On Holiday with a Billionaire

But can their love last a lifetime?

Whisked away to his French château by brooding billionaire Raoul Decorvet, Abby Grant is falling in love for the very first time. But dare she give her heart to a man who has never gotten over the loss of his wife? If he wants to keep her, Raoul must show Abby that his heart truly belongs to her!

REBECCA WINTERS lives in Salt Lake City, Utah. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wildflowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her romance novels—because writing is her passion, along with her family and church. Rebecca loves to hear from readers. If you wish to email her, please visit her website at cleanromances.net.

Also by Rebecca Winters

Her Magnate’s Holiday Proposal

The Billionaire’s Club miniseries

Return of Her Italian Duke

Bound to Her Greek Billionaire

Whisked Away by Her Sicilian Boss

Holiday with a Billionaire miniseries

Captivated by the Brooding Billionaire

And look out for the next book

Available June 2018

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Captivated by the Brooding Billionaire

Rebecca Winters

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07752-1

CAPTIVATED BY THE BROODING BILLIONAIRE

© 2018 Rebecca Winters

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my beloved, generous, marvellous parents, who let their teenage daughter attend school in Switzerland, where a whole world opened up to her that she’d never dreamed about or imagined. To have been born to such wonderful parents is my greatest blessing.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

PROLOGUE

“NIGEL?”

A tap on the opened office door caused Abby Grant to look up from the desk. During this year’s summer and fall semesters at San José State University in California, she and Nigel, the visiting professor from Cambridge, England, had offices in the same literature department. They’d fallen in love and often worked side by side in one office or the other while they planned a spring wedding.

“Dr. Belmont is teaching his final class before Christmas break,” she said to the thirtyish brunette woman dressed in a suit. Maybe she was a student, but Abby didn’t recognize her. “He should be finished at noon. I’m Ms. Grant, one of the teachers in the department. Would you like to leave a message for him with me? I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the woman said in a British accent as strong as Nigel’s. He’d let Abby know right away he spoke an “estuary” dialect. “I’m Lucy Belmont, Nigel’s wife. I need to speak to him in person, so I’ll wait in here until he returns.”

Abby blinked in surprise. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. The Nigel Belmont who’s a visiting professor here doesn’t have a wife.”

A tight smile broke out on Lucy Belmont’s face. “Indeed he does and two children. They’re expecting a visit from him over Christmas. Here are some pictures taken last spring.”

The woman handed a packet to Abby, who opened it and saw Nigel in photo after photo with this woman and two children.

Abby took the packet with shaking hands. Was this some kind of a joke? Could this woman be a sister-in-law or even a sister Abby had never heard of? Or was she a woman who had some pathetic attachment to Nigel? None of this made sense. Abby and Nigel were planning their wedding!

Not wanting to get into anything unpleasant with Lucy until she’d talked to Nigel, Abby got up from the desk. “I had no idea. Of course, you’re welcome to stay here. He should be back in about fifteen minutes. If you’ll excuse me.”

With her heart racing, Abby left the room and hurried down the hallway to the stairs. The lecture theaters were one story below. She slipped inside the room of thirty plus students and sat down at the back while she waited for Nigel to finish up his lecture.

He was popular with the students and looked the part of the jaunty professor in his tweed jacket with his dark blond hair brushed back.

She knew he had spotted her, but he continued talking and finally excused his students so they could enjoy the holiday.

When the last one left the room, Nigel gathered up his briefcase and walked toward her, giving her a quick kiss on her lips. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit from my beautiful fiancée?”

Abby stared hard at him, not wanting to believe what she was thinking. “There’s a woman waiting for you in your office who says she’s your wife. She introduced herself as Lucy Belmont and showed me pictures of her with you and two children. Please tell me this is a joke.” Her throbbing voice reverberated in the room.

Nigel didn’t move a muscle, but the light faded from his eyes. The change was enough to tell her the other woman had been speaking the truth. Pain almost incapacitated her. She backed away from him. “So she is your wife!”

He shook his head. “Look, Abby. It’s a long story. We’ve been separated close to a year. The divorce will be final soon. You have to listen to me. I would have eventually told you, but—”

“What kind of a man are you?” she broke in on him, destroyed by his admission. “To think we’ve been together all this time and a whole other part of your life has been a huge secret—”

In a flash, the happy world Abby had inhabited had disintegrated.

You’ve been in love with a cunning, monstrous, devious cheat!

Abby had often heard the expression about blood draining from a person’s face. She knew that was happening to her now and feared she would be sick right in front of him. Besides betraying her and his spouse, how many other women had he deceived? Those poor children.

She took off the engagement ring and flung it at him before dashing out of the room to the hallway. The second she reached the restroom, she retched until nothing more came up.

When she was able to stand without holding on to the sink, she hurried upstairs to her own office for her purse and left the campus. In her pain she needed to talk to the people she trusted and loved. Instead of driving to her apartment near the campus, she headed for her parents’ home in San José.

* * *

Abby stayed with her parents for several days, after which she talked with Dr. Stewart, the head of her department, about her situation. Once she’d told Dr. Stewart the truth, Abby asked if she could have a leave of absence for the next semester.

To her great relief she was granted a leave and also offered an opportunity to do some research abroad in Europe until the summer. After experiencing a world of pain, nothing could have suited her better than to get away. Best of all, she was assured that Dr. Belmont would no longer be on the staff at San José State and would be teaching at a college back east. She would never have to see him again.

After Christmas, Abby flew to LA for a week’s worth of meetings to collaborate with two other women on the project before going overseas. Ginger Lawrence and Zoe Perkins, who both had similar literature backgrounds from Stanford and UCLA respectively, had also been hired. The three of them, close in age, bonded fast. The thought of going to Europe with the girls gave Abby something to look forward to and the courage to make some changes in her life. So, before returning to San José to pack and leave for Europe with them, Abby decided to get a makeover and visited a beauty salon.

