Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel)

by Adair, Marina

  “What superhero would that be? Lady Bug-ette?” Trey laughed and Sara felt all of the stress and struggles from the last few days disappear. It was impossible not to when he was smiling at her like that. “All it needed was pink polka dots.”

  “I understand my son is male. I wasn’t going to paint it pink,” Sara challenged while leaning in and trying to look intimidating. But it was hard to pull off when she was hyper aware of his hand still holding hers.

  Unfastening his seat belt, he leaned in too. Only with his bedroom eyes and that cocky, you-know-you-want-me smile, he managed to actually pull off intimidating. And sexy.

  “I’m male,” he whispered, the space between them heated and crackled.

  Male incarnate was more like it. The smell of crisp rain on his skin, the feel of his calloused fingers lightly running over her wrist, all of that sexy swagger he was expelling was proof enough. Then he smiled and her stomach flipped and, whoosh, all of the air left her lungs in one huge rush of nerves and excitement. “No arguments here.”

  “And yet you painted me pink.”

  “I like pink,” she heard herself whisper.

  The click of her seat belt echoed through the car as Trey leaned even closer, taking his time to study her neck, her lips, finally looking her in the eye. “I like you.”

  Sara liked him too. Enough to give her pause, to make her ask the hard questions, like if she was ready to move past Garrett’s death, if she could see herself falling for Trey, if he was capable of breaking her heart. The answer to all was a resounding yes.

  “I want to go to bed,” a groggy little voice said from the backseat.

  Me too, Sara thought, giving Trey one last look. Me too.

  Thirty minutes later, Trey found himself pulling into Sara’s driveway—for the second time that night. He grabbed the badass garage he’d fashioned from an old shoebox out of the backseat—one slightly sticky derby car inside—and strode up the stone walkway. The one-story, craftsman-style cottage boasted a charming garden and a wide front porch, complete with matching bikes and a wooden swing. It looked welcoming and so soothing, Trey nearly set the box on the doorstep, got back in his car, and drove to the hotel.

  There was nothing temporary or staged about the house. Just like there was nothing temporary or staged about its owner. Sara Reed with her sunny smile and melt-your-soul eyes, was a card-carrying member of Families-R-Us, the one-stop shop to forever. Something Trey didn’t do. Something he was willing to move six thousand miles to avoid. And yet there he was, paint stuck under his nails, bag of craft supplies dangling from his hand, knocking on her front door—hoping she wouldn’t answer and praying that she would.

  The door opened, and if Trey wasn’t certain about his day before, he was now.

  Definitely less shitty.

  Sara appeared behind the screen. Gone was the bulky coat and dance clothes from earlier. Same with the tight little bun she’d worn on top of her head.

  Now, her hair spilled in loose, dark waves, brushing her shoulders and framing that incredible face. She was dressed in a pair of faded jeans that hugged her hips and a thin cream sweater that in the light—thank you, Jesus—turned pretty much translucent, which meant that he could see clear through to the little cami she wore beneath. Also cream. With one of those built-in bra thingies that were invented to drive men crazy. The single thin strap over her almost-naked shoulder confirmed the former, and his dick the latter, because one tug of that strap and it was game on.

  “Trey?” She opened the screen door and took a step forward, tucking her hands in the back pockets of her pants, which did stupid things to the front part of his pants. “What are you doing here?”

  “Coop forgot this.” He held up the box and bag. “I know he needed it for tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. That was nice of you to bring it back.”

  She reached for the box, but when he wouldn’t let go, she raised a brow. “Be sure to not jar it. The paint isn’t all-the-way dry.” He meant to give it to her but couldn’t seem to let go. Or shut up. “Which is why we couldn’t finish the camo job on the car, but I put the black and gray paint inside the bag so you guys could do it tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be careful, and I’ll let Cooper know you stopped by.” She took the box, looked inside—and then hit him with her smile. Going home was no longer an option. Neither was stripping her naked, since he’d bet Coop was snoring less than twenty feet away. But he could at least get his dance.

