by A. J. Pine
They slipped through the open balcony door. Without really thinking, Violet pulled the curtain across the opening, effectively closing them off from the rest of the party, if only from immediate view.
Walker dropped her hand and pressed his palms against the balcony’s wooden ledge. He took in a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes as he did, then blew it out through his mouth.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly. He seemed like he was concentrating.
He shrugged. “My aunt always thought I could benefit from the power of meditation.” The word “power” came out with a mocking tone.
She laughed. “You don’t believe her?”
He cracked one eye open. “No. I think it’s a total crock. But I respect that she believes it. So every now and then I try to turn it all off, you know? The ocean air helps.”
Violet mimicked his stance, hands pressed against the railing, then squeezed her eyes shut. She breathed in through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. Her hand slid left as she did, her pinky brushing his.
Walker said nothing. She felt his pinky twitch against hers, but he didn’t pull his hand away.
She kept her eyes closed, hoping it would suspend them in this moment.
“Smell the salt?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said, a chill rippling down her spine. This was a moment. She could feel it. They were sharing a moment.
His pinky twitched again, and this time it landed on hers.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
“I can’t get involved with anyone right now,” he said, his voice low and controlled.
She nodded, her eyes still closed, and she wondered if his were, too. She was too scared to look. “And I can’t get involved with someone I work for. I can’t afford the fallout. And there’s always a fallout.”
“Here’s the thing, though,” he said. “I can’t get this morning’s kiss out of my head. And that was before I heard you sing or watched you try to carry that ridiculous cake. I can’t stop wondering what it would be like to kiss you again now that you’re not exactly a stranger.”
“Music,” she blurted. “It’s why I’m not half-bad with the singing. I like the restaurant business and the wine stuff. Don’t get me wrong. But I’ve always loved music. I don’t really know anymore what I wanted to do with it—teach in a public school or maybe offer lessons out of a private studio—but I left school early when my mom’s symptoms got worse and she couldn’t help out in the restaurant as much. Music is my something for me. Like your chair.”
He slid his entire hand over hers, his thumb brushing her skin. “You don’t technically work for the Everett family yet. Jack says you can come by Wednesday to get started, but as of right now, no paperwork has been filed.”
She opened her eyes to find him staring right at her, his ocean blue irises brewing with mischief and desire.
“Walker, what are you saying?”
He brought her palm to his lips and kissed it softly.
“You asked me to play a part tonight. If we’re only pretending, it doesn’t mean anything, right? Then neither of us is breaking any rules.”
He let go of her hand, but she didn’t let it fall. Instead she caressed his cheek. His beard was softer than she’d thought it was when she’d kissed him. But then the whole earlier episode was a blur. Now she was taking the time to notice him.
She ran her fingers through the overgrown blond hair above his ear.
“There’s some gold in there,” she said. “Maybe even a hint of red.”
“Is that a good thing?” he asked softly.
She nodded.
“Well then I put it there just for you.” The corner of his mouth curled up.
She rose onto her tiptoes, both hands clasping around his neck to help her balance. And maybe pull him closer.
What were they doing?
“I shouldn’t want you,” she whispered.
“And I can’t want you,” he whispered back.
“Why?” she asked without even thinking. It wasn’t her business, especially if he was about to be her employer. But she still wondered. And now that the question was out there, she might as well follow through. “You pretty much know my whole story. But I know close to nothing about you other than you have brothers and an aunt and can make my toes curl with one kiss. I mean, is it more than the employer/employee thing?”
Her lips were a breath away from his, and if he decided to answer her without any words, she wouldn’t object.
Instead he let his forehead fall against hers.
“It’s—too soon.” The words came out strained, as if they caused him physical pain to utter. And then it clicked.
“You just got out of a relationship,” she said resignedly.
“You could say that.” His warm breath caressed her lips.
“A long relationship?” Ugh, why was she digging for answers she wasn’t sure she truly wanted to know?
“You could say that, too,” was his only reply.
She cleared her throat and took a step back. She wouldn’t push any further.
“Okay then. It’s too soon for you, and you’re entirely the wrong guy for me being my employer and all. So I guess that settles it.” It didn’t matter that her words made complete sense. She couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, either. Her lips didn’t care about sense. Her lips had one thought and one thought only.
Devour his lips.
The aroma of her father’s cooking filled the apartment, but out here she could smell only the salt of the sea mixed with the crisp clean scent of Walker’s skin. She thought about his sink shower in the bathroom of the winery and how much she wished she was that bar of soap.
She hummed softly.
“Hey, Teach?” Walker said.
“Huh?” she responded, startled out of her reverie. “I mean, yeah?”
“How about another lesson?” He rested his hands on her hips, the simple touch doing not-so-simple things to her. “How do you say kiss in that pretty language of yours?”
Violet licked her lips and swallowed.
“To kiss is embrasser.”
“Em-brah-say,” he parroted.
Violet usually hated the way French sounded when a non-native speaker tried it. Walker didn’t pronounce the words perfectly, but he didn’t butcher them, either. And somehow he made each one sexier in his own rugged way.
