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Red Wine and Her Sexy Ex
Kate Hardy
Her head says no!Yes, Xavier Lefèvre was still the most gorgeous guy Allegra had ever met. If it were possible, he’d got even tastier with age! But everything has changed since that long, hot summer affair years ago. This time it’s strictly business – like it or not they both own the vineyard, and she isn’t going to sell Xavier her piece of the label! But her body screams yes!Now she has two months to prove to him she’ll make a great partner, and to persuade herself she doesn’t need him in her bed. Yet who is she kidding? Even the thought is far too tempting, far too delicious… Château Lefèvre Rich and spicy – these men are as irresistible as their wine!



Praise for Kate Hardy’s writing:
PLAYBOY BOSS, PREGNANCY OF PASSION ‘This story features a strong heroine who gains strength from her family and a hero who realises the importance of love and family before it’s too late. Add in their captivating romance and it makes for one great read.’
—romantictimes.com
SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH
‘Surrender yourself to this sexy and romantic attraction-at-first-sight story. Every aspect is spot-on, from the smoking-hot pair to the sensual step-by-step build-up as attraction turns to love. This hero is definitely a keeper!’
—romantictimes.com
‘THE GREEK DOCTOR’S NEW-YEAR BABY is romantic storytelling at its best! Poignant, enjoyable and absolutely terrific, with THE GREEK DOCTOR’S NEW-YEAR BABY Kate Hardy proves once again that when it comes to romantic fiction she’s up there with the very best!’
—cataromance.com
‘Kate Hardy never fails to deliver poignant, dramatic, realistic and heartwarming romantic fiction…With its cast of wonderfully believable and fantastic characters, and plenty of powerful emotion and dramatic intensity, FALLING FOR THE PLAYBOY MILLIONAIRE is another dazzling keeper from one of the finest writers of high quality romantic fiction: Kate Hardy!’
—pinkheartsocietyreviews.blogspot.com
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. 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—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 straitjacket. Right now. Before it started wrestling with her common sense.

Red Wine and Her Sexy Ex
by

Kate Hardy



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATE HARDY lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history, she also loves cooking—see if you can spot the recipes sneaked into her books. (They’re also on her website, along with excerpts and the stories behind the books.)
Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She’s been writing Medical™ Romances since 2001, and also writes for Modern Heat™; her novel BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S won the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s Romance Prize in 2008. She says she loves what she does because she gets to learn lots of new things when she’s researching the background to a book: add warmth, heart and passion, plus a new gorgeous hero every time, and it’s the perfect job!

Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

Recent titles by the same author:
Modern Heat™
GOOD GIRL OR GOLD-DIGGER?
TEMPORARY BOSS, PERMANENT MISTRESS

Medical™ Romance
NEUROSURGEON…AND MUM
THE DOCTOR’S LOST-AND-FOUND BRIDE
For Maggie—who helped me see the wood for the trees—with love and thanks.

Chapter One
SHE was back.
Xavier’s heart beat just that little bit faster as he put down the phone to his lawyer.
This was ridiculous. He was completely over Allegra Beauchamp. He’d been over her for years. So of course it wasn’t nerves making his pulse race like this. It was anger—anger that she was planning to walk in after all this time and interfere. He’d put his heart and soul into the vineyard for the last ten years, and he was damn sure he wasn’t going to let her flounce in and ruin all his hard work.
He didn’t trust her a single millimetre. Not any more. Quite apart from the way she’d broken his heart, dumping him when he’d needed her most, she hadn’t come back to support her great-uncle—the man who’d given her a home every summer while she was growing up—when he’d been old and frail and needed her. She hadn’t even made it back to France for Harry’s funeral; but she’d come straight back to claim her inheritance of fifteen hectares of top-quality vines and a big stone mas.
Her actions spoke volumes.
But in some ways it also made things easier. If Allegra was only interested in the money, then she’d be happy to sell her half of the vineyard to him, despite what she’d claimed to his lawyer this afternoon. Right now, she might have some romantic idea of what it was like to run a vineyard, but Xavier knew that as soon as she had a taste of the real thing she’d run straight back to London. Just as she had ten years ago—except this time she’d only be taking his money with her, not his heart. And this time he’d have no regrets.
He grabbed his car keys from his desk drawer, locked his office door and strode off towards his car. The sooner he faced her, the better.

