She eventually agreed to let him drive her home when he explained that getting a cab to the city would be both difficult at this time of the night and cost a small fortune. The silence in the car was deafening and he deserved it in every way. No apology seemed to help. How could it? He wasn’t about to tell her the truth, that he’d wanted the woman he’d been kissing back there for what seemed like an eternity, and nothing he did got her out of his head. He could tell her he regretted it, because he did. He’d never acted that way with a woman in his life. But when Samantha had put her hands on her hips outside the restaurant and asked what Alex meant to him, he’d been devoid of an answer. Maybe because he didn’t have one.
So he’d said nothing. That had gone over well.
Now, walking up the front steps to Samantha’s expensive Presidio Heights home, he flinched as she walked in and slammed the door in his face. Bene. He deserved that. But Cristo, he had never navigated waters as murky as these. What was he doing? He’d told himself to forget about Alex and focus on Samantha, yet every time Alex had laughed at something that hulk of a bartender had said, he’d wanted to smash his fist through the guy’s face.
He strode back down to his car and got in, bracing his forearms on the steering wheel. He had the scary feeling the only way forward for him and Alex was to face their attraction for each other. Get it out of their systems. And maybe that was the path they’d always been on. It’s just that neither of them had cared to admit it.
The fact that it was a bloody inconvenient time didn’t seem to matter. Neither did his rule. Avoidance was definitely not working.
He revved the engine and pulled away from the sidewalk, the car’s throaty snarl matching his inner one. His orderly life was in chaos. Ever since Alex Anderson, mistress of mayhem, had landed in the Bay Area, he’d gone from being the logical, sensible De Campo, the one Antonio and Riccardo called in to smooth things over with ruffled clients, to being a complete wild card at a time when he should be, needed to be concentrating on the most important launch of his life.
It was complete insanity. And it needed to end. He jammed his foot down on the accelerator. The nagging doubt that Alex was like an iceberg—with way more beneath the surface than he could see, and likely far more than he bargained for—wasn’t enough to stop him.
A wise man would stay away. Resist temptation. But he couldn’t seem to help himself.
* * *
Alex felt Gabe’s presence before she saw him. Feet dangling in the pool that was the jewel and center point of the De Campo gardens, moonlight slanting over her shoulder, she felt the air pick up in intensity—a charge went through it. She swiveled around and took in his open-legged stance, his hands in his pockets, the slight frown that marred his brow.
Confrontational.
“I take it your date didn’t end as planned.” She almost laughed after she said it, because that was the understatement of the evening, except nothing about this was funny.
He stepped out of one shoe, then the other and came to sit beside her. Close enough to disturb everything about her. Far enough that they were just two people talking.
“She’s furious.” He slid his feet into the water. “I don’t blame her.”
“Neither do I.” She watched the moonlight dance across the surface of the oval-shaped pool rather than look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Probably the same thing I was thinking in my office,” he said dryly. “We knew from the beginning we had a problem, Lex.”
“We could forget it happened?”
“I don’t think that’s an option anymore.”
Her heart stuttered. She jump-started it with a determined pull of air. “We’re a week away from the most important event of both of our lives. I’d say it’s a mighty fine option.”
He braced a hand on the pool ledge and swiveled to face her. “What happened tonight is not an option. What happened in my office is not an option.”
She turned to look at him then, wishing immediately she hadn’t, because he was so handsome in his jeans and rolled-up sleeves, his hard, strong profile silhouetted against the moonlight. “We have a business agreement,” she said curtly. “I need this to be about business. I cannot lose this job.”
He sighed. “That ground rule is gone. I was a fool to think we could ignore what’s between us and so were you.”
No, they weren’t! She inched another centimeter away from those rock-hard thighs. “I think it’s better to try and keep this under control.”
“You think tonight was under control?”
“We have to do better.”
His breath hissed through his teeth. “I’ve wanted you since the first insult you threw at me at Riccardo and Lilly’s engagement party, Lex. This is not going to get better—it’s going to send both of us over the edge.”
Her heart tripped over itself. “Gabe—”
He waved a hand at her. “It’s more destructive for us not to face this than to try and ignore it.”
She pulled in a breath. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
His gaze was steady on her face. “One night to get it out of our systems.”
A buzzing sound filled her head. “You’re suggesting we have a one-night stand?”
He rolled to his feet. “Either that or we shut this thing down for good. Your call.”
She tried to say something, anything, but she had no words.
“Think about it. You know where to find me.”
She watched as he walked around the pool edge toward the house. The smooth, glassy surface of the water, so tranquil minutes before, shifted into a murky, shark-infested pool of black. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t wanted Gabe—consciously or unconsciously. But tonight, in kissing him, she had taken a step down the rocky road toward the self-destruction she was so adept at. It was a slippery slope to losing everything she’d worked for.
One night to get it out of our systems.
