Page 21 of The Magic of Provence (A Year in France #3)

Christophe had said it so well, when they’d been talking about her father on the way to the forest, and he’d said that something traumatic could damage your life. That it could steal what makes you the person you want to be.

Good grief… Had that been only this morning?

Surely that wasn’t enough time for it to feel as if she’d taken a huge step forward in her life? Not only that, but to feel as if she might be brave enough to take another step?

That she could actually see the person that had been stolen from herself? The person she desperately wanted to be?

A lover.

A wife.

A mother.

Part of a family that wouldn’t exist without her.

In a home with a kitchen like the one behind her with light glinting from the copper pans and, already, an aroma of hot food that had persuaded Heidi to go back inside.

Fi wasn’t quite ready to follow her. She needed just another moment or two, hidden in the darkness out here in a small garden that was fragrant with delicious herbs.

* * *

What was she doing?

Oddio … was she crying?

She hadn’t seen him come out of the kitchen to tell her that her dinner was ready. The way she was standing so still in the dark, with her head bowed and her hands covering her face, certainly made it look as if she was deeply upset about something.

Christophe didn’t hesitate to go towards her and he wasn’t thinking of anything other than offering comfort when he put his arm around her shoulders.

‘What is it, amore ?’ he asked. ‘What is wrong?’

Her gaze was startled as she looked up. The light from behind him caught her eyes and it reminded him of when he’d seen them lit up by a shaft of sunlight filtered through the shifting mass of leaves above them in the forest. He’d noticed the flecks of gold in her hair then, but he hadn’t registered that they were in the depths of her eyes as well.

They weren’t simply brown, they were an intriguing shade that made him think of burnt caramel.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Fi said. ‘I was smelling the basil. See?’ She opened her hands to show him the sprig of green leaves, crushed a little between her palms. She turned beneath his arm at the same time, which made it an invitation for him to dip his head and inhale the peppery, slightly minty perfume of the herb.

Without thinking, he put his hand beneath hers to bring the leaves closer to his nose. He took a deep breath and, as he lifted his head, he let it out in an appreciative sigh that was almost a hum.

He was also looking straight into Fiona’s eyes.

And she was looking back. And it felt… different.

So different to that first time they’d met and she’d barely been able to let her gaze touch his for the space of time it took a heart to beat once.

He couldn’t sense the fear that he’d been aware of then, either.

There was something else there.

Something utterly compelling.

And, in that moment, Christophe knew he hadn’t been honest with himself.

He was attracted to Fiona Gilchrist and it was an attraction with a power he’d never experienced before.

The only sensation he could compare it to was how he’d felt when he’d been so insanely in love with Marcella – when he’d been a teenage male with raging hormones and no life experience whatsoever.

That wasn’t who he was now. He’d had more experience in the realm of romance and sex than he’d ever expected or, to be honest, had really wanted.

Perhaps he’d been aware of that undercurrent of power when he’d first laid eyes on this woman, and maybe he’d not only sensed the fear in her but had felt an echo of it within himself and had been more than happy to back off.

To keep them both safe…

And that’s exactly he should be doing again, right now, but somehow the message wasn’t getting from his brain to the rest of his body.

Even the tiny muscles around his eyes were refusing to move and this intimate, almost physical, feeling of their gazes touching was getting completely out of control.

A spell was being cast and, for the life of him, Christophe couldn’t summon the desire to break it.

* * *

Kiss me…

It was the only thought in Fi’s head and it felt like every cell in her body was contributing to the force of it.

That she actually wanted this so much took her completely by surprise. She’d never wanted any kind of sexual touch from any man since that night. She had nightmares about it. She’d flinch if someone got too close to her in a shop or brushed past in a crowd.

But this was different.

New.

And, okay, maybe it was simply part of the fantasy she’d allowed herself to drift into the edges of, but…

…but what if that was making the difference?

What if that miracle, of feeling what it might be like to fall in love with someone, had given her the clarity to see the person she wanted to be? That the first step towards believing that it might actually be possible could be finding out whether she could get past that fear of being touched?

Maybe that was why this felt important enough to be feeling as if she might die if Christophe didn’t kiss her?

Because the dream would die?

The path that she’d taken the first huge step on today would vanish from sight and render it impossible to take another step.

He was still holding her gaze and it felt as if he was looking right into her soul. Or hearing her thoughts, anyway, because his gaze finally shifted from her eyes to her lips. And then it lifted again, for just the tiniest fraction of time.

Enough time for Fi’s body to try sending another message.

Yes …

And then, oh… God … it was happening. Fi closed her eyes as she felt Christophe’s lips on hers.

Moving over her lips like the softest imaginable caress. Her lips were moving too. Responding to the infinitely small changes in pressure and direction. Feeling the warmth of his mouth – the taste of him – and it was… it was the most delicious thing she could have ever imagined.

Her mouth was open beneath his. She expected the touch of his tongue. She wanted it.

