The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (41 page)

“Let the good times roll, Katski. I can hear the happiness in your voice, and that’s frickin’ wonderful. I’ve got to dash, but I’m glad I caught you.”

“Me too! Let’s try to talk while Andrea and Terrence are here. By the way, I’m not telling Andrea what happened with Nick. I feel sort of embarrassed.”

51

Just before the bells in the Hôtel de Ville tolled 2:00 p.m., Katherine stood next to the statue in front of the market.

The village seemed a little quiet for a Monday, and she wondered if everyone was recovering from the same type of
vendanges
weekend that she had. She had to admit, some muscles were still feeling rather stiff and sore.

Sitting on the steps next to the statue, she watched a lively group of men, women, and children arriving for a civil wedding in the town hall. That procedure had become very familiar to her, living so close by. She had enjoyed many moments over a cool drink or a
crème
, feeling the happiness floating in the air as the wedding parties and their guests celebrated. In the beginning she had been reminded of her own small wedding and suffered pangs of sadness, but that had passed. Now it made her smile to join the applause with everyone else who happened to be walking around the area when the bride and groom exited the hall.

Some couples would then go around the corner to the cathedral to follow up with a religious ceremony. Kat had noted most did not.

A vintage white Rolls-Royce was parked in front with the traditional large and beautiful floral arrangement attached to the hood. The bride and groom would be driven around town, followed by the guests, horns honking incessantly. She noticed too that guests dressed far more casually, and there was much less attention to extravagance. On Saturdays in particular, the bells of the Hôtel de Ville and the cathedral rang their joyful songs as one wedding after another moved through the process.

Directly in front of her was a small parking lot for motorcycles, a popular and sensible means of transportation on the narrow twisting roadways all along the coast and in these cramped villages. Katherine watched as an immaculately polished vintage Ducati pulled into a spot. The driver—
looking very seductive in those leather chaps
, she thought—removed his helmet.

Philippe grinned and beckoned her to come.

Greeting him with a look of astonishment, he spoke before she could ask. “Yes, we are going for a ride on this, my other bike! If you don’t object.”

Katherine was speechless for a moment and simply shook her head.

He handed her a helmet.

“In all the time you have been here, you haven’t been up in the hills yet. I want to take you there—that is, if you want to go.”

“Let’s do it,” Katherine said, not even trying to conceal her excitement. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle!”

He explained there were communication headsets built into the helmets so they could talk to each other in normal voices. No shouting necessary. They talked for a few minutes about safety—how to hold on, how to respond to his movements on corners, how to trust him.

“Put your arms around my rib cage and grab onto your wrist. If you feel comfortable, lean against my back and I will lean slightly into you. It makes us more aerodynamic. Be sure to hold even more tightly when we accelerate from a stop. But if you are uncomfortable with that, I can put on a bar for you to hold.”

Assuring him she felt perfectly comfortable holding on to him, she climbed on behind him. A sudden surge of pleasure rose from the pit of her stomach as she slipped her arms around him.

Where did that come from?

Reminding herself he was ten years her junior, she tried to focus on not falling off, but his closeness kept intruding on her thoughts. Her face was so close to his neck she couldn’t help but breathe in his clean smell, a smell that made the backs of her knees tingle. He smelled strong, safe, sexy—as if he had just stepped out of a shower.

His dark hair curled out under the back of his helmet, mesmerizing her.

Watch the scenery . . .

Leaving town was a slow process with many stops and starts, but within fifteen minutes they were out in the countryside and climbing.

The switchbacks were exciting and terrifying and Katherine felt all her senses firing. Looking down, the views became increasingly stunning, and she drew a sharp breath as images of perched villages presented themselves, dotting the hills.

As they rode, Philippe spoke to her about their surroundings. Not in the voice of a tour guide, as had Nick, but in a thoughtful and philosophical way, mentioning the artists and writers who had fallen in love with the places they were passing. He had stories of the lives they lived there and the legacies they left.

She could feel his passion for the land.

Pointing to one of the first spectacular hilltop villages, he said, “Saint-Paul de Vence is very special. I don’t want to stop there today, as it will be full of tourists, but I will bring you back if you like. La Colombe d’Or is now a fancy inn and restaurant, but it was once a hangout before and after World War II for Picasso and other broke young artists, who paid their bills to the owner with paintings and sketches and original written work. Imagine! He eventually owned one of the most comprehensive art collections in the world, and of course, inevitably, celebrities took over. Now a reservation in the summer is essential.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” Katherine said, trying not to acknowledge the carnal thoughts she was having as she listened to his sensuous voice with her arms wrapped around his taut body and the power of the motorcycle vibrating between her legs.

