“Fine. He came to see me Friday to make sure my car was okay. I happened to be having a bad day. So he took me wine tasting.” Where Sara had the pleasure of tasting a very special vintage of DeLuca. “He was sweet and…what? Can you two stop doing that sister-in-law silent conversation thing?”
“You’re just the first woman who has had a run-in with my brother-in-law and described him as sweet,” Lexi said.
“Well, maybe you’re just talking to the wrong women.”
“Apparently,” Regan said and they both laughed.
Sara ignored them and dusted glitter over the wet footprints. “He was sweet and charming. And just being nice.” But she was talking to herself because the pointer sisters were back to their non-verbal discussion. “And, okay, he kissed me.”
Everyone at the table froze, even Sara, who was wishing she could take back her last admission because just thinking about that kiss had her face flushing and her lips tingling and—oh my God—would they stop staring at her like she’d lost her mind?
“End of story,” Sara said firmly. “Now, if you two are done talking about me in front of my face, Cupid’s feet are finished and I have to get ready for my eleven o’clock.”
Sara spun around and walked right into a solid wall of muscle that smelled like warm, yummy man. Her hand rested on his pecs. His were on her hips, steadying her and—whoa—pulling her closer.
Reminding herself to breathe, Sara slowly looked up at Trey, and whoa was an accurate statement—there was nothing sweet about the way he was looking back.
“For the record,” Trey whispered, the gravel in his voice sending zings of anticipation racing through her body, and something much more primal south, “I think you kissed me.”
“Really? I wasn’t sure. It happened so fast,” she said, remembering just how fast it had happened and how thrilling it had felt.
“Yeah,” he smiled, “me neither.”
Dressed in a crumpled suit, yesterday’s stubble, and an epic case of bedhead, Trey looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. The ridiculous part of Sara hoped it was his own bed. A warmer part, the part she’d shut off when Garrett died, noticed that he looked tired—and a little lost. Almost like he needed a hug. So she gave him one.
Sara knew that she was in trouble, because he hugged her back.
Christ, what was he doing?
Trey wasn’t a hugger, but he couldn’t make himself let go. The way she smelled, like paint, a hint of something spicy, and all woman was almost as good as the way she felt pressed against him. So he pulled her closer, all the tension of the past few days fading. One touch and, for the first time since he’d walked into that hospital, he wasn’t itching to leave.
“What was that for?” he asked.
He felt her shrug and out of the corner of his eye watched the wide scoop neck of her shirt slide down her shoulder, exposing a lot of silky skin and a single black, lacy strap. Even with pink paint smeared across her cheek, he found her ridiculously hot.
He was about to bury his face in her neck and maybe take a little bite, when she cleared her throat and pulled back. “You looked like you needed a hug.”
What he needed was a hell of a lot more than a hug. Like her, beneath him, panting his name for the next few days.
He took in her lithe body, the way her black leggings hugged her hips and how nicely, he imagined, they stretched across her exceptionally toned butt, and changed his mind. Top, bottom, standing up, he didn’t care as long as they were both naked and moaning.
“Trey,” she whispered, her mouth moving sensually as she formed his name. She had a great mouth.
“Yeah.”
Then she hit him with those warm hazel eyes. “I am so—”
Into you…Horny…Turned on…
“—sorry.”
Not the word he was hoping to hear.
She took a small step back and, sadly, her hands were no longer on him. In fact, they were palms up and—what the hell?
He looked from her hands to his shirt where two very pink, very dainty handprints stained his coat, one on each pec. When he turned, the light hit it, and…oh hell no. He sparkled. His six-hundred dollar, tailor-made, Italian tweed overcoat looked like one of Holly’s art projects.
But instead of being mad, he found himself grinning—like an idiot. Because she was staring at his mouth, and he knew she was thinking about their kiss.
“It’s still wet. Here, let me see if I can—” She reached out to help him then looked at her paint-coated palms and stopped. “Give me two seconds to wash my hands and let’s see if I can get that paint off.”
Having had a particularly crappy weekend, one that he was certain Sara could’ve helped alleviate, he leaned in to her and lowered his voice. “I have a better idea. I’m staying at the Napa Grand. Right next door. It has a shower, a really big one with fluffy robes. We can get cleaned up, have one of the hotel’s famous oyster platters brought up with a bottle of wine, and finish,” he let his eyes drop to her mouth, “that tasting.”
Her mouth quirked up at the corners as though she thought he was an idiot and he wondered what the hell went wrong.
Most people thought he was charming. Especially women. One of his basic go-to lines delivered with his DeLuca smile was enough to make them hot and bothered. Not Sara. Nope, he just made her laugh—and not in the hot-and-bothered way. And he couldn’t figure out why.
“Actually, I have to go, but you can send me a bill for the coat.”
“Another bill?” His grin became a full on smile. He couldn’t help it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were,” she laughed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Your property clearly isn’t safe around me.”
They stood smiling at each other, before Sara broke the contact and looked at her watch. “I do have to go, though. I have a private lesson starting in a few minutes and I don’t want to keep my client waiting.”
“Lucky client,” Trey said.