“How would you—embrasser me?” he added.
She laughed. “First I’d give you more warning than I did this morning. I’d say, Je veux t’embrasser, which means I want to kiss you.” And she did. Holy hell she did. Nothing was more of a tease than being close enough to kiss him, wanting to kiss him, and not kissing him. How did he exercise such restraint? Or maybe he didn’t want her as much as she wanted him.
“Je veux t’embrasser,” he repeated, his accent a little better this time.
“That’s good. You’re getting the hang of it.”
“No,” Walker said. He let his bottom lip brush hers, and she sucked in a breath. “Je. Veux. T’embrasser.”
Her throat went bone dry, and she struggled to swallow.
“Then kiss me already,” she squeaked.
He grinned. “I guess you’re the boss tonight.”
She expected raw, animal hunger—expected his beard to chafe her skin. But his lips swept against hers, so surprisingly gentle she actually whimpered.
He took his time, teasing and tasting with soft flicks of his tongue. His fingertips kneaded her hips, and then his hands traveled up her sides, tracing her curves, until his fingers tangled in her hair.
She parted her lips, pulling him closer, trying to satiate her need.
His lips broke into a smile. “Have a little patience, Teach. If we’re only playing these parts for one night, let’s savor every bit of it.”
“But if we only have one night,” she argued, “shouldn’t we get the most out of it?”
She nipped at his bottom lip, and he let loose a soft g
rowl.
“Patience,” he said again, then kissed her chin, her jaw, the top of her neck. His teeth grazed her earlobe, and she hummed a moan. “See?” he whispered in her ear. “Savoring is pretty damn good, huh?”
In her head she was screaming yes, oui, and every other affirmation that existed. But her mouth had lost its ability to form words because he’d moved from her neck to her shoulder, his hands leading the way down her body until both palms rested firmly on her ass.
He squeezed, and Violet tilted her head back and laughed.
“Didn’t take you for an ass man,” she teased.
He leaned in close, stopping short of kissing her again. “I’m an everything man. And you, Violet, have everything.”
That last word made her heart swell.
It was the kind of thing her father would say to Maman. He probably had said something exactly to that effect. Maybe not while grabbing Maman’s ass.
Yeah, she really didn’t want to be thinking of her father grabbing her mother’s anything.
“Merde,” she said aloud.
“What’s that now?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Where is that beautiful daughter of mine?” Violet’s father’s voice boomed from behind the gossamer-thin curtain that covered the doorway.
Violet cleared her throat and took a step away from Walker. His playful grin fell as the curtain flew open.
“There she is!” Papa scooped her into a hug before there was any chance for introductions or to gauge whether or not their semblance of privacy was little more than an illusion.
The familiar scent of the restaurant kitchen filled her with comfort.
“You smell like ragoût,” she said when her father let her go. Her father put a Beninese spin on the traditional French dish, substituting yams for the usual eggplant and offsetting the sweetness with the spice of his own recipe of chili paste. It was one of Violet’s favorite dishes, her mother’s, too. Maman said it reminded her of home—a home Violet had never known.
He grinned at her. The lines at the corners of his mouth seemed more pronounced, as did the one between his brows. She wondered how much of it was truly due to growing older compared to working longer hours after having to cut back on staff these past few years.
He was tall and broad, but his shoulders seemed to sag a bit more each day. And his once sandy hair, though still thick, was silver now, as was the five o’clock shadow on his jaw.
“Nothing but the best for my girls,” he said. Then his gaze fell on Walker. Both men stood over six feet, so they were eye to eye. Walker held out a hand to shake, but her father crossed his arms, looking him up and down.
“Are you the best for my girl?”
Violet threw her arms in the air. “Papa! Come on. Be nice.” The thing was, he was nice. The nicest man she knew. But Violet was an only child. Her mother was living with a disease her father couldn’t protect her from, so Violet seemed to be his outlet. If he could protect her from any and all hurt, then maybe he’d ease up on himself for what he couldn’t do for Maman.
“No, sir,” Walker said. “I’m sure I’m not. But she makes me want to be the best I can, and that’s gotta count for something, right?”
Violet’s breath caught in her throat. An act…she had to remind herself that they were playing at this. Sure, there was an attraction—his hands on her behind minutes ago attested to that—but they just met. This was a game, wasn’t it?
Her father extended a hand. “I appreciate a man who’s not afraid of honesty. Gabriel Chastain.”
Walker shook his hand. “Walker Everett. It’s good to meet you, Mr. Chastain.”
He gave Walker a slow nod. “Call me Gabe—for now. What do you say we all go inside so I can toast your mother and the best thirty years of my life? You a champagne man, Walker Everett?”
Even behind the beard Violet could see Walker’s jaw tighten.
“Not really Mr.—I mean, Gabe. But we’re thinking of trying it out for next year’s harvest.”
She wondered what it was about the vineyard that set him on edge.
