Black Diamonds (10 page)

“Don’t panic,” he said dryly. “I merely peeped around the door. You were sleeping like a baby.”

“Oh.” The thought still unnerved her. Xavier already seemed to be able to see into her soul; heaven help her if he had access to her dreams.

After a moment she said, “I’m sorry—I’ve made you miss a dinner party.”

“It’s of no concern. I happen to like your company, Jacaranda.”

Her stomach somersaulted at the husky note in his voice.

“Are you hungry?” he went on. “Marie has left some food for us, if you don’t mind eating in the kitchen.”

“Not at all,” she managed to reply.

Following him down the hall, Royale beside her, a strange craving filled her as she noticed the way his sweater stretched across his broad shoulders and his jeans sculpted his lower body.

In the kitchen, Royale settled in a basket on the red terracotta floor. With copper pots and strings of garlic hanging from the beams, the room had more of a French country feel than Jackie had expected. It was much more home-style than the rest of the chateau.

“Have a seat,” Xavier invited. “Would you like some wine?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She stretched her legs under the long scrubbed wooden table. She’d slipped on some jeans earlier too, with a silver long sleeved t-shirt, and tied back her hair with a long silk scarf in her trademark purple, teaming them with the new amethyst and silver earrings she’d bought in Perigueux.

Eve’s advice still rang in her head. Should she take a chance on the emotional roller coaster, as Eve had encouraged her? Her stomach lurched again just thinking about it.

Xavier held up a bottle with the distinctive Antoine label; the same curving scroll as on their front gate. “
Rouge
? Red?”

“Please.” She nodded. Trying to still the emotional roller coaster in her stomach, she looked around for an innocuous topic of conversation. “You’re still using corks here at Antoine, I see.”

“Yes.” Popping it expertly Xavier filled their glasses. “When we start producing in Australia, as I intend to do someday, I plan to use screw top bottles.”

Jackie’s mouth dropped open. “You do?”

“You’re surprised.”

“Yes. I thought you French
vignerons
were all wedded to wine bottles with corks, the old-fashioned way.”

Xavier smiled mockingly. “When I’m in Australia, I shall follow Australian customs, as someone once advised me.”

She sent an abashed smile in return, before rallying. “I think you should, when you return to the land of Oz. If you do.”

“Oh, I plan to return,” he said, in a way that made her heart beat faster. “The land of Oz. That must make you Dorothy,
non
?”

Her grin grew wider. “Or the wicked witch.”

His glance sent her stomach fluttering yet again. “I don’t think so.”

Slipping a glass of wine into her hand, Xavier took up his own. He leaned back against the tiled bench top, his legs crossed in front of him. Even in jeans, the combination of his casual French sophistication and potent maleness sent Jackie’s senses into overdrive.

The rich, heady wine made its dizzying way through her bloodstream as she sipped. “I feel like I’m in Oz here in France, or in Wonderland at least. It’s like a fairy tale.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I wanted that.”

Momentarily he turned away and lifted a saucepan lid on the black iron range. “Marie has left us some mushroom soup. It contains truffles, of course. Will that do for dinner? It’s an old French recipe. I’d have made it for you myself, but I didn’t have time.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You cook?”

“I’m French.”

“And that means you cook?”

“It doesn’t just mean I cook,” he replied, with a touch of arrogance. “It means I cook brilliantly.”

For a moment her old irritation flared up. Then she noticed a twinkle in his eye. “Why … you’ve been pulling my leg.”

“Your—leg?” Xavier glanced at Jackie’s denim clad thigh, running his eye appreciatively down its length.

“It means you’ve been teasing me.” The realisation dawned on her. “You have, haven’t you?”

He spread out his hands in a deprecatory gesture. “I must admit, I’ve provoked you once or twice. I became addicted to the effects.”

“The effects?”

“I hate to use a cliché, but you’re beautiful when you’re angry, Jacaranda.” He crooked a smile. “I swear I’ve seen sparks fly from your hair.”

Self consciously she smoothed a wisp of it back from her forehead. “Surely you don’t want me to be angry all the time.”

“There are other ways to bring colour to your cheeks, I hope.”

