most beautiful woman he’d ever met, including the days when Guy had been married to a supermodel and had mixed with some of the most gorgeous women in the world.
And no doubt she knew just how stunning she was, because she bent her head slightly to sniff the rose, looking up at him. The perfect coquettish pose—one that was very close to his ex’s trademark.
‘This really is the most amazing scent,’ she said.
He knew that. Except he couldn’t smell it any more. Only something like the ghost of a scent—so it was more likely that he was simply remembering what they smelled like instead of actually smelling them. And memory wasn’t enough. ‘Yes,’ he said, through gritted teeth.
‘I didn’t think roses would still be blooming at the end of September.’ She shrugged and smiled. ‘Still, I guess this is the Med. Or near enough.’
He knew he ought to be polite. She was a guest in his home. It wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t smell, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that she reminded him of Véra. But she’d pressed all his buttons; he was nearly crazy with the frustration of not being able to fix the two biggest problems in his life; and the strain of keeping it from those he loved most—because he knew they already had enough on their plate and didn’t need the extra worry about him—wasn’t doing a lot for his temper.
‘If you don’t know where we are, try looking at a map,’ he suggested. ‘And kindly don’t damage any more of my roses.’ He turned on his heel and walked off, without a backward glance. He needed to get out of here. Now. Allie’s roses would just have to wait.
Amber stared at the man’s retreating back.
Wow.
What had she done? Were these prize-winning roses and he was the gardener, or something? It would certainly explain why there were so many roses around here. Didn’t posh gardeners have lots of different varieties though, and pride themselves on breeding different ones? Most of these roses seemed to be the same colour, cream at the centre shading to a deep blush-pink at the edges.
And what did he mean, it was his garden? Surely it belonged to the château and the vineyard? Or maybe he’d been the gardener here for years and felt that it was ‘his’ spiritually.
All that suppressed anger, over one little rose.
Crazy.
Though she felt a tiny bit guilty. He was right about one thing: she was a guest, and she should’ve resisted the impulse to pick a rose for her room. Or at least asked first.
Never mind. She’d ask Allie about her gorgeous sexy gardener—and if he ever smiled. Because, even though he’d been all brooding and simmering, she’d noticed how gorgeous he was. Sun-bleached fair hair, eyes the colour of a summer evening sky and a mouth that promised passion, all wrapped up with a seriously hot body.
She rolled her eyes. Picking a rose, without asking, was enough of a gaffe. Seducing her friend’s gardener would definitely be off limits. Besides, after that embarrassing feature in Celebrity Life a month ago—detailing every single one of her boyfriends over the past year, how long they’d lasted and how they’d dumped her—she’d decided to steer clear of men for a while.
She headed back to her room, filled the glass in her bathroom with water and put the rose in it, then placed it on the table next to her bed.
This place was so gorgeous. OK, so the walls needed a lick of paint and the heavy gold damask curtains were faded and the rug was a bit threadbare, but the half-tester bed was like a fairy princess’s. The whole place screamed ‘shabby chic’ and history. And her room had the most amazing view over the rose garden. It was the kind of room where you’d be quite happy to get up early in the morning, because you’d get to see the sun rising over the garden.
Lucky Allie, having all this at her disposal.
And definitely lucky her, having a friend who could invite her to stay somewhere so fabulous.
She wandered down to the kitchen; Allie was sitting at the kitchen table with someone else she recognised and hadn’t seen for ages. ‘Gina!’ She gave the designer a huge hug, kissing both cheeks. ‘When did you get here?’
‘The taxi dropped me off ten minutes ago.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You should’ve texted me. I could’ve waited at the airport for you and given you a lift. Never mind.’ She hugged her again. ‘It’s so lovely to see you.’
‘The coffee’s hot, if you want some,’ Allie said with a smile.
‘Yes, please.’ She poured herself a mug from the cafetière and added a splash of milk. ‘By the way, Allie, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve just upset your gardener.’
‘My gardener?’ Allie looked surprised.
‘He caught me picking one of the roses. He was a bit cross with me.’
Allie frowned. ‘I don’t have a gard—oh, wait. Was he tall, blond and gorgeous?’
‘Tall and blond, yes.’ Amber shrugged. ‘Gorgeous…’ Definitely. ‘He might be, if he wasn’t scowling.’
Allie blinked. ‘Guy never scowls.’
‘Who’s Guy?’ Amber asked.
‘Xav’s brother. It’s his château.’
Oh. So it really was his garden. Amber bit her lip. ‘In that case, I owe him an apology.’
‘Sorry, it’s my fault. I should’ve warned you that he’s precious about his roses, so don’t touch them.’
‘He’s a garden expert?’
‘Parfumier,’ Allie corrected. ‘You’ve heard of GL Parfums?’ At Amber’s nod, she said, ‘That’s him. Guy Lefèvre.’
‘GL Parfums? They do that fantastic shower gel. The citrussy one,’ Gina said. ‘They were going on about it in Celebrity Life, the other week, about how it was the best pick-me-up ever.’
Amber groaned. ‘Don’t mention them.’
Gina hugged her. ‘They gave you quite a mauling last month, didn’t they?’
‘Mmm, and how the hell did they find out that Raoul the Rat dumped me by text? I swear they must be tapping my mobile.’ She deliberately kept her voice light, but that feature had hurt. And Raoul had hurt her badly. She’d thought he was different, that he might be The One—but he’d turned out to be yet another of the liars and losers she always seemed to date. Sometimes she thought it was as if she had a tattoo on her forehead that was invisible when she looked in the mirror, but was written in neon colours for everyone else. Shallow and heartless? Take me, I’m yours!
She shook herself. ‘Let’s talk about something nicer. So that’s his fragrance, is it?’
Allie nodded. ‘That was the first scent Guy made for the perfume house. Originally it was an aftershave, but then he extended the line. Actually, Gina, I know he wants to talk to you because he likes what you did for our labels. He said something about a new project.’
‘Really?
