She snorted and said. "I wish I had." But he could tell her heart wasn't in it. She seemed distracted, he thought, as if her mind was on something else entirely. "No, I told you-I just have a knack for finding people."

"Huh. A 'knack,' you say. So…you just knew where I'd be? So you are psychic."

She shifted her shoulders in an impatient way-again, as though the discussion was interrupting something far more important. "No, I…you'd mentioned your friend, the one whose apartment you were staying in in Paris. You said he had family in Provence. A winery. It seemed like a good bet." She put on her sunglasses, then lifted one shoulder in a dismissive way. "It was where I'd go."

"Ah." said Nikolas. "Empathy."

She'd bent over to pick up the oblong case at her feet. Her shielded eyes came back to him as she straightened. "Empathy?"

"Your 'knack'-that's what it is, you know. Empathy. The ability to put yourself in another person's shoes. To think like he does. Feel what he feels. I can see where that would come in handy in your line of work. Here-let me take that for you."

He reached for the case and she surrendered it to him without an argument, which he thought was a pretty good clue that it wasn't, as Phillipe had suggested, a weapon. He hefted the case. "What's in here? And by the way, whatever possessed you to have the cabby drop you at the bottom of the hill when you had all this to carry? You could have had him take you straight up to the house, you know."

She cut her eyes at him, and her smile was wry. "I thought I'd sneak up on you-in case you took a notion to run again. But I have to tell you. I never expected you'd be out in the vineyards picking grapes." Above the dark lenses of her glasses her forehead crinkled in a frown.

And I sure didn't expect my heart to go nuts at the sight of you, damn you.

Rhia studied her assignment moodily from the shelter of her sunglasses. Today he was wearing a pair of blue dungarees and a white shirt made of some kind of loosely woven material, with long sleeves rolled to the elbows. No collar. His neck was deeply tanned and gleaming with sweat, and looked sleek and powerful as that of some dominant male animal- a stag, perhaps, or a stallion. Or a king?

Why did you have to be so damned attractive? Why didn't I stick to finding lost children? They weren t nearly so complicated.

His lips took on a sardonic tilt. "Not quite the occupation one expects of a prince? No-I suppose not. Though I've picked many a grape in my life-make of that what you will. Come." He took her elbow, and Rhia felt a small electric shock where his fingers touched her bare skin. The dryness of the air. she told herself. Static electricity. And somehow she found herself walking beside him up the dusty road, and they were walking together in casual intimacy, like lovers out for a stroll.

"Let me introduce you to Phillipe. This is his vineyard- or his family's, as I'm sure you already know. Phillipe-come and meet the woman who has promised me the punishments of a hundred hells. Rhia, this is Phillipe, one of my oldest and most tolerant friends. Phillipe-say hello to Rhia de Hayes, bounty hunter."

Nikolas's companion, who'd been waiting for them at a discreet distance, flicked away the cigarette he'd been smoking, removed his hat with a sweeping gesture and placed it over his heart. His hair was a mass of sweat-damp curls, lighter than Nik's, a rich warm brown that matched his eyes. He had extraordinarily nice eyes. He was. in fact, every bit as attractive as Nikolas Donovan, and his smile was just as charming.

Then why was it. she wondered, that when he murmured. "Enchante, ma belle," and lifted her hand to his lips, she felt no little shock of awareness, no tingling warmth where his lips touched, no hollow flip-flopping sensation in her stomach, no humming sensation in her chest?

"I am in complete sympathy with you, mademoiselle-it is high time someone gave this man the treatment he deserves." Phillipe said solemnly, still holding her hand. "I can only hope I may be allowed to watch."

Rhia burst out laughing-he was so outrageous she couldn't help it. Phillipe grinned irrepressibly and kissed her hand once more before releasing it.

"Nik, my friend. Take this lovely lady up to the house and make her welcome. We'll be stopping for lunch soon-we're about finished for the day anyway. Tell Elana to make up Maman's room for our guest-she won't be back from Monte Carlo until the vendange is finished, I'm sure. That is-unless you would like her to sleep in your room, Nik?"

Rhia didn't have to look at him to know Nikolas was grinning. "Please don't bother." she said smoothly. "I won't be staying long. As it happens, Nikolas and I have an important engagement in Silvershire." She turned her head, then, and gave him a long, deliberate stare. He gazed back at her with cool gray eyes, arms casually crossed on his chest.