Allegra sipped her coffee, but the dark, bitter liquid did nothing to clear her head.
She’d been a fool to come back after all this time. She should’ve just agreed with the lawyer’s suggestion of selling Harry’s half of the vineyard to his business partner, stopped off briefly at the tiny church in the village to lay some flowers on her great-uncle’s grave and pay her respects, and then gone straight back to London.
Instead, something had made her come back to the old stone farmhouse where she’d spent so many summers as a child. Whether it was an impulse to do right by her great-uncle or something else, she wasn’t sure. But now she was here in the Ardèche, she regretted the impulse. Seeing the house, smelling the sharp scent of the herbs growing in their terracotta troughs by the kitchen door, had made her feel physically sick with guilt. Guilt that she hadn’t come back before. Guilt that she hadn’t been there to take the call telling her that Harry had had a stroke—and that he’d died in hospital before she’d even found out that he was ill. Guilt that, despite her best efforts, she hadn’t made it here for the funeral.
Everyone in the village had already judged her and found her wanting. She’d been aware of the glances and mutters from people in the square as she’d put the flowers on the greening-over mound in the churchyard, next to the little wooden cross that would mark Harry’s grave until the ground had settled enough for it to support a proper headstone. And the coldness with which Hortense Bouvier had received her, instead of the warm hug and good meal that the housekeeper had greeted her with all those years before, had left her in no doubt as to the older woman’s disapproval.
Walking back into the kitchen had been like walking straight back into the past, ripping all of Allegra’s scars wide open. All she needed now was Xav to walk into the kitchen and drop into the chair opposite her, with that heart-turning smile and the sparkle in his silver-green eyes as he reached over to take her hand, and…
No, of course not. He’d made it quite clear, ten years before, that it was over between them. That what they’d shared had simply been a holiday romance, and he was off to start a high-flying career in Paris—a new life without her. For all she knew, he could be married with children now; once she’d taken that first step to heal the breach between herself and Harry, they’d had an unspoken agreement never to talk about Xavier. Pride had stopped her asking, and awkwardness had stopped Harry telling.
Her hands tightened round the mug of coffee. After all these years, she really should be over it. But then again, how did you stop years and years of loving some-one? She’d fallen for Xavier Lefèvre the very first time she’d met him, when she was eight years old and he was eleven: he’d been the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen, like one of the Victorian angels in the stained-glass windows at school, but with dark hair and silver-green eyes. As a teen, she’d followed him round like an eager puppy, mooning over him and wondering what it would be like if he kissed her. She’d even practised kissing against the back of her hand so she’d be ready for the moment when he finally realised she was more than just the girl next door. For summer after summer, she’d wished and hoped; even though she must have driven him crazy, he’d been kind and treated her the same way that he treated everyone else, never teasing or rejecting her outright.
But, that very last summer, it had been a kind of awakening. Xav had finally seen her as a woman instead of an annoying little urchin trailing around behind him. They’d been inseparable. The best summer of her life. She’d honestly believed that he loved her as much as she loved him. That it didn’t matter that she was going to do her degree in London while he was starting a new job in Paris—she’d spend the holidays with him, and he’d maybe come and spend weekends with her in London when he could get the time off work, and then when she graduated they’d be together for the rest of their lives.
Granted, he hadn’t actually asked her to marry him, but she’d known he felt the same way she did. That he was as crazy about her as she was about him.
And then it had all disintegrated.
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.
‘I’m not selling to anyone. Harry left me the house and his half of the vineyard. The way I see it, this was his way of telling me it was time to come home,’ Allegra said.
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘That’s guilt talking.’ Guilt that he’d just encouraged, admittedly. ‘You know as well as I do, the practical thing to do here would be to sell your share to me.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m staying.’
He stared at her, incredulous. ‘But you know nothing about viticulture.’
‘I can learn.’
‘I don’t have time to teach you.’
‘Then maybe someone else can.’
Over his dead body.
‘And in the meantime I can deal with the marketing—it’s what I’m trained to do.’
Xavier folded his arms, goaded into reacting. ‘I don’t care what you’re trained to do. You’re not dabbling in my vineyard. You’ll get bored within a week.’
‘No, I won’t. And it’s my vineyard, too.’ She folded her arms, reflecting his own defensive body language, and glared at him. ‘Harry left his half of the business to me, and I owe it to him to make it work.’ Her blue eyes were distinctly icy, and Xavier realised that she was serious. She really did want to make this work, for Harry’s sake.
Impossible; but, right now, she looked too stubborn and defensive to listen to common sense. So it would be better to leave now, think about the best tactics to make her see reason and talk to her again tomorrow. ‘As you wish,’ he said. He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Did Marc tell you the time of the meeting tomorrow?’
She blinked. ‘You’re on first-name terms with Harry’s lawyer?’
‘Actually, he’s my lawyer, too.’ Xavier judged it politic not to mention that Marc had been his best friend since university. Though he did owe it to Marc to be fair. ‘Although, I should add that he isn’t acting for me in this case and he hasn’t discussed you with me. Marc’s the most professional man I know.’
‘He said eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘Better make it midday,’ Xavier said. ‘I’m sure you’re tired after all your travelling.’
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘You don’t think I’m capable of getting up early, do you?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Though he’d thought it. ‘Actually, it would suit me better, too. Here, we work to l’heure solaire.’
‘The time of the sun?’ Her translation was hesitant.
‘Sun time,’ he corrected. ‘Working on the vines in the middle of a summer day is the quickest way to get sunstroke. I do my admin in the hottest hours of the day and I work outside when it’s a little cooler. So—midday. My office, at the chateau. And I will provide lunch.’ He thought about kissing her goodbye on the cheek, just to unsettle her a little more—but then thought better of it. Given his body’s earlier reaction to her, there was just as good a chance that it’d unsettle him, too. Instead, he gave her a formal bow. ‘À demain, Mademoiselle Beauchamp.’
She nodded in acknowledgement. ‘À demain, Monsieur Lefèvre. Midday it is.’

