A Taste of Temptation

by Heather McGovern

  She couldn’t go through that again. Back to the turmoil. The anger.

  Sometimes she missed being needed, but she cherished the peace and contentment of her family more. If she ruined their opportunity with her own selfish desires, she’d never forgive herself.

  “I was wondering, if things work out, would you be my best man?”

  Sophie stopped breathing.

  “You . . .” Wright cleared his throat, clearly caught off guard as well. “Yeah! Of course I will.”

  “And . . .” Dev glanced her way, and her insides were still fish-flopping around. “I want you to be my other groomsman. Woman. Grooms . . . person. I don’t know what to call it, but I want you up there with me too.”

  She blinked, trying to keep up. Her face was hot, and she was starting to sweat. She rolled down the window to get some fresh air.

  One second her world was unraveling, the next she was a groomsman.

  At a stop sign, Dev turned to face her more fully. “I’ve got the air on. You can put the window up.” He cranked the AC higher. “Please say yes. I know it’s odd and against tradition, but so is everything else I do, and I want you up there with me. You don’t have to wear a suit. I don’t care what you wear. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll wear a suit, but that doesn’t matter.”

  “Wh-what about Roark?”

  “Roark will be there, but I don’t want a huge wedding party standing up. Neither will Anna. I want you two with me.” He waited, eyebrows raised, his eyes impossibly blue.

  Like she’d ever said no to him.

  “Of course I’ll be your groomsman.” Her heart clenched as she agreed.

  Her brother was really going to get married, and he wanted her with him.

  Wright leaned forward, his hands on the side on Sophie’s seat. “Did you already ask Anna to marry you and not tell us?”

  Dev grinned, looking proud as a peach. “Not yet, but I’m going to. I have it on good authority she won’t reject me, but I want your help on figuring out what to do.” He glanced back at Wright, then at her. “I thought you already knew I was planning to ask. Figured Sophie would’ve told you.”

  Her mouth fell open in righteous defense. “I would not. That’s your job. I’m not going to steal your thunder.” Never mind that she and Wright had been too preoccupied to discuss Dev’s love life.

  “I was thinking I’d ask next week. Maybe you guys can help me come up with the perfect way to pop the question.”

  “Sure. We can help, but you know, the details have to come from you. Only you know what would mean the most to Anna.”

  His advice was almost identical to Sophie’s, and she smiled.

  As the two of them tossed around days and times to ask, she zoned out, staring at the passing trees.

  Dev had never been happier than since he met Anna. Wright sounded thrilled at the prospect of being best man, and an upcoming wedding and fancy fund-raiser would have the entire resort in a state of giddy anticipation for weeks. Everything at Honeywilde was wonderful. Calmer and better than it’d been in years.

  All she had to do was make sure no one found out about her and Wright, or all of that contentedness could come to a crashing halt.

  Chapter 14

  They reached Honeywilde with about ten minutes to spare before Wright had to start on dinner prep. Didn’t leave him much time to talk with Sophie alone, but he could make it work.

  As soon as they parked, Dev homed in on the black Lexus in employee parking. His soon-to-be fiancée worked out of town several days a week, but she made a point to be at Honeywilde on weekends.

  “I’ll see you two later.” Dev leapt from the driver’s side and took off inside, leaving Wright and Sophie alone.

  “Guess he missed her.” Sophie got out of the SUV and stepped right into the cage Wright had made with both passenger side doors and his arms. “What are you doing?” She rolled her eyes, but a smile played at her lips.

  “Taking a moment. How come you didn’t tell me Dev was going to propose?”

  “That’s not my story to share. I knew he’d tell you about the ring soon enough.”

  He leaned forward. “Dev bought a ring?”

  With her eyes to heaven, she avoided his gaze. “Yes. He got the ring the other day. I went with him, but I thought he’d tell you. I didn’t want to steal his thunder.”

  He straightened, brushing his hands down Sophie’s arms. “Good for Dev. He’s happy. Too happy to notice anything today.”

  “Not for lack of us being obvious. I almost kissed you in the middle of Luanne’s Light Warehouse.”

  “You did?” He smiled so big he felt it in his toes.

  “We don’t need to go on any more work errands with Dev. He’s going to find out, or at the very least be suspicious.”

  “I wish you would’ve kissed me.”

  “You’re missing the point. I don’t want my brother finding out about us that way.”

  Wright studied her, something clicking in his mind like rusty gears working their way into place. “So you wouldn’t mind him finding out, just not in that way.”

  Sophie blinked. “What? No. I don’t . . . I don’t want him finding out in any way.”

  “You sure about that?”

  She stepped up into his space so she could close the car door, her breasts brushing against his chest. “Yes. I’m positive.”

  He shoved his door closed and moved forward until she was pressed against the SUV. “All right, just checking.”

  Sophie grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him down, crashing their lips together before pushing him away. “You’re irritating.”

  Considering they were in Honeywilde’s parking lot and Sophie was kissing him where anyone could see them, he wasn’t sorry.

  “I’m not coming to your apartment tonight,” she told him.

  “I don’t remember inviting you.”