Phillipe made a gesture that was extravagantly-almost comically-French. "Oh, but you must stay! At least until the vendange is finished. I cannot possibly spare this man at the moment. And for you, mademoiselle, it will be an enjoyment. Vendange in Provence is like one big party-like your Mardi Gras. A moveable feast. A few more days, eh? What can it matter?"

She shot Nikolas a dark look. He held out his hands in one of those half-French, half-British gestures of his. "I swear, I did not put him up to it."

She gave in with a put-upon sigh, and didn't tell him she'd planned to give him several days, anyway. A few more days of freedom…

"Don't think you've won this battle," she said as she and Nikolas resumed their leisurely stroll up the gravelly dirt road toward the oasis of dark green trees that shaded the stone-and-stucco house-not touching, now, and she refused to admit to herself she was sorry. "I just don't want to leave your friend short-handed for his damned vendange-what is that, by the way?"

"Vendange? That's the grape harvest. Happens every year around this time."

Other than shooting him a quelling glance, she ignored the facetious remark. "I can't believe the vineyard owner is out here picking grapes like a field hand. Is that part of the tradition?"

"It is, actually. Among the small growers, anyway. Most of the pickers you see here are neighbors and other small farm owners from around the area. They all come together to help each other with the harvest, moving from farm to farm, vineyard to vineyard until the job's done."

"A 'moveable feast'?"

Nik smiled. "Partly. You'll see soon enough. You heard him say they'll be breaking for 'lunch' soon? I'm afraid the word lunch doesn't come close to describing it. All the farmers sort of compete with each other to see who can put on the biggest and best noonday spread. The wine and local hooch- which is called marc, by the way. and unless you've a cast-iron stomach. I don't recommend you try it-will be flowing freely as well."

"In the middle of the day? How does anyone work afterward?"

"They don't. You heard him say they were about done for the day. He meant that."

"Nice short workday." Rhia remarked.

"Like hell it is. When it's hot like this we start at three in the morning."

She threw him a look of horror. "Why?"

"Because the grapes don't like it when you take them out of the nice warm sunshine and toss them into a cooler. It sends them into shock, or some such thing." His easy smile made something inside her chest wallow. As if her heart really had turned over.

Because the implications of that didn't bear thinking about, she said crossly. "You talk about grapes as if they're…I don't know-alive."

His eyebrow went up. and she repressed a shudder. "Really? I suppose I do. You hang around vintners very long and it rubs off on you."

"You spend a lot of time here, then?"

His smile went crooked. "Spent, not spend. When I was at university, mostly. Spent most of my holidays here, when my…when Silas was off somewhere."

"Doing…?"

"Whatever it is he does, I suppose. Fomenting rebellion, rousing the rabble." He shrugged and looked off across the vineyards for a moment. "I didn't mind, actually. Phillipe and his family were…like family. His maman was pretty much the only mum I ever had." He threw her his lopsided smile, and she felt the most astonishing sensation-an aching pressure at the base of her throat. "I probably have her to thank for civilizing me, at any rate."

Rhia cleared gravel from her throat. "You were happy here."

"I was, yes. At one time I actually considered making a career of it-grape-growing…wine-making. There's a region in my country I've always thought- Have you been to Silvershire?"

"Only to the capital-Silverton."

"Ah-yes, well it's southwest of there. Carrington's ancestral lands. The climate is quite similar to this-perfect for growing wine grapes."

"Why didn't you? Make a career of it?"

The crooked smile flickered again. "It wasn't quite what Silas had in mind for me. Or fate either, as it turns out."

Nik's stomach went hollow suddenly. Hefting the case he was carrying, he said. "What the devil's in this, by the way? Not, as Phil suggested, some sort of weapon, I hope?"

Her lips didn't smile, and he wondered what her eyes would tell him if it weren't for the damned sunglasses. "Nope," she said, "just a saxophone."

He gave a bark of surprised laughter. "A…what?"

"You know…jazz, the blues…it's a horn…you blow it."

He hadn't thought anything she could do would surprise him. but obviously he'd underestimated her. Again. Serendipity… A strange little shiver ran down his spine. How could she have known he'd always had a particular fondness for American jazz? "Don't tell me you know how to play it."