“He’s a special client,” she clarified, her eyes going soft and dreamy, and Trey found himself wondering how to qualify for the special-person’s package. “It’s someone looking for a second chance at love.”
“So you’re a romantic?” Of course she was. Girls like her with those big trusting eyes had white picket fences and grand gestures built into their DNA. Yet here he was, trying to figure out how to get more time with her.
“It used to be easier for me.” Her smile turned unsure. “But I’m working on it.”
There was a vulnerability in her eyes that he felt all the way to his chest and the only honest thing he could say in that moment was, “Me too.”
She stopped smiling and that tug he felt every time he was with her tightened, because he could tell by the openness in her expression that he hadn’t totally blown it. Not completely. And more than anything, he wanted her to keep looking at him like she was right now. “Forget the room, how about a cup of coffee?”
She looked at his sisters-in-law—who were practically teetering over to listen in, something they picked up the moment their last name officially became DeLuca—then back to him and silently nodded. “That sounds nice. Why don’t you call the studio later and we can set up a time?”
He started to say that he’d already tried that when a leggy blonde entered the bistro and talking became dangerous. In fact, Trey stood perfectly still and tried to become one with the crowd. Too bad Tammy of Tammy’s Wine Country Tours had the same uncanny ability of picking out a former fling as she did a good Syrah, because her eyes locked on Trey’s and he knew that any hope he had for coffee with Sara—or anything more—was over.
He watched Tammy go all bubbly with recognition as she sauntered over to give him a proper Tammy Welcome Back, and after their run in with Kayla, he could only imagine what Sara was going to think.
; “Well, well, well, Trey DeLuca’s back.” Arms flung wide, completely oblivious to Sara, she plastered her generous breasts against him in the most uncomfortable hug of his life.
“Hey, Tammy.” Two cordial pats between the shoulder blades and Trey stepped back, untangling himself. Even though Trey and Tammy hadn’t hooked up since college and were nothing more than friends now, suddenly seeing his life through Sara’s eyes made him uncomfortable—and a little embarrassed.
“Talk about weird timing,” she went on, wiggling her fingers at his sisters-in-law who wiggled back—fully amused at his situation. “Last night I dropped off one of my regulars and his current arm candy at the Napa Grand. Told them to be sure and order that famous oyster platter. Always a winner, right?”
She winked and he was screwed.
“I hear they have fluffy robes too,” Sara said with a laugh, confirming that he was a total and complete idiot. With an amused look of her own she glanced down at his coat. “Send me the bill.”
“How about you give me a private dance lesson and we call it even?” he offered but she was already hugging his sisters-in-law good-bye.
“Even better,” she said. At her comment, he felt his shoulder relax a little. He still had a shot to make this right. Then she added, “Call the studio and ask for Heather. She handles all privates.”
He started to argue that Heather couldn’t handle all privates, since Sara was headed toward a “special” one right now, but she had her umbrella in hand and was through the door before he could even open his mouth.
He watched her cross the street and wanted to throttle himself because, yup, those leggings looked as good going as they did coming. And he was never going to get that dance.
Ten minutes and a stern lecture from his sisters-in-law later, Trey ducked through the revolving glass doors of the Napa Grand Hotel. One of the more well-preserved beaux-arts masterpieces on the West Coast, the Napa Grand was the oldest hotel in town. It was also the only hotel in town. This week, Trey happened to call it home.
Marc’s hotel was the only place left in St. Helena that was connected to his family and didn’t reek of domestication. Or painful memories.
Shaking a few globs of glitter off of his coat, he rode the elevator to the top floor and strode down the hallway, loosening the top button of his shirt. It had already been one hell of a week and it was only Tuesday. Thanks in part to Abby’s “few” meetings, which had turned into a catastrophic calamity of errors. Starting with a shipping error of the worst kind and ending with Trey stuck in the minivan for a grand total of twenty-two hours—since its retractable seats made it the only available car in the family that could handle the fifteen cases that needed to be rush-delivered to Santa Barbara. Something his brothers found freaking hilarious.
He didn’t know how it happened, but it seemed as though every time he came home, he was thrust into a shitstorm of problems he was expected to fix. None of them his.
Blaming his mood on exhaustion, Trey fished out his key and opened the door. All he wanted was to eat lunch, take a hot shower, and go to bed.
Strike that.
All he wanted was to eat lunch, take a hot shower, and go to bed—with Sara. But since Sara wasn’t interested in playing hooky today—or ever again, thanks to Tammy—and his suite was filled with DeLucas, Trey didn’t think he’d even get to eat his lunch.
“Nice coat,” Marc said, taking in the pink handprints. “Do you have a matching clutch?”
“I was going to ask to borrow yours.” Trey dropped his to-go bag on the entry table and shut the door with his foot. “Glad to see that this hotel respects their guests’ privacy and security.”
“You should complain,” Marc said, resting his feet casually on the coffee table.
“Yeah, but I hear that the owner is a total prick.”
