Crush on You

by Christie Ridgway

  “Alessandra?”

  Frustrated tears stung her eyes. “What else do you want to know? Do you need to know that reading tonight’s letter made me realize I might never kiss anyone again? That no man has touched me or looked at me with desire since the night before my wedding day? That I haven’t looked at anyone that way either until . . . until . . .”

  “Until now.”

  Alessandra swallowed. “Until you.” Then she closed the distance between them, because she so did want his touch, she so did need more of those kisses that he’d promised were practically inevitable.

  His arms didn’t close around her this time. But his mouth complied, his tongue sliding against hers. Heat spread across her body again, but now it didn’t feel like a virus. It felt like spring, when the buds flowered and formed clusters on the grapevines.

  Hope bloomed in her near-empty chest. She didn’t expect to recover her younger, unsinkable self, but at least she could feel that someone wanted her again.

  She crowded closer, sliding her right hand up Penn’s chest, but the crinkle of paper surprised her eyes open. Tommy’s final letter, she realized, breaking the kiss. Funny that it would get between her and Penn’s heart.

  And then it didn’t. Lean fingers plucked the sheet away. She met Penn’s eyes, supremely aware that he was removing the obstacle of her past—at least for the moment. His heartbeat thudded against her palm and her pulse took up the rhythm as he once again bent his head toward her mouth. His lips brushed hers, soft enough to tease goose bumps on her neck.

  She moved her head to catch his kiss, but he eluded her to run his tongue along her jawline and down her neck. Spring was over, she thought in a sudden burst of lust. It was summer, August, September, with the sun blazing at full strength, the fruit swelling, and harvest just around the corner. He curled one arm around her waist to draw her closer to his body. She leaned into him, willing, and gasped to accept his tongue as his other hand drew up the hem of her skirt.

  The material tickled like fingertips along the back of her thighs and every cell was sensitized waiting for his next move. Her fingers dug into his scalp in demand, wanting more, wanting all, wanting—

  “Hell.” Penn broke away. “Not here.”

  The skirt of her dress fell. Dazed, Alessandra blinked. “But—”

  “Not here.” He briefly closed his eyes. “Even I have enough of a conscience to insist on that.”

  “Huh?” She wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

  He looked at her a minute, then sighed. His big hand grasped her chin and turned her face to force her gaze uphill. She blinked again, realizing that though the thick grove of trees had hidden her and Penn, not far away was the party, the crowd, the familiar yard. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Oh.”

  His hand dropped from her face to slide down her bare arm. She suppressed her shiver as their fingers entwined. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  Let’s get out of here and start our affair, she amended for him. Her pulse started thumping again. What would sex be like Hollywood-style? What would it be like with an experienced man like Penn?

  But the thought was superseded by something else as her gaze returned to the direction of the party. There they’d find her family, her friends, her community. Penn took his first stride that way and she resisted. He glanced back, brows rising.

  “Our secret,” she said, expressing the single caveat.

  He stilled. “Our secret?”

  “Our secret affair.”

  For a moment, it was as if he hadn’t heard her. Then he laughed, letting go of her hand at the same time. She didn’t like either action.

  “No offense,” she said, frowning at him.

  He laughed harder. “None taken. Now that I think about it, I don’t want anyone to know I’m screwing you, either.”

  Her frown deepened. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I shouldn’t be that dumb,” he said, and still smiling, he strode back toward the barbecue.

  Except the dumb one was her, she thought morosely, as she followed at a discreet distance. His insult should have cooled her eagerness, but both she and her gaze followed him as he made for the exit. Confidence oozed from his pores, and he wore sex appeal as easily as his silk shirt. Did nothing faze the man?

  She hated him.

  She wanted to rub up against him.

  She was going to have him in her bed.

  The thought caused her breath to catch in her chest. Her feet paused, then Penn paused, too, his attention caught by a short, good-looking man who looked vaguely familiar. A celebrity, she thought, though she’d have to ask Clare to place him for her.

  Curious, she sidled by the two men.

