“I’ll give you a call when it’s ready.” Stan disappeared toward the front of the shop to help another customer.
“Can I give you a ride home?” Trey asked.
Yes. That was all she wanted to do. Go home, take a hot bath, and go to sleep—for a year. But she pictured the stack of billing statements sitting on her desk that needed to be stuffed and sent out first, and the downstairs toilet, which, due to an unfortunate Play-Doh accident, was in desperate need of a plunging. And when that was all done, and she finally had a chance to sit down, it would be in a big house. All by herself.
The mere thought had her chest tightening and her palms sweating.
“Have you ever just not wanted to go home?” The minute the words left her mouth, she felt like a terrible person. She loved her home. She just preferred to be in it when her son was there. Which, according to her watch, was a good two hours away.
The charm-your-pants-off smile that she’d come to connect with Trey DeLuca faded into something softer, something almost sad. “Story of my life.”
Not hers. Sara had spent so much time at her mother’s dance studio growing up that home had always felt like a sanctuary. Then when she’d married and had Cooper, home was where she felt the most alive. Lately, though, when it was quiet and empty, it felt more like a coffin, slowly sucking the life out of her.
“What do you do instead?” she asked.
“I get lost.” No hesitation, no apologies. Nope, Trey DeLuca spoke those words like he was an expert on the subject.
“Get lost,” she repeated, trying it out. Even the way the words fell from her lips felt irresponsible and reckless and so incredibly luxurious that she laughed. And that felt exhilarating.
“In your case though,” he said, looking down at the bill in her hand and giving a low whistle, “I’d say get lost somewhere where I can buy you a drink.”
God, a drink sounded good. A drink that didn’t come with a built-in straw or dancing fruit on the carton sounded even better. Getting lost with a sexy man who made her laugh sounded exciting and terrifying all at the same time. Exciting because it would be another small step toward moving on with her life, and terrifying because for the first time since Garrett’s death, the thought of moving on without him didn’t rouse the hollow ache that always sat right above her breastbone.
“What if I told you that I have ninety minutes before I have to be found?” she said.
He grinned and it was so ridiculously sexy that a jolt of heat went right through her, causing her entire body to tremble. Had she not been so nervous about what that smile meant, or wondering just how lost in him she was willing to get, she may have found the courage to smile back.
“Sweetheart, I can do a lot with ninety minutes.”
CHAPTER 3
First rule in getting lost,” Trey said, unlocking the door to one of his family’s oldest tasting rooms and flicking on the lights. “No contact with the outside world. If they don’t know where you are, they can’t find you.”
“Just a sec,” Sara mumbled, her fingers flying over the keypad on her cell. “I just need to remind the other dance teacher about the stack of billing statements that—”
He slipped the phone out of Pollyanna’s little hands, pocketing it when she reached out to grab it back, loving how her lips went plump as she frowned.
Sweet and stubborn. The perfect pairing.
“I can see I’m working with a first timer here.” She sent him an amused look. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’m an excellent teacher.”
Placing his hand a little lower on her back than was polite, to test the waters, he nudged her through the doorway. Trey took in a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents of aged oak and cherry tobacco mixing with the rawhide of the barstools. One sniff and all of the tension he’d been carrying since last night’s sorriest-excuse-for-a-guy’s-night-ever evaporated.
For Trey, this place felt more like home than anywhere he’d ever been.
“Then teach away,” she said, sending him a sidelong glance.
“Rule number two, no talk of business or family. What’s the point of playing hooky if all you talk about is what you’re trying to escape?”
Their footsteps echoed across the expanse of the room that lay in front of them as he led her toward the tasting bar. He patted the stool on the far end and, when she hopped up, he slipped behind the bar.
“Right,” she nodded seriously, and he had to fight back a smile. “No contact. No talk of family, work, or problems.” She paused, then looked across the bar at him, those big hazel eyes so confused he wanted to kiss her. “Then what do we talk about?”
“How about we start with preferences. Red or white?” he said, pulling out two bottles of their special reserve from behind the counter. “And I promise not to embarrass you by sharing that I’ve had a thing for ballerinas ever since Judith Carr danced the Sugar Plum Fairy at our fifth-grade talent show.” She laughed and he felt it in his chest. “I swear, it’s something about the short skirts and tight buns.”
“I’m wearing my hair down,” she explained.
He smiled. “I wasn’t talking about your hair.”
Sara flushed an adorable pink, but tried to hide it by studiously examining the wine bottles he’d selected. With her distracted, Trey took his time to studiously examine her every curve.
He hadn’t been kidding with the ballerina thing that she was rocking. If the ass-hugging leggings didn’t do it for him, then that sheer, white skirt she had on did. And yeah, he was a guy, so ignoring the creamy swells that peeked over the lacy edge of her little top, or the way her body reacted to the chill in the room was impossible. So he didn’t even bother to try.
“Today is about adventure, right?” She sat up straight, all proper and prim, and folded her hands on the bar top. “So surprise me.”
