Never Say No to Love (Sonoma Summers Book 2)

by Jesse Devyn Crowe

  "Are you still in love with your wife?"

  "Oh God, no." Carl barked a laugh. "I haven't lived with or kissed Victoria in years. She lost interest in me after Eloise was born and I guess that's... how it goes sometimes. With women, that is..."

  "Oh?" I said, trying to piece together what he meant.

  "I was determined to stay faithful to my marriage, even though my wife and I weren't sleeping together. After a year of seeing a couples therapist — God knows I tried — I decided to file for separation. It didn't seem like there was anything left in our marriage worth saving, and I did not want us to be so miserable any more. Victoria had changed so much since we got married, and was so unhappy. Honestly, since my marriage fell apart, I haven't met any women who piqued my interest."

  "Do you prefer men?" I asked, my stomach sinking at the thought I'd chosen another attractive man like Jim who wasn't terribly into women. I transferred my gaze out the window, watching the city lights blur past.

  "No, although at times I wished I swung that way. It might have been easier to stay married," Carl sniffed. "Until tonight I thought... well to be honest I tried not to think about it. In our family, marriage means forever — but apparently not for me. My parents were terribly devastated by the news of my separation and worried about my daughters growing up without a father, as if I was abandoning them...." He pointedly cleared his throat. "Well, this is a rather personal topic of conversation for a business meeting."

  Taking a deep breath, he continued, "I started this, I might was well finish it. Jacqueline, I have spent a most wonderful evening with you...."

  Here it comes, I thought, the you're nice, but not my type or you're pretty, but... fill in the blank. Thanks, but no thanks. What was it with my taste in men?

  "A most wonderful evening." Carl repeated, "I enjoyed the meal, the conversation, the marvelous company," he nodded at me, his lips in a smile. "I thought your portfolio was fantastic.... I like you. Very much."

  "But," I said, sighing. I closed my eyes momentarily, dreading the next thing he would say. And yet, there was the business of the kiss that seemed confusing now. I lowered my chin, studying my now empty hands in my lap.

  "Yes. There is a but. Don't look like that, Jacqueline. Not until I get this confession out in the open. God help me." He reached a tentative finger beneath my chin and raised it. "That's better," he smiled. "You are quite lovely, you know."

  "But," I urged, my eyebrows raised, wanting to get it over with.

  "Yes. Well. I feel like a teenager saying this...but I spent much of the evening thinking about you in a romantic sense, rather than a business sense — which is terribly unfair to you. Totally unprofessional. Which led me to kiss you rather unexpectedly. And, frankly, now that I've kissed you once, I am finding it extremely difficult to think of anything else except kissing you again...and, well, more, if you catch my meaning... which is quite distracting because of the long drought in my romantic history, not to mention outrageously presumptuous and not at all appropriate —"

  I placed one forefinger on his lips. "Stop babbling and kiss me again."

  "Are you sure?" Carl whispered. "Because if I kiss you again, Jacqueline, I may never stop...."

  The lips that kissed me the following morning were every bit as insistently gentle as they had been the night before. I allowed myself to sink into the pleasure of what those lips could do, then turned the tables, leaving Carl breathless. "You are like a Goddess," he whispered later as we lay side-by-side,. He traced his fingertips across my naked breasts, down the curve of my waist, and over my hips.

  "You know, the Goddess insists all acts of love and pleasure are her rituals." I kissed his delectable lips as I ran my fingers down his muscled abdomen.

  "Then I am the luckiest man on earth," he smiled, pulling me into his arms.

  Carl Jacobs Martin proved to be every bit the unrelenting persistent booger I'd dubbed him Memorial Day weekend. Baring no expense, he traveled to Northern California from his Los Angeles office most weekends, taking me out to one of Sonoma Valley's fine dining establishments, his mind set on enjoying Saturday evening with me and only me, then spending a delightful night beneath my sheets. That magical Sonoma summer I found myself falling in love with the Carl who hid behind the smooth suave facade he wore to face the world, the agent who cared too much about his flighty clients, the man who supported his aging parents without complaint and his soon-to-be-ex-wife because she was the mother of his children. Not to mention the father devoted to his daughters despite the inherent difficulty the custody suit posed.

