by Pamela Aares
He was really, really losing it.
“See? Completely harmless. You try it.”
Natasha might be safe from Liza, but if she had any inkling of the near-uncontrollable urges he was fighting down, she’d do more than raise her eyebrows.
Natasha stepped close to the fence and extended her hand. Liza gently took the carrot. But instead of chewing it, she leaned over the fence and gave Natasha a hard butt with her head. Natasha’s foot caught in the grass as she stumbled back.
Adrian caught her in his arms.
And though he shouldn’t—had told himself countless times he wouldn’t—he dipped his lips to hers.
She opened to him, and driving want turned into a soul-crushing kiss.
The loud bang of the back door to the ranch house had them separating. But the tremble in her lips had him wanting to dive back for more.
Adrian looked in the direction of the house and saw Ryan coming down the steps. Natasha smoothed a hand to her hair. He put a respectable distance of about two feet between him and Natasha, but two feet didn’t do a damn thing to diminish the pounding in his veins.
“I heard I have two prospective Major Leaguers on my property,” Ryan said in his smooth Texas drawl. “If I can trust my scouting reports.”
He looked from Natasha to Adrian. A man knew when sexual chemistry sizzled in the air.
“Ryan, this is Natasha,” Adrian said in the steadiest tone he could command. “Her son Tyler and his friend are down with Zoe in your barn. And as fascinating as your donkey refuge operation is, I think they’re dying to have a round in your batting cage.”
Ryan extended his hand and Natasha shook it, a full blush still blooming on her cheeks. Adrian liked it when she blushed. It promised that she didn’t have every emotion bottled up and under control.
“It was good of you to invite us,” she said.
Ryan’s lips curled up at the corners, and his eyes crinkled with his grin. “You’re not one of those overprotective mamas, are you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, if you were, I’d have to dial down the speed on the pitching machine even more than I’d planned. How old are your boy and his friend?”
“Tyler’s ten. Brandon is maybe eleven.” She eyed Ryan. “It hadn’t occurred to me that there’d be a machine in the batting cage. I thought you might be pitching to them.”
“It’s Iron Mike all the way. Don’t worry, they’ll be fine. Let’s have a look at what these boys bring to the plate.”
Baseball lingo was still a foreign tongue to Adrian. Maybe it was to Natasha as well. She bit at her lip and nodded, and the three of them walked down to the barn.
Adrian held her back as the boys finished helping Zoe brush down one of the horses.
“I’d like to cook you dinner,” he said as casually as he could.
She gave him a look he couldn’t read. Maybe cooking a woman dinner in America was the equivalent of asking her into bed. Though that was what he wanted, he was determined to heed Coco’s advice and go slow. Cooking and sharing a dinner seemed plenty slow. Painstakingly slow.
“I heard you didn’t go near the kitchen.”
“Who told you that? I love to cook.” He studied her face. “Ah, I see. I don’t eat with the staff at Casa del Sole. But not because I don’t want to. I feel that they’ll be more comfortable without the boss around. I would”—he sought the word—“clamp their style.”
Natasha giggled. Outside of the sounds of lovemaking, a woman’s spontaneous laugh had to be the sexiest sound on earth.
“Cramp,” she said, still holding her lips in a curvy smile. “And yes, having the boss around probably would cramp our style.”
She emphasized the word our. But he was in no mood to let a mere technicality get in the way of getting to know her. Now that he’d had a taste, he wanted more. The blasted details of their lives were simply that—details.
“When?” she asked.
His hope kicked into high gear. “Tonight?”
She toyed with the collar of her shirt.
“Maybe that’s too soon? Next weekend? Anytime really.”
“Tonight is good. Tyler has a sleepover at Brandon’s.”
Yes. She’d said yes. He wanted to go down on a knee and thank the heavens.
“But it’ll have to be an early dinner,” she said. “I have a few things I need to do afterward to prepare for tomorrow.”
“Is seven a good time?”