  “I stopped by to see you,” he said and Sara’s smile lost some of its sparkle. She looked torn. So he took a giant mental step backward and went for friendly. “It seems you owe me a dance.”

  It didn’t work; she still seemed uncertain. Especially when she looked over her shoulder toward what he assumed was Cooper’s door. “It’s late.”

  “A deal’s a deal,” he said, stepping forward and crowding her a little. He heard her breath catch, watched her eyes zero in on his mouth and—hot damn—she was nervous and tempted. This he could handle. Man, woman, needs, wants. Enough chemistry to ignite an electrical storm. This was his playground. “One dance lesson and I’ll leave.”

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbled but didn’t sound convinced. Smart and gorgeous.

  She looked down the darkened stairway, and back to him, hesitation in her eyes. He stuck out the box and gave his best scouts-honor grin.

  “One dance,” she said, and he knew he was in. She opened the door and stepped back, but didn’t let him cross the threshold. “No poles, clothes stay on, and absolutely no touching below the waist.”

  Trey checked out her cami and shrugged. “I’m good with that.”

  She narrowed her gaze but let him in. He closed the door behind him and followed her down the hall, through the family room, and somewhere between the kitchen table and pantry, his eyes fell to her other tight buns and got stuck there. When a cold breeze smacked him in the face, he looked up.

  “Are you kicking me out already?”

  “No,” she laughed. “I figured that the backyard would be the best place for a lesson.”

  “But it’s cold. And wet. And—” Shielding his eyes with one hand from the floodlight she’d just turned on. “Are you trying to blind me?”

  “It’s either that or this.” She clicked off the flood and turned on a set of twinkle lights.

  Lining the shrubs and wrapping around the entire deck, hundreds of little lights flickered, casting a reflection on the wet wood of the patio floor, creating a soft glow that illuminated the backyard. The effect was incredibly romantic.

  He could work with this.

  “And since I’m going for a kid-friendly lesson,” she said.

  He took her hand and led her to the middle of the deck before she could ruin his mood lighting. “I already agreed to the rules. No poles, nudity, or touching below the waist.”

  She crossed her arms and glared. “No touching period, except where we have to for proper dance position.”

  “Nope.” He placed his hands on either side of her waist, firmly in the fly zone, and tugged her close. “You can’t go changing the rules now.”

  “I was adding an addendum,” she said primly.

  “That’s like take-backs, not allowed.” He took a step forward and pulled her to him like he was Fred Astaire and she was his Ginger Rogers. He smiled at his discovery—she was a Ginger after all. “Now, for my lesson.”

  “Fine. The proper hold for the waltz is closed position, so your right hand goes here,” she instructed, her cool fingers wrapping around his wrist, raising his arm until his palm rested between her shoulder blades—instead of on the patch of bare skin between the small of her back and that luscious butt of hers, which he preferred.

  “Where would my right hand go if this were an improper hold?” She glared at him. “What? I’m just saying it would help to feel the difference. You know, so that
I know when I’ve got it right.”

  She ignored him and, resting her free hand on his cheek, shoved his face away from hers and sharply to the left. “Imagine there is a window over my shoulder. Try to look out of it.”

  Doing the exact opposite of what she asked, he placed a small kiss on the inside of her wrist, his eyes firmly locked on hers. “Why? This view is much more to my liking.”

  She snatched her hand back and he loved how easily she got flustered. “If you keep looking at me, you’ll stumble into my space.”

  “That’s a problem, how?” She let out a serious huff in combination with a stern brow raise, so he went back to being the good student. “Fine. Proper. Window. Got it.”

  “Good.” She fiddled with his elbow, raising it to the correct place, explaining, “The goal is to keep your elbows from falling so that I can feel where you’re leading me.”

