She’d survived all that to emerge, shy as a butterfly. Perfect. But so damn fragile.
His chest hurt again and he turned away from her. “If that described anyone, it would be me. You…”
God, he didn’t deserve her, he thought. Maybe that’s what was wrong with him lately! His subconscious was trying to catch him from making a mistake from heading down a road that wasn’t for him.
Newcomers pushed through the door of It’s a Grape Thing. Roxanne’s brother, Jack, and Stevie, Emerson’s former girl. His gaze ran over her familiar figure, taking in her attempt to mock-slug Jack in the shoulder and how he ducked her swing and ended up with her wrist in his grip.
Laughing, the other man twisted Stevie’s hand behind her back. It looked playful, but
He found himself across the room, his own hand closing over Stevie’s other arm. “You okay, Steve?”
Startled, she stared at him, the teasing smile on her mouth sliding away. “What?”
“You okay?”
“Of course I’m okay,” she answered. Her gaze swung to Jack. “Uh…”
Too late, Emerson realized the other man had murder on his mind. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw was hard, he was staring at the place where Emerson touched Stevie. He wanted to be enraged right back at the arrogant asshole, but that only confused him more. Everything was jumbled in his head: intentions and regret, guilt and longing.
For who? About what?
“Get your hand off her,” Jack said, his voice terse.
“Oh, cut it out,” Stevie put in, her tone annoyed as she stepped away from the two men. They both released their holds. “I can take care of myself.”
And there it was, Emerson realized. Her ultimate appeal. Stephania Baci was strong. Invincible, even. She wasn’t perfect, but her flaws only made her more attractive. Brash and outspoken, a man wouldn’t have to protect her, worry about her, strive to shield her from every slinging arrow, from even the slightest scratch that might mar her perfection.
Around her, a man could breathe.
What the hell had he done?
Fifteen minutes later, he still didn’t know. But the group was moving on to the next stop on their wine walk. At the exit, he pulled open the door to hold it for the rest. As his mother and Roxanne crossed the threshold, lights flashed.
Photographers.
A gaggle of press crowded the sidewalk, and from the questions and attention, clearly they’d been alerted to the presence of the Ardenian royal family. The winter months were slow in the wine country, and news like this would liven up the local press and likely make it to San Francisco and beyond. The king and queen were a glamorous couple and one of the pair was American, so they’d always been of interest to the U.S. media. Their generation’s Princess Grace and Prince Rainier.
In slow motion he saw his mother look at him over her shoulder, speculation in her eyes. Oh, hell. Did she see this as the moment to make the announcement of his candidacy? It wasn’t what they’d discussed, but she always told him that part of her success was her ability to think on her feet.
He couldn’t think at all, beyond trying to telegraph to her no, not tonight, but if she went forward, he’d have to put a good face on it. Convince even more of the world that he was dedicated to the path he’d decided upon.
At the exact same moment when he couldn’t convince himself he was heading in the right direction.
*****
Two days following the wine walk, Stevie was finishing breakfast while reading a book in the farmhouse kitchen when Giuliana hurried in. “It’s you!” she said to her older sister and tried looking innocent as she casually drew her crumb-sprinkled napkin over the open volume.
Jules had a sheaf of papers in her hand and was frowning as she took in Stevie’s attire. “Are you moving back home?”
“No.” Since Allie and Penn were still in Malibu, she’d spent a night or two in her old bed, though. “But maybe I should leave some night gear around for my occasional sleepovers. I had to resort to Allie’s flannel pajamas that match that god-awful fuzzy robe of hers.” Both had pink flamingoes printed on a field of pale blue.
Jules’s gaze was wandering toward the reading material spread on the table, so Stevie stood up and raised her voice to reclaim her sister’s attention. “We did get her some pretty things for the honeymoon, didn’t we? I hope she took them south when she left the last time, or else we’re going to have to sit her down and discuss the facts of life.”
“You’ve been searching for that ridiculous treasure,” Jules said.
“No! I agree with you it’s an absolute long shot and I really don’t have time -”
“How did you find that book, then, hmm?” Her sister nudged her aside and flipped the volume shut for a moment to display the cover emblazoned with suggestively arranged fruit around the title, Making It.
“It was on Allie’s bookshelf,” Stevie lied. “Found it when I went scrounging for pajamas. Maybe we should have that ‘facts of life’ discussion in any case. The girl had to buy a book!”
Jules lifted an eyebrow. “One that you’re now reading. And since when is Allie’s bookshelf in that little basement closet?”
“Oops. Busted.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait. How would you know the sex book was in the basement closet unless it was your sex book?”
Her sister’s face reddened. “It was from a million years ago. And beside the point.”
“It’s certainly a point more interesting than whether or not I’m poking around looking for legendary riches.”
“Which reminds me,” Jules said quickly, obviously trying to dodge the new thread of conversation. “Emerson’s mom is looking for that bracelet she always wears, you know, the red, white, and blue one? She can’t remember when last she had it - maybe in the wine caves - but knows it’s gone now and thinks it might be here at the winery. Keep your eye out for it?”
