He smiled at her, the wattage bright enough to bring up the temperature in the front seat. “You remember my name.”
And his scent. It reached her again, subtle and smooth, a top-shelf cologne, one ounce likely costing more than her new boots—and probably her monthly rental check as well.
“What are you doing here? You belong there,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the winery.
“I belong wherever I want to belong,” he answered, smiling that easy smile he had as his body slid nearer to hers on the bench seat. “Just like I do whatever I want to do.”
Stevie crowded close to the driver’s door. It didn’t stop his left thigh from grazing her right, his knee from bumping hers. One long finger reached out to adjust the heater that she’d left running.
Forcing her gaze off his lean hand, she narrowed her eyes at him. “And what you want to do is . . . ?”
Her suspicious tone didn’t appear to offend. He relaxed against the leather seat, sliding an arm across its back, obviously comfortable in his own privileged skin. His charming smile deepened. “Nothing for you to worry about. I only thought we might take these few minutes to get better acquainted, ma belle fille.”
Not for a winter’s worth of bookings would she let him know that just for a second—a nanosecond—she found the soft foreign phrase as disarming as he most certainly intended. Even as her insides recovered from their quick melt, she made her expression blank and raised both brows in inquiry, all tomboy bumpkin.
His smile was rueful, his shrug European. “What can I say? I know five languages and how to compliment a beautiful woman in each and every one.”
Wide-eyed, she pretended to appear impressed. “Wow.” Then she dropped the innocent act. “I only know how to say screw you in Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese.”
He blinked, then laughed.
“Oh, and in English it’s fu—”
Leaning forward, he clamped his palm over her mouth. At the contact, they both froze and the smile on his face died. Her lips tingled, her skin burned, and another shot of adrenaline punched into her bloodstream. Fight or flight.
Uncertain which order to follow, her body twitched.
His hand dropped.
They stared at each other.
Refine that New Year’s Resolution, Stevie thought, despising her breathlessness. Stay away from this man.
She cleared her throat. “You should go back to Emerson and your sister.” Please go back to Emerson and your sister.
His gaze didn’t move from her face. But he settled back in his seat and after a moment humor gleamed again in his eyes.
“What are you laughing at now?” she demanded.
He shrugged again. “Me, maybe.”
Nothing felt the least bit funny to Stevie. She sent him another suspicious look, but his attention had shifted to a small item he was withdrawing from his jacket pocket.
A crystal bud vase.
A familiar crystal bud vase.
“That belongs in the back of the limo,” she said, puzzled.
He glanced up. “I thought so. I found it outside. It must have fallen from the car.”
Frowning, Stevie accepted it from his outstretched hand, careful to avoid another touch. Then she held it toward him. “If you wouldn’t mind, you can return it to its place in the back.”
His tall body didn’t budge. He regarded her with another of those faint, almost-mocking smiles. “I wasn’t kidding, you know.”
“About what?”
“Until the end of the month I’m going to be your new best friend—”
“I don’t think so.”
He shrugged and that shallow dimple flashed again. “All right. The fly in your champagne. The thorn on your rose.”
Champagne and roses. He was just that kind of guy, she supposed, barely suppressing a snort.
“Point is, I’m sticking close, mon ange.”
Again with the French. Rolling her eyes, she ignored a second surge of traitorous warmth in her belly. “Why?”
“Why?” His smile disappeared; his expression turned coldly serious. “To ensure, of course, that you don’t sabotage my sister’s wedding.”
Dirty Sexy Knitting
From USA Today bestselling author
CHRISTIE RIDGWAY
The conclusion to the trilogy that’s
“the perfect combination of humor and heart”
(Susan Wiggs).
Malibu & Ewe’s owner, Cassandra Riley, is about to turn thirty and wants to celebrate with her knitting club and her newfound half sisters, Nikki and Juliet, in a big birthday extravaganza. But with Juliet on her honeymoon and Nikki with her fiancé, it seems everyone’s paired up—except for Cassandra. Until a series of near-death accidents causes Cassandra to run straight into the arms of the one man she’s avoided most . . .
penguin.com
M625T1209
Crush on You Page 28