“Yeah,” he said, meaning it, and his brain sent the command to his hand: let go.
It took three or four beats after that for his hand to obey.
He stood, flustered, and she stood, clearing her throat. They didn’t look at each other. This unspoken signal made them look in other directions while he loaded the bike in the truck’s bed and she gathered up the helmet and her pack. They got in and he started the engine. No eye contact. They buckled up, staring out of their respective windows.
It didn’t matter. The damage had already been done and the air between them vibrated and sizzled accordingly, reminding him of the crackling energy created by the light sabers in the Star Wars movies. Which wasn’t a good sign.
He put the truck in gear and gripped the wheel with palms that were now wet like the rest of him but for an entirely different reason.
Drive, man. Keep your trap shut and drive. The sooner she’s out of your truck, the better.
Don’t say anything stupid.
“Livia?”
There was all kinds of yearning in his hoarse voice but it didn’t seem to reach her. She kept her head resolutely turned toward her window and didn’t answer.
“Are we developing a problem here?”
“No,” she said flatly.
Right.
Recognizing the lie for what it was, he drove off toward the winery.
*
Okay, girl, Livia told herself. Okay. This is not a big deal. There’re only a few miles to go back to the winery and you’ll be safe there. Not that you’re in danger or anything. Physical danger, that was. Just ignore the sexy man because you’re not here in Napa for a hookup or any other kind of romantic adventure. Stare out your window and think about what you need to pack for the shoot in Mexico at the end of the month.
She thought hard, possibly damaging her discombobulated brain in the process.
What did she need? Mexico was hot, right, so she’d need—what?
Oh, wait. Sunscreen. Good! Good start! Great job ignoring the sexy man!
Yes. She could do this. She’d need sunscreen, and she’d also need—
“Are you cold?” he asked, adjusting the vents.
Damn. Was he doing that on purpose or what? Was his voice always this velvety rasp that crept its way under her skin—when he wasn’t barking at her, that was? And why was he being so thoughtful and considerate all of the sudden when she knew darn well he’d already written her off as a Tinseltown flake with a worthless job flashing pretty smiles at the cameras for big money?
Why did his presence tie her belly up in crazy little knots?
He was dirty like a field hand, for God’s sake! Dirty, grouchy and arrogant. What was so thrilling about that? True, he wore a Negro League baseball cap—the black background with red lettering of the Indianapolis Clowns—so he couldn’t be all bad, but he was definitely mostly bad. So why was he making her unravel like a ninth-grader crushing on the prom king? Why did the musky scent of him and the indecipherable light in his golden eyes turn her into a quivering pool of mush?
At least he’d stopped touching her. Thank goodness for small favors.
“Ah, no,” she said, clearing her throat. “Thanks.”
They rode in silence for a way, which was good. Using the least amount of words possible seemed to be his thing, so as long as she kept quiet and didn’t babble or engage him in any way, this whole disconcerting interlude between them could pass without further incident.
Nice. She had a workable plan.
“What exactly do you do at the winery?” she asked.
He hesitated, keeping his eyes on the road. “I grow the grapes. And I make the wine.”
A lightbulb went off over her head. She’d known this guy was way too intelligent to dig irrigation ditches or some such all day, despite his appearance.
“Oh. So you’re a viticulturist and enologist?”
His jaw hit his lap with surprise and he glanced over, all wide-eyed astonishment. “Yeah.”
Annoyance warred with dark triumph inside her gut. So he was surprised she knew a couple multisyllable words, was he? Did he think she was too dumb and clueless to do a little reading about a vineyard before she showed up at one? Bozo.
“Keep your eyes on the road, please,” she snapped. “I don’t know why you’re so determined to kill me with this truck.”
He jerked his gaze back to the road. “Sorry. Not many people know the words.”
“Well, I’m not like many people, am I?” She didn’t bother keeping the ice out of her voice; she wasn’t ready to accept his apology just yet.