  Sundays he visited Hannah and Eloise who lived with their mother in Carl's waterfront Sausalito apartment home. I didn't go with him to see his daughters — he was still embroiled in a contentious legal separation from Victoria — and he wanted not a hint of an excuse to tip the woman sideways and quash the proposed joint custody agreement. Instead, I put my name in the lottery for a spot at the local street markets, and manned my booth when I was lucky enough to be selected.

  As usual, my ex, Jim, and his companion, Timothy, helped me with the heavy work. I'd told them about Carl, and Jim had been pleased to hear I was dating. "You deserve to find someone special, Jacks," he said. "Like I found Timothy."

  At this declaration Timothy grinned and placed his thin hand on Jim's shoulder, a rare public display for the gay couple, despite living in liberal San Francisco. "When I came out at sixteen, my mom, she told me 'Never say no to love'. I say it to Jim last year, and now we are living together. I say it to you now, Jacks: Never say no to love. Don't let it pass you by."

  So I took Jim and Timothy's advice didn't say no when Carl invited me to Los Angeles in September. He and I did, however, have a negotiation on who would pay the airline fare.

  "I insist," Carl said on the phone, his voice adopting that adamant persistence I'd grown to expect.

  "I insist," I countered, not wanting to patently accept him paying for everything. "I can pay my own way."

  "I don't know how you afford your apartment and car payment on your salary, never mind groceries. Darling, I make four times what you do, and I am the one inviting you to accompany me to this boring fund raising gala. I—"

  "Well," I interrupted, "That doesn't mean I can't—"

  "I want you with me, Jacqueline," he interrupted back. "I'm tired of going to these events alone. And I'm tired of everyone I know pushing me toward anyone pretty and single. I want the world to see this beautiful love in my life. I don't care whether Victoria finds out. I won't allow her to run my life anymore."

  "Are you certain?" I asked the question despite the fact I'd never heard Carl so certain.

  "Please bring your gorgeous self to LA. I would be happy to procure your ticket. We can travel back to the Bay Area together Sunday morning. I have a little trip planned for Sunday afternoon, if you're available?"

  Hearing the smile in Carl's voice, I became curious. "A trip? Where?"

  "Just outside the city. A place I think you'll like. A picnic lunch maybe. Sound good?"

  "Sure," I shrugged, thinking no more of it. "Should I bring the amethyst dress, or the black?" I pictured the long black dress with the very low front Carl had admired the last time he was in town.

  "The black would be my choice. That way I can spend the evening imagining how I'll have my way with you in the back of the limousine when I free your lovely breasts from that confining fabric."

  "Stop," I shushed. "Now I'll be thinking about that throughout the entire event."

  "Exactly my plan, Jacqueline."

  The gala was classic Hollywood, all the pretty people dressed to the nines turning out to support the newly-formed California Coast Club, whose mission was to man ocean-side cleanup initiatives, including sea animal protection, trash removal, and coastal trail maintenance. Glittering chandeliers lit polished oak floors, while round tables dressed in linen sparkled with cut crystal glasses and silver cutlery. With his smooth and suave persona firmly in place, Carl Jacobs Martin
introduced me to his business contacts and partners and clients and friends — too many to count — garnering more than a few catty looks from a number of shapely beautiful women.

  The dinner menu was farm-raised salmon covered in fresh pesto, with summer vegetables on a bed of jasmine rice. Wine flowed freely, as did the guest's checks, to help fund the Coast League startup costs. It was a good cause and most wealthy Californians love nothing more than helping protect the natural environment.

  Dressed in a tailored tuxedo with tails, Carl was in his element, one of the most handsome and gregarious men in the room. He swept me out onto the dance floor for a quick waltz as the evening waned, his cheek nuzzled against my temple. "Are you ready to shed that lovely dress yet?" he teased, his warm hands touching the bare skin on my back.

