Savor the Seduction

by Laura Wright

  “Besides,” he said. “I got some pretty delicious cookies out of the deal.”

  She nodded. “True enough.”

  On a chuckle, he asked, “So what are your plans for your night off?”

  Tossing the basket onto the little side table inside the entryway, Anna said casually, “Watch a movie, read, maybe go to bed early.”

  “No.”

  At first, she looked as though she hadn’t heard him correctly. Then with a wary smile, she said, “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “A book? Going to bed early? What kind of night off is that?”

  She laughed. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  “Yes. I’m taking you out.”

  A soft pink blush crept up her cheeks. She lifted her chin, tried to look impervious. “Don’t you mean you’re asking me out?”

  He shook his head slowly, a grin tugging at his mouth. He couldn’t help himself; around her he felt like a damn schoolboy.

  “That sounds a little roguish,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him. “I have no choice in the matter?”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “All right,” she said, trying hard to suppress a smile as she crossed her arms over her spectacular chest. “After you drag me out of this cave by my hair, where are you taking me, Mr. Ashton? Just so I know how to dress.”

  “Sorry. Can’t tell you that.”

  “But—”

  “Be ready at seven-thirty, Miss Sheridan,” he said before turning to leave.

  “Hey,” she called after him.

  “What?” He glanced over his shoulder, and Anna rolled her eyes at the devilish grin on his face.

  “You forgot to say, ‘ugh.’”

  “Tiramisu, chocolate gelato and a lovely caramel cheesecake…”

  As the waitress listed off the killer dessert menu at the acclaimed Napa Valley Grill, Anna stared at her date. She couldn’t get over it. For a man who always looked deliciously, ruggedly handsome, she’d imagined it was impossible for him to look any better.

  She’d been wrong.

  Tonight, in a simple crisp white shirt and jeans, he looked downright edible. He’d done something different—not big different, just something. She cocked her head to the side. Maybe it was his short hair that had just a hint of a spike to it, which caused his cheekbones to jut out. Maybe it was the white shirt, made his light tan glow bronze, made his green eyes blaze with the mischievousness of a man half his age.

  Whatever it was, she hoped it was going home with her tonight.

  “…and pumpkin spice cake,” the server finished with a great big smile, as though she were very proud to have remembered all that.

  “Sounds wonderful,” Anna said, turning to Grant with a brow raised.

  Grant nodded. “They all sound great, but we’re looking for something a little less fancy, and a little more traditional.”

  “We have the gelato, like I said.” The waitress leaned in, whispered, “It’s really just ice cream.”

  The smile Grant flashed her was so bone-meltingly appealing Anna nearly felt jealous, but after saying a quick, “Thank you,” he returned his gaze to Anna. “You don’t happen to have a stray piece of apple pie back there, do you?”

  There was a tingling in the pit of Anna’s stomach as she stared at him, a tingling that had the potential to turn into a very dangerous fire.

  “No,” said the waitress. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “That’s all right,” Anna said, breaking her gaze with Grant for a moment to acknowledge the young woman. “I think we’ll just have the check then.”

  The girl nodded. “Be right back.”

  After the waitress had gone, Anna leaned across the table and whispered, “You’re becoming obsessed with my apple pie. Do you think that’s healthy, Grant?”

  His green eyes twinkled. “Maybe not. But addictions are addictions for a reason.”

  “And what’s the reason for this one?”

  “Desperation to taste something again and again, but never being fully satisfied. Always wanting more.”

  A shiver of awareness moved through her, and she felt slightly breathless. “That sounds like a problem indeed.”

  “Only if the object of your desire is not within reach.”

  “And you think that someday it might not be?”

  “The future is always unsure.” His gaze betrayed nothing.

  “It can be,” she said. “But it doesn’t have to be.”

  She was treading on dangerous ground, and she knew it. They were having a nice, romantic evening and this lazy, sexy way of flirting was moving them into a more serious tone. And she didn’t want to go there—not tonight anyway.

  The bill came, and Grant quickly paid it, then helped Anna on with her coat and they left the restaurant.

  As they were walking to the truck, Anna broke the silence with a nice and easy, “That was a lovely evening. Thank you.”

  He turned to her, smiled and took her hand. “You’re welcome, but it’s far from over.”

  A soft smile tugged at her mouth. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Nothing too wild.”

  “Oh, darn.”

  He chuckled, opened her door. “Maybe later. But for now, I just want to show you something.”

  She rolled her eyes at him and grinned. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that….”

  Under the light of a large yellow moon, the weathered house looked comfortable and familiar. A strange feeling for a man who’d lived in the same place for almost forty years.

  Located on a quiet country lane, just a few easy miles from Louret Vineyards, sat a four thousand square foot red farmhouse with white trim on three shaded acres of land. With views of both rolling hills and vineyards, it near took your breath away. And then there were the ancient Douglas firs, oaks and maples that surrounded the home, even followed the woodland path down to the creek, yet willingly steered clear of the run-down, though charming, gazebo near the back of the property.

  Grant shut the passenger side door and gave Anna an inquisitive look. “What do you think?”