  She inhaled sharply, as though wounded. Even though she was far from it, he still couldn’t drag out the taunt.

  “However, I would like to invite you on an errand for the gala tomorrow. No Devlin. No Trevor. Only you and me.”

  “We don’t have time for that. We have work to do.”

  “This is work. Did you hear me say it was an errand for the gala?”

  She side-eyed him. “What kind of errand?”

  With one last quick kiss, he backed away, his hands up. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll coordinate the scheduling, you be ready to go right after brunch.”

  Sophie popped her hands to her hips, the picture of frustrated and so sexy. “Wright McAdams, what are you up to?”

  “Don’t you full name me like I’m in trouble. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  The next day, he left Marco to clean up the last of the brunch service. He’d also be in charge of the cookie and coffee hour. Good experience for a new chef, and Marco showed talent.

  Wright threw on clean clothes and hurried toward the great room. Would Sophie be waiting on him or would she let guilt and family obligation trump her personal wishes?

  The reality of the situation was he stood a fifty-fifty shot of being stood up or having a wonderful afternoon away with his girl.

  Or rather, the girl he wished was his.

  His phone chirped in his pocket.

  Hoping it was her, he checked the screen.

  Nope. A text from his dad.

  Heard anything from New York? Charleston? Chicago? You need to follow up with them if not. Don’t let the big one get away.

  With a shake of his head, he put his phone back in his pocket.

  He wasn’t letting anything get away. Not a job and not Sophie. He essentially had his pick of restaurants, but he had to decide on the right one. Maybe that was Charleston or Asheville. He had a little more time to decide, and he would.

  But he didn’t need his father’s pressure to do it.

  As he rounded the corner, he held his breath as he scanned the room. No redheads, no redheads, no redheads . .
.

  Then he saw her.

  On the steps between the reception area and the great room, she stood, leaned against the hand rail, typing on her phone.

  “You ready?” He kept walking right past her. If he stopped, he’d touch her. And if he touched her, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  “I don’t know.” She followed him out the front door. “Are you taking me off into the wilderness? We going to the farm for produce? I have no idea if I’m ready since I have no idea what we’re doing.”

  He opened the Jeep door for her and went around, climbing in the other side. “I told you. We’re running an errand. For work.” He winked at her as he buckled up.

  “That look on your face isn’t instilling more confidence.”

  “Relax. This really is for the fund-raiser, but coincidentally, it’s fun as well.”

  His phone chirped again and, after a ten-second debate with himself, he checked it.

  And call me. Let me know what’s going on. Updates. We haven’t heard from you in over a week.

  He flipped the sound over to vibrate and didn’t reply.

  His parents could wait. Today, he had plans.

  Twenty minutes later, they turned down the long driveway leading to the vineyard and Chateau Jolie.

  Sophie turned toward him. “The competition. Really?”

  Chateau Jolie was an estate built in the 1920s, inspired by the chateaus of France and sold off to the highest bidder in the eighties. It was also Honeywilde’s closest competition for an upscale mountain getaway.

  “Why are we at the chateau?”

  “Would you relax? And trust me. You little control freak.”

  “I’m not a—” She clamped her mouth shut.

  Even she couldn’t argue that point. Sophie was generous and kind, but she absolutely preferred to be in control, with no unforeseen circumstances or curveballs. She didn’t so much care if she was in charge, as long as she got to be in control.

  For someone who didn’t actually share any DNA, she was frighteningly similar to Roark.

  Wright parked and faced her. “I am capable of multitasking, you know? I do it every day in the kitchen. I’ve arranged some time away from Honeywilde that includes accomplishing something for the gala and something for us.”

  She glanced at the chateau, a beautiful stone structure, four stories tall.

  The family who owned it had added a vineyard a good many years ago. It was an ever growing work in progress, but already they had a reputation for some delightful reds, along with a rosé and a sparkling wine that were hits.

  With her bottom lip between her teeth, she knotted her fingers together.

  He leaned over, peeling one hand away from the other, brushing his thumb across the back. “We’re going to go in here as representatives of Honeywilde, enjoy a wine tasting, and order a few cases for the party that will perfectly accompany my dishes. We’re going to have a nice afternoon, together, and that’s that. Got it?”

  Her gaze shot to his, and he made sure his expression was certain.

  “Okay.” She nodded.

  He lifted the hand he held in his and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “Come on. They’re expecting us.”

  Once they let the concierge know of their arrival, they were escorted downstairs to a cellar that must’ve taken up the entire bottom level.

  There, the chateau’s manager, Brooke, took over.

  Wright had spoken with her on the phone when he called about some special wines for the gala.

  A statuesque woman he’d place maybe in her early thirties, she gave them an extended tour, clearly enamored with her job.

  And who wouldn’t be? She got to work with wine for a living.

  “We’re still working on expanding our selections, but in another year, our stock should be full.” She showed them the reserves of red and the brut he’d heard so much about. “Are you ready to try some?”

  He watched Sophie as she turned one of the bottles of Brut Reserve in her hands. “I would say so.”

  “Then follow me.” Brooke led them outside, down a path, to a stand-alone patio of stone pavers and hearty wood tables and chairs, a waiter standing near a fully set table.