  She sounded so damn professional. He took her hand in his, shifted his frame into the perfect closed position, and drew her to him until their hips were pressed tight, extinguishing any lingering doubt she may have of just how capable his leading abilities were.

  “Oh,” she whispered, her big hazel eyes looking up at his. They were more green than brown in the lighting, and wide with surprise and, oh yeah, she was looking at him as though she wanted him to kiss her. And he wanted to. Very much. But he knew if he did, she would kiss him back, and that would lead to touching—in the “no touchie” parts of their bodies, which would lead to a whole lot more—and he’d made a promise. Which had clearly been made in a moment of insanity, but it had been made all the same.

  So he checked himself and took an aggressive move forward, leading her in long fluid steps, with the controlled rise and fall that made the waltz such an elegant dance. Nothing fancy—he was saving that for later—but enough that had her lips parting with surprise.

  “You know how to dance,” she said, and he couldn’t help but smile at the utter disbelief in her voice.

  “Yup.” He didn’t just know how to dance. He knew how to spin a woman around the dance floor until she felt safe and breathless. A powerful combination. “Careful, teacher, you keep looking at me that way and I will do more than invade your personal space.”

  She flushed and fixed her frame. “Right. Window.”

  He slid his arm around her back and pulled closer, closer than a normal dance hold required, but this time she didn’t complain. In fact, she snuggled deeper into him and it felt amazing. She felt amazing. Even though she was a tiny thing, it was the perfect fit, as though she had been built specifically for dancing with him. Or maybe it was that he was the perfect fit for her. Either way, there was something about how her elegant hand fit snugly in his, and how their bodies brushed and swayed as they moved across the back porch, that had his heart pounding in his chest.

  “You don’t just know how to dance, you’ve taken lessons before,” she said, a small note of surprise in her voice.

  “Just not swing lessons,” he laughed. “When I was eight, my dad decided he wanted to surprise my mom and learn how to waltz for the Winter Garden Gala. He needed a partner, so he took me. We drove into Napa for lessons every Thursday,” Trey explained, remembering how much he’d complained. Dancing was for wusses, something his brothers reminded him every time he’d pack up his wing-tipped shoes.

  “Was she surprised?”

  “Yeah,” Trey found himself smiling at the memory. “She was nominated for Garden of the Year, and when my dad whisked her out and started twirling her around the dance floor, she started crying. Said it didn’t matter that she didn’t win, with him she felt like a princess.”

  God, she’d been so happy. His dad had made her that happy.

  “Your dad sounds like a great guy. A true romantic.”

  Like you, Trey thought.

  “He always did things, small things, to let my mom know just how special she was to him. He used to tell my brothers and me that romance is the nurturing of love. I was too young to get what he meant at the time, but looking back on how he treated my mom, how insanely in love they were…”

  He trailed off, unable to say any more without embarrassing himself. He hadn’t talked this much about his parents in years. In fact, he didn’t know why he was talking about them tonight.

  Bullshit. He knew exactly why. It was her smile. She had a great smile, warm and understanding, and it scared the hell out of him. He knew the first time he saw her, and felt that unfamiliar flicker of something he’d thought long-ago buried, that she would be his undoing.

  So he sent Sara out for a turn and pulled her back, making it clear he was done talking about his family. Only Sara didn’t drop the topic, which was just like a woman.

  “Did you dance with your mom too?”

  “Yeah. She cried some more.”

  “That’s sweet,” she said, and he felt his ears warm. Damn, the woman had him blushing.

  “Trust me, sweet is not something a ten-year-old wants to be called. Ever.”

  It had been embarrassing as shit and his brothers had harassed him for weeks. Although, hearing the word fall from her lips didn’t seem to bother him all that much.

  “Why did he take you to dance with him?” she asked. “I mean, I love that he did, and I think more fathers should, but most men think dancing is for girls and would enroll their sons in something more…manly.”

