Having the Frenchman's Baby
“What are the components?”
“You really want to know?” His question was straightforward, yet tinged with a hint of mockery.
She couldn’t blame him if he thought she was a typical female buyer whose attraction to him was strong enough that she would say or do anything to prolong their time together.
Rachel was guilty of having feelings that had nothing to do with grapes or wine-making. In truth, now that she’d gotten over being angry, she found herself intrigued by him, not just his life’s work.
“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she came back, striving for a steady voice. “The more I learn, the more I find out I don’t know, but I want to learn as much as I can.”
“Then you’re a rare species.”
She held his enigmatic gaze. “Since I’m fortunate enough to be in the presence of a master vintner, I realize my good fortune. So let me warn you that I’m prepared to pick your brains for as long as you’re willing to indulge me.”
The second those words came out of her mouth, she couldn’t believe she’d said them. He probably thought she was flirting with him. Maybe subconsciously she was. What on earth was wrong with her?
In the fading light she couldn’t see the expression in his eyes, but she felt them studying her intently before he answered her question.
“Limestone, granite, clay, marl—”
“Marl?”
“A crumbly mixture of clays, carbonates, shells and magnesium. Each vineyard’s soil is different and suitable for a certain kind of grape.
“Did you know, for instance, that wild grape vines grew here before the Romans domesticated them?”
“How fascinating! Even then the conditions were perfect,” she said in awe.
“Yes. The aroma you enjoyed from the Tokay grape earlier this evening came from the soil at St Hippolyte.”
“It was wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I detected woodsmoke, a touch of honey and something else I still can’t identify.”
“Licorice?”
“Yes!” she cried softly.
His eyes gleamed. “I have to admit I’m impressed, mademoiselle.”
Evidently she’d passed some sort of initial test or he wouldn’t have said anything.
He shifted his weight. It threw his profile into relief, drawing her attention to the lines bracketing his mouth.
Whatever his experiences of life, which included the grief of divorce, they lent him a brooding demeanor. Yet his sensual appeal was so compelling, she had to tear her eyes away.
“It would take more than a lifetime to learn everything you know, monsieur, so don’t mind me if I hang on to every word.”
His eyes smiled. “In that case I’ll tell you the most important thing to remember. You won’t ever detect that same aroma again if it comes from a different terroir.”
A wry smile broke out on her face. “I’m going to hold you to that claim and sample every type of wine from your various vineyards.”
After a slight pause, “That could take some time.”
“How many wines do you produce?”
“Sixteen.”
A higher figure than she’d presumed. He’d just provided her with an excuse to linger in his kingdom a little longer.
But if she were wise, she wouldn’t give in to that temptation or he would know she’d lost sight of her professional objective because of her growing attraction to him.