Jackie bit her lip. He didn’t need to try too hard to do that.

“So, you’d like some soup?” Xavier asked eventually.

“Please. Is there anything I can do to help?”

He sent her a smile that made her stomach rumble, but not from hunger. “Yes. Keep me company.”

What was it about a powerful man in the kitchen? Jackie wondered as she watched him get to work. There was something so sexy about it. Perhaps it was because it demonstrated a man’s sensual side. A man who took pleasure in food took pleasure in …

Stop there
, she told herself.
Stop right there
.

But she couldn’t take her eyes off him as he ladled the soup into bowls, drizzling truffle oil over the top.

“It smells delicious,” she said as he placed the soup bowls on two raffia mats and pushed a crusty loaf on a bread board towards her.

“Good.” He sat down across from her, the tip of his shoe momentarily brushing against her calf. “
Bon appétit
.”

After a mouthful of the fragrant soup, she said, “It tastes delicious too.”

He tore off a piece of bread with strong fingers, slid it onto his plate.
“Merci.”

She spread her own slice with unsalted butter. “You mentioned your parents yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” His dark eyes flickered. “Ah, you mean last night.”

“Are your parents both alive?” It hadn’t sounded like it.

He shook his head as he lifted his wine glass. “No, I’m sorry to say.”

“You were close?”

“
Oui.
Like you, I’m an only child, and my father, like yours, taught me everything he knew. He always said as long as there was an Antoine grape on a vine, he’d make it into wine. And he loved
la truffe
, almost as much as he loved my mother. They had a wonderful marriage. For them, family came first.”

“That’s rare, these days.”

“You need your family to be strong in a family business.”

Without thinking she said, “So that’s why—”

“Why I didn’t want to be divorced? Yes.” He lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth and swallowed. “Now. It’s your turn.”

“What do you mean?”

He laid down his spoon. “I’ve been honest with you. I want you to be honest with me.”

Jackie found she was having trouble lifting her own spoon to her lips. “Honest about what?”

“About the man who broke your heart.”

Truffle Omelette

Ingredients:

4 eggs, 1 ounce truffle, salt and pepper

Preparation:

Break four eggs and strongly whisk them until you obtain a nice mix. Put the eggs in a pan and let the omelette cook very gently. Add some truffle chunks while the eggs are still soft. The omelette will taste better if you cook it slowly, the truffle flavour will have more time to spread out.

http://www.french-truffle.com/

Jacaranda choked on her wine.

“My heart isn’t broken,” she protested, replacing the glass on the table with an unsteady hand.

“But it has been hurt,” Xavier kept his voice gentle; she had that coltish look about her, as if she were about to bolt. “I told you about Camille because I want you to know me, to trust me. Can you trust me enough to tell me what happened with you?”

She shrugged. “There isn’t that much to tell. It’s a standard story.”

Her shrug didn’t fool him; she didn’t have the French knack. “That doesn’t make any difference where our hearts are concerned. Tell me.”

Xavier took a sip from his own wine glass, giving her time. It tasted good, but not as good as Jacaranda Riley when he’d kissed her the night before. He still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to sleep—or exactly how he’d made it back to his own bedroom. What was it about her that managed to get under his skin? He’d thought himself immune to the kinds of emotions she invoked in him. It was her genuineness that got to him, an honesty he knew to be rare. She was like a wild horse he wanted to tame—not to break her, but to win her trust.

“Well?” he prompted.

After a moment she said, “His name was Simon Taylor. We met at University, in our final year. But we broke up last year.”

Pain flashed across her face.

“And he hurt you,” Xavier prompted.

“Yes, he hurt me.” A gusty sigh escaped her lips. “It turned out Simon wasn’t capable of being faithful to one woman at a time.”

“I see.” So, that’s why she’d jumped to conclusions about him, Xavier mused. She’d been burnt before. He was beginning to understand.

“It happened early on in our relationship. He convinced me that it was a mistake; that he wanted to be with me. I believed Simon when he said he would change. I should have realised he wasn’t capable of it.”

She tried to keep her voice light, but Xavier frowned at the edge of bitterness in it. Even a trace of bitterness could destroy a good wine.

