by Kim Karr
I read the sign at the reception table. There were to be forty auctions set for the evening.
That was a lot of expensive wine.
Then again, admission to the event didn’t come cheap. At $1,500 per ticket, luxury was most certainly the expectation.
And luxury it was.
Crystal chandeliers.
A band.
Caviar.
And of course, green and gold Dom Pérignon bottles.
The tuxes and designer gowns and diamonds were too many to count, and for some silly reason, I couldn’t stop that Billy Joel song from playing in my head.
Had a Dom Pérignon in a hand and spoon up their nose.
First up was a 1995 Gable Cabernet Sauvignon Reserve. Interesting that Gable Wineries had submitted to this auction.
This particular auction wasn’t for charity but for profit. Odd. Was he in trouble, too? Or maybe just worried since he’d received his first summons concerning the property line dispute earlier this week. I crossed my fingers on that one.
I listened to the commentary being given, but nothing was divulged other than the details on that particular vintage.
With the auctioneer’s slacks held up by suspenders and his hands flying back and forth, he created a flourish of excitement when he said, “Take a very good look at this because it could be yours.”
Below him sat large groups of vintners who immediately shifted their attention to the podium as the auctioneer started the bidding.
“Ten thousand?”
Silence.
“Ten thousand?” he said again.
“Do I have a ten thousand . . .”
“Ten thousand . . .”
An awkward silence followed.
“There it is . . .”
The bidding wars had begun.
There was a casual lift of a finger from the man in the front row and it brought the price up seven hundred dollars. Then a subtle nod from the woman in the corner that brought the price up another thousand.
The smell of cologne alerted me that Tyler Holiday was near and I breathed him in. Clean and fresh and so very Tyler. He’d come behind me and I imagined him putting his hands on my hips and pulling me close. What I got was a, “You made it. Everyone’s been looking for you.”
That voice was all I had to hear to know that yes, I was absolutely, positively willing to give him another chance. And another and another too if that was what it took because . . . Darcy was right . . . nobody was perfect.
My heart pounded so hard that I couldn’t stop feeling like it was beating out of my ribcage. God, I was such a fool. I’d done to him what my father had done to me—wanted him to be someone he wasn’t.
And that wasn’t fair.
I wanted him just the way he was.
My pulse started to race as I slowly pivoted around. Yes, this man was mine. His gorgeous face was smiling at me and that hot body was dressed in the most superb tux I’d ever seen . . . and he was mine. “Can you believe I fell asleep,” I admitted.
His eyes were busy checking me out, so when he said, “After the afternoon you had, I’m not surprised.” It didn’t register at first.
I raised a curious brow.
His sly grin had butterflies dancing in my belly. “Party of one?”
The surprised breath that surfaced got caught in my throat and I blushed from head-to-toe. Oh my, God, he’d heard me.
“Wish you would have invited me,” he drawled in that voice that sounded like melting caramel.
That blush turned into a flush. “I was thinking of you,” I teased because honestly, it was the only thing I could do to lessen my embarrassment.
His breathing started to accelerate. “Is that right?”
I smiled up at him as I brushed past his shoulder to escape the overwhelming heat. He grabbed my wrist to halt me, tugging me around to face him. He smirked down at me, staring into my eyes.
He was gorgeous in a suit.
He was gorgeous in jeans.
He was gorgeous naked.
Lost in the moment, I was ready to tell him I wanted to give us a chance. That I was ready if he was.
“Finally! There you are!” Tabitha scolded, breaking the moment.
“Yep, here I am,” I managed to say even though I was paralyzed with lust.
“Oh, my God, you look like a princess,” she gushed.
I felt like one too in the dress Wilhelmina had loaned me. She hadn’t worn it in over twenty-five years and it still looked brand new. It was pale gold vintage Halston and it had a sleek silhouette that was perfect for my height and shape. The halter-neck helped balance the plunging back and I was finally able to wear heels again.
Tabitha held up her iPhone. “Let me take your picture,” she said, making a motion for Tyler and me to get closer.
Oh, he took advantage of that. Reaching for me, one of his hands coasted down my back and settled on my hip. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.
With a shiver, I said, “Thank you,” somewhat shyly. Shyly. What on earth was that about? Then again, tonight was the first time in more than two weeks that he’d let his desire for me shine in his eyes. I wanted to soak it up. I relaxed into his touch and I could tell he was surprised when I did by the small gasp he let out.
“Say cheese, or maybe wine in this case,” Tabitha crooned.
I said it. Tyler did not.
The flash went off and after the picture had been taken I turned toward him and straightened his bow tie. “You look devilishly handsome,” I said with a smile.
“Oh, it sold,” Tabitha announced.
“For how much?” Tyler asked.
She shrugged and bit her lip. “I’m not sure.”
Grayson was behind her. He hugged me and said, “Not bad. Almost seventy-five thousand. What do you think, Ty?”
“I think whoever bought it got ripped off,” he replied.
We all laughed.
Darcy shoved past Tabitha and Grayson. “There you are.”
“I know, I’m late.”