They continued to climb and settled into an exciting rhythm on the switchbacks, with little traffic interrupting the flow of the ride. As much as she loved to ride her bike, she had to admit this was an altogether pleasing alternative. She had always thought motorcycles such loud, intrusive annoyances, but now she could feel how the rider becomes one with the machine in a powerful, thrilling ride. The noise fades into the whole sensation.

Slowing down as they rode into a typical scenic square shaded by plane trees, Philippe suggested they stop for a stretch and a cold beer.

“This is Tourrettes-sur-Loup, famous for growing violets for the perfume makers in Grasse for hundreds of years,” he said. “The ice cream maker in the village serves violet ice cream, if you want to try it.”

They decided to have a cone and save the beer for later.

Strolling the village, they savored the mellow coolness of the pale-mauve ice cream. Katherine was again taken by the ancient stone houses and the contrast of the restoration of one next to another that was crumbling in disrepair. Both displayed their own unique beauty. And then, of course, there were the doors.

“I love, love, love it,” she repeated as she kept working her camera shutter. “It’s such a buzz knowing that these same dwellings have been inhabited for hundreds of years. I’m absolutely fascinated by it, as you know from Provence—the history, the atmosphere . . .”

A half hour later they were back on the road and climbing again.

Philippe told her to look up, way up, where she could see a medieval village clinging to the top of the highest peak.

His words brought alive a love story between a noble who once lived in the castle that hung off the cliff and the daughter of a shepherd who tended his flock in the fields below. Fable or fact, no one really knew any longer, but it was a passionate tale that brought the countryside to life as the hills flashed by.

“I am constantly astonished at how these perched villages were ever built on such remote rocky crags,” Katherine gasped.

When they stopped in Gourdon, their beer was refreshing, with the late afternoon still hot without the cooling breeze from the ride. They were seated in a quaint square, surrounded by fairy tale–type architecture and a panorama that stretched down across the hills to the coast. It was easy to pick out the iconic Baie des Anges Marina. The multitiered design of the massive condo development gave the appearance of an ocean liner. That controversial landmark signaled Nice to the east, Antibes to the west. The Mediterranean glistened beyond.

Katherine felt on top of the world.

She had endless questions about the communities in the area, and Philippe explained how recent development was creating great change but the history of towns such as Gourdon would always remain alive. The government was putting in strict controls to ensure such treasured heritage was not lost.

Watching his face, Katherine allowed herself to appreciate what she had noticed about him at their first meeting at Joy’s family lunch. His deep-set, intense dark eyes flashed with emotion as he spoke. Damp curls fell across his strong, high forehead, released as they were now from the restrictive helmet. The strong profile of his nose caused her to fleetingly fantasize of Roman ancestry, and when she got to his lips she gave herself a shake and attempted to focus back on the conversation.

Back on the road, the talk became more personal. Their physical closeness combined with the inability to have eye contact somehow offered the right combination for disclosure.

Katherine spoke about the feelings of independence her trips to France had given her.

She confided how the breakup of her marriage had caused her to worry about being alone and how she had come to realize she had been alone in her marriage.

“My two weeks in Sainte-Mathilde were the best thing that could have happened to me. I had never done anything like that on my own—never done anything alone, really! This may sound strange, but the more time I spent on my own there, the more alive I felt.”

Katherine could feel Philippe’s response as he put a hand on her clasped fingers across his chest.

“I had a bit of a relapse just before I came to Antibes. I almost canceled.”

“I’m glad you did not,” he said softly. She tightened her grasp ever so slightly.

“So am I.”

Philippe spoke again about the overwhelming grief he had battled for several years after the death of his wife. “Had it not been for Adorée, I don’t know how I would have survived. Grief is so raw, so consuming and painful. It turns light into dark and strangles hope . . .”

Katherine gulped back tears at the depth of his sadness. “I’m so sorry.”

“Time has helped me to come to terms with everything. I owed it to both Adorée and Genevi
è
ve to be the best father I could, and that is what I became. The rest of my life really didn’t matter. Gradually my love for my work came to the surface again. So that was good for me when Adorée became older and then went off to school.”

They could feel each other’s pain.

“It’s good to be able to talk to you about it,” he said. “Really, to be honest, I resisted all these years in opening this door to anyone.”

Katherine felt herself lean more deeply against him and sensed the response of his body to hers.