  "Are you ready to coax it off me?" I smiled, eyebrows raised.

  "I don't need to be invited twice." He took me by the hand and propelled me quickly toward the door.

  In the privacy of the limousine, Carl turned his undivided attention to fulfilling his promise. The ride back to his LA condominium went exactly as planned, the dress unceremoniously finding its way onto the floor. Not that some of Carl's clothing wasn't soon cast aside as well, although by the time the driver opened the door to usher us out, we were once again decently clad, if not a bit ruffled. Until safely ensconced in the foyer behind closed doors, where Carl's soft lips persuaded me to immediately disrobe again.

  Chapter Five

  Sunday morning I awoke to the smell of breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast, with orange juice and coffee, delivered by my smiling lover. The polished wood breakfast tray held a single red rose, the scent a sweet accompaniment to citrus and strong coffee.

  "I love seeing you here in my bed," Carl laughed. "Say you'll stay for a while?"

  "You know I love you, but you know I can't," I mumbled, my mouth full of eggs.

  "I understand." Carl opened the closet and chose some casual khakis and a dark green Henley. "But that doesn't mean I won't stop wishing otherwise."

  The flight from LA to San Francisco passed quickly and our Sunday afternoon drive began in pleasant sunshine, the traffic blessedly light. Carl took us south down the Santa Cruz Highway, then up Glen Canyon Road, the black BMW handling the turns easily.

  "There's a place up here I think you'll like," he said.

  "We passed a lovely park a little ways back, and I thought you'd stop." I pointed behind us.

  "This place I'm taking you is actually quite park-like. Big trees, a rose garden. You'll love it."

  Turning onto a side-street, we slowed as the road thinned, then pulled down a gravel driveway a few moments later. Tree limbs curved over the drive, creating a tunnel of sorts for about thirty feet, then a Spanish-style ranch came into view. The stucco house held a covered porch along the front, arched columns topped with a red tile roof. Twisted wrought-iron railings linked the columns, the black metal in each section curled into S- shaped designs originating from a central point. The driveway curved along the front of the house in a u-shape, the belly of the u holding an overgrown rose garden.

  "Look at the beautiful railings!" I said, captivated by the simple lines. "It's like an image of a weather pattern, great winds swirling."

  Carl parked the car and smiled. "Care to take a look around?"

  "This is someone's home, not a park." I breathed in a pleasant whiff of rose streaming through the car window.

  "One of my clients asked me to take a look at it. He's thinking of buying it. I have a key." He dangled a set of keys in his hand. "I'd like your opinion. Then we can look for a picnic spot."

  "Sure," I shrugged. "I'd love to see the inside. Is it empty?" I exited the car to follow him, thankful I'd brought tennis shoes to wear with my faded jeans.

  "Yes," Carl said, mounting the terracotta front steps. The front door was crafted from dark wood, the shape artfully arched. "He said the place needed some repairs."

  The terracotta tile continued through the foyer and into a sunken great room, the cream-colored walls textured in plaster, some of which was flaking badly to display the lathe beneath. The opposite wall held floor-to-ceiling windows, that looked out on a large terracotta patio with a swimming pool, also in disrepair, the water green and filled with fallen leaves.

  "The view out the back is lovely, although the pool is badly in need of care," I offered.

  "Yes, I guess the previous owner let the place go somewhat." Carl nodded.

  I walked from room-to-room, admiring the bones of the house, while ignoring the peeling paint, broken tile, and bits of crumbling plaster. To the left off the great room, a short hallway led to a large kitchen with chipped tile countertops and a dining area that also featured a window wall. On the opposite side of the house, the master bedroom offered arched patio doors with the same backyard view, a small fireplace in one corner. Two smaller bedrooms occupied the street side of the house. A spiral staircase led to two spacious rooms connected by a catwalk above the great room. The top floor was carpeted in a motley shag, the avocado green an ancient relic from the 1970s.

  "The house is fabulous," I said to Carl when we converged on the back patio. "It will be a lot of work to refurbish it, but this place could easily be beautiful again. Quite easily." We sat on the risers leading down to the swimming pool.

