Cinderella on His Doorstep / Accidentally Expecting!: Cinderella on His Doorstep

With one long exhale, the room filled with smoke. “He must want to get into acting very badly to give me free rein to his entire estate.”

She moved away from the door. “Have you forgotten I went to him, not the other way around? He wants money very badly to restore the château and make it a viable asset before he resumes his career as an agricultural engineer.”

Her father gave her one of those condescending nods. “So that’s what he’s told you.”

Dana refused to let him get to her. “In this case you’re not dealing with another Neal type.”

“No,” he muttered, “Monsieur Martan is older and has far more worldly experience. Inside that supposedly deserted château with no electricity beyond the main floor, your bedchamber has been laid out so exquisitely, it even took my breath.”

She scoffed. “Careful, Dad. You’re beginning to make this sound like Beauty and the Beast. When I told him I was planning to stay there at night in my new sleeping bag, he insisted I have a decent bedroom.”

He stubbed out his cigarette. “I forbid it, Dana.”

Forbid? “I think you’ve forgotten I passed eighteen a long time ago.” As she turned to leave, she heard knocking on the door.

“Jan? It’s Saskia. Let me in, lieveling.”

The timing was perfect, but her father looked ready to throw something.

“I’ll get it,” Dana volunteered before opening it.

“Hi, Saskia. Did you have a good flight?”

“So-so.” The brunette actress kissed her on both cheeks, a pretense at civility.

Dana went along with to keep the peace.

“I was just leaving. See you later, Dad.”

Without hesitation she rushed out of the hotel. It didn’t take her long to reach the château.

By the time she’d pulled up next to the cars and minivans parked in front, Dana realized there’d be no peace for her if her father was angry enough to renege on the contract. Alex didn’t deserve it, not to mention everyone else who would be put out. It looked like it was up to her if she didn’t want this boat to sink.

When she found Alex and told him she wouldn’t be staying at the château after all, he would assume it was what he’d thought from the first—that she still answered to her father in everything. But as humiliating as that would be, it wouldn’t matter if it meant Alex received all his money.

“Dana?”

She got out of the car in time to see David hurrying toward her from the woods. He was her father’s age, a wonderful family man with a great gift for writing.

When he caught up to her, he hugged her hard. “Bless you, Dana. Bless you, bless you for this. Words can’t describe.”

“I know.” She’d felt the same way after seeing the château for the first time. It was how she felt now, only more so. He finally let her go, still beaming.

David’s reaction settled it. This film was of vital importance to him, too; therefore she had no choice but to pack up her things and drive to the Hermitage. She checked her watch. It was ten to six. Pretty soon everyone would leave for the night. That’s when she’d go inside to get her things so she wouldn’t draw attention to herself.

Until then she would walk around the back of the château to find Alex. After what he’d done for her, she owed him an explanation of why she wouldn’t be staying here after all. He would never know that because of him, she’d experienced the most exciting day and night of her entire life. A man like him was too good for her, but at least this was a memory she’d hug to herself forever.

After telling David she’d see him later, she followed the path next to the hedge at the side of the château. It led around to the back where she hadn’t been before. To her surprise the ground, covered by a mass of tangled vegetation divided by a path, sloped gently toward the river.

She wandered down it a few feet, marveling at the sight. Alex had meticulously cleaned out one half of it to reveal individual fruit trees. Who would have guessed what had been hidden there? In its day, the grounds would have been a showplace.

The other part still needed to be tackled, but he was making inroads. She saw his truck piled with cleared-out vegetation. Nearby were various tools including a power saw.

“Bonsoir, ma belle.”

Her heart raced. “Alex?” She’d heard his deep, seductive voice, but couldn’t see him anywhere.

“I’m in a tree!” He tossed something small and green at her feet.

She reached for it, then looked up. A long, tall ladder had been propped against the trunk. Hidden by masses of leaves, she only saw parts of his hard-muscled physique. He brushed a few aside, allowing her a glimpse of his disarming white smile. Dana could hardly breathe.

“Are these all apple trees?”

“Blanc d’Hiver apples,” he asserted. “The kind that make the best tartes aux pommes. By late October I might be able to harvest a few. The trees behind you yield Anjou pears.”

Dana shook her head. “No wonder this place is called Belles Fleurs. When their blossoms come out, the sight from the château windows will be glorious.

“That all depends if I live long enough to make it out of this primeval forest to prune another day.”

She chuckled. “How old are you?” She’d been dying to know.

“Thirty-three.”

“You’ve got years yet!”

“Years of what?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” Dana didn’t want to think about his life when he moved on to other places. Other women…It would take a very special woman to capture his heart. “Tell me something—”

“That covers a lot of territory.”

Laughter escaped her lips. “Can you see the vineyard from that altitude?”

“So you noticed the building housing the winepress.”

“Yes, but I also heard that the vineyard once produced the famed Domaine Belles Fleurs label.”

She heard the leaves rustle. In seconds he’d negotiated the ladder with swift male agility before jumping to the ground, carrying his hand saw. “Someone’s been gossiping.” He gathered the branches he’d just cut and threw them in the truck bed. “Wait, let me guess—Madame Fournier at the Hermitage.”

Nothing got past him. “Who else?” She smiled, but he didn’t reciprocate.

“Since my arrival, word has leaked out that a long-lost Fleury is back in Les Coteaux du Layon. It sounds like she was talking out of school again.”

Dana had irritated him again; the last thing she’d wanted to do. “Only because I wanted to buy a bottle of the dessert wine we drank the other evening. She told me it came from the Domaine Percher, but she added that the very best Anjou wine used to come from the Domaine Belles Fleurs.”

Alex rubbed his thumb along his lower lip. “There hasn’t been a bottle produced since 1930.”

“That’s what she said. Naturally I was curious.”