“This is the first time I have taken anyone except Adorée on this bike in six years,” he said softly.

Her eyes filled again as she swallowed hard.

The ride down was even more thrilling. By the time they arrived back in Antibes, Katherine was beaming.
The only negative is that I have to unwrap my arms from his strong body that feels so very, very good.

She shook her head and ran her hands through her hair, trying to eliminate some of what she was certain was unattractive helmet head.

“You look just fine, Katherine. Don’t worry.”

From the first time she met Philippe, the way he said her name sounded special, beautiful even. She had never thought of her name that way before him. In fact, she had preferred being called Kat or Katica.
Katherine
, from Philippe’s lips, sounded quite wonderful to her.

And now this afternoon, bringing them so physically close, creating an intimacy that surprised and excited her. She tried to hide her confusion with enthusiasm.

“I loved this, Philippe. Thank you! The motorcycle ride was truly thrilling and the villages, the views—
magnifiqu
e
!”

“If you have time, we will go to back Saint-Paul another day.”

“Definitely!”

“If you like we can also go to one of the goat farms that supplies my
chèvres
. That ride is different, much farther into the hills, to where it becomes rocky and rugged. A different world again. They serve a hearty lunch with everything from their own farm.”

“I would love that too!”

He laughed, giving her a perplexed look. “Is there anything here you don’t love to do? I’ve met many excitable tourists, but you are a different breed altogether.”

Blushing, Katherine said, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one,” he said with a smile, his eyes holding hers hostage.

She invited him for a light dinner, and he promised to come over after he slipped home to shower and change.

Katherine found herself thinking how she would like it if he showered and changed at her place. Her fantasies were suddenly expanding when it came to her
fromager
.

52

Philippe arrived an hour later with a fresh baguette, a block of delicious-looking
chèvre
sitting in golden olive oil and herbs in a container, and a bottle of Bandol rosé, which he knew was Katherine’s favorite.

“Save the
chèvre
for tomorrow,” he suggested, as he placed a small, wrapped packet on the counter. “I have something else for us tonight.”

Katherine had mixed a salad of arugula and spinach with cherry tomatoes and green onion.

At the market that morning she had purchased plump, local white fish, which she planned to pop on the grill and serve with oil and lemon.

The peach tart at the
boulangerie
had been too tempting to pass up. The menu was complete.

The grill was in the intimate, stone-walled front courtyard. Bright flowers tumbled from the large earthenware pots that she religiously watered. With the massive purple bougainvillea cascading down one wall, Katherine felt it was her secret garden. She set the table with her bright Provençal tablecloth, Biot glasses, and warm light glowed from a Biot glass candleholder, a brilliant shade of blue, as the centerpiece.

“Magnifique,”
Philippe commented, taking in the setting. As he opened the wine, Katherine felt proud of the warmth she was creating in her temporary home.

Philippe lifted his glass of rosé to Katherine’s, looking deeply into her eyes. “Here’s to a beautiful day with a beautiful woman. Thank you for going with me.”

Katherine flushed, feeling a flutter of emotion. “Thank you for asking me. That was such an adventure! There’s still so much for me to see.”

“Less than a month left. What will you do when you go home?” Philippe asked.

“Ohhh, I don’t want to think about leaving.”

“Then don’t.”

Katherine laughed. “Well, I have to face reality. I have a home to take care of and a new job to begin.”

Philippe nodded slowly, saying nothing for a few seconds. Then he asked about her new job.

Katherine described, in greater detail than ever before, the type of work she had been doing and what she would continue to do in her new research position with the hospital.

“Do you enjoy this?”

“I find it interesting and challenging. We are involved in interpreting studies, so there is always something new to consider. I work with nice people who I really didn’t get to know very well until this past year. Funny how we can live within a bit of a bubble sometimes.”

Philippe nodded. “I know that bubble. I stayed in it even when friends wanted to introduce me to women. They were just trying to be kind and thoughtful, but I wasn’t ready. In fact, I thought I would never be ready.”

This time Katherine nodded. She got it.

“
Et bien
, we should be laughing and smiling after our beautiful day. Let’s do that!”

“D’accord,”
Katherine said with a grin.

Philippe offered to do the grill work, which took just a few minutes.

Katherine poured more wine.

“À ta santé,”
Philippe toasted. Katherine smiled and raised her glass, as their eyes met once again.

Philippe continued, “It’s so important to look into the eyes of the person with whom you are toasting; otherwise, the sentiment is lost.”

