Summer in Napa (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel)

by Marina Adair

  “It’s okay,” Marc said, smiling and standing. “We were just finishing up.”

  His brothers did the same, and Lexi felt her mouth go dry. How was it possible for one room to contain so much hotness? One DeLuca was potent enough. The lot of them together packed enough testosterone to turn a convent of nuns.

  Even though they all had that trademark DeLuca hair and eyes, dark and melt-in-your-mouth darker, they were as different as they were similar. Gabe was handsome in that sophisticated, corporate kind of way. Known for being the most impeccably starched and tailored of the brothers, today he had opted for faded jeans and an old college tee with glue and pink glitter stuck to the sleeve, and even though he looked tired, she couldn’t remember a time growing up when he’d seemed so happy.

  Trey, on the other hand, seemed irritated, which wasn’t unusual. Like Marc, Trey had inherited their father’s charm and panty-melting grin. Unlike Marc, though, he’d come out more hotheaded than easygoing.

  Lexi wouldn’t describe Nate as easygoing or hotheaded. More serious and intense, which on him was seriously sexy. He was rangy and athletic, with olive skin and work-roughened hands that spoke of long days in the vineyard, and his weighted smile advertised that their parent’s deaths had hit him hard. And he was still recovering.

  And Marc, well, he was everything that his brothers were, just more. Taller, bigger, brighter, funnier, sweeter, and, as far as Lexi was concerned, sexier. Although right now he didn’t seem his usual charming, laid-back self. He seemed tense and frustrated and was staring right at her. They all were.

  Her palms went sweaty as she took in the tight faces, felt the energy all but crackle in the room and knew that they weren’t almost done, and by the way Wingman, leash in mouth, skulked over and plopped himself at her feet and how Marc looked ready to snap, she had interrupted a pretty heated discussion.

  She smiled, and Gabe was the only one who smiled back. The other two busied themselves with glaring at Marc, who was glaring back, which let her know that she had been a part of that discussion.

  “Um, I’ll come back later.” Like never. Carrying on this fauxmance in front of the town had been harder than she thought. Trying to convince his brothers would be impossible. One look at the two of them together and his brothers would know the truth.

  “Nah, we were just heading out.” Gabe reached down and grabbed a newspaper from Marc’s desk, stopping midreach. He sniffed the air and closed his eyes, releasing a small groan before standing. “What is that?”

  “That,” Lexi said, opening the lid just enough to let the aroma fill the room, “is what’s going to land me my new client.”

  Not just a client, she thought giddily. It was for a local Internet company, and if she got the account it would mean catering all of their events, including their weekly board meetings.

  “There are four different choices.” Two of which she had already discounted but brought anyway, just to see what Marc thought. It had been their routine over the past few days. He would work in his office, she would cook in her apartment, and then, every few hours as she perfected a new dish, she would bring it and a few other choices over and have him do a blind tasting. She had come to love the last part of the process. “There’s enough for everyone.”

  When none of them moved, except to get a better whiff, she shifted the tray higher on her palm and skirted around the desk, greeting each brother by name and only stopping when she was right in front of the DeLuca who mattered most. She couldn’t fool them by flirting or doing girlfriend-like things, but maybe she could distract them with her cooking.

  She looked up at Marc and smiled. “You hungry?”

  He conducted a slow, sensual inventory of her body, and even though she was wearing her old apron and cutoff shorts, by the time he got back to her face she felt completely stripped. God, he was hot. Especially when he leaned in and whispered, “Starved.”

  Needing something to keep her mind off the heat climbing through her body, she set the covered tray on the desk and eyed the brothers, all gentlemen, and all still standing. “Sit. Please.”

  Marc took his seat and gestured to his brothers with a grin. “Go ahead, she won’t let us eat until we’re all sitting.”

  All three brothers dropped to their chairs, eyes riveted on the tray. Lexi smiled. Big, bad Italians were just like every other man on the planet, suckers for a good meal.

