Love Story Next Door!: Cinderella on His Doorstep / Mr Right, Next Door! / Soldier on Her Doorstep

To his surprise she gave a caustic laugh that didn’t settle well. “Do you know you’re so much like my father at times, it’s uncanny?”

His black brows met together in disbelief. “How did he get into this conversation?”

“When has he ever not been a part of it in some way or other? Last night you lit in to me. This morning you’re trying to placate me. That has been his modus operandi since I was a child. Throw Dana a tidbit and she’ll forget.”

He gunned the engine and streaked out of there until they were beyond the view of any workers. Then he slammed on the brakes beneath the trees. Turning to her, he slid his arm along the back of the seat and encircled her warm nape with his hand. He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his fingers.

“I haven’t forgotten one second of what happened last night and know in my gut you haven’t, either.” Unable to stop himself, he kissed her neck, knowing her skin smelled that sweet all over. “The fact is, I want you to stay at the château and was hoping to tell you that while we took a little time off to play. You were right about Jack being a dull boy.”

“I wasn’t planning to leave,” she stated quietly, jolting him in that inimicable way of hers. “As for Jack, it’s a well-known secret dull boys are usually the most successful because they never waiver from their goal.”

Dana understood him so well, it hurt.

“Knowing how anxious you are to get the estate ready for the public, you won’t be doing either of us a favor by taking me through that monster castle. I have my own plans for today. Thank you anyway.”

The desire to drag her off to an undisclosed location and kiss her until she cried for mercy was trumped only by the knowledge that she wasn’t going to run away from him yet. He bit her earlobe gently before separating himself from her so he could start up the engine.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive into town. He didn’t mind. For now it was enough to know she didn’t want to leave the château. She loved everything about it including his damn grapes lying dormant inside those gnarled trunks.

It seemed the only drawback in the scenario was Alex.

“There’s my car.” Her voice jerked him from his torturous thoughts. He maneuvered his truck through the hectic morning traffic and pulled into a parking spot near hers.

She alighted before he could help her down. “You didn’t need to get out,” she told him as he followed her to the car.

“I’m the one who told you to leave it here overnight. Just looking to make sure everything works.” He watched her get in, then shut the door for her. After checking the tires, he told her to pop the trunk. “Everything looks good.”

She started the engine. “Thanks for driving me in. See you later.” As she backed out and drove off, he waved until he couldn’t see her golden head anymore. Turning sharply on his heel, he walked two blocks to the post office to collect his mail.

There were a few bills and letters from his colleagues in Bali, as well as his contacts in Louisiana. He would read them when he got back on the estate. As he finished cleaning out his mailbox, a postcard fell on the floor. He picked it up. The picture of Sanur gave away the name of the sender.

Martan—thank you for the postcard you sent with the big castle on it. One day I want to see it and the house your grandfather left you. I am working hard and am saving my money to come and visit. Maybe work for you one day in the States? Are the French women as hot as they say? How many have you had so far? Write soon, Sapto.

A smile broke out on Alex’s face. He walked around the corner to a tourist shop where he bought a postcard with a photograph of the Château de Chenonceau, Dana’s favorite. When he returned to the post office, he wrote a message on the back.

Hey, Sapto—I liked your card. It brought back many memories. I’m glad you’re working so hard. It’ll pay off. Maybe one day we’ll see each other again. The French women are definitely hot, but they can’t compare to the American woman staying at my château. I have plans for this one. Alex wrote the rest of his thoughts about her in Balinese and signed it, A. Martin.

After affixing a stamp, he mailed it, then left for home in his truck. Halfway to the estate it struck him that for the first time since being in France, he thought of it as home. Something was happening to him. Something profound.

Deep in thought about everything that had transpired last night, he almost didn’t hear his cell phone in time to answer it. Hoping it was Dana, he almost said her name when he clicked on.

“Monsieur Martin?” a man asked in French. Disappointment swamped him.

“Oui?”

“This is Honore Dumarre. Perhaps Mademoiselle Lofgren hasn’t had a chance to tell you about our meeting yesterday.”

Alex straightened in his seat. Dana had warned him the other man would be calling, but he hadn’t expected it this soon. “As a matter of fact, she presented me with an 1892 bottle of Belles Fleurs wine from your cellar last night.”

The man chuckled. “Technically it wasn’t from my wine cellar. I was just the keeper of it. Now I know why I held on to this one. It’s a great honor for me to know it is now in the hands of the rightful owner. Soyez le bien venu, monsieur. I am so pleased to know a Fleury is back among us after all these years.”

Something in Monsieur Dumarre’s nature caused Alex to warm to him. “Thank you, monsieur. I’m touched by your words. As you can imagine, it was such an incredible gift, I’m still overcome. I’d intended to phone you before the day was out and thank you for parting with it.”

“Mademoiselle Lofgren was so excited to give it to you, I couldn’t have done anything else. Once in a while life offers us something beyond price. I’m not only thinking about the wine, but the beautiful young woman herself. Her soul shines right out of those heavenly blue eyes, doesn’t it? What a prize she is.”

“Yes,” was all Alex could say because emotion had caught up to him.

“To think she’s Jan Lofgren’s daughter. His films are sheer genius.”

“I agree.”

“Did she tell you I’d like to host a party?” That was news. Dana probably would have told him if he’d given her half the chance. “All your vintner neighbors will want to meet you. I plan to invite the Lofgrens, too, and hope they can come.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Dumarre. I’m sure it will please them to be included.”

“Excellent. Call me Honore. My wife, Denise, and I were thinking Saturday, the twenty-eighth? Say seven o’clock? Would that be convenient?”

“I’ll look forward to it with great pleasure. And please, call me Alex.”

“Bon. It will be an evening everyone will look forward to.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Not at all. À bientôt, Alex.”

“À la prochaine, Honore.”

On Monday morning Dana left the château early to meet with her father. She’d called him ahead of time to let him know she was coming. When she knocked on the hotel room door, he answered in his robe still drinking a cup of coffee.

“Hi, Dad.” She moved inside, taking a glance around his messy room. “I’m here to run you to the hospital in Angers for your blood check. While I’m waiting for you, I’ll do your wash with mine.” She’d brought a laundry bag with her and started gathering up his things.

“I thought you’d forgotten.”

How did he dare say that to her? It just proved how unconscious he was where she was concerned. “Have I ever forgotten anything?”