“That makes so much sense, and yet many people don’t even think about it and just clink glasses. This will be another lesson from France.”

Philippe chuckled, turning back to the grill.

The meal was ready in minutes, but more than an hour later they were still at the table, slowly relishing each taste of the Reblochon Philippe had brought. He entertained her with the story of how the cheese was first invented by farmers in the thirteenth century. They would pay their rent in milk and then secretly milk their cows a second time, keeping the much richer product to make this cheese.

Kat laughed as he explained, a sly look in his eye, “This is what I call a sexy cheese. It creates stirrings of
fromage
passion that are almost inappropriate.”

Here’s another French lesson
, Katherine thought as they lingered over the simple meal.
Eating is such a social experience here, savoring the food as well as the conversation. They seem to know so much more about what they are eating than I have ever imagined. Even food has a colorful history here.

His voice took on a deeper tone of rapture as he described a
tartiflette
famous in the Alps consisting of potatoes, bacon, onion, and cream smothered in melted Reblochon.

“Riding up into the Alps on my Ducati is another experience you should put on your list,” Philippe suggested, his voice filled with a different type of desire.

Their eyes met in a gaze that seemed to surprise them both.

“I . . . I would like that,” Katherine finally sputtered, a bit awkwardly, before she stood and tried to look like she knew what she was doing. Her head was spinning.

“Those little fish were full of flavor, just delicious,” Katherine said as they cleared the table together.

“The trick is in the timing of the grilling, and the oil, always the oil—that’s it.”

“I’ve never eaten as much seafood as I have since I arrived here,” Kat said. “It’s all so good. My education in fish, bread, wine, and of course
les fromages
has been outstanding!”

Philippe laughed. “I hope I haven’t been . . . too
pédant
?”

Katherine reached for her dictionary, never far away. “Aha, pedantic, are you kidding? I never would have guessed in a million years what there was to learn about cheese, and somehow I feel we aren’t finished!”

Looking up at the moon from where they sat in the courtyard, Katherine suggested they go up to the terrace for dessert.

Standing at the railing, Katherine described her fondness for
Le Grand Nomade
.

“He looks so magical, especially bathed in moonlight, standing sentinel over the harbor.”

“It was a source of controversy at first,” Philippe said. “But then everyone seemed to fall in love with it.”

“I have heard the story behind it. Quite delightful,” Kat replied.

His voice softened. “And the artist, Jaume Plensa’s philosophy?”

“No, not that.”

Philippe continued, his voice becoming quietly intimate. “I read an interview with him that touched me deeply. The feeling he expresses through this work is that letters are like bricks. They help us to construct our thoughts. He described his belief that our skin is permanently and invisibly tattooed with the text of our life experiences, and then someone comes along—a friend, a lover—who is able to decipher these tattoos.”

Biting her lip, Kat looked out over the calm sea. “The text of this year of my life would call for quite the tattoo.”

Philippe gazed at her, his eyes soft. A nuance of a smile hovered at their corners. His arms slipped around her and she responded instinctively, sinking into his embrace. She knew she had missed that, and suddenly she was feeling vulnerable.

After leaving lingering kisses on each of her cheeks, Philippe pulled his head back, keeping his arms around her. Once their eyes met, Katherine was unable to look away.

He kissed her lips gently. Feeling a long-forgotten quickening deep inside her, Katherine lost herself in the moment.

They remained embracing, as if each was wondering what would come next.

Gently pulling away, Katherine moved clumsily and began to clear the dishes.

Consumed by the wave of emotion, she felt almost in a trance.

I’ve felt this before, and it was never with James . . . Villefranche . . . Marc-André . . . a desire I’ve not known since, until now . . .

Philippe gathered the wineglasses. As he handed them to Katherine, he held her gaze with a warmth and intensity she allowed to wash through her before he spoke again. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s walk down to the beach.”

Katherine felt the pulse in her neck beating madly as they walked out the door.

Is his heart pounding like mine?

The old town had a slower feel to it these evenings as the crowds of August had gradually filtered away. The warm evening air was less humid now, inviting lingering strolls.

Stopping to listen, faint singing and music could be heard.

“I’ll bet that’s the tavern in Safranier! Do you want to pass by?”

There always seemed to be a festival of some sort in this special community just a few twists and turns through the maze of streets from the market. Traditions and ancient customs were celebrated with gusto.

Stopping by the tavern terrace that bordered the flower-lined square, they were engulfed by the high-spirited atmosphere. Singers and dancers were performing in colorful folk costumes while children of all ages ran around or bounced on knees.

