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She rolled her eyes. Picking a rose, without asking, was enough of a gaffe. Seducing her friend’s gardener would definitely be off limits. Besides, after that embarrassing feature in Celebrity Life a month ago—detailing every single one of her boyfriends over the past year, how long they’d lasted and how they’d dumped her—she’d decided to steer clear of men for a while.
She headed back to her room, filled the glass in her bathroom with water and put the rose in it, then placed it on the table next to her bed.
This place was so gorgeous. OK, so the walls needed a lick of paint and the heavy gold damask curtains were faded and the rug was a bit threadbare, but the half-tester bed was like a fairy princess’s. The whole place screamed ‘shabby chic’ and history. And her room had the most amazing view over the rose garden. It was the kind of room where you’d be quite happy to get up early in the morning, because you’d get to see the sun rising over the garden.
Lucky Allie, having all this at her disposal.
And definitely lucky her, having a friend who could invite her to stay somewhere so fabulous.
She wandered down to the kitchen; Allie was sitting at the kitchen table with someone else she recognised and hadn’t seen for ages. ‘Gina!’ She gave the designer a huge hug, kissing both cheeks. ‘When did you get here?’
‘The taxi dropped me off ten minutes ago.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You should’ve texted me. I could’ve waited at the airport for you and given you a lift. Never mind.’ She hugged her again. ‘It’s so lovely to see you.’
‘The coffee’s hot, if you want some,’ Allie said with a smile.
‘Yes, please.’ She poured herself a mug from the cafetière and added a splash of milk. ‘By the way, Allie, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve just upset your gardener.’
‘My gardener?’ Allie looked surprised.
‘He caught me picking one of the roses. He was a bit cross with me.’
Allie frowned. ‘I don’t have a gard—oh, wait. Was he tall, blond and gorgeous?’
‘Tall and blond, yes.’ Amber shrugged. ‘Gorgeous…’ Definitely. ‘He might be, if he wasn’t scowling.’
Allie blinked. ‘Guy never scowls.’
‘Who’s Guy?’ Amber asked.
‘Xav’s brother. It’s his château.’
Oh. So it really was his garden. Amber bit her lip. ‘In that case, I owe him an apology.’
‘Sorry, it’s my fault. I should’ve warned you that he’s precious about his roses, so don’t touch them.’
‘He’s a garden expert?’
‘Parfumier,’ Allie corrected. ‘You’ve heard of GL Parfums?’ At Amber’s nod, she said, ‘That’s him. Guy Lefèvre.’
‘GL Parfums? They do that fantastic shower gel. The citrussy one,’ Gina said. ‘They were going on about it in Celebrity Life, the other week, about how it was the best pick-me-up ever.’
Amber groaned. ‘Don’t mention them.’
Gina hugged her. ‘They gave you quite a mauling last month, didn’t they?’
‘Mmm, and how the hell did they find out that Raoul the Rat dumped me by text? I swear they must be tapping my mobile.’ She deliberately kept her voice light, but that feature had hurt. And Raoul had hurt her badly. She’d thought he was different, that he might be The One—but he’d turned out to be yet another of the liars and losers she always seemed to date. Sometimes she thought it was as if she had a tattoo on her forehead that was invisible when she looked in the mirror, but was written in neon colours for everyone else. Shallow and heartless? Take me, I’m yours!
She shook herself. ‘Let’s talk about something nicer. So that’s his fragrance, is it?’
Allie nodded. ‘That was the first scent Guy made for the perfume house. Originally it was an aftershave, but then he extended the line. Actually, Gina, I know he wants to talk to you because he likes what you did for our labels. He said something about a new project.’
‘Really? Oh, I’d love the chance to work with him,’ Gina said, looking enthusiastic. ‘His perfumes are brilliant and it’d be a fantastic opportunity for me to be involved in designing packaging or what have you for a new perfume.’
Xav strolled into the kitchen, wrapped his arms round his wife-to-be and kissed her. ‘Have you seen Guy anywhere, ma belle?’
‘No, though we were just talking about him being a genius with scent,’ Allie said.
‘Then he’s probably sneaked off to his lab,’ Xav said, and kissed her again. ‘I’d better go and fish him out, because we have a hot date with a barbecue lined up.’
‘That’s a terrible pun,’ Allie said, laughing. ‘Hot date with a barbecue, indeed.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better get started on the salads, I guess.’
‘Count me in for kitchen duties,’ Amber said as Xav left the kitchen. ‘Important things first: what are you doing for pudding?’
‘Pudding?’ Allie’s eyes went wide. ‘Oh, no. I forgot pudding. How could I do that?’
‘Because you’re getting married tomorrow and have a dozen more pressing things to think about?’ Amber suggested.