Trey purposefully remained standing, hoping that they’d all take the hint and get out. Not that there was any place to sit. Even if he wanted to pull up a cushion and share some small talk—which he most definitely did not—Marc, and all six foot three of him, pretty much consumed the entire couch, and Nate made himself at home in the overstuffed chair.
Gabe stood silently at the window, practicing his disappointed glare at the approaching storm outside. The air was so thick with tension, and the space so overflowing with DeLuca attitude, the room felt more like a casket than a luxury three-bedroom suite.
“Abby wants to make an offer on the land,” Gabe said. “I’m still looking into things on this end, but I came across a snafu that it seems only you can fix.”
He wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was or how he could fix it, but since Gabe’s tone gave him the feeling that this wouldn’t be a kid-brother-saves-the-day kind of talk, Trey decided to take that seat.
With a sigh, Gabe turned around and—Jesus—Baby Sofie was strapped to his front in some kind of parachute harness for babies. Face red, lips pursed, she took one look at Trey and started flailing all four limbs. “Da-da-da-da-DA!”
“With how fast the owners want to sell, and how difficult it is for a US company to acquire Italian land, I wanted to make sure we were all buttoned up on this end, just in case,” Gabe said over Baby Sofie’s jabbering. “So I called Drew. He suggested that you buy the land. Imagine that?”
Trey felt his stomach bottom out. Followed by his chest, then his heart. “I was going to tell you.”
Two years ago, Trey started looking into gaining Italian residency through their grandfather’s lineage. He’d called Drew, their lawyer and expert in all things corporate and foreign policy, to help him with the process. What started out as a temporary answer to an insane travel schedule quickly became a solution that would save his sanity.
“Really? When?” Gabe’s tone all business. “Would that have been before or after you shipped your stuff overseas and sent out housewarming invitations?”
Trey was delirious. He had to be. Because it took everything he had not to laugh. Or point out that gently bouncing up and down in tandem with a diaper monster while snarling words like housewarming and invitations was not intimidating. Then again, Trey had big, sparkly, pink hands on his chest.
“I don’t get to hang out at home and watch the business grow,” Trey pointed out. “Last year I spent more time in an airplane than I did in a bed. I hit a hundred thousand miles before summer even ended. I thought that buying a place I could use as a home base was a good idea.”
“I agree. Buy one here,” Gabe countered.
“We’re two hours from an airport.” And right in the middle of a tsunami of memories and regrets. “Between managing Marc’s hospitality friends, Nate’s new high-end collectors, and you dominating the domestic wine industry with your one-grocery-store-at-a-time campaign, I don’t even have time to sleep, let alone focus on new markets.”
Silent dialogue shot around the room from brother to brother as though he wasn’t sitting right there.
When their dad died, Trey went from having one father to three, making it three times harder to live up to expectations. The constant feeling that he somehow managed to always come up short was becoming suffocating as hell.
“I’m tired of dealing with corporate suits,” he explained. “There is no connection, no history there.”
“All right,” Nate said, surprising Trey. “What do you want to focus on?”
He thought about his day with Sara, how great it felt to talk over a glass of wine. How intimate the situation had been compared to the sale he’d just handled for Abby. It wasn’t that he wanted to quit his job, he realized. He just wanted to redefine it.
“I want to focus on the individual customer again, the ones who buy and sell over a good meal and a better bottle of wine. And I’d like to do it in a place that values the things that Nonno Geno built this company on. With people who don’t do business over the phone.” He shot a look at Gabe.
“Then moving to Italy has nothing to do with the fact that ever since Mom and Dad died, you can’t seem to keep your feet planted around home?” Gabe asked quietly and Trey felt that familiar knot, the one that took up residence in his chest a little over a decade ago, tighten to the point of pain. “Especially this time of year.”
“No.” Moving to Italy would allow him to feel connected to his family, without having to be reminded that he didn’t deserve them.
“Why didn’t you come to me before?” Gabe asked.
How to answer that?
“Between weddings and babies and everything else, there just wasn’t a good time.” And Trey had wanted to prove that he could handle it. As ridiculous as it was, he always felt like he was the tagalong. As though no matter how old he got, or how many deals he closed, he still had to prove that he was tough enough, man enough, worthy enough, to hang out at the big kids’ table.
Gabe gave a weary nod. “Then let’s talk about hiring a sales team to handle the domestic end.”
Trey blinked. “Are you serious?”
“It’s smart,” Gabe said, but Trey couldn’t help noticing that he sounded disappointed. “We’ve grown too fast for one person to handle. I’m just sorry that I’ve been too busy to notice. So if this is what you need, then I’ve got your back. Which means that you have until the end of the month to put a domestic team together. I want them local.”
“The end of the month? As in four more weeks?” Trey choked. “Here?”
“Yup.” Gabe grinned. “It will take you that long to put a stellar team together. Plus a few weeks with your family before you move to another continent won’t kill you.”
Maybe not, but the way his chest kept ratcheting tighter and tighter, it sure felt like it. But since Gabe was pretty much giving him everything he’d asked for, and more, including the belief that Trey would make the right decisions and, more important, the freedom to leave when it was over, Trey acquiesced. “Fair enough.”
Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) Page 6