Her father raised a brow. “A vintner, eh? We may have to talk about doing some business together. I’m always looking for new local vintages to try at the restaurant.”
Walker nodded. “We don’t open ’til end of summer/early fall, but we’d be happy to give you a tour, show you what we hope to have bottled by then.”
“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Violet’s father said. “Real soon.” He clapped a hand on Walker’s shoulder and led him through the open balcony door, babbling on about his favorite champagnes and what vineyard produced much of his current supply.
Violet glanced around the empty balcony and laughed. Without even trying, Walker had charmed her father into forgetting she was even there—an absolute first—but then he’d charmed the hell out of her before she even knew his name. He had that certain je ne sais quoi, and she wanted to soak up as much of it as she could before the night was through.
Chapter Five
Walker helped box up what was left of the two-tiered chocolate ganache cake. Despite the apartment full of people that had come and gone, there was still plenty of cake to go around. Not surprising since it was at least two feet tall and quite possibly the richest thing he’d ever tasted.
Camille placed a hand over his as he was sealing the container. “Please, take some home for your family. This will only take up space in an already overcrowded freezer.”
He looked past the woman and toward the kitchen where Violet and her father washed and dried dishes while singing a duet of Johnny Cash’s “Walk the Line.”
Camille sighed. “Mon Dieu, you’ve got it bad, non?”
Walker’s attention snapped back to the task at hand. “What? No. I mean, you have a beautiful daughter, ma’am.” He groaned. Shit. Was she right? He didn’t know what having it bad even meant considering he’d never truly felt anything for any woman before. And they’d only met today. But what a hell of a meeting it was.
Violet’s mother laughed and grabbed a to-go container her husband had brought up from the restaurant. She held out a hand, and he gave her the cake knife. She cut and packed a piece big enough to feed him and his brothers, though he wasn’t sure he’d share.
“Thank you,” he said when she slid the box toward him.
She placed her hand on his. “No,” she said. “Thank you. It is a comfort to know she has someone outside of”—she waved a bony hand in the air—“this. I know she gave up a lot to come home from school and help around here. It kills a small part of me each day to know she is not doing what she loves. Do you know when she’s not at her paying job she’s downstairs with her papa working for free?”
Walker shook his head.
Camille patted the seat next to her, inviting Walker to sit as well. He’d spent the past however many hours talking to strangers and finding every excuse in the world not to accept a drink. It had been exhausting.
He collapsed into the seat next to her, stretching his legs out under the table.
“She’ll get back to school and finish up if I have anything to say about it. I never wanted her to come home in the first place, but she is stubborn.” She laughed softly. “Like her maman.”
“It’s a money issue,” he said quietly. He was probably overstepping, but next to small talk, heart-to-hearts were right up there on his list of things he didn’t do, not to mention he was pretty shitty at both.
“Yes,” was all Camille said.
He wasn’t a stranger to medical bills and the strain it could put on a family. Once their father had gotten too drunk and too sick to properly take care of the ranch, Luke and Walker had moved back home despite the painful memories of the last time they’d lived in that house—of losing their mother and everything that came after. It was the only way they could manage the business, which at that point included not only the work itself, but the accounting side of things as well. Now that Jack was h
ome, he dealt with the business end of the ranch, but back then—with the addition of Jack Senior getting sicker—they’d barely kept their heads above water. Things were better now that they’d all sunk the life insurance payout into reviving the vineyard, but they still needed to make the wine. And sell it.
“Look at you two, sitting on the job.”
Violet’s teasing voice came from behind him, and before he had a chance to turn in her direction, her hands were on his shoulders, massaging his tight muscles. It was all he could do not to moan with pleasure.
Walker needed to get the hell out of here before he lost all sense of reality.
He wrapped his hands around Violet’s wrists, and she stilled.
“I should head out. Long drive ahead of me.”
“Where is it you said that vineyard of yours was?”
He hadn’t actually said it. He figured once it came out that he lived ninety minutes away he’d blow Violet’s cover. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe she could use the distance as the reason for their supposed breakup. Then no one had to be the asshole.
“Oak Bluff,” he said after a pause. “It’s a small town in San Luis Obispo County. Probably off your radar.”
Camille’s eyes widened. “That’s almost two hours away.”
“Ninety-four minutes!” Violet blurted.
“But how in the hell are you two dating if you live in Santa Barbara,” her father said, looking at her, “and you live up the coast?”
Violet’s arms draped around his neck, and she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “Because I’m going to be the winery’s sommelier when they open. And don’t worry. We can separate business and—this.”
Her lips were warm on his cheek. That kiss felt nothing like a prelude to a breakup, and he was beginning to wonder how they were going to sell the end of their relationship as well as they’d already sold that they’d been dating for two months.
“You’re working all the way in San Luis Obispo?” Camille asked. “What happened to Cafe Claudette? You haven’t even been there a year.”
Violet’s teeth skimmed her bottom lip before she answered. That was her tell when she was nervous. If Walker noticed it, he was sure her parents did, too.
