The Vintner and The Vixen

Chapter 4

Maya woke to a pounding on her front door. She opened one eye and squinted at the clock. Seven a.m. On a Saturday. Someone was about to die.

She grabbed her wrap as the pounding continued, tying it as she raced down the stairs. There was no peephole, and given her state of undress, she called through the closed door, "Who is it? And I only ask so I know what name to give the paramedics when I beat you senseless for waking me at this hour."

A masculine chuckle was followed by Jacques's deep voice. "I come with coffee. And pastries."

She opened the door a crack and peeked through. Any other man showing up at a woman's door with coffee would carry it in two paper cups. Not Jacques. No, he held a tray with a silver coffee carafe, two porcelain gold-rimmed cups, and cream and sugar in tiny silver pots. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted over to her. A basket covered with a lace-edged tea towel hung from the crook of his elbow. It was that, and not the sexy smile, that made her open the door wide.

"You should thank your chef. Pastries saved your life this morning," she said, gesturing for him to enter.

Jacques hesitated for a second then stepped into the cottage. He cleared his throat. "I'll be sure to thank him. I'll set up breakfast in the kitchen while you get dressed."

"Don't you like what I'm wearing?" Who knew she was such a pyromaniac, always playing with fire?

"Too much. Get dressed, Maya. In twenty minutes there will be a half dozen men here to install a security system. If you're still wearing that, I may never be able to get them to leave."

She scurried up the stairs, returning ten minutes later in an aqua-colored crop top and white jean shorts. She'd pulled her hair into a messy bun at her nape, brushed her teeth quickly, and applied a coat of mascara. The man had brought pastries after all. He deserved something decent to look at while he ate them.

When she returned to the kitchen, Jacques had breakfast set up on the small table. The back door was open to let in the fresh morning air. He stood gazing out the doorway, and she took the opportunity to stare at him. He'd replaced yesterday's suit with lightweight, tan pants and a short-sleeved blue shirt. The latter was stretched tight across his back and shoulders. And when he bent over to toss a bit of bread to an animal outside she was able to appreciate his other fine assets. He turned around at her audible intake of breath.

His gaze ran over her, lingering on her exposed midriff and belly button ring. The temperature in the kitchen ratcheted up a couple more degrees.

"Don't you have any clothes that cover your whole body?" he asked.

She shrugged. She didn't dress to please a man. It was warm, and she wanted to be comfortable. "Not at the moment." Taking a seat at the table, she poured them both a coffee and added a spoonful of sugar to hers. Still he stared. She shifted in her chair. Who was off balance now?

"How did you get a crew to install the security system on such short notice and on a Saturday?" Was he going to change the access code the minute her back was turned so she couldn't get in? She had the law on her side; the deed to the cottage was safely locked away. But she couldn't risk going to court and the whole dispute becoming public. So she'd let him think he was winning. For now.

"I'm Jacques de Launay. When I pick up the phone, people come running." He sipped his coffee and continued to stare at her over the rim.

She was used to male attention. Hell, she'd worked as a nude model at her art school to pay for some of her classes. And not a night went by at the club without at least three propositions. But the look in Jacques's eyes was different.