style="font-size:15px;"> “How sad. For a family to survive a thousand years only to fade away.”
“Happens to all families, eventually.” His frown sharpened momentarily, only to disappear just as quickly. Once again he was the charming flirt from the terrace. “So let us talk about more pleasant topics. Such as dinner. Would you care to join me this evening?”
So smooth. Such polish. Jenna had no doubt he would pull out all the stops and that dinner would be a romantic, seductive affair. Designed to melt her heart and inhibitions.
“There aren’t rules about fraternizing with guests?” she asked, pretty sure that he wouldn’t care if there were.
Sure enough. That amused smile from earlier returned to his face, and he shrugged. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She met his gaze again. Dear Lord, but his eyes sucked you in. She’d bet he made every woman he met feel like the only woman in the world. Until the next woman crossed his path, that was.
“I appreciate the offer, but...” Shirley was going to kill her. “I think I’m going to stay in and order from room service tonight. Alone,” she added, for extra emphasis.
He took the rejection like a pro. “Another time, then. We can have what you Americans call a rain check.”
“Sure.” Like that would happen. “Thank you for the tour.”
“It was my pleasure.” She gasped as he caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “Au revoir, Jenna Brown,” he said, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I look forward to our paths crossing again.”
“Au revoir,” Jenna replied. She stood on the stairs and watched as he strolled away in search of someone else to charm. The first, and likely the only, sexy Frenchman of the trip.
Oh well, she thought, rubbing her knuckles, easy come, easy go.
* * *
Philippe waited until the American disappeared around the corner before heading to the front desk. The petite brown-haired woman—girl, really—straightened with recognition. “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked. Philippe didn’t miss the eagerness sparkling in her eyes, or the way she flipped her hair over her shoulder when she spoke.
“Oui,” he replied. “I was wondering if you might do me a favor... The American, Mademoiselle Brown...”
“Whatever he asks, Nicole, the answer is no.”
Yves St. Dumond, the hotel manager, suddenly appeared in the office doorway. A large man with thickset features and silver hair, he placed a beefy hand on Nicole’s shoulder. “This hotel is not your personal playground, Philippe. If you want to pick up women, go someplace else.”
“I’m hurt.” Philippe pressed a hand to his chest. “Haven’t you known me long enough to know that if I wanted to seduce a guest, I wouldn’t need to bother your staff?” To prove a point, he winked at Nicole, who, on cue, blushed.
“Then what is it you need?”
A distraction. Something—or someone—to keep him from falling into a week-long dark hole.
“It’s August,” he replied.
Yves’s expression immediately softened. “Je suis désolé. I wasn’t thinking. I lost track of the date.”
“So did I. Almost.” In the end, the calendar reminded him, like it always did.
The consistency was almost humorous. Every year he vowed that this would be the year he broke the pattern, but apparently he was a glutton for punishment, because he insisted on returning for harvest every year. How could he not? Harvest remained a tradition in his family—even if he was a family of one. It was the least he could do for his family. His penance for being the last of the d’Usays.
He forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.” He just had to survive a few weeks. Come September, the yearning for whatever it was he yearned for would cease and he’d return to his apartment in Arles.
“In the meantime, why are you interested in Mademoiselle Brown? She’s certainly not your usual type.”
“No, she is not.” Philippe preferred shallow women who had expensive tastes and short attention spans. Women like him. Jenna Brown with her copper hair and shorts with tiny whales was as far from his type as he could imagine.
Perhaps that was why he’d noticed her the moment he stepped onto the hotel terrace. Sitting there, getting frustrated with her inability to take a self-portrait. He found that particular lack of skill extremely attractive.
Add what was obviously a sharp mind and dry wit... Yes, she was exactly the distraction he needed. “Nevertheless, I found her very stimulating and would enjoy spending more time with her.”
“Meaning you’ve already spent time with her. Why didn’t you simply ask her to dinner? Wait a moment...” Yves’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me she turned you down.”
“I believe it is called a rain check,” Philippe replied.
Something else that stirred his interest. There had been obvious attraction in her green eyes, and yet she’d still said no. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman rebuffed his advances. What his looks didn’t accomplish, his name usually did.
And there was what might be the most attractive thing of all about Mademoiselle Brown: she had no clue as to who he was. Their interaction had been based solely on his charm and her interest in their conversation. He found it amazingly refreshing.
“Which brings me back to why I need Nicole’s assistance,” he said. “She’s going to help me cash in my rain check.”
A frisson of anticipation passed through him. He couldn’t wait to see Jenna Brown’s face when their paths crossed again.
JENNA HAD A HEADACHE. Too much sun and strong floral aroma had left a knot behind her eyes. She needed a glass of water and some pain relievers. Hopefully the word aspirin was the same in French?
Day two of her adventure wasn’t off to a very auspicious start.
She never did eat dinner. She’d fallen into a deep sleep shortly after she returned to her room and woke up before dawn starved and eager to start her adventure. Since Philippe had sounded so enthusiastic about the excursion to Château d’Usay, she took his advice and signed up. Part of her wondered if she’d see him at the front desk when she went downstairs, but the only person she saw was a sweet girl named Nicole who grinned every time Jenna gave her name. She wondered if Philippe had found a dinner companion after they parted ways? Immediately, she pictured a leggy French heiress and felt a prick of annoyance in her stomach. More because she was thinking about Philippe than because of the woman she imagined. It wasn’t like her to dwell on a random stranger. Philippe with his mesmerizing eyes should be no exception.
She had to give him props, though.
