by Karr, Kim
Fuck me.
My step-grandmother was right, merging with Highway 128 really was the quickest way out of the red.
Fucking Wilhelmina.
Facts were facts. Highway 128 had vineyards full of grapes but equipment that no longer functioned. California Jane had the bottling equipment but no viable vineyards and no barrels anywhere near ready to process.
It really was a win/win.
Not to mention the quickest road to vengeance.
Vince Gable, I’m coming for you.
Too bad I had to let my newest acquisition go. Selling Cliff Star Wines netted a pretty penny, though, when I turned around and sold it, which we needed. Guess the world-renowned winemaker, Paulo Movado, was worth much more than I had originally thought.
Fucking shame I had to let him go.
Still, I needed the money to keep California Jane alive. To entice Paris. Show her I could help keep Highway 128 alive. That she didn’t need Frenchy and his French soiled grapes, or whatever her plan for him was.
I knew what it wasn’t though, and that was sex.
For the merger of California Jane and Highway 128 to occur, I had to marry Paris.
Still, this wasn’t the dark ages.
I couldn’t force her by asking her father, not that he would even talk to me. And I couldn’t sling her over my shoulder caveman style, either. Not that after Saturday night, I didn’t want to. Seeing her had triggered some raw emotion in me. I wanted her. I wanted her to know she was still mine and I wasn’t going to let anyone else have her.
That she would be my wife.
There really was a fine line between love and hate, and I was going to have to show her the way.
In the end, she’d do it, for Highway 128. I knew she would. And if logic failed, I had an ace in the hole. Information I knew she didn’t have but would really want to know.
Not that I was going to give it freely.
What would be the fun it that?
All’s fair in love and war.
Right?
The sound of a loud engine had my head jerking toward her bedroom window. A red Ferrari came to a stop.
Fuck, I thought I’d taken care of Frenchy.
When an olive-skinned preppie wearing khakis and a cable-knit sweater opened the driver door, I felt my pulse hammer so furiously, I thought my heart might explode.
Another guy?
Motherfucker.
How many men did she have on speed dial? Fiery blood whooshed between my ears. I was going to slaughter this one if I saw him around her again. He just didn’t know it yet.
Two seconds later the passenger door opened and Paris stepped out. She was dressed in jeans, a man’s button down, and Converse. Obviously, she must have changed after she spent the night partying with him.
I knotted my fingers together and cracked my neck, watching like the stalker I was determined not to be. At least the dude had the common sense not to kiss her goodbye.
Lucky for him because I might have jumped right out the fucking window if he did. I was still going to put his face through the windshield of his ridiculous sports car the minute I had the chance.
Who the fuck drove a Ferrari in the hills of Napa Valley, anyway? As I stood there, my Range Rover was being transported up here.
A much more practical vehicle, I might add.
Even the Tesla was a pain in the ass to keep clean, and Gray was a prick about his car.
I heard the front door open then close before the creak of the wooden stairs alerted me she was on her way up.
Calm, cool, and collected was what I had to be. I couldn’t afford for my jealousy to take over my emotions.
Slowly, I walked across her room. I looked around. At her made bed. The suitcases of clothes that were open on the floor as if she hadn’t intended to stay here long but didn’t know when she was leaving, either.
The walls were still purple. Very purple. Still covered with twinkling lights, her favorite Stevie Nicks quotes, athletes, and band posters. Not exactly a girly vibe but not masculine in the least. Just her. Her crazy style. The one that screamed I give zero fucks.
Bankruptcy must have been looming on her doorstep for quite a while because I couldn’t believe she’d moved back into this house.
Sitting on her bed with my elbows on my knees, I tried to ignore the fact everything smelled like her. Sweet. Fruity. Vanilla. Clean. A scent I swore had been in my nose for way too long.
Her footsteps grew louder and I knew she was upstairs now. My chest tightened for some crazy reason I couldn’t explain. Sucking in a breath, I scooted back on her bed. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at myself. Seriously man, get a fucking grip.
One.
Two.
Three.
It was showtime.
Paris
THINGS COULDN’T GET much worse.
I was exhausted but had way too much to do today to spend it sleeping. Between my father and Henri, I wouldn’t have a second to even think about closing my eyes.
Opening my door, I dropped the Converse and purse I was holding in my hands and froze. A shriek escaped my lungs, fear only taking over my body for a second before I realized who it was.
Him.
Tyler Holiday was sprawled out in the middle of my bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his hands behind his head. He was wearing a white button-down rolled up to his elbows, black dress slacks, and leather shoes. Grown-up shoes. I almost laughed. Shoes and all, though, he looked like a Hugo Boss ad and I hated that I looked like crap.
“Glad to see you finally decided to come home,” he scolded, his tone cold and crude.
Keeping my door opened, I scowled at him. “How the hell did you get in my house?”
Sitting up, he planted his shiny shoes on the floor and twisted to look at me. “Don’t tell me you forget how I used to use the hidden key and sneak up the back stairs so we could fuck?”
My heart started pumping furiously. No, I didn’t forget. I could never forget. “Newsflash, Tyler, it just wasn’t that memorable,” I lied.