“I’d prefer six.”
He laughed. “Do not tell any of my relations that we’re eating dinner at six—I’d never hear the end of it. No Italian eats before eight or nine. More often ten.”
“That’s not good for the body, eating so late in the night.”
Her fingers still toyed at the edge of her collar. There were other things besides eating that he’d like to do with Natasha late in the night. But Adrian knew that if he didn’t control the urges she fired in him, he might never get beyond a few stolen kisses.
Chapter Thirteen
NATASHA REINED IN HER APPREHENSION as Tyler readied his stance in the mammoth cage that stretched the width of Ryan’s barn. Both he and Brandon had listened carefully when Ryan had showed them the pitching machine and had given them tips about hitting.
Seeing Tyler with Ryan and Adrian reinforced her recognition that he needed men in his life. Men he could look up to. Perhaps a father figure. Someone who could guide him as he hit the rough teen years. A man Natasha could trust to be kind, reliable and not crazy. Three qualifications didn’t seem to be so many, but so far she hadn’t met a man who’d fit the bill. Until Adrian. And though he met every qualification, she couldn’t count Adrian. Not for the long run. It was a fact she’d have to live with.
Just as the guys were wrapping up the batting session, Ryan’s wife, Cara, introduced herself and called Natasha away from the batting cage to help her prepare snacks for the boys.
“Ryan would spend half his time down in this barn if I didn’t come out and retrieve him,” Cara said with a nod back toward the cage. “Liza’s learned how to escape and wander down to find him. Before we know it, he’ll have that donkey chasing balls.”
“Adrian mentioned this is a refuge.”
“Ryan loves animals, and he has a deep connection to them. But some people don’t. We rescue those unfortunate creatures, as many as we can. We find homes for them or keep those we can’t adopt out. Do you like animals?”
“I haven’t spent much time around them.” Tyler had begged every year for a puppy, but their budget and living arrangements had never allowed such a luxury. She dreamt of a time when she could make that one small dream come true.
“Well, if you’re spending time around Adrian, that will change. His whole family is mad about animals. Big ones, little ones—Zoe started a horse rescue and rehab center just last year. Have you seen her new barn?”
“From a distance.”
“Too bad she had to rush off. Ask her for a tour. She loves to show off her barn, but don’t get her started on her rescued horses unless you have plenty of time. Their stories will chill your blood. But they have a good home now. A great home.”
A great home. Natasha would one day say the same about a place she and Tyler could call their own. A smile played on her lips as she realized she’d be the one responsible for it, no rescuing required.
“Watch out,” Cara said as they entered the roomy, beautifully laid out kitchen. “Neither the nanny nor I have had a chance to pick up after Casey. He can spread toys out faster than we can chase him. He has his father’s genes for speed.”
Cara lifted the boy from a young woman’s arms. “Thank you, Tina. You deserve a break for a few minutes. I’ve got him.” She smoothed a hand over Casey’s hair. “Say hello to Natasha,” she prompted.
“Truck,” Casey said, pointing to a fire truck turned upside down near the kitchen counter.
“He hasn’t learned social skills yet,” Cara said with a laugh
. “One day beautiful women will catch his eye before trucks do, but I’m hoping I have at least a decade and a half before that happens.”
She allowed Casey to wriggle from her arms. He tore across the room with the unsteady gait of a toddler, his full focus on the object of his affection.
“They grow up fast,” Natasha said, remembering the blissful but difficult time when Tyler had been about Casey’s age. She’d been on welfare then. It’d been the only way to be a full-time mother and avoid sending Tyler to a second-rate day care.
“Too fast for my liking. I swear, I blink and he’s taller. But if Ryan’s any indication, he’ll always be a boy at heart.” She turned to Natasha. “Adrian is another sort altogether. He sometimes seems so serious. Like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Have you known the Tavonesi family for very long?”
“I met Adrian a few weeks ago.”