Chapter Two
THE next morning, Allegra spent a while looking at the vineyard’s website and jotting down some ideas before setting out for the Lefèvre chateau. The building had barely changed in the years she’d been away; it was still grand and imposing, pale stone punctuated by tall, narrow windows with white shutters. She remembered the formal lawn in front of the chateau, though she didn’t remember there being lavender fields flanking the long driveway. And she was also fairly sure there hadn’t been a rose garden at the back—although she couldn’t see it when she got out of the car, the scent of roses was strong enough for her to guess that there was a mass of blooms somewhere behind the house.
Xavier’s wife’s idea, maybe?
Not that it was any of her concern. And she couldn’t exactly have asked Hortense without it seeming like fishing—which it wasn’t. Yes, Xavier Lefèvre was still the most attractive man Allegra had ever met. If it was possible, he’d got even better-looking with age. But, even if he wasn’t involved with anyone, she wasn’t interested. Wasn’t going to give him a second chance to stamp on her heart. This was strictly business.
She glanced at her watch. Two minutes to midday. Not so early that she’d seem desperate, but early enough to tell Xavier that she was professional and punctual. Good. She straightened her back and rang the doorbell.
She had to ring twice more before the door was opened abruptly by a young man with a shock of fair hair who looked annoyed that he’d been disturbed.
‘We’re not—’ he began with a scowl, then stopped and gave her a beaming smile. ‘Mon Dieu, c’est Allie Beauchamp! How long has it been? Bonjour, chérie. How are you?’ He leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
‘Bonjour, Guy. About ten years—and I’m fine, thanks.’ She smiled back. ‘It’s good to see you. How are you?’
‘Fine. It’s good to see you, too. Are you here on holiday?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly.’ She grimaced. ‘I’m your brother’s new business partner.’
Guy raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmm.’
‘Care to elaborate on that?’ she asked.
‘No. You know Xav.’
That was the point. She didn’t, any more.
‘At this time of day, he’ll be in his office,’ Guy said.
‘I know.’ Allegra shifted her weight to her other foot. ‘I, um, forgot to ask him whereabouts in the estate his office was.’
‘And he forgot to tell you.’ Guy rolled his eyes. ‘Typical Xav. I’ll take you over there.’
‘Are you going to be at the meeting?’
‘Is it about the vineyard?’
She nodded.
‘Then, no. The vineyard’s Xav’s department, not mine. I just laze about here at weekends, drink his wine and insult him.’ He gave her an unrepentant grin. ‘By the way, I’m sorry about Harry. He was a good man.’
Allegra had a huge lump in her throat. Guy was the first person in France who’d actually welcomed her warmly and used her old pet name. Maybe he remembered their childhood, when she’d persuaded Xav to include his little brother in their games. And he was the only one who hadn’t treated her as a pariah for missing Harry’s funeral. ‘I’m sorry, too.’
Guy led her round the side of the house to a courtyard, which she remembered had once been stables and a barn but had now been turned into an office block.
‘Thanks for bringing me over,’ Allegra said.
‘Pleasure.’ He smiled at her. ‘If you’re going to be around for a few days, come and have dinner with us.’
‘Us’ meaning him and Xavier? She knew he was only being polite. Xavier definitely wouldn’t second that invitation. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said, being equally polite.
‘See you later, then. À bientôt, Allie.’
She echoed his farewell, took a deep breath, and walked into the office block. Xavier’s door was wide open and she could see him working at his desk, making notes on something with a fountain pen. He looked deep in thought, with his left elbow resting on his desk and his forehead propped against his hand. His hair was tousled—obviously he’d been shoving his fingers through it—but today he was clean-shaven. The sleeves of his knitted cotton shirt were pushed up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms sprinkled with dark hair. Right at that moment, he looked approachable. Touchable. She had to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself doing something rash—like walking over to him, sliding her hand up his arm to get his attention, cupping his chin, and lowering her mouth to his, the way she once would have done.
For pity’s sake. He wasn’t her lover any more, the man she’d thought she’d marry one day. He was her business partner. And, even if he hadn’t been her business partner, she had no idea whether or not he was already committed elsewhere. That made him absolutely off limits.
She took a deep breath, then knocked on the door.