  "I think you should advise your client to buy it for the right price, then he can hire a contractor to implement repairs and a designer to help him decide how and where to modernize. The kitchen and bathrooms obviously. I'd stick with tile, but perhaps go with a lighter color on the countertops, rather than all the dark reds, add some Native American designs in turquoise and black along the backsplash to liven the place up." My thoughts spiraled to different images, bold geometrics and rustic wood accents.

  "The place is almost like a blank canvas," Carl mused. "Someone could do anything they wanted. Wouldn't you say?"

  "Yes," I gazed up at the towering bay trees. "Mosaic would blend nicely with this architecture, or murals, if they found the right painter. Leather, or even rattan, furniture would go well with the terracotta, you know an outdoor living motif with such a wonderful span of windows." I turned to wave at the house at our backs.

  "What about the upstairs?" Carl asked the question casually, his expression thoughtful.

  "Those rooms need skylights," I said immediately, "to lighten them up. Not to mention new flooring. Definitely a bathroom upstairs too. It could go directly above the one adjacent to the foyer, easier to plumb the water wall that way. I'd put in an outdoor shower here somewhere too. Why not? The property is private and it would be a nice way to rinse off after swimming."

  "You'd keep the pool, then?"

  "Definitely." I studied the murky green water. "But he might want to add a hot tub. There." I pointed to the side by the master bedroom.

  "Yes. That's a great idea."

  "So you think he'll buy it?" I didn't ask who the client was; Carl rarely used names and I respected the way he protected his charge's privacy.

  "He is actually buying it for his lady love," Carl smiled. "He wanted it to be an engagement gift when he asked her to marry him."

  "That's wonderful. I'm sure she'll love it... provided they know how much work it is going to be. These repairs could be quite extensive. Not to mention expensive. They probably couldn't move in for a while."

  "He's quite clear about that. But he thought she'd love the place and embrace it as a project. She's an artist, you see."

  "I can definitely appreciate how an artist would love this place." I took a deep breath and moved my legs to the side to stand. "So, are you ready to find a spot to open a picnic basket?"

  "In a minute," Carl said, placing his hand gently on my arm. "I have one more question for you."

  I gazed up at his handsome face. He seemed suddenly troubled, uncomfortable, unsure. "Okay." Curious, I waited for him to formulate the words.

  "I want to do this right," he said, kneeling beside me on the dust
y riser. He took my hand in his, the warmth radiating through me the way it always did.

  I looked into his gray eyes, a murky sea color today paired with the forest green shirt. His uncertainty was somewhat out of character and I felt at once perplexed and concerned, until he spoke again.

  "Jacqueline, I realize everything has happened quickly between us, but..." Drawing a small box out of his shirt pocket, he opened it to reveal an emerald ring, surrounded by small glittering diamonds. "I love you like no other. Will you marry me?"

  Stunned, I looked from the ring to the sincere man and back again. To say the proposal was unexpected would be the understatement of the year. I absolutely hadn't seen this coming. Words clogged in my mind as tears welled in my eyes.

  Carl cleared his throat, "it would be nice if you said something, even if that something is 'hell no.'"

  "I'm sorry," I rasped, lurching sideways into his arms. "I'm just so flabbergasted, I don't know what to say."

  "I'd hoped you would say yes," Carl spoke the words into my neck as he held me tight.

  "Yes," I managed, still tearful. "But..." I pulled back to wipe my eyes, "you aren't divorced, are you?"

  "No," Carl admitted. "But I instructed my lawyer to ditch the separation documents and we filed the initial divorce paperwork earlier this week. So I will be. Hopefully quite soon. And I wanted to tell you... to show you... how I am so completely in love with you. I want to spend every day with you. Every night. I never want us to part. I've convinced the agency to open a San Jose office, so I can move up here permanently." Carl paused and looked away, then stood and drew me to my feet. He turned me by the shoulders to face the stucco house. "This house is mine, Jacqueline. I bought it last week.

  "For you.... Well, for us. Please say yes."