by Debra Fisk
She was dressed like she’d dropped in from the North Pole: black boots, black leggings, lavender turtleneck, purple down vest with a matching scarf. Her big blue eyes met his, and he felt himself pulled in her direction by an imaginary force. His breathing picked up, and he felt his pulse rise. She licked her full, pink lips. She looked off into the distance as he approached from an angle. “Did you know you’re standing under the mistletoe?”
She cocked her head at him, a skeptical look on her face, but something else flared in her eyes. Attraction? “Why, are you going to kiss me?”
On impulse, he leaned in and touched her lips with his. He lingered for a moment, enjoying the fresh, clean fragrance of her perfume. Was he imagining it, or did she kiss him back?
She gasped but didn’t push him away.
Maybe he’d been imagining it, but he couldn’t suppress his crooked grin— a grin he had a feeling he’d be wearing for hours. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t look like you’re sorry with that grin on your face.”
“I am sorry, Miss—?”
“Christie Winters,” she replied.
“Christie, you were standing under the mistletoe, waiting to be kissed,” he teased. Her crystal blue eyes flashed angrily as she looked up.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I certainly don’t need some overconfident, muscle-bound male thinking he can kiss me just because I happen to be standing in an archway where someone hung some silly mistletoe.”
Her cheeks were getting flushed, and he wanted to say again he was sorry and try to mean it, but he wasn’t. The truth of the matter was that she was a natural beauty, and the fire in her eyes fascinated him. Maybe he was losing his touch. He thought he could joke his way out of it. He’d thought she’d laugh it off—sorta.
“Again, my apologies. I’m used to women having a sense of humor.” And he was used to women wanting to jump into his bed, not this type of a reaction. Her face turned crimson.
Time to escape from her fury.
He gave her a quick wink. “Have a good day.” Then he left her standing there with her mouth gaping as he maneuvered around her. That woman will make some very unlucky guy a miserable man. His cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen to see a text.
When will you arrive?
Chase replied, I’m already here.
Great! My bride’s at the spa. Come meet me. I’m in the bridal shop getting fitted for my tux. It’s behind the registration desk.
On my way.
He backtracked, avoiding eye contact with the attractive blond with the dragon-lady temper while she was checking in at the front desk. Fitted for his tux? He’d arrived just in time. He opened the clear glass door etched with Barefoot Brides. The frosted letters reminded him of the snow on the windows back home.
“Can I help you?” A woman with chin-length, honey-colored hair looked up from the veil she was arranging on a mannequin.
“I’m here to meet—”
“Chase!” Troy Hughes strolled over, dangling suspenders attached to black pants with his white starched shirt on, arms outstretched, and gave him a big bear hug. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he automatically replied.
Troy had the biggest smile Chase had ever seen. “Gussie DeMille, this is my best man, Chase Barrington of Barrington Winery in New England. Gussie is the fashion designer here, and her husband, Tom, has agreed to shoot our wedding. I only want the best.”
“Tom is the best.” Gussie giggled.
“I can’t believe confirmed bachelor Troy Hughes is going through with this. What’s changed you?”
Troy’s dark eyes twinkled, and his deep dimples showed when he grinned. With Troy’s raven-colored hair, eyes and tanned skin, Chase could see why every woman would be attracted to him, but what would make him give up his freedom?
“Love.”
“What’s the rush?”
“Hey, when you know it’s right, why wait?”
“Now, Mr. Barrington.”
“Call me Chase,” he interjected.
Gussie cleared her throat. “Chase, you can come right this way in front of the mirror. You two can continue talking while I measure you.”
Troy tilted his head and gave Chase a sideward glance. “Things change, Chase. That college pact we made was years ago. Wait until you meet Barbara. You’re going to fall in love with her just like I did.”
“Well, you’ve won my heart,” a female voice said from the open door. A tall, blond, slim woman with ice-blue eyes gracefully glided through the doorway with an outstretched, tanned hand. She looked like she was about forty. Not at all what he was expecting.
“Here she is now. Chase, this is Barbara, the love of my life.”
Talk about laying it on thick. This wasn’t the Troy he knew. There had to be some reason he was acting so strange and out of character. Chase forced the widest grin he could muster.
“Nice to meet you. I don’t know how you did it, but you won the heart of my closest friend. You must be a very special woman.” Chase choked out the words, but from the expressions on everyone’s faces, they bought the phony sincerity.
“She is.” Troy beamed.
Gussie grinned. “This is why I love my job. No one gets married angry. It’s such a joyous occasion, two people in love.” She reached for Barbara’s hand. “After I finish measuring Chase, I have your gown ready for the final fitting.” She turned and faced them. “And you two men will have to leave. No seeing the bride before the wedding.” She waggled a finger at them.
This was more than Chase could bear. He began to perspire from the very idea of marriage, and he wasn’t the groom. He was going to have to find a way to ease into the talk he had rehearsed in his mind.
Before he knew it, the pain of the fitting was over, and he and Troy were on their way to the pool bar. They made small talk and commented on the resort as they walked. The change in temperature from the air-conditioned inside to the warmer outdoors was comfortable but not hot by any means. A few guests waded at the water’s edge, and Troy commented on how warm the water was.