“You’ll find they’re a heartfelt bunch. They’re a tight-knit family, but very welcoming.” She bent down and offered Casey a piece of an oatmeal cookie. “I hadn’t realized you were new to the area.”
She hoped Cara wouldn’t dig for more information and was relieved when Cara began to tell her stories about the Tavonesi clan. About how Adrian’s family had moved to California after the death of their mother. About how they’d breathed new life into Casa del Sole and now led the county efforts to transition into organic farming. Natasha had had no idea that Adrian and his extended family were such a force in the community.
Natasha helped Cara pile cookies on a tray and squeeze lemons into a pitcher and found herself envying Cara’s evidently comfortable relationship with the Tavonesi family and the people of the small town of Albion Bay.
Cara handed her the pitcher and the tray. “Would you take these out to the barn? If I don’t put Casey down for a nap, we’ll never get any sleep tonight.”
Tonight. Natasha’s thoughts snapped back to her foolish agreement to have dinner at Adrian’s.
What in heaven’s name had she been thinking, agreeing to go to his place for dinner? Not in the plan, Natasha. Not even remotely in the plan.
Natasha’s thoughts continued to war as she drove Tyler and Brandon back into town. When she dropped them off at the Exeters’, Monica had a happy smile on her face and thanked Natasha effusively. She and her husband must’ve had a darned good afternoon.
Having Monica as an ally rather than a detractor seemed like a good thing since Natasha planned to keep Tyler in the same school as Brandon the next year. And the boys would be playing on the same summer league team. Better to have allies than enemies.
Her nerves were still jangling as she navigated back to Inspire. Nothing about the day had gone as she’d planned. She hadn’t given her carefully crafted speech over at Ryan’s, telling Adrian all the reasons why it was important that they be no more than colleagues and friends. Instead they’d shared a few world-shaking kisses that were now going to make what she had to tell him that much harder.
When Natasha returned to Inspire, Mary filled her in on Cara’s story. It had hit all the local papers. From Mary’s report, Natasha discovered that she wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with wealth disparity. But Cara’s situation was the reverse of Natasha’s—Cara had tried to hide the fact she was an heiress. And if she hadn’t fallen in love with Ryan, she might’ve succeeded.
Natasha decided not to change out of her jeans. Showing up at Adrian’s house in a dress would make their dinner look like a date. She considered calling him and telling him she had more work than she’d planned and couldn’t come, but this evening was her opportunity to explain, to set things straight, to let him know that while she thought the world of him, she had to draw the line. For Tyler’s sake.
And she’d have to stay at least ten feet away from Adrian, or her hormones would build a bridge between them and march across it on their own.
Why did the man have to be so darned handsome? So disarmingly charming? So crazy sexy? And so ridiculously rich? Why couldn’t he have been just a carpenter or a vineyard manager? Or even a simple successful mechanic?
Yet then he wouldn’t have been Adrian. His life circumstances had made him, just as hers had made her. If he wasn’t the man he was, they might never even have met.
One comment that stuck in Natasha’s mind and kept reeling around over and over was the one Cara had made about fate.
“Fate’s a funny thing,” Cara had said as she’d stared out the kitchen window toward the barn that housed the batting cage. “Who would ever have imagined I’d fall in love with a guy who throws, catches and hits balls for a living?” She’d munched on one of her homemade cookies before handing off the tray to Natasha. “But life has a way of helping us find just the right person—that is, if we don’t get in the way.”
Well, Natasha was about to get in the way in a very big way. A Major League ballplayer and an heiress weren’t from such disparate worlds as far as Natasha could see. But she and Adrian? Impossible. And he was either naïve or blind not to see the truth of the situation. One of them had to be realistic, and apparently that job had fallen to her.
“Turn left in four hundred feet,” the voice on the GPS Mary had loaned Natasha said with the strange accent of a computerized voice.