The lady in charge told her to be seated. While Abby waited, she poured through some magazines. In a few minutes one of the hairdressers beckoned her over to the chair. Abby took the magazine with her.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’d like you to cut and style my hair like this!” She showed her the picture she liked most. It was a bouncy bob with graduated layers. Each curled layer ending somewhere between the chin and the shoulders. She wanted something in between.

“Are you sure? All this long gold hair cut off?” The hairdresser acted shocked, as if Abby had asked for something sinful. How funny. Why did this woman care what she wanted?

Three weeks ago Abby had cut Nigel Belmont out of her life so fast, he hadn’t seen it coming. After Christmas he’d tried to talk to her once on the phone and she’d told him to go to hell in so many words. She’d meant it and it had felt good!

Cutting her hair was her last act to separate herself from any semblance to the old Abby—she’d since vowed never to be duped by a man again.

The woman shook her head, but she did as Abby asked. An hour later she almost squealed in delight after looking in the mirror. Abby hardly recognized herself. Her apple-green eyes appeared larger and she thought she actually looked her age of twenty-six instead of the tired-looking thirty she’d seemed to be. She’d needed something simple and easy. That was the whole idea!

Abby paid the woman a nice tip. Before leaving the salon, she had to tiptoe over her long locks of silvery-blond hair but did it with no regrets.

CHAPTER ONE

Five months later

WITH HER LAPTOP packed between the sweaters in her suitcase, Abby left the bedsitter in Cologny, Switzerland, where she’d been staying for the last two weeks, and took a taxi to the train station in Geneva, Switzerland.

With her massive research project finished, today marked the first day of her vacation. No longer restricted to suits and dresses, Abby had pulled on her favorite pair of jeans and a crew neck, short sleeve white-on-black print blouse. She had the whole month of June to have fun before returning to San José.

Abby couldn’t wait to be with her friends again. They’d Skyped and phoned each other—sent emails—but it would be great to do things together in person.

Once in graduate school she’d become a teaching assistant in the humanities department and had worked hard. Specializing in the romance writers of the early nineteenth century, she’d received her doctorate, after which she’d been given more classes to teach. That’s when she’d met Nigel. In hindsight, what a disaster that meeting had turned out to be!

But she’d learned she wasn’t the only one who’d been burned in a relationship. One of the girls, Zoe, had just come out of a bitter divorce because her husband had been unfaithful. She’d insisted she would never want anything to do with a man again. Abby didn’t need to get inside Zoe’s skin to understand how she felt.

The pain of putting your trust in the man you loved only to discover he hadn’t loved you or believed in the sanctity of marriage had been too devastating. Abby felt like her heart had been murdered. How could she ever trust anyone again?

As for Ginger, she’d lost her husband recently to cancer and needed to get away from the pain. In a short time the three of them had developed a special camaraderie, and all three of them were ready to play.

Being in an especially good mood, Abby gave the driver a nice tip and walked inside the train station with her suitcase. Since she had fifteen minutes before she needed to board her train, she headed directly for her favorite food kiosk. She’d eaten here every time she’d needed to take the train someplace.

After making her selection of six small quiches, two for herself and two for each her friends, she bought a second-class ticket and boarded the crowded train.

She found a compartment and sat down across from a priest and a couple of teenagers speaking German. They started to listen to rock music, but their earphones didn’t block the sound all that much. Abby didn’t mind. Not so the priest, who finally got up and left the compartment. She decided she would wait to eat until she met the girls at the village of St. Saphorin, an hour and a half or so and a quick change of trains away.

The quiet, efficient train ran alongside Lake Geneva, the famous croissant-shaped lake called lac Léman by the locals. Abby settled back, almost preening like a cat in the sun because she was so happy to be free of responsibilities. The train glided from one picturesque village to another in a gentle rhythm.

The surroundings that included the sapphire-blue lake with the snow-crested French Alps in the distance mesmerized her. Before long she had to change trains and it wasn’t long after that that St. Saphorin appeared, wedged between the water and terraced rows of vineyards that ran up the steep hillsides.

When the train came to a stop, she reached for her suitcase and left the compartment. Several other passengers had already descended. Finally, she was going to see her friends. Abby was eager to be with them and on vacation.

Yesterday Zoe had flown to Venice, Italy, from Athens, Greece, to meet up with Ginger who’d been doing research in Italy. The two of them had boarded the night train to Switzerland. They’d planned to get off in Montreux to pick up the rental car and drive the few kilometers to St. Saphorin.

Relieved to be here, Abby walked around to the front of the station. There was no sign of the girls yet. She sat down and took in the sight of the Jura Mountains in the distance while she waited. After twenty minutes, she phoned Ginger and had to leave a message. Then she called Zoe, who answered.

“Abby? Are you in St. Saphorin?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“The rental car we were promised isn’t ready yet. Too many tourists were booked. Ginger is dealing with them now. It may be a while, so I phoned the château where we’ll be staying. Someone will come for you soon. I gave them a description of you. Just stay put. We can’t wait to see you!”

“Same here,” Abby said before hanging up.

Someone was coming to get her, but it could be a while. She reached for a quiche and savored every bite. In the distance, she took in the vision of gray stone walls and steep inclines covered by the famous Lavaux vineyards of the region. They were riddled with hiking trails, a sport the Swiss adored. So, did Abby. She loved the yellowish colors of the homes spotting the landscape.

How lucky she and the girls were to be the recipients of their boss’s largesse! Magda Collier, one of the most acclaimed female film directors in Hollywood had hired the three of them to do research for a movie being produced by a revered mogul friend of hers.

After the New Year, Magda had brought Abby and the girls together in Los Angeles for a week with some writers who were working on an important script. She wanted to create a historically authentic film that accentuated the positive aspects of the colorful life of Lord Byron, the famous British romantic poet and satirist.

They’d been thrilled about the project and had become friends.