They approached the cabana. The bartender wore a fuzzy Santa hat. It looked ridiculous, but he seemed like he enjoyed it, so Chase surmised it wasn’t mandatory.
By this time, the sun sat high in the sky, and with the breeze off of the gulf, Chase could taste the salt in the air. He ordered a Belgian ale, Troy had the same, and the two settled into a pair of high bar chairs. Chase took a sip of his beer. There was a period of awkward silence.
Troy leveled him with a look. “Okay, out with it. I know what you’re thinking—and all I can say is, for the first time in my life, I’m in love. It doesn’t even matter to me that she’s ten years older than I am.”
Chase blinked hard, twice. “Really? I thought she was about forty-ish.” That would make her about fifty-four. He shook it off. “Never mind that. I get it. It was a bit of a surprise, but I’m here.” The talk would have to wait, and Chase would have to come up with a new strategy, maybe tonight at dinner. They caught up on business, and Chase explained about the wine industry in detail while Troy listened. Troy’s family owned a string of seafood restaurants in New England. He told Chase how he met Barbara here while on business, closing a deal with a local fishing fleet to supply his restaurants. Troy arranged for their catch to be flown in daily to the restaurants.
“I should introduce you to Clay Walker, the owner here,” Troy said. “A place like this deserves a signature wine. You should design one like you did for our restaurant chain.”
With the seed planted, a few ideas sprang into Chase’s head, from tropical and fruity to elegant. “Not a bad idea. I was so focused on the wedding, I didn’t even give it a thought.”
“I can introduce you if you like. Clay and I go way back. His father designed several of our restaurants for my dad.”
“Thank you. My creative energy is flowing already.”
T
roy finished his beer and stood up. “Barbara and I have an appointment with the minister, but after that, I’m free. We can continue to catch up. I’ll text you when we’re through. ”
Chase nodded, finishing his beer as he watched Troy walk back inside. He paid the bartender and was walking back into the lobby when he noticed the tall blonde with the soft lips, Christie. At least it looked like her, wearing dark sunglasses, a floppy hat, a white golf shirt and khaki shorts. Her dull outfit kind of blended into the background compared with the other guests, except for the hat and glasses. Odd outfit for an odd lady. She didn’t notice him, but he certainly couldn’t miss that getup, so he decided to follow her for a bit to see which direction she was going. He held back as she stood behind a large potted plant. Chase stood about thirty feet behind her and followed her gaze. He spotted Troy, Barbara and the minister as they entered the restaurant, Junonia. Why was she spying on them? Was Christie an ex-girlfriend of Troy’s?
Chase inched up behind her and whispered, “You know, stalking is a felony, Christie.”
She jumped and fumbled around in the plant leaves, swatting a few away from her face as she turned around. Under her lopsided hat and behind crooked glasses, her eyes widened in surprise, then turned cold. “You,” she hissed. “Why are you sneaking up on me? I should call security.”
“You can, but then you’d have to explain why you were lurking behind potted plants, spying on the couple in the restaurant. Is that your ex or something?”
“Go away,” she spoke slowly with exaggerated lip motions.
“Tell me why you’re spying on them, and I will.”
She elevated her voice a few octaves. “This is none of your business—I don’t even know your name.” She straightened her hat and glasses and leaned inward toward the doorway again. “Please be quiet. I’m trying to hear what they are saying.”
“Chase—Chase Barrington. Now, will you please tell me what the heck you’re doing?”
“Look, I’m trying to stop a wedding, as if it’s any of your business,” she whispered. “I know it’s going to be a big mistake. Now, will you please leave?”
“No.” He turned her around to face him. The close proximity of her lips reminded him of their kiss earlier.
She stared up at him with her big blue eyes, confused, scanning his face, then flatlined her lips. “No?”
“How do you know the groom?”
“The groom? I’m trying to stop that womanizer from swindling her out of every dime she has.”
“Maybe it’s the other way around.”
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind.
*****
Christie cleared her throat. Her patience had worn thin. The handsome stranger with warm caramel eyes and thick, dark hair her fingers wanted to dance through had decided it was his duty to police her every move. “Chase, right? I’m on a mission here, and you’re about to ruin everything.”
“How so?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want to be seen, and you’re attracting attention to me. Not to mention you’re causing me to miss what’s being said inside.”
“Maybe I can help.”
His words, laced with sincerity, and a gentle kindness in his expression made it hard for her to stay angry, not to mention the soft scent of bergamot mixed with a few other fragrances had her longing to inch a little closer to his muscles. The warm lips that had kissed her earlier were slipping into a smile, and she moistened her lips as her pulse skipped a few beats. “How so?”
“We could join forces.” He looked at her steadily, unblinking, waiting for her reaction. His dark eyes flickered with amusement.
That twinkle began to thaw out her ice-walled heart. She tilted her head and waited for more. He had her full attention now.
“I believe that this marriage would be a mistake,” he added.
Christie double-blinked. Did she hear correctly? He agreed with her.