“Sure,” Stevie replied, then smirked at her sister. “And in doing so, who knows what dirty books and other little secrets I might uncover?”
Jules’s mouth opened, and then shut. Her gaze moved to the papers in her hand, which Stevie saw now were a couple of newspaper sections and some sheets off a printer. “About little secrets … And about your fiancé…”
“I told you he’s really not. He’s really not anything to me. It’s just for show.”
“A show his parents seem to have bought.”
“Yeah, well.” She waved off the issue with a hand. It had been a little weird during their wine walk evening to be around his parents as their son’s intended. His father hadn’t blinked an eye at the news, but since Jack was the family’s black sheep, she hadn’t taken it as actual approval. The Parinis had been gracious and friendly, however, and since she was well aware a wedding would never come to pass, she’d managed to ignore her nervous, fish-out-of-water feelings.
“In any case,” Jules said. “I think you should see these.”
Stevie took the proffered sheaf with a frown and leafed through them. “Oh. They published the photos taken outside It’s a Grape Thing.”
There were two in the Napa County paper. And there was another in the lifestyle section of the one from San Francisco. When their group had been caught by the press on the sidewalk, it had been almost comical to see Emerson’s mother, the senator, virtually ignored in favor of the Ardenian royals. Both papers had run photos of the king, queen, Roxanne, and Jack. The Napa paper had included another of Roxanne and Emerson.
She tried returning them to her sister, but Jules put her hands behind her back. “You should read what they wrote … or just go straight to the printout to save time. It’s today’s blog posting from that social media guru that WildHart winery hired last year.”
It was titled “A Prince of a Guy: Jack Parini.” “Yeesh,” Stevie said. “I know it’s quiet in January, but don’t you think a wine guy blogging about Jack is a bit of a stretch?”
“Oh, he’s stretched back ten years.�
�
Stevie glanced at her sister and then focused on the paper in her hand. It was about the kidnapping. Some of the information was known to her: that both Jack and Roxanne had been taken and held for five days. That the police had found them because of a clue in the ransom note mailed to their parents. It even noted that Jack had been dating the kidnapper’s sister and she had been the bait in the trap that had caught him and Roxanne.
Most unsettling was the repeated rumor that the Ardenian police had suspected Jack was part of the plot from the beginning. The blog implied that many - including his own family - still believed in his complicity. What! Jack would never do such a thing. But his playboy ways while hop-scotching through European capitals and then the various jobs he’d held over the years were pointed to as further evidence of his careless and unsavory character.
“This is disgusting,” she muttered, her hands tightening on the papers. “He should sue.”
“It’s nothing that hasn’t been written before and most of it’s actually true.”
Jack’s voice. Her head came up. Jack, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Jules, sketching a wave as she slipped past him and out the door. It shut behind her with a click.
The prince of Ardenia leaned a shoulder against the jamb and crossed one foot over the other, appearing elegant in black jeans and a V-neck black sweater. A man without a care in the world. Casual Jack, his best look. “Your sister beat me to the heads-up.”
She wondered what it must have been like for him, rescued from one ugly situation only to be thrust into another nightmare. Had no one stood by him? Stevie couldn’t imagine Miss Peaches & Pralines doubting her son for an instant, but there was that distinct coldness between Jack and his father.
God.
She tossed the papers onto the table, no longer willing to touch them. “So.”
A smile ghosted over his mouth. “Stephania Baci, finally without words?”
The weird little lump in her throat made long speeches impossible. Especially when she couldn’t get out of her head how it must hurt to have been so distrusted - and for that distrust to still be hounding him a decade after the fact. Her gaze cut from Jack to focus on the brewing machine on the countertop.
She cleared her throat. “Want coffee?”
He ignored the offer. “I wondered if you knew the whole sordid story - I guessed not. It appears I was right.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t Google my friends.”
“Or your fiancés?” When she glanced at him, he gave her another cool half smile. “Don’t worry. That’s why I’m here, to end our engagement.”
“Which is fake anyway.”
“Yeah, but since so few know that, you’re now unfortunately associated with me and my disreputable past. A breakup will end the embarrassment.”
“So you say.” That lump threatened to strangle her. “Except I’ll be left manless once again.”
He chuckled. “Surely it would be more humiliating to stay linked to me now that this old story has been dredged up.”
“I don’t know.” She pretended to consider it. “It’s going to be pretty mortifying to confess I’ve been dumped twice in twelve months.”
“You can do the dumping, of course. Tell people you didn’t know enough about who I am…”
But she did. She thought she knew him very, very well. So even a phony connection wasn’t that easy to sever. “Your scenario makes me out to be a cold-hearted bitch,” she mused aloud. “A woman unwilling to give a guy a second chance.”
“Sorry about that, but -”
“But think of this instead.” She couldn’t walk away just yet, not under these circumstances. “Think of what mad props Edenville would give me for taking you on. For rehabilitating you.” Crossing to the coffeepot, she peeped at him.
He’d gone still, his eyes narrowed on her. “What are you saying?”
The decision had been instantaneous, really. Simple. “I’m saying I really can’t let you out of our agreement until after Emerson and Roxanne’s wedding. Remember? I’m using you to escape Edenville’s pity.”
