Champagne with a Celebrity. Kate Hardy
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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.
‘Two weddings. That’s just greedy,’ Amber said, laughing. She stood back to look at her handiwork. ‘Oh, Allie—Xav’s going to take one look at you and then be desperate to carry you off to his lair.’
‘You look stunning,’ Gina agreed. ‘Radiant.’
Allie flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Ah, that’s what you’re supposed to say to all brides.’
‘But it’s still true,’ Amber said. She pushed back the tiny bit of wistfulness: ridiculous. Right at the moment, she didn’t even want to date anyone, let alone get married and settle down.
When Amélie, the flower-girl, arrived, Amber sat on the floor with her and taught her a counting song to make her feel less shy and more at ease, then did her hair, too.
‘I look like a princess!’ the little girl exclaimed in French when Amber showed her in the mirror.
‘You certainly do,’ Amber said, giving her a hug. ‘Absolutely beautiful. And now I’d better get ready myself. See you all in a bit!’
Guy stared as Amber walked out of the château. Yesterday, in jeans and a T-shirt, she’d been stunning enough. But, dressed up, she was unbelievably gorgeous. As elegant as Audrey Hepburn, in a gold silk dress with spaghetti straps and matching strappy sandals; and her hair was piled on top of her head, secured with pearl-headed pins.
He was glad that he’d offered to drive some of the wedding party to the Mairie. At least concentrating on the road would keep his thoughts off Amber. Her smile, warm and bright and yet with a hint of unexpected shyness, made heat coil low in his belly and desire creep all the way up his spine. Worse still, his fingers itched to take the pins out of her hair and tumble her curls over her shoulders. And then he had a thought that really stopped him in his tracks: the idea of her hair tumbled across his pillow.
Oh, hell—he really had to get a grip.
‘Bonjour, Guy.’ Her voice was soft, low-pitched, a little bit on the posh side. Sexy as hell. ‘Allie says you’re driving us. Thank you.’
‘Pleasure,’ he responded automatically. ‘Grab a seat.’
When she climbed into the front seat next to him, he really wished he’d been more specific and told her to sit in the back. It took all his concentration to drive to the village, knowing that every time he changed gear his hand was only a few centimetres away from her thigh. Especially as the hemline of her dress had already ridden up above her knee to reveal smooth, touchable skin—and she didn’t seem in the slightest bit aware of it! She was chatting happily about how this was the first time she’d ever been to a French wedding and she was dying to see the croquembouche, the wedding cake made from choux buns held together in a pyramid with caramel.
This woman had the power to drive him crazy. Which made her very, very dangerous.
The wedding service at the Mairie was short and sweet; while Allie and Xav changed, the rest of the wedding party had a glass of wine in the café in the square, a couple of doors down, while they waited. Amber opted for a coffee rather than wine, wanting to pace herself; although she was chatting with some of the other guests, something made her break off mid-conversation and turn round.
And then she realised why.
Guy had walked into the café, looking stunning in a tailcoat, sky-blue waistcoat and matching cravat. Formal dress really suited him, and Amber wasn’t surprised that all the other women in the coffee shop were staring at him, too. Guy Lefèvre was the kind of man who attracted attention, even though he didn’t seem to be aware of it. There was just something about him and, when his gaze meshed with hers for a moment, her heart gave an odd little flip.
Oh, this was bad. Even if she wasn’t officially being celibate, she couldn’t possibly fall for Guy Lefèvre. He might not be one of the rats she usually dated, but she knew it would never work between them; they were from completely different worlds.
Then Allegra and Xavier appeared at the door. Allegra’s wedding dress was simple and elegant, in pure white; she wore a simple tiara in her hair, and carried an exquisite bouquet of white roses. Gina, as chief bridesmaid, was holding Amélie the flower-girl’s hand; both wore similar dresses to Allegra’s, but in the same sky-blue as Xavier and Guy’s waistcoats, and the little girl’s dress had a deep blue velvet sash round it.
The whole wedding party walked to the tiny church on the edge of the village, led by the bride and groom; white ribbons were strewn between the hedgerows, blocking their path, until Allegra and Xavier cut them. Clearly this was some kind of French tradition; Amber made a mental note to ask Allie about it later. The church was ancient and pretty, built in pale stone; inside, it was full of light. At the altar there were two red velvet chairs placed beneath a silk canopy—clearly waiting for the bride and groom—and as they walked in Allegra’s mother played the violin, a sweet and haunting piece of Bach.
Although the service was conducted entirely in French, Amber could just about follow what was going on. As Allegra and Xavier exchanged rings Amber thought wistfully how lucky Allegra was to have found her one true love. She didn’t think she’d ever find one herself.
And then she was cross with herself