Pulling out her 35mm camera, which she’d slung over her shoulder earlier, she took a few shots. Maybe she could start a Napa Valley scrapbook. She did love scrapbooking. Willard obligingly posed for a couple of pictures and then they were off again, wandering with nowhere to be.
Wasn’t there a heated pool around here somewhere? And a spa? Wait…yeah. Over there. Inside an enormous wrought-iron fence was one of those deep blue natural pools that looked like a pond carved out of a hill. There was even a stone waterfall, as though they’d stumbled into some sort of hidden jungle oasis. People lounged on towel-covered chairs beneath market umbrellas, chatting happily and sipping wine from oversized glasses.
Livia focused her lens, snapping a few more shots and wishing she could stay here in this laid-back and peaceful environment forever, or at least discover somewhere in L.A. that made her feel this mellow.
“Not swimming?”
So much for relaxation. J.R.’s deep voice way too close to her ear wound her up tight, making her skin tingle and her breath come short. Resolutely determined to ignore him, she kept her elbows on the fence and the camera up to her face, taking pictures of God knew what in her sudden distraction—probably scattered flip-flops, empty orange-juice glasses and the corners of people’s noses. He didn’t take the hint. Big surprise. Doing the worst possible thing, he rested his elbow on the fence beside hers, igniting her skin with the slight brush of his.
God.
“Hello, J.R.,” she finally said, keeping her voice tart and refusing to look at him. “Stalking me again?”
Too bad the smug amusement in his voice disturbed her as much as his touch and masculinity. “Actually, I’ve been staking out the pool. I don’t want to miss it if you take a dip. Will you be putting on a two-piece anytime soon?”
That did it. Jerking the camera down, she glared at him, meeting that honey gaze and feeling its kick right in her solar plexus. He wore the Chambers Winery colors and a Negro League cap again today, but he was fresh and clean, smelling of soap and masculine deliciousness. The lethal combination of his arrogance, proximity and boyish wickedness—he had dimples! Dimples!—was making her agitated and hot enough to burst out of her sensitized skin, and it really pissed her off.
“I spoke to Mrs. Chambers about you a little while ago. You should probably update your résumé.”
He laughed and that was sexy, too. “Thanks for the warning. So you like being on the other side of the lens, eh?”
“Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Are you any good?”
“Naturally,” she said, hoping he didn’t ask to see any of her last few shots. “Don’t you have some work to do in the fields? Mud to wallow in? Something?”
He tsked. “If you’re not nice to me, Livia, I’m not going to give you your present.”
Present? Really? That sounded interesting, but she couldn’t be swayed from her absolute and unadulterated dislike of him. This man disturbed her way too much. “Thanks, but I don’t want anything from you. Except maybe your swift departure.”
“Really?” That amber gaze skimmed over her, silky-smooth and smoldering. “You sure about that?” he wondered softly.
She stared at him, her dry mouth and tight throat rendering her incapable of answering. That was bad enough. Worse was the sudden fullness in her breasts and the subtle but insistent ache between her thighs.
The moment lasted way too long, until she managed to find her voice and create a diversion. “I wouldn’t mind taking your Black Yankees cap.”
His eyes widened with surprise. “You know the Negro Leagues?”
“I…love baseball. I’m reading a Jackie Robinson biography right now.”
“Oh,” he said faintly.
So much for her diversion. This revelation that they had baseball in common seemed only to sharpen his interest; she felt it swirling around her and wrapping her up tight in its cocoon.
He didn’t seem to like it any better than she did and his next words came with great reluctance, as though he was kicking them out of his mouth.
“You’re really something. You know that?”
She couldn’t answer. The air was pregnant with so many things between them that she couldn’t trust her voice.
He blinked and recovered and, unsmiling, presented her with a bowl that he’d hidden behind his back.
Oh, wow. It was filled with the most beautiful dusty-purple grapes.