  “Someone’s been phoning my radio show’s gossip line,” the other man was saying. “My screener didn’t get the details the first time, but—” He stopped talking as Penn turned, apparently sensing Alessandra’s presence behind him.

  His expression was polite. “Can I help you with something?” he asked as if they hadn’t just flamed in each other’s arms. As if they hadn’t just agreed to a secret affair.

  Her face flushed. He made her feel like some pesky groupie and her stomach churned at the thought. Was that how he saw her? Instead of answering, she shook her head and hurried past him.

  “I haven’t forgotten you want my shirt,” he called after her, a low laugh in his voice.

  Ha ha. Everyone else would think he was talking about a piece of his Build Me Up gear, when he knew she knew he was referring to her wanting his shirt off. And everything else, too.

  In answer, she flipped her hair over her shoulders and kept walking.

  He pitched his voice a little louder, and that laugh was still there. “I’ll get it to you at your place as soon as possible.”

  Code: Go there and wait for me.

  And though she was peeved by the way he teased her, it didn’t stop her from wanting him still. From going home and waiting.

  For the shirt—the man—who never arrived.

  7

  The temperature was in the cool sixties as Alessandra walked from the farmhouse to the winery under the umbrella of the morning overcast. Against the gray, the vines’ greenery appeared even more vibrant in color, the leaves shielding the delicate flowers from the sun that would burn through the clouds later in the day and increase the temperature another twenty degrees. This daily divergence of the thermometer reading was an essential element of Napa Valley wines, creating in the grapes a unique balance of sugar and acidity.

  Thanks to her appointment with a bride and her mother about siting the young woman’s wedding at Tanti Baci, she had an excuse to avoid the cottage. And Penn. Not that she had any idea whether he’d be working. For all she knew he’d be a no-show today, just as he’d been a no-show at her house the night before.

  And not that she had any plans for ever speaking to him again anyway.

  The winery’s administrative offices were located in a stucco-and-red-tile structure adjacent to the caves, and in the small lobby Alessandra greeted the anxious-looking, very young blonde and her more composed mother. The bride, faced with her fiancé’s unexpected military deployment, had decided to move her wedding up by several months if a suitable venue could be found.

  Given that Alessandra needed every booking she could get to prove her plan to save the winery viable, she was determined that mother and daughter find Tanti Baci very suitable indeed. With a smile, she ushered them into her office and closed the door.

  Bride-to-Be looked with mild interest around the room, her gaze zeroing in on the wooden shelves to the right of Alessandra’s desk. They’d been painted the same pale peach as the plaster and held the collection of vintage wedding cake toppers that her mother had started collecting after her marriage. Some were ceramic, some were of bisque, while the oldest was from the 1920s and made of stiff paper and wire.

  “Oh, Mama,” the girl said, pointing to them, her expression delighted. “
Look how sweet.”

  Mama released a tight smile. “I see.”

  And I see, Alessandra thought. The mother was going to be the much harder sell. Maybe because she didn’t like the winery as a wedding site or maybe because she didn’t want her darling daughter—so young, probably as young as Alessandra had been—to marry at all.

  “We like to say we specialize in happy endings,” Alessandra said as the two other women took their seats. She continued standing, casually leaning on the front of her desk, though nerves made her warm enough to remove the cardigan she’d worn over a short-sleeved striped cotton dress. “I recall you’ve been to our website, so you’re aware of our special wedding wine, the bubbly blanc de blancs, that’s made from our estate-grown chardonnay grapes.”

  She picked up a bottle of Bella Amore from the corner of her desk and passed it to the younger woman. The glass was clear, showing off the pale liquid inside, with the cork caged by wire but without any overwrapping foil. Labeled with a simple, small octagon, the old-fashioned illustration featured delicate grapes and leaves in pastel green and pink. “It looks exactly as the first retailed bottle did nearly fifty years ago and reflects our commitment to tradition and our belief that beautiful things last forever.”

