Chapter 6
If Jane thought London was beautiful, the lush, expansive countryside left her breathless.
At first, she’d been nervous about being stuck in a car with Henry, but the convertible had solved that problem. With the wind rushing past, it made any real conversation difficult, so they’d settled into a shared silence. After they left the bustle of the city, there hadn’t been an awkward moment, more like comfortable companionship. That didn’t mean she couldn’t feel his gaze on her.
It took everything she had to keep her eyes straight ahead, on the view outside and off the view inside the car. Because, man, what a view he made. His windblown hair, his cheeks ruddy from the chilled air, the way he kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift while he took the turns of the country roads with a purpose and confidence that Jane couldn’t muster on even her best of days. Then there was this big dick energy that filled the car and nearly suffocated her.
While there was no awkwardness, there was definitely chemistry—on both sides. It snapped and sizzled every time the gear shifted and his hand nearly brushed her leg. Which was why Jane moved to the far edge of her seat and focused on the landscape.
The sun was high and, surprisingly, there was not a cloud in sight. It was still February though, so the temperature was in the fifties. Unexpectedly, Henry had given her a coat to wear and a blanket for her lap without making a big show of his gentleman-ness. Although her nose was a bit chilled, the rest of her was nice and toasty—and smelled of his cologne, which wafted off his coat and into her bloodstream, and she had to admit he smelled like sexy, sensual, yummy man.
Jane watched as vibrant green fields lined by mature English oak and ash trees whizzed by. Twenty minutes into the drive, Henry slowed down and turned onto a long stone drive that followed a massive pond, complete with lily pads and other water foliage.
“Are we here?” Jane asked.
He glanced over at her and their eyes locked and held. “It’s about a kilometer up the road.”
“Sarah said that family friends own the winery.”
“Louis and I raced Kart together when we were kids. He’d made it to Formula 3 when his dad passed and he quit to help with the family business. If you ask me, he’s an adrenaline junkie with a heart made of wine.”
“He doesn’t race anymore?”
“From time to time we go to the track for a day of fun and to catch up, but even as a kid he found it hard to be away from home for too long. He’s a family man through and through.”
Which she took to mean that Henry didn’t have dreams of a wife and kids anywhere on the horizon. According to Roxy’s research he hadn’t even been in a serious relationship in nearly two years. She wondered if that was due to his hectic schedule or a broken heart. Then she wondered why she was wondering.
“Sarah told me how you had to move out at a young age and live at the academy. That must have been hard for you,” she said, loud enough that her voice didn’t get carried off in the breeze.
He just lifted a shoulder. “At first, but then I got used to it. I guess it’s like boarding school, just with private tutors and racing. It’s no different than what many other athletes at the top of their game do if they want to compete at the highest level of their chosen sport.”
Jane thought about her cousin who left home for Juilliard to follow her dreams of ballet at just sixteen. Yet Jane got the feeling Henry was playing down just how hard it had been to be torn between his dreams and his family. Especially for a protector like him, to be away from his mom and sisters must have been a difficult choice. It just showed her how much people in his position had to sacrifice to get to where he was in his career. It also made her wonder just how lonely that position was for him.
She knew he had friends. She’d met them at the cocktail party and they’d seemed like really great guys who’d have his back through a zombie apocalypse. But Jane knew the kind of loneliness that came with growing up without the everyday support and love of a parent. Oh, her mom loved her, but her mom’s capacity to love wasn’t all that exceptional. And after her dad passed her mom became even more closed off, even more absorbed with her work, leaving Jane to console herself. Which became harder and harder the more frequent their moves became.
“How about you? What was life like for little Elle Vaughn?” he asked.
She almost blurted out unconventional, then remembered he wasn’t asking about Jane. “Your typical Manhattan upbringing, I guess. I went to private school in the city, then NYU for college, always staying close to my family,” she said, keeping it brief and surface.
“Why were you in Texas?”
Oh boy, that was a good question. One she didn’t have an Elle answer for. Good thing for Elle, Jane knew how to spin a tale.
“Work trip. I was meeting with a new supplier, if you can believe it. Fashion and Texas are kind of an oxymoron, but there you have it.”
“What do you do for a living?” he asked.
“Is this twenty questions?”
“You seem to know a lot about me, it only seems fair,” he said, as though this was a normal back and forth for him. Asking without the need to answer for himself.
“Is this how it goes for you? You get to do all the asking?”
“Usually people already know a lot coming into the conversation. A simple Google search and, bam, you know all about me.”
“Well, I haven’t googled you and that sounds like you would make an incredibly boring first date.”
A smirk started in his eyes and tugged at his lips. “Depends on where the date ends.”
Jane rolled her eyes, but inside a kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight low in her belly. “Does that line usually work?”
A single lift of the brow told her he didn’t have trouble keeping his bed warm.