  Positioning herself so that Marc couldn’t see inside the tray, she carefully removed the cover and slid the first two plates across the desk and stopped. Normally, had they been alone, she would have forked off a bite and, only after Marc promised to keep his eyes closed, fed it to him. He would moan and groan over the dish while she told him what he was eating. But with his brothers here, she set out the other two plates and placed them closest to Marc so he would be sure to try the best ones. Finally, she put a fork on each plate and took a step back.

  Gabe took one look at the dishes and, with a few choice words and a grunt, dropped his head to his hands. All three brothers laughed.

  Lexi didn’t laugh. In fact, she felt awkward and self-conscious. What was she thinking serving lasagna to a group of men who’d grown up eating ChiChi’s cooking? The comparison wouldn’t be flattering, Lexi thought, trying to figure out the best way to excuse herself.

  A reassuring hand came to rest at the small of her back. “Gabe can’t eat dairy,” Marc said, his eyes warm and encouraging.

  “Oh. Are you allergic?”

  “No, his wife is pregnant,” Trey said, and they laughed again.

  “At least no more Rocky Road for breakfast?” Nate offered.

  “Regan claims it’s divine invention, therefore doesn’t count,” Gabe mumbled.

  “More for the rest of us,” Nate said, digging into the traditional five-cheese lasagna and closing his eyes. “Oh man, this is incredible.”

  Lexi felt herself beam. It wasn’t even her best one.

  “Aw, Gabe. This is better than Nonna’s,” Trey said, polishing off her vegetarian lasagna roll, but not before darting a quick glance at the hallway and whispering, “She isn’t here, is she?”

  “No, but one more moan and I might just tell her,” Gabe threatened, staring longingly at his brothers eating. Well, two of his brothers. Marc hadn’t tried anything, and Lexi didn’t know why.

  “I could go make you one without cheese. I have some tofu in the fridge,” she offered.

  “He has a wife. She can make him one if he wants.” Marc grabbed the cover and put it over the two closest dishes, right as Trey was about to fork off a bite.

  “Hey,” Trey complained.

  “You have a plane to catch and a client to appease,” Marc said, then turned to Nate, “and you have judges to contact.”

  “What about Brock?” Nate asked, his eyes flickering quickly to Lexi and back to Marc.

  “I’ll deal with Brock. You make sure everyone else is there on Saturday.”

  Gabe, who had been silently watching everything unfold, stood and smacked the paper across his palm with a big smile, which was purposefully directed at Marc. “Right now a missing judge is the last of your worries, bro. But good luck with that.” He looked at Lexi, who immediately stopped fidgeting with her apron, and his smile grew larger. “Nice seeing you again.”

  There was so much eye-darting and implied-but-unspoken communication going on that Lexi finally felt like laughing. Men and their code. It was obvious that they weren’t done talking and that whatever was so important wasn’t meant for her ears. But before she could make her exit, Marc had the guys out the door and he hadn’t even left his chair.

  “Now,” he said, taking off the lid and, resting his arms behind his head, leaning back in the chair. His long legs were stretched out, his body relaxed, and his eyes were twinkling—up at her. “Which one first?”

  She walked over to his desk and sat on the edge. “I’m sorry you lost Brock. What happened?”

  “Food first, questions later.” With a wink he
dropped open his mouth as though he expected her to feed him.

  “You have two hands—use them.”

  “All right.”

  Before she could blink, he had straightened and rolled his chair so close that he had to part his legs so that they could slide around hers. Close enough that she could feel the heat from his body seep into her every pore, even though they weren’t quite touching.

  He put his hands on her waist and gently lifted her so she was sitting on the edge of his desk. Her breath caught as one palm slid down the back of her thighs to rest on her knee, while the other wrapped around her.

  She wanted him to pull her onto his lap and finish their lesson from the other night. They had rounded first, but were interrupted before they could slide into second—and as he leaned forward, his chest pressing her thighs farther apart, she decided she might even be open to a grand slam.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, her eyes glued to his lips.

