“It identified you as a group—a family.”
Kohl snorted. “A family of freaks, you mean. You’ve seen my dad in his dead-rock-star T-shirts and my mom—floating around town like Janis Joplin might if she’d ever sobered up and lived to sixty.”
“I love your mom.” Grace sighed again. “At least I think I would.”
Kohl’s jaw clenched. He’d mentioned her meeting both Bobby and June a few days ago—a strategic error. She wasn’t going to make the acquaintance of his parents or hang around any more with him. “They’re good people,” he had to admit to her, however. “Though we grew up in that double-wide they still live in, with the same rusting appliances in the yard and that same organic garden taking up as much of their attention as their kids.”
She shook her head. “They love you a lot. Your dad adopting a stray dog that his son brought home. Your mom keeping you in kohlrabi.”
That would mean so much to a girl who’d been brought up without a mother and who’d been knocked around by the one parent left to care for her. Kohl felt the familiar burn of rage start to fire up in his belly. He jumped to his feet and made for the coffeemaker on the counter.
“Were you aware they’re responsible for the yellow ribbons all over town?”
Kohl froze, then set the mug he’d pulled from the cupboard onto the countertop. “What?”
“Your parents. Right after you left, they delivered them everywhere, anonymously, I think. Stacks at the library, on the counter at the post office, held down by a rock on a bench in the park. Everybody took a few and tied them to doorknobs, to their car antennas, and anywhere else you can think of.”
He’d seen the tattered remnants of them once he’d returned. “How do you know this?” he asked. “My parents were completely against me enlisting. ‘Make love not war’ and all that.”
“I could catch a ride with a neighbor to school, but it meant I got there really, really early. So I’d hang around downtown—which means I saw a few things.” She shrugged. “I know who doesn’t scoop up after their dog during walks and which boys snuck out of which girls’ houses in the mornings.”
He could see it. The little rabbit observing the world around her from the safety of a doorway. Happy to be out of her father’s range. The idea of it wrenched at his heart as much as Mom and Pop delivering secret stacks of yellow ribbons around Edenville. It was so like them. Loving the sinner if not the sin. Loving the soldier if not the fight.
And instead of getting the warm fuzzies from the feeling, his hand lashed out and he brushed the mug off the counter so that it shattered on the linoleum below.
Grace stilled.
Closing his eyes, he realized he couldn’t move. Not yet.
Her hand touched his arm. “Kohl?”
His muscles tensed beneath the pads of her fingertips. “Go.”
She didn’t obey. He could still feel the gentle contact of her hand. Her breath blew against the skin of his bicep. “What happens?” she murmured.
She wanted to know about his PTSD. He didn’t know which he wanted to go away more: the symptoms or the woman asking about them. His chest tight, he forced out the words. “I don’t relive experiences, as a general rule. My symptoms mostly fall into the emotional numbness and withdrawal category, with some outbursts of anger to spice things up.”
“Are they getting any better?”
They had been getting better. He had been getting better. The work in the vineyard, the trust that Jules had in him, both had reconnected him to the world in a powerful way. But Giuliana had always been tangled with Liam—he’d known that on some level from the beginning—and that left him with this big-eyed, soft-mouthed little rabbit, who was likely ready to hop out of her skin at his next burst of temper.
Why wouldn’t she just leave? That soft breathing of hers was getting on his nerves, grating them rawer than ever. Her cinnamon sugar smell was too sweet for the bitter, dark man he’d become. Pulling free of her soft hold, he stepped away. The broken ceramic cut into the bottom of his bare feet, and he welcomed the sharp sting.
Her gaze dropped to the blood he left on the floor. “Kohl . . .” He saw her swallow. “Tell me where the elastic bandages are.”
“They’re not going to fix what hurts me,” he said, his voice harsh. She wasn’t leaving! Why wasn’t she running from the blood and truths that were leaking out of him? He gulped a breath, and over the coppery scent oozing from the bottom of his wounded feet, he could taste that confection smell of hers.