Adrian’s place wasn’t far from Casa del Sole, but the winding roads and numerous turns made Natasha glad she hadn’t tried to find it using a map. Given the level of anxiety tightening in her chest, she probably couldn’t have read a map anyway.
Her car hit a rut, and she cursed. Car repair bills were not in the current budget and wouldn’t be for a very long time. Not with the move to their new place coming up in less than a week. She slowed and followed the winding drive up the ridge.
Oak forest gave way to an open clearing scattered with wildflowers. At the edge of the clearing sat a large, two-story house. One wall faced west and was made entirely of glass. The rest of the house looked like something out of a storybook. A tower poked up at one end, and the house was painted in the fanciful colors of the old Victorians she’d seen in photos of San Francisco.
She parked in the cobblestone drive and grabbed the bottle of wine Mary had given her. Perhaps it was ridiculous to bring a vintner a bottle of wine, but she had to bring something. The wine was her way of balancing the power. Her way of bringing an asset to the evening, of not allowing all the gifts to be on his side of the line.
She climbed the redwood stairs to the porch and looked for a doorbell. Not seeing one, she raised the brass knocker. As it fell toward the door, the door opened.
“I heard you pull up,” Adrian said, wiping his hands on the denim apron he wore. “This is the first time I’ve cooked in this kitchen since the remodel, and so far the vegetables and Vikings are winning.”
No chef on TV had ever looked like he did. If the leap of her pulse was any indication, the networks were missing a golden opportunity—handsome men in televised cook-offs would certainly be a runaway hit.
“Vikings?”
“My stoves.”
She held out the bottle of wine.
“For you.” And then she felt truly ridiculous. Of course it was for him.
“For us,” he said as he reached to take it from her.
It took some deft maneuvering, but she was careful not to let his fingers brush hers. She had a plan and had no intention of taking any detours. Yet she knew it would be impossible to touch him and stay on the road she’d mapped out.
“You find the place okay?”
She nodded.
He laughed. “Obviously you did. What kind of a host am I? Come in out of the evening chill. Let’s open this. I’ve been wanting to taste Dario’s new rosé. They’re trending now, but he garnered a ninety-four.”
Natasha had no idea what he was talking about. She’d been lucky that Mary had the bottle stashed away—an unclaimed raffle prize, she’d said. What would she ever have done without Mary?
If not for Mary, she wouldn’t have met a man who cracked her heart an
d tumbled her reality.
But it wasn’t Mary’s fault that Natasha had fallen for Adrian. And it wasn’t Mary’s fault that once she’d realized who he was and the impossibility of a future with him, she hadn’t been able to put the man out of her mind. Or out of her dreams. God, she couldn’t, wouldn’t think about those dreams. Not now. She needed to focus.
Adrian brushed his hand along her shoulder as she entered the house. Natasha’s senses went to high alert. She swore she could feel every cell in her body screaming for more.
“I’m a bit behind schedule,” Adrian said as they entered the kitchen. “My sister—Amber—always leaves things to the very last minute and I promised I’d drive her to the helipad.”
Helipad. It didn’t take a moat or a wall or an army of censuring patriarchs to remind Natasha why she had to end things with Adrian. His words and what they conveyed did that just fine.
“What does Amber do?” she stammered out in an attempt to make conversation that would distract her from the unwanted desire rising in her belly.
“Do?” The pop of the cork punctuated his puzzled expression.
Natasha felt the flush steal up her neck. Maybe Italian heiresses didn’t do anything.
He handed her a glass of the rose-colored liquid.
“This has a perfect hue.” He turned his glass and looked through it toward the light. “A light blush but not too far to the red side.” He motioned toward her with his glass. “Salute.”
The ringing sound as the crystal touched was like a bell sounding in a prizefighter’s ring. She had stepped under the ropes and she needed to deal.
“Amber is a campaigner. She travels the world and tries to see that precious medicinal plants don’t go extinct. She calls herself an herbalist, but I think of her as a warrior.” He sipped his wine and then stared into the glass.