by Tara Lain
“Um.” Bo chewed. “It’s a long shot, I know, but they need grapes and they make some blends other than bubbly, so what the hell. And I love wandering through their caves.”
“I’ve never seen them.”
“What?” Bo set down his cup. “You can’t visit Napa and not see those amazing caves. They’re the only winery in California that riddles their wines by hand.”
“Clearly, I’ve got to see that.”
“A must.”
They chatted through the rest of the fast meal, both of them aware of the long drive. Dropping money on the table that Jeremy insisted on adding to, Bo slid out of the booth and headed toward the front. As they approached the first row of booths, Jeremy gasped so loudly Bo froze, expecting to see a snake crawling from under a table. “What? What is it?”
Jeremy’s jaw muscle jumped, he swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed three times, and then he nodded toward a booth ahead of them.
Facing them was Sage Zilinsky and, with his back turned but identified by the ink-black hair, sat Ernest Ottersen. Worst of all, they couldn’t leave the restaurant without passing him.
Bo grabbed Jeremy’s arm. He was shaking, and his hands gripped into fists. Bo whispered, “Just walk past. You don’t even have to look at him. Let me talk if anything needs to be said.”
At that moment Sage looked up, and her glance connected with Bo. She smiled big. “Hi. Fancy seeing you here. Ernest, look who it is.”
Damn, why did she say that? Jeremy vibrated so hard, it was visible.
As they got almost to their table, Bo said, “Hi. Sorry. We’re in a terrible hurry. We have to get back to business for an, uh, appointment.” Do not let on where we’re really going.
They came level with the table. Jeremy still stared straight ahead. Good man.
Bo said to Sage, “We’ll talk soon.” Then he turned his head slightly and nodded at Ottersen with a small, polite smile.
Ottersen gave him a big tooth-flasher. “Bo, how’s tricks?”
“Good.”
He started walking but, of course, the damned cosmic joker couldn’t let it be.
Ottersen said, “Hi, Jeremy. How’s business?”
Match, meet powder keg. Jeremy’s head snapped toward Ottersen, and he snarled, “You ought to know, you cheating son of a bitch.”
Ottersen’s dark eyebrows dove for his nose. “It’s not my fault if you can’t stand a little competition, so don’t accuse me of cheating.”
“My ass! Your idea of competition is stealing my formulas and copying them. I’d say that qualifies as espionage, not competition.”
Bo muttered, “Quiet, Jeremy.” But he was too far-gone.
Ottersen half rose from his seat, blocked by the table. “I’ve stolen nothing and you know it. If you were a better businessman and a better winemaker, I wouldn’t be able to attract your customers. Hell, I don’t even have to ask them. They call me. You can’t blame me for taking advantage of offered business.”
“Bullshit.”
Bo grabbed Jeremy’s arm.
“It’s the truth. That’s why I know you cheated to win that damned contest. If your customers aren’t even loyal enough to stay with you, I know you don’t make the best white on the central coast.”
“Liar! God damn you, lying bastard.” Jeremy pulled himself away from Bo and leaned into the table toward Ottersen. His voice turned into a hiss, but it was still loud enough to carry to all the surrounding booths. “You steal any more of my formulas and I swear I’ll kill you.”
Somewhere nearby, a woman gasped. Sage slapped a hand to her mouth.
Holy shit! Bo grabbed Jeremy’s bicep and put all his superior height and weight into dragging him away from the table. “Enough!” He glanced back toward Ottersen, who stared at Jeremy with narrowed eyes and a half-open mouth. Bo said, “Sorry. He’s just upset.”
With force he hauled Jeremy through the front of the restaurant, trying to ignore the blatant stares of the other diners. Most of them must have been able to hear at least part of the argument, but likely not that last threat. Thank the Lord. A thing like that got around to too many tourists and they’d walk into Hill Top, take one look at Jeremy, and turn and run.
Outside, Jeremy shook his arm, but not hard, until Bo let him go. “I’m okay now.”
