Page 9 of Love on the Vine
Relief coursed through me now that the initial awkwardness between us had disappeared. As we drove down the main street of the village past the café terrace full of people lounging in the sun, past the striped awning of the boulangerie, Jake told me more about Moustiers. “There’s a market twice a week. And you can get fresh fish down at the port daily.”
We continued down narrow streets lined with pastel-hued houses draped with bougainvillea, their colorful shutters drawn against the sun. Then, leaving the village behind, we turned off on a narrow gravel path that cut through a dense tunnel of umbrella pines and led to a dark iron gate. When he pressed a button on his sun visor and the gate opened to reveal an immense vine-covered stone villa with pale green shutters, I gasped. “All this is yours?”
His firm mouth crooked up in that ghost of a smile that I’d already come to recognize as his only tell when he was embarrassed or uncomfortable. “It’s too big, I know. ButI receive clients from time to time and they have certain expectations.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t a critique. I never imagined I’d be staying somewhere like this.” We parked in the half-moon driveway, and I stepped out in a daze, slowly turning around to take it all in.
The sun had turned the old stones a pale buttery yellow and filtered through the pink-tipped roses that grew up along the walls. Happy birds danced around a stone fountain that looked as old as the medieval village itself. There was a garden off to the side with a breathtaking view of the hills and the Mediterranean.
Jake had already taken my suitcase to the back of the house, so I hurried to catch up with him, skidding to a halt in front of the magnificent pool set deep in a stone terrace. Behind the pool, a pergola wrapped in wisteria offered shade from the sun. I could already envision myself laid out on the enormous pile of cushions with a book and a cold drink.
“If I had a place like this, I’d never leave,” I said. This had to be a dream, right? When I had pictured Jake’s home, I’d imagined one of those narrow two-story houses that we’d passed in the village.
“It didn’t always look like this,” Jake admitted. “It was just a crumbling pile of stones when I bought it six years ago. And since this little corner of Provence is still relatively unknown, it was kind of a steal.”
“How’d you find it?”
“Pure luck. I came out here because I’d happened to taste one of the best wines of my life at a blind tasting, and I was determined to meet the winemaker.” His hand brushed over my arm lightly, sending an electric charge through me, and my breath caught as he guided me toward the stone wall overlooking the valley below. “Those are the vineyards over there. See?”
I was so distracted by his nearness that it took me a minute to make out the neat rows of vines clinging to the rocks. “How do they survive there?”
“Perseverance and ingenuity.” Jake dropped his hand from my arm and stepped back, running his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, I drove down to meet the winemaker the next day. Tried to convince him to let me export some of his wine, but he told me he wasn’t interested. He still won’t sell anything to me if it’s not for my own consumption. He’s about ninety years old and stubborn as a rock.”
“Like his vines.”
“Yeah, but so am I.” He leaned his elbows on the wall, gesturing to the place. “I came back every year, and always left empty-handed. One day, I saw a ‘for sale’ sign sticking out of the wall here. The place was in ruins, but when I saw that it overlooked the vineyards, I bought it on the spot. Almost to spite the old man.”
I laughed. “Funny, you don’t look like the vengeful type.”
“Well, turns out the joke was on me because it took years to rebuild.” He ran his hand over the stones, and I couldn’t help wishing I was laying on those stones. “Didn’t help that I was determined to do it myself.”
“You did all the work yourself?”
“No, not all of it. I left the plumbing and the electricity to the experts, but yeah, I did the plaster, drywall, stonework. With some help from a couple guys from the village.”
“So you’re handy and ho—” I caught myself before the wordhotleft my mouth. “Ho-hospitable.”
He shot me a bewildered look. “I think you’re the first person to call me ‘hospitable.’”
I couldn’t help letting my eyes wander over his strong body and imagine him shirtless in the sun, covered in sweat and dust. And just like that I had another visual to add to my ever-growingstock of Jake fantasies. He turned around and caught me ogling him. Flustered, I asked, “How long did it take you to finish?”
“To be perfectly honest, it’s still not done. I’m here only a few months out of the year, and never more than a month at a time. Plus, seventeenth century stone is uncompromising. I want to do it justice.”
“Seventeenth century?”
“Almost as old as the village itself. Except for this part. This is new.” He indicated a small cottage at the end of the garden. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying.”
Chapter 4
JAKE
This was a huge fucking mistake.
I knew it as soon as I’d rolled up to the train station and saw her leaning back in the sun, her long shapely legs on display and her silky top clinging to her like a second skin. I knew it when I could barely keep my eyes on the road on the drive back home. And I knew it when I opened the French doors to the guest cottage, and she glided past me in a whisper of linden blossom perfume and warm skin.
I wanted her. And not just a little bit. This was the kind of full-body desire that I hadn’t felt since I was a high school virgin with a stack of oldPlayboysunder my bed.
I gritted my teeth and kept my eyes glued to the sketches on the wall. Pretended that my body wasn’t as hard as the goddamn window railing.
