Red Wine And Her Sexy Ex

‘Bonjour, Guy. About ten years—and I’m fine, thanks.’ She smiled back. ‘It’s good to see you. How are you?’

‘Fine. It’s good to see you, too. Are you here on holiday?’ he asked.

‘Not exactly.’ She grimaced. ‘I’m your brother’s new business partner.’

Guy raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmm.’

‘Care to elaborate on that?’ she asked.

‘No. You know Xav.’

That was the point. She didn’t, any more.

‘At this time of day, he’ll be in his office,’ Guy said.

‘I know.’ Allegra shifted her weight to her other foot. ‘I, um, forgot to ask him whereabouts in the estate his office was.’

‘And he forgot to tell you.’ Guy rolled his eyes. ‘Typical Xav. I’ll take you over there.’

‘Are you going to be at the meeting?’

‘Is it about the vineyard?’

She nodded.

‘Then, no. The vineyard’s Xav’s department, not mine. I just laze about here at weekends, drink his wine and insult him.’ He gave her an unrepentant grin. ‘By the way, I’m sorry about Harry. He was a good man.’

Allegra had a huge lump in her throat. Guy was the first person in France who’d actually welcomed her warmly and used her old pet name. Maybe he remembered their childhood, when she’d persuaded Xav to include his little brother in their games. And he was the only one who hadn’t treated her as a pariah for missing Harry’s funeral. ‘I’m sorry, too.’

Guy led her round the side of the house to a courtyard, which she remembered had once been stables and a barn but had now been turned into an office block.

‘Thanks for bringing me over,’ Allegra said.

‘Pleasure.’ He smiled at her. ‘If you’re going to be around for a few days, come and have dinner with us.’

‘Us’ meaning him and Xavier? She knew he was only being polite. Xavier definitely wouldn’t second that invitation. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said, being equally polite.

‘See you later, then. À bientôt, Allie.’

She echoed his farewell, took a deep breath, and walked into the office block. Xavier’s door was wide open and she could see him working at his desk, making notes on something with a fountain pen. He looked deep in thought, with his left elbow resting on his desk and his forehead propped against his hand. His hair was tousled—obviously he’d been shoving his fingers through it—but today he was clean-shaven. The sleeves of his knitted cotton shirt were pushed up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms sprinkled with dark hair. Right at that moment, he looked approachable. Touchable. She had to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself doing something rash—like walking over to him, sliding her hand up his arm to get his attention, cupping his chin, and lowering her mouth to his, the way she once would have done.

For pity’s sake. He wasn’t her lover any more, the man she’d thought she’d marry one day. He was her business partner. And, even if he hadn’t been her business partner, she had no idea whether or not he was already committed elsewhere. That made him absolutely off limits.

She took a deep breath, then knocked on the door.

Xavier looked up at Allegra’s knock. She was clearly still in businesswoman mode, wearing another of those sharp suits. No way would she fit in here; at this time of year, everyone had to help out in the vines, maintaining the shoots and weeding under the vines. Next month would be pruning and then letting the grapes ripen, ready for harvest in late September. Among the vines, her business suit would be ripped to shreds, and those patent highheeled shoes were completely unsuitable for the fields.

She really had no idea, did she?

‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, rising politely from his desk. ‘Take a seat.’

She sat down, then handed him a gold box tied with a gold chiffon ribbon. ‘For you.’

Now that he hadn’t expected.

‘I thought this might be more suitable than flowers. Or, um, wine.’

So she remembered French customs, then, of bringing a gift for your host. ‘Merci, Allegra.’ He untied the ribbon and discovered that the box held his favourite weakness: thin discs of dark chocolate studded with crystallised ginger. She remembered such a tiny thing, after all these years? And she must’ve bought it this morning: he recognised the box as coming from Nicole’s shop in the village. She’d made a real effort, and it knocked him completely off balance.

‘Thank you,’ he said again. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

To his surprise, she followed him into the tiny kitchen area. ‘Anything I can do?’