Suddenly he wanted to eat it. He wanted to eat her up.
Reaching out, he took hold of her upper arms with both hands. His grip was careful, though, because he saw in his mind’s eye those rings of black bruises she’d once worn on them. Still, he brought her closer. Her tennis shoes crunched on the pieces of broken mug. “You should have run,” he said, pulling her so close that he could see her pupils expand into the bright blue sea of her eyes. “I wanted you to go away.”
Her human warmth reached out and wrapped around him as certainly as he was holding her. Her soft pretty lips parted. She wasn’t afraid . . . she should be afraid!
So he kissed her, kissed her like he was some kind of demon out to steal her breath. Maybe he did, because Grace went boneless against his chest. But her mouth was alive, working against his as he sought the right fit. There. There!
His tongue surged into her mouth, and hers didn’t play dead. Instead, she dueled with him, giving as well as getting, exchanging sweet for bitter, light for dark. She tasted like sunshine and he swallowed it down.
Lightheaded, he had to break the kiss for air. Her golden red lashes had half drifted over her magnificent eyes. She looked languorous. Seducible. No, already willing.
It tore at him again. Why hadn’t she left?
“Kohl . . .” she whispered.
And he had to tear away from her. With a wrench, he did it, leaving her swaying on her feet. “I have one other symptom,” he said, his voice rasping. “They call it something like the limited-future syndrome. I don’t want a wife and kids. I don’t expect to live a normal life—or even have a normal lifespan.”
Her eyes were wide now. She had to wish she’d run the moment he’d opened the door. In the silence, he saw her swallow.
“I understand,” she finally said, her voice as hoarse as his. “For a long time, I thought one of them—my father or the man I married—would kill me.”
And then she was gone. Kohl dropped his aching head to his hands. Jesus, Jesus. The one he really wanted to get away from now was no one other than himself.
The evening of the dinner party, Liam’s gaze followed Giuliana’s passage down the curved stairway. He caught a glimpse of her black open-toed shoes, the high heels accentuating the length of her calves. The hem of a dress skimmed her knees. Then she disappeared around the bend and he had a moment to breathe before she reappeared again. The shoes, the calves, the knees, the hem, and then all of her.
The dress was satiny, the color a dawn-pale pink splashed with tropical flowers in black. It was close-fitting, following the curves of her hips to her small waist, up her rib cage to the wide, U-shaped neckline cut low enough to expose the rise of her breasts. Narrow straps clung to her shoulders and he could tell it dipped low in the back, too. Her hair, shiny as a crow’s wing, hung in a straight waterfall.
Long jet earrings hung from her ears. Her eyes were made up to look more dark and mysterious and her mouth shone a sheer pink color.
At the foot of the staircase, she looked up at him, a black clutch purse in her hand and some sort of matching wrap folded over her arm. She took him in, too, but he was nothing as exotic as her in his summer-weight ivory trousers, open shirt, and blue blazer. Another long minute stretched by while he continued to stare. Her brows drew together. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
“I can’t,” he answered, honest. “Because there aren’t words that would do you justice.”
She pressed her lips together and a l
ittle dimple winked out, evidence of the smile she was working so hard not to release. “Okay then.”
A hint of a spicy-sweet perfume drew him forward. He took the wrap off her arm and dropped it over her shoulders.
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “What nice manners you have.”
Little Red Riding Hood to the wolf. Oh, little did she know how wolfish he felt tonight. Right now he was itching to take a bite. “I was raised to know what fork to use,” he only said.
They headed toward the foyer. He’d pulled his Mercedes up to the front. As they crossed the threshold it struck him—how weird as hell it was to be going to a dinner party with Giuliana at his side. As his wife. They’d had that passionate weekend in Reno and then those too-short weeks as newlyweds in Tuscany. But like this . . . in his house in Edenville . . .
This is how it could be, he thought, taking in another breath of her tantalizing perfume. Maybe it was what they both needed to experience before being able to move on.
