One Summer in Paris(73)

She picked up her glass and took a sip. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s from a vineyard near my uncle’s house in Bordeaux. The climate is perfect for the grape.” He talked about the vineyard, and the few weeks he’d spent there in the spring after a long concert tour. And all the time he was watching her, studying her with those blue eyes and that gaze that saw everything.

She was eighteen again and standing on the edge of something new and overwhelmingly exciting.

She told him about a holiday she’d taken to the Californian wine country, and they talked about climate and grapes. She told him about the cookery classes she’d taken and they shared a laugh over her first attempts to make macarons.

“They looked like spaceships. And I made such a mess!”

“Still, I’m impressed.” He took a sip of his wine. “I have only ever bought dessert.”

“About this concert—”

“I’m playing Mozart.”

“Could I bring a friend? Her name is Audrey,” she added it hastily, in case he thought she was planning on bringing a man. “I met her here, in Paris.”

“I will arrange four tickets. Bring anyone you like. Give me your address and I’ll send a car for you. And afterward I will take you for dinner. But promise me one thing—”

“What?”

“That you’ll wear that dress.”

He was looking at her the way men looked at attractive women, so openly interested that she felt flustered. She could feel the undercurrents, the sexual tension.

It was something she wouldn’t have imagined six months before, but now? Her life had changed. Everything was different.

“I’ll wear this dress.”

She saw the woman at the next table looking at them. Maybe she recognized Philippe. How must they look? Like two people on a date. Enjoying each other’s company. Everything about the scene suggested romance. The flicker of candles, the faint hum of music in the background. The way he occasionally reached across and touched her hand. The way he focused on her, his blue eyes fixed intently on hers.

“Remember the night I took you around Paris on the motorcycle?”

“How could I forget? It was raining, and I was terrified. You were unpredictable, unreliable, ridiculously reckless—I still have nightmares about it. Also about climbing over the wall of the palace—we could both have been arrested.”

“You were so cautious and careful.” He took a mouthful of wine, his gaze fixed on hers. “Are you still like that, Grace?”

“Invite me on the back of your motorcycle and I’ll tell you.”

He laughed. “I sold my motorcycle a long time ago. These days I prefer to travel in comfort. But the fact that you’re asking tells me you have changed.”

“No one can reach the age of forty-seven and not change.”

“Life sculpts you into a certain shape, that’s true, but it’s almost always better. Just as some wines are better when they have had time to mature. This is probably the reason older women are invariably more interesting than younger ones.”

David hadn’t thought so. He’d chosen the younger one.

“Some people find youth attractive.”

“Those with an unsophisticated palate. There is nothing more attractive than a confident, older woman.” There was an intimacy to his gaze that made her deliciously aware of her body. She felt the tingling of her skin, the stirring low in her belly and the rapid thud of her heart.

After so many years with David, it came as a shock to realize she could be so intensely attracted to another man.

“You like my dress.”

“I like what’s in the dress. Age brings a level of freedom, doesn’t it?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You can take more chances. You have less to lose.”

She had nothing to lose.

Her whole body felt charged and on edge, as if she’d been plugged into a power source. She had to be careful. David’s brutal rejection had left her feeling needy, and Audrey’s makeover had left her feeling reckless. It was a risky combination.

Between her and Philippe there was a shimmer of tension. An awareness that she felt as an ache in her throat and stomach.

They talked until the waiters had cleared the table, until the sun had set and most of the other diners had left.

It was only when she felt a chill on her arms that she realized it was late.

“I should probably go.”

“Why? Is there a curfew?”

“No.”

“Then why rush?”

“Habit, I guess. Do you live near here?”

“Close. My apartment is ten minutes away. Join me for coffee.” He said it casually, but there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes.

And she knew he wasn’t offering her coffee.

“I’d like that.” It hadn’t been part of the plan, but she no longer really had a plan. She’d always been frightened to let life just happen. She’d seen spontaneity as being about lack of control, but now she realized it didn’t have to be that at all. She was still in control. Still making the decisions. She’d thought it was important to know everything that was going to happen, but she’d never appreciated the fun of not knowing.

His eyes darkened, and she finally acknowledged that this had never just been about dinner. The moment she’d sent that friend request, she’d known they might end up here.