“Well you look beautiful!” she said pulling me in for a hug.
I hugged her back.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Tyler was worried.”
I looked up at him. He was gazing at me with such adoration that I don’t think I ever felt so loved before. Words spoken out loud or not, I could see it in his eyes.
Julian joined us and announced, “I got us a table over there.”
Darcy raised a questionable brow. “For how many?”
He gave her a slight shrug and said, “Nine.”
“Nine?” she asked.
His nod seemed fairly confident as he told her, “I got this. Don’t worry, I’ve arranged for Sophie to sit on one side of Christian and Lane on the other, this way we can avoid any protentional catfights.”
“Oh, you really don’t understand women,” she huffed.
He furrowed his brow. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
His smile was charming and cocky at the same time. “That the three of them have worked out some kind of arrangement until after the elections are over.”
“No, I didn’t, but all I have to say to that is let the show begin,” she said.
“Fireworks are going to fly,” Tabitha responded and then took my hand. “While you guys deal with that, I’m going to steal Paris and take her to the ladies room with me. We’ll meet you at the table.”
In her strapless Alexander Wang black dress and six-inch heels, she plucked a champagne flute from a nearby tray and led me down the lit path into the building. The restrooms were down the hall, and as soon as we stepped foot inside them, she looked under all the stalls and then locked the door.
“What are you doing?” I asked with a giggle.
She strode over to the sink, took a gulp of her champagne, and then proceeded to dump the contents of her purse onto the counter.
I watched as she rummaged through the lipstick and powder and gasped when she uncover
ed an EPT box. “An early pregnancy test,” I said conspiratorially. “Do you think you’re pregnant again so soon?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s just mean.”
“What?”
She pointed to me. “I think you’re pregnant.”
I gasped again in shock. “Me? No way. I have an IUD.”
“How long have you had it?” She raised a brow.
“Three years ago,” I answered sheepishly, recalling I was supposed to make a doctor’s appointment and get a new one, but with my father passing and all the chaos of the merger, I’d completely forgotten.
She held out the box. “Go in there and pee on the stick.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Unwrapping the packaging, she snapped, “Am I?”
I stared at her. “It would be way too early to tell anyway.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“Still—” I started to protest, but she cut me off.
“Think about it. You’re emotional. You’re tired all the time. You get sick to your stomach over the smell of just about everything. And your boobs are getting bigger before my very eyes, which, by the way, really pisses me off.”
I stared at the box. I hadn’t put any of those things together. And then there was my crazy lustfulness that I wasn’t even going to mention.
She cocked a hip and shook the box at me. “Hurry up before Tyler comes knocking.”
Nervous at the very thought of having to explain the box to him, I grabbed it and locked myself in the stall. “What do I do?” I asked in such a quivering tone I wasn’t sure my words came out right.
“You pee on the stick.”
“Seriously?”
Her black Pradas were in front of the door. “Yes. Do you want me to hold your dress up?”
“God, no!”
It was tricky to do but at least I wasn’t wearing hose. When I was done I threw what I could in the trash and came up holding the wand. “The box says to wait three minutes.”
Tabitha grabbed it from me and practically ran over to the sink. The area had been tidied up from the contents of her clutch and she set the wand on a napkin that had the resort name monogrammed across it, and then she covered the wand with another napkin.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
After downing her champagne, she said, “Making sure we don’t peek.”
Bracing myself, I took my time pacing over beside her. This couldn’t be happening. This was so not the right time.
What if Tyler didn’t want this?
What if we weren’t ready?
Was I even ready?
Tabitha closed her eyes and squeezed her fists. “I’m so nervous.”
“You’re nervous? I’m the one who’s nervous.” Even my voice was cracking as I spoke.
It was the longest three minutes of my life.
“Ready?” she asked, plucking the napkin from the top of the wand before I could even answer.
My stomach revolted immediately. The thought of looking at the results had me running to the stall.
It was just nerves, I told myself as I dry heaved into the toilet.
Nerves.
That was it.
But even as I thought it . . . I knew it wasn’t.
Tyler
I WATCHED WITH anticipation as the final bottle of CJ went on the auction block.
A big foam index finger pointed in the direction of a bidder to draw the auctioneer’s attention to a competing paddle. I followed the marker and smirked. Paddle 190 was held by Mr. Baldwin Perkins and he was really driving up the price.
“I wonder if Mr. Perkins took an Uber,” Paris whispered in my ear, announcing her return from the bathroom for like the fifth time tonight.
This time I insisted on walking her. I felt like I hadn’t seen her most of the evening. I leaned against the wall. “With a net worth estimated by Forbes at $1.3 billion, he could buy his own fleet of Ubers.”
She laughed and I took that as I good sign considering when I had seen her tonight, she’d been quiet. Whatever was going on, I couldn’t get a read on her and I hated it. Had I given her too much space because if so, I really wished she’d tell me. The distance thing was fucking killing me. Being so close to her and not being able to touch her was like an invisible knife gutting me every time.
“Thirty thousand . . .”
“Thirty-five thousand . . .”