“You know what I do, so it’s only fair I know at least that much about you,” he said.
Jane couldn’t argue with fair. “Fine. I work in marketing for an upscale fashion company out of New York,” she recited. “I love my job. I get to blend two of my passions, social media and fashion. Happy?”
He looked at her clutch which was lying haphazardly on the floorboard. “For a person who loves social media, I haven’t seen you on your phone once.”
Jane opened her mouth and closed it. Somewhere between the cologne-drenched air and big dick energy she’d let things slip. Think! And just like that, she spun a little white lie. “This week is about your sister, like I said. I work hard, but when I take time off, especially for something this important, I like to really unplug.”
Her answer, which was more Jane than Elle, and completely unrehearsed, seemed to surprise him.
The game was finally on, and the point went to Jane.
“What does it mean?”Jane asked as they pulled into a gravel circular driveway and past a sign that read Chateau de la Lune.
“Castle of the Moon,” Henry said. “The main vineyard is in France, but Louis bought this property a few years back when he married his wife, Emma, and turned it into a tasting room. His brother runs the vineyard in France.”
“It’s stunning,” Jane said, taking in the impressive repurposed castle.
It spanned three floors and went the entire length of the pond. With ivy growing up the sides of the rustic stone walls, it looked like an estate straight out of a Jane Austen novel. The grounds were meticulously manicured and overflowing with bursts of foliage and color. The second story had a massive balcony that overlooked the grounds, including several botanical gardens. On the bottom floor sat wrought iron tables and chairs with canary-yellow umbrellas, which were scattered around a wraparound veranda.
Nearly every seat was taken with guests enjoying an afternoon tasting of wine and local cheeses. But as Henry’s car roared to a stop, all eyes turned to his one-of-a-kind car.
“Well, I guess you know how to make an entrance,” she said, and Henry groaned.
“I was hoping to be a little more inconspicuous, but this engine is a bit of a peacock.”
“You’re blaming the engine?”
“Says the woman wearing a dress made to scramble a man’s mind.” He leaned over. “Did you wear it for me, love?”
This was why she wanted to change!
“In your dreams!”
“Maybe you were in my dreams. Care to know the details?”
“Hard pass.”
That earned her another laugh. “The big question is, was I in yours?” At that precise moment, the valet opened her door. “I guess that’s what you’d call saved by the bell.”
Ignoring him, Jane folded the blanket, leaving it and his coat on the seat, and grabbed her clutch. She reached in and riffled around for twenty pounds to pay the valet when an arm reached around her with a bill. A hundred-euro bill!
“Thank you,” Henry said to the valet, and they did a secret-handshake money exchange.
“My pleasure, Sir. Miss.” The valet smiled at Jane, and Jane smiled back.
Henry stuck out his arm and with great hesitation Jane took it, wrapping her hand around his elbow. “I could have paid him myself.”
“My mother would have popped out of the crowd somewhere and grabbed me by the ear for letting a lady pay.”
“I would have explained that this lady always pays her way.” Which was why she dug through her purse, found five twenties, and handed them to him. When he wouldn’t take it, she stuffed them into his jean pocket.
He looked down at her with the strangest look on his face, but then it disappeared in a blink only to be replaced by that smug playboy grin. “So, was a hundred quid worth the grope?”
“What?”
“If you wanted to get your hands in my pocket you could have just asked.”
She disengaged her arm, but he snatched it back. “I was kidding. Remember, you push my buttons, I push yours. It’s our thing.”
Jane felt her face flush at the idea of them having a thing. But Elle wouldn’t be fazed, so in a bored tone she said, “If you say so, Hank.”
Together they walked up the pathway to the deep steps. He braced her hand as she teetered on her toothpick heels while they ascended. Had she known she would be going to a winery today, she would have been more practical with her shoe choice. Then again, Elle was never practical.
They’d barely reached the top when Jane realized that every eye was still tracking their movements.
“Is my dress tucked into my underwear or something?” she asked.
“Want me to run my hand over your bum and check?” She sent him a hard glance. “I’ll take that as a no.” He led her to the side of the veranda to one of the few remaining spare tables and pulled out a chair for her, but he didn’t sit himself.
“I’m sorry, but this might take a minute.”
She was about to ask where he was going when the first person approached him. It was a portly man with a honeypot belly, mustache, and a big but nervous grin. “You’re Henry Norris!” The man sounded thunderstruck. “I’m here with my nephew from Birmingham; would you mind taking a picture with him?”
“Of course.” She watched as Henry turned to the kid and bent down to meet him at his level. “I’m Henry, what’s your name?”
“Colin,” he said shyly, and Jane found herself feeling a bit shy too. The way Henry handled the young fan with such kindness and grace was far from the flirty line-cutter she’d come to know. Now she wasn’t sure what to think of him.
“Nice to meet you.” He slung his arm over Colin’s shoulder and the uncle took a photo.
