Red Wine and Her Sexy Ex

Bile filled her mouth and she swallowed hard. For pity’s sake. She was an adult, now, not a dream-filled teenager. A realist. Harry’s business partner was Jean-Paul Lefèvre—Xav’s father, not Xav himself. Xav wouldn’t be here; as far as she knew, he was still in Paris. She wouldn’t have to see him again.

‘Monsieur Lefèvre called,’ Hortense said coolly, walking into the kitchen. ‘He’s on his way back from the vines. He’s calling in to see you.’

Allegra frowned. Their meeting wasn’t until tomorrow. Then again, the French had impeccable manners. Jean-Paul was probably calling on her out of politeness, to welcome her to Les Trois Closes.

And then the kitchen door opened abruptly and Xavier sauntered in, as if he owned the place.

Allegra nearly dropped the mug she was holding. What the hell was he doing here? And why hadn’t he knocked? What made him think that he could just walk into Harry’s house—her house, she corrected herself mentally—whenever he pleased?

‘Xavier! Alors, sit down, sit down.’ Hortense greeted him with all the warmth she’d refused to bestow on Allegra, kissing him on the cheeks. She settled him opposite Allegra with a mug of coffee. ‘I’ll leave you to talk with Mademoiselle Beauchamp, chéri.’ And with that she swept out of the kitchen.

Allegra was too stunned to say a word. At twenty-one, Xavier Lefèvre had been a good-looking boy. At thirty-one, he was all man. A little taller, unless her memory deceived her, and his frame was broader—though his T-shirt showed that it was muscle rather than fat. His olive skin made his grey-green eyes seem even more piercing, and he had the beginnings of lines round his eyes, as if he smiled a lot or spent most of his time in the sun. His tousled dark hair was overlong; the style, she thought, was more in keeping with a rock star than a financial whiz-kid. And the fact that he hadn’t shaved made him look as if he’d just got out of bed, leaving his lover asleep and totally satiated.

Just the sight of him made Allegra feel as if the temperature in the room had soared by ten degrees—and she could still remember just how it had felt to fall asleep in Xav’s arms, warm and satiated in the sunshine after making love all afternoon.

Oh, hell. How was she supposed to think straight when the first thing that came into her mind where Xavier Lefèvre was concerned was sex—and the second thing was how much she still wanted him?

She needed her libido strapped into a straightjacket. Right now. Before it started wrestling with her common sense.

‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle Beauchamp.’ Xavier gave her an enigmatic smile. ‘I thought I’d better come and say hello to my new business partner.’

She stared at him, shocked. ‘You were Harry’s business partner?’

His look told her just how stupid that question was.

‘But…’ Xavier was supposed to be a financier in a sharp suit, not a vigneron in faded denims and an ancient T-shirt. ‘I thought you were in Paris.’

‘No.’

‘Monsieur Robert said Harry’s partner was Monsieur Lefèvre.’

‘Indeed.’ Still seated, he pantomimed a half-bow. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. Xavier Lefèvre—at your service, mademoiselle.’

‘I know who you are.’ For pity’s sake. Of course she knew who he was. The man to whom she’d given her virginity—and her heart, only to have it thrown back in her face. ‘I thought he meant your father.’

‘You’re five years too late for that, I’m afraid.’

‘Your father’s…?’ She sucked in a shocked breath. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea. Harry didn’t tell me, or I would’ve—’

‘Don’t tell me you would’ve come to my father’s funeral,’ Xavier cut in. ‘You didn’t even turn up to Harry’s.’

And he thought he had the right to call her on it? She lifted her chin. ‘I had my reasons.’

He said nothing. Waiting for her to fill the silence? Well, she didn’t have to explain herself to him. ‘So, what—you thought that as you’re his business partner Harry should have left the vineyard to you? Is that it?’

‘No, of course not. There’s no question of that. You inherit his possessions because you’re his closest family.’ He paused. ‘Not that anyone would have guessed, these last few years.’

‘That’s a cheap shot.’ And it had landed dead on target. Smack in the middle of her guilt, like a hard blow on an already spreading bruise.

‘Just stating the facts, chérie. When was the last time you came back to see him?’

‘I spoke to him every week on the phone.’

‘Which isn’t the same thing at all.’

She blew out a breath. ‘You probably know Harry and I fell out pretty badly after I went to London.’ Over Xavier—not that she was going to tell him that. ‘We made it up eventually, but I admit I was wrong not to come back and see him.’ Especially as half the reason had been the fear that she might have to see Xavier again. Not that she had any intention of admitting that to him, either. She didn’t want him to have a clue that she still had a weak spot where he was concerned. That seeing him again had knocked her for six and the old, old longing hadn’t died at all—it had just been sleeping, and now it was awake again and desperately hungry for him. ‘If I’d had any idea that he was so frail, I would’ve come back. He didn’t give me the faintest clue.’

‘Of course not. He was a proud man. But if you’d bothered visiting,’ Xavier said coolly, ‘you would’ve seen it for yourself.’

There was no answer to that.

‘You didn’t come back when he was ill,’ Xavier continued.

‘Because I didn’t get the message that he’d had a stroke until after it was too late.’

‘You didn’t even turn up for his funeral.’

And he seriously thought she wasn’t bothered about that? ‘I intended to be here. But I was on business in New York.’

‘Not good enough.’

She knew that. And she didn’t need him to tell her. She lifted her chin. ‘We’ve established that I’m firmly in the wrong. And it’s not possible to change the past, so there’s no point in rehashing it.’

He simply shrugged.

Infuriating man.

‘What do you want, Xavier?’

You.

The realisation shocked him to the core. After the way Allegra had let him down, he shouldn’t want anything to do with her. And she was no longer the petite rose Anglaise she’d been at eighteen, sweet and shy and a little unsure of herself and then blossoming under his love. Right now she was impeccably groomed and as hard as diamonds beneath that smart business suit. Her mouth was in a tight line, not soft and promising and reminding him of the first roses of summer.

This was crazy. For pity’s sake, he was supposed to be working out how to get the woman to sell her half of the business to him, not looking at her mouth and remembering how it had felt to kiss her. How it had felt to lose himself inside her. How it had felt to see her expression soften and her eyes sparkle with love when she looked up from the book she was reading and caught him watching her, on those drowsy summer afternoons.

Oh, Dieu. He really had to get a grip.

‘Well?’

‘I just happened to be on my way back from the fields. I called Hortense to see if you were in, because I was going to be neighbourly and polite and welcome you back to France.’ That was true—though it wasn’t the whole truth. He’d also wanted to see if he could gauge her reactions. To work out a plan for persuading her to sell the vineyard to him. ‘But, seeing as you raised the subject, let me give you something to think about. You haven’t been to France in years and I can’t see you being interested in the vineyard now. I’m more than happy to buy you out. Consult whatever qualified oenologist you like to get a price and I’ll abide by his or her decision—I’ll even pay the survey fee.’

‘No.’

She wanted more than a fair price? Well, if it would keep his vineyard safe, it was worth paying over the odds. ‘How much do you want?’

‘I’m not selling the vineyard to you.’

His stomach turned. ‘You’re planning to sell to someone else?’ To someone who would neglect the vines, so they’d end up diseased and it would spread into his fields? Or, worse, to someone who decided to use pesticide sprays and to hell with the neighbours—when it had taken him years to get organic certification for the vineyard. All that work could be ruined in a matter of weeks.