Yes. Sell me your half of the vineyard and get out of my life before I go crazy with wanting you again. He just about stopped himself saying it. ‘No need.’

‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I take milk and sugar?’

‘You never used to, and it’s obvious you still don’t.’

She blinked. ‘Obvious, how?’

He spread his hands. ‘You wouldn’t be so thin if you did.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘That’s a bit personal.’

‘You asked,’ he pointed out.

‘Gloves off, now?’

‘They were never on in the first place.’ And now his mind was running on a really dangerous track. Gloves off. Clothes off. Allegra’s shy, trusting smile as he’d undressed her for the very first time and she’d given herself to him completely.

Oh, Dieu. He really had to stop thinking about the past and concentrate on the present.

He finished making the coffee and placed it on a tray. He fished a bowl of tomatoes and a hunk of cheese from the fridge, then took a rustic loaf from a cupboard and placed them next to the coffee, along with two knives and two plates, before carrying the lot back to his office.

‘Help yourself,’ he said, gesturing to the food.

‘Thank you.’

When she didn’t make a move, he raised an eyebrow, broke a hunk off the bread, and cut himself a large slice of cheese. ‘Forgive me for being greedy. I’m starving—I was working in the vines at six.’

‘L’heure solaire.’

He smiled, oddly pleased that she’d remembered. He could still hear England in her accent, but at least she was trying. No doubt she hadn’t spoken French in a long, long while.

‘So what’s the agenda?’ she asked.

‘We’ll start with the sensible one—when are you going to sell me your half of the vineyard?’

‘That’s not on the agenda at all,’ she said. ‘Xav, why won’t you give me a chance?’

How on earth could she not know that? Did he have to spell out to her that, the last time he’d needed her, she hadn’t been there and he didn’t want to put himself in that position again? He certainly didn’t trust his own judgement where she was concerned. He’d spent a sleepless night brooding over the fact that he still wanted her just as much as he had when he was twenty-one; it was a weakness he really didn’t need. ‘Because you’re not cut out to work here,’ he prevaricated. ‘Look at you. Designer clothes, flash car…’

‘A perfectly normal business suit,’ she corrected, ‘and the car’s not mine, it’s a rental. You’re judging me, Xav, and you’re being unfair.’

Unfair? He hadn’t been the one to walk away. The sheer injustice stung, and he had to make a real effort to hold back the surge of irritation. An effort that wasn’t entirely successful. ‘What do you expect, Allegra?’

‘Everybody makes mistakes.’

Yes. And he had no intention of repeating his.

Clearly his thoughts showed in his expression, because she sighed. ‘You’re not even going to listen to me, are you?’

‘You said it all yesterday.’ And ten years ago. When she hadn’t given him time to deal with the way his life had just imploded, and she’d dumped him.

‘This isn’t just a whim, you know.’

And then he noticed the shadows underneath her eyes. It looked as though he wasn’t the only one who’d spent a sleepless night. No doubt she’d been reliving the memories, too, the bad ones that had all but wiped out the good. And he had to admit that it had taken courage for her to come back, knowing full well that everyone here would have judged her actions and found her very much wanting.

‘All right,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Explain, and I’ll listen.’

‘Without interruptions?’

‘I can’t promise that. But I’ll listen.’

‘OK.’ She took a sip of her coffee, as if she needed something to bolster her—though her plate was still empty, he noticed. ‘Harry and I fell out pretty badly when I first left for London, and I swore I’d never come back to France again. By the time I graduated, I’d mellowed a bit, and I saw things a bit differently. I made it up with him. But I was settled in England, then. And I…’ She bit her lip. ‘Oh, forget it. There’s no point in explaining. You wouldn’t understand in a million years.’

‘Now who’s judging?’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘OK. You asked for it. You grew up here, where your family has lived for…what, a couple of hundred years?’

‘Something like that.’

‘You always knew where you were when you woke up. You were secure. You knew you belonged.’