Hey, his arrogance was way too much.
As if unfazed by my snide remark, he got to his feet and strode my way. There was purpose and confidence in his stride, and it reminded me he was all grown-up, all man. When he stopped, he casually closed my door with his fingertips. “That’s a lie, Paris, and you know it.”
Turning to look at him, I crossed my arms over my chest to hide my protruding nipples, and then I twisted my lips. “I’d tell you to leave, but I know you won’t. Let’s make this quick, I have a full day. What do you want?”
He moved close enough that his chest brushed mine, sending shivers racing up my spine. “You know what I want. I told you I’d be calling you this morning to discuss it.”
“Yes, call. This isn’t a call.”
He raised a knowing brow. “I didn’t have your number. This was the second best thing.”
Sighing, I said, “My answer hasn’t changed. So if there isn’t anything else, how about you leave.”
“As a matter of fact, there is. Where were you all night?” he practically growled the last part.
It was difficult to ignore the zing of lust I was feeling from the possessiveness in his tone. “How about I don’t?”
He rubbed his jaw, that stubble irresistible, and smirked as he did. “Did you fuck someone last night and pretend it was me, because I know you weren’t pretending it was Frenchy.”
I wanted to slap him but I settled on pushing him. “Get out,” I shouted.
His broad back bumped against the wall, but his expression remained cool. “Do that again. I like it rough.”
Taking a step back, I placed my hands on my hips. “Why are you here, Tyler?”
“I already told you why, now, where were you last night?” he said, his voice calm, cool, and collected.
There was no logic to why I was giving into his demands, and still, everything that happened over the past twelve hours came pouring out. “If you must
know, I was at the jail for the majority of it. My father was arrested.”
It was the first time I saw concern in his eyes. “For what?”
The laugh I expelled wasn’t meant to be humorous. “He took an ax, and after chopping down some grape vines at Vince Gable’s property, he went for the front door, but fell on his way up the stairs.”
“Is he still in jail?”
A lump formed in my throat as I spoke. “No, he was transferred to the Saint Francis Memorial Hospital in San Francisco. He broke his hip.”
Tyler leaned against the wall I’d pushed him up against. “I’m sorry. Did something happen recently that he went after Gable?”
The way he said it, I swore he knew something I didn’t, but that was impossible. “Not sure,” I told him. “Stroke. Break with reality. Too much wine. Who knows. The doctors are running some tests and I should know more today.”
Tyler’s eyes inventoried the suitcases on my floor. The ones that had been there for over six months. “Were you worried about him? Is that why you moved back to St. Helena?”
I chuckled, my head shaking with a bit of amusement. “You know better than to ask a question like that.”
He shrugged. “Things change, Paris. People change.”
Unable to bear my own reality, I dropped my gaze to where he was looking. “Not him. We’ve hardly spoken in ten years. Last summer, I got a call from his secretary telling me things were bad. After I came to visit, I knew they were worse than bad. So, I came back for Highway 128. Then I had to sell my condo in L.A. so the company could afford to harvest the grapes. So there you have it—that’s why I moved back.”
“I didn’t know things had gotten that bad.”
This conversation was getting too personal. “Why would you? It’s not like you’ve kept in touch over last ten years.”
“Don’t be juvenile, Paris.”
“Since when is the truth juvenile? And I don’t need your pity.”
“Whatever,” he snapped, his tone flat and humorless. “I already told you, I’m not going to play games with you.”
After a beat of silence, I volunteered more than I should. “Yes, okay, things are bad. But you already know that. We even had to let the staff go and now I have to worry about my father’s care.”
He tilted his head to meet my gaze. “Care that you can’t afford, I’m guessing.”
I frowned, not liking the expression on his face.
Those baby blues went icy cold. “And what, Frenchy’s refusing to help you out, so you spent the night with someone who would?”
My fists balled. He made me so angry. “Fuck you, Tyler. You don’t have a clue about my life.”
His eyes dragged slowly from my head to my bare toes. “That’s not true and you know it.”
I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration. “Just to be clear, Henri and I are going to be fine,” I muttered. “He’s just upset that someone told his boyfriend he had a roving eye and he went back to L.A. to spend some time alone.”
“Alone?” he bit out.
“Yes, alone. To think and see things more clearly. A trait you could benefit from.”
He slammed his eyes shut. “Break up with him, Paris. You’ll never be happy with a guy like that, and you know it.”
“What I know, Tyler, is that he can give me what I need.”
He opened his eyes, and pushing off the wall, he took a step in my direction. “I can give you what you need.”
Laughing, I started walking backward. “California Jane isn’t going to be able to stay open much longer than Highway 128, and you know it.”
He followed me like a predator stalking his prey. “You’re not wrong, but we’ll stay open longer than you. However, if we combine resources, we can both turn things around.”
The truth was, Henri was having cold feet about getting married. The proposed marriage was a sham so he could be with Fabian and still keep his trust fund intact. His parents insisted on discretion.
In exchange for having me as said discretion, he’d ask his parents to invest in Highway 128. Without Fabian in his life, though, there was no need for him to get married. Not right away, anyway. And I couldn’t take money from him when there wasn’t a fair transaction involved, which left Tyler. But I couldn’t do that to my heart, either.