His words sliced through her like a knife, opening wounds she’d thought long ago healed. They gaped raw under the unrelenting moonlight, pulsed with an insidious throb that brought back everything. The way Jordan had bundled her off like a used piece of furniture the night his wife had arrived home, so clearly dispensable, as though she’d been barely a blip on his stream of consciousness. As though she’d never mattered to him.
She had thought he’d loved her. Had finally allowed herself to believe that one man, one man in her life would not hurt her. That finally someone had seen through the facade that was Alex and still wanted her, warts and all. That somehow her dream of escaping the past could be a reality.
She dipped her foot into the water and flicked it up, sending a ripple of diamonds through the air. Her affair with Jordan had taught her that she was no one’s long-term prospect. That she would always be the Iowa trash everyone over the age of eighteen in Mission Hill had thought she was.
She sent another river of shimmering beaded droplets through the air. Gabe was right. They were a disaster waiting to happen. But somehow she’d hoped he would be the one to think more of her. That this endless tension between them was something bigger than lust. Something neither of them dared address for fear of facing it head-on. But apparently she was once again allowing herself to believe things that were just not true.
She blinked, desperately seeking to restore some sense to her head. If she was going to consider Gabe’s proposal, she needed to be real with herself about what it was. Each of them slaking their mutual hotness for each other. Nothing more, nothing less. She had not suddenly morphed into Alex the respectable, even if she had the job and the clothes to fake it with. She was still just the girl for now.
The moon inched higher in the sky. She pulled her feet out of the bathtub-warm water and let them dry on the concrete. Was one night with Gabe even something she could consider? Would it finally get this particular monkey off her back and get her mind back on business where it belonged? Or would it make her ot
her bad decisions look like child’s play?
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE ONLY THING that kept Alex going for the next week was knowing the end was almost in sight. For the Napa event, anyway. With a week’s rest in between that and the New York launch and most of the kinks worked out in California, she would have a chance to breathe and, more importantly, restore her equilibrium.
It was sadly lacking right now. She’d chosen to ignore Gabe’s proposal in favor of ensuring the VIP/media tour schedule was set, she had enough staff to cover everything and attendee numbers were finalized.
But she couldn’t avoid it forever. She needed to get this event out of the way—knock Gabe’s socks off—then she could wrap her head around what she was going to do. Avoiding him hadn’t worked for more than four years now. So aside from the fact that he was her client and the family dynamic wasn’t likely to get any smoother if they slept together, she was contemplating it.
Anything to get that intense, rabid curiosity about how he’d be out of her head. Would he be that good?
Thus, anything that occupied her conflicted brain that week was where she wanted to be. Which meant superhuman efficiency on her part. It seemed like a minor miracle when she and her team went through their final checklist at nine o’clock the night before the party and everything was done. She sent Emily and Darren back to the B&B, stretched her sore body with a big yawn and thought of only one thing: the hot tub. It might be her favorite feature of the De Campo estate. Perched on the hill looking out onto the vineyard, it was glorious at night. And she was going there now before she collapsed into bed.
She poured herself a glass of chilled white wine in the kitchen, put on her bikini and a cover-up, and shoved a cracker and cheese in her mouth. The light was on in Gabe’s study as she whipped by. She gave the door an uncertain look. Better to leave him to it, she decided. He’d been grumpy Smurf lately trying to perfect his mystery wine, which seemed to be something of a big deal, and she’d gathered it wasn’t going very well.
Heading to the west wing, she pushed open the French doors, padded her way around the pool and stepped up to the level where the hot tub sat with that incomparable view. She jerked to a halt. It was occupied. By six feet, three inches of magnificent, grumpy Smurf.
Oh. Her heart started to work again, this time pumping at a slightly higher rate than usual. Gabe’s eyes were half-closed, his dark hair slicked back from his face. The lines of fatigue that had been carved around his mouth and eyes for the past couple of weeks were relaxed, less defined now. His bronzed, muscular body, clad in a pair of navy trunks, was mouthwatering.
Damn, but he was hot. An insanely delicious piece of male anatomy it would be a revelation for any woman to get her hands on.
Hands. Mouth. Tongue...
He could be yours.
She turned around. Later was better.
“Lex.”
Crap. She swiveled back. “I thought you were asleep.”
“You’d leave a sleeping man in a hot tub?”
Humor was definitely more appealing than grumpy Smurf. She stepped back up on the ledge.
He slid those sensational green eyes over her, eating her up. A wave of heat engulfed her that wasn’t in any way connected with the steam coming off the tub.
He brought his gaze back up to her face. “All set for the event?”
“Amazingly so, yes. Usually I’m crawling into bed at 2:00 a.m. the night before.”
“You seem to have been...supercharged this past week.”
Uh-oh. Irresistible Gabe was back.
He tilted a brow up. “You getting in?”
“I don’t want to disturb you.”
“That’s just baseline with you, Lex. Get in. You look exhausted.”
She thought about how revealing her bikini was. Wished she had something more modest on, but it didn’t exist in her wardrobe.
