From the Moment We Met

by Adair, Marina

  “Darling, half the town is here.” He pointed to the curb, and sure enough, all her neighbors were on their lawns—or hers. “When Richard here came up Main Street it was as though he was Jesus, walking on water, and people just started following him. I saw the senior center loading up their bus and heading this way, headlights on, I’m assuming to be part of the procession. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Great.

  “So you came to watch the show?”

  “Nope.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and heat curled low in her stomach. “I came to see if you wanted to go grab a bite to eat. The show’s just a bonus.”

  “You already asked me out on a date. I said no.” Although she’d wanted to say yes. Not to the date part. She’d always hated dating. But to the good-night kiss part that usually followed said date. And maybe even to what naturally followed the kiss. Tanner excelled at both.

  “You said you were still a married woman, so I backed off.” He smiled. “You’re single now, so the question is back on the table.”

  “I’m divorced,” Abby exclaimed, perhaps a tad shrilly. “And I’m not interested.”

  “You’re not divorced,” Rodney hollered over the hood of the car, informing everyone in a three-block radius.

  Nora pulled out her phone and began filming.

  Abby felt everything inside of her still. “Excuse me?”

  “That there isn’t just a piece of masterful art carved from a rare marble found only in remote parts of Italy. It’s a vessel,” Rodney said, pointing to the vase in the statue’s hand and taking a moment of silence. “I’m sorry to inform you, Mrs. Moretti, but your husband, Richard Moretti, passed away, long before that there divorce decree was signed. And according to his lawyer, as his widow you are the sole heir to all of his assets.”

  “The hell, I am!”

  Jack Tanner watched Abby tear across her lawn, arms swinging and robe flapping at the bottom like some superhero cape. She had her pissed-off female vibe dialed to castrate. “I am a divorced woman. Not a widow. This is just another one of Richard’s stupid scams! Probably a way to elude the police or my lawyer.”

  In any other situation, Tanner might laugh. Here he was, watching the DeLuca Darling standing in her front yard in that slinky new robe—yeah, he noticed—staring down a man three times her size with a statue of her naked husband behind her. And the shit of it was, she still managed to turn him inside out every single time he saw her.

  “So you’re saying you’re not his widow,” Rodney ventured carefully, as though struggling to understand. “And that you don’t want the statue?”

  “Yes, and for the last time yes!” Abby pressed, and damn if Rodney didn’t flinch a little. Abby might be small, but she packed lethal doses of attitude.

  “If you aren’t his wife, then you don’t lay claim to his beautiful statue.”

  “Which means?”

  “You don’t decide its fate, moving it or otherwise.”

  “The ‘beautiful’ statue that is on my private property?”

  “Well, there is that.” Rodney looked at his truck as though contemplating locking himself inside. Tanner felt for the guy. “I can call the lawyer who hired me, but even if I get his approval, I can’t move your husband today.”

  “Ex-husband, and why not?”

  “I don’t have the manpower or equipment to handle getting someone”—Rodney’s gaze fell to Richard’s boys—“his size back on the truck. So, I gotta come back with my other truck. Maybe Sunday.”

  “Sunday?” Nora and Abby said in unison. Rodney looked skyward.

  “As in almost a week from now?” Abby’s voice wavered a little as she took in the swelling crowd. Living in St. Helena was like living in a giant fishbowl, and right now Abby was the fish of the hour. “That doesn’t work for me.”

  “Me either,” Nora said. “I got the Historical Preservation Council coming by to do their yearly inspection for the Memory Lane Manor Walk. We can’t have visual pornography marring up the neighborhood.”

  Krug Court was home to some of the oldest residential buildings in all of St. Helena. With a dozen or more houses dating back as far as 1864, it was always a highlight on the Founder’s Day Memory Lane Manor Walk, which was to be held the first weekend in September.

  “She’s gotta get a permit from the board if she wants to keep that thing here all week,” Nora said to the crowd, who uh-huhed and nodded their allegiance.

  “I don’t want to keep it!” Abby defended, not a hint of darling in her voice. Oh no, the woman was 100 percent DeLuca. “He’s not even mine anymore. So why don’t you,” she slid the cell phone from Rodney’s belt clip and slapped it against his chest, “get Richard on the phone and tell him to come get his stupid statue?”

  Rodney took off his hat. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your husband is deceased.”

  “Did you see Richard’s body?”

  Rodney looked at the statue.

  “Before it was placed in the vessel?” Abby clarified.

  “No, ma’am. I was hired by his lawyer.”

  “Then he isn’t dead.”

  “If you say so.” Rodney looked at his phone. “So who do you want me to call?”

  And that was Tanner’s cue to step in. Abby was a pint-sized bomb of frustrated and emotional female who was one redundant question away from an explosion of epic proportions.

  Normally he would steer clear of a woman on the verge. But if he took that approach with Abby, he’d never see her. She tended to act all pissy and put out every time their paths crossed, which was often. Tanner made sure of it because he liked her, almost as much as he liked to drive her crazy. She was hot when she was in a mood. Hell, she was hot period, which was part of the problem.