Magda had assigned each of them a different area in Europe to do research, and Abby had been sent to Switzerland. Now, because of their “great work”—Magda’s words after they’d turned in their information—she’d delighted them with a reward. It turned out to be a vacation at a château and vineyard called the Clos de la Floraison on the shores of Lake Geneva. Nothing could have pleased them more.

Magda explained she had a permanent arrangement with the old owner of the vineyard. From time to time she used it for herself and guests to enjoy. They could stay there while they did all the touring they wanted around the region.

Since the three of them had to return to their teaching assignments for the upcoming fall semester, they planned to take advantage of this time together and sightsee to their hearts’ content.

As they had another month before going back to the US, Abby was also hoping to find evidence of a poem that Lord Byron had been rumored to write called Labyrinths, or some such title, while he’d been in Switzerland. But it was a work that had never seen the light of day and many experts dismissed it as sheer fiction. But Abby hadn’t given up on the possibility of finding out the truth, if it existed.

Recently a fragment of a memoir by Claire Clairmont, who’d traveled in Switzerland with Byron, had been found in a branch of New York public library. It had shed new light on Lord Byron and Shelley. What Abby would give to unearth a find equally sensational, but no amount of digging had been successful so far.

While Abby sat there beneath a sunny sky, wondering where else she and the girls might look while they were here for the month, she noticed a vintage black Renault drive up and park.

Out stepped a tall man, maybe early thirties, who stood fit and lean. With his overly long black wavy hair, he epitomized her idea of the quintessential drop-dead sensational male. She didn’t know such a person existed.

Only a Frenchman had that appeal, the kind she’d conjured in her mind and fantasized about from time to time growing up. He had an expression much like the one she’d seen on the French actor Charles Boyer who had played the lead in a famous old film classic The Garden of Allah.

Abby had been a teenager when she’d first watched it and had fallen in love with the actor. He played the part of a monk who ran away from a monastery in North Africa and fell in love with an Englishwoman. They went out in the desert together, but he carried a terrible secret.

At times his sadness combined with his male beauty was almost painful to watch. Abby had watched it over and over again. His performance had seemed so real that she always been haunted by him and had decided there was no Frenchman alive more captivating.

Until now.

Abby couldn’t take her eyes off the stranger, something that had never happened to her before, not with Nigel or the boyfriend she’d loved earlier in her life. There was a brooding aura about him that caught at her emotions though she fought not to be attracted.

Who was he? Where had such a man come from?

Abby felt as if he was burdened by a great weight. It was there in the way he carried himself. The lines radiating from his eyes and around his mouth spelled pain. His work clothes, a white shirt with the sleeves shoved up to the elbows and dark trousers, told her he’d stopped whatever he’d been doing to get in his car and drive here.

This was the magnificent someone who’d come for her?

His bronzed complexion, close to a teak color, overlay chiseled features. The man worked in the sun. Beneath black brows his midnight-black eyes met hers and roved over her with an intensity that sent a ripple of sensation through her. She trembled for no good reason, something she couldn’t prevent.

There was an unrehearsed sensuality about the way his hard mouth smiled almost derisively, as if he knew she’d shivered slightly and found it amusing. Even though he’d caught her staring, she refused to avert her eyes. Her pulse raced as he approached her.

“Mademoiselle Grant?”

Those two words, spoken in a deep seductive voice, curled their way through to her insides. She heard no trace of the singsong French spoken in this part of Switzerland. He was a Frenchman down to every atom of his hard-muscled body.

“Yes. You must be from La Floraison.”

He nodded. “I was told to look for a woman with golden hair.” His excellent, heavily accented English came as a shock.

“You have the advantage. They didn’t tell me your name.”

“Raoul Decorvet.”

“I thought Magda’s friend was a great deal older.”

“He was. Sadly, Auguste died a month ago at the age of eighty.”

“Oh, no—” she cried. “We didn’t know. Magda didn’t tell us.”

“You weren’t supposed to know.”

Abby shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m here negotiating the sale of this property business for the former owner. Auguste had a bad heart so he never knew how long he had to live. The vineyard managers, Louis and Gabrielle, have said that you and your friends are welcome to stay here for the month. I was on hand when Gabrielle received a distress call from your friends. She was busy so I offered my help.”

“Thank you, but this isn’t right. We don’t want to put anyone out.”

Again, she felt his penetrating gaze wander over her, missing nothing before it rested on her hair. “It’s no imposition. If you’ll get in the car, I’ll explain while I drive you to the château.”

His potent male charisma made her so aware of him, it was hard to act natural. She felt nervous. After her experience with Nigel, Abby was almost frightened by her visceral response to this total stranger who blew away every man she’d ever known. He reached for her suitcase and helped her into the front passenger seat before putting it in the back.

After he’d started the car, she said, “I’m sorry you had to come for me. I could have waited until my friends showed up. Providing taxi service is hardly the work of a busy Realtor.”

“Pas de problème.”

Abby was sure that wasn’t true, but Raoul Decorvet had a certain air of authority. She didn’t want to argue with him since he’d put himself out on her behalf, so she kept quiet while he started the car. They headed toward the road and wound around the village toward the hillside. En route she detected a flowery scent.

“What is that fragrance I can smell in the air?”

“La Floraison is greeting you.”

She studied his striking profile. “What do you mean?”

“The flowers of the grape vines open in June. This is the reason why Magda wanted you to come now. For the next fifteen days, they’ll emit their intoxicating perfume while they undergo automatic pollination. Their dual reproductive organs, mostly female among the male, ensure the future of the species.” Their glances fused. “Nature’s way is remarkable, n’est-ce pas?”

For some reason the subject of their conversation sounded personal, especially the way he said it in that deep, silky voice. It brought heat to Abby’s cheeks. “Have you found a buyer yet?” she asked in order to change the subject, hoping to break his spell over her.

“Oui. It’s already done. The new owner will take possession at the end of June.”

“Please don’t tell me you put it off for the benefit of me and my friends.”