“No.” A muscle ticked in the back of his jaw. “You sure as hell aren’t.”
“So you’re a scientist. Did you go to UC Davis? I know they’ve got a program there—”
“No.” The edge of his lip curled, as though he was fighting a smile. “I went to Washington State.”
“So how long have you been working here?”
He paused. “Long time.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it true that you can tell when the grapes are ripe by squeezing them and seeing if the juice makes a little star-shaped pattern?”
His brows crept toward his hairline. They drove a good several hundred feet before he answered, “Yep.”
Irritated all over again, she glared at the side of his face. “Feel free to jump in anytime and tell me some fun facts about making wine. Maybe we could carry on a conversation.”
“I doubt there’s anything I could say that you don’t already know.”
“What a great ambassador for the Chambers Winery you are,” she muttered. “I can hardly wait to go back home and give this place a one-star rating on all the review sites.”
They rolled up to a stop sign just then and he took the opportunity to stare into her eyes with what seemed like bewilderment and sincerity. “Livia,” he said tiredly, “at this point, I’m just trying to keep my head from exploding off my shoulders.”
Well, what the hell was that supposed to mean? Was that an insult? A compliment?
Stymied, she snapped her mouth shut, crossed her arms over her chest and kept her head turned toward the window. See? She knew she should’ve kept her mouth shut. Why’d she let her weird fascination with this guy overwhelm her good sense? They were oil and water, in case she still hadn’t gotten it through her thick head, and any conversation between them was impossible, notwithstanding all her best intentions.
Luckily, they’d arrived. Driving past the tasteful stone sign that read Chambers Winery, he pulled up to the crowded bike rental stand and put the car in Park.
“Thanks for the ride,” she snapped. Desperate to get out of his truck and be done with him, forever, she snatched her pack off the floor and reached for the door handle. “I can get the bike myself—”
“Here.” Something soft tapped her on the arm and she looked over her shoulder to discover that he’d produced a clean powder-blue Chambers Winery T-shirt from somewhere. “Put this on.”
“I don’t need it.”
“You’re cold,” he insisted.
Cold? Did he not see her sweat-slicked face? “Are you crazy?” she began, but then he gave her chest a pointed once-over and she glanced down with dawning understanding.
Oh, God. Everything—everything!—was on display down there; she might as well have photographed her girls and posted them on the nearest billboard. Cheeks burning with humiliation, she snatched the shirt and jerked it on, taking two attempts to get her right arm into its sleeve.
“You could have mentioned that earlier,” she snarled when her head emerged.
He shrugged. “I couldn’t resist the view.”
Would it be wrong to scratch his eyes out? The local police would understand given the circumstances, right? And why did she still feel this strong connection to him and, worse, the driving need to understand what went on behind the honey-colored crystal of his eyes?
“I can’t get
a read on you.” It wasn’t the wisest confession she’d ever made but she couldn’t hold it back. “I can’t figure out if you’re the world’s biggest jerk or a great guy.”
Renewed heat swallowed up his amusement and that smirk disappeared, giving way to naked intensity that had her belly fluttering and her toes curling.
“Does it matter to you which one I am, sweet Livie?”
“No,” she lied. “It doesn’t matter to me at all.”
Chapter 3
Livia tiptoed through the small foyer and inched the door of her guesthouse open just enough to let in a sliver of early-morning sunshine. Peering out, she saw, to her delight, that the heavy mist seemed to have burned off since she woke from a near-dead sleep forty-five minutes ago (something about this wonderful mountain air really did it for her), and it looked like it’d be a great day for—
Bark!
Aaaannnd he was still there.