  “Using my hands,” he whispered back, but instead of taking her into his arms and making love to her right there on the desk, he leaned back in his chair, plate in his hand.

  He took a bite and closed his eyes, but not before she saw a look of triumph. The only thing that stopped her from smacking him was that he was finally tasting her food. He slid the fork out of his mouth and, eyes still closed, said, “Tell me about this.”

  “The client wanted a classic meat lasagna.”

  He opened his eyes. “But you didn’t give them that.” He took another bite.

  She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from smiling. “Lasagna is heavy for a luncheon, so it’s my take on the classic meat lasagna. I sautéed the spinach in garlic and made the pasta from scratch. Oh, and I use lemon-infused ricotta.”

  “Homemade ricotta?”

  “Of course. I replaced some of the meat with locally grown porcinis, making them the star of the dish.”

  “Nice. It is hearty without being heavy.”

  “That was the goal.”

  “Then goal beautifully accomplished. Next.”

  She leaned back and grabbed the other plate. This was the one that she really loved, but she was afraid it was too out of the box. It was shredded skirt-steak lasagna rolls in a tart peach sauce. “Question first.”

  Marc reached for the dish. “It’s getting cold.”

  She batted his hand aside. “Then you better answer fast. Did you lose your celebrity judge?”

  Marc sat back and sighed. “Yeah, Bo Brock pulled out this morning. Not that I blame the guy. The whole Showdown is kind of a mess.”

  “You call this a mess? You are doing an incredible job. You have more entries than any year to date, national press covering the event, and more than half of the tables are already sold out.” Was Marc blushing? “I say losing Brock is a good thing. It will give you a chance to highlight a local celebrity, someone who is a part of the reason we are celebrating.”

  “Local celebrity, huh? Like Coppola or Robert Redford?”

  “No. I mean, they would be exciting, but they moved here after they got famous. When we were kids, it was always someone who grew up here and was noted for doing something unique. A local-grown celebrity.”

  “Smart and beautiful. Impressive.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she asked, “Were you guys talking about me before I came in?”

  For a second Marc was silent. Then he gave her his signature smile. It was slow and sexy and made her heart pick up a little. “You mean were my nosy brothers asking about me being your boyfriend?”

  “Fake boyfriend,” she reminded him. Or maybe it was herself she needed to remind. Being anything more than friends would be foolish on her part. But she never knew foolish could feel so fun.

  “Whatever. And yes, they asked. And no, I didn’t tell them anything, because it wasn’t their damn business.” He reached out and picked up one of the lasagna rolls off the plate, making a big to-do about studying it and smelling it until she was laughing. Then he popped it in his mouth.

  “This is the one,” he mumbled around bits of meat and noodle.

  “How do you know? You didn’t even try the other ones.” Not that there was any left. His brothers had practically licked the plates clean.

  “You didn’t want me to try the other ones. They were distractions.”

  “They were not.” He raised a brow. “Okay, they were. But how do you know this is the one?”

  “I just do.” He took a single finger and dragged it through the peach sauce. “But to be honest with you, cream puff, I can think of one thing that would make it perfect.”

  “What?”

  “This.” He painted a line of sauce across the top of her thigh, then bent and licked off every last drop.

  CHAPTER 12

  I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m hoping it’s on the bottom shelf.”

  Startled, Lexi straightened so fast she nearly fell over. Smoothing her hands down the back of her dress to make sure it wasn’t revealing anything important, she looked up to find Marc, wine bottle and paper bag in hand, leaning against the door of her grandmother’s walk-in pantry. As always, he looked delicious in a pair of low-hung jeans and a dark-blue shirt, which pulled nicely across his chest. And, as always, her body turned to filling at the sight of him.

  Wingman sat at his feet.

  “Hey, boy. I’ve got a leftover bone for you.”

  Wingman stayed where he was. No tail wagging. No big, wet doggie kiss. Just a stoic stare.

  “I was looking for my grandmother’s special paprika,” she said, giving another pat to her thigh. Nothing. “Did you see the new kitchen? Tanner’s almost done. He said just another few days.”