  To everyone else Abigail was sweet and accommodating, a real people pleaser. The DeLuca freaking Darling. With him, though, she was all spit and fire, a real look but don’t touch number who worked hard at appearing unaffected, distant, as though he hadn’t seen her naked once upon a time. Which only made him want to look and touch his fill until she was clawing mindlessly at his back and there wasn’t even a breath of space between them.

  Scratch that. Until she was clawing mindlessly at his back—while naked—and there wasn’t even a breath of space between them—in his bed. Or hers. He wasn’t choosy.

  But today he was a man on a mission. A mission to help Abby secure an important client for her budding interior design firm, which would get Tanner one step closer to landing that date he’d been dreaming about. Not to mention securing a talented designer would make his overstressed business partner’s life a whole lot easier. And Tanner was all about easy.

  Abby being frazzled right now wouldn’t help his cause. She’d refuse his help to land a client then hide in her house to avoid a confrontation. So he did what any man in his shoes would do.

  He stepped up, placed his hand on her shoulder in a sign of support, and whispered in her ear, “In case you forgot, I have the manpower and more than enough equipment to handle all of your needs, Abs. Just say the word.”

  She turned and looked at him, her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed into two irritated slits of rage, and he could tell she had just the word for him. Several, in fact.

  “Would I be stupid in assuming you’re just being neighborly and offering to haul that statue away?”

  He rocked back on his heels. “Depends on what kind of agreement we can reach.” Slowly, he took in the slippers, tan legs, and silky robe. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  Like clockwork Abby’s chest rose, followed by her shoulders and that bristly pride that made him smile.

  She was gearing up to control her temper, which was a whole hell of a lot better than falling apart.

  “Thanks, Tanner.” She patted him—a little too hard—on the shoulder and turned to Rodney. “You need a tool?
I’ve got the biggest one in St. Helena, maybe even California, right here at your disposal.”

  “Biggest one?” Tanner gave a low whistle. “Wow. I mean, I’ve always received compliments, but biggest? Really?”

  Abby’s eyes narrowed in on him and, he couldn’t help it, his lips lifted into a big-ass grin. Hers, however, pressed into a stern line of disapproval that demanded his best behavior and made him feel like one of her exasperating piano students—which he was. He’d been on the receiving end of that look many times during their lessons over the past year.

  But before he could prove he was immune to the look, she was back to ignoring him.

  “Rodney, I’m giving you two minutes to figure out how to get this thing off my property or I’ll call the sheriff.”

  Rodney, smart man that he was, locked himself in the cab of his truck. Then, satisfied with the big guy’s level of fear, Abby turned those big brown eyes on Tanner. “You only get two seconds, so go.”

  “To show my gratitude for that moving endorsement, I’d like to return the favor. Say,” he looked at his watch, “lunch in an hour?”

  She gave a big exasperated huff and crossed her arms, sending that teeny-tiny little robe of hers on a trip due north and leaving him to wonder what color panties she had on—because it was clear she wasn’t wearing much else under there.

  “I’m not going on a date with you,” she said sternly.

  “Who said anything about a date?” Her face flushed and, ah, yeah, she wanted to say yes. Stubborn pride was the only thing between him and a second chance to prove he was good enough for the DeLuca Darling. “This is strictly a professional proposition. To talk about a design job I referred you for.”

  She blinked. Twice. He, on the other hand, moved closer, crowding her body until he saw proof of just how affected he made her. “Although now that you mention a date, I’m flattered. And the answer is yes. Does this mean you pick up the tab or me? I’m game either way.”

  She ignored that, but didn’t back away. “Why would you recommend me for a job?”

  Why wouldn’t he? She was one of the best designers he’d ever worked with.

  “You do clean work, and I know you’re reliable. And your designs make people want to sit down and stay for a while, which is exactly what the client needs. Bottom line, you’d be perfect for the project.”

  He watched her face soften, flush a little—only this time from his praise. He liked the riled Abby, but he loved the shy one even more. It reminded him of the girl he’d met and fallen in love with back in high school. The sweet teenager with the big, trusting eyes who, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake.

  “Well, I’m no longer doing closet redesigns or nurseries, so if that’s what this job is, better look elsewhere,” she said with a self-conscious laugh that hurt his heart. “I’m only doing full renovations and rehabs now, not a coat of paint and shelves.”

  Then she sobered, her face going coolly blank.

  Without warning, she grabbed him by the arm and—whoa, Bossy Abby sent his body humming—dragged him to the front porch—which was one creak and groan away from being condemned—and away from prying eyes. “Did my brothers bully you into recommending me for the job?”

  “Sweetheart, I’ve got at least thirty pounds and three inches on your brothers.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, but there are four of them. And they don’t fight fair.”

  “Neither do I, not when I want something.” And he wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted a woman. And she wanted him too. It was right there in the way she swayed closer, the way she didn’t let go of his arm, and in the way her eyes kept darting to his lips.

  Oh, she had it bad for him. She was just too Italian to admit it.

  “They didn’t bully me into anything. I’m asking because I know that”—he leaned in and whispered—“the Hamptons are secretly in the market for a new designer.”