‘Well, yes.’ Even when he’d planned to go to Paris, he’d always known that he’d come back to the Ardèche and take over the vineyard. But he’d thought he’d have time to broaden his experience in business, first, see a bit of the world.

‘It wasn’t like that for me. When I was a child, I was dragged all over the world in my parents’ wake—the orchestra would be on tour, or my mother would do a series of solo concerts and my father would be her accompanist. We never settled anywhere. The nannies never lasted long—they’d thought they’d have an opportunity to travel and see the world, but they didn’t bargain on the fact that my parents worked all the time and expected them to do likewise. When they weren’t on stage, they were practising and didn’t want to be disturbed. My mother would sometimes practise until her fingers bled. And then, just as somewhere started to become home, we’d move on again.’

He could see old hurts blooming in Allegra’s expression, and her struggle to keep them back. And suddenly he realised what she was trying to tell him. ‘So once you’d settled in London, you had your own place. Roots.’

‘Exactly. And I could run my life the way I wanted it to be. I wasn’t being pushed around and told what to do by someone else all the time, however well meaning they were.’ She looked relieved. ‘Thank you for understanding.’

He blew out a breath. ‘No, you were right in the first place. I still don’t understand. Surely your family always come first?’ It was what he’d always believed. The way his family—with the notable exception of his mother—had always done things. If there was a problem, you worked together to fix it.

‘I didn’t say it was logical.’ She looked away. ‘There were other reasons why I didn’t want to come back to France.’

‘Me?’ He really hadn’t meant to say it, but the word just slipped out.

‘You,’ she confirmed.

Well, at least it was out in the open now. They could stop pussyfooting round the issue.

She clearly thought the same, because she said, ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t be here.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve been Harry’s business partner since Papa died. Surely you knew that?’

A muscle flickered in her jaw. ‘We never discussed you.’

Was she saying that her falling-out with Harry had been over him? But he couldn’t see why. It was pretty clear-cut: she’d been the one to call a halt to their affair, not him. And Xavier couldn’t imagine Harry breaking Jean-Paul’s confidence and telling Allegra what had been going on here—about the problems with the business and Chantal’s desertion. Had Harry perhaps counselled her to give Xavier some space and time, and she’d reacted badly because she felt he was trying to push her around, the way she’d been pushed around as a child?

But he needed to know the answer to the most pressing question first. ‘Why are you here now, Allegra?’

‘Because I owe it to Harry. And don’t waste your energy giving me a hard time over missing his funeral. It wasn’t intentional and I feel guilty enough about it.’

‘I don’t have the right to judge you for that,’ Xavier said quietly, ‘but Harry was my friend as well as my business partner, and I think he deserved better.’

‘I know he did.’ Colour stained her cheeks.

‘Surely your business wasn’t that urgent? Why didn’t you tell your boss or your business contact that you had a family commitment?’

‘I did. The client couldn’t move the meeting.’

‘Couldn’t someone else have gone in your place?’

‘According to my boss, no.’ Her tone was dry, and Xavier had a feeling that there was more to this—something she wasn’t telling him. ‘I did my best to wrap everything up as quickly as I could, but the meeting overran and I missed my flight.’

‘And that was the only flight to Avignon?’ he asked. As excuses went, that was a little too pat for his liking. Too convenient.

‘Nice, actually,’ she corrected. ‘It was the only flight to France from New York without a stopover, until the next day. The reservations clerk spent an hour on the computer, trying to find me a flight that would get me somewhere on French soil at some time before breakfast, French time.’ She spread her hands. ‘But there simply wasn’t one. Not even to Paris.’

‘Your parents didn’t turn up, either.’

‘I know. They were in Tokyo. Coming to the funeral would’ve meant missing a performance. You know what they’re like.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And, yes, you could say I fell into the same trap. I put business before family, and I shouldn’t have done.’

‘At least you admit it was a mistake.’ He paused. ‘So, where do you suggest we go from here?’

‘You trusted Harry’s business judgement, yes?’

Xavier inclined his head.

‘And Harry trusted me to take over from him, or he wouldn’t have left me his part of the business.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘So are you going to do the same?’

