Love Story Next Door!. Rebecca Winters

raced. “Alex?” She’d heard his deep, seductive voice, but couldn’t see him anywhere.

      “I’m in a tree!” He tossed something small and green at her feet.

      She reached for it, then looked up. A long, tall ladder had been propped against the trunk. Hidden by masses of leaves, she only saw parts of his hard-muscled physique. He brushed a few aside, allowing her a glimpse of his disarming white smile. Dana could hardly breathe.

      “Are these all apple trees?”

      “Blanc d’Hiver apples,” he asserted. “The kind that make the best tartes aux pommes. By late October I might be able to harvest a few. The trees behind you yield Anjou pears.”

      Dana shook her head. “No wonder this place is called Belles Fleurs. When their blossoms come out, the sight from the château windows will be glorious.

      “That all depends if I live long enough to make it out of this primeval forest to prune another day.”

      She chuckled. “How old are you?” She’d been dying to know.

      “Thirty-three.”

      “You’ve got years yet!”

      “Years of what?”

      “I’m sure I don’t know.” Dana didn’t want to think about his life when he moved on to other places. Other women…It would take a very special woman to capture his heart. “Tell me something—”

      “That covers a lot of territory.”

      Laughter escaped her lips. “Can you see the vineyard from that altitude?”

      “So you noticed the building housing the winepress.”

      “Yes, but I also heard that the vineyard once produced the famed Domaine Belles Fleurs label.”

      She heard the leaves rustle. In seconds he’d negotiated the ladder with swift male agility before jumping to the ground, carrying his hand saw. “Someone’s been gossiping.” He gathered the branches he’d just cut and threw them in the truck bed. “Wait, let me guess—Madame Fournier at the Hermitage.”

      Nothing got past him. “Who else?” She smiled, but he didn’t reciprocate.

      “Since my arrival, word has leaked out that a long-lost Fleury is back in Les Coteaux du Layon. It sounds like she was talking out of school again.”

      Dana had irritated him again; the last thing she’d wanted to do. “Only because I wanted to buy a bottle of the dessert wine we drank the other evening. She told me it came from the Domaine Percher, but she added that the very best Anjou wine used to come from the Domaine Belles Fleurs.”

      Alex rubbed his thumb along his lower lip. “There hasn’t been a bottle produced since 1930.”

      “That’s what she said. Naturally I was curious.”

      “Naturally,” he came back, but to her relief he sounded more playful than upset.

      “When I flew back to California, I did a little research on the Internet.”

      His eyes narrowed on her features. “What did you find out?”

      “For one thing, Dutch merchants used to favor the Belles Fleurs brand.”

      He expelled a breath. “I might as well hear the rest. Knowing Dana Lofgren, you didn’t stop there.”

      Embarrassed to be rattling on, a wave of heat washed over her. “There isn’t any more, though I will say this—I’m no connoisseur, but if the Belles Fleurs wine was as good as the kind we had at the Hermitage, then it’s the world’s loss.”

      She noticed him shift his weight. “My parents never breathed a word to me about a vineyard.”

      “You’re kidding!”

      “My father was so intent on protecting my mother from any more pain, we simply didn’t talk about her past. When the letter from the attorney for my grandfather’s estate showed up, there was no mention of a vineyard. In fact, he led me to believe the place was virtually unsalvageable.”

      “Sounds like he was hoping you would forfeit so he could buy it for a song.”

      He nodded. “I got the distinct impression he was hiding something, but didn’t understand until I saw the winepress building and eventually discovered the vineyard. No doubt he’d been bombarded by vintners throughout the Anjou region who wanted to buy it and work it, even if they couldn’t afford to purchase the château.”

      “So he thought he’d buy it first,” she theorized, “recognizing the money it could bring in.”

      “Exactly.”

      “Is it supposed to be a secret then?”

      He put his hands on his hips, unconsciously emanating a potent virility that made her tremble. “Not at all.”

      “But you wish I’d mind my own business.”

      “You misunderstand me, Dana. There’s something you don’t know. Come with me while I make this last haul and I’ll explain.”

      His invitation made it possible for her to be with him a little longer. She couldn’t ask for more than that, but he paused before his next comment ruined the moment. “Unless of course your assistance is required elsewhere.” His brow had furrowed. “Naturally your father has first call on your time.”

      Between Alex and her dad, she felt like a football being tossed back and forth. Both of them treated her like she was a child who couldn’t act for herself. She’d thought she and Alex had been communicating like two adults just now, but she’d thought wrong!

      Bristling with the heat of anger she muttered, “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have come out here, would I?”

      Turning on her heel, she started to retrace her steps, but Alex moved faster. In the next breath his hands had closed around her upper arms, pulling her back against his chest. “Why did you come?” he asked in a silky voice.

      With his warm breath against her neck, too many sensations bombarded her at once. The solid pounding of his heart changed the momentum of hers. Aware of his fingers making ever-increasing rotations against her skin through her top, she felt a weakness attack her body. Pleasure pains ran down her arms to her hands.

      “I—I wanted to thank you.” She could hardly get the words out.

      “For what?” he demanded, turning her around, causing her head to loll back. His dark gaze pierced hers. “That sounded like you’re leaving on a trip. Mind telling me where you’re going?”

      “The landfill? It may be a French one, but I can still think of more romantic places.”

      “Dana.” His voice grated.

      Of course he already knew the answer to his own question, but his male mouth was too close. Her ache for him had turned into painful desire. She needed to do something quick before she forgot what they were talking about.

      “I should have taken your advice before you went to so much trouble for me.” She tried to ease away from him, but he didn’t relinquish his hold. “My only consolation is that it’s one room less you’ll have to clean and furnish once you get started on the inside of the château.”

      Those black eyes roved over her features with increasing intensity. “You knew your father wasn’t going to approve. What’s changed?”

      Dana moistened her lips nervously. “Remember the old saying about picking your battles?” She noticed a small nerve throbbing at the corner of his mouth. In other circumstances she’d love to press her lips to it. “This one isn’t important.”

      She kept trying for a little levity, hoping it would help. It didn’t. Her comment had the opposite effect of producing a smile. Some kind of struggle was going on inside him before his hands