Only fair, since she kept surprising him. The other night when she’d crashed into his life, she’d come off as sweet and sunny and, if he were being honest, a little frazzled. Today though, in Stan’s shop, he’d really looked at her. Looked past the smile, past the wide eyes and smattering of freckles, and past the good face that she was putting on for the world, and damn if that didn’t do something to his chest.
“I say it is a day to go bold, live loud, and since we are limited on fun time…” he said and went to work. Reaching for five globed glasses from behind the bar, he lined them up in front of her. “Let’s start with our house Zinfandel, move our way through the medium-bodied wines, and end with a glass of our reserve Cabernet. How does that sound?”
He poured a generous tasting of the Zin into the first glass and slid it her way. “Since this is my first time playing hooky and wine tasting I will leave the choices to you.” She wrapped her elegant fingers around the stem, took a dainty sniff that made her nose crinkle, before pressing the rim of the glass to her mouth and taking a sip. “This is good. I don’t know what I’m supposed to taste, but—”
Instead of launching into his practiced spiel about the luscious deep flavors of cherry with a hint of spice, one that he’d given a hundred times, to a hundred different women, he said, “Are you serious? You’ve never been wine tasting?” How the hell did she live in the wine country and never go tasting? “Ever?”
“I know. It’s awful. I keep telling myself that I have to get out of the house more, actually experience where I live, but between getting my studio up and running and making sure that my so—”
He placed a finger over her lips, and God, she had great lips. They were full and soft and damp with wine.
“Rule number two. Remember?” She nodded and he could feel her breath against his fingers come out in shallow bursts. “And since this is your first tasting and first time playing hooky…” he paused to look at her. “Really, not even senior ditch day?”
“Nope, I made it through four years of high school with pe
rfect attendance.”
His day kept getting more interesting by the second. Trey didn’t know what he expected to happen when he followed her into Stan’s. But suddenly, his usual go-to game plan didn’t feel right.
“I assume that since you’re behind the bar acting like you own the place, you do.” She slid the empty glass forward, already eyeballing the next bottle.
“My family does.” He wanted to make that clear. And when she didn’t seem disappointed by the news, her eyes widening with genuine interest instead, he added, “This was my Grandpa Geno’s favorite tasting room. His father built it back in the twenties. There is even a secret room in the cellar where men would come to buy wine during Prohibition.” Trey felt himself smile. “My grandpa used to take me down there when I was a kid and sneak me a glass or two. Point out the different flavors, what made one unique over another.”
Those were some of his favorite memories as a child. With his grandfather, he never felt as though he had to prove himself. He could just be in the moment.
Kind of like he was now.
“It sounds like you two had a special connection,” she said quietly. “I had the same kind of relationship with my grandmother. My mom taught me everything she knew about dance, but it was my grandmother who shared her love for it with me.” She gave a shy shrug, almost embarrassed, but unlike him, she went on. “After she died, I realized that I wanted to teach dance, help little girls experience the same magic that she shared with me.”
That was exactly what his grandfather had said to him about wine and why he loved what he did. Grandpa Geno believed wine brought people together, cemented relationships, and allowed special moments to happen.
“I’m not around enough to share,” he admitted and had to glance away. The way she was looking at him, as though he’d passed on his grandfather’s legacy the way she had her grandmother’s, made him feel like a fraud.
“Well, you’re sharing it with me.”
He stared at her, surprised that she openly held his gaze when most people would look away. She might think that she was playing hooky, but the woman was so amazingly open and grounded there was no way she could ever be truly lost. Something that Trey admired.
“Thank you,” he said and, before he could grab the next bottle, she reached out and touched a finger to his, letting it rest there. The simple connection reminded Trey of just how long it had been since he’d talked to someone like this.
“Now, share with me your favorite wine,” she said. “Not the ones you give customers or people you’re trying impress, but the one you’d pick for yourself if you were here alone.”
At that, he smiled. She was beyond good at reading him and calling him out. “Deal. Give me a minute.”
He walked to the end of the bar and selected a bottle of Chianti from his secret hiding place. Then he palmed two of the un-sexiest tumblers in wine country, smiling because they were what his grandpa had used when he’d come here to drink with his cronies. It wasn’t about the packaging, it was about the experience.
Opening it, he placed the cork beneath Sara’s nose, the side of his finger lightly brushing her lips and igniting one hell of a spark. “Close your eyes and tell me what you smell.”
With an amused smile, her lashes fluttered closed and she inhaled, her chest slowly rising and then holding. After a long moment, her warm breath washed over his skin and she opened her eyes.
“It smells charming.” He watched as her cheeks slightly flushed and her smile became coy as she looked him dead in the eye. “Will it taste the same?”
Something inside of Trey shifted. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in until their mouths were a breath apart and whispered, “You tell me.”
Then he kissed her. And charming was the last thing he felt. Not while her mouth gently worked his as though she’d also been fantasizing about this all week.
He teased the seam of her lips and she gave a breathy little moan that shot straight to his core. The taste of her sent blood pumping through his body at an accelerated pace. She teased back, creating enough of a spark to get his chest vibrating, his ears ringing.
Twice.