“For your information, it’s to honor the commitment Auguste made. While you’re here, Gabrielle will take care of you. You’ll be staying in the unattached farmhouse next to the château and should be comfortable there.”

“I’m sure it will be wonderful.” Magda had seen to that, but the appearance of this fascinating Frenchman had knocked the foundations out from under her.

Before long the château came into view. Abby marveled at the gray stone structure. It reminded her of a small fortress and caught at her imagination. In former times it would have been a commanding landmark.

He drove them along rows of lush vineyards in full flower and past a thriving vegetable garden until they arrived at a charming farmhouse with a mansard roof.

“There’s Gabrielle now. It’s getting late in the day. She’ll make something for you to eat if you’re hungry.”

“No, no. I’ll wait for my friends.”

Abby spotted the wiry, middle-aged woman wearing a straw hat with a broad rim, who came around the side of the farmhouse. She was dressed in slacks and a tunic.

“Bonjour!”

The woman’s warm smile made Abby feel welcome. She got out of the car, liking her already. “Bonjour, Madame.”

“Soyez la bienvenue!”

“Merci. Thank you.”

“I see Raoul found you.” The Swiss people impressed her with their ability to speak good English. “My husband is up in the higher vineyard and I was doing some pruning. When your friends called about their difficulty, Raoul volunteered to take our car and go for you.”

“I’m very grateful to both of you.”

“I understand they should be here soon. Come inside with me.” She reached for Abby’s suitcase. “We have five bedrooms with en suite bathrooms. Since you are the first one to arrive, you may have your pick.”

“This is exciting. I’ve been looking forward to this vacation for a long time.”

Abby turned to Raoul. He was too gorgeous and too intriguing. She should be relieved to say goodbye to him, yet deep down she would rather have stayed outside to talk to him, which was crazy. He had the power to sweep any woman away, especially Abby. She couldn’t believe her feelings were so strong, not when she’d promised herself never to get seriously involved with any man for the rest of her life.

“Thank you for picking me up.”

His brooding dark eyes narrowed on her features. Again, she sensed he was in some kind of turmoil. She could feel it. “Don’t forget this.” He handed her the purse she’d left in the car.

What on earth was wrong with her? In his company she’d forgotten all about it and had left it lying on the seat. The slight contact of skin against skin sent another shiver through her body. “À bientôt, mademoiselle.”

She knew that phrase well enough. It meant “see you soon.” To read any real meaning into it meant she was a fool. But he had called her mademoiselle. Maybe he’d noticed she wore no rings. For that matter she hadn’t seen a wedding ring on his finger either, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t married.

Abby turned and followed Gabrielle inside the house, but her mind was filled with unanswered questions about him. Why would a French Realtor be doing business here?

Maybe he lived on the French side of Lac Léman and was authorized to operate in both countries. In that case he wouldn’t be staying at the château. If he had a car, where was it? She wondered if he’d be leaving soon. The manager would know the answers, but if Abby were to ask her anything, it would suggest she was interested.

Don’t do this, Abby. Don’t be a fool.

Gabrielle led her through the beamed common rooms. She found the restored nineteenth-century farmhouse warm and inviting. They went upstairs to the bedrooms. Each had a mini fridge filled with drinks, and every room had a basket filled with fruit and Swiss chocolate.

Abby chose a room that looked out over the vineyard to the west. She could see the estate workers. One of them was probably Louis. Of course there was no sign of Raoul.

“If you need anything, pick up the bedside phone and ring the château. I’ll answer. Your friends know to come straight to the farmhouse. Your breakfast will be laid out at seven every morning in the dining room.”

Abby turned to Gabrielle. “Everything is perfect. Will it be all right to open the window? I love the fragrance coming from the vineyard.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“De rien. À tout à l’heure, mademoiselle.”

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER GABRIELLE LEFT, Abby undid the lever and pushed the window open. The smell was divine. She unpacked her suitcase. With that done she put her purse and laptop on a round table in the corner around which several upholstered chairs had been arranged.

The bathroom contained every amenity. Once she’d refreshed herself and put on her frosted tangerine-colored lipstick, she went downstairs and walked outside.

There was no point in lying to herself. While Abby waited for the girls, she felt compelled to see Raoul again and couldn’t understand it. What was it about him? How could he create all these feelings and yearnings roiling inside of her in one short meeting?

Again, she had to question her sanity after what she’d experienced with Nigel. But she’d never felt like this with him. Not even close. Their attraction had grown over time with mutual interests.

Nothing could match this violent explosion of feelings that had made her heart trip over itself from the moment Raoul got out of the old Renault and walked toward her. The Frenchman had caused her to forget the lesson she’d thought she’d learned following Nigel’s treachery.

Something was definitely wrong with her. It scared her that she was so drawn to him. Afraid of her feelings, Abby ran back toward the farmhouse and waited in front to watch for her friends.

She checked her watch. Since boarding the train, time had gotten away from her. It said 5:00 p.m. Concerned at this point, she pulled out her cell to call them. But just then she saw a dark red car pull up. She put the phone away and ran toward them.

“You’re here at last!”

Her friends got out and both hugged Abby. Zoe smiled at her. “You look great!”

“So you do you guys.”

“Sorry we’re so late, but nothing’s perfect.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m thankful we’re all here in one piece.”

“Obviously you were picked up at the station.”

An image of Raoul flashed through her mind, causing her body to melt like butter in the sun. “Their Realtor picked me up.”

Ginger eyed her. “What Realtor is that?”

“Why don’t we drive to the cheese fondue restaurant Magda told us about and I’ll tell you everything. But first let’s get you settled.”

When the girls heard the news about Auguste, they would feel as sad as she had. Abby decided that it would be better to prolong their happiness by eating first. “Sounds great.”

The three of them hugged again. She helped carry their things inside and led them up the stairs. “You have your choice of four rooms.”

Zoe entered a room with an antique armoire and declared it her home away from home. Her dark blond hair worn in a windblown style had new highlights streaked by the sun while she’d been in Greece. With her azure blue eyes she was a knockout.

