It was Friday pizza night at the owner’s residence, a tradition that had sprung up shortly after Evan started working from St. Isadore. Nico had taken advantage of Evan’s increased presence by asking for weekly meetings with Evan and Marguerite to discuss his work at the winery. They’d quickly determined the meeting required refreshments, which then morphed into ordering take-out pizza. At the first meal, Evan had brought out beer and Marguerite had recoiled in horror. But then she’d decided to use the occasions to teach Evan more about wine. He might still prefer beer, but at least now he could hold a conversation whenever he ran into another winery owner.
She still couldn’t fully believe Evan had made good on his stated intent to work from St. Isadore. He spent his days holed up in his home office, emerging only to sign off on requests from Marguerite or the director of operations. But the nights...the nights, he definitely made his presence known. To her. At her apartment. On more than one occasion, taking advantage of the guest chair in her office. Even in the pickup truck Marguerite drove to meet with vineyard managers and walk the grapevines.
The memory of what his mouth and fingers had done to her under the open sky, with nothing but green leaves and budding fruit all around them, caused her to shift on the cushions. Evan glanced up from his match with Nico. When their gazes met he smiled, the devilish quirk of his lips telling her he knew what she was thinking. He always knew, but then Marguerite’s thoughts were rather predictable ever since the morning in the courtyard.
“I win!” Nico shouted. Evan’s arm was pinned to the coffee table.
Evan kept his gaze on Marguerite. “I had my eyes on a greater prize.” He passed the paper plate to Nico then took a slice of margherita pizza for himself. “Enjoy.”
His elbow came perilously close to the open wine bottle on the coffee table as he levered himself from his seated position on the rug. “Careful!” Marguerite reached down and moved the bottle. “This is good stuff.”
He joined her on the sofa. “Then, we should finish drinking it.”
“First, pop quiz. Why did we have the Cabernet Sauvignon with the meat lover’s pizza?”
Evan thought for a minute. “Tannins,” he replied. “The tannins offset the fat in the meat.”
“And a fruit-forward wine like this particular Cab Sav pairs well with the flavor.”
“I’m good at pairings,” he whispered in her ear when the younger couple wasn’t looking. “Quiz me more when we’re alone.”
Gabi finished consolidating the remaining pizza into one box and closed the lid. “We’re meeting friends from my internship program.” She patted the lid and grinned. “They thank you for the sustenance.”
“Speaking of interns...” Nico drawled. He and Gabi exchanged a glance heavy with meaning.
Marguerite sat straight up. Evan’s body language also shifted, from relaxed to attentive. “Something you two have to tell us?” he asked.
“Well...” Nico kept his gaze on the wine bottle on the coffee table. “I’ve been thinking. I like working here. With you,” he said to Marguerite. “I’m really enjoying my rotation in the wine tasting room.”
“I hear a but,” Evan said.
“But.” He took a deep breath. “Gabi is returning to Cornell in August. And the more I’ve gotten to know the other interns, the more I think... I need to go back to college.” He grinned, if a bit sheepishly. “I really want to go back, despite not giving it my all before. I’ve decided I want to work in hospitality. For a big luxury chain. So I need those business classes after all.”
Evan answered his brother with a grin of his own. “That’s terrific.”
“I’ll still be at St, Isadore for the rest of the summer. And there are a lot of details to work out. I’m not sure Boston University will take me back, but I’m going to try.”
“Nico can finish his general education courses at a junior college and then transfer to another four-year school, too,” Gabi interjected.
“And that junior college wouldn’t happen to be near Cornell, would it?” Evan teased.
Gabi and Nico exchanged another look. “A lot of things to work out,” Nico repeated. “But maybe.”
Gabi looked at her phone. “We better run if we want to catch up with the others. See you both later.”
Marguerite managed to wave goodbye, still struggling to process Nico’s words. Evan poured what was left of the wine into their nearly empty glasses. “Cheers,” he said, holding his up. “Here’s to having the place to ourselves for the next several hours.”
She could only blink at him in response.
He lowered his arm. “Something wrong?”
“No. I mean, what could be wrong?”
He searched her expression. “You don’t think Nico should return to college?”
She shook her head. “It’s a great idea. He’s doing a spectacular job in the wine tasting room. Guests love him. He’d be a great restaurant or hotel manager, if that’s what he wants.”
“Then what is it? You’re biting your lower lip.”
Dammit, he always could read her tells. “It’s just...” She hesitated, unsure how to put her initial burst of panic into words. “Well, if Nico isn’t here to learn the winery business...would you still need to own a winery? We’re a few years away from turning a sizable profit, and you’ve been spending a lot of money on something that isn’t your passion.”
Now it was Evan’s turn to blink at her. “That’s a new thought to me,” he finally said. “On several fronts.”
“Oh? Which ones?”
“To be honest, I never dreamed Nico would want to finish his degree. So, I haven’t considered St. Isadore without him. And the second...” He shrugged. “I spend money on businesses to make money. Passion doesn’t enter into the equation.”
“What about Medevco?”
“I want Medevco to succeed, and right now that means a lot of long hours to put out hot fires. But am I passionate? Not the same way you are about wine.”