“Don’t just sit here looking like a starstruck puppy,” she mumbled to herself. Jane snapped into action. She closed the distance and when she reached them said, “Let me take one of the three of you.”
She took the phone from the man and angled it just right. “Smile.”
Click.
And that was what started the next twenty minutes of autographs and photos. Jane could tell Henry was anxious to get to the tasting, but he never showed an ounce of impatience, making every fan feel like they were seen and valued. This was their moment and he wanted to make it special.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Henry said when the last person walked off.
“I am a social media expert after all. Snapping pics is my jam.”
“Henry!” A sprout of a man, in his late twenties, waved them over.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Henry placed his hand on Jane’s lower back and led her toward a doorway at the far side of the veranda. Heat pooled and spread toward her limbs.
When they reached the entrance to the winery, Henry pulled the man into his arms and they gave each other a firm clap on the back. “Louis. Great to see you, mate. Thank you for taking us in on such short notice.”
“Anything for you, my friend.” He turned to Jane and smiled. “And who have you brought to us?”
“This is Elle. She’s Sarah’s friend and will be filling in.”
Louis looked at Henry’s possessive hand—which had made a surprising return—then to Henry and some silent conversation passed between them. Henry’s hand immediately dropped and then he gave Louis a hard shove. “Where’s Emma?”
“Inside. Follow me.”
Louis led them through a rounded hallway and into a cavern made entirely of stone—not hand laid like the rest of the castle, but as if the room had been carved out of solid rock. There was a large table that spanned the middle of the room with enough chairs to seat a large family at the holidays. It was decorated with flowers and topiaries, displaying bottles of wine in an elaborate yet classy way.
The back wall was stacked with oak barrels. Parts of the wall had been carved out into long rectangles and backlit to display wine bottles. And in the corner of the room were four leather barrel chairs intimately situated around a round table set with wine glasses lined up for the tasting. Bottles were already opened and breathing and to the side was a charcuterie board overflowing with imported meats, cheeses, and olives.
“I can’t wait for you to taste our special reserve rosé. There’s only two cases left, reserved for family only, but for you I’d be willing to part with it,” Louis said.
Henry lifted a brow. “For a price?”
“For friendship.”
A look of surprise and gentle wonder overtook Henry’s face and, in that moment, his facade and public persona crumbled, gifting her a man who was a sight to behold. Soft, warm, a bit shy, and reserved. Far from the cocky, arrogant man she’d come to know and loathe.
The door burst open and a pint-sized whirlwind of a toddler came screeching into the room. Curly blond hair, ruddy cheeks, and chubby legs that ate up the space in seconds. Big blue eyes wide with excitement.
“Hen, Hen, Hen,” the child called out, her arms stretched toward Henry. He lifted the girl up and threw her in the air before catching her. Giggles of delight echoed off the stones, while tingles reverberated off Jane’s ovaries.
In the doorway stood a mom who looked as if she’d been chasing the rambunctious toddler for a week straight.
“Colette, you’re going to get mud all over Henry’s clothes,” the woman said.
“My little Coco, have you been making mud pies again without me?” Henry asked, and Coco put two grubby little hands on Henry’s cheeks and gave him a kiss. Henry didn’t seem to mind, giving her a raspberry on her cheek that sent her into a fit of laughter.
“Did you bring me a car?” Coco asked.
Popping her onto his right hip, Henry dug into his jean pocket and pulled out a toy race car, a Formula 1 car of course. The little girl took the car and immediately squirmed in his arms to be let down. The second her feet hit the ground she was on the floor, pushing the car around and making racing sounds.
Coco was as unexpected as this side of Henry.
“Coco, this is my friend Elle.”
Coco looked up at Elle and with a critical eye decided that she didn’t like what she saw, because she darted behind Henry’s legs.
“You call him Hen. I call him Hank,” Jane said.
“Hank?” Louis asked.
“It’s my little nickname,” Henry said with a roll of the eye.
“So you’re at nicknames, huh, Hank?”
“It’s not like that. She just likes to give me shit.”
“Shit,” Coco repeated, and Emma glared at Henry.
“Sorry.” He grimaced.
“Coco, why don’t you and I go play cars in your room while Papa shows Uncle Hen his new wines.”
“Actually,” Henry said. “Elle here used to be a sommelier. I was thinking she could take us through a few of the highlights.”
Jane nearly choked on air. What the fuck was he talking about?
While she’d had her fair share of wine over the years of being a bridesmaid for hire, Jane’s preference swung more martini than merlot. Sure, she knew words like tannins and fruit forward, but her limited vocabulary would not get her through a tasting in front of an actual vintner.
“I’d rather learn from a master,” she said, then elbowed Henry in the rib and hissed, “Don’t be rude. We’re in his house.”
“Or you just don’t want to be alone with me.”
There was that too.