  Bride-to-Be passed the wine to her mother who handed it over to Alessandra. She set it back on her desk and clasped her hands together. “Also a testament to Tanti Baci’s dedication to our roots is the newly renovated cottage we’ll be using for our weddings. It’s where my ancestors Anne and Alonzo Baci began the winery and began their romantic and successful marriage.”

  “Newly renovated cottage?” Mama-of-the-Bride questioned, straightening in her chair. “Does that mean it’s completed? If so, we’d like to take a tour.”

  Alessandra cleared her throat. “There are only a few details left to complete,” she answered, and inside her black pumps she crossed her big toes over her second ones. “However, for reasons of safety, we can’t let anyone inside until after the final inspection.”

  “But—”

  “I have this artist’s rendition to share, though,” she said, plucking a cardboard-backed rectangle from the desk behind her.

  Bride-to-Be went dreamy-eyed as she inspected the water-color painting. Alessandra had commissioned it from a local student at the community college—now ever mindful of the winery’s weak financial state—and the result was something not as fanciful as a Thomas Kincade or Stephen Whitney painting, but no less idealized. The cottage looked enchanted, surrounded by the vineyard and with grape vines twining the wide entry and rose petals carpeting the shallow front steps. A fairy peeking around a corner wouldn’t have been out of place.

  “Mama . . .” the young woman breathed, her shining gaze lifting to her mother’s face.

  Mama was made of sterner stuff. She shifted in her seat to focus on Alessandra. “I’m still concerned that the cottage will be available on my daughter’s wedding date.”

  “I can promise you that the renovation will be complete,” Alessandra replied without a tremor. “I’m slated to be a bridesmaid for our very first Tanti Baci wedding at the end of this month. Your date isn’t until fall.”

  “What I mean is, will the Tanti Baci winery still be in operation by then?”

  Alessandra’s face froze, even as her stomach turned inside out. “I, uh, what do you mean?”

  “I’ve heard there are financial problems,” the older woman said.

  Oh. Oh no. Until now, Alessandra had thought the winery’s difficulties were as secret as that affair she’d wanted with Penn. But look how well that had turned out.

  Pasting on a serene smile, she gestured to the window behind her desk, which provided a view of row after row of Tanti Baci vines. Leafy and lush, they looked in the peak of health, unlike the bottom line on the Tanti Baci financial statement. “When you’re holding your breath waiting to hear your daughter pledge her life to her groom, all of us at the vineyard will be holding our breaths, too, waiting for harvest to begin. I guarantee we’ll be picking grapes next autumn.”

  No lie whatsoever. Everyone pitched in at harvest time, and if the winery went belly-up, the entire staff would likely be signing on as a harvest assistant somewhere—including Alessandra. She was able to lift the requisite fifty pounds and could claim experience in sanitation, punch downs, and barrel prep, just to name a few of the tasks that could earn her a cellar rat’s minimum wage.

  Unfortunately, the older woman seemed to hear everything Alessandra didn’t say. Her eyes narrowing, she hesitated, first looking at her daughter—who was back to mooning over the artist’s rendition of the cottage—then at Alessandra.

  Damn, damn, damn. How many in the valley were aware of the winery’s financial troubles and how would that affect her chance to save it? No one liked being associated with a losing concern. Winners were much more appealing.

  As if on cue, her office door burst open, and a handsome man stepped inside. Penn Bennett stopped short upon seeing mother and daughter. “Whoops,” he said, his mouth curving into that celebrity smile of his. “I came at the wrong time.”

  Alessandra shot him a cool look, though socking him in the stomach seemed much more appealing after her sleepless night. “You can say that again.”

  His gaze moved from the strangers to settle on Alessandra’s face and that smile turned more private. “I came at the wrong time,” he repeated, his voice seductive.

  She was saved from having to douse him with a bucket of ice water by Bride-to-Be, who turned in her chair. “You’re Penn Bennett,” the young woman said. Her eyes were round in awe. “You’re famous.”

  Alessandra’s lip curled. “He’s not famous.”