Abby’s friends were both attractive. Ginger’s gray eyes combined with her cap of black curls made her look French. She could be taken for a movie star. They inspected the other three rooms and she chose one that looked out on the lake. After opening her window, Ginger turned to them.

“I’m starving, you guys. We had to wait forever for the car. I say we unpack later and go eat!”

“You won’t get an argument out of me.” Abby ran to her bedroom for her purse and hurried outside with the girls.

Since Ginger had done the negotiating, she was the designated driver. That was fine with Abby who kept her eyes glued for any sign of Raoul, but he didn’t make an appearance. She should be thankful, not crushed that she might never see him again.

Determined to put him out of her mind, she sat back, resigned to enjoy the bucolic scenery. But that was easier said than done. Raoul’s image wouldn’t leave her mind.

Zoe served as navigator and pulled the directions Magda had given them out of her purse. “We have to drive to the small village of Chexbres, which according to Magda is seven hundred feet above the lake. We should pass through the most important Swiss wine region. Apparently their main product is a table grape wine.”

“The Swiss call it chasselas,” Abby added her two cents. She loved the sound of the word. “I’ve learned a lot about it while I’ve been working here.”

They drove higher, gasping over the landscape. “You guys—” Ginger cried out. “Look at those rows of grape vines going up that steep hill! It’s amazing!”

“That’s why they have to be terraced,” Abby explained. “Sometimes they use pulleys and have to be irrigated because the Rhône valley can get warm and dry here.”

Zoe had opened her window. “I love this climate. Smell that air. Delicious.”

Her comment reminded Abby of those moments with Raoul when he’d told her about the fragrance from the flowers at La Floraison. Nature truly was remarkable to have created a man like him, but she kept that memory to herself.

They continued to drive until they reached the town of Chexbres with its magnificent view. “There it is! The Lion d’Or.” Ginger pulled over to the curb near the restaurant and they went inside for a feast of cheese fondue eaten with French bread.

Their hunger was at a pitch and they ate every morsel of bread accompanied by goblets of chasselas.

“Before we plan what we’re going to do tomorrow, tell us about this Realtor who picked you up. You’ve been kind of quiet about that.”

Abby looked at Zoe. The time had come. “I have something important to tell you guys. It came as a shock to me.”

“What?” Ginger asked.

“Magda’s friend Auguste, the owner of the château, died last month.”

Both girls fell back into their seats. “What?”

“I think the man who came to get me must be a Realtor because he’s been here selling the estate. His name is Raoul Decorvet. We’ve been allowed to stay on until the end of June when the new owner takes possession. It’s Magda’s wish.”

Ginger frowned. “You’re kidding! She never said anything. We can’t go on living here now. It wouldn’t be right.” Zoe shook her head in agreement.

Abby knew that would be the girls’ reaction. “I feel the same way. Since we’re in Europe, where would you guys like to go? I need to conserve my funds, but I’ve been budgeting in my mind. I believe I have enough money to spend two weeks here. What about you two?”

They both figured two weeks would be all they could afford.

“Any ideas where you’d like to go?”

Zoe took a deep breath. “If I had the chance, I’d fly back to Greece in a minute.”

That didn’t surprise Abby. Their divorced friend hadn’t said anything, but Abby sensed there was a man involved. “What part exactly?”

“Patras. I didn’t get to spend nearly enough time in that area.”

“Maybe we could take a small tour of some of the Greek Islands too. What do you think, Ginger?”

“Not that I wouldn’t love to travel there, but to be honest, I’d rather go back to Italy. There’s so much to see and it’s so glorious. I couldn’t get enough of it.” By the tone in her voice, Abby wondered if Ginger had also experienced some kind of romantic interest.

As for Abby, she’d met a mysterious Frenchman earlier today, but it was best she never saw him again. “Where do you want to visit in Italy, Ginger?”

“Venice. It’s the most romantic city on earth.”

Well, well. Their friend did have a reason to want to go back. Abby was sure of it.

“I have an idea. If we pool our resources, we can afford a two-week vacation. Maybe we could drive to Venice tomorrow and spend a few days there before visiting Rome. From there we’ll fly to Patras and tour around that area for a week before we go back to California. What do you think?”

Ginger looked at Zoe before she said, “What do you want to do, Abby?”

She wanted to stay longer and see if she could find that rumored poem, but it probably didn’t exist. “I’ve been living in Switzerland since January and am ready for a new adventure.” Which was true.

“Not even one guy has caught your eye who wants you to hang around?”

Zoe had just given herself away.

Abby shook her head. “I’m not ready to meet a man.”

Ginger’s eyebrows shot up. “You will be when the right one comes along.”

Someone out of this world had come along earlier today, but she needed to run from him and keep running. “Let’s change the subject. Are you guys on board with our plans?”

“According to Magda, we have to visit the Maison Cailler Chocolate Factory in Broc,” Zoe interjected. “She has already paid for us to take the tour. Why don’t we at least do that tomorrow to make her happy?”

Abby eyed them both. “I toured that plant in March. It’s really worth the time. While you do that, I’d like to do a little more research on Byron while we’re in St. Saphorin.

“Maybe you guys should drop me off at the local library in the village. That’s one place I haven’t visited. Then I’ll walk back to the farmhouse and wait for you. If you two leave in the morning, you’ll be back by afternoon and we can leave for Italy.” Magda was funding their rental car.

They agreed it was a great idea and drove back to the château. If Raoul Decorvet was still around in the morning, Abby didn’t plan to be here. She would be insane to hope they might see each other again. She had the fear that getting involved with a man who made her feel this besotted without even knowing him could destroy her.

* * *

After a shower and shave, Raoul Capet Regnac Decorvet, the elder son of the duke of the Vosne-Romanée region in the Burgundy department of France, concluded his business with the new owner of La Floraison.

