“Information? Okay, um, no there is no one at home.” A hint of pink tinted her ears, which he found oddly endearing, and she wiggled a naked ring finger. Before Trey could clarify the reason behind his questions, she pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “My number is on there and…” Trey shot her an amused look, “what?”
“Bolder Holder?” He read the frequent buyer card she’d handed him. He was right—a 32B. “Your local lingerie pusher-upper.”
“Oh, God.” She snatched it back and produced another card. Still not the insurance card he expected, but before he could explain, she looked around at the room of students who were all smiling back, then to him, and damn if her entire face wasn’t glowing with embarrassment. “I’m Sara Reed and as you can tell I’m not really good at this.”
Even her name was sweet. And flirting disaster would be putting it mildly. Not that he minded. There was something about her shy interest that got to him.
“Trey DeLuca,” he said. She placed her hand in his extended one. Her skin was soft and a bit chilled—and packed one hell of a punch. “I’m the asshole who ate your bumper.”
And wasn’t that just her luck. For the first time in twenty-two months and eleven days, Sara Reed had felt a small flicker of interest. Nothing big or life altering, just that tiny zing of attraction reminding her that she was, indeed, still a woman. So what did she do?
Hit his car.
Then hit on him.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. About the car and the really embarrassing…moment we just shared that everyone here witnessed.”
In her defense, she hadn’t been on a date or so much as flirted with a man since her husband died. Something she absolutely did not want to think about while staring up at an extremely sexy—and if she wasn’t mistaken—interested man who was standing less than a foot away, smiling down at her with the most perfect set of teeth on the most perfect face she’d ever seen.
“I did try to leave a note,” she explained. “But the wind—”
“You said. And that was very sweet of you.”
Ouch. Last she’d heard, “sweet” wasn’t on the list of requirements for hot and sweaty hookups. Not that she was looking for a hot and sweaty hookup. Between renovating her new house, getting her dance school in the black, and raising her son, there wasn’t room for another man in her life. Although a coffee or maybe a casual lunch sounded nice.
Then again, maybe this moment was the universe’s way of telling her that it was still too soon. But throwing a charming, underwear-model look-alike in her way as a reminder that she wasn’t ready to start dating again was a little cruel.
“Do you want me to call Stan so he can tow your car to his shop?”
Realizing she was staring at his mouth, she looked up. “No, really, it’s only the front bumper and your car is fine.”
“Why don’t we go check it out and see?”
“It’s pouring and you already look…” edible she almost said as she took in his dark hair, moist and slightly disheveled, his black peacoat that did little to conceal the broad chest beneath, and a pair of slacks that looked spectacular on him.
He cleared his throat.
“Wet,” she said.
“Wet?”
“Yes, wet.” She nodded confidently as though she hadn’t been caught checking out his goods. “And if you have someplace to be, I don’t want to keep you any longer. Plus the bumper is gone, poof, just fell off, so it’s not like I’d be dragging it around town.”
He raised a brow. “Is there a reason you are so determined to not let me see the damage?”
“No!” she shot out and, wow, that sounded guilty. Trey must have thought the same thing because he just waited, watching her, his lips curled in amusement.
“Good, because I want to make sure you won’t be stranded here. And,” he leaned in and whispered, the twinkle in his eyes turned to full, “the thought of wrestling you back into that raincoat sounds almost as fun as it was wrestling you out.”
She laughed and felt an absurd rush of heat—to her face and other more southerly places. Maybe her guy-dar wasn’t as off as she’d originally thought. She knew that smile, had seen it before, and when combined with the wink he was currently sending her, it wasn’t just a playful grin. It was an invitation.
“He’s right, child,” ChiChi said, collecting Sara’s things and shoving them into her hands and them toward the door. “We can’t have you driving around in a car that might not be safe. Not in this storm. Why don’t you head home?”
“But what about class? The Gala is only a month away.”