Tricky. He didn’t trust his judgement at all, where she was concerned. And trusting her was one hell of an ask. He took refuge in answering a question with a question. ‘What do you know about making wine?’

‘Right now? Very little,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m a fast learner. I’ll put in the hours until I know enough to be useful. In the meantime, maybe I can be useful in another part of the business.’

‘Such as?’

‘As I told you yesterday—marketing. I was Acting Head of Creative at the agency where I worked. I can put an effective promotional campaign together on a shoestring budget. Though I’ll need some information from you before I can analyse how things are done now and where I can make a difference.’

‘What kind of information?’ he asked warily.

‘The business plan for the next five years. I need to know what we produce, how much we sell it for, who our main customers are and how we get the wine to them.’ She ticked them off on her fingers. ‘I also need to know who our main competitors are and what they produce. And what kind of marketing campaigns you’ve done in the past. I know the vineyard has a website, but I want to look at that and compare it with the kind of thing our main competitors produce. And then I’ll give you my analysis and recommendations.’

‘Strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, threats.’ He raised an eyebrow at her obvious surprise. ‘Do you think I don’t know what they are already?’

She looked deflated. And suddenly Xavier could see the vulnerability in her. On the surface, she was bright and polished and professional. But underneath she was as fragile as hell.

He could break her right now and make her sell her half of the vineyard to him.

But he’d hate himself for doing it. And, weirdly, he suddenly found himself wanting to protect her. How ironic was that? She’d broken his heart, and he still wanted to protect her; even though he couldn’t protect himself from her. ‘So are you telling me you’re planning to run half a vineyard from London?’

‘No. From here.’

She was planning to live here? So he’d have to see her every single day? Dieu—that would take some coping with. While she’d been in another country, he’d been able to push any thoughts of her to the back of his mind. But living next door to her, working with her…that would be a completely different matter.

And something didn’t quite add up. ‘Two minutes ago you were telling me that your roots were in London.’

‘They are.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t say this was rational, Xav. It’s just how it is. I want to step into Harry’s shoes. As you just suggested, I can’t do that from London. And the Ardèche was home to me in the summer, many years ago. I can settle here.’

Ten years too late. He’d wanted her here, by his side, back then. As his wife. Now, he’d be a lot happier if she flounced back to London and left him alone.

‘What about your job?’

‘Ex,’ she said succinctly.

‘Since when?’

‘I resigned yesterday. After my meeting with my lawyer.’

So she was using the vineyard as some kind of getout? In some respects, Xavier knew he could relax because it meant she wasn’t planning to sell the land to someone else; but, in other respects, her statement made him even more tense. Was that how she reacted to pressure—by walking out and launching herself into something else? So what would happen if the going got tough here? Would she bail out, the way his mother had bailed out on his father? ‘What about your notice period?’

‘In my profession, you can do too much damage if you stay. If you decide to leave, you leave there and then.’ She shrugged. ‘My assistant’s clearing my desk for me and I’ll pick up my personal effects later.’

‘Bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision, isn’t it? How do you know this is going to work out?’

‘Because I’m going to make it work out.’

Stubborn and determined: both were points in her favour. In this job, she’d need them. But he still couldn’t believe that she’d stick to this. ‘Running a vineyard isn’t a nine-to-five job,’ he warned. ‘There are times when we all need to muck in and work on the vines—and what you’re wearing right now is completely impractical for working in the fields. Your clothes will be shredded and your shoes—well, you’ll turn your ankle or get blisters. And then there’s the risk of sunstroke.’

‘I’m not afraid of hard work or putting in the hours. Show me what needs to be done, and I’ll do it. And I’ve already told you, I can do jeans and boots and a sunhat, if I have to.’

And doubtless hers would all be designer.

‘I don’t have Harry’s knowledge or experience, so of course I’m not going to be able to fill his shoes,’ she said. ‘But I learn fast, and if I don’t know something I’ll ask—I won’t just muddle through and hope for the best.’

