"I am curious," Phillipe said, quickening his pace to match Nik's, "what is this 'music' you face? I know most of your English expressions and quite a few American ones as well, but this one…? Am I correct in assuming this particular music will not be pleasing to the ears?"
"You could assume that, yes," said Nikolas drily. "The last time I saw the lady she threatened me with a hundred fates worse than death."
Phillipe made scolding noises. "You really must work on your people skills, my friend. Especially if you are to be a king one day. You know-" He broke off with a chuckle as Nikolas threw a fat ripe grape at him and missed.
To Nikolas's bemusement, he felt his heartbeat accelerate as he stepped from the rows of grapevines onto the dusty road. A few dozen yards away, Rhia had come to a halt. Her expression was impossible to read from that distance, particularly with her eyes hidden from view, but he felt safe in assuming it wouldn't be pleasant. The odd thing, though, was the warm little nugget of pleasure he felt forming way down in his belly at the sight of her.
Not that anyone would fault him for that; she was, after all, a sight to warm any man's loins. She wore jeans that sat low-on her hips, and a tank top that brought to mind vivid memories of the chemise she'd been wearing the last time he'd seen her…not to mention the circumstances in which he'd left her. Then, her thick, wavy dark hair had been in a sultry tangle tumbling onto her bare shoulders. Now it was caught back by a bandana handkerchief folded into a triangle and tied at the nape of her neck, and the tawny skin of her arms and chest and throat wore a golden slick of sweat.
Without saying a word, she lowered the oblong case to the ground between her feet and took a water bottle from its holder on her belt.
"Mother of God, what do you suppose is in that case? Please tell me she's not come armed."
Nikolas barely heard and didn't acknowledge Phillipe's remark, made in a droll undertone out of one side of his mouth. Rhia had removed her sunglasses, and those cool green eyes had found his, found them and snared them with an intent and unreadable gaze, and his world, his awareness had narrowed until it only had room for her, Phillipe, the vineyards, the army of pickers, the barrel-laden wagons and the tractors pulling them, all faded into background noise, like the busy hum of bees on a summer's clay.
She drank long and deeply from the water bottle and returned it to her belt. Watching her, he felt his own throat go dry. Her eyes never left his as he closed the distance between them, though oddly, they seemed to him more puzzled than angry.
He paused a double arm's length away from her and nudged his hat to the back of his head. "That was fast," he said, offering her a smile as a hopeful peace offering. "What did you do, hide a tracking device in my shoes?"
She snorted and said. "I wish I had." But he could tell her heart wasn't in it. She seemed distracted, he thought, as if her mind was on something else entirely. "No, I told you-I just have a knack for finding people."
"Huh. A 'knack,' you say. So…you just knew where I'd be? So you are psychic."
She shifted her shoulders in an impatient way-again, as though the discussion was interrupting something far more important. "No, I…you'd mentioned your friend, the one whose apartment you were staying in in Paris. You said he had family in Provence. A winery. It seemed like a good bet." She put on her sunglasses, then lifted one shoulder in a dismissive way. "It was where I'd go."
"Ah." said Nikolas. "Empathy."
She'd bent over to pick up the oblong case at her feet. Her shielded eyes came back to him as she straightened. "Empathy?"
"Your 'knack'-that's what it is, you know. Empathy. The ability to put yourself in another person's shoes. To think like he does. Feel what he feels. I can see where that would come in handy in your line of work. Here-let me take that for you."
He reached for the case and she surrendered it to him without an argument, which he thought was a pretty good clue that it wasn't, as Phillipe had suggested, a weapon. He hefted the case. "What's in here? And by the way, whatever possessed you to have the cabby drop you at the bottom of the hill when you had all this to carry? You could have had him take you straight up to the house, you know."
She cut her eyes at him, and her smile was wry. "I thought I'd sneak up on you-in case you took a notion to run again. But I have to tell you. I never expected you'd be out in the vineyards picking grapes." Above the dark lenses of her glasses her forehead crinkled in a frown.
And I sure didn't expect my heart to go nuts at the sight of you, damn you.
Rhia studied her assignment moodily from the shelter of her sunglasses. Today he was wearing a pair of blue dungarees and a white shirt made of some kind of loosely woven material, with long sleeves rolled to the elbows. No collar. His neck was deeply tanned and gleaming with sweat, and looked sleek and powerful as that of some dominant male animal- a stag, perhaps, or a stallion. Or a king?
Why did you have to be so damned attractive? Why didn't I stick to finding lost children? They weren t nearly so complicated.
His lips took on a sardonic tilt. "Not quite the occupation one expects of a prince? No-I suppose not. Though I've picked many a grape in my life-make of that what you will. Come." He took her elbow, and Rhia felt a small electric shock where his fingers touched her bare skin. The dryness of the air. she told herself. Static electricity. And somehow she found herself walking beside him up the dusty road, and they were walking together in casual intimacy, like lovers out for a stroll.
"Let me introduce you to Phillipe. This is his vineyard- or his family's, as I'm sure you already know. Phillipe-come and meet the woman who has promised me the punishments of a hundred hells. Rhia, this is Phillipe, one of my oldest and most tolerant friends. Phillipe-say hello to Rhia de Hayes, bounty hunter."
Nikolas's companion, who'd been waiting for them at a discreet distance, flicked away the cigarette he'd been smoking, removed his hat with a sweeping gesture and placed it over his heart. His hair was a mass of sweat-damp curls, lighter than Nik's, a rich warm brown that matched his eyes. He had extraordinarily nice eyes. He was. in fact, every bit as attractive as Nikolas Donovan, and his smile was just as charming.
Then why was it. she wondered, that when he murmured. "Enchante, ma belle," and lifted her hand to his lips, she felt no little shock of awareness, no tingling warmth where his lips touched, no hollow flip-flopping sensation in her stomach, no humming sensation in her chest?
"I am in complete sympathy with you, mademoiselle-it is high time someone gave this man the treatment he deserves." Phillipe said solemnly, still holding her hand. "I can only hope I may be allowed to watch."
Rhia burst out laughing-he was so outrageous she couldn't help it. Phillipe grinned irrepressibly and kissed her hand once more before releasing it.
"Nik, my friend. Take this lovely lady up to the house and make her welcome. We'll be stopping for lunch soon-we're about finished for the day anyway. Tell Elana to make up Maman's room for our guest-she won't be back from Monte Carlo until the vendange is finished, I'm sure. That is-unless you would like her to sleep in your room, Nik?"
Rhia didn't have to look at him to know Nikolas was grinning. "Please don't bother." she said smoothly. "I won't be staying long. As it happens, Nikolas and I have an important engagement in Silvershire." She turned her head, then, and gave him a long, deliberate stare. He gazed back at her with cool gray eyes, arms casually crossed on his chest.
Phillipe made a gesture that was extravagantly-almost comically-French. "Oh, but you must stay! At least until the vendange is finished. I cannot possibly spare this man at the moment. And for you, mademoiselle, it will be an enjoyment. Vendange in Provence is like one big party-like your Mardi Gras. A moveable feast. A few more days, eh? What can it matter?"