Love Redesigned (4 page)

Chapter 5

She winced, knowing she’d gone too far, and sounding like a jealous shrew.

His eyebrow quirked, and he turned his face to hers, smirking.

She wanted to wipe the smug satisfaction off his face.

He stepped back. “You may go.”

She stepped off the platform and ducked behind the screen. Stretching her arm behind her, she tried to reach the zipper. No good. She tried her other arm, but her fingertips only brushed the zipper pull.

“May I assist you?” Roman’s deep voice rumbled behind her, and she whirled around. He leaned against the wall, watching her.

“Where’s Mignon?”

“She still has not come back. I have one seamstress out ill, so I assume Mignon is working on the other attendant dresses.”

“Great.” She huffed out a breath and turned her back. “
Please
. I can’t reach the zipper.”

He moved behind her, crowded her in the tiny cocoon behind the screen. They could have been separated from the rest of the world. Beads of perspiration popped out on her forehead.

His fingers brushed a long curl of hair over her shoulder.

She must look a fright, her hair springing loose from the bun. She reached up and yanked out the scrunchy. Her hair tumbled loose.

He groaned, his breath warming her neck.

The sound echoed through her, shivering down her spine, all the way down to her toes.

She scooped her hair back up and into a tight knot.

She felt him grip the zipper pull and begin tugging it down. Inch by agonizing inch. His fingers traced down her spine, following the zipper, branding her.

It was one thing to see his pictures on the internet or in magazines. It was another to have the living, breathing, flesh-and-blood man standing behind her. Talking to her, touching her.

After all they’d shared so long ago.

She shivered.

“What’s going on here?”

She looked up and caught Daniel watching them over the screen. She clutched the bodice of the gown as it started to slip down her chest. “He had to check the alterations, and fix the tear from yesterday.”

“And he plays lady’s maid as well?” Daniel glared at Roman.

“I couldn’t reach the zipper.”

“Huh.” Daniel craned his neck over the top of the screen. “Looks like it’s down now. Does
he
need to help you with anything else?” He jerked his head at Roman.

She glanced at Roman, startled to see his jaw clench.

He inclined his head. “Thank you for taking the time for the fitting. I am finished with you.” He left the small dressing area, and she heard his footsteps ring across the marble floor. The door banged shut.

Why does that sound so final?
She winced.
It’s what I want, isn’t it?

She glanced up to see Daniel still looking over the screen.

“What?”

“Exactly what was going on back there?”

“I told you, I couldn’t reach the zipper. He was the only one around to help me. Now move, so I can get dressed.”

He backed away from the screen to give her privacy. “Huh.” He snorted, his voice drifting to her. “Considering he’s such a world-class designer, you’d think he’d have all kinds of assistants underfoot.”

“He has a couple here, but one is down sick.”

“Oh yeah? And what else do you know about his
affairs
?”

She zipped up her slacks, and stepped into her clogs. She started to put the long-sleeved shirt back on, but she was still hot. She put her chef coat on over her bra and snapped it top to bottom. As long as she stayed buttoned up, no one would know. Folding the t-shirt, she walked out from behind the screen.

“He just mentioned it to me during the fitting.” She glanced at the expression on his face. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

He scoffed and jerked his shoulder. He softened, and touched her arm. “I’m worried about you. You see this jerk-face after fifteen years . . . All I know is, I came looking for you only to find him undressing you.”

“He wasn’t undressing me. I had to take the dress off.”

“Your back was to him. You didn’t see the look on his face.”

She stilled. “What do you mean?”

“He was looking at you like he wanted to strip the dress off you completely and . . . and . . .” His face reddened, and he scrubbed his hands over his face, something he only did when he was frustrated. “Not to sound like one of your bodice-ripper novels or anything, but I’ve never seen such raw passion on anyone’s face. He looked like he wanted to devour you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—maybe even dessert, too. With fresh whipped cream and a cherry on top.”

She held up a hand to stop him. Confusion rushed through her, and if she admitted it, some small amount of satisfaction.
I may be getting older, but wow. That kind of gives me a boost.
She smiled to herself and looked up.

Daniel frowned. “You’re not considering getting involved with him, are you?”

“No.
No
. Not a chance. But come on, he can have anyone . . . and probably
has
. To think he would be interested in me after all these years, if there were the slightest chance, and I can turn him down? I guess there’s a small mean part of me that would gloat.” She opened the door to leave the ballroom, but stopped and turned back to him. “And you better not tell anyone I just said that.”

He nodded.

“I mean it, Daniel. Pinkie-swear.” She held out her little finger.

He gripped her finger with his own, held her still. “Honey, who was there when you were in the hosp—”

“Hush! Don’t say it. I don’t want anyone to know about the accident.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything else. But do you really think I want to take the chance he’ll hurt you again?”

She searched his face and realized he was concerned for her.

“You’re the best.” She hugged him hard, thankful she had him in her corner.

“Of course I am, Sugar. You’re lucky to have me for your BFF.”

She rolled her eyes and left the ballroom.

The other gowns were now complete, ready to be fitted. If only his studio were complete, he wouldn’t have to work out of the chateau. Less chance of running into
her
.

His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything all day. Preparations for the wedding feast were taking place in the main kitchen, so he detoured down the hall to the smaller kitchen for a snack.

He entered the airy room, but it was already occupied. Genevieve stood bent over the marble counter, piping icing onto cookies. She glanced up at him, a dollop of icing hanging from the pastry bag. She had tidied her hair into a tight bun, and wore a white chef coat in lieu of an apron.

“I don’t mean to interrupt you. I did not have time for lunch earlier, and I need a snack.”

She was silent, and flicked a glance at the door, almost as if she wanted to run.

He clenched his teeth, then winced, rubbed his jaw. “Your husband has quite a temper.”