“Oh,” she said helplessly, feeling special and decadent, like a latter-day Cleopatra who’d been gifted with all the treasures this wondrous land had to offer. “Thank you.”
He dimpled again, but the piercing intensity with which he studied her didn’t diminish by so much as a watt. Was this a seduction? Did he know that she would have thrown a diamond bracelet back in his face, but her driving curiosity would never let her reject a bowl of grapes from a vintner?
“You’re welcome. They’re pinot noir. Do you drink pinot?”
“Yes. Are they ripe?”
They had to be; she could smell their fragrance already.
“You tell me.”
He pulled one off the stem for her and her unwilling gaze went to his hands, which were long-fingered and even with short, clean nails. That hand had touched hers yesterday. That hand had made her feel all kinds of unwanted sensations. That hand was trouble.
To her agonized dismay, he wiped and then squeezed the grape in a careful grip between thumb and forefinger, making her wonder how a man this size could be so gentle. The grape burst open into a star pattern with a bead of dark juice that was one of the most sensual things she’d ever seen as it trickled down his brown skin.
Her gaze flickered up to his face. She couldn’t breathe. “It’s ripe.”
“What does it taste like?”
He held it to her lips, utterly still and watchful, as though the earth would stop revolving for him until he saw what she would do. There was only one thing she could do. Opening her mouth, she took the grape, taking care to brush his thumb with her tongue as she did.
His breath hitched. “What does it taste like?”
His skin tasted salty and warm, absolutely delicious. But he was probably asking about the grape, so she pressed it to the roof of her mouth, crushing it and letting the flavors wash over her. “I don’t know—”
“Yes, you do,” he urged.
She thought hard, struggling to put it into words. “Strawberry, maybe…or is it raspberry? With something that’s a little, I don’t know…a little spicy.”
That pleased him. Those eyes of his crinkled at the corners, thrilling her beyond all reason. “I’ll make a world-class viticulturist out of you yet, Livia,” he murmured.
With that, he pressed the bowl into her hands and turned to go, granting her wish to be alone, and she stared after him, wanting him to stay.
Chapter 4
The next day, after a bicycle tour in the morning and an open-air lunch on the terrace, Livia resumed her exploration of the winery grounds. She still hadn’t seen the stone chapel that was around here somewhere—the whole point of her visit was to scope out the chapel and report back to Rachel on its suitability for her wedding—and there was no time like the present to find it.
There’d been no sign of J.R., and she was glad about that.
Really. She was glad.
“Come on, Willard.” Heading to the far end of the terrace, she consulted her map and clicked her fingers at her sidekick, who’d again been outside her door this morning and had waited for her at the bike stand during the tour.
No answer.
“Willard?” She raised her head and looked around.
Nothing.
Had that silly dog finally abandoned her? Feeling unaccountably disgruntled, she put her hands on her hips and scanned in all directions for her unfaithful companion, but there was no sign of him.
Well, fine, Willard. Fine. She could explore by her damn self.
At the edge of the terrace, though, s
he discovered a surprise. A pretty little rock waterfall had been carved into the hill like stair steps and the water flowed into a small pond with the kind of relaxing trickle that people back in L.A. acquired through the use of programmable sleep machines available in high-end gadget stores. Potted plants, flowers and lush grass surrounded the whole area, and there, at the end of several enormous stepping stones, sat the biggest doghouse Livia had ever seen. At least she thought it was a doghouse.
Wait—was it a doghouse?
Fire-engine red with a black roof and honest-to-God wraparound porch with white rails, it had a white bone-shaped cutout over the arched doorway, so…yeah, it was definitely a doghouse. Oh, and there behind it were King Kong–sized stainless-steel food and water bowls, so—
“Are you a princess?”
Whoa. Unidentified small-person voice. Was this the girl that’d been following her? Livia glanced all around but there was no one in sight. “Uh,” she said, still searching and beginning to feel dumb, “are you talking to me?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“Here.”