  “Yes I am.”

  “Yes he is.”

  Penn and Mama-of-the-Bride spoke at the same time. “I’m a huge fan of his show,” Mama continued.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Alessandra murmured, barely suppressing her sneer. “Build Up My Ego. How could I forget?”

  “Build Me Up,” Mama corrected. She was looking a little moony herself as she gazed on Penn, which didn’t make Alessandra any happier remembering she’d practically begged the man to have an affair with her. It obviously put her squarely in the ranks of his fan-girl nation.

  It was downright mortifying. She glared at him since a hole in the floor didn’t open up for her to fall into. “If you’ll excuse us?” she prompted, remembering too late she’d vowed never to speak to him again.

  “No problem,” he said, with another flash of his Hollywood bright whites. “I just wanted to let you know I’m back at work in the cottage. Got a bit of a late start this morning.”

  Probably because he’d found some other groupie to boff last night, she thought, shoving away the fuming feelings the thought provoked. Who cared if he’d stood her up her the night before?

  “You . . .” Mama-of-the-Bride sat even straighter. “You’re working on the Tanti Baci cottage?”

  “As a special favor to Alessandra,” Penn said. “I can’t seem to tell her no.”

  “Do they have a name for men who say yes but who don’t follow through?” she asked sweetly, then cursed herself for not only addressing him again but also for giving away that she even recalled the event-that-wasn’t.

  Penn looked at her. “Full of remorse?”

  “Full of something, anyway.”

  Mama and Bride-to-Be had been watching their last exchange like it was a Wimbledon match. Heat warming her cheeks, Alessandra cleared her throat and returned her attention to the business at hand. “Penn, I’ll have to ask you again to excuse us—”

  “He’s really working on the cottage renovation?” the bride interrupted, her gaze glued to the TV star. “Mama, I could be married in something built by Penn Bennett.”

  He straightened from his casual slouch against the doorjamb. “You’re planning on having your wedding here at Tanti Baci?” he asked with another smile. “Good choice.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Ma
ma said, doing an about-face from five minutes before. “It seems like a very good choice.”

  Penn’s smile widened as he nodded at the two bedazzled women. God, Alessandra thought. He was pumping out the charisma with the force of a fire hose. Now that she saw his effect on other females, she didn’t know if she felt more or less irritated with her own reaction to him. Obviously it was entirely due to his very potent—and very practiced—sexual allure.

  Jerk. She was never speaking to him again.

  Nor was she leaving the booking of this wedding up to his facile charm. Pushing away from her desk, she walked toward the shelves of cake toppers that had earlier captured Bride-to-Be’s attention. “As you can see from this collection handed down from mother to daughter here at Tanti Baci, we treasure marriage at the winery and we’ll do whatever it takes to make your wedding unique and memorable.”

  She lifted her favorite topper from the shelf, a bisque bride and groom from the 1930s. The groom was in traditional black-and-white, and his partner’s dress was high-necked and long-sleeved, painted an opalescent ivory that still glowed. A netting veil circled her head as she gazed up at the man, and tiny fabric flowers were clutched in her hand.

  “It’s so pretty,” Bride-to-Be said.

  Alessandra smiled as she returned the topper to the shelf and layered on a little more icing. “It sat atop my great-grandparents’ wedding cake. They held hands like young lovers from the day they said ‘I do’ until the last day of their lives. They’re my inspiration—and they married right here at the winery.”

  “Impressive,” Penn put in, as if he meant it. He even sounded serious as he continued. “If I found the right woman to spend the rest of my life with, Tanti Baci would be the perfect place to make my promise to her.”

  Alessandra barely managed not to roll her eyes, aware he had no faith in ever-afters.

  “I was concerned about the rumors I’ve been hearing about the winery’s financial status,” Mama said, her gaze on Penn. “But now that I know someone of your caliber is involved . . . well, I’m too aware of all your good works not to trust your fine judgment. If you’re involved here, then I can be at ease with booking my daughter’s wedding.”