Xavier looked up at Allegra’s knock. She was clearly still in businesswoman mode, wearing another of those sharp suits. No way would she fit in here; at this time of year, everyone had to help out in the vines, maintaining the shoots and weeding under the vines. Next month would be pruning and then letting the grapes ripen, ready for harvest in late September. Among the vines, her business suit would be ripped to shreds, and those patent highheeled shoes were completely unsuitable for the fields.
She really had no idea, did she?
‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, rising politely from his desk. ‘Take a seat.’
She sat down, then handed him a gold box tied with a gold chiffon ribbon. ‘For you.’
Now that he hadn’t expected.
‘I thought this might be more suitable than flowers. Or, um, wine.’
So she remembered French customs, then, of bringing a gift for your host. ‘Merci, Allegra.’ He untied the ribbon and discovered that the box held his favourite weakness: thin discs of dark chocolate studded with crystallised ginger. She remembered such a tiny thing, after all these years? And she must’ve bought it this morning: he recognised the box as coming from Nicole’s shop in the village. She’d made a real effort, and it knocked him completely off balance.
‘Thank you,’ he said again. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’
To his surprise, she followed him into the tiny kitchen area. ‘Anything I can do?’
Yes. Sell me your half of the vineyard and get out of my life before I go crazy with wanting you again. He just about stopped himself saying it. ‘No need.’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I take milk and sugar?’
‘You never used to, and it’s obvious you still don’t.’
She blinked. ‘Obvious, how?’
He spread his hands. ‘You wouldn’t be so thin if you did.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘That’s a bit personal.’
‘You asked,’ he pointed out.
‘Gloves off, now?’
‘They were never on in the first place.’ And now his mind was running on a really dangerous track. Gloves off. Clothes off. Allegra’s shy, trusting smile as he’d undressed her for the very first time and she’d given herself to him completely.
Oh, Dieu. He really had to stop thinking about the past and concentrate on the present.
He finished making the coffee and placed it on a tray. He fished a bowl of tomatoes and a hunk of cheese from the fridge, then took a rustic loaf from a cupboard and placed them next to the coffee, along with two knives and two plates, before carrying the lot back to his office.
‘Help yourself,’ he said, gesturing to the food.
‘Thank you.’
When she didn’t make a move, he raised an eyebrow, broke a hunk off the bread, and cut himself a large slice of cheese. ‘Forgive me for being greedy. I’m starving—I was working in the vines at six.’
‘L’heure solaire.’
He smiled, oddly pleased that she’d remembered. He could still hear England in her accent, but at least she was trying. No doubt she hadn’t spoken French in a long, long while.
‘So what’s the agenda?’ she asked.
‘We’ll start with the sensible one—when are you going to sell me your half of the vineyard?’
‘That’s not on the agenda at all,’ she said. ‘Xav, why won’t you give me a chance?’
How on earth could she not know that? Did he have to spell out to her that, the last time he’d needed her, she hadn’t been there and he didn’t want to put himself in that position again? He certainly didn’t trust his own judgement where she was concerned. He’d spent a sleepless night brooding over the fact that he still wanted her just as much as he had when he was twenty-one; it was a weakness he really didn’t need. ‘Because you’re not cut out to work here,’ he prevaricated. ‘Look at you. Designer clothes, flash car…’
‘A perfectly normal business suit,’ she corrected, ‘and the car’s not mine, it’s a rental. You’re judging me, Xav, and you’re being unfair.’
Unfair? He hadn’t been the one to walk away. The sheer injustice stung, and he had to make a real effort to hold back the surge of irritation. An effort that wasn’t entirely successful. ‘What do you expect, Allegra?’
‘Everybody makes mistakes.’
Yes. And he had no intention of repeating his.
Clearly his thoughts showed in his expression, because she sighed. ‘You’re not even going to listen to me, are you?’
‘You said it all yesterday.’ And ten years ago. When she hadn’t given him time to deal with the way his life had just imploded, and she’d dumped him.
‘This isn’t just a whim, you know.’
And then he noticed the shadows underneath her eyes. It looked as though he wasn’t the only one who’d spent a sleepless night. No doubt she’d been reliving the memories, too, the bad ones that had all but wiped out the good. And he had to admit that it had taken courage for her to come back, knowing full well that everyone here would have judged her actions and found her very much wanting.
‘All right,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Explain, and I’ll listen.’
‘Without interruptions?’
‘I can’t promise that. But I’ll listen.’
‘OK.’ She took a sip of her coffee, as if she needed something to bolster her—though her plate was still empty, he noticed. ‘Harry and I fell out pretty badly when I first left for London, and I swore I’d never come back to France again. By the time I graduated, I’d mellowed a bit, and I saw things a bit differently. I made it up with him. But I was settled in England, then. And I…’ She bit her lip. ‘Oh, forget it. There’s no point in explaining. You wouldn’t understand in a million years.’
‘Now who’s judging?’
She gave him a wry smile. ‘OK. You asked for it. You grew up here, where your family has lived for…what, a couple of hundred years?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You always knew where you were when you woke up. You were secure. You knew you belonged.’
‘Well, yes.’ Even when he’d planned to go to Paris, he’d always known that he’d come back to the Ardèche and take over the vineyard. But he’d thought he’d have time to broaden his experience in business, first, see a bit of the world.
‘It wasn’t like that for me. When I was a child, I was dragged all over the world in my parents’ wake—the orchestra would be on tour, or my mother would do a series of solo concerts and my father would be her accompanist. We never settled anywhere. The nannies never lasted long—they’d thought they’d have an opportunity to travel and see the world, but they didn’t bargain on the fact that my parents worked all the time and expected them to do likewise. When they weren’t on stage, they were practising and didn’t want to be disturbed. My mother would sometimes practise until her fingers bled. And then, just as somewhere started to become home, we’d move on again.’
He could see old hurts blooming in Allegra’s expression, and her struggle to keep them back. And suddenly he realised what she was trying to tell him. ‘So once you’d settled in London, you had your own place. Roots.’
‘Exactly. And I could run my life the way I wanted it to be. I wasn’t being pushed around and told what to do by someone else all the time, however well meaning they were.’ She looked relieved. ‘Thank you for understanding.’
He blew out a breath. ‘No, you were right in the first place. I still don’t understand. Surely your family always come first?’ It was what he’d always believed. The way his family—with the notable exception of his mother—had always done things. If there was a problem, you worked together to fix it.
‘I didn’t say it was logical.’ She looked away. ‘There were other reasons why I didn’t want to come back to France.’
‘Me?’ He really hadn’t meant to say it, but the word just slipped out.
‘You,’ she confirmed.
Well, at least it was out in the open now. They could stop pussyfooting round the issue.
She clearly thought the same, because she said, ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t be here.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve been Harry’s business partner since Papa died. Surely you knew that?’
A muscle flickered in her jaw. ‘We never discussed you.’
Was she saying that her falling-out with Harry had been over him? But he couldn’t see why. It was pretty clear-cut: she’d been the one to call a halt to their affair, not him. And Xavier couldn’t imagine Harry breaking Jean-Paul’s confidence and telling Allegra what had been going on here—about the problems with the business and Chantal’s desertion. Had Harry perhaps counselled her to give Xavier some space and time, and she’d reacted badly because she felt he was trying to push her around, the way she’d been pushed around as a child?
But he needed to know the answer to the most pressing question first. ‘Why are you here now, Allegra?’
‘Because I owe it to Harry. And don’t waste your energy giving me a hard time over missing his funeral. It wasn’t intentional and I feel guilty enough about it.’
‘I don’t have the right to judge you for that,’ Xavier said quietly, ‘but Harry was my friend as well as my business partner, and I think he deserved better.’
‘I know he did.’ Colour stained her cheeks.
‘Surely your business wasn’t that urgent? Why didn’t you tell your boss or your business contact that you had a family commitment?’
‘I did. The client couldn’t move the meeting.’
‘Couldn’t someone else have gone in your place?’
‘According to my boss, no.’ Her tone was dry, and Xavier had a feeling that there was more to this—something she wasn’t telling him. ‘I did my best to wrap everything up as quickly as I could, but the meeting overran and I missed my flight.’
‘And that was the only flight to Avignon?’ he asked. As excuses went, that was a little too pat for his liking. Too convenient.
‘Nice, actually,’ she corrected. ‘It was the only flight to France from New York without a stopover, until the next day. The reservations clerk spent an hour on the computer, trying to find me a flight that would get me somewhere on French soil at some time before breakfast, French time.’ She spread her hands. ‘But there simply wasn’t one. Not even to Paris.’
‘Your parents didn’t turn up, either.’
