated she must seem, and wished again that she was more like Mia and Sal. They’d have swanned up the garden path without a single sign of surprise, cooing elegantly at the delightful flower arrangements, running their fingers over the lavender in a way that was fun and sexy without seeming over-awed by the obvious charm of the place. Though perhaps neither of them would have seen the charm – both preferred modern to antique, and were far more at home in the high-rises of Manhattan or Sydney than somewhere like this. They thought she was crazy to want to get back to the land, when she could live anywhere she wanted. That she was in France but had shunned Paris was almost unforgivable to her stepsisters.