“Husband? He’s . . .” Her words trailed off and she straightened, staring at him. She set the pastry bag down.

“He’s what?” he asked, forcing his voice to be casual. He opened the stainless steel refrigerator door. He scanned the shelves, but every fiber of his being was tuned to the woman behind him.

“He’s very protective of me.”

He shut the door, then opened the pantry. He stared, unseeing, at the food on the shelves. His thoughts churned.

“Do you want a cookie?”

He turned around.

She pointed to a basket at the end of the counter. “Those are the cookies I can’t use for the party. Help yourself.”

He reached into the basket and pulled out a piece of cookie. Biting into it, the flavors exploded on his tongue. Delicate and light, he tasted sugar, vanilla, and hints of lemon.

She turned back to the counter and picked up the pastry bag. “Take the basket with you. I need to get these finished,” she said, dismissing him.

He should leave.
Why would I want to be around her?
Yet here he was, leaning against the counter, watching her work. Her movements were graceful, and precise. He could tell she knew what she was doing, and was very proficient.

For the first time, he looked at what she was working on. Heart-shaped cookies lined the trays, frosted to look like the bodice of wedding dresses. She had even piped tiny pearl necklaces on each cookie. He was charmed in spite of himself.

“You always were very talented.”

Her head whipped up, and she looked at him in surprise. “Th—thank you. I’m making them for the party tonight.”

He nodded. “They will go . . . what was it you used to say? They will go like hotcakes at a church fair.”

Surprise flashed across her face. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember a great many things about you.”

She looked down, but her cheeks turned pink. He detected a slight smile.

“I think it’s wonderful the villagers are throwing a party for Connie Sue and Francois,” she said.

“It is a close-knit community, and many of the villagers are employed here at the winery. Francois is a very kind boss, good to his employees. He has instituted great change since he became in charge.”

“Connie Sue mentioned he took over when his father passed away, and began making a lot of changes. Sounds like he’s turned the place around into a thriving business.”

“Constance has been very beneficial in her role as Marketing Director, and great help to him. With her assistance, and his new direction for the winery, Francois has reached a greater audience for the wines.”

“She’s always been good at her job,” she said.

He detected a note of pride in her voice.

She set the pastry bag down and picked up the tray, carried it toward the alcove off the kitchen.

He noticed for the first time a tall cart on wheels. She pushed the tray onto the rack. Curious now, he followed her. Row after row of cookie trays filled the rack. The lower shelves held trays of cookies that were dressed in black and white icing tuxedos.

“Did you make all of those?” He was amazed at how much she had accomplished in such a short time.

“Of course.” She covered the rack and backed into him. She whirled around and stumbled.

He steadied her, but she jerked away from him.
Why is she so angry? She used to welcome my touch.

She stepped around him, her back rigid, as she walked toward the counter.

“The cookies look very professional.”

“It
is
my profession.”

“You own a
patisserie
?”

“No. I work for a couple who own a bakery in Atlanta. But I’m working toward starting my own business soon, and branch out into specialty cakes.”

“What do you mean ‘specialty cakes’?”

She picked her phone up from the counter and clicked several buttons. She held it up for him to see, and he walked around the counter to stand next to her.

Her delicate scent of vanilla and spices washed over him. A memory assailed him of an afternoon she had arrived at his apartment, straight from her classes at
Le Cordon Bleu
.
He had grabbed her, wrestling her onto the bed. He nuzzled her neck, breathing in her unique essence.

She laughed and tried to push him away. Said she was hot and sweaty from baking all afternoon in the hot kitchen.

He had grinned, said she smelled decadent, good enough to eat. He’d offered to lick any remaining sugar off her bare skin. They had not made it to the shower until late that night.

He caught her watching him, a wary expression on her face. He slid the phone from her hand, brushing her fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she curled her fingers together and clasped them to her chest. He flicked through the slide show of pictures.

“These are what I made for the TV show ‘Southern Belle Cake-Off.’”

He glanced up at her. “You were on television? Making cakes?”

She shrugged, red staining her cheeks. “Yes. I didn’t want to do it, but it’s been great exposure for my business.”

“A cooking show?”

“No, it’s a regional competition for cake artists in the South, and they filmed parts of it for one of the food networks.”

“How did you do?”

“I won.”

His eyes widened, and despite everything that had happened, he felt a surge of pride for her. “
C’est fantastique
! Congratulations!”

She ducked her head, and he could tell she was embarrassed. She ran her fingers over the snaps on the chef coat as if making sure she was still secured inside it.

He had the insane urge to pluck the snaps open, one by one, until she was exposed.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he focused his attention back to the pictures displayed on her phone. He scanned creation after creation, and at each picture, his admiration for her grew. “These are outstanding.
Absolumént
. You are truly talented. Your husband must be very proud of you.”

Abruptly, she turned away, and began stacking the used utensils in the sink.

Had he hit a nerve? “I assume by the way Daniel leapt to your defense that he knows about me?”

“I told him some things.” She wiped the counter, turned away. “I need some air. I’ll clean up later.” She walked toward the back door and opened it.

He heard rain pattering on the roof of the porch. “You’ll get wet.”

She turned to him briefly. “I don’t mind the rain. The earth will smell all the sweeter.” And she was gone, shutting the door behind her.

Mon Dieu, I still want her
. Fifteen years and a broken heart later, she still affected him. She looked so prim and proper buttoned up in her chef coat, her long golden hair pulled into a tight knot on top of her head.

He wanted . . . what did he want? His fingers itched to take her hair down from that prim knot on top of her head, and see if she was still the passionate woman he had loved.

He opened the door and stepped outside. Scanning the garden leading to the grape fields, he caught a flash of white through the gate. Drops of cold rain rolled down his collar, and he hunched his shoulders.