Resigned to her fate, she sighed, gave up her covert routine and stepped out onto the porch, where Marmaduke had taken up residence on one of her Adirondack chairs. Had he slept there last night, keeping a sweet but misguided watch over her little temporary home? She was beginning to think he had. He’d definitely been guarding his post when room service arrived with her breakfast oatmeal, granola and fruit earlier. Clearly she shouldn’t have slipped him that tiny piece of banana; she could see that now. It’d only encouraged him, and the Dog Wrangler wouldn’t approve of a dog being fed people food. Now she was apparently stuck with the monster.
Served her right for being softhearted.
The dog, sensing weakness, cocked his enormous head, regarded her with those melted chocolate eyes and managed to look less goofy and more cute.
“Hello, poochie,” she murmured, scratching his ears again and wishing she knew his name. His tail wagged, thumping the chair hard enough to cause splinters in the wood. “Are you trying to get more banan-aaa? Well, I don’t have any. I don’t have annn-yyy.”
The dog showed every indication of forgiving her. He gave her hand a sweeping lick with a tongue the size of a slab of beef and lurched to his feet, tail swinging and ready to begin a full day of following her around.
Right.
First thing on her agenda: complaining to the owners about J.R.
The main house was a hive of activity with people converging around bicycles lined up on the cobblestone courtyard beyond the huge front porch. This must be the daily tour she’d read about in the brochure; she’d have to sign up for the one tomorrow. Riding down these country roads through the swaying vines and past the river sounded like heaven to her, and the tour ended with a winery tour and tasting. Who could turn that down?
Skirting the friendly crowd, several of whom smiled at her with respectful recognition but showed no signs of wanting an autograph or picture with her, thank goodness, she and her four-legged shadow entered the huge main lobby.
It was incredibly beautiful in that Western open-sky kind of way. Huge windows, vaulted ceiling, an enormous stone hearth with a roaring fire to ward off the morning’s chill. Seating areas with leather sofas and chairs invited people to sit, stay awhile and visit, and the hearty scent of good brew wafting from the fully stocked coffee bar in the corner invited her to never leave. Ever.
Another cup of coffee was just the thing she needed before—
Wait. Was that the little girl again, over there peering at her from behind the grand piano? It was. Crouched down with only her face visible around the gleaming ebony bench, she was all wide-eyed interest and quivering excitement.
Livia smiled and waved.
The girl giggled, clapped her hand over her mouth and disappeared into the shadows.
Livia laughed. She’d gotten a giggle out of her little stalker this time, so that was progress, right?
Helping herself to a huge powder-blue Chambers Winery mug, she filled it with her morning drink, which was essentially a cup of milk with just enough coffee in it to turn it tan. No nasty skim milk for her today, thanks. On this vacation, she was going to eat and drink to her heart’s content, and that meant—oh, wow, look at the creamy deliciousness!—whole milk.
Taking a sip, she moaned in ecstasy. The dog, who was nothing but a blatant opportunist, whined with hope.
“None for you,” she said sharply.
He whined again, ears drooping.
“Okay,” she muttered to herself, glancing at all the blue-shirted employees for the one she wanted. Time to talk to…oh, there she was at the reception counter. She recognized her from her photo on the winery’s website. “Excuse me. Are you Mrs. Chambers?”
The older woman, who’d been typing something into the computer, looked up and smiled. “I certainly am. So if you love it here and you’re having the time of your life, you have me to thank. But if you’re having any sort of problem with the food or service or anything, it’s my husband’s fault and I had nothing to do with it. You can blame him.”
Laughing, Livia stuck out her hand. “I’m Livia Blake. I’m great friends with Rachel Wellesley. You’ve got a fantastic place here.”
“Well, any friend of my son Ethan’s fiancée is practically family. It’s so nice to meet you.” Mrs. Chambers was lovely, with salt-and-pepper natural waves and happy eyes that crinkled at the corners. She had a warm, double-handed grip and wide smile that made Livia feel like a long-lost niece or something. “Your pictures don’t do you justice.”
Livia flushed. “Thank you so much.”
“I see you’ve met Willard.”
“Willard.” The dog, hearing his name, perked up and waited at attention. “So that’s his name. Wait—Willard?”