Once Raoul had assured him he’d be back at the end of June to tie up any loose ends, he hung up the phone and ate the breakfast Gabrielle had brought to his room in the château. He drank more coffee and made half a dozen calls to members of his staff while he looked down from the upstairs window that faced the courtyard.

The three women had left early in their rental car and hadn’t returned. He knew from Gabrielle they hadn’t checked out. To his shock, Mademoiselle Grant hadn’t left his thoughts all night. He was overwhelmed by unfamiliar feelings for her that made him desperate to see her again. It astounded him he should have these desires when he’d only spent a few minutes with her. Nothing like this had ever happened to him in his life.

Raoul had of course enjoyed relationships with women from time to time growing up. It had been his destiny to marry the woman his father had demanded he marry, but he had felt nothing like this. Two years ago his wife and baby had tragically died in a car accident. Since then he’d been a slave to work.

When he came to Switzerland on business, he’d never dreamed he’d meet a woman who seemed to have invaded his mind, his psyche, his body the way she’d done yesterday. He couldn’t explain it, but her effect on him had brought him alive.

His senses were involved from the moment he’d seen her sitting on the bench at the train station seemingly happy on her own. She’d made a breathtaking picture.

The sun’s rays had turned her hair to liquid gold. Instead of wearing sunglasses like the typical tourist, she’d been drinking in the landscape and had that look of a young woman on the brink of life.

He could feel her reacting to everything she saw. It made him breathless with excitement to observe her. She’d been in sync with his emotions when she’d wanted to know about that fragrance in the air. That aspect of her had fascinated him on a level that went deep beneath the surface.

There was a quality of innocence that appealed to him too. A gift like that wasn’t present in the women who inhabited his world and certainly not within the confines of his own family. If innocence had been there once upon a time, their lifestyle and entitlements had robbed them of such an enticing virtue.

Why did he have to discover it now, with this woman who would be returning to the States shortly? She could never mean anything to him. Yet she already did mean something to him in a way that was so profound he couldn’t let it go.

Lines darkened his Gallic features. They would never cross paths again unless he made it happen. The longer he sat there, the stronger his resolve grew to see her again. He needed to explore these powerful feelings or lose his mind.

While he contemplated an idea that had been percolating in his brain all through the night, his cell rang. It was his private secretary getting back to him. He picked up.

“Félix?”

“You were right. Jules didn’t think it was time yet, but he checked and said black rot has shown up in the terroir to the north.”

“I knew it,” Raoul murmured. “The weather has been warmer than usual. Even though I’ll be home tomorrow, tell him to get started on the fungicide immediately. By now the infection is releasing spores.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Don’t let him put up an argument. The spray will stop this infection prior to the bloom period. Last year the spore production didn’t happen this soon. I’ve told Jules all along this has to be checked every year due to weather changes. We may have to add an additional fungicide application after blooming occurs. Tell him I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

Raoul hung up in time to see Mademoiselle Grant come walking up the drive. His pulse raced to realize she wasn’t with her friends. He watched her pause at the vegetable garden to inspect some of the plants. She’d dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved green top, darker than her amazing eyes. On her feet she wore shoes for hiking.

He reached for his phone and keys, then left the room in jeans and a T-shirt to catch up with her before she disappeared. On his way out the door, he told Gabrielle he would inspect the château’s powerboat to make sure it was in good shape for the new owner.

By the time he reached the outside, he glimpsed the younger woman walking along one of the vineyard paths beyond the vegetable garden. He strode toward her, admiring her shapely body as she paused to lean over and smell the flowers.

She must have sensed him coming and turned in his direction. Her gaze wandered over him as if she were startled to see him. “Hello. I had no idea you were still on the property. I guess I assumed you had real estate business elsewhere.”

“I’ve only been here a few days. Tomorrow I’ll be leaving for home.”

“Does that mean you have a wife waiting for you?”

“No. I was married—” He hesitated, somehow knowing that he could confide in this beautiful stranger. “Tragically my wife and our baby died in a car crash two years ago. Angélique was coming home from her parents’ château five kilometers away and was involved in an accident. The other driver was to blame.”

Abby’s eyes closed tightly. “I can’t even imagine it.” The brooding pain he exuded was no longer a mystery.

“Neither could I at the time, but it’s in the past. What about your plans?”

“My friends and I will be leaving soon too. This morning they drove me into the village, then they went to tour the chocolate factory in Broc. I’ve already seen it and wanted to do some research. I expect they’ll be back any minute now so I decided to stay out here and wait for them.”

He frowned. “I thought I’d made it clear you’re welcome to stay at La Floraison through the end of June.”

“You did, but we talked about it and just don’t feel it’s right.”

Raoul sucked in his breath. He knew she’d felt that way the moment he’d given her the news about Auguste. On reflection, he found it unusual that these women chose not to take advantage of the situation. Again, he found himself admiring her. “Does that mean you’re flying back to the States?”

“Not yet. We’re going to gallivant for two weeks in Italy and Greece. Then we’ll go home.”

“Not France?” He didn’t want her to leave.

“I’d go there in a shot, but the girls have been doing research in Italy and Greece since January. It’s hard for them to leave, so they want to go back one last time now that they have the chance.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve been working here in Switzerland.”

He needed to know a lot more about her. “You’ve been here all this time?”

“Yes, but now I’m anxious for a change.”

“Mademoiselle Grant,” he began, “I have to take the château’s boat out for a run on the lake to make sure it’s in top order before I report to Louis. How would you like to go with me so we can continue our conversation? I’ll drive us to the dock in their car.”

“I’d better not. I can’t swim.”

Raoul could feel her pushing away from him, but in his gut he knew she wanted to go with him. There’d been an instant attraction between them.

“That’s what life preservers are for. Can you imagine an accident happening in this giant bathtub of a lake? You can’t even hear a lapping wave on the shore.”

“You mean you think it’s too placid?”

“Let’s just say I can only take the peaceful ambience in doses.”

