From Daredevil to Devoted Daddy

Now that she knew who he was, how long before she changed her attitude toward him? He wished he’d kept his mouth shut! No one needed to know his own tragedy. Sympathy was wasted; it didn’t change anything.

“Alexandre, time for bed.” Jeanne-Marie calmly took her son’s hand when he ran over and began walking toward the inn, cutting obliquely across the sand to reach it sooner than walking along the water’s edge.

She didn’t say another word to him as he kept pace with them. Once in the inn, she went directly back to their private quarters with only a brief word of goodnight.

Matt stood in the lounge watching the closed door for several seconds after she firmly shut it. Of all the reactions he’d anticipated, that had not even been on the list.

“Do you need something, monsieur?” the teen behind the desk asked.

“Insight into women,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.” Matt took the stairs two at a time, wondering what exactly had caused him to choose this inn. And why the innkeeper would spark an interest in an otherwise gray world.

CHAPTER THREE

JEANNE-MARIE rose early the next morning to prepare breakfast for her guests—starting with Matthieu Sommer, millionaire extraordinaire and daredevil climber. She knew enough about the wine business, and the Sommer name, to know the normal circles he traveled in were far removed from her family inn. If there was anything further to prove that she needed to keep her distance from this guest, learning that about him provided it.

She’d felt vaguely sad all evening, due to learning about his own wife and son’s deaths. How horrible to lose a wife, but even more devastating to lose his son. She didn’t know how she’d go on if something happened to Alexandre. Poor man. Truly all the money in the world couldn’t bring back a loved one.

The fresh warm croissants waited in a basket, and she pulled the pain de raisin from the oven, taking in the delicious cinnamony fragrance as she turned it out onto a cooling rack. Cooking soothed her and brought her joy. She was glad her guests liked her offerings.

“It smells as good as the bakery in here,” Matt said from the doorway.

She looked up and frowned. “If you sit at one of the tables in the dining area, I’ll bring your breakfast out in a moment.” She’d set the tables the night before to save one step in the morning. The two tables by the windows overlooked the garden. As he was first down, he’d have his choice of places in the dining area.

“This is fine.” He crossed the floor and sat at their small family table by the windows in the nook. She frowned at his presumption. This was family space. Still, it was early—maybe he didn’t want to sit alone in the dining room if she was working here. She could more easily make sure he had everything he needed.

Setting a basket of assorted warm breads and croissants on the table, she asked if he preferred coffee or hot chocolate, annoyed at her rationalization.

“Chocolate. Extra sugar and energy,” he said.

Jeanne-Marie brought an assortment of jams and jellies and placed them on the table. “I’ll have your drink ready in a moment.”

She returned to preparing more bread for her other guests, keeping an eye on the baguettes baking. Timing was not as easy with one guest eating well in advance of the others, but some of the breads would be just as good cold as hot, and she always had plenty left over to use for the box lunches.

She did her best to ignore her unwanted visitor. Normally she had the kitchen to herself. Alexandre didn’t waken until eight most mornings. She loved the quiet time preparing the breakfasts and enjoying her own cup of chocolate. Today she felt self-conscious with Matt’s dark eyes tracking her every move.

“The more I learn about you, the more I’m convinced you’re not making the most of your talent,” he said.

She flicked him a glance. “Like what?” she asked.

“Your meals are fantastic. You could make a fortune opening a restaurant.”

“I told you, I like my life the way it is. It’s not all about making money.”

“Money is always helpful.”

Stopping for a moment, she looked at him. “Money can buy things. If things are what you want. It can’t buy back a lost life.”

That was true. He’d give all his fortune for things to have turned out differently two years ago. Had he been driving, would his reflexes have been better than Marabelle’s? Could the accident have been avoided?

She couldn’t help flicking a glance his way from time to time. His eyes met hers each time. Didn’t he have someplace else to look? The view wasn’t as good as from the dining room window, but he could see the garden if he sat in another chair.

“So today you again risk life and limb,” she commented, wanting the topic to shift from her.