‘I know. They were in Tokyo. Coming to the funeral would’ve meant missing a performance. You know what they’re like.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And, yes, you could say I fell into the same trap. I put business before family, and I shouldn’t have done.’
‘At least you admit it was a mistake.’ He paused. ‘So, where do you suggest we go from here?’
‘You trusted Harry’s business judgement, yes?’
Xavier inclined his head.
‘And Harry trusted me to take over from him, or he wouldn’t have left me his part of the business.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘So are you going to do the same?’
Tricky. He didn’t trust his judgement at all, where she was concerned. And trusting her was one hell of an ask. He took refuge in answering a question with a question. ‘What do you know about making wine?’
‘Right now? Very little,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m a fast learner. I’ll put in the hours until I know enough to be useful. In the meantime, maybe I can be useful in another part of the business.’
‘Such as?’
‘As I told you yesterday—marketing. I was Acting Head of Creative at the agency where I worked. I can put an effective promotional campaign together on a shoestring budget. Though I’ll need some information from you before I can analyse how things are done now and where I can make a difference.’
‘What kind of information?’ he asked warily.
‘The business plan for the next five years. I need to know what we produce, how much we sell it for, who our main customers are and how we get the wine to them.’ She ticked them off on her fingers. ‘I also need to know who our main competitors are and what they produce. And what kind of marketing campaigns you’ve done in the past. I know the vineyard has a website, but I want to look at that and compare it with the kind of thing our main competitors produce. And then I’ll give you my analysis and recommendations.’
‘Strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, threats.’ He raised an eyebrow at her obvious surprise. ‘Do you think I don’t know what they are already?’
She looked deflated. And suddenly Xavier could see the vulnerability in her. On the surface, she was bright and polished and professional. But underneath she was as fragile as hell.
He could break her right now and make her sell her half of the vineyard to him.
But he’d hate himself for doing it. And, weirdly, he suddenly found himself wanting to protect her. How ironic was that? She’d broken his heart, and he still wanted to protect her; even though he couldn’t protect himself from her. ‘So are you telling me you’re planning to run half a vineyard from London?’
‘No. From here.’
She was planning to live here? So he’d have to see her every single day? Dieu—that would take some coping with. While she’d been in another country, he’d been able to push any thoughts of her to the back of his mind. But living next door to her, working with her…that would be a completely different matter.
And something didn’t quite add up. ‘Two minutes ago you were telling me that your roots were in London.’
‘They are.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t say this was rational, Xav. It’s just how it is. I want to step into Harry’s shoes. As you just suggested, I can’t do that from London. And the Ardèche was home to me in the summer, many years ago. I can settle here.’
Ten years too late. He’d wanted her here, by his side, back then. As his wife. Now, he’d be a lot happier if she flounced back to London and left him alone.
‘What about your job?’
‘Ex,’ she said succinctly.
‘Since when?’
‘I resigned yesterday. After my meeting with my lawyer.’
So she was using the vineyard as some kind of getout? In some respects, Xavier knew he could relax because it meant she wasn’t planning to sell the land to someone else; but, in other respects, her statement made him even more tense. Was that how she reacted to pressure—by walking out and launching herself into something else? So what would happen if the going got tough here? Would she bail out, the way his mother had bailed out on his father? ‘What about your notice period?’
‘In my profession, you can do too much damage if you stay. If you decide to leave, you leave there and then.’ She shrugged. ‘My assistant’s clearing my desk for me and I’ll pick up my personal effects later.’
‘Bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision, isn’t it? How do you know this is going to work out?’
‘Because I’m going to make it work out.’
Stubborn and determined: both were points in her favour. In this job, she’d need them. But he still couldn’t believe that she’d stick to this. ‘Running a vineyard isn’t a nine-to-five job,’ he warned. ‘There are times when we all need to muck in and work on the vines—and what you’re wearing right now is completely impractical for working in the fields. Your clothes will be shredded and your shoes—well, you’ll turn your ankle or get blisters. And then there’s the risk of sunstroke.’
‘I’m not afraid of hard work or putting in the hours. Show me what needs to be done, and I’ll do it. And I’ve already told you, I can do jeans and boots and a sunhat, if I have to.’
And doubtless hers would all be designer.
‘I don’t have Harry’s knowledge or experience, so of course I’m not going to be able to fill his shoes,’ she said. ‘But I learn fast, and if I don’t know something I’ll ask—I won’t just muddle through and hope for the best.’
‘Perhaps I should also tell you that Harry was a sleeping partner in the business,’ Xavier mused.
Her face shuttered. ‘So you’re not going to give me a chance.’
‘That isn’t what I said. Allegra, he was almost eighty. I was hardly going to make him work the same hours that I do. And he was happy to let me run the vineyard my way.’
‘So what are you saying? That I can stay, but I get no input in anything?’ She shook her head. ‘No deal.’
‘I wasn’t offering you a deal. I’m telling you the way it is. Sure, I asked Harry for advice on some things—but I can’t do that with you because, as you just said yourself, you don’t have his knowledge or his experience.’
‘And I also told you that I have other skills. Useful skills. If you give me the information I asked for, I’ll work up some proposals. I can bring other things to the vineyard. Added value.’
Xavier took a deep breath. ‘The information you’re asking for is commercially sensitive.’
‘And, as your business partner, I have no intention of letting that information out of my sight—because if it affects the business, it affects me.’
She really wasn’t going to give up. He stared at her for a moment, weighing her up: could he trust her, this time round?
Harry had obviously trusted her, or he would’ve left instructions to handle his estate differently.
This was a huge, huge risk. But Harry had never steered him wrong before; and Marc had argued in her favour, too, in their phone call the previous day. And Guy had actually left his precious lab for a few minutes to bring her over to the office. Harry, Marc and Guy were the three people Xavier trusted most, and they didn’t seem to share his wariness of Allegra. So perhaps his best friend and his brother could see things more clearly, their judgement of her not clouded by emotion and the ghosts of the past. Maybe he should let them guide him, here.
Or maybe he was just making excuses to himself, looking for reasons why he should let her back into his life. Because, damn it to hell, he’d missed her, and seeing her again made him realise what a huge hole she’d left in his life. A hole he’d told himself was filled perfectly adequately by work, and now he knew for certain that he’d been lying to himself all along.
‘What’s it going to be, Xav?’ she asked softly.
Knowing that he was probably making a huge mistake, he nodded. ‘I’ll print out the papers for you now. Read through them, call me if you have questions, and we’ll see what you come up with.’
‘Thank you.’ She paused. ‘You won’t regret this.’
He’d reserve judgement on that until he’d seen her in action. ‘It’s two months until harvest. Let’s use it as a trial. If we can work together, then fine. If we can’t, then you sell your half of the vineyard to me. Deal?’
‘So you’re expecting me to prove myself to you?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Even though I own half the vineyard?’
‘I’m saying that I don’t know if we can work with each other,’ Xavier said. ‘Look, if you took a job somewhere, you’d have a trial period to see if you and the new company suited each other. This is no different.’
‘And if it doesn’t work out, I’m the one who has to walk away? I’m the one who loses?’
‘My roots are here,’ he said simply. ‘Would you rip me from them?’
She was silent for a long, long time. And then she stood up and held out her hand. ‘Two months, and then we’ll discuss our options. Including the possibility of me selling to you, but also including the possibility of dissolving the partnership and me keeping my part of the vineyard.’
Xavier wasn’t sure whether he wanted to shake her for being obstinate, or admire her backbone. In the end, he stood up, too, and took her hand.
And the feel of her skin against his took him straight back to the days when he’d driven her to all the beauty spots in the region, and they’d wandered round, hand in hand, admiring the views. Days when the summer seemed endless, the sky was always blue, and the only time he’d stopped smiling was when his mouth was busy exploring Allegra’s body.
It would be so, so easy to walk round the table, draw her back into his arms and kiss her until they were both dizzy. And it would be so, so stupid. If they were going to have a chance of making this business work, she needed to be off limits.
He went through the motions of a formal handshake, then released her hand. ‘We should perhaps drink to that.’
‘I can’t. I’m driving.’
‘And I’m working in the fields this afternoon. So let’s improvise.’ He raised his cup of coffee. ‘To Les Trois Closes.’
She clinked her cup against his. ‘Les Trois Closes. And an equal partnership.’

