Tempt Me at Midnight. Maureen Smith

      He smiled down at her. “Truce?”

      She buried her nose in the fragrant flowers and sighed. “Truce.”

      His smile widened.

      “You are very lucky woman!” the street vendor called out to Lexi.

      “Merci beaucoup!” she called back, not bothering to correct the woman’s assumption that she and Quentin were a couple.

      Quentin glanced at his watch, then took her hand and started purposefully down the cobbled street.

      “Where are we going?” Lexi asked curiously.

      “We have an appointment.”

      “To do what?”

      “You’ll see.”

      Something in his enigmatic tone sent off warning bells in her head. She pulled up short, tugging her hand free of his. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me where we’re going.”

      He scowled at her. “Damn, baby girl. Why can’t you just go with the flow?”

      “Quentin,” she said warningly.

      He heaved a short, frustrated breath. “I’m taking you on a hot-air balloon ride.”

      “What?” The blood drained from Lexi’s head. “No way.”

      “Why not?”

      “I don’t want to.”

      “It’ll be fun. Flying over the region, getting an aerial view.”

      She swallowed dryly. “It’s too cold.”

      He gave her a knowing look. “We’ve been walking around for hours, and you haven’t complained about the weather once.”

      “Yeah, but going thousands of feet into the air—”

      “Ever heard of heat rising?”

      “Actually, that’s a myth. Nice try, though.”

      He groaned. “Come on, Lex. You can’t visit Burgundy without taking a hot-air balloon ride.”

      “Why not? I’m sure plenty of other people do.”

      “They’re not you,” he countered. “The woman I know experiences life to the fullest. Always has.”

      She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t, Quentin.”

      “Tell me why.”

      She exhaled a deep breath and met his direct gaze. “You know I’m afraid of heights.”

      “I know.”

      Of course he does. “So why are you pressuring me to do this?”

      His gaze gentled, his hazel eyes plumbing the depths of hers. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

      She gave a grim, shaky laugh. “If the balloon malfunctioned, Q, there’d be nothing you could do about it.”

      “Do you trust me?”

      She searched his solemn face and had the uncanny feeling that he was referring to more than the balloon ride.

      “Of course I trust you,” she said quietly. “You’re my best friend.”

      “Then fly with me.”

      She stared at him for a prolonged moment, then swallowed hard and nodded, taking the plunge. “Okay,” she whispered.

      “You’ll do it?”

      “Yes.” She shot him a surly glance. “But if something goes wrong and we plunge to our deaths, just know that my ghost will haunt yours for all eternity.”

      Quentin laughed, kissing her forehead. “I’ll take my chances.”

      The ballooning company was located along the Burgundy Canal. The friendly, English-speaking pilot introduced himself, went over some housekeeping rules and explained their flight itinerary. And then, before Lexi could change her mind, they were boarding the hot-air balloon. The interior was divided into compartments that separated the pilot from the passengers, giving them a sense of privacy. The basket was lined with cushion and seemed sturdier than Lexi had feared.

      But minutes later when the balloon lifted off, her stomach pitched sickeningly. She clung to Quentin, closing her eyes and burying her face in the cool, battered leather of his jacket. He wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking his hand up and down her back and whispering to her the way he might soothe a frightened child.

      She could feel the balloon rising higher into the air, soaring toward the sky. Her heart galloped into her throat. A clammy sweat broke out over her skin and she shivered uncontrollably. Quentin opened his jacket and she shamelessly burrowed against his broad chest, taking refuge in the masculine heat and strength that enveloped her.

      “You’re going to be okay,” Quentin murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. “Just take slow, deep breaths.”

      Lexi did as he told her. She hated this irrational fear of hers, hated that it made her so vulnerable. So pathetic.

      She didn’t know how much time passed. At some point the gripping panic receded, giving way to a sense of calm that made her feel stronger, more in control of herself.

      “Lex,” Quentin said softly. “Look what you’re missing.”

      She cracked one eye open, then another.

      Her breath escaped her in a soft gasp.

      They were floating—floating!—over Burgundy.

      A spectacular kaleidoscope of shapes and colors bombarded her at once. She could see every shade of green covering the slopes of the vineyards. The shiny roofs of châteaus and castles glistened under the late afternoon sun. Clusters of cottages and ancient stone churches were scattered across picturesque villages. The dark ribbon of a canal meandered lazily through forests. The lush beauty of the Saône river valley beckoned, and a rich palette of brown and gold identified the fields of Cote-d’Or.

      Lexi stared out in rapt fascination. “Oh, my God, Quentin,” she breathed. “This is… I’m speechless.”

      Quentin grinned down at her. “That doesn’t happen very often.”

      “Very funny,” she retorted, barely sparing him a glance. She was afraid the stunning vistas would disappear if she so much as blinked.

      Keeping one arm securely around her waist, Quentin shifted so that they stood side by side.

      Lexi raised her face to the azure sky, soaking up the sun and wind as the balloon glided smoothly through the air. It was absolutely exhilarating. A feast for the senses.

      Over the next hour she and Quentin took in the sights, mostly communicating without words. When Lexi excitedly pointed something out to him, he’d nod and smile in shared appreciation. The pilot rarely interrupted to narrate, leaving his two passengers cocooned in their own private world of enjoyment.

      When Quentin left her side, Lexi murmured softly, “Hurry back.”

      A moment later, she was startled by the sound of a bottle being uncorked.

      Turning, she watched as Quentin poured champagne into two glasses and handed one to her. Surprised, she arched a brow at him. “I thought the champagne toast is traditionally done after the safe landing.”

      “I asked them to make an exception this time.” A crooked grin curved his mouth. “I’d figured at some point during the flight, you’d appreciate some alcohol to help calm your nerves.”

      Lexi chuckled. “Good looking out.”

      “Always.” Sobering after a moment, Quentin raised his glass in a toast to her, his eyes glowing with warm pride. “Here’s to you. For bravely conquering your fear of heights.”

      Lexi