“When I was eight, I announced to my parents I was going to be a winemaker.” And she would one day restore their family name to preeminence in the field. “Of course, I had never tasted it. But I knew. What did you want to do as a child?”
“Make lots of money. My parents fought over bills at the end of the month. Then Nico came along and the fights got worse. Don’t get me wrong, they didn’t fight all the time. But the end of the month was rough, especially if my dad’s customers didn’t pay on time.” He was silent for a moment, his gaze falling on his wine glass. “Anyway.” He put it down and turned to face her. “Speaking of Medevco, Luke called just before Nico and Gabi showed up with the pizza.”
Her stomach, which had started flopping about the time Nico made her announcement, now plummeted to the ground. “Angus Horne is back from his emergency?”
“Not yet, but he will be soon. We need to be ready. And Luke and I aren’t agreeing on what ready means. Some discussions need to be held face-to-face.” He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her neck, his five-o’clock shadow pleasantly scraping her skin.
She laughed despite the trepidation starting to crawl down her back. “I hope you’re not using the same approach on Luke that you use on me.”
You’re the only one I want to have full body conversations with.” He leaned back, his gaze searching hers. “I’m leaving for the city on Monday, and probably won’t be back until the summit.”
His pronouncement hit her harder than it should. Of course he would return to San Francisco. Medevco was his true priority.
It hadn’t escaped her notice that he didn’t really answer her question about St. Isadore’s future after Nico left. Nor that his story about his parents placed a premium on making money from his businesses. She didn’t have nearly enough money saved to buy the vineyard she was owed outright. Asking him to sell it to her for a below market price—much le
ss give it to her a gift—seemed...crass.
“I’ll miss you,” she said, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them from forming.
His gaze traced the contours of her face. “Then come with me.”
“To San Francisco? So close to the event?”
“You and Aracely have the party nailed down. I’m not worried. Besides—” and he grinned, that roguish expression that always made her heart beat far faster than it should “—there are no prying eyes and ears in the city.”
She grabbed her glass off the table and took a large sip, for once not tasting the spice and ripe berry note in her wine. “To be clear, Nico spends so much time at Gabi’s, that’s not necessarily an issue here.”
He made an impatient movement. “But wouldn’t it be nice not to worry? Plus, next Friday there’s a charity gala I need to attend. And I don’t have a date yet.”
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, the low timbre of his voice causing her to shiver. “I’ll leave on Monday, get as much work done as possible. You drive down on Thursday and become intimately acquainted with every room in my house. When we’re tired of my place, we’ll explore the city and then go to the gala on Friday night.”
He did make it sound enticing. “Tell me more about the gala. Who will be there?”
“Silicon Valley types. Bay Area society types. The types that like to dress up and go to parties.” He shrugged. “It’s to raise money for local nonprofits, so it attracts a broad range of people.”
“Wine industry types?” She kept her tone light.
“Ah.” He nodded. “We’ll say you’re representing St. Isadore, to check out what’s being served at the gala and keep tabs on the competition.”
At St. Isadore, they could pretend the outside world didn’t exist. Pretend they followed the new rules they established: they were strictly work colleagues from nine to five, while after hours they were friends with very specific and pleasurable benefits.
Pretend she wasn’t falling in love with him.
Pretend she wasn’t petrified he would decide he didn’t want St. Isadore after Nico went back to college and dump it and her, leaving her back to square one yet again.
“Come to the city,” he said against her lips. “I don’t want to go two weeks without seeing you. You can take the time off from work. I’ll arrange it with the boss.” He wagged his eyebrows.
She laughed, helpless to resist. And maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to visit San Francisco. To be part of his life in the city, if only for a few days. And perhaps to use the time to persuade him that St. Isadore was worth keeping, was worth his investment. “I’ll have to drive back Saturday morning. Aracely and I have some last-minute meetings with vendors.”
He picked up his glass and drained it before turning so he faced her on the sectional. She shifted to match his position, her light cotton skirt riding up and revealing a portion of her upper thigh as she moved. With his right hand, he began to trace abstract designs on her newly bared skin. “You’ll have fun beyond your expectations.”
His fingers brushed higher and she closed her eyes, the better to experience the swirling fire his touch so expertly kindled. “I can’t imagine how you can exceed them when you’ve already set them very high.”
“Let’s see how high they can go.” Then he kissed her, his firm mouth closing over hers and demanding she concentrate on only the pleasure he made her feel.
She gave in to his kiss, and the panic rattling her nerves was overtaken by the rising tide of arousal. Evan wasn’t Casper and he wasn’t Linus. She didn’t need to fear having the rug pulled out from underneath her hard-fought goals again. Borrowing trouble only caused stress for the borrower.
But a tendril of trepidation curled up at the base of her spine and refused to go away.
* * *
The drive to San Francisco was both interminable and over far too soon for Marguerite’s nerves. On the one hand, she would get her first glimpse of Evan’s life outside St. Isadore, meet his friends, gain a deeper insight into what made him, well, Evan. On the other hand, they would be together for the first time without being wrapped in their St. Isadore cocoon.