  “Well, I wish I could see it better, but what I can see is wonderful. Needs a bit of work, I think, but it’s a beautiful place.” She stood at his side, her gaze sprinkled with confusion. “So, why are we here?”

  “Just checking things out,” was all he felt he wanted to offer at this point, and thankfully she didn’t ask anything more—though he felt she wanted to.

  Grant took her hand and led her around the side of the house, past a large bay window which was crawling with thick-leafed ivy.

  “Is it okay that we’re poking around?” Anna asked nervously. “I mean, I know it’s for sale, but wouldn’t the owners mind us traipsing through their rosemary bushes?”

  “There was only one owner and she died six years ago,” Grant told her as he guided her up the stone steps and into the forestlike backyard. “She left the house to a friend who died shortly after her. A distant cousin fought for it in court for two years.”

  “Wow.”

  Grant snorted derisively. “He doesn’t want it, of course. Just wants the money.”

  “I wonder how long it’s been on the market,” Anna muttered as they came to a stop just a few feet from a sizable brick patio.

  “A little over a year.”

  He watched Anna glance around from the patio to the built-in brick oven and barbecue. Just a smattering of outdoor lights helped them to see, but the meager illumination only crept out as far as the little vegetable garden ten or so feet from the house.

  “What’s wrong with it that it’s been on the market that long?” Anna asked.

  “As you said it needs work. While the owner keeps a gardener on, he’s let the house remain in the same condition his cousin left it in. I don’t think many people want to take on a job like that—not when they can get a newer home for the same price or less.” He shrugge
d, his gaze moving over the chipped red paint and dusty windows. “It takes the right kind of person to want a piece of land like this, a place a man can lay his hands on, if you know what I mean.”

  She turned then, looked at him strangely as if she were trying to read his thoughts. “How do you know about the cousin and gardener and how long the house has been on the market and everything?”

  “I spoke with the real estate agent.”

  Confusion lit her eyes once more. “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  She obviously didn’t buy that and said, “I was going to wait until you felt like you wanted to tell me, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. Why are we really here, Grant?”

  Grant pushed a hand through his hair, then shook his head.

  “Are you thinking of staying in Napa when this whole mess is resolved?” she continued, undisguised eagerness shining in her beautiful brown eyes.

  “No, of course not.”

  Anna pursed her lips, looking anything but pacified, and Grant felt anything but calm as a quick and disturbing thought smashed into his brain. He hadn’t been checking out this place just because it reminded him of home, because he felt a little out of place and homesick in Napa. He’d told himself that to justify the many visits to this place. No, there was a part of him that was contemplating staying here, beside this new family that welcomed and intrigued him, and a woman who made him feel…

  Grant inhaled deeply, trying to ease the imaginary vise around his chest. He couldn’t be thinking this way. He had a life, a home in Nebraska with his kids. And he’d never abandon them like Grace had. Sure, they were grown with lives of their own, but they still needed him. And he had vowed long ago that his own needs would always be second to those of his kids.

  “Grant, what’s going on?” she asked gently.

  Snapping to attention, Grant said the first thing that came to his mind. “I’ve been a little homesick lately, that’s all—and this is the closest thing to a farm I’ve seen around here. And well, I wanted to show you the place, let you see what my home back in Nebraska was like.”

  As the cool night air hovered around them, Anna looked as though she didn’t quite believe him, or maybe she had more questions on her brain. Hell, he didn’t blame her—so did he. Like, why did he really bring her here? He didn’t know himself—at the restaurant he’d had just one thought: Anna’s got to see the house.

  Maybe he’d wanted to share who he was, what he wanted, with her. Who knew?

  Refusing to analyze the moment any longer, Grant took her hand again and led her away from the deck and toward a stand of oaks. Hanging between two of the sturdiest trees he’d ever seen was a swing for two, most of its white paint sadly chipped away.

  “How about a swing?” he said with a wry grin.

  With an uneasy smile of her own, she shrugged. “I’m game if you are. But this thing looks a little unsteady, and I had a pretty big dinner, so don’t blame me if we crash to the dirt.”

  His laughter echoed through the trees. “Looks pretty sturdy to me,” he said, sitting down beside her. “See, no worries.”

  But Grant spoke too soon. The wood made an awful creaking sound, promptly buckled under their weight and dropped an inch or two. Anna gasped. Grant cursed. They both sat very still. After a moment’s pause to see if the entire swing would collapse as Anna had predicted, they both turned to look at each other.

  Anna bit her lip. “I knew I shouldn’t have had that last piece of bread.”

  They both laughed, and Grant snuck an arm around her. With fingers mentally crossed, they kicked off gently, the moonlight steady as they sailed back and forth.

  Grant sighed. “The swing’s just the start of it. Like you said, the place needs a lot of work.”

  “Sure, but isn’t that part of the fun?”

  “Fun?” he repeated.

  “Well, first you see the place and have this instant attraction, right? Then you quickly realize that things aren’t as perfect as they seemed on first inspection. So you start planning and wishing and making it into that perfect, magical thing.”