‘Perhaps I should also tell you that Harry was a sleeping partner in the business,’ Xavier mused.

Her face shuttered. ‘So you’re not going to give me a chance.’

‘That isn’t what I said. Allegra, he was almost eighty. I was hardly going to make him work the same hours that I do. And he was happy to let me run the vineyard my way.’

‘So what are you saying? That I can stay, but I get no input in anything?’ She shook her head. ‘No deal.’

‘I wasn’t offering you a deal. I’m telling you the way it is. Sure, I asked Harry for advice on some things—but I can’t do that with you because, as you just said yourself, you don’t have his knowledge or his experience.’

‘And I also told you that I have other skills. Useful skills. If you give me the information I asked for, I’ll work up some proposals. I can bring other things to the vineyard. Added value.’

Xavier took a deep breath. ‘The information you’re asking for is commercially sensitive.’

‘And, as your business partner, I have no intention of letting that information out of my sight—because if it affects the business, it affects me.’

She really wasn’t going to give up. He stared at her for a moment, weighing her up: could he trust her, this time round?

Harry had obviously trusted her, or he would’ve left instructions to handle his estate differently.

This was a huge, huge risk. But Harry had never steered him wrong before; and Marc had argued in her favour, too, in their phone call the previous day. And Guy had actually left his precious lab for a few minutes to bring her over to the office. Harry, Marc and Guy were the three people Xavier trusted most, and they didn’t seem to share his wariness of Allegra. So perhaps his best friend and his brother could see things more clearly, their judgement of her not clouded by emotion and the ghosts of the past. Maybe he should let them guide him, here.

Or maybe he was just making excuses to himself, looking for reasons why he should let her back into his life. Because, damn it to hell, he’d missed her, and seeing her again made him realise what a huge hole she’d left in his life. A hole he’d told himself was filled perfectly adequately by work, and now he knew for certain that he’d been lying to himself all along.

‘What’s it going to be, Xav?’ she asked softly.

Knowing that he was probably making a huge mistake, he nodded. ‘I’ll print out the papers for you now. Read through them, call me if you have questions, and we’ll see what you come up with.’

‘Thank you.’ She paused. ‘You won’t regret this.’

He’d reserve judgement on that until he’d seen her in action. ‘It’s two months until harvest. Let’s use it as a trial. If we can work together, then fine. If we can’t, then you sell your half of the vineyard to me. Deal?’

‘So you’re expecting me to prove myself to you?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Even though I own half the vineyard?’

‘I’m saying that I don’t know if we can work with each other,’ Xavier said. ‘Look, if you took a job somewhere, you’d have a trial period to see if you and the new company suited each other. This is no different.’

‘And if it doesn’t work out, I’m the one who has to walk away? I’m the one who loses?’

‘My roots are here,’ he said simply. ‘Would you rip me from them?’

She was silent for a long, long time. And then she stood up and held out her hand. ‘Two months, and then we’ll discuss our options. Including the possibility of me selling to you, but also including the possibility of dissolving the partnership and me keeping my part of the vineyard.’

Xavier wasn’t sure whether he wanted to shake her for being obstinate, or admire her backbone. In the end, he stood up, too, and took her hand.

And the feel of her skin against his took him straight back to the days when he’d driven her to all the beauty spots in the region, and they’d wandered round, hand in hand, admiring the views. Days when the summer seemed endless, the sky was always blue, and the only time he’d stopped smiling was when his mouth was busy exploring Allegra’s body.

It would be so, so easy to walk round the table, draw her back into his arms and kiss her until they were both dizzy. And it would be so, so stupid. If they were going to have a chance of making this business work, she needed to be off limits.

He went through the motions of a formal handshake, then released her hand. ‘We should perhaps drink to that.’

‘I can’t. I’m driving.’

‘And I’m working in the fields this afternoon. So let’s improvise.’ He raised his cup of coffee. ‘To Les Trois Closes.’

She clinked her cup against his. ‘Les Trois Closes. And an equal partnership.’

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