Chapter Three
ALLEGRA spent the rest of Saturday afternoon looking through the papers Xavier had printed off for her, checking things on the Internet and making notes. He’d given her his mobile number, but not his email address, and she could hardly text him a report—not if she wanted to include charts or drawings.
She sent him a quick text. Off to London tomorrow. Back Tues, maybe Weds. Will email report, but need address. AB
It was late evening before he replied—very briefly and to the point. Xavier had clearly turned into a man who didn’t waste words; she made a mental note to keep her report extremely brief, with information in the papers behind it to support her arguments.
And she was going to be seriously busy for the next few days, sorting out loose ends in London as well as coming up with some ideas to convince Xavier that she could give something back to the vineyard.
She smiled wryly. So much for telling him that she had nothing to prove. They both knew that she did. To herself as well as to him.

‘Sorry, Guy. I’m just not hungry.’ Xavier eyed the slightly dried-up cassoulet and pushed his plate away.
‘If you’d come back from the fields when I called your cellphone the first time, it might’ve been edible,’ Guy pointed out.
‘Sorry.’
‘So what is it? A problem with the vines?’
‘No.’
‘Your biggest customer’s just gone under, owing you a huge amount of money?’
Xavier shook his head impatiently. ‘No. Everything’s fine.’
‘When you work yourself into exhaustion and you’ve still got shadows under your eyes because you can’t sleep, everything’s not fine.’ Guy folded his arms and regarded his brother sternly. ‘I’m not a child any more, Xav. You don’t have to protect me, the way you and Papa did when we had two bad harvests on the trot and the bank wouldn’t extend the vineyard’s credit.’
When life as he knew it had imploded. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to baby you.’
‘If it’s money, maybe I can help. The perfume house is doing OK right now. I can lend you enough to get you out of a hole—just as you helped me out a couple of years back.’
When Guy’s ex-wife had cleaned him out and he’d almost had to sell his share of the perfume house. Xavier gave him a weary smile. ‘Thanks, mon frère. It’s good of you to offer. But there’s no need. The vineyard’s on an even keel financially, and I’m being careful about credit—even with my oldest customers.’
‘Then it’s Allie.’
Yeah. He couldn’t think straight now she was back. ‘Of course not. I’m fine,’ he lied.
‘You waited just a little too long before you denied it,’ Guy said. ‘You never really got over her, did you?’
Xavier shrugged. ‘I dated.’
‘But you’ve never let any of your girlfriends close to you—not the way you were with Allie that summer.’
‘It was a long time ago, Guy. We’ve both grown up. Changed. We want different things out of life.’
‘It sounds to me,’ said Guy, ‘as if you’re trying to convince yourself.’
He was. Worse, he knew that he was failing. ‘It’s just the surprise of seeing her again. Let’s drop this, Guy. I don’t want to discuss it.’
‘OK, I’ll back off,’ Guy said. ‘But if you decide you do want to talk about it, you know where I am.’ He patted Xavier’s shoulder, then topped up their glasses. ‘Just as you were there for me when it all went wrong with Véra.’
Long nights when Guy had ranted and Xavier had listened without judging.
‘Maybe Lefèvre men just aren’t good at picking the right women,’ Xavier said. ‘Papa, you, me—we’ve all made a mess of it.’
‘Maybe.’ Guy shrugged. ‘Or maybe you and I just haven’t met the right ones yet.’
Allegra had been the right one for him, Xavier thought. The problem was, he hadn’t been the right one for her. And he needed to remember that, if he was to have any hope of a decent working relationship with her.