Bo walked to the Prius and held the passenger door for Jeremy, who slid in, looking a little contrite.
When Bo got in the driver’s side, Jeremy said, “I’m sorry. That was so stupid. My temper finally got the better of me.”
“I understand.” Not entirely true. Why did a civilized man say he’d kill another person? Was it just an expression, like saying “I’d kill for a cup of coffee”? Maybe, but it sounded deadly serious. “It was really unwise, though.”
Bo carefully drove around the restaurant and exited onto the side street, then made his way through back streets to the 101 freeway just so Ottersen wouldn’t see them driving away from Paso Robles rather than back toward the vineyards.
Jeremy didn’t speak as long as Bo was looking for the freeway, but once on it, he sat back, sighed, and said, “How badly do you think I blew it?”
“Fortunately, I don’t think many people heard that last part, even if they heard the rest of the argument.”
“Your friend Sage did.” The word friend might have had a bit too much emphasis.
“Yes, but she knows a bit of the story and will take it with an appropriate grain of salt.”
“I sure hope so. Man, that was so stupid. I don’t even know why I said it.”
“Don’t worry about it anymore. We got out of there without anyone being able to tell we were heading north. Sit back, close your eyes, and relax.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll take you up on that.”
Right. Let me do the worrying for both of us.
Chapter Sixteen
“JEREMY?”
“Wha—?” Some light filtered in as his lids fluttered; then he managed to pry his eyes open. He raised his head. Ouch. Neck hurts. Bo was leaning over him.
“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
“My turn to drive?” He leaned forward and cocked his head from side to side.
Bo chuckled. “Time for you to get out of the car and bring your stuff into the cabin.”
Jeremy raised his head. Right. They were sitting in the parking lot of—someplace. “Where are we?”
“Napa.”
“You’re kidding?”
Bo just smiled.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You looked too peaceful. Not a problem. Come on.”
Jeremy glanced around at the row of cabins set forward and back from each other and bordered by a line of tall trees. “Did you already check in?”
Bo pulled out the key card. “Yep.” He pointed to the cabin on the end. Number six. “That’s us.”
“Nice.”
“We’ll see.”
“I mean, it’s kind of private.”
Bo grinned at him. “That took a little work. I told them I had a sleep problem and couldn’t stand noise.”
Jeremy walked to the trunk as Bo opened it and grabbed his bag. Jeremy said, “You didn’t tell them that you wanted to make noise?” He looked up and laughed at the bright pink on Bo’s cheekbones. But he grinned, and Jeremy could interpret the expression as hopeful.
Inside the cabin, they walked into a small living room. It was comfy and homey if not plush. Beyond the living room was a bedroom with two double beds. Bo shrugged. “Had to make it look convincing.” His cheeks flushed again.
“Hey, we can mess up one and sleep in the other.”
Bo grinned. “Sounds good to me.” He unzipped his bag. “But as you may recall from our list of potential customers, we have a winery to see this afternoon before they close. It was one of my last-minute additions, and this was the only time I could fit them in.”
“Hey, I got four hours’ sleep while you drove.” He unfastened his own bag and pul
led out the few things he’d brought, stashed them in the drawer, and hung up the sports coat he’d carried in a garment bag. “We’re here for business, so let’s go get some.” He slid the jacket over his dress shirt and jeans.
“Let me make a quick pit stop.”
Jeremy sat on the bed while Bo peed and brushed his teeth. He’d managed to sleep despite his horror at what he’d done with Ottersen. Old habits and training died damned hard, but he’d gotten so angry, it was like he was back at home, fighting for his life. Hopefully Bo was right. It would blow over.
After Bo washed up, he donned his own coat and they took off for Reynolds and Reynolds, a small winery in Sonoma, a half-hour drive away.
Jeremy watched the huge fields of vines stretched out on both sides as they drove. Funny, he felt oddly nervous. A lot depended on this trip, and he really wanted it to go well. Despite his fury and the fact that he knew in his gut that Ottersen was a big fat liar, his words still rang in Jeremy’s head. “Bo, do you think my customers really called Ottersen and offered him contracts?”