“Our boss has led such a hectic life in Los Angeles, I can understand why she loves to come here every year to regenerate. She’s a very generous woman to have offered us this vacation.”

“I agree. Why don’t you risk it and come with me? I can swim.”

She looked hesitant. “I’d better not. I don’t want to miss my friends.”

Whatever was going on in her mind, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. “You have a phone.”

“I know, but—”

“We wouldn’t be gone long. I only need enough time to check out the engine and would like the company.”

He heard her take a deep breath. “All right.”

The chemistry between them was alive. She couldn’t fight it any more than he could. If she’d said no, he would have been forced to come up with another ploy to spend time with her.

They started walking toward the Renault. He helped her into the car and drove them to the pier. The cabin cruiser was a few years old, but looked to be in good shape. Raoul walked along the dock and guided her into the boat. The first thing he did was hand her a life jacket.

“Thank you. What about you?”

Was she worried about him? He liked the idea of that. “If I need to, I’ll grab one.”

Raoul would have loved to help her put it on, but worried he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself, he jumped back out to untie the ropes, then climbed in to start the engine. Once he’d backed out at a no-wake speed, he took off. Being with this woman was like a breath of fresh air.

She didn’t have an agenda that prompted her to ask a lot of questions. He decided she was at peace with herself and seemed to enjoy the world around her. Raoul believed she was the kind of woman you could be with and not have to make conversation if you didn’t want to.

“Why don’t you sit opposite me?”

She sank down and glanced in the direction of the sailboats. “There’s no wind. How sad they have to rely on motors.”

Her comment was the same one he’d reflected on while being here. “Where have you been living in Switzerland?”

Abby eyed him curiously. “All over. Grindelwald, Lauterbrunnen, Mürren, Interlaken, Lake Thun, the Reichenbach and Staubbach Falls, Montreux, Geneva, Cologny.”

“Why?”

“I guess you wouldn’t know why our boss gave us this vacation.”

“I only recall that she’s a movie director in your country who was friends with Auguste.”

“That’s right. Magda is working on her most important film to date. It’s a new look at the life of George Gordon Noel Byron, the Sixth Baron Byron, known as Lord Byron. She needs new eyes for fresh research to make the script authentic. The girls and I were picked to help because we teach college students about the romance writers of the early nineteenth century.”

Abby Grant was an expert on Lord Byron?

The coincidence of meeting her at all, let alone here in St. Saphorin, where Auguste had made his find years ago, blew Raoul away. Excitement filled his body.

He shut off the engine so they could really talk. “You’re all university professors?” He was still incredulous.

“Not tenured yet, but one day. Our goal has been to help supplement the script with new facts and a different look. There’s been so much material written about Byron, but Magda has been hoping for something more. So have I.”

“In what sense?”

“I’d hoped to come across a poem he was supposed to have written while he was in Switzerland. The girls dropped me off at the village library this morning so I could do a little investigating, but nothing came of it so I walked back here. Of course no one in the last one hundred and ninety years has ever pretended to find it, so maybe it doesn’t exist.”

This woman was not only intelligent, she had an enquiring mind that made her a very exciting person. Raoul’s heart pounded like a war drum. “Did it have a title?”

“Yes. Something like Labyrinths, but there was another part to it. I don’t know exactly.”

“‘Labyrinths of Lavaux’.” Raoul could tell her it did exist and where to find it! Chills ran up and down his spine.

“For the last five months we’ve been doing research in the different parts of Europe where Byron traveled. Magda’s goal is to illuminate Byron’s virtues and leave the negatives alone.”

“Now I understand,” he murmured. “You’ve been following his travels here with Shelley and Mary Godwin that put the Swiss Riviera on the map.”

A quiet smile curved the corners of her delectable mouth. “I can see you’re well-informed. Do you want to know something funny he wrote in his journal? When he left the mountains and returned to Lac Léman he said, ‘The wild part of our tour is finished...my journal must be as flat as my journey.’”

Raoul was impressed with her knowledge, but his thoughts were racing. “He could have been reading our minds right now.”

“Exactly. Too much peace and tranquility needs some stirring up. Byron saw nature as a companion to humanity. Certainly natural beauty was often preferable to human evil and the problems attendant upon civilization, but Byron also recognized nature’s dangerous and harsh elements.

“Have you ever read ‘The Prisoner of Chillon’? It connects nature to freedom, while at the same time showing nature’s potentially deadly aspects in the harsh waves that seem to threaten to flood the dungeon during a storm and—” But she suddenly stopped speaking.

“Please go on,” he urged her.

“Sorry. I forgot I wasn’t teaching a class. Though I’m ready to move on with the girls tomorrow, I’ll never be sorry I was sent here to work. I’ve always had a special love for that poem.”

“We’re looking at the Château de Chillon right now.” The lake steamer had pulled up to its dock.

She nodded. “It’s a magnificent château. I’ve been through it half a dozen times, but after seeing the dungeon where the Swiss patriot Bonivard was imprisoned, I’ve been haunted by Byron’s words.”

“Can you quote any of it?”

Her eyes lit up. “Would you believe I memorized all 392 lines in high school for a contest?”

There was fire in her. He sat back against the side of the boat. “Did you win?”

“Would it sound like bragging if I said yes?”

She was getting to him in ways he would never have imagined. “I bet you could still recite it.”

Abby shook her head. “That was too long ago.”

He leaned forward. “I know I read it in my teens with my grandfather who loved Byron’s works, but I would be hopeless to recall it. Come on. Give me a taste of it. We’re right here where he was inspired. Enchant me.”

She cocked her blond head. “Maybe some of the first part.”

“I’m waiting.” Mon Dieu—he was far too attracted to her for only having known her such a short time. Whatever was happening to him had come like a bolt out of the blue and wasn’t about to go away.

Once she started to recite, the emotion she conveyed filled him with a myriad of disquieting sensations.