“That’s all there is to say, really.” With her slender fingers she toyed with her wine glass. “I learnt my lesson the hard way. I believed what he told me, instead of the evidence of my own eyes. I trusted him. I forgave him. That’s the way it was.”

“Until …”

“Until?”

“There was a point, obviously, at which you could not forgive him anymore.”

Her voice chilled. “Yes. He did it again. The second time—it was too much for me.”

“I see.” Anger at the man who’d betrayed her, who could still make her look so stricken, ripped through him. Did she still have feelings for him, this—Simon? The sharp kick in Xavier’s gut told him how much he didn’t want her to care for another man. When he’d gone to her bedroom that afternoon, he’d not intruded, he would never do that to a guest, but from the doorway he’d been pleased to see her peaceful breathing, her hand slipped under her cheek. An urge unlike any he’d ever known had come over him to tuck the covers around her, make sure she was safe and secure. Instead he’d forced himself to quietly turn the handle and close the door.

“The trust had gone between you, then,” he said. “Between you and … Simon.”

“I’m not sure it was ever there in the first place.”

“Perhaps not. Trust is necessary between a man and a woman, is it not?” Xavier leant across the table. “You find it hard to trust.”

“I don’t!”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “But you do. How would Eve put it, I wonder? You have ‘trust issues’. That is what Americans say,
non
?”

In fury she threw back her head. “I haven’t got ‘trust issues’!”

Xavier grinned broadly. “There’s that red-headed temper I’ve been missing. I can see the sparks.” Then he sobered. “After what you have told me, I’m not surprised. That man, Simon, he didn’t treat you well enough; he certainly didn’t treat you as you deserve to be treated. And now, with your father gone …”

Momentarily she bowed her head, the brave purple scarf in her hair drooping.

“Jacaranda.” The sadness in her eyes squeezed his heart. Why did she affect him in such a way? He continued to be stunned by it. There’d been other women in his life, of course, but none had sent that shaft straight into him. “You must learn to trust again.”

“How can I?” she whispered.

He replied softly, “You could trust me.”

In answer she reached for her glass, swallowed a fast gulp of wine.

He didn’t want to push her. He knew enough about her to avoid that. She needed a gentle touch. Lightening his tone, he queried, “How do you like that wine?”

“I like it very much, of course. It’s extraordinary.”

“I know how good you are with truffles. I wonder how good you are with wines.”

Predictably, her chin went up. “I’m good at wine tasting, actually. I grew up in a wine region, after all.”

He laughed. “Ah, the feisty Jacaranda returns. What about a test? Shall we assess your palette? Let me give you a private tasting of the Antoine cellar.”

“When?”

“How about right now?”

For a long moment she hesitated. Then a lovely smile curved her mouth as she nodded. “All right. I can never resist a challenge.”

He felt his own lips curve in response. “Is that right? In that case, perhaps you will be prepared to try an experiment? To discover just how good you are?”

“What do you mean?”

After a beat he looked directly into her eyes. “Let me blindfold you.”

If he had suggested digging for truffles naked she couldn’t have appeared more shocked. Her eyes widened as her pink lips parted. “You want to blindfold me?”

The chuckle came up deep from his throat. “Don’t look like that. It’s perfectly respectable.”

“It doesn’t sound it.”

“
Mais oui
, but it is,” Xavier insisted. “Are you telling me you’ve never tasted wines blind? Not the way wine competition judges do. That kind of blind tasting is without the labels on the bottles. I mean properly blindfolded, with your eyes covered, so that your senses other than sight are fully utilised, your taste and smell.”

“But the colour of the wine is important,” she argued.

He shrugged. “We rely on the colour of wine too much. It’s important, I agree. But tasting a wine without using your sight—relying on your scent and taste—it’s a whole new experience.”

“I’m not sure it’s an experience I want.”

He took a sip of wine. Staying straight-faced, he said, “That’s because you have trust issues.”

She started to exclaim, “But I don’t—”

He raised his eyebrow again.

Wryly she gave him a grin. “Maybe I do have a trust issue. A
petite
one.”

“Then you will try?”

For a long beat he waited. Silence always worked for him in business. He wouldn’t rush her.