In London, Allegra didn’t have a minute to breathe. Between sorting out a marketing plan for the vineyard; offering the lease of her flat to Gina, her best friend at the agency; sorting out what she wanted to take to France immediately and what could stay until she’d decided what she needed at the farmhouse; picking up her things from the office and trying not to bawl her eyes out when Gina threw a surprise leaving party for her and the whole of the office turned up except for her muchloathed ex-boss…There just wasn’t a spare second to think about Xavier.
Until she was on the train from London to Avignon. That gave her seven hours to think about him, and to fume over the fact that he hadn’t even acknowledged the receipt of her proposals, let alone asked her when she was coming back.
Getting angry and stressing about it wasn’t a productive use of her time; instead, she mocked up the content for her proposed changes to the vineyard’s website and a running feature about being a rookie vigneronne. But when she arrived at the TGV station, prepared to find a taxi to take her to the old central station to catch the local train through to the Ardèche, she was surprised to see Xavier leaning against the wall.
Though she wasn’t surprised to see that he was attracting glances from every female in the place. Even when he was scruffy from working on the fields, he was a beautiful man. Today, he was dressed simply in black trousers and a white shirt, with an open collar and his cuffs rolled back slightly; his shoes were perfectly shined, too, she noticed, and he looked more like a model for an aftershave ad than a hotshot businessman.
He seemed to be scanning the crowds, waiting for someone. When he saw her, he lifted a hand in acknowledgement before coming to meet her.
He was waiting for her?
She set her cases down. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Hello to you, too.’
‘Bonjour, Monsieur Lefèvre,’ she chorused dutifully. ‘Seriously, what are you doing here?’
‘I had business in Avignon and you need a lift back to Les Trois Closes. So it seemed sensible for me to wait for you.’
Served her right for thinking, just for one second, that Xav might’ve made a special trip to Avignon to pick her up. Of course not. He’d admitted to working crazy hours, and he certainly wouldn’t let up the pace for her. This was the man who’d pushed her away and broken her heart. He hadn’t wanted her then, and he didn’t want her now. ‘Thank you. How did you know I was going to be here?’
‘Hortense told me.’
Allegra blinked.
Xavier shrugged. ‘Now, are you going to stand there and argue all day, or can we go?’ He lifted her suitcases.
‘I can handle them myself,’ she protested.
He shot her a look. ‘Men in London might no longer have manners, but this is France.’
She subsided. ‘Thank you.’
Another Gallic shrug. ‘Ça ne fait rien. How was London?’
‘Fine.’
‘And this is all you’ve brought with you?’
‘I put some of my things in storage.’
‘In case it doesn’t work out here.’ He nodded. ‘It’s sensible to play it safe.’
It sounded like a compliment, yet it felt like an insult. She decided not to rise to the bait. ‘Did you get the proposals I emailed you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘I’m thinking about it.’
In other words, he was going to be difficult. ‘How was your business meeting?’ she asked.
‘Fine, thank you.’
She coughed. ‘Vineyard business, would that be?’
‘No, actually.’
Infuriating man. Would it really kill him to tell her?
As if he read her mind, he smiled. ‘All right, if you must know, I bunked off for the afternoon and had lunch with Marc.’
‘Marc, as in Monsieur Robert? Harry’s—my lawyer?’ she corrected herself.
‘We didn’t discuss you,’ he told her loftily.
She scowled. ‘You know, sometimes you can be so obnoxious.’
‘No, really?’ He slanted her a look as he put her cases into the back of his four-wheel drive. There was the tiniest, tiniest quirk to his lips, a hint of mischief in his eyes—just like the Xav she remembered from years ago, rather than the wary stranger he’d become—and suddenly she found herself smiling back.
‘Welcome back to France. Come on, I’ll drive you home,’ he said.
Home. Was he being polite, or did he mean it? She wasn’t sure.
‘What happened to your sports car?’ she asked as she climbed into the passenger seat. The one his father had bought him for passing his driving test, an ancient classic car with a soft top. The one in which he’d driven her all round the Ardèche, showing her all the beauty spots—from the natural wonder of the Pont d’Arc, a huge stone arch across the Ardèche river, through to the Chauvet Grotto with its incredible thirty-thousand-year-old cave paintings, and the beautiful lake in an old volcano crater at Issarles.
‘It wasn’t practical,’ he said, surprising her. ‘This is.’
‘Practical?’ She didn’t follow. Practical had never been a consideration. Xav had loved that car. He’d chosen it in favour of a new one, and restored it with the help of Michel, who owned the garage in the village and had sighed with Xavier over how beautiful the car was. She and Guy had teased him mercilessly about the amount of attention he gave the car, but he’d never risen to the bait. He’d simply smiled and polished the chrome a little bit more.
‘Sometimes I need to use my car off road, and sometimes I need to take a few cases of wine to a customer.’
‘This has rather expensive upholstery for a delivery van,’ she remarked.
‘What do you expect me to do, use a pushbike and trailer?’
She had a vision of him doing just that and smiled. ‘Well, hey, that’d be the eco way of doing things.’
‘This car is as eco as a four-wheel drive gets, right now.’
‘This is an eco car?’ she asked, surprised.
‘It’s a hybrid,’ he explained. ‘I put my money where my mouth is. The vineyard’s organic. I carry the ethos through to the rest of my life, too.’
A life she’d once thought to share. A life she knew nothing about.
Not that she wanted to tell him that, so she subsided and looked out at the countryside as Xavier drove, the fields full of sunflowers and lavender becoming hillier and full of vines and chestnut trees as they travelled deeper into the Ardèche.