“My hair is grey, but not with years,

Nor grew it white

In a single night,

As men’s have grown from sudden fears:

My limbs are bowed, though not with toil,

But rusted with a vile repose,

For they have been a dungeon’s spoil,

And mine has been the fate of those

To whom the goodly earth and air

Are bann’d, and barr’d—forbidden fare;

But this was for my father’s faith

I suffered chains and courted death;

That father perish’d at the stake

For tenets he would not forsake;

And for the same his lineal race

In darkness found a dwelling-place;

We were seven—who now are one”

The last two lines she’d recited brought back remembered pain. He could have rewritten them. ‘In darkness found a dwelling place. We were three—who now are one.’

As he sat there staring at Abby, he suffered guilt for finding himself so intensely attracted to her. It seemed a betrayal to Angélique’s memory. It wasn’t this woman’s fault—nor her desirability nor the recitation that had reached his soul, reminding him of the tragedy. He felt Abby had gone to another place too.

“Byron was a great poet,” Raoul said in a voice that sounded thick to his own ears. “Thank you for bringing his words to life for a few minutes so eloquently.”

She shifted in place while she looked at the château in the distance. “It hurts to know how men have been persecuted. Byron had many problems, physical and otherwise. I believe his suffering came through in that poem.” Raoul felt she’d suffered too and wanted to know how.

“There’s no doubt of it. No wonder you were chosen to help on the film.”

She smiled. “I love what I do.”

He stared hard at her. “Do you love it enough to come to France for a few days?”

A stillness washed over her. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you would like to spend some time with me at my home in Burgundy. You said your life needed a little stirring up. Your friends are welcome too.”

His question seemed to have shaken her. It took her a long time before she said, “You’re only saying this because you think the news about Auguste has ruined everything for us.”

“Not at all. You’re not the type of person to fall apart because of a change in plans. I’m quite sure your friends aren’t either. That isn’t the reason I’ve invited you.”

He wanted to tell her about “Labyrinths of Lavaux” but wanted to approach her slowly. Maybe asking her to lunch would help her stay with him long enough to entertain the possibility that he was telling her the truth about his uncle’s find.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s something I’d like to show you because I know you would be one person who would appreciate it. If you’ll come to lunch with me, I’ll give you details.”

He sensed she’d try to put him off again, but after this talk on the lake, he was driven by an idea that refused to let go of him.

“If you say no after our lunch, then I’ll take you back to the château and that will be the end of it.”

Without waiting for a response, he started the engine. “Louis will be happy to know this speedboat seems to be in fine working order, but I’ll open up the throttle to be certain.”

CHAPTER THREE

ABBY STARED AT this striking man wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. If he were featured on a billboard, the sight of him alone in whatever he wore would be worth millions for the advertisers. She found him more fantastic than any fantasy of her imagination.

“You’re not a Realtor are you?”

In a few minutes, he’d pulled into the slip and turned off the engine, but the blood was still pounding in her ears. “I’m afraid that’s an assumption you made.”

“But you let me keep thinking it.”

He slanted her one of those seductive glances he probably wasn’t even aware of. “Forgive me?”

With a look like that, she could forgive him anything and probably a lot more. That’s what frightened her.

“I don’t know,” she finally answered him. It depends on what you do when you’re not picking up strange females, at a lonely train station, no less,” she went on. “In the middle of the week. In a car that looks like the one De Gaulle rode in on Bastille Day after World War II.”

His quick smile took her breath.

She removed the life jacket and climbed out on her own beyond his reach. Abby felt his gaze on her and knew he was still waiting for her answer. To give in to her desire and accept his invitation would be heaven. But at what cost later on, when he no longer wanted her? After she’d sold her soul, she would never be the same again and would never be able to pick up the pieces.

“Who are you?” she blurted in panic. “What are you?”

“Would it help if I told you I’m a vintner?”

“From Burgundy...” She hadn’t seen that coming, but she should have. Chalk it up to her being turned inside out by his male magnetism. “The clues were there. Not every Realtor knows the intimate goings-on during the pollination season at La Floraison.”

“I left out one detail in my résumé. Auguste Decorvet was a distant relative of mine. The Decorvet family has many offshoots, none of them into the selling of real estate. Years ago, one of them came to Switzerland to buy a vineyard, and to get away from the dark internal fighting and struggles between family members who all wanted to be in charge.”

She smiled. “I’m afraid that’s true of some dynastic-minded families.”

“But not yours?”

“No. My parents are quite easygoing. If I do things they don’t like, they show it by being disappointed. I don’t like to disappoint them.”

“You’re lucky to have grown up in such a household.” The tone in his voice led her to believe he hadn’t exaggerated his family’s infighting, which probably contributed to that brooding countenance. “While we eat, you can ask me all the questions you want. But I need to know what kind of a meal will give me the answer I’m looking for from you.”

“I’m afraid it’s not the white fish entrées they sell along the lake.”

“You really do need a change of scene.”

As they walked to the car, she knew what her friends would say if she said he’d invited them to come to France for a few days. Abby had only spent a few hours with him so far.

You didn’t just go off with a virtual stranger who was a vintner, even if it sounded exciting. Even if he had a legitimate familial tie with the former owner of this vineyard. Even if he had something important he wanted to show her.

But was it really so wrong if she wanted to throw caution aside and enjoy an adventure with him for as long as it lasted? To know what it would be like to lie in his arms and forget the world? Heaven help her that she was even entertaining the idea.

“I... I don’t know how soon my friends will be back,” her voice faltered. “If we eat in the village, they might be able to join us, depending on their timing.”

“Maybe they’ve returned. Let’s drive back to the château and check first.”

When they couldn’t see the red car, he drove them to a sidewalk café. They served the most divine lunch of escalope de veau she’d ever tasted served with peas that had to be fresh from the garden. Halfway through her galette framboise dessert, she put her fork down because his black eyes were studying her.

“Why are you smiling?”

“It’s a pleasure to watch a woman eat a meal with enjoyment.”

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