The auctioneer looked around for any bidders to top the last. There were at least five. The bidding war was not slowing.
I took a sip of my champagne and let the sparkling flavor slide down my throat. “Come on, higher,” I said in a hushed tone.
Paris chewed on her lower lip and grabbed for my free hand. “I think someone just bid forty.”
“I think it was forty-five, Love.” It slipped out and she didn’t complain.
“Fifty thousand . . .”
“Sixty thousand . . .”
“Seventy thousand . . .”
The bidding slowed. Mr. Perkins was no longer raising his paddle because he was busy talking to someone who’d sat beside him.
“Sold to Mr. Frank Gambino,” the auctioneer exulted.
“That’s it?” Paris asked, her eyes finding mine with concern.
I nodded. “It wasn’t as much as I’d hope to get but with the sum of all three bottles combined, we got enough to get us through the harvest.”
“That’s what we were hoping for, right?” she asked, the optimism in her tone doing strange things to my heart.
I took the hand I was holding and brought it to my lips. “Yes, it is. And there’s an added benefit as well. Both California Jane and Highway 128’s reputation has slid a bit over the years with all the wine connoisseurs moving on to small production cult wines. So, with these bottles getting some attention, perhaps we’ll peak their interest when we launch Highway Jane.”
She shivered under my touch. “And I really think we need to get our own champagne line out before the end of next year.”
I chuckled. “Aggressive, but I like it.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Do you think we could talk? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
Twisting my lip, I looked down at her. “Please don’t tell me Tabitha has put together another addendum?”
Her giggle was almost contagious. “No, nothing like that, but this is serious.”
That worried me.
“Maybe we could go home?” she asked.
Now, I was really worried. “Um . . . yeah . . . sure. Let’s just say goodbye to everyone.”
“You sure it’s okay to leave now?”
“Absolutely.” Tucking her arm over mine, I guided her toward the table so we could say our goodbyes. “Still not feeling well?”
“Something like that,” she murmured.
Okay, now I was tripled worried.
Was she going to end things between us before I had a chance to prove to her I was the husband she needed?
Fuck. I was sure she was.
The only thing I could think about the entire way home was . . . it was time to show her I was her prince charming. And I had to do it quickly before she had a chance to talk first.
Ready or not.
Paris
I HAD TO talk to him.
But I wasn’t sure what was going on. After following Tyler home in my car, he asked me if I wouldn’t mind changing into something warm and meeting him outside.
He sounded so urgent.
Quickly, I threw on a pair of leggings and a sweater, and then I grabbed my coat and boots.
Nervousness overtook me. I didn’t want us to work out because we had to. I wanted us to work out because he wanted to.
How would I ever really know?
When I went back outside, Tyler was waiting for me in his grandfather’s old pickup truck that didn’t look so old anymore.
It wasn’t candy apple red the day he pulled a Say Anything under the window, but it was now.
I kind of loved it.
It was badass.
“Your carriage awaits,” he smirked as he opened my door with a bow.
“Am I Cinderella?” I laughed as I stepped inside.
“Only if I get to be Prince Charming.”
The door closed before I could respond, and I watched him cross the front of the truck. He was still wearing his tux pants, and with every confident stride he made they pulled across his muscular thighs in the most delicious way. He had removed the jacket and bowtie and his white shirt moved with such ease as it molded to his toned chest.
Yes, he was my Prince Charming.
Everything about Tyler Holiday was so alluring. However, I wasn’t sure he’d still be mine after tonight.
As soon as he got in, I said, “Tyler, we need to talk about—”
He cut me off. “Don’t say anything. I have something to tell you first and then I want to show you something, okay?”
There was a flicker in his eyes, but I couldn’t decipher it. “Okay.”
He drove down the hill and around the valley toward the lake you could barely see from the kitchen window and parked the truck.
The scrub pines had grown so large, the only hint that water existed beyond was the reflecting light the moon cast on the surface.
With the heat blasting inside, he turned toward me. “I know I never let anyone inside, and I want to explain to you why. It doesn’t change anything or make it better, but I just want you to know what happened the day my father died.”
I nodded and just listened.
He brought my fingertips to his mouth and kissed them before he spoke. “My father drank. A lot. For as long as I could remember. But after my grandfather died, that was all he ever did. I don’t think he was sober once that entire year. It was my seventeenth birthday, and birthdays were always trouble around Corky. That day he woke me up at the break of dawn telling me he’d gotten me a present. The present was a case of genuine moonshine.”
I shifted in my seat, not sure where this was going.
“I started to drink it with him before I even brushed my teeth, but it tasted like shit and I told him so. He punched me in the jaw and kicked me until I knew he’d cracked a rib. He called me a pussy and told me to man up. So I drank it and when he wasn’t looking, I dumped mine and filled it with water. I kept doing this and he kept right on drinking. By noon he was so wasted, he could barely speak. Just kept mumbling off the same advice he always did when he was that wasted—that he hoped I understood love was meaningless. It was a four-letter word never to be spoken unless I wanted to end up like him. And fuck, I didn’t want that.”