Allie sighed. ‘I’d better run down to the village and get something from Nicole’s. She makes the best tarte tatin in the world.’
Amber couldn’t resist the opportunity of getting her hands properly on this kitchen. ‘I could make pudding,’ she said. ‘We had this amazing one at the ball last month.’ She pulled up some of the photographs on her phone to show them.
‘Oh, wow, that looks fantastic,’ Gina said.
‘And it tastes even better. Is there somewhere in the village that’d sell raspberries and passion fruit?’
‘Nicole’s farm shop,’ Allie said.
‘Righty—I’ll go shopping. Allie, if you could chat up your scary brother-in-law and wheedle three roses out of him, I’ll be right back.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Course not. Is there anything else you need?’
‘No.’
But Amber could see in her face that Allie was having an attack of butterflies. If this Nicole made great pastries, hopefully she’d sell chocolate as well. Cake would do, at a pinch.
It didn’t take long to buy the ingredients she needed. She drove back to the château, then put her hair into a ponytail, ready to start cooking. ‘Oh—before I forget. Butterfly-taming material,’ she said with a smile, handing over the chocolates.
‘You’re wonderful. And I got what you asked for.’ Allie produced three roses.
‘Fantastic. I’m going to play.’ Amber carefully painted the petals with egg-white, dipped them in icing sugar and set them to dry while Gina and Allie were in charge of the salads. She cooked the meringue and prepared as much of the filling as she could. ‘I need to assemble this at the very last minute, or it’ll be soggy and disgusting,’ she said, ‘so I’ll do it when people have nearly finished eating, OK?’
‘More than OK,’ Allie said, giving her a hug. ‘I don’t know why Celebrity Life keeps making you out to be an airhead. They really have no idea about who you really are.’
Amber knew exactly why they did it. She’d turned down a date with one of the journos and, even though she thought she’d been tactful in her refusal, he’d really taken a huff. As a result, the magazine’s favourite sport seemed to be Amber-baiting. She tried her best to ignore the snide headlines—When will Bambi be a Wynne-r in love?—but it was starting to rankle. After that last nasty feature, she’d had to stop herself going to the office and punching him on the nose. Ignoring him was the best policy. She’d just have to grit her teeth; someone else would do something indiscreet, soon enough, to take the spotlight off her.
‘Who cares about Celebrity Life?’ she said lightly, and picked up a platter of bread to take out to the terrace.
Xav was already cooking things on the grill, and Guy was pouring wine for all the wedding guests who were staying overnight at the château.
He handed her a glass in silence.
Time to fix things, she thought. She was definitely in the wrong about the rose, and it wouldn’t be fair for Allie and Xav to have needless tension at their wedding. ‘Guy, may I have a word, please?’ she asked.
He looked wary. ‘Why?’
‘I owe you an apology,’ she said, ‘for picking your flowers without asking. Especially as I didn’t have the manners to introduce myself when we met. I know your name and that you’re Xav’s brother. I’m Amber Wynne. Nice to meet you.’ She held out her hand to shake his.
For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse, but then he took her hand and shook it. The second his skin touched hers, desire jolted through her, shocking her with its intensity; judging by the surprise in his eyes, quickly masked, it was the same for him.
Interesting.
Except, she reminded herself, she was off men. Her love life was a disaster area, and she’d promised herself a break for the next six months.
‘I owe you an apology, too, Amber,’ he said, surprising her. ‘You’re a guest and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. My only excuse is that you caught me at a bad time.’
‘And your roses are important to you. I thought you were maybe the gardener,’ Amber said, ‘but I take it that you grow them for your perfume?’
Guy looked slightly taken aback, clearly realising that she’d talked to Allie about him. ‘Well, yes.’
‘May I?’ She gestured to the chair next to him. At his brief nod, she sat down. ‘You have a beautiful garden,’ she said, ‘and a beautiful home.’ And she really hoped he hadn’t overheard her telling Sheryl that it needed a bit of work. ‘Thank you so much for letting me stay here.’
He shrugged. ‘You’re a wedding guest—any friend of my sister-in-law-to-be is a friend of my family.’
Guy had been prepared to dislike Amber, because she reminded him so much of Véra, but there was an easy warmth about her; to his surprise, he found himself relaxing and chatting to her. And when she encouraged him to talk more about his roses, for one crazy moment he thought he could smell them. On her skin.
No. Of course not. The virus he’d caught three months ago had put paid to that. But, all the same, she intrigued him.
And attracted him. An attraction he wouldn’t let himself act on—not while his life was in chaos and all his energy seemed to be used up in fighting the fear that the career he loved was over. Besides, she was only here for the wedding. It wasn’t as if their paths were likely to cross again in the near future. There was no point in starting something he had no intention of continuing.