  “Point taken. I still have the paint under my nails to prove it.” Trey released a breath and felt his body relax. “He took me because I’m the youngest and, until high school, the smallest.” He still remembered the day when he’d finally outgrown Abby. “So I spent most of my life trying to prove myself. Do what my brothers did. When Gabe got into football, I made pads out of my mom’s throw pillows and shoved him until he tackled me. When Nate started playing soccer, I demanded to be goalie.” Trey shrugged. “My dad hoped dance would teach me that finesse could take me further in life than stubborn force.”

  Sara laughed. “Did it work?”

  He didn’t have to turn his head to know she was looking at him. He could feel it in the way her hips brushed his. But he turned anyway and…he was toast.

  Trey couldn’t explain what happened next, only that one moment they were dancing and the next they weren’t. His hands, no longer in the proper hold, were resting just above her butt, holding her to him. Hers were laced though his hair.

  “You tell me,” he said softly, leaning down until he was close, temptingly close, their mouths only a breath apart.

  She didn’t pull back, and neither did he, instead waiting for her to decide. He watched her eyes as she fought the urge to rise up, but he held steadfast. Sara was a single mom, which was new territory for him—territory he wasn’t sure how to navigate. The kiss at the winery had been one thing, but being here in her home was completely different—so the first move would have to be all hers.

  And wouldn’t you know it, Dad had been right. Finesse did work better than pressure. Sara rose up on her toes, tilted that pretty face of hers, and kissed him.

  Right there on the patio, with the lights twinkling around them, and the glow of the tiny bulbs softly reflecting in her eyes. Her lips were soft and gentle, and as far as he was concerned, it was the sweetest kiss he’d ever had. Which was why he kept it slow, resisting the urge to devour her. A difficult task, since she was so damn soft, much softer than he’d expected.

  And shy.

  Even the way she tentatively nibbled his lower lip was a complete turn-on. So much so that he could go on kissing her like that for hours.

  Problem was, in Trey’s world, kissing always led to getting naked. But Trey knew women, and women like Sara didn’t do sex on the patio, and then not regret it in the morning. Just like she wouldn’t do private lessons if they slept together. And that wouldn’t work because ChiChi was expecting him to pull off Dancing with the Stars: St. Helena Edi
tion.

  Even worse, he realized, he wanted more. And he wasn’t just talking about sex. He wanted a month of dancing and teasing and just being with Sara—a thought that shocked him into pulling back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her fingers absently touching her lips. “I shouldn’t have done that. I mean, you are,” she waved her hands in the air in some gesture he had no idea how to translate, “you.”

  “And you are…?” He asked because how the hell was he expected to take that comment?

  “Not a one-night-stand kind of girl, no matter how much I wish I were,” she clarified, but sounded disappointed by her statement. “My life is complete chaos right now, and I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

  “It was a dance, Sara,” he said, purposefully flashing his easygoing smile and trying to bring everything back to light and manageable. Though she didn’t come off as the manageable type. “Followed by a kiss, a very brief, but very hot kiss. One which I wouldn’t mind repeating.”

  “Me either, but…” she faded off and looked at the floor.

  And Trey got it. He suddenly felt the third person in the room.

  “Is this about Garrett?” When she raised a startled but confused brow, he clarified. “Coop told me what happened.” Trey reached out and took her hand. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

  “Very,” she whispered and Trey felt his heart pinch, which was ridiculous. Trey didn’t do complicated. Didn’t have the time or interest. And there was nothing more complicated than a single mom who’d at one time been married to Captain America and obviously still loved him. Plus, Sara was the take-home-to-family kind of girl, and Trey avoided his home and family as much as possible.

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  “I think a part of me always will be,” she said, looking him dead in the eye. No hesitation, no bullshit. “But I want to be happy again, maybe even find that kind of happiness with someone else. I’m open to dating, even open to more.”

  He liked the sound of more. Especially when her face turned the cutest shade of pink.