  “Yup. Saw it and him earlier. He told me that you had a dinner date with Vince Jones.”

  Wingman let out a snort. Maybe it was a huff. Lexi couldn’t tell.

  “It wasn’t a date, it was just dinner. He was my new cli—wait. Are you jealous?”

  He tugged at the brim of his well-worn ball cap. Lexi had always had a thing for guys in hats. And this guy in that hat was a dangerous pairing for women everywhere.

  “Hell yeah, I am. My fake girlfriend went out to dinner with some guy who wants to get in her pants, and I had to hear it from her half-naked contractor,” he said as he pushed off the door and walked into the pantry, stopping so close that she had to rest a hand on his shoulder so she could crane her neck up and look in his eyes.

  She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or scared, because the idea of him being jealous made everything seem suddenly real.

  “You talked to Hard-Hammer Tanner? About me?”

  “I was explaining my celebrity judge problem, and he happened to mention your dinner date.”

  “Dinner tasting. With Vince and two of his female associates to pitch Sweet and Savory Catering as their official go-to caterer for all their corporate functions. And I got the job.”

  “I heard.” He held up the bottle.

  Now Lexi wasn’t sure if he was ticked about her meeting with Vince or that Hard-Hammer Tanner knew about her meeting before he did. Or if he was pissed about being jealous, an emotion that guys like Marc would see as being in direct violation of their man card.

  “Did you hear that they’ve been trying to get on Pricilla’s delivery schedule for over a year with no luck? So when I mentioned that Pricilla will be providing all of the desserts for my events, they asked if I could cater their team meeting every morning.”

  “Tanner failed to mention that. Congratulations.” He gave her one of his rare smiles that didn’t activate the dimple or come from charm. It was genuine and boyish and damn, he was hard to resist when he was being sweet. “Jerk-off also failed to mention that your dinner tonight was with the same guy you were pitching to.”

  Wow. Marc DeLuca, Mr. Unaffected and Unattached, was really jealous. “I didn’t eat dinner, I served it. Which is why I was looking for the paprika so that I could make my famous papri
kash.”

  “Ah, cream puff.” Charming playboy back in place, he pulled her into a big hug, the cold champagne bottle dangling low enough to chill the back of her right thigh. “Are you cooking our first makeup dinner?”

  She was about to say no, or shove the cold bottle down the front of his pants, when Wingman barked and took off running—away from her and through the kitchen. His leash, which Lexi saw had been looped around the door handle, pulled taut and—

  “Wingman, no! Come back,” Lexi hollered, making an attempt to grab the handle, right as the pantry door slammed shut.

  “Crap. Crap. Crap,” she muttered, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath.

  “He’ll be okay, probably went to see about that bone,” Marc joked.

  “This isn’t funny. The pantry door is broken,” Lexi said, looking at the window and then down at her hips, wondering if she could shimmy out without getting stuck. Then she added up all the éclairs she’d eaten since she’d arrived back home. Nope. “Tanner was replacing the handle and the inside fixture broke, meaning it can only be opened from the outside, which is why I had the door propped open by the can of tomatoes.”

  “So you’re saying we’re—”

  “Locked in. As in stuck in here forever, so why are you smiling?” Even though she knew it was hopeless—she had been stuck in there earlier that afternoon—she walked toward the door.

  Marc intercepted her and steered her back toward the window. “I’m smiling because you’re cute when you’re riled. Now relax, we’re only stuck in here until tomorrow, when Pricilla comes to open the bakery.”

  “Easy for you to say. I haven’t eaten since noon. I spent all day prepping for my meeting with Vince, so I’m behind on my dish for tomorrow night and—” She paused “Wait! Give me your cell. I can call my grandma or Abby.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. I must have left it on the counter outside.”

  “But you brought in the wine?”

  “Champagne.” He turned the bottle so she could see the label. It wasn’t the cheap kind. Then again, nothing Marc ever did was cheap. “And I figured this would be more likely to get me invited to dinner than a phone.”