“Don’t blame me,” Mrs. Chambers said. “My granddaughter named him. He’s not bothering you, is he? We’re still trying to civilize him. He’s a stray.”
Willard, the manipulator, chose that exact moment to rub his big fat head against Livia’s leg, leaving a splotch of saliva on her cargo pants. What could she do but give him a nice scratch under his collar?
“Oh, he’s fine,” Livia said. “I’m used to him now.”
“Well, you let me know if he doesn’t behave.”
“Actually, there’s someone else here who isn’t behaving—”
“Oh, no.”
“—J.R.? One of your employees?”
Mrs. Chambers gaped at her. “J.R.?”
Livia hated to sound like a tattletale, but she wasn’t going to pull her punches. “He was very rude to me when I arrived yesterday. I thought you should know.”
“J.R.?”
“Yes, and he said you’d had problems with him before. So, I just—with a bed-and-breakfast this lovely, I thought you probably didn’t want employees giving paying guests a hard time. Maybe you’ll want to speak to him about that.”
A sudden speculative gleam sparked to life in Mrs. Chamber’s eye, almost as though she knew Mr. Arrogant had made Livia’s belly flutter with unmentionable desires. It figured. A man like that—all muscles, dimples, testosterone and bad attitude—was nothing but trouble to any nearby female guests, a fact of which Mrs. Chambers was probably well aware.
Sure enough. “I certainly will talk to J.R. and get to the bottom of this right away,” Mrs. Chambers said. “Don’t you worry.”
“I don’t want to get him fired or anything,” Livia said quickly.
“I understand.” Mrs. Chambers looked utterly sincere but Livia couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a teensy bit of amusement in there somewhere, and she didn’t get it. “You leave him to me.”
“Well.” Livia hesitated. Was there some punch line she was missing here? “Thank you.”
“Have a lovely day, dear. Feel free to explore.”
“I will.” Livia drifted away, with nowhere in particular to go.
O-kaaay.
Now that her complaint was officially lodged, it was time to dooo…
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Yay!
The light and easy feeling of being an eagle, soari
ng high and free, was so overwhelming she had to sit in one of the cozy chairs before the fire and let it sink in while she sipped her coffee. For once she didn’t have to check her watch every three minutes and then dash off to a flight or a shoot. For once she didn’t need to have the cell phone glued to her ear and take every urgent call that came through from her agent, manager or personal assistant. For once she could sit on her bee-hind and be as lazy as she wanted.
Feeling ridiculous and happy, she grinned down at Willard, who’d collapsed atop her feet for an impromptu rest. Ever watchful, he peered up at her, brows raised, and lounged patiently while she finished her drink. Yawning with a startling display of sharp white teeth, he waited for his marching orders.
“All right, you big oaf. If you’ll get off me, we can get going.”
Apparently the dog spoke a little English. After another jaw-cracking yawn and stretch, he heaved himself upright—what’d this beast weigh, anyway? One-eighty? Two hundred?—and trotted over to a back door, which seemed as good a place to start as any.
Out they went. It hadn’t warmed up much but the bright sun had burned off the last of the mist and it was already a gorgeous day. She wandered past the open-air restaurant with its green market umbrellas and enormous trellis twined with wisteria vines thicker than her arms and paused on a stone terrace overlooking the rolling hills and the grapes.
Leaning her elbows on the thick stone wall, she breathed in the sweet air, which was so different from the low-hanging and unidentifiable gray cloud that smothered L.A. and the exhaust-filled fumes of New York. It was so clean and pure she was surprised her lungs didn’t seize up in shock.
In the far distance she could see workers walking between the rows, probably assessing the grapes for ripeness. It was, she knew from her pretrip research, almost harvest time. Maybe she could even pick a grape or two before her trip was over.
Love in the Limelight Volume Two: Seduced on the Red CarpetLovers Premiere Page 3