Evan lived in Cole Valley, at the top of the hill, adjacent to Golden Gate Park. The neighborhood was a mixture of Victorian, midcentury and contemporary styles, with his house definitely falling into the last category. The sleek glass, metal and cement four-story structure stood out for its elegant if severe facade, all squared angles and hard surfaces. She marveled at it through her windshield as she pulled her car, dusty from the road, into the pristine driveway.
Using the app Evan had installed on her phone, she unlocked the towering frosted-glass front door. Inside, the house was even more modern. And more impressive, with understated but obviously expensive furnishings that reminded her of TV remodeling shows featuring celebrity residences. No wonder he was less than complimentary about the dated—if still grand—decor of St. Isadore.
She put down her bag in the expansive main living quarters, which stretched the entire length of the second level, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of the city with the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. The kitchen, with its sleek European appliances, flowed into the dining area, which was separated from the main room only by a fireplace that appeared to almost float in the middle of the room. The entire space was big enough to fit her apartment with room left over.
The sound of the front door opening made her jump. She whirled around from taking in the view, expecting to see Evan. Instead, it was woman, around Evan’s age, with precision-cut hair framing her high cheekbones and piercing dark eyes. Her sharply tailored suit probably cost more than the entire contents of Marguerite’s closet. “Oh, you’re here already,” the newcomer said. “Good.”
Marguerite’s heart thumped hard against her ribcage. Who was she? Where was Evan? “And you are...?”
“Didn’t Evan tell you? No, of course not. Men.” The woman rolled her eyes. “On the other hand, he and Luke have been busy, so perhaps it’s forgivable. I’m Finley Smythe. A friend of Evan’s—well, my brother Grayson is his friend, but Evan knew I was in town, and he asked me to look after you.” She held out her right hand to shake.
Marguerite looked at Finley’s hand but didn’t offer her own. “Marguerite Delacroix. I wasn’t aware I needed a nanny.”
Finley smiled, displaying even, white teeth, and dropped her hand. “We’re going to get along fine. And of course you don’t need a babysitter. But Evan thought you might want a shopping companion for something to wear to the gala tomorrow.”
“I don’t understand.” She’d borrowed an evening gown from Aracely. “I should be set. Evan knows that.” She took out her phone to call him.
Finley shook her head. “He’s in a closed-door meeting, will be until this evening. I know, it’s annoying. My brother is in the same meeting, even though it’s vital I talk to him about upcoming events. So, since I can’t move forward until Grayson is liberated and you don’t need to go shopping, want to show me your masquerade costume?”
“Masquerade? What masquerade?” Marguerite’s head swam. It had been a long drive, and she was hungry, thirsty and overtired. Maybe she’d misheard the other woman.
Finley’s gaze narrowed. “The gala. It’s a masked ball.”
Marguerite continued to stare at her.
Finley reached out and patted her shoulder in commiseration.
“Men.” Several hours later, Marguerite had a masquerade costume assembled thanks to her companion’s strategic knowledge of where to shop for supplies. The gown she’d borrowed from Aracely was a simple long slip of pale gold silk when on the hanger, but on Marguerite, it became a marvel of draping, emphasizing her curves. Taking her cue from the color of the dress—and her work—she decided the theme of her costume would be champagne. Finley found a stole of pale cream chiffon in a local boutique, and
a helpful assistant at a craft store attached oversized pearls and translucent baubles to its surface. When wound around Marguerite’s shoulders and trailing down her arms, the decorations resembled bubbles rising to the top of a champagne flute. Smaller pearls and clear beads decorated the simple mask, and for her hair, they rummaged through the marked-down items at a party store and found a headband with a large paper champagne cork on top, left over from New Year’s Eve.
Finley also persuaded Marguerite to buy cosmetics in various shades of gold, including glitter for her face and body. When they arrived back at Evan’s house, Marguerite took her newly purchased bounty into the powder room off the living space to experiment with different looks. She then slipped on the dress to get Finley’s opinion, which she had come to value during their marathon shopping expedition. “Ready?” she called through the closed door.
“Ready,” replied Finley.
Marguerite stepped out. Finley clapped her hands. “Perfect,” she pronounced.
But Marguerite didn’t hear her. Her focus flew past Finley to alight on the person coming through the front door.
* * *
Evan stood in his foyer, his gaze locked on the vision that was Marguerite. He thought her beautiful at any time of day or night, seated behind her desk in her customary trousers and blouse or sporting jeans and a T-shirt covered in dirt from inspecting the vineyards. And of course, Marguerite in his bed, wearing nothing but her wicked grin and the light of passion in her eyes, was his favorite sight in the world.
But now she glowed, as the setting sun poured its amber rays through the windows, lighting her from behind. Her gown outlined her curves, the fabric almost appearing molten as it skimmed and dipped over her skin. Just fifteen minutes ago, he had been irritable and tired, thanks to a long day spent in a windowless conference room not making any progress on the negotiations. Now—now Marguerite would be lucky if that dress stayed on her for more than five minutes.
Who's the Boss Now? Page 10
