‘She went back to France a few months after he died. She didn’t want to be hounded as a merry widow.’
‘But you stayed?’ All alone in New Zealand, barely old enough to leave school, let alone take on a massive business project?
‘I wanted to finish the chateau.’ He pulled a covered dish from the fridge and put it into the microwave, pressing the electronic controls, still speaking in that carefree way. ‘I wanted to realise my father’s dream. But Mama couldn’t face it. I don’t blame her for that.’
His mother had been that unhappy? And had their relationship been so fragmented she’d chosen to leave her only child behind? It seemed Ruben had some pain in common with Ellie’s. ‘Do you see her much?’ Ellie couldn’t resist asking and her curiosity didn’t seem to bother him given the way he answered so easily.
‘We use Skype and stuff but we’re both busy. She has a small boutique she loves. I’m flat out,’ he answered with that easy-going smile.
Okay, so maybe that relationship wasn’t the greatest. But hadn’t he had a better one with his dad? ‘You must have been close to your father to want to finish his dream for him.’
Ruben’s smile became fixed. ‘He died a while back now.’
Yeah, but some wounds remained, never truly healing. While you got on with it, there was that permanent bruise beneath the skin. And though Ellie hadn’t lost anyone close, she still understood heartbreak—in her case for what could have been, for what she’d missed out on from both parents. ‘You don’t have any other family?’
He shook his head. ‘Nor do I want any.’ He turned and caught her eye. His chocolate gaze held pointed meaning, despite the wicked seductiveness of his smile. ‘I’m not a wedding-ring kind of guy.’
‘Is that you trying to be subtle?’ she asked, flipping to tart. ‘You don’t need to warn me. I’m not coming anywhere near you.’
‘Oh, right.’ He chuckled. ‘My mistake.’
Arrogant sod. Of course, she couldn’t help smiling and she couldn’t help her curiosity. ‘So, why no commitment? What’s your marriage-avoidance excuse? You had a close shave with a stereotypically money-hungry woman or something?’ She rolled her eyes at the cliché. Successful men always seemed to fear some big bad woman was going to come after half their assets in the divorce court or something.
‘No.’ He walked the few paces back to the business end of the kitchen, pulled a salad bowl from the fridge. ‘It’s a matter of priority. Work is my priority and has been for a while. It takes up every minute of every day and that’s not about to change. I travel a lot between venues. I can’t be at someone’s beck and call.’
Beck and call? She frowned. ‘We’re talking marriage, not servitude.’
‘There’s a difference?’ He smiled as if he was joking—kind of. ‘I can’t be anyone’s husband. I can’t be the guy who’s going to be there for all those “important” things. It’s not fair of me to promise that only to let someone down time after time. I don’t want resentment to build and then be hurled against me.’
Was that what had happened? He’d been with someone who’d demanded too much of his time? But wouldn’t a woman know what she was getting into in a relationship with a guy like him? That the career drive was an inseparable part of the man she’d fallen for? Just as a woman who married a military man would know that both she and he would have to sacrifice some things because of his duty? Didn’t those relationships still work—with some work?
Yeah, maybe that was it. Maybe Ruben spent so much energy on his business, he couldn’t be bothered working on sustaining a relationship. And why should he have to when he undoubtedly had billions of women throwing themselves at him?
‘No, that’s still just an excuse,’ she said callously. ‘You don’t want to commit to a woman because you can get what you want from any number. Why would you limit yourself to just one?’
He filled a bowl from the rice cooker on the utility bench, grinning as he did so. And he didn’t deny it. ‘Let’s eat.’ He faced her with that smile. ‘We’ll feel better for it.’
‘A microwave meal,’ she gushed. ‘I’m so excited.’
‘Why don’t you try it before casting judgment?’
Ellie met his challenge with a tilt of her chin and kept her chin high as he relentlessly watched her take first bite of the light curry.
‘Okay, best microwave meal ever,’ she mumbled, even though her mouth was still half full. There was no point trying to lie in the face of that piercing scrutiny.
He laughed softly and started in on it too.
Dinner passed too quickly because it was so damn delicious. She complimented his chef several times over—to his amusement. Conversation remained safe—restaurants in Wellington, cafés on the wine trail. After, she helped him carry the dishes back to the bench, helped him rinse and stack them into the machine. And all that time she refused to let herself think on the fact that the guy was good company.
But he was. Really good company. And he was seducing her.
As that thought finally wriggled its way to the front of her brain she glanced at her watch. ‘What time do we set out tomorrow?’
‘After breakfast, which will be whenever you wake up. There’s no real rush.’
‘Well, I should probably—’
‘Sit down on the sofa and look at the view,’ he interrupted with that wolfish manner. ‘It’s nowhere near bedtime. We need to talk some more.’
‘Don’t you have work to do?’ she asked, desperately aware she needed to get away from him. The longer she was in his presence, the more addled her brain became. It wasn’t right that someone could exude such intoxicating heat. And now, as he walked her to the lounge with the amazing view and the sofas that were made for snuggling on, memories tormented, making her all the more susceptible.
‘I always have work to do,’ he answered carelessly. ‘That’s not the point.’
She took a seat, primly keeping her knees and ankles firmly together, avoiding looking at him. ‘What did you want to talk about?’
‘The movies,’ he answered promptly, flopping onto the sofa opposite. ‘Which of the two is your favourite?’
‘Seriously?’ She glanced at him. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you had much respect for movies. I’m guessing you don’t have much time for them.’
‘Not usually.’ He blithely ignored her dig. ‘But I made a point of watching them the other day and found they weren’t bad. Talk me through the fandom.’
So she did. To her surprise, he really had watched them and remembered lots of detail. And had even enjoyed them. Then it turned out he’d watched a few classic films in his time. And a ton of French ones.
‘Anything with Gérard Depardieu?’ She giggled.
‘Makes for a lot of movies.’ He winked. ‘My mother loves him and Dad used to try and impersonate him—badly.’
So there had been good times with his parents?
‘How come you developed such a passion for the flicks?’ he asked, switching the focus back on her.
‘Oh, I just watched a lot as a kid. Habit.’
‘Your parents liked them?’
No, she hadn’t been curled up on a sofa between her parents watching a film as he probably had. She’d been in her own bedroom with her own telly—to her friends’ envy—and watched them alone. She still had a massive DVD collection. ‘They were just fun.’
A