“Trey,” she breathed, his name whispered against his mouth. “It’s my phone.”
“First rule, no contact with the outside world.” He nipped her lower lip, moaning a little when she nipped back. “We haven’t finished the tasting.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but I have to go.” She pulled back just enough so that he could see her eyes were wide and dazed with heat, and a little humor. Her hands were cupping his face and she was leaning so far forward across the bar she was plastered to his chest. “My world needs me again.”
“How’s the car?” Heather Reed asked and Sara froze. Hand on the doorknob, mid-sneak, she turned and offered up an innocent smile.
Heather was Sara’s dance-assistant-slash-nanny-slash-best friend. Who also happened to be her sister-in-law. And right now she was aiming an accusatory glare in Sara’s direction.
“Not good,” she admitted, feeling as guilty as a teenager who’d been caught sneaking off with her boyfriend. Not that Trey was her boyfriend, or that she even knew what that kind of guilt felt like, since Sara had never sneaked in her life. Until today. “You were right, more than a damaged bumper.”
“Yeah, well the log sticking out of the front and the steaming engine kind of tipped me off,” Heather said, pulling her long leg underneath her, freeing up a spot on the couch. A spot that Sara was not going to take. She sucked at secrets. Keeping one from Heather was impossible, which was why she walked into the family room and casually plopped down in the armchair—on the opposite side of the coffee table.
That’s when she noticed how incredibly clean the house was. The floor had been vacuumed, toys put away, not a single LEGO left out to step on. There was even a bouquet of fresh flowers on the mantle.
It was Sara who pinned Heather with a look this time. She wasn’t the only one being sneaky. “What’s going on?”
Heather smiled. Way too big. “Remember the audition I went on last month?”
“You mean the musical I said you were perfect for and forced you to go on even though you said you were too tall to blend in with the other dancers?”
“Yeah, the director called today and they passed. I was too tall to blend in with the supporting dancers.”
“Oh, Heather, I am so sorry.”
“I’m not. He also said that the lead tore her ACL and he wants to talk to me about filling in while she recovers. The lead!” Heather’s face lit with a joy that Sara hadn’t seen since before Garrett died. “It’s just for a few months, and I don’t even know how many other girls they are considering, but I figure it’s worth a meeting.”
“Heather, that’s incredible. Well, not for the lead who tore her ACL, but you know what I mean,” she said, crossing the room to pull her sister-in-law in for a hug.
Heather was beyond talented, a dancer with megastar factor. Her potential had outgrown St. Helena the day they moved here.
“I know, right?” She hugged Sara back, tightly, and Sara felt her eyes start to burn. “He’s going to be in San Francisco for the week and wants me to meet the choreographer. Tuesday.”
Sara froze. “Tuesday?”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Heather said, and she was. She also wasn’t finished with her favor. “If things go well, then I might have to stay through to Wednesday.”
Tuesdays were the studio’s busiest days. If Heather was gone, Sara would have to cover her classes and Cooper wouldn’t get to bed until nine. She’d start bright and early at seven sharp and go straight through to their evening senior lineup, which included—oh God—Heather’s brainchild.
“Senior Pole Dancing,” she groaned.
“I’ll make it up to you.” Heather tugged Sara’s hand and she was already beginning to cave. Two months as the lead
in a Broadway musical could be the career changer Heather needed.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” Sara said. Heather launched herself into Sara’s arms with a resounding oomph. “As long as you admit that I was right. You are not too tall.”
“Only if you admit that the whole ‘Sorry I’m late, I hit some guy’s car’ story the other night was really code for doing the backseat tango.”
“It was not.”
“Then explain why the driver looks just like Sexy Italian Guy who came into the studio last night looking for you.”
That was news to her. News that made her shiver with delight. “He was just checking to make sure I was okay and to tell me that his car had no damages.”
Heather snorted. “That must have been some checkup, since you stopped answering your phone like an hour and a half ago.” Heather shot Sara a knowing look. “Especially since Sexy Italian Guy happens to go by the name Trey DeLuca.”
Oh my God. “You know Trey?” The idea made Sara’s stomach sour because her sister-in-law was tall, willowy, and endowed. One glance at her centerfold body sent most men to their knees in awe.
“Sara, every available woman in town knows Trey. Or at least knows of him. He is like the Jedi master of panty whisperers.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “You make him sound like some kind of urban myth.”
“According to the ladies in my yoga class, the word you are looking for is ‘legend,’ not ‘myth.’ Apparently, he can talk his way into a pair of panties in under two minutes, and his way out of a commitment before breakfast.” Heather waggled a brow. “So…your panties—”
“Are still intact, thank you very much.” Although he could work a button like nobody’s business, she thought, remembering her raincoat.
“Mommy!” Cooper squealed from the top of the stairs.
“Hey, honey.” She stood, thankful for the interruption.
Trey was sexy and gorgeous and so far out of her comfort zone that just thinking about seeing him again made her nervous. It shouldn’t matter that he was a shagging legend. But for a moment there, Sara had felt like they’d shared something—something real and special. A connection.
Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) Page 4