“Wow, what an aerie,” I gasped.

The view over the city lights twinkling out to the pink and orange tones disappearing into the water behind the bridge distracted me from the exquisite decor of the large room we were standing in. A butler appeared and I took the offered glass of champagne with a slack mouth.

“Don't look so worried Andie. That's just my Major-domo, Antione.”

“Good evening Antione,” I whispered.

“Good evening, Miss,” the butler replied with perfect discreet charm.

What was I doing here?

Without much consideration, I'd assumed we were going to a business meeting in an office or hotel, maybe a dinner. But here I was standing in Valentine's personal penthouse in the clouds. I'd never thought I would ever get to observe him outside the stately role he played at the chateau, in his real home. Valentine kicked off his highly polished shoes and padded across the expanse of steel gray plush carpet in his socks, up three gray marble steps into a high tech chef's kitchen of stainless steel and black granite island top.

Antione retrieved the upturned shoes and bore them lovingly from the space. Meanwhile I had to lift my mouth up from where it had dropped to my knees, before following Valentine into the kitchen where he was already at work at the massive Viking stove.

“I love cooking for relaxation at the end of the week,” he said. “Not that there is ever an end to it really.”

He pulled open a stainless steel drawer, revealing a layout of tools like a surgeon's rack. I laughed raucously, making him look up at me sharply, his face almost childlike. Who was this new man? I’d never met him before now.

“Your collection of every weird kitchen gadget ever invented looks like a modern day torturer's chamber.” I giggled, imagining the filthy practices Valentine could invent with some of the implements.

“I've had occasion to use every one,” he said.

“All the drawers in my kitchen are rammed with a junk pile of plastic,” I admitted. “I can hardly jiggle them open.”

Every one of Jay's utensils was nestled in its own custom space, meticulously carved, hewn out of the wooden block insert. They were lined up like soldiers ready for active duty. He retrieved a Waiter's Friend corkscrew with one finger and shoved at the drawer front. It glided smoothly shut despite his irritation then pulling itself in with a gentle tug.

“Choose whatever you want and open it,” he ordered, but softly now, indicating the built in wine cave.

Full height, double glass doors, it held racks of bottles cradled on their sides in straight rows at constant perfect temperature. Interior lighting came on automatically when I opened one of the doors, illuminating the labels for their close-up.

“Excellent choice,” he said, his smile and glistening eyes indicating I'd chosen well with the Cote de Nuits.

I hadn't known which to select as my wine training hadn't extended to deciphering cryptic labels. If there had been a test I'd have failed, but the label that caught my eye said 'Domaine du Comte' and sounded so much more erotic than 'Screaming Eagle'.

“Do you prefer the elusive variations of the burgundy region?”

“I don't know very much about Burgundy,” I replied truthfully.

And I seem to prefer elusive in men not wine.

“But I do have a penchant for the unknown,” I added.

Valentine looked up with a knowing grin. This was a side of him I'd never seen- relaxed, smiling with genuine amusement rather than the ironic, almost mistrustful, half smile he wore at the Chateau.

“The Burgundy changes from year to year with a slight change of the weather. One side of the hill can evolve a completely different vintage from the other.”

“Like siblings in the same family,” I said.

He looked up at me sharply.

“I thought you said you were an only child,” he gritted.

“I am and that makes me kind of fascinated with the relationship between brothers and sisters. And how one child can turn out completely different from the other under the same circumstances.”

“Fascinating indeed. You feel the absence of siblings then?”

Did he really want to know me like this? Without needing to maintain control? Just as though we were sharing ourselves on any normal date.

“I'm not sure, seeing as I don't have anything to compare it to,” I said, thinking about it to give him my truthful status. “It would be nice to have someone to turn to sometimes.”

“There are better choices than family for that,” he burred as he chopped through vegetables with a scimitar-sharp knife. “People who won’t betray you.”

He turned to the gigantic stainless Sub-Zero refrigerator, with his back to me behind the huge door I lost the information I was able to glean from his facial expression. But I was sure, in that moment of turning, it had been pained. When he swung the door shut with his foot and turned with a bowl of massive shrimp in his hand, his face was recomposed. I felt I'd lost him again.

“Uncork and give that nectar of the gods some O2,” he said with a smile that made my heart tingle and soften.

I pulled myself up onto a leather stool at the ten foot island and watched him toss brightly colored fresh veggies, now perfectly sliced, onto the steel circle hotplate cut right into the granite. His powerful fingers added dashes of sauce and pinches of powder from the huge selection of spices laid out on the counter. He clearly enjoyed tinkering with the elements to create an artful dish. Only Valentine could make cooking look so sensual.

“You'll find a decanter behind the bar,” he said, when I tugged the cork and it slipped out with a sigh.

I wandered across the serene space, room would barely describe the huge open area in lush tones of stone, made infinite by the floor to ceiling glass wall. On the way back from the full size bar, I examined Valentine's artworks for insights into his personality. Every one of the pieces exhibited disparate elements. One depicted Snow White with neutron bombs. It only enhanced my belief that the man now tossing shrimp and flambeing them in dangerously tall flames, held many conflicted desires.

I'd lost myself in the warring cartoon characters, absorbed by the meaning and almost burst from my skin when Valentine pressed his firm chest into my back and reached around to pop a delicious morsel of something between my lips.

“Sea urchins in love,” he murmured into the back of my ear.

The brush of his lips sent shivers all through me. If he thought he was going to squick me out by feeding me sea urchin, he was going to learn that I was adventurous in all my tastes. I wanted it all.

“Is that the name of the painting or the canape?” I said, turning to him and bringing my hand up to cup his neck before I caught myself.

He jerked away from my touch and his retreat was a match to a gas line as I swore over in my head at yet another stupid slip up. I said nothing. I was cool with it- understanding his feelings too. We sat together on the island stools to eat and talked about art, architecture, Tahiti and of course, wine, but Valentine wouldn't let himself go and relax to the point he'd been before I touched him.