Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy) Read Free

to be sensual; in fact my mouth went dry just from the way he was looking at me.
    In an attempt to regain my composure, I lowered my glass and asked what I hoped were intelligent questions about the winemaking process. His passion radiated from his being: he gestured wildly with his arms, his words rapid fire. I could hardly keep up, yet I hung on his every word. It wasn’t only his accent, he could explain rocket science and it would sound sexy as sin. 
    I learned that Alain owned a chateau in Bordeaux that had been in his family for generations. Their vineyard regularly won international awards and his wines were well known around the world.
    “Winemaking clearly is in your blood.” I smiled.
    He nodded, deliberately changing the subject and asking about my travels.
    “I couldn’t believe my luck when I landed this position. I’m actually getting paid to do what I love. And I get to see Europe too, all at the company’s expense.” I laughed, wanting to pinch myself at my good fortune.
    Alain reached for my hand and gently pressed my fingers to his lips. “So beautiful and so smart. That’s an unusual combination,” he said, with a glint in his eyes and a cheeky grin. Warmth flared from my chest over my cheeks. Was he teasing me?
    “You’re so damn adorable,” he said. “French women don’t blush often.” I giggled with obvious delight, acting like a tipsy teenager. The combination of wine, altitude, and a hot Frenchie had my head spinning.
    This wasn’t how I usually operated. I always acted cool and collected. In control. With a fiery temperament like mine, going off the rail was career limiting. I’d gotten so good at hiding my fire that in the corporate world I had been dubbed ‘The Ice Queen.’ And, that was exactly the way I’d liked it.
    It had taken a long time to build these solid walls around my heart and I guarded them fiercely. There wasn’t much that made me blush—I was a woman of the world—as I’d seen and heard most things.
    Our conversation was interrupted by the same sarcastic air hostess that had been frustrated with me at the boarding gate. She offered to assist us to get ready for sleep. Her sarcasm had made way for syrupy sweetness. She fluttered her lashes at Alain, smiling broadly, brushing her hand against his when she served him a drink or removed his tray. Could she be any more obvious? I’d heard about the Mile High Club. She was available. I wonder if he will be as equally accommodating.
    I chuckled quietly to myself. I couldn’t blame her. Alain was beautiful. Every inch of him—that I could see anyway—looked chiseled, as if lovingly created by a famous sculptor like Michelangelo, paying exquisite attention to every detail of the male form.
    His pale arctic-blue eyes popped against his dark olive skin. His sensuous lips curved generously into a breathtaking smile, and the five o’clock shadow he was wearing, was extremely sexy. I’d had a hard time containing myself to not reach over and stroke his cheek to feel it bristle against my skin.
    Stretching out, I yawned. It was time to get some shuteye. I may even be able to fall asleep for once, thanks to the good wine and spacious bed.
    Excusing myself, I pushed to my feet, leaving Alain with Ms. Desperate. I sensed her relief at the opportunity to be alone with him. Alain rolled his eyes at me behind her back, as if begging me to hurry back. I laughed out loud as I disappeared into the loo.
    S erves him right for being so damn hot.
    Surprised that the toilet was considerably larger than the ones back in economy class, where I had to crouch like a tortoise to fit into the small space, I quickly freshened up.
    Since I’d left the office without changing, it was time to get comfortable. Undoing my hair, I let it fall loosely around my shoulders and down my back. For the sake of comfort, I ditched my bra and slipped into the stretchy maxi skirt and silky camisole top Chloe had packed into my hand luggage. 
    An