With Henri, my heart was safe.
With Tyler, it would be massacred.
“And what,” I scoffed, “I’m supposed to just trust you that Highway 128 will come out of this unscathed and whole?”
Tyler’s eyes had grown darker and he was looking at me like I was about to become his next meal. “That’s why we get married. It will ensure equal partnership.”
I sucked in a breath as my back hit the wall. “I’m going to be getting engaged, Tyler, and you know it.”
Safe.
I needed to stay in the safe zone.
His arms came up around me, caging me in. “Then who was the guy you were doing the walk of shame with this morning?”
Fury surged through my veins. Walk of shame? Did her really think I was a slut? He had some nerve. “I was doing no such thing,” I huffed. “But if you must know, a friend brought me home,” I gulped, trying to diffuse the anger coursing through me.
His blue eyes narrowed with unrepented hostility. “Who the fuck is this friend?”
I looked up at him. “That’s none of your business.”
He asked again. “Who is he?”
Like this we were so close and that anger diffused way too quickly. I sighed and gave in. “It was Fabian. Henri’s boyfriend. After I left the hospital, I went to his place to try to convince him not to leave Henri.”
Something changed in that moment. The air got thicker. “And what happened?”
Feeling exhausted, I remained silent, not wanting to admit defeat. That I had been unsuccessful.
“I’m going to guess it didn’t go well.”
“No, it didn’t,” I barked. “But then, no one likes a cheater.”
“Or a liar,” he gritted out.
I choose to ignore his dig.
He pushed a piece of stray hair from my face. “And where’s your car?”
“It wouldn’t start, so he brought me home.” I gulped, feeling my skin prickle under his touch.
“So you didn’t fuck anyone last night?” he growled into my ear.
I shook my head.
“Good. Because I want to fuck you right now, Paris. Remind you of what you’re missing. What you’ve been missing for ten years.”
I wanted Tyler and I hated that I did.
A delighted shudder seeped into my bones that wasn’t at all appreciated. The tension between us was already so thick and I wanted it gone. I couldn’t think like this. Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t resist.
Knowing exactly what he was doing to me with his dirty mouth, he pressed his rock hard body against mine. “I dare you to tell me you don’t want that too, want me inside you. And when you say it, you better mean it.”
Unable to stand the closeness, the fluttering I was feeling in my belly, the heat that surrounded us like a scorching fire, I raised my palms to push him away for the last time.
No matter how attractive his offer was and how much Highway 128 needed help, his help was something I couldn’t accept.
He was something I couldn’t accept.
This time he captured my wrist and shook his head slowly. “Tell me there’s no chemistry between us. That you don’t feel what I feel. The heat. The inferno. The raw savage need to fuck.”
Oh, God, he was so filthy and I was so turned on. “Fine, there’s an old spark of chemistry between us, but it doesn’t mean anything.”
As if amused, his brows practically kissed his hairline. “Liar. You know it does.”
I shook my head trying to convince myself it didn’t. He could be a good looking guy in the supermarket and I’d feel the same attraction.
Right?
His amusement only grew. “Fi
ne, then tell me you don’t want me and I’ll leave, Love.”
Love.
Not as in babe or baby or sweetheart.
Love as in the City of Love. Paris. Me.
He always did see me. Understand me. Know me. Want me. Me. The real me.
The only one who ever did.
Paris
I WASN’T A stupid girl.
Yet, I couldn’t stop my heart from stuttering. My defenses from going weak. I couldn’t believe how affected I was by him after all this time. I hated it and I wanted the feeling to vanish. For him to vanish.
He leaned in closer. “I’m going to make this easy for you, Paris. First, I’m going to kiss you and you’re going to kiss me back and then, well let’s see where it leads.”
His breath tickled my cheek. He was close. So close. “Don’t you dar—”
He stopped my protest by slamming his lips on mine. Oh God. Those lips. Just as I remembered. Warm and sweet and soft and so right.
At first, I resisted trying not to give into the temptation of his kiss, but he kept tugging and nipping at the soft plumpness of my lips and my mouth grew hungrier with each desperate pass.
Unable to fight the undeniable passion, or not really wanting to, I finally opened for him.
And we kissed.
Sweetly.
Tentatively.
Softly.
Slowly, he coaxed and prodded, letting me know he needed more. Begging for the kind of kiss we had once shared.
And I gave. Oh, how I gave.
My breaths turned ragged when he swept his tongue into the well of my mouth as if he couldn’t wait to taste me. It wasn’t long before he deepened the kiss. Taking more and more with each lick of his tongue.
Unrestrained.
Wild.
Out of control.
This kiss was carnal, deep, desperate, and I felt dizzy. Breathless. Lost. Reborn.
Whatever this was between us, it consumed me.
Blinding me.
Taking me to a higher place.
He pressed every rigid hard line of his body against all of my softness and the feel of him overwhelmed me.
He was stone and granite and sex and sublime bliss.
Arching in a way I hadn’t in years, I couldn’t stop myself from begging. “More,” I whimpered and sank my fingers into his shoulders.