Love Story Next Door!. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
the lake, watching them. You’ve never seen anything so sweet or fascinating.”
Yes, he had…The picture he had in his mind of her made his whole body ache.
“No wonder you’re tired. If you’d rather make it nine o’clock—”
“I’ll probably be out there by seven-thirty before any of the crew arrives. I don’t like them knowing my business.”
Did that include her father? Alex had the strong hunch there’d been little communication between them by phone since she’d chosen to sleep at the château against his wishes.
“That’s understandable.”
“To be honest, I don’t see how you can stand to have your own privacy invaded by a ton of strangers wreaking havoc.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “It’s called money.”
“I know. Let’s hope word has spread throughout the film world and you’re flooded with new requests. Nothing would make me happier for you. Good night.” The definitive click cut off his lifeline.
While he locked up and turned out lights, it came to him Dana was a gift that might come along once in a millennium if you were lucky. Her father had to know that. Perhaps it was the reason he guarded his golden-haired offspring so jealously.
In a very short period of time Dana had brought out the possessive instinct in Alex. Evidently it had been lying dormant these many years just waiting to spring to life when or if the right person ever made an appearance.
For the rest of the night he was taunted by dreams of a certain blue-eyed wood nymph smiling at him through the foliage. If the handsaw and the basket hadn’t been in the way, the two of them might still be up there in a bed of leaves while he made love to her over and over again.
“SALUT, ma belle!”
She waved to Alex, who stood by the truck, dressed in thigh-molding jeans and another white T-shirt that revealed the outline of his cut physique. The sun brought out the black-brown vibrancy of his overly long hair, a style that suited him to perfection.
He’d seen her coming around the back in her white-washed jeans and T-shirt in her favorite mocha color. His eyes followed her progress with disturbing intensity, making her feel exposed.
“It’s such a beautiful morning I’m not going to ask if you’re fine because you couldn’t be anything else.” He was freshly shaven and the faint scent of the soap he’d used in the shower permeated the air around them.
“You’re right about that,” he murmured. She watched him pick up a pair of long-handled pruning shears. “Shall we be off?” There was a slight curve to his lips she’d only tasted for a brief moment the other night. Unfortunately it had set up a permanent hunger nothing but a much longer repeat of the experience would satisfy.
Dana nodded before following him down the path that bisected the orchard. Maybe she was crazy but she felt something crackling in the air between them, the kind of thing that sizzled during a lightning storm.
He kept walking until they reached the perimeter of the orchard. Juxtaposed was a forest of briars taller than they were. It reached to the river, filling the entire hillside and around the bend. She’d never seen the likes of such a thing before.
A gasp escaped her lips. “The only thing I can compare this to are the briars that overgrew Sleeping Beauty’s castle, but that was in a storybook.”
He slanted her a mysterious glance. “If you recall, it was a French fairy tale.” He folded his arms. “Behold the Belles Fleurs vineyard.”
“No—”
As she tried to take it all in, her eyes smarted. She turned her head so Alex wouldn’t see how it had affected her. Now she understood why he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.
“This is what happens after eighty years of neglect,” came his gravelly voice.
She shook her head. “When you drive here from Paris and see the rows of gorgeous green vineyards…to think they can look like this…” It was impossible to articulate her horror.
“Oh, Alex—for your family to let all of this die—it’s beyond my comprehension.” She wheeled around to face him. “How did you bear it when you saw this desecration?”
He put down the shears. “Don’t be too sad.” Taking a step toward her he wiped one lone tear from her hot cheek with the pad of his thumb. As their gazes fused, his hands cupped the sides of her face. “Believe it or not this vineyard is alive.”
“But it couldn’t be!”
“I assure you it is. Deep in those trunks are the makings of chenin blanc grapes grown on Belles Fleurs terroir.”
“I—I can’t fathom it.”
“Vines are unusual creatures. They want to climb. They climb and they climb while the birds eat the fruit and drop the seeds where they will. What you’re looking at is a tangled mess of what is probably the best prepared soil along the Layon. Eighty years lying fallow has made it rich. All the vineyard needs is a little work.”
“A little—” she cried.
Chuckling quietly, he removed his hands and reached for the shears again, leaving her dizzy with unassuaged longings. “It would take five years to turn this into a thriving business again. The first year all these trunks would have to be cut down to three feet, like this.”
She watched him in wonder and fascination as he shaped it down to size like Michelangelo bringing a figure out of the marble. He threw the castoff briars to the side. Dana crouched down to examine one of them. She lifted her head. “Then what happens?”
“The next year new canes appear.” He tossed out another vine. Painstaking work. “They have to be treated like newborn babies.”
When she smiled, he smiled back, giving her a heart attack. “You said five years.”
He nodded his dark head. “In the third year you’d see buds. In the fourth, the first new grapes would appear. By the fifth year they’d be worthy of making a good wine.”
“Five years…” He wouldn’t be here in five years. The thought sickened her and she jumped to her feet. “When I asked you why you weren’t concerned about the vineyard, it’s clear why you chose not to answer me until now. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. In this case it’s more like a billion.”
“Vineyards are a business and family concern. Without one, or one that can’t pull together, it doesn’t warrant the effort it takes to make wine.” There was a residue element in his voice, maybe sadness. It brought a lump to her throat.
“No. I can see that…” Her voice trailed. “Does this mean you’re considering leasing the vineyard or even selling it to a prospective vintner?”
“I’m not sure.” They started walking back. She could tell he was eager to get busy in the orchard. It was time to change the subject.
“Alex? You know what a bookworm I am. Would you consider it a horrible invasion of your privacy if I went through some of the boxes in storage, just to see what was in the library? I don’t speak French, but I can read enough to understand titles and that sort of thing.”
“Be my guest.”
Excitement welled inside her. Maybe she’d find some family records or scrapbooks he would enjoy looking at. “You mean it?”
His dark eyes seemed to be searching her very soul. “What do you think?”
“Thank you!” she cried. Without conscious thought she put her hands