“Mon anqe…” He nearly groaned the words.
“Later, when we do end the engagement, everybody in town will sigh. I’ll say I tried my best, but…”
“I was beyond redemption.”
She pursed her lips, as if running that through her mind, though her chest ached at the idea that he might really believe the words. “Your debauched reputation might even give me some cachet, you know? Before I’ve only been buddies with the bad boys, but after you leave? They might take a second look at me.”
In a blink, he was beside her. “Ah, now. Be careful talking about other men, mon chat, since you’re still my woman.”
She cracked down on the shivery thrill his possessive tone sent along her spine. They were just playing a game, she reminded herself, even though his body heat made her skin prickle in yearning. Facing him, she walked her fingertips up his chest and thought maybe he shivered, too.
“Jack….”
He caught her hand and flattened it over his heart. “What?”
“You’ll pine for me when it’s over, won’t you?” She looked up at him through her lashes again.
“Like no one’s ever pined before,” he promised.
Her chest ached again, because no one ever had. “Will you send me flowers every day for a month after we break up?”
“For two months.” Smiling, he leaned down to kiss her mouth. “Three.”
“You don’t think that will be too much? Considering we only have another couple of weeks together?”
He slid an arm around her waist. “I plan on making each one seem like a year.”
Worry cooled the little fire his nearness was kindling in her belly. Turning weeks into years sounded serious. Not casual, not a game, the way she kept describing for herself this thing with Jack. But he was kissing her again, his mouth soft and tender on her neck, sliding up to her chin, finding her mouth.
Scattering her concerns.
“I think of you every minute of every day,” he said against her mouth.
She was woozy. “What?”
He brushed her nose with his. “Just practicing what I’ll write on the note cards - the ones I send with the flowers. What color roses are your favorite?”
“White.” She said it without thinking how … how bridal that sounded.
“White. Got it. I’ll send you a dozen every day.” He pulled her into a tighter clinch. “Now will you tell me why you’re studying a book on blow jobs?”
She gasped, whirling, only to find herself caught, his arm around her belly, her back to his chest. The pages of Giuliana’s book had ruffled and on those now displayed there were diagrams. “It’s Jules’s. And it’s not all … you know. That’s just in chapter seven.”
His hands slid up her rib cage to cover her breasts, then lightly squeezed. “I don’t think I’ve ever goosed a flamingo.”
Oh, God. Allie’s stupid flannel nightwear. “You have to promise never to bring up these dumb pajamas again.”
“It’ll cost you.” His fingertips tweaked her hardening nipples.
Her entire body flushed with heat and she sagged back against him. “Cost me what?”
“A study-buddy session on chapter eight.”
She didn’t remember what was in chapter eight. She didn’t remember her name, not when he slid two fingers between the buttons of the pajama top and scissored them around the tip of one breast. “I have to get to work,” she whispered. “I don’t have a -”
“- lot of time,” he finished for her. “I know. But I’m a fast learner. Every guy has had to cram a time or two.”
“Jack,” she complained. “Cram? That’s just bad.”
He grinned as he spun her toward his mouth again. “So make me over, mon chat. You’re going to try to rehabilitate me, yes? And I so want to be good for you.”
Then He Kissed Me
15
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To Roxy, the carpeted path between the reception area of the Platts’ commercial real estate headquarters and the anteroom to Emerson’s own office seemed two miles of swampland littered with potential hazards. Any second now she expected an alligator to appear in the form of a simple question: Roxanne, what are you doing here when Emerson’s at a meeting in Napa? Or it might be a trailing vine to stumble over, causing her purse to fall and its secret contents to spill.
The alligator would then speak up: Roxanne, what are those odd little objects you’re carrying around?
In an attempt to put the torturous thoughts from her head, she inhaled a deliberate breath and then released it slowly. The key, she knew, was to cope with her anxiety in a new manner. It was the major stressor of her kidnapping that had led her into this ugly habit that she’d once conquered … and now fallen prey to again.
Finally, she reached the door to Emerson’s secretary’s office. The woman was on her lunch hour, Roxy knew, giving her a sixty-minute window to follow through with her plan. Plenty of time, she thought, slipping into the anteroom and closing the door behind her.
Her glance darted toward Emerson’s office, but there was nothing to see, as that door was firmly shut. Alone, Roxy had only to get ahold of herself, take care of business, and then escape, order reestablished. Her honor salvaged. Her shame safely hidden.
Except the chaotic pounding of her heart made it difficult to move. Walk to the secretary’s desk, she ordered herself. Reach inside your purse.
Her feet followed instruction. Her hand slid inside the slouchy bag on her shoulder. The object was cold to the touch, but as she drew it out, it wiggled, as if alive.
Startled, she emitted a bleat, and the item fell to the floor and half rolled under the desk.
The door to Emerson’s office popped open. Whirling toward it, Roxy bleated again.
Emerson. He was saying something, but she could hardly hear him over the slamming sound of her heart in her ears as she kicked out with her foot, hoping to make contact with the thing on the floor. She only found air.
Then He Kissed Me Page 18