Until it happened.

Just the tip of his tongue against her lip. Touching the tip of her tongue.

She still wanted it but something in her brain and then her body decided differently and she could feel herself stiffening. Bracing herself.

Freezing.

Noo… Fi didn’t want this to stop but that was happening.

Just as softly as the kiss had started, it was finishing.

Christophe was looking at her again, but if he was disappointed by that kiss she couldn’t see it in his eyes.

He was looking at her like he had by Nonna’s bedside – as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world – and it wasn’t for the benefit of anyone who might be watching them, so what did that mean?

He must have felt the way she’d frozen, but she couldn’t see that in his face either. There was a hint of a smile on the lips she could still feel the imprint of on her own. As if this was no big deal. Because, for him, a kiss probably wasn’t a big deal?

‘Come inside, amore ,’ Christophe said. ‘Dinner’s ready.’

* * *

Much later, Christophe opened the door in the kitchen again and let Heidi out into the garden.

‘Be very quiet,’ he whispered. ‘We don’t want to wake up Fiona.’

He was assuming she was asleep, given that it was 3a.m., but the escape into much-needed rest was so elusive for him that he’d got up to get another glass of wine in the hope that it might work some magic and slow a spiral of thoughts that was so relentless it was making him feel dizzy.

Sick, even.

If he hadn’t been so emotionally exhausted after those hours at the hospital with Nonna yesterday, he would never have been able to step back far enough to pretend that nothing had changed between himself and Fiona with that kiss.

It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but something told him that, if she could see how shocked he was, it would only make it worse. Pushing closer could hurt her.

And hurting her was the very last thing Christophe wanted to do.

Because he now knew, instinctively, that someone else had already done that to her. Someone had hurt her physically. Emotionally. Sexually …

He’d seen the scars that first day they’d met – that hint of darkness in her eyes that told him she knew about fear. And pain. But it was that kiss that had let him feel how big that darkness was. And what it was that she was so afraid of.

He could actually taste it in the moment she froze when his tongue touched hers.

That, as much as the concern he had for Nonna, was what was keeping him awake and making him feel heartsick.

It had been like the flip of a coin with a perfect kiss on one side and a cauchemar on the other. It had, in fact, been a kiss like nothing Christophe had ever experienced before, and perhaps that was partly due to what he hadn’t known.

He’d earned Fiona’s trust – enough for her not to have run from his touch. If only he’d known how huge that had been for her. If he hadn’t let the fire of an unexpectedly powerful desire flicker into that kiss to see if she would like it to go further – as much as he did.

And she had. For just the tiniest fragment of time, as his tongue met hers, he’d sensed a passion that was coiled – as if it had been waiting for a chance to be unleashed.

It had thrown an astonishing amount of spice into the taste of that kiss until it was instantly obliterated by the bitterness of fear.

This was his fault.

It could have been the perfect kiss if only he’d stopped it in time. He’d known he was on the cliff edge of losing all the trust he had earned from this extraordinary woman, and the only way he could think of trying to fix it was to pretend he hadn’t noticed her reaction.

That nothing had changed.

And now he was remembering other moments with her.

Tiny hesitations that, in retrospect, were there because she’d needed courage to choose to be in his company.

Like the shy way she’d greeted him when they were introduced and when he’d asked her to help with the donkeys.

He remembered the first smile she’d given him that had reached all the way to her eyes, and hearing her laugh for the first time.

The way she’d looked at him yesterday, as if she really was as madly in love with him as he wanted his nonna to believe.

He’d felt a depth of emotion like that in the first touch of their lips last night and, if there was any truth in that impression, it would be heartbreaking, because Christophe could never give her that kind of love.

He couldn’t give it to any woman and he would never give them reason to believe that it was possible, so that no one would get hurt.

He wondered now if he’d simply imagined a depth that wasn’t actually there, because Fiona seemed to have been as happy as he was to brush the kiss aside and simply ignore the fact that it had happened.

Trust was very like love, wasn’t it? That was more likely to have been what he’d seen in Fiona’s eyes and felt from her lips.

Like love, if trust was broken badly enough, you could only sweep up the pieces and either try to stick them together again eventually or take the easier option and throw them away and get on with your life.

Christophe had thrown away the pieces of a lifelong love. He had made a considered decision not to keep them or to try to stick them back together, only to have it nearly destroy his life all over again.

But what if Fiona had kept the pieces of her broken trust? It he could help her stick those pieces back together, it could change the rest of her life.

She deserved to believe in trust again. And in love.

To find someone who would love her the way she deserved to be loved.

It was his fault the kiss had been ruined, but perhaps that was actually a good thing. Because now he knew.

He didn’t know whether he was the first man to have earned this level of trust from Fiona.

He did know how fragile it was, however.

It had cracks in it but he also knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that he was going to do his best to make sure he didn’t break it completely.

She could still trust him.