  In the glow of the moonlight, her eyes sparkled and purred. Grant thought he could stay this way, this close, this comfortable forever. “Are we still talking about the house?”

  “We do have a tendency to talk in the abstract,” she said, crossing one leg over the other.

  Why did her mouth have to look so full and inviting tonight? he wondered madly. Why did she tug at the bottom lip every so often as if she needed to be kissed? Why did she have to wear that red, formfitting dress tonight? The color made her skin look like satin. Didn’t she know how much he wanted her? Didn’t she understand how hard it was to keep his hands off of her?

  He glanced up at the moon and inhaled the cool air. It did nothing to ease his frustration. “You know what?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I inherited my grandparents’ farm. Didn’t have to do much to it. It was pretty comfortable right from the start.”

  “And you’ve grown to love it.”

  “Sure, I have. But the thing is, I’ve never experienced fixing up a place, calling it my own—that kind of work intrigues me.”

  She brushed a high-heeled toe up his calf. “You’re a man who works with his hands, makes sense.”

  A shot of heat ripped through him and he brought the swing to a sharp stop.

  “What?” she asked, her brows furrowed.

  “A man who works with his hands?” he repeated. “Are you trying to kill me here?”

  A girlish smile touched her mouth. “I did it again, huh? Can’t stay away from double entendres, I guess.”

  “Looks that way. Just like I can’t stay away from you.” He pulled her in, kissed her squarely in the mouth.

  Being this close to her, breathing in her scent, tasting her, was agony. A kiss would never be enough to satisfy him, never was. He wanted her on the ground, her back to the cool grass, her thighs parted, her eyes a strange mixture of fire and ice as he thrust inside her.

  Just the thought had him hard.

  His right hand slid behind her neck, his fingers gripped her skull as he changed the angle of his kiss. She followed him as she always did, parting her lips, letting him push his tongue inside and play. With insatiable need guiding him, his free hand drifted down her shoulder to her collarbone and slipped inside her dress.

  Anna gasped as his fingers bypassed the lacy cup of her bra and found her breast. The roar of need inside her blocked out every other sound—even the kicking of her heart. His hand felt so good, so rough, so strong. Her nipples jutted out, urging him to touch, flick, pull.

  And he did.

  As his mouth moved over hers roughly, insistently, as their tongues warred and their teeth nipped, Grant flicked her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Anna moaned into his mouth, wanted to crawl on top of him, into his lap and push her hips against his erection.

  But something cold and wet landed on her face. At first, in her foggy haze of desire, she thought it was a bug and swatted it away. But then more fat, wet drops pelted her face and head and neck and she jumped back, away from Grant. Her hands went to her cheeks, felt the droplets.

  Rain.

  And it was coming down hard and fast.

  Before she could say a word, Grant snatched her hand and pulled her from the swing. “Hurry,” he said, leading her around the house.

  They stopped under a short awning, at a side entrance. Anna thought they were going to wait it out there, but when Grant reached into his pocket and took out a key, she realized they were going inside. Thick sheets of misty wet were already making muddy puddles beside the stone pathway, and the air was growing colder by the minute. So was Anna. In her damp wool dress, she shivered as Grant shoved the key into the lock and opened the door.

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  “Getting us out of the rain.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “The car’s parked all the w
ay down the driveway.”

  “But this…they gave you a key to the place?”

  “The guy wants to the sell the house pretty badly, okay? So he said to take another look around.”

  “Another?” she repeated as Grant practically pulled her inside.

  “I told you I’ve been here before.”

  She didn’t understand any of this. Grant’s frequent visits to a house he was never going to buy and the fact that he had a key to the place.

  Hugging her arms to her chest, Anna followed him into what appeared to be a living room. The large space boasted lovely beamed ceilings with skylights that showed amoebalike shapes of the rain pelting the roof. She traipsed over the rustic brick floors in her sodden heels and sat down on a piece of white-sheet-covered furniture.

  She glanced over at Grant. Water dripped from his short dark hair and his blue jeans looked inky-black. He was staring at her, a smile on his face. He broke into a laugh.

  “You’re all wet,” he said.

  She grinned, falling into his mood. “So are you.”

  “It’s probably not a good idea…”

  “What’s that?”

  He gave her a devilish glance. “Maybe you should get out of those wet clothes—”

  “Oh, my,” she drawled.

  His grin widened. “Out of those clothes and into a tub.”

  She sagged dramatically against the back of the couch. “You mean, before I have a relapse?”

  He went to her, sat beside her, brought his face close to hers. For a second, Anna couldn’t breathe. Grant Ashton did that to her, made her weak and breathless.

  With gentle fingers, he brushed aside a strand of wet hair from her cheek. “You shouldn’t joke. You’ve got a kid to look after. You don’t want to get sick again.”

  She sobered slightly. “True. But that means I’ve got to get back to the cottage to get out of my clothes to take that hot bath. So until the storm lets up a little, I’m afraid—”

  “There’s always a way, Anna.”

  His voice was so smooth, so sexy the muscles between her legs contracted. She murmured a breathy, “Huh?”