The Vintner and The Vixen

Chapter 3

Jacques gripped his wine glass tighter and shoved his free hand into his pocket to keep from touching Maya's bare back. Merde, keep from touching any part of her. The woman was seriously compelling, and ever since her quip on seduction he hadn't been able to think of anything else. Although with Maya it was more likely to be a conflagration than a seduction.

How could a woman look so sexy wearing gray? People wanting to blend into the background wore gray. Not super-hot twenty-somethings with an ass that could make an atheist rethink the existence of a benevolent creator. Gray, however, was the perfect backdrop for her flowing molten lava-colored hair. And her legs? Did they never end? At his height, he was used to looking down to his female companions. Maya was right up there with him. And rather than stoop or try to minimize her size as he'd seen other tall women do, she walked with an attitude that said, "I'm here, deal with it."

But all her beautiful packaging was eclipsed by her eyes. He had to admit, his grandfather was right. A man didn't forget eyes like that, not while he still breathed anyway. They were the color of cognac. Not the first glass that you sipped as you wondered when your day had gone from all right to complete shit. Maya's eyes were the color of the third glass, the one you stared into and for a brief moment saw all your hopes and dreams reflected back at you—seconds before you slung it down your throat and went to bed. Alone.

A distant chime made Maya turn in the direction of the sound.

"What's that?" Her voice was huskier than usual. A faint blush stained her cheeks. Was she turned on by him? Or the house? She was already redecorating in her mind. Was she planning on upgrading from the cottage to the chateau? He could certainly imagine her decorating his bedroom. And it wouldn't involve a can of paint.

"Dinner bell. Are you hungry?"

"Starving." Her gaze roved over him again. This woman wasn't shy, and her boldness, rather than put him off, ignited an answering passion in him. Maya Tessier was potent.

"Let's get you fed then."

When they arrived at the dining room, Daniel and Grand-Papa were already seated next to each other. Which left the two chairs opposite for him and Maya. Since his father's death, when it was just the family to dine, no one sat at the head of the table. Grand-Papa clearly considered Maya family and hadn't adjusted the seating. He helped her into the chair across from his grandfather, forcing his eyes from the extra two inches of thigh exposed when she sat. Jacques swallowed. This was going to be a hell of a long dinner.

"So, Maya, tell us about yourself," Grand-Papa said as the first course was being served.

"Not much to tell. I was born in British Columbia on the west coast of Canada. After I finished high school I went to live with my great-grandmother in Montreal. There I went to art school and did various jobs to help support myself. Before she died, Gran-Gran made me promise to come to France and focus on my art for at least a year, so she left the cottage and land to me in her will. And here I am." From the way she fidgeted with her cutlery, there was way more to Maya's story than she was telling.

"You intend to stay only for the year, then?" Jacques seized the idea. He could resist her for a year. Couldn't he? That was fifty-two weekends, less if he stayed in Paris for a few of those. That was survivable. Then Maya took a deep breath, which drew his eyes to her chest. He may not make it through the next two days.

"We'll see. I quit my job and sold the apartment where Gran-Gran and I lived. I have nothing and no one to go back to."

"What about your family?" Charles asked.

"I haven't lived with my parents for almost ten years, so we've grown apart. My twin brother is married and has his own life..." Her voice trailed off and she took a sip of her wine.