When Allie and Gina started to clear away, Amber stood up and started helping—something else Guy hadn’t expected. Véra would have considered herself a guest and therefore someone to be waited on, not someone to help with the waiting.
As if she read the expression on his face, she said, ‘I’m in charge of pudding. Back in a minute.’ She smiled, and was gone.
And what a pudding. She came back holding a platter containing two soft meringue roulades, filled with what looked like some kind of cream-and-fruit mixture; the top was decorated with candied rose-petals and a drizzle of passion-fruit seeds, and she’d found some indoor sparklers somewhere and stuck those in, too, so her pudding could make a real entrance.
‘So that’s why Allie wanted three more roses,’ he said when she brought him a slice neatly plated.
She looked awkward. ‘Sorry, but they were so perfect for this—cream in the centre shading out to deep pink at the edges.’
‘And candying them must’ve taken you a while.’
‘It’s the little details that make the difference,’ she said simply.
‘And you pay attention to them.’ Again, he hadn’t expected that. He’d pigeonholed her as a careless, thoughtless diva. How had she managed to wrong foot him so completely? He gestured to the pudding to cover his awkwardness. ‘This looks good. Are you a chef?’
She shook her head. ‘I like messing about in the kitchen. But being a chef would mean working crazy hours. Not my thing.’
‘So what is your thing?’ he asked, suddenly curious.
‘I organise parties.’
He blinked. ‘You organise parties?’
‘It’s how I met Allie. She came to one of my parties, a couple of years back, and we hit it off. We’ve become friends.’
‘You’re a party girl.’ So he’d been right, at heart. She was a media darling—just like his ex-wife.
‘Uh-huh.’ She sighed. ‘But don’t believe everything you see in the press about me.’
‘You’re in the press a lot?’ Although her face seemed familiar, he couldn’t quite place her. He skimmed the business news, most of the time online because it was quicker; he certainly didn’t read the gossip and celeb pages in the newspapers, and the only time he saw one of the celeb magazines was if the cuttings agency sent it over because it contained a piece about GL Parfums. One of the things that drove his business partner, Phillipe, crazy was Guy’s insistence on low-key product launches—but Guy had already been burned by the media. Badly. And he wasn’t giving them a chance to dig around in his life again.
‘She’s the darling of the celeb mags, our Bambi,’ Gina said, coming over and draping her arms round Amber’s neck.
‘Bambi?’ The question was out before he could stop it.
‘Because of those big brown eyes and the legs up to her armpits. If she wasn’t so nice,’ Gina said cheerfully, ‘we’d all hate her for looking this good. Everyone else has to work at it. Not her. She could be wearing a sack after having no sleep for a week, and she’d still manage to look glamorous and start setting a trend! Life just isn’t fair.’
Amber laughed. ‘Thank you for the compliment, Gina, but you have to credit my mother for giving me her genes. And if you’d let me get you out of your “I’m an artist so I must wear black” uniform and put you in some colour to show off that porcelain skin, beautiful auburn hair and those gorgeous eyes, there’d be a queue of men from here to Paris.’
‘No chance. I’m an artist,’ Gina retorted, returning the grin.
‘Hopeless,’ Amber said, rolling her eyes. ‘Tell her, Guy. She’s gorgeous.’
‘She’s gorgeous,’ Guy said dutifully. Gina was pretty enough. But Amber was stunning: next to her, all the other women seemed plain.
And that unsettled him. He’d been here before. Lost his heart and his head to a gorgeous media darling. Married her within a month. And he’d really repented at leisure.
Not that he had any intention of getting involved with Amber. Even if she didn’t remind him of the biggest mistake of his life, he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Not right now, when his life was such a mess. He needed to focus on getting his career back on track. On finding a cure for his loss of smell. He couldn’t afford to let his libido get in the way.
‘Come and help me with the coffee?’ Gina asked.
‘Sure.’ Amber smiled at her. ‘Excuse me, Guy. I enjoyed our chat. Catch you later.’
And then she was gone.
Funny how his little corner of the terrace had suddenly lost its brightness. Guy shook himself. She wasn’t his type. And he’d be crazy to let himself think otherwise.
Chapter Two
THE next morning, Amber was awake before the alarm on her mobile phone went off. She had a quick shower and washed her hair, then headed for the kitchen. Allie and Gina were already there, having breakfast; she joined them, then did their nails afterwards and then made them sit to dry their nails properly while she sorted out the washing up.
Next was make-up and hair; and she was intrigued by the differences between a French wedding and an English one. ‘So you have two wedding ceremonies—the official one at the Mairie, where you wear a business suit, and then at the church, where you have the white dress?’ she asked.
‘That’s right,’ Allie confirmed.