Two suitcases really weren’t much. Xavier knew women who needed more than that for a week’s holiday, and Allegra was supposed to be here for the next two months. Was she going back to London again to bring more things over, or had she arranged to have things shipped? Or wasn’t she planning to stay? ‘What are you going to do about transport while you are over here?’ he asked.
‘I assume Harry still has his 2CV. I’ll get that insured for me to drive.’
Harry’s old banger? She had to be joking. ‘He hasn’t used it for years. You’ll need to get a mechanic to look at it and check it over before you drive it—that’s if it’s still driveable.’ He gave her an enquiring glance. ‘Why didn’t you bring your car over from England?’
‘I don’t have a car. I don’t need one in London; I use public transport,’ she explained.
‘What if you had to go away?’
‘If it was on company business, I used a hire car.’
Knowing that it was none of his business, and yet unable to leave it alone, he asked, ‘So why did you resign? Why not just take a sabbatical?’
‘I don’t think the MD would have been too keen on that.’
‘Your boss?’
Her lip curled. ‘For the last six months, anyway.’
‘You worked elsewhere before then?’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘Peter took over the agency, about a week after my boss—the Head of Creative—went on sick leave. I was Acting Head in his absence.’
‘And now your boss is back?’
‘He didn’t come back,’ Allegra said softly. ‘He decided it was too much stress, so he took early retirement, two months ago.’
‘And you took his place?’
‘That was the idea. But Peter brought someone else in. Clearly he’d been planning it for a while.’
Her words were cool and calm, but he could hear the hurt in her voice. In her position, he would’ve been furious: doing a job for months, on a promise that it would be his, and then having it snatched away. Why hadn’t Allegra fought back? ‘Peter being this MD?’
She nodded.
The expression on her face told him more. ‘He was the one who made you go to New York before Harry’s funeral.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
She swallowed. ‘He said I had to prove myself to the company.’
‘But you’d been Acting Head for…?’ He paused for her answer.
‘Five months.’
‘So you’d already proved that you could do the job.’
She shrugged. ‘That wasn’t how he saw it. And he’s the MD. What he says, goes.’
‘And everyone else in the agency gets on with him?’
‘No, but they put up with him. It’s not exactly easy to change jobs in the current economic climate.’
‘So if Harry hadn’t left you the vineyard, what would you have done?’ Xavier asked, curious.
‘Probably found myself another job. And worked out where I could get a reference.’
Xavier blinked. ‘He refused to give you a reference?’
‘Not refused, exactly. But he could have written a reference that would’ve made any prospective employer have second thoughts about me.’
‘Then you could have sued him for defamation.’
‘Mud sticks,’ she said. ‘And would you employ someone who’d sued her previous employer? Doesn’t that just scream “troublemaker” at you?’
‘You have a point,’ he said.
‘I might’ve gone freelance, worked for myself. This just crystallised it for me—it was time to get out.’
So she was running from her job. That didn’t bode too well for her working at the vineyard. He’d wondered before what would happen when the going got too tough for her; now, he was pretty sure she’d do exactly what his mother had done. Walk out. Find someone to rescue her.
Just as she was obviously seeing the vineyard as a way of rescuing her from the collapse of her job in London.
‘If you sold the vineyard to me, it would give you enough money to set yourself up in business,’ he pointed out quietly. ‘You could go and do what you really want to do in London, instead of being stuck here.’
‘I’m not selling, Xav. I’m going to make this work.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And I’m not going to let you bully me into changing my mind.’
Bully her? He stared at her in surprise for a moment before concentrating on the road again. ‘I wouldn’t bully you.’
‘Intimidate, then.’
‘I’m not intimidating.’
‘Actually, you are,’ she said quietly. ‘You have strong views and you’re not afraid to voice them.’
‘Which doesn’t make me a bully. I do listen. I listened to you, the other day,’ he reminded her. ‘Without judging. Much,’ he added belatedly, trying to be fair.
‘And you’re so sure of yourself, of where you’re going.’
‘I see what needs to be done, and I do it without making a drama out of it.’ He shrugged. ‘If that’s intimidating…sorry. It’s how I am.’
‘Whatever you throw at me, I’ll handle it.’
So there was still some fire there, even if it was buried fairly deeply right now. ‘Is that a challenge?’ he asked, interested.
‘No,’ she said, sounding bone-deep tired. ‘Why do men always have to make issues out of things?’
‘I’m not making an issue out of things. Yes, I admit, I’d prefer you to be a silent partner, the way Harry was, but that obviously isn’t going to happen. For the next two months, we’re stuck with each other. I’ll expect a lot from you, but I won’t go out of my way to make life difficult for you.’
‘Thank you for that. And I do mean to pull my weight. I’m not a slacker.’
Had this Peter accused her of that? he wondered. But for her to have wrapped up all the loose ends in London over the last couple of days and said her goodbyes, as well as emailing him a detailed report that had clearly taken time to research—no, Allegra Beauchamp wasn’t a slacker.

Finally, Xavier parked on the gravel outside Harry’s farmhouse. He was out of the car and holding the door open for Allegra before she had a chance to unclip her seat belt, and then he took her cases from the back of his car.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Um, would you like to come in for a coffee or something?’
‘It’s kind of you to ask, but I have work to do.’
‘Of course.’ And there was something else she needed to know. Her normal skill with words deserted her, and she ended up blurting out, ‘Um, is it going to be a problem for your wife, having me as your business partner?’
Xavier gave her a speaking look. ‘If you want to know if I’m married, chérie, just ask me—don’t do that feminine subterfuge stuff. It’s annoying.’
She felt the colour flood into her face. ‘All right. Are you married?’
‘No. Happy?’
Right at that moment, she really regretted accepting the lift from him. ‘It doesn’t actually make a difference to me whether you’re married or not,’ she said, looking him straight in the eye. ‘I was just thinking, if you were involved with someone, I’d like to reassure her that I’m no threat to your relationship. Out of courtesy to her.’
Xavier spread his hands. ‘You wouldn’t be a threat.’
Of course not—he’d made it clear years ago that she wasn’t what he was looking for. That he didn’t have time for her. Though the comment still stung.
It must have shown in her face, because he said, this time a little more gently, ‘I’m not involved with anyone. My energy’s concentrated on the vineyard. I don’t have time for complications.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re celibate.’ The words were out before she could stop them.

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