“Missing one lesson won’t kill us,” ChiChi said, then stiffened, going dead serious. “As long as you aren’t giving that Deidra Potter extra lessons on the side.”
“I’m not giving her extra lessons, ChiChi.” Sara tried not to roll her eyes, but it was nearly impossible. She had no idea what went down between the two older ladies, but bad blood would be an understatement.
“Enough, Nonna.” Trey’s stern tone was in direct contrast with the gentle kiss he pressed to his grandmother’s cheek. “And we’ll talk about this later.”
“Looking forward to it, dear.” Now it was Trey’s turn to roll his eyes. “And Sara, don’t you worry about a thing. Pricilla and I can handle class tonight while Trey takes a look at things and you two work out…” ChiChi waved a regal hand between the two of them, “whatever it is you need to work out.”
“It’s probably best to get out of here so we can get this thing worked out,” he joked quietly, placing his hand at the small of her back and making her breath catch. It felt possessive and warm and in no way like a joke. In fact, it felt exciting.
Safe.
Tingly.
Things she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since her husband’s commanding officer had shown up on her doorstep holding a Silver Star for gallantry in action, and a Just in Case letter her husband had written—because the worst “just in case” imaginable had happened.
In the letter, Garrett reminded her that life was a series of adventures. Since theirs had come to an end, it was her job to live twice as hard, take twice as many risks, and love their son enough for the both of them.
Sara promised herself that she would live her life balls out—as Garrett used to say—and be open to life’s adventures. Easier said than done for a single mom with control issues, but she was trying.
She had already shared the greatest love two people could share, knew how hard it was to find, and didn’t expect to get that lucky again. But she was open to finding a love built on friendship and respect.
Not now. Maybe someday. And she wasn’t saying that this was love. But there were enough warm fuzzies from the simple contact of his hand on her back to let her know that she was ready. Ready to put herself out there again and slowly recapture the part of her that she’d buried. Ready to ask a charming man out for coffee, because that was what her sister-in-law said single people did these days.
“You ready?” Trey asked when they stepped out of the room.
They took the elevator to the bottom floor, and she couldn’t help snatch a few peeks at him—only every time she looked over, she found him already looking back. Only he didn’t go red and quickly turn away.
The doors opened and he led them through the main lobby toward the emergency room, stopping at the double doors.
Taking the jacket from her hands, he unbuttoned it and held it open.
“I’ll pass,” she said.
He dropped his gaze to her legs and raised a brow. She knew what he saw. She hadn’t dressed for the weather. Her dance pants and tank, which now seemed way too skimpy and clingy, would be as effective as tissue paper in the rain.
“I don’t want to get stuck again,” she admitted.
Trey raised his right hand. “I solemnly swear to help you get out of
your clothes. Anytime. Anywhere. All you have to do is ask.”
She shouldn’t have laughed. It was obviously some lame pick-up line. And if his delivery had felt even the least bit threatening, she wouldn’t have. But his eyes were crinkled with humor and he made the offer seem so charming, she couldn’t help herself. Flirting with him was easy, and kind of fun. Two things she needed more of in her life.
“Fine,” she agreed and let him help her into her coat. She watched as he buttoned it with ease, his fingers getting higher and higher until he reached the one between her breasts and she heard a small groan. And damn if it wasn’t her. This was what two years without a battery-assisted orgasm got her.
Trey stilled, then delivered a smile that registered a solid oh my on the panty-melting scale. “Should I stop?”
Sara shook her head and, channeling some balls-out confidence, said, “Only if you promise to let me buy you a hot cup of coffee afterward.”
His fingers were hovering over that button and a cute little frown split his forehead. “So I have the choice between coffee or disrobing you?”
That wasn’t what she meant. And she couldn’t tell if Trey was joking or serious. Even worse, she didn’t know what to say, because neither was slow or safe or easing her way into anything—other than his bed. Which meant that she must have hit his car harder than she thought because coffee was no longer what she wanted, and option B didn’t seem as scary as it had a minute ago. In fact, her lady parts were already sighing at the mere idea.