Bo glanced at him, then back at the road, but his face radiated compassion. “It would align with what Llewellyn and Blaise told us—that Ottersen passionately denies going after your clients. At least one client agrees. They did seem willing to at least countenance the idea.”
“I think he’s a fucking liar.” He hadn’t meant for the words to come out that angrily.
“I know. You made that clear, and I’m inclined to agree, but you asked.”
“I’m sorry for snapping at you.” He rested his hand against Bo’s warm, strong arm. “Ottersen’s strategy is like water torture. Every new drop takes another layer off my nerves.”
“I know, darlin’. It’s pure hog crap.”
Jeremy finally smiled. At least they could agree on that.
Bo pulled into the drive of the Reynolds and Reynolds winery and crunched the short distance to the tasting room on the gravel drive. “We go in the side door to the offices.”
Jeremy took a huge breath. Showtime.
An hour later he walked out smiling. “Man, that went well.”
Bo grinned. “As slick as cat poop on linoleum.”
Jeremy snorted. “I can’t believe you said that. But seriously, it would be a smallish contract, but we can promote it to other wineries.”
“Yes, and we’ll work out the details of our relationship.”
I’d like to work out some relationship details. Jeremy glanced at Bo, who seemed clueless on what he’d said. “Right.”
“So how about we go eat and drink lots of wine to celebrate?”
“Sounds perfect.” As long as that double bed follows closely on the heels of wine.
“And then we can go to bed early.” The blush accompanied a sexy little chuckle.
“I’ll drink to that.”
After a short drive from the winery, Bo navigated them into the little town of Healdsburg and found a parking spot near the town square. Jeremy climbed out of the Prius and stared around at the trees and benches all surrounded by shops and restaurants. “Uh, excuse me. When did I enter this storybook?”
“Amazing, isn’t it? This is one of my favorite towns.”
They walked across the square into a small, intimate bistro that Bo also identified as a fave of his. The man had even called ahead for a reservation, though when he’d had a moment to be that plan-ahead thorough, Jeremy didn’t know. Funny how, despite Bo being cagey about their relationship, he still made Jeremy feel cared for. Not something Jeremy’d had a lot of in his life.
The maître d’ walked them to a booth in the back, which reminded Jeremy uncomfortably of their breakfast, but once settled he loved the quiet ambiance, the comfortable low-key leather seats, white tablecloths, and crisp white napkins. Before the host left, he said, “Can I have the sommelier bring you a wine list?”
Bo nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Right away, sir.”
Bo smiled. “How about we start with champagne and then graduate to something redder?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Five minutes later he’d order a bottle of Strausburg Brut to be followed by a pinot noir.
“I picked Strausburg since we’re seeing them tomorrow morning. We might as well get prepared.”
“I’ll get prepared on champagne any day you choose.”
When it arrived, was poured and tasted, and they were alone again, Bo leaned forward with his flute. “To us and our adventures.”
While Jeremy would have liked to define the us part more clearly, he could totally toast the adventure part.
They ordered duck for Bo and sea bass for Jeremy, preceded by Caesar salad and mushroom bisque. When the first course arrived, Jeremy tasted his soup, which was amazing, then filled his spoon and held it out to Bo. “Here. Try.”
Bo looked startled, glanced around to see as Jeremy had that no one could observe them in their private little space, and leaned forward to take the soup into his mouth.
“Oh, delicious. My salad is great, but you got the best thing.”
“Always.” Jeremy grinned, then slowly took the bowl of the spoon into his mouth and licked, showing lots of tongue. He chuckled when Bo swallowed hard.
What followed was a yummy meal full of as much tantalizing sexual tension as food. Little touches, lingering looks, and shared bites of everything had Jeremy’s cock so hard it made it difficult to get enough energy away from his groin and into his stomach to digest his food. At one point Bo picked up a piece of succulent duck and held it in his fingers to Jeremy, who sucked them into his mouth, exploring every surface as he planned to do with other appendages very soon. As an afterthought, the duck tasted good too.