His mouth quirked. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you in a bathing suit.”
Yes, but it was the first time he would do so after propositioning her. And with the location being a steaming hot tub. Still... She looked longingly at the bubbling water. She had knots in her shoulders the size of kiwis. It was an eight-person tub. Surely that was big enough to house their attraction?
Gabe flicked water at her. “Non essere un gatto scaredy.”
“I can guess what that means,” she murmured. Run, said a little voice inside of her. But Alex was all about the challenge, unfortunately. He gave no quarter, keeping his gaze on her while she stepped out of her flip-flops and slid the dress over her head. Lowered herself into the water as quickly as humanly possible.
“Oh.” She sank down slowly into the almost unbearably hot water. “You’ve turned the temperature up.”
“I like it molto, molto caldo.”
Right. She could have figured that one out, too.
“You speak more Italian when you’re tired.” She wondered if that happened in bed as well. She’d bet it did, and she’d bet it was hot. “So,” she murmured desperately. “How’s your mystery wine coming?”
His face darkened. “Not perfect yet.”
“It will come. You’re a brilliant winemaker, Gabe. Everyone says so.”
“It needs to come soon.”
She frowned. “Why the rush? I thought The Devil’s Peak was your focus.”
“I may need to move that wine up.”
He didn’t look too happy about that. Thus the grumpiness.
“Maybe you need some inspiration.”
His gaze rested on her face, hard and challenging. “Got any suggestions?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I was thinking about your chemistry explanation. What do you think is missing?”
“If I knew that, I’d be doing it.”
“Oh.” She pointed a finger at him. “You really are a grumpy Smurf.”
He lifted an elegant brow. “A what?”
“American TV.” She sank back into the jets and stifled a moan as they attacked her shoulders. “I heard you tell Pedro this one is a big risk. Why?”
“It’s a new varietal for California. The market isn’t mature yet.”
“And you’re going to have to fight Antonio on this one, too,” she guessed.
His face tightened. “Antonio, Riccardo, the board. All of them.”
“Will Riccardo support you?”
“I’m hoping so.”
“What was it like being passed over for him?” She had always been so intensely curious about that. Gabe was the brilliant winemaker—but Riccardo had gotten the top job after gallivanting around the world driving race cars.
A shuttered look crossed his face. “I’ve always loved the wine-making part of the business.”
“That’s not exclusionary from being CEO. Some would have said you were the natural fit.”
“My brother is a fine CEO,” he said harshly. “He’s done an incredible job expanding De Campo into the restaurant business and I support him fully.”
“But you must have wanted it to be you?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“But you did...”
“Lex.”
She sighed. “I’m a branding expert. I know you need help with the name. Give me some details.”
“I can’t.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone with this wine.”
“Fair enough.” She wriggled her toes as her throbbing feet started to unwind. “Then give me the brand attributes you’re going for. How do you normally name your wines?”
He shrugged. “We’ve been using American landmarks for the Napa wines. The Devil’s Peak, Yellowstone, etc. But I want something special for this one. Something out of the ordinary, because the wine is out of the ordinary.”
“Key descriptor?”
He slid a reproving glance at her.
“One word.”
“Ethereal.”
“Fancy word coming from
a man.”
She sank farther down in the water and brainstormed in her head. Ethereal. Special. Heavenly. Celestial. A smile curved her lips. “How about the Angel’s Share? There is just something so magical about that expression. Your wine is that rare. To be coveted.”
She watched him turn it over in that analytical brain of his. There was nothing knee-jerk about Gabe. Ever.
“Maybe it’s been used before?”
“Not that I know of.” He gave her a thoughtful look. “I like it. It’s exactly where I wanted to go with the brand. Aspirational...”
She shrugged. “It’s a great n— Ouch.”
“What?”
“Cramp,” she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut as a tiny ball of excruciating pain seized the arch of her foot.
“Give.” He held out his hand.
“Mmm, no.” The ball seized tighter. “God.” She shoved her foot at him. “Make it stop.”
He pulled it onto his lap and ran his fingers over the soft underside of it. “Where?”
“The arch,” she croaked. His fingers moved to the curve of her foot and found the lump. Started kneading it out with a firm pressure that was so painful she almost snatched it back. But then the knot started to give under his fingers and she sighed and leaned back against the tub. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. Kept kneading her flesh until the ball of tangled muscle was gone. “That could be enough,” she murmured.
He took her other foot in his hands. “You’re a mess,” he said gruffly.
“My boss is a taskmaster.” She sighed as he dug into her sole. “You’ve done this before.”
“Feet are a highly erogenous zone for women.”
Her stomach curled in on itself. She bet he knew where they all were.
“I took a massage course once.”
“You took a massage course?”
“A girlfriend decided we should do it together.”
“Right.” She closed her eyes and tried not to imagine him kneading her flesh—all over. Susan was right. It would be a beautiful thing.
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