Page 59 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
“Lucas!”
At the sound of someone calling his name, Lucas slammed the back door and turned toward the house. My stomach immediately knotted itself as a silver-haired man with tan skin and eyes so icy blue I could see them from where I stood strode across the gravel drive. He smiled at me before embracing Lucas, kissing him three times on the cheeks.
“Jean-Paul, this is my friend Mia, the American I told you about on the phone.”
Jean-Paul took my hand. “Bonjour, Mia. Bienvenue.” He kissed each of my cheeks once and smiled with perfect white teeth. He was really very handsome for his age, which I guessed was somewhere in his sixties.
I smiled back. “Thank you.”
“Everyone here already?” Lucas asked.
“Yes, your family arrived yesterday. We weren’t sure what time your train would arrive, so lunch was sort of here and there, but we’ll all have dinner together tonight at nine.” Jean-Paul spoke very good English, almost without an accent.
“Is Henri cooking?” Lucas asked, slinging his bag over one shoulder and picking up my suitcase.
“Bite your tongue. As if I’d let him in my kitchen.”
“Jean-Paul does all the cooking here,” Lucas explained to me. “He’s amazing, worked for years at gourmet restaurants in Paris.”
“And New York for a while too.” Jean-Paul looked at me. “Are you from New York, Mia? Lucas didn’t say where you met.”
“No, Detroit, actually. We…we met in Paris.” I followed them up the steps to the house and through the blue-painted door, realizing it might be weird to admit I’d just met Lucas this week and was happily gallivanting about France with him. Sometimes sans panties.
“Well, glad you could visit us here.” Jean-Paul shut the door behind us as I took in the gorgeous interior with open-mouthed awe. Beyond the entrance, a huge gray stone fireplace dominated a large room, and the stone floors made the room feel cool and airy, but the sumptuous fabrics and tapestries hanging on the walls gave the space warmth and color. “Lucas, your brother and Lisette are using the guest house for all their friends, so I have you and Mia upstairs here. Is that OK?”
“Of course. Which room?”
“Very end of the hall in the west wing.”
“Perfect, Jean-Paul. Thanks. I’ll show Mia the house and then I was going to take her on a little tour of the grounds. Would you like to join us?”
The older man put up his hands and shook his head. “No, no. It’s a beautiful day, but I’ve got things to do here to prepare for the party tomorrow night.” He rolled his eyes. “The caterer is driving me mad.”
“Speaking of things that drive you mad, where is my mother?”
Jean-Paul grinned. “She’s out by the pool, I believe. Everyone is out there somewhere.” He shooed us toward a large stone staircase. “Go on. Unpack so you can enjoy the day.”
#
The view from our room was a feast of color, texture, and light. Twisting olive trees. Bright purple and emerald fields of lavender. The turquoise glow of a long rectangular pool surrounded by multi-leveled stone patios. Lush gardens full of pink and yellow blossoms surrounding an old fountain. Over to the right, a tennis court with two male players on it, and off to the left, beyond the pool, the guest house and other buildings, some new, some old and crumbling.
All breathtaking.
In the distance, I could see row after row of vines, striping the land with vibrant green and earthy gold.
“God, I’m in love.”
“With the view or with me?”
Omigod! What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
Heart hammering, I kept looking out the window, but I was dying to turn around and see his face—was he teasing me? Was he serious? How should I handle this? FUCK! I was totally caught off guard. My eyeballs roved from side to side while I racked my brain for a response that wouldn’t terrify or offend him.
Flirty. Flirty could work.
Tossing a coy look over my shoulder, I said, “What do you think?”
The corners of his mouth rose slightly as he lifted his bag onto a chair and focused on unzipping it. “I’m only teasing. I know yo