“What’s it to you?” she asked. Did he work here? Had he seen this guy in action before? Did he know the groom? She pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose, looked over them and waited for him to respond.
“In a way, nothing and everything.”
He stood within inches and looked down at her, and at five foot eight, Christie wasn’t used to having to look up that much. He had to be at least six-three.
“Look, I don’t have time for riddles.” She tried to turn her attention back to the conversation in the dining room, but he stopped her. The tips of his fingers seared her skin as he gently turned her face to look at him. This time, her heart revved up even more.
“Troy—the groom has been a close friend of mine since college. He swore he’d never get married and has held to that for all these years, so racing to the altar is unlike him. I don’t know what you have invested in this, but Troy isn’t going to swindle anyone out of any money. He’s a great guy. I just think getting married is a mistake.”
Now it was beginning to all make sense. So they were in agreement for his own reasons, but what mattered most was to stop this wedding and get back to their own lives as quickly as possible. “So what should we do?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ve never seen Troy this—way.” He raked his fingers through his hair, and she wanted to do the same.
She frowned. “My mother has never expressed an interest in dating since my father died. It’s totally blown my mind she’s jumping into marriage with a guy she hardly knows.” She took her sunglasses off the rest of the way and hooked them into the front of her shirt. He looked surprised. “What?”
“You’re her daughter? I guess I assumed her daughter would be much younger.”
“Why would you think that?” It dawned on her how youthful her mother appeared. Time had not etched the years in her features like other women her age, and her mother did take good care of herself, with an added bonus of good genes.
Chase blew out a long breath. “Never mind. We should move away from here and go somewhere where we can formulate a better plan.”
“Hold on.” Christie peered into the restaurant and saw the happy couple holding hands. Her mother beamed as she gazed up at the handsome groom. Deep down, she had to admit, Troy looked like he was a man in love. What did she really object to? Her father wasn’t alive, and Christie had worked so hard to keep his legacy intact, her mother was moving on. Why did it hurt so badly? Her mother was still young and beautiful, with many years ahead of her. She did deserve to be happy. Oh, why couldn’t things stay like they were?
“I take it Barbara doesn’t know you’re here.”
“No, not yet.”
“Then let’s go somewhere and talk this out. I have a room on the third floor,” he suggested.
That seemed a bit risky. She might bump into her mother on the way down. Her villa would be a better location. Even though they had gotten off on the wrong foot, he had a certain magnetism about him she wanted to explore.
“I have a villa on the beach—Winter Iris is the name.” It was kind of ironic how they placed her into a villa with her last name on it. “It’s at the furthest point, so no chance of being discovered. We can order something to eat and sit outside by the private swimming pool if you like.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let me run up and change, and I’ll meet you at your villa.” They exchanged phone numbers before they parted, and as Christie hurried back to her villa, she thought about how Libby was right. She came down on impulse with no real plan of action. Now, instead, she would be in her villa alone with a handsome man. Was there some strange lunar occurrence? Because things were becoming more peculiar by the minute.
Chapter Three
“About that kiss.”
Christie’s fingers froze on the phone screen she was focused on, an ingenious way to avert her eyes and avoid locking with his while they shared a poolside lunch that consisted of a fresh grouper sandwich, a side of fruit and two glasses of fresh-squeezed lemonade.
“What about it? I was stand
ing under the mistletoe, right?” They were supposed to be talking about how to dismantle the wedding, not about an unexpected hot kiss by the sexiest man she’d been around in, like—ever. A kiss that for the first time in her life rocked her world.
“Right. What I mean is, I don’t normally go around doing things like that. I’m usually so focused on work, I—” Perfect time to change the subject.
“What do you do? I mean, what’s your career—job?” Did he even have one? From the looks of the haircut—clean, trimmed close—the light polo shirt and shorts, all signs pointed to yes, and she’d say a pretty good one, too. He sat relaxed with his arm on the back of the chair. With the rolling surf and sand in the background, he could have been cut out of a magazine. Shaking off her reverie, she set her phone down and tried to act casual by picking up half of her sandwich to take the first bite.
“I own a winery in New Hampshire called Barrington Wines. You may have heard of them.” Christie’s gaze snapped from her sandwich to his face. He had her full attention now as she tried to swallow the hunk of grouper practically stuck in her throat. Finally, she cleared her airway enough to speak. “You make Black Ice!” she shrilled with a smile so wide she hoped she didn’t have food stuck in her teeth.
He chuckled. “Why, yes, I do. Have you tried it, or have you seen the commercials?”
“Both.”
Black Ice must have spent millions after it won the Vino Gold Award. Rich, dark in color with a hint of sweetness, Black Ice was the perfect go-to wine for everything from cheese and crackers to main courses and dessert.
“I have to confess, it’s my favorite wine.” Emphasizing the word favorite. His warm gaze met hers, going from smoky to dangerously hot. She reached for her lemonade in an attempt to cool down.
“I’m glad to hear it. I created the campaign myself, and it has been a huge success. It’s my personal creation, and I’m kinda proud of it.” He picked up his sandwich, asking her, “What do you do?” before taking a bite.
