He stared. “Did you explain this is Napa? That you’re holding your wedding at a winery?” As for him, he planned on starting with the hard stuff first thing in the morning on her big day.
“I told her of course we wouldn’t be gauche, even though I know darn well that we’re having an open bar and planning on toasting with the Tanti Baci wedding wine. What’s she going to think?”
“Let Jordan handle it,” Gil advised. “It’s his wedding, too.”
“Not that you’d know it,” she mumbled. “I already brought it up and he said it was my fib and that I should deal with the fallout.”
Gil’s free hand curled into a fist. Even if Jordan wasn’t marrying Clare, Gil thought he’d hate the guy. Didn’t he know the smallest thing about his bride? The sweet girl geek detested confrontation and she needed backup in a situation like this one. That’s what a partner did. That’s how good relationships worked. When it came to facing down new small business regulations, say, he could always count on Clare to help him through the details. In turn, he handled all her minor building repairs.
Give and take. Take and give.
Without thinking, he lifted her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. “Thanks, buddy.” He didn’t say what for. He didn’t know if he needed to.
She looked away. “You know all I thought of during the conversation with Grandmère?”
“That she chose a pretentious, stupid-ass nickname for her grandkids to call her?”
She laughed, and he could feel a little of her tension seep away. “No. I thought of that Star Trek episode, the one where Spock tells Bones that Vulcans don’t feel the ‘dubious’ effects of alcohol.”
Gil’s chest ached again. His Trekkie girl geek. “And then the good doctor says something like ‘Now I understand why they were conquered.’ ”
She laughed again. “You love that episode, too.”
No. He didn’t actually enjoy that episode or love anything about the please-why-so-long series except that Clare had a passion for it. So he knew about tribbles and Red Shirts and Vulcan psychology, God help him.
He pressed a kiss to her knuckles a second time. “Yeah. Love that episode, too.” Only this time he didn’t feel bad about lying again. He was fast losing his resolve to be the bearer of bad news.
She started chattering about yet another booze-related Bones and Spock moment and he was listening, really he was, until his gaze caught on the big picture window of a bungalow behind Clare’s back. A pair was embracing, indulging in a hell of a kiss. It made him envious, damn it, to see this other couple indulging in what he wanted to share with Clare.
Then the man broke away from the woman, and Gil recognized them both.
Jordan Wilson. Jesus. Jesus Christ.
The woman was Tori Merrick, who’d gone to high school with him and Clare. Ah. No doubt the source of the girl geek and her bodyguard comment. If he remembered right, Tori poured at one of the several tasting rooms set up in Edenville’s downtown.
And she was having an affair with Clare’s groom-to-be, that was obvious, as Gil watched her reel the other man in for another sloppy, intimate kiss. Cold washed over him as he shifted his gaze from the clandestine couple to Clare’s animated face.
It was going to kill her. It was going to suck any joy right out of her, and if he told her about his feelings now, he wouldn’t be there to help her pick up the pieces. “Clare . . .”
She stopped in mid-Trek monologue. “What?” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter?”
With all the fervency he had in him, he willed her to turn her head. But she didn’t. She just kept on looking at him. “Gil? What is it?”
He opened his mouth. “Nothing,” came out of it. “Except we should probably get to the restaurant. Did I mention my date couldn’t make it?” he continued as he hurried her in the opposite direction of the two people in the window using their tongues and wandering hands to say their prolonged good-byes.
He listened to her professed disappointment with half an ear. “I think I’ll skip dinner myself and go check on her,” he added when Clare paused. “My, uh, friend wasn’t feeling well.”
Not only would it make him sick if he had to look at Jordan’s face over a dinner table, but Gil couldn’t bear to tell the woman he loved any of the truths he should, not yet, anyway. It was going to require more thinking, which meant he was still being dishonest with Clare—and now he was also keeping quiet about another man’s lies.
10
The only time Penn had fully cooperated with her since they’d met was now, Alessandra decided, when he was so capably kindling something inside