That time she got a bead on the voice. It came from the general direction of the doghouse… There it was! A flash of movement inside the house and the unmistakable glint of a pair of large eyes that did not belong to Willard.
Creeping closer, Livia squatted and squinted into the dark depths of the house. At the same time, a flashlight clicked on, settled under a small chin and illuminated a girl’s face—it was her shy little friend—with the eerie up-lighting usually seen only in horror movies and at sleepovers.
Deeper into the doghouse—geez, how much square footage did this thing have?—lounged Willard, chomping on a chew toy of some kind. In front of the girl was a collection of lunging and snarling plastic dinosaurs and dragons that overflowed from their plastic bin.
“Hi,” Livia said.
The girl regarded her solemnly, the effect intensified by the flashlight’s glow, and spoke in a Vincent Price–like, creepy voice. “You may enter the dragon’s den if you utter the secret password.”
“Ah,” Livia said, not at all certain she wanted to fold her body up in there with that dog, no matter how much space there was. “I don’t think I know the secret pass—”
“Guess.”
“Ah. Okay. Hmm. Is it please? No, that’d be dumb. Princess? Pterodactyl?”
“It’s pteranodon.”
“Sorry. I knew that. Pteranodon?”
“No.”
“Umm… Belle? Aurora? Snow White? Mulan? Pocahontas?”
The girl took mercy on Livia and apparently decided she’d made enough of an effort, which was good because Livia’s knees were beginning to creak.
“The password is Tiana. You may enter.”
Livia was afraid of that. “Tell you what. Why don’t I just sit right here and—”
“Enter,” the girl commanded in that ghostly voice.
“Enter. Right.”
What else could she do but drop to all fours and crawl into the doghouse? She sincerely hoped that there were no paparazzi loitering nearby in the bushes. The cover shot on the week’s tabloids would include a close-up picture of her butt, which would look like a double-wide trailer, and the headline would read something along the lines of “Guess Which Supermodel is Losing the Battle with Cellulite?”
Nice.
To her immense surprise and relief, though, once she got through the cramped opening the house was quite spacious. More like a dog mansion. Willard seemed happy to be reunited with her and, when she sat cross-legged, put his head in her lap.
Thus settled, she turned to the girl. “What’s your name?”
“You may only speak when you have the light of truth.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Livia accepted the flashlight and turned it on to her own face, trying to match the girl’s somber tone. “What is thy name, little girl?”
The girl giggled, revealing half an adult-sized tooth, a gap and what seemed like several dozen pearl-sized baby teeth, but didn’t answer until she’d taken the flashlight back.
“My name is Kendra Chambers.” Aha. This must be Mrs. Chambers’s granddaughter, the one they all had to thank for christening Willard. “What is thy name and is thy—?”
“Art thou,” Livia corrected.
“Art thou a princess?”
Another flashlight switch. “Livia Blake is my name. I am no princess, fair maiden, alas. My parents were neither king nor queen.”
“Alas,” Kendra agreed solemnly.
They stared at each other for one long beat and then burst into laughter. The girl was adorable, with that perfectly smooth, beautiful baby skin that most women in L.A. achieved only through Botox, dimples, eyes of an indeterminate dark color and bouncing curly twists that reached her shoulders.
“What’re you doing in here, you silly girl?” Livia asked, dropping the spooky voice and flashlight routine. “Don’t you know this is a doghouse?”
“Willard doesn’t mind sharing.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, where’s your mommy? Who’s watching you right now in case Willard wants to eat you for lunch?”
Oh, no. That was clearly the wrong thing to ask because the girl’s sweet little smile slipped away, leaving her forlorn and lost. Still, she blinked back her tears in a stunning stab at bravery. “Mommy died three years ago.”
“Oh, no.”
“When I was three.”
“I’m so sorry.” Livia touched the girl’s soft chin and then decided that more silliness was required. “So if that was three years ago, then that makes you, what—sixteen right now?”
“Nooo!”
“Seventeen?”
“I’m six! Six! And three-quarters.”