He looked down at her dark head and put his hand at the small of her back as they descended the porch steps. Her dress was sleek; her body warm. He felt another rush of that weirdness that wasn’t weird at all, he realized. The thought struck him again.
This is how it could be.
“Speaking of manners,” Giuliana mused, as he reached for the passenger door, “I would have thought His Honor the Mayor and Bev Allen would have given more advance notice of their party tonight.”
He frowned down at her. “I’ve known about it for a month. I already had it on my calendar.”
“Oh.” Her gaze dropped. “Maybe . . . maybe I shouldn’t come. I wasn’t invited.”
“Of course you were invited. You talked to Bev yourself yesterday morning.”
Embarrassed color flagged her cheeks, and she worried her small purse in a nervous gesture. “Because they think I’m your wife now. Before—when I was just a Baci, I wasn’t on the guest list.”
He wanted to groan. Instead he kept his tone reasonable. “Well, you are my wife. Now, before, for the past ten years.”
“It wasn’t real—”
“It was real. It’s always been real.” Okay, he had to keep his cool, but his movements were jerky as he found the door handle and yanked at it. He wanted her with him tonight, damn it.
“Get your fine ass inside, please.” Even to his own ears he sounded as frustrated as he felt. So much for cool.
She obeyed, sliding into the seat but keeping her profile to him when he took his place on the driver’s side. “It’s just that my fine ass doesn’t feel like being a second-thought, second-class-citizen fine ass,” she said.
She wasn’t second to anyone, and she should know it. “Your fine ass isn’t invited to more parties because you’re a pain in the ass,” he muttered.
“That’s not true,” she protested. “Face it, the Bacis have never existed in the same social strata in the Napa Valley as the Bennetts. You’re the Haves and we’re the Have Too Littles.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re blind to the truth.”
This is how it could be. The words came back to smack him in the face. Yeah, they could be going at each other like this twenty-four/seven.
A half mile of silence later, she spoke again, her voice small. “Do you really think I have a fine ass?”
He sucked in his cheeks so he wouldn’t smile. “First class all the way. Nobody in Napa has one better.”
“It’s Allie’s dress,” she said. “So tight I had to go commando, but for that compliment it might be worth it.”
His hands jerked the wheel. The Mercedes pulled right, and he tightened his hold to wrench it straight. A lesser car would have fishtailed from his lack of finesse. “For God’s sake, Jules.” Commando!
“What?”
He gave her a sour glance. “You haven’t been able to manage that innocent look since you let me get to second base on New Year’s Eve eleven years ago. Remember—”
“I remember! I remember!” She whacked his shoulder with her hand. “Yeesh. You don’t have to play dirty like that.”
“You started it.” He shook his head. “Commando, Jules. C’mon. Give me a break.”
“Fine.” She humphed.
The bounce she made against the leather seat made him think of her naked behind again and he almost lost his hold on the wheel for the second time. This is how it could be.
Still, he discovered he was smiling as he pulled up to the mayor’s house. Pulling her hand to the crook of his arm, he led her from the car to the door. “For the record,” he whispered, ducking his head against hers, “I like playing dirty with you.”
She was smiling, too, as they walked into the party, the couple everyone was eager to see.
Yeah, he didn’t fully realize that until they’d made their way to the living room. He had a hell of a lot more sympathy for Giuliana’s nervousness now, as he saw that they were the focus of every eye. The place was full of two dozen or more movers and shakers of Edenville and its environs.
“My youngest sister is married to a TV star,” he heard her murmur, and he suspected she was giving herself a little pep talk. “My other sister is an Ardenian princess.”
“Even better, Stevie knows how to adjust a carburetor,” Liam pointed out.
Giuliana stilled. Then she looked up and flashed him a brilliant smile. “I take back some of the mean thoughts I’ve had about you.”
“Some?” That sounded like progress. “Exactly how many?”
She mulled a moment. “Two,” she said, and then she was moving away from him to hold out her hand to the mayor and then his wife. Her smile continued on its full-wattage setting and her earlier nervousness must have evaporated because she exuded confidence while mingling with the others in the room.