  At the far end of the patio, an outdoor kitchen took up an entire corner.

  Wright grabbed Sophie’s hand and pulled her toward the beauty, all wine temporarily forgotten.

  “Wow, this is gorgeous,” she gushed.

  She had no idea.

  He ran his fingers across the knobs of the range, opened the oven door, and caressed the stonework of the structure. “I’m a little turned on right now,” he whispered.

  Next to him, Sophie giggled and clutched his arm. “Easy. We have wine to taste.”

  “I want one.” The words fell out, so true, yet so impossible. At least for now. Honeywilde was doing well, but not that well.

  “Maybe someday.” She tugged him toward the table where Brooke and a waiter watched them. “If we get one or two more big rock-star weddings.”

  Wright watched the kitchen as he walked away.

  The thought was nice, but highly unlikely. Roark wasn’t the type to spend that extravagantly, even if the resort had the means. And chances were Wright wouldn’t even be there by the time Honeywilde had another celebrity wedding, or two.

  He had to decide by month end, and month end was drawing near.

  “We have a small plates menu ready for you,” Brook announced. “Eric will be your waiter, but I’ll keep check on you in case you have questions.”

  Once she left, Eric, looking all of a day over twenty-one, stepped up to their table. “For starters, we have our Brut Reserve, served with cheese-filled brioche.”

  Sophie shared a smile with Wright as she sat. “I’m going to be full and drunk after this, aren’t I?”

  Wright spread his napkin over his lap. “Depends on how much you like the wine. We’re only trying six and they’ll pour conservatively, but . . . given your size, yeah. You’re probably going to be tipsy.”

  The waiter popped a bottle of bubbly, poured, and left them to enjoy the brut and brioche.

  “You aren’t going to try to take advantage of me later, are you?”

  “No.” He laughed as he cut the brioche in two, placing a half on each of their plates. “But I’d be okay with you taking advantage of me.”

  She smiled as she bit into the bun, chewing with her eyes closed before picking up the champagne flute.

  “Wait.” Wright grabbed his glass. “A toast. To the two of us, and finally doing something about it.”

  Sophie tapped her glass against his.

  The flavor hit his tongue, crisp and alive. Not too sweet, not too dry, the wine went down smooth with the bite of bubbles at the end.

  The brut lived up to the reputation and then some.

  “Wow, this is good.” Sophie took another sip.

  “We have to get this for the party.”

  “Definitely.”

  Next up was a pinot grigio, followed by a small salad and a rosé. Then they ventured into the reds, starting with a noir and filet medallions, then a syrah.

  The glasses of wine were conservative, but not as small as he’d predicted. By the fifth tasting, his face was warm, his muscles relaxed.

  He glanced at Sophie over a sip of syrah.

  Her cheeks were pink, her eyes shining. She was well on her way to tipsy, in the middle of the day.

  But dammit, good for her. She never got out and did things for herself.

  Anything.

  She worked as hard as, if not harder than, anyone else at Honeywilde, and she deserved something special. A break from the everyday routine.

  She needed someone who’d do things like this for her. Someone who’d set it up and treat her to something nice, and fun, because she’d never do it for herself.

  Not for the first time, Wright was grateful to be that guy.

  She really could be with anyone, even if she didn’t realize it, but she wanted to be with him.


  What happened to that when he left Honeywilde? Assuming he could keep her from running from him until then.

  A pit opened up in his stomach.

  Whether he moved to New York or down the highway to Asheville, casually dating—secret or not—would be impossible. They would either be a couple, or they wouldn’t.

  He knew better than to press her about the future or any kind of commitment, but the thought of not being with her, her going out with some other guy, enjoying dates and laughter, being with someone else . . .

  Wright set his fork down, the tender filet turning to rubber in his mouth.

  Sophie with someone else was no longer an acceptable option. He’d observed that for years, as she had with him, and he wasn’t interested in moving backward.

  A secret affair that gave her a thrill was fine, for now. But he didn’t want to be a secret forever, or short term. He wanted the rest of the summer, and then the fall. Months and months after that. There’d be no going back to buddies for him.

  “Why are you so serious over there?” Sophie reached over, walking her fingers along his forearm. “Is your steak no good? I know you’re a foodie perfectionist and all, but this is good beef.”

  “No, the steak is delicious.”

  She grinned, the action slow and lazy.

  “And you’re lit.”

  “I am not.” She flapped her hand in the air before patting his arm. Then she went back to touching his forearm, skating her fingers up to the sleeve of his shirt.

  “You’re feeling me up.”

  With a toss of her head, she blew him off. “You think this is feeling you up? Please.” She squeezed his arm and sighed.

  Naturally he felt a little ripple of pride. “If this isn’t feeling me up, promise you’ll show me later? I need to understand the qualities of a proper feeling up.”

  She took her bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze sparkling, and nodded. “You know . . .” With the tip of her pointer finger, she traced a pattern down his arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but I have a thing for your arms.”

  “You’re definitely tipsy.”

  Adamant, she pointed to his upper arm. “You have good arms. And I like the little bit of freckles.”

  Wright studied his arm, confused. “I don’t have freckles.”