“Wow. I thought you were a teenager for sure.” Grinning, Livia pointed to the dinosaur display. “What’s all this?”
Kendra perked right up again and reached for that favorite prehistoric beast of kids the world over: a T. rex. “This is a Tyrannosaurus rex. Rex means king because he was the king of the dinosaurs and usually ate everyone else. This one’s a brachiosaurus, and he was really tall—see his neck?—but he only ate plants and stuff. And this one…”
There was more, but Livia was too busy staring at this adorable chattering child to absorb it. What a precious angel, so smart and strong, so funny and interesting. Guided by some long-dormant mothering instinct that overrode social niceties like, say, not touching kids who didn’t belong to you, she reached out and stroked Kendra’s cheek, which was the finest caramel velvet. Then, when Kendra kept on yakking and didn’t miss a single beat in her dino lecture, Livia smoothed one of the girl’s bouncing spiral twists. The satiny feel of it between her fingers was more wondrous than that of any of the five-figure couture gowns she’d worn over the years.
An ache of longing gripped her around the throat and settled in her chest.
Beautiful little girl.
“Which one do you like?” Kendra was asking.
“I don’t know.” Trying to get back in the game, Livia sifted through the plastic, looking for her favorite. “Do you have one of those—I can’t think of the name, but they’re the ones with the scary long claws that hunt in a pack.”
“Velociraptor?”
“Yeah. Velociraptor.”
“Here it is!” Brimming with triumph, Kendra located the model in question and handed it to Livia. “Did you know these guys were related to birds?”
“No way.”
“Yuh-huh. And some of them maybe had feathers.”
“Get outta here.”
Nodding vigorously, Kendra scootched around, scrambled out of the doghouse and held out a tiny hand with sparkly purple nail polish to help Livia up and out. “I’ll show you! It’s in my book in my room. They have drawings, too, so you can see.”
Oh, thank goodness. Another minute sitting on the ground like this would make her butt go numb and her hips and knees seize up. Unfolding her long limbs, Livia was in an undi
gnified crawling crouch, half in and half out of the doghouse, and had just reached for Kendra’s hand when that familiar male voice, acid once again with disapproval, boomed over her.
“What did you do to my daughter?”
*
Hunter stared at the scene in front of him, wondering when he’d slipped through the rabbit hole and into Wonderland with Alice. Or maybe he’d plunged into the twilight zone or been out in the fields too long this morning with the bright sun beating down on his unprotected head. Possibly he was just insane.
Whatever.
The bottom line was he couldn’t believe his freaking eyes.
Because there, emerging from the doghouse, was Livia, the woman who’d become his recent obsession even though he’d spent the last day or so trying to avoid her. Livia, a supermodel who, if Forbes could be believed, had made about, oh, forty million last year, give or take—an intelligent and intriguing beauty so statuesque and stunning she was as fantastic and unreal as a unicorn sitting next to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Livia. In the doghouse. With his daughter and her goofy dog, Willard.
And here’s where it got weird.
Kendra was talking to her. Kendra, the girl who’d been so severely traumatized by her mother’s death in a car accident three years ago that she’d lost most of her words at age three, scaring the whole family to death. Kendra, who shut down in new situations with new people.
Kendra “The Silent” was talking. Livia Blake had, in a few short minutes, achieved a breakthrough with his child that was nothing short of a miracle.
Holy shit.
“What did you do to my daughter?”
Finished straightening and smoothing her clothes, Livia scowled at him, her hazel cat eyes narrowed into a killing glare. “I didn’t do anything to her, just like I didn’t do anything to your dog the other day. Why are you always accusing me of wrongdoing? We were talking and playing. She showed me her dinosaurs. No harm done.”
Brilliant, Chambers. Way to bark at the pretty lady and piss her off. Again. You should try to bottle that charm and sell it. Eau de Knucklehead. You could make a fortune.
Love in the Limelight Volume Two: Seduced on the Red CarpetLovers Premiere Page 4