Philippe was hailed by friends to join the table. The conversation and ambiance were pure good fun. People sang along with the entertainers, who laughed and encouraged their participation.

Katherine felt Philippe’s eyes on her through much of this time, and after a glass of wine and a polite time visiting, they said goodnight to the rowdy group and carried on to the beach.

When she stumbled slightly on a crumbling curb, Philippe caught Katherine by the hand. Their eyes met briefly when neither let go, continuing to walk hand in hand until they reached a secluded bench by the sea.

As the tranquil moonlit waves gently lapped at the shore, Katherine spoke of the thrill she felt having the opportunity to live right on the sea. “The smells, the sounds, the movement of the sky and water . . . I look out and can’t help thinking of the history that has crossed these waters . . . the ancient Greeks, the Romans, the Moors. I see billowing sails, tall masts, the wooden ships transporting their goods, warships coming to resupply, Napoleon’s armies. Somehow my fantasies stop short of thinking about more modern times and the bad history.”

“You see all that in among the luxury yachts?” Philippe teased. “You’re a romantic, Katherine,
une vraie femme romantique
. This sea can be cruel and dangerous at times, especially to our fishermen. People who make their living from her do not necessarily share such romantic notions. Violent storms appear out of nowhere and rage for days.”

Katherine nodded.

“I’m going to miss the Med.”

Still holding her hand, Philippe continued, “And I’m going to miss you. You have helped open my soul again in so many ways, to see a side to life I had stopped appreciating.”

Katherine bowed her head, feeling much the same without voicing it, and then turned slowly to look at him.

Philippe’s voice had stilled. His eyes studied hers in a way she could not remember experiencing. The feeling was strangely powerful and extraordinary.

It seemed there was no thought, but rather simple reflex, that brought
their lips together for a very long time, tender and loving. A kiss that touched
Katherine so deeply that she could barely keep from bursting into tears.

They pulled back briefly, eyes meeting as their arms slipped around each other into a gently passionate embrace, their lips saying everything once more.

“Katherine, sweet, sweet Katherine,” whispered Philippe, brushing his cheek in her hair. “What are we doing? Where are we going with this?”

“I haven’t allowed myself to think about it. I never thought you saw me this way,” she answered softly.

They held each other in that embrace for several minutes.

“I have only a little over three weeks left,” Katherine murmured, pulling her protective forces around her ever so slightly. “We don’t know what this is and don’t really have the time to find out.”

She was hearing Molly’s comments about flings echoing in her head and wondered if this was the one she was meant to have.

What if I’m wrong, and this is nothing more? Perhaps the interlude with Nick was just a warm-up. I mean, what do I know about all this?

Arms around each other, they walked back to her place, each knowing precisely how they wanted this night to continue, each unsure of where it would go from there.

Philippe opened the door for her. They stepped inside and were immediately caught up in slow, deep kisses full of erotic desire. Their lips and bodies moved together in a sensuous dance, responding naturally to each other.

Finally they leaned against the wall in an embrace that conveyed all the emotion they were feeling.

“I’m going home,” he whispered in her ear, his voice deep and low.

“Go home,” she whispered back, unconvincingly.

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to either, but I don’t want our beautiful friendship to change. I’m afraid.”

She felt him nod his head.

They parted slightly, their eyes locked. Seeing the same depth of feeling, the same desire, the same connection.

Nick might have been the warm-up, but this doesn’t feel like just a fling.

Pulling her close, he kissed her forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner then at Nounou, right?”

Katherine sighed, feeling confused but sensing they were doing the right thing. Her body was screaming otherwise.

“Yes, I’ll pick up my cousins at the airport tomorrow morning. They are just flying from Vienna, so no jet lag to deal with! I’m looking forward to dinner.”

They laughed awkwardly, knowing what they really wanted at this moment, and with a determined nod, he turned and left.

Katherine remained leaning against the wall of the narrow entranceway. Her entire body throbbed with desire. She could not recall feeling anything so intensely—not even in Villefranche.

This is so completely different from what I felt with Nick. When Nick got started with me, I wanted what he would do to me. This time I want what Philippe and I will do to each other.

Feeling happiness and surprise mixed with confusion and apprehension, she climbed up the stairs, stripping her clothes along the way.

Stepping into the shower, she closed her eyes and felt Philippe’s soft, strong lips on hers. The water matched his tender touch, making her entire body feel alive and sensuous. She arched her back and felt something of the pleasure she now suspected they had the power to give to each other.