Nursing a glass of a Russian River Valley pinot, he watched her from a spot by the bar. She had a killer body. Now womanly and ripe. He couldn’t look away from the changing expressions on her face. She was shaking her head sometimes, chuckling softly at others, on occasion flicking him a glance over her shoulder. People were grilling her on their marriage, he realized, as he caught snippets of the conversation even at this distance.
. . . youthful impulse . . .
. . . too long apart . . .
. . . came to our senses this last year . . .
With the exception of that last one, she spoke the truth. And even then, well, they had to come to their senses and do something about the situation, didn’t they? She threw another bright glance at him over her smooth-skinned shoulder. He smiled at her, toasting her performance with his glass.
He was so damn proud of her.
Her lashes fell and rose just a little, the look flirtatious now. His belly tightened, and he thought about walking over, putting his arm around her waist, and heaving her across his shoulder, caveman style. They’d go home, he’d peel her out of that dress—wait, she was commando, he’d shove up the hem of that dress—
And it hit him again. It could be like this.
“I’m so happy to see the two of you together,” a female voice said at his elbow.
Resigned, Liam turned. He shouldn’t have expected to duck all the relationship flack. Rex and Janice Sandburg stood beside him, both beaming. They had kids the same age as Liam and Giuliana and he’d known the entire family all his life, just as they’d known both his parents and Mario and Elena Baci.
He shook hands with Rex and leaned over to brush a salute on Janice’s cheek. “How are you both? Sunny and Dan?”
They were distracted by telling him of their recent trip around the Greek isles followed by a detailed account of the marriage of their daughter, Sunny, in Kauai. “She thought about the Baci winery, but there wasn’t an open date that worked.”
“It’s a popular spot,” he agreed. A year ago he’d had doubts, but the Baci sisters—as Penn would say—were scary. What they wanted, they got. His eyes lifted to find Giuliana still working the crowd.
�
�So it’s really true?” Rex asked, following the direction of his gaze. “You two kids eloped and then had a falling out?”
Liam nodded. “That’s right.”
“It’s so romantic.” Janice sighed.
Ten years apart? Sure. “Like Titanic,” he murmured.
“What’s that?” Janice tilted her head.
“I was just agreeing with you. Romantic.”
Rex sidled closer and lowered his voice. “So . . . what went wrong?”
He’d made so many mistakes. The thought of them sent his stomach pitching. He should never have left her in Tuscany. He should have told her what was going on at home. Afterward, he should have found some way to tell her everything he was feeling.
Why hadn’t he done that? Why hadn’t he been able to do that?
And why were all his missteps so easy to identify now?
“Liam?” Rex prodded him with his elbow.
“I . . .” His hand tightened on his wineglass and he searched the crowd again, his lurching stomach subsiding as he once again identified her dark head. While he saw Penn as the sunny twin, the opposite of his grimmer personality, just the sight of Giuliana seemed to balance him.
It could be like this . . .
For the rest of our lives.
Rex and Janice were staring at him, he realized. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed some of the spicy pinot. “What were we saying?”
Janice had a misty look in her eyes. “I’m just trying to wrap my mind around the fact that one generation of Bennetts and Bacis might finally get the love they want.”
He was trying to wrap his mind around that as well. But he attempted to keep it light. “So you suppose my great-great-grandfather and Giuliana’s great-great-grandparents would approve?”
Janice ducked her head to stare into her glass of strawcolored wine. “I’m actually thinking more of your father, Liam.”
“Dad?”
Rex cleared his throat. “Janice . . .”
“The boy has a right to know,” she answered her husband. “I think there’s been too many secrets between the two families.”
Liam couldn’t refute that. He grimaced. “Plenty of Dad’s came to light when he died.” Infidelity, illegitimate children, enough truth had come out that people realized that Calvin Bennett wasn’t the straight arrow he’d fooled the world—though not Liam—into believing for so very long.
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