  She leaned in, her voice mimicking his, although hers held a note of smugness. “I know. I’m meeting with Babs Hampton for a late lunch. It appears I am the front-runner to become their new, secret designer.”

  Tanner inwardly cringed, because he knew what she said wasn’t actually correct. She was one of three on the list. And the least qualified. When Ferris Hampton had called Tanner yesterday, begging for the name of a local designer who could work with his mother and didn’t scare easily, Tanner had immediately thought of Abby. She was tough, talented, and would deliver—regardless of what Babs Hampton, whose indecisiveness and complete 180s in vision for her premiere wine and cheese shop had managed to scare off the last six designers, threw at her. Babs’s flightiness was something that drove her son, Ferris, to distraction. A distracted Ferris meant trouble for Tanner and his business partner, who were trying to land a major deal with the Hampton Group.

  “Look, I know how the Hamptons work. They are particular and demanding, especially Babs, and I know what she is looking for in a presentation,” he explained. “With her it’s about the way you present your ideas.”

  “And let me guess,” she laughed. This time at him. “You want to come with me to lunch and hold my hand so I don’t screw this up?”

  “I was talking about lunch, with me, to prep. And darling,” he tucked one of her curls behind her ear, pleased when she gave a little gasp, “your designs speak for themselves. If they pass, it’s their loss, not yours.”

  She looked shocked at his comment, then immediately suspicious. “If you think I have this in the bag, then why should I have lunch with you?”

  “This is a Hampton project, and there is no way that you are the only candidate. The other firms are big, flashy, and they have a solid foundation behind them. What they don’t have is insight into the customer. I do. And I think that with what I know about the project, you can fine-tune your pitch and create a customized proposal to match their expectations.”

  Her eyes were big and dreamy, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Only instead he said, “And Abby, I’ve wanted to hold your hand in public since the day I met you.”

  “Hey, Tanner,” Libby Alistair hollered from her front porch. Libby was blonde, stacked, smoking hot, and always up for a fun time. She also had a horrible sense of timing, and was apparently Abby’s neighbor. “Niners’ preseason starts Sunday. You think they’ll take it all the way this time?”

  And even from across the street, no one could miss the way her expression lit up in blatant invitation. An invitation that a few days ago Tanner would have gladly accepted. But now that Abby was back in play, there was only one invitation he was interested in gaining. Too bad her expression was dialed to eat shit and choke on it.

  “Funny,” Abby said, not an ounce of funny to her tone. “I promised never to give you the time of day when you broke my heart.” Right. That. “And unlike you, DeLucas never go back on their word.”

  “So is that a no on lunch then?”

  Without answering him, she tugged her robe tightly around her and brushed right past him into her house, those ridiculous slippers of hers growling with every step. The best part was that her hips were moving at such a velocity that the bottom of her robe kicked up, flashing him a hint of peach silk that went a long way toward making his morning even brighter.

  “Was it the ‘who pays’ part?” he hollered after her. “Because I’m okay with going dutch.”

  The door slammed in response. Followed by the dead bolt clicking loudly, and Tanner had to smile. Abby was running, which was fine with him. He’d known her long enough to understand she only ran when she was scared. And she was scared, all right.

  Scared she wanted to go back on her word.

  CHAPTER 2

  Abby needed this job. Badly, she thought, scooting to the far end of Babs Hampton’s couch, the moleskin cushions shedding on her black skirt.

  After spending the past four years designing
grand wineries for her family and not-so-grand closets for everyone else, she needed a break. That one person who would believe in her designs enough to take a chance on a newcomer.

  She had the vision, the drive, and the talent. What she didn’t have was a stellar portfolio with clients whose last names were not DeLuca.

  Minus the recent string of nurseries she’d designed for the Wine Valley’s Mommy Troop and the men’s station at Stan’s Soup and Service Station, there wasn’t a single job in Abby’s portfolio that wasn’t a direct result of her smothering brothers or family name. Which was why she had to land the Hampton job.

  Her family was friendly with the Hamptons, but they didn’t have a long history with them. Which meant it was all up to her. Something that felt exhilarating and liberating and a little bit foreign.

  “It isn’t polite to stare,” Abby said to the four-legged dust mop whose lips were peeled back, exposing a set of very large, very pointy teeth. She scooted as close to the far edge of Babs’s couch as possible and stated, as calmly and rationally as one could when facing down a growling dog, “In fact, I’d appreciate it if you’d move back a little, your breath is invading my personal space and your paws are leaving prints on my presentation.”

  To her surprise the dog moved—just enough to situate all four feet on her superglossy 8½-by-11 presentation, which she’d spent all day perfecting. Then he sat, making sure to slide his butt and all of his apricot-colored tail over her cover page, crinkling it.

  Not willing to let another overbearing male ruin her chance at happiness, Abby reached out to snatch it back.

  The dog growled. Low and lethal. His diamond-studded collar flashing in the afternoon sun.

  “You may think you’re scary, but you’re not,” Abby whispered, snatching her hand back—right as Babs Hampton peeked her head out from the kitchen doorway.