By the time the check came, they were salivating for different things. Bo slapped down a credit card. Jeremy tried to hand him cash, but he refused, and that ended up in a competition as to who could force the other to do what he wanted. Bo won and they slid out of the booth, laughing. Jeremy led the way toward the front of the now-crowded restaurant, and when they turned the corner toward the door, Jeremy came face-to-face with a man standing at the maître d’s desk.
Jeremy froze. Do I know this man? Medium height and stocky, he fell into the fireplug category of body types, but the face—pockmarked, some of the skin an odd color like maybe it had been burned, but most of all, his eyes showed no light or warmth.
Bo said, “Is everything okay?”
“Y-yes. Thanks. Fine.” He walked by the man, trying not to look like he was in a hurry. He desperately wanted to ask Bo if the man was staring at him, but he didn’t. Outside, he glanced back. The restaurant had small windows, and lights in the parking lot made it hard to tell if anyone was looking out.
When they got in the Prius, Jeremy said, “Would you mind driving around the back so I can see how they’ve set up the service bays? It’s such an old building, it must have been a challenge.”
Bo gave him an odd look but nodded and exited the long way round. At least if that guy was watching Jeremy, he wouldn’t see him leave the lot—unless he followed.
Come on, I’m spooking myself. How can someone who happens to be in a small restaurant hours from where I live be looking for me? Stupid. But man, those eyes gave him the willies.
Bo directed that glance at Jeremy again. “I seem to be saying this a lot, but is everything okay?”
“Yes.” Tell some of the truth. “I freaked when we were leaving the restaurant and saw someone I thought I knew from, like, my childhood.”
“Not the terrifying-looking man at the desk?” He sounded shocked. Good instincts.
“Yes, actually. He resembled a man who was an, uh, acquaintance of my father. But it makes no sense. What would such a person be doing here?”
“Excellent question. Would this man or your father have business in Sonoma?”
“Don’t think so.” Jeremy tried to keep his voice light. “But as I told you, I’m estranged from my family, so I don’t know what he’s into.”
“What work did he do when you were at home?”
Do not go there. “Businessman. I’m not too sure. You know how those details are fuzzy to kids.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
You mean before or after he locked me in a room? “Three years ago, I guess.”
“Why are you estranged, if I can ask?”
Jeremy shifted in his seat. “He was a cruel SOB to my mother and to me. My mother died. Nothing to keep me there.” Not after I escaped. “I don’t really like to think about it.” He slid a hand onto Bo’s knee. “Especially not when I have much more exciting things to contemplate.” He hated treating sex as a distraction—he was deeply excited about their night together—but he had to change the subject. Not only because thinking about that face in the restaurant convinced his erection to go into hiding but also to avoid any more questions about uncomfortable subjects.
BO PULLED into the parking lot at the motel and glanced at Jeremy, who seemed to be staring in the side mirror outside his window. Jeremy had been super jumpy ever since he saw that man in the restaurant. Hell, that was easy to understand. The guy looked like warmed-over menace. But why did Jeremy think he knew a man like that? As much as Bo wanted to accept Jeremy at face value, nothing added up on that face. He was only twenty-four, but he’d come to the central coast with enough money to buy a winery, and yet he said he was estranged from his family and seemed to hate his father.
Back at the festival, Bo had thought Jeremy was avoiding the cameras, purposefully turning his head when someone snapped photos, especially Sage. Bo had convinced himself he was crazy and making that up, but after the episode at the restaurant, maybe not. Jeremy sure didn’t seem to want to be recognized. Even funny little things intrigued Bo. Why was Jeremy so fit when he didn’t seem to be a gym rat, and where did that streak of violence he demonstrated to Ottersen come from?
“You’re thinking awfully hard.” Jeremy’s voice was light. Why did it sound wary?