“I’m kind of new to this whole dating thing, but if you want—”
“Trey?” a woman said coming out from the employees’ room. “Perfect timing. I just clocked out and was waiting for you.”
Her voice was low, in that gravelly, nine-hundred-number-operator kind of way that was part purr, part proposition, and—holy God—the woman had legs to her neck. And that wasn’t even the sexiest thing about her. She oozed attitude, which worked well in the painted-on jeans and body-hugging sweater she was sporting. She had blonde hair and big blue eyes, which were almost as big as her boobs. In a nutshell, she was Florence Nightingale gone Playboy Playmate.
“Hey, Kayla,” Trey said, his eyes on Sexy Nurse as she swished her womanly curves over and wrapped herself around him in a hug.
To his credit, Trey looked more uncomfortable than anything. Then again, Sara had just asked him to coffee. Safe, boring coffee.
“Do you know Sara?”
“You own the Tap and Barre School of Dance, right?” Kayla asked and then before Sara could even answer she went on, “My niece takes ballet from you.”
Translation: I am at least five years, one kid, and a major broken heart younger than you.
“I was just heading out to check on Sara’s car. It was great seeing you again, Kayla,” Trey said.
“Oh, but I was hoping we could go grab a drink.” Her perfectly manicured hands wrapped around Trey’s arm and that’s when Sara saw it. Trey and Kayla knew each other—in the biblical sense. “And catch up.”
“Actually—” Trey began and Sara cut him off.
“That’s okay, really, I’m fine,” she lied. She wasn’t fine. She felt like a grade-A ass. “Like I said, the damage is only cosmetic, plus I really need to be getting home. But thanks for…” For what? Not laughing at me when I obviously made a big something out of an embarrassing nothing. “Helping me with my jacket. But I’m kind of tired and need a shower.” She exhaled hard, took a step back, and clarified, “A hot shower. To warm up.” She wanted to slap her palm on her forehead because, damn it, that didn’t sound any better.
“Hang on, let’s just make sure that everything is all right.” Trey stepped closer, so much concern on his face she felt hers flush with embarrassment. She stuffed her cap low on her head and took two huge steps—backward. In every way possible.
“I’ll call my insurance adjuster when I get home and have him contact you in the morning. In case you find a scratch or paint on your bumper or something. Which you won’t, but, okay, yeah, nice meeting you. Both. Nice meeting you both. Bye.”
Sara turned and rushed out the door, shuffling her sequin-clad butt toward her car. And if that wasn’t a big enough clue to take dating off of her newly formed bucket list, then the really big, hard balls of ice falling from the sky and pelting her head sealed the deal.
Sara Reed. Dance instructor. Widow. Single mom.
Period.
CHAPTER 2
CUPID WANTS YOU.
Trey stopped in his tracks when he saw the giant banner with glittery silver and pink letters, which hung between a plasma screen showing ESPN highlights and a NINERS’ TERRITORY sign. It was a poster of his niece, Baby Sofie, dressed in nothing but a gummy smile, a diaper, a heart-tipped arrow, and a sash reading WINTER GARDEN GALA.
He’d seen the posters plastered around town. He understood Valentine’s Day was fast approaching. He even understood why all of the local stores had rolled out their rose-petal welcoming mats, and why people were farting hearts and talking about love that lasts forever. But to invade his favorite sports bar was wrong. On so many levels.
The Spigot was the only place left in Trey’s world that wasn’t dripping with domestication or girly shit. They didn’t serve skinny drinks or run their hours around nap time or offer a gluten-free menu. It was about beer, bros, business, and ball. Which was why Trey felt himself relax when he saw his three brothers lined up at the bar, shoving each other and arguing about, Trey assumed, who was going to win the Super Bowl.
“You made it,” said Nate, the second oldest and most tightly-wound of the brothers, from the far end of the bar. “Good.”
It was good. Trey had been home for three days, due to a disappearing passport that “somehow” wound up in ChiChi’s purse, and this was the first time that everyone’s schedule had allowed for any kind of brother bonding.
Trey slid up to the bar and pulled out a stool. “I was just on a call with our buyer in Paris and he wants to reschedule—” He froze. What the hell was going on? “Is that an umbrella in your drink?”
Nate slid a pink, foamy concoction, complete with pineapple slice and cherry skewer, down the bar. That was when Trey noticed that each one of his brothers was double-fisting not beer, not Jack, not even a glass of wine, but the most un-manly drinks ever ordered at this bar—and they were smiling about it.
“Frankie wants to finalize the Frankie-Nate signature drink for the wedding. She’s calling it Pink Paradise and asked me to help narrow down the choices,” Nate said as though that wasn’t the pussiest sentence in the history of mankind.
Signature drink? This had to be a joke. There was no way ball-buster Frankie with her steel-toed boots and wicked right hook would go for this. “Pink? Really? Are you shitting me?”
“Hey, real men drink pink,” Marc said and Trey choked.
Only two years apart in age and sharing common interests, mainly their love of women and freedom, Marc and Trey had always been close. Until Marc hooked up with his high-school crush, Lexi. Now his big brother was married, expecting, and so damn happy you could smell the marital bliss wafting off on him.
In fact, all of his brothers stank of happiness, something Trey hadn’t smelled on a DeLuca since his parents were alive. Proving that, once again, right when Trey thought he’d finally caught up to his older brothers—in his newly appointed position as VP of Sales for DeLuca Wines, no less—he came home to realize he was still several steps behind, and now even playing in the wrong game. A place he’d spent his entire life trying to outgrow. Without much luck.
“Yeah, well, do real men walk around with babies attached like accessories?” Trey asked, flagging down the bartender to order a real drink.
“Says the man who uses the word ‘accessories,’” Gabe, the oldest brother, laughed. “Besides my girls are the cutest damn accessories I’ve ever had.”
“Real babe magnets too,” Marc laughed. “Lexi sees me cuddling Baby Sofie and she is yanking me out the door back to our place.”
“Holding Baby Sofie and Holly’s hand at the same time, potent stuff.” Nate and Marc high-fived and Trey wanted to punch someone.
“This is my problem.” He dropped his head to the counter, everything making sense. His dry spell, why he was so drawn to Little Miss Manners the other night, why he couldn’t even look at a baby without breaking out in a sweat. “This is why I haven’t gotten laid in three months.”
“You haven’t gotten any in three months?” Marc asked, sounding pretty damn shocked. That was all right, Trey was shocked himself. He hadn’t gone this long without a woman since high school.
“How can I, when every time I meet someone, we start talking, vibes start flying, she gives me the look, and before I know it, my sexy one-nighter suddenly morphs into a pregnant woman in a wedding dress?”
Although Sara hadn’t morphed and she had given him the look. Then again, she was too sweet to morph and too nervous to follow up on the look. Hell, she couldn’t even follow up with returning his call.
Still, as far as Trey was concerned, there was nothing settling about the idea of settling down. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d developed a severe allergic reaction to commitment, compromise, and kids the day his parents died.
The bartender set down his beer and Trey took a large swig. “I don’t want to talk about this. I came here tonight to let you all know that I can’t escort Nonna to the Gala.”
“Sorry, bro,” Marc shrugged. “Rules are rules, you drew the short straw.”
“Rules my ass,” he mumbled. “We all know there was only one straw. And I’m turning it over to Nate.”
Nate was the peacemaker of the family, the problem-solver go-to guy. There was no way he would say—
“Nope. Sorry.”
Trey choked on his beer. “What?”
“Frankie’s my date. I’m still making it up to her for taking Sasha Dupree to the prom. And since Frankie already has a dress for the waltz, and I like my nuts right where they are, I’m taking my fiancée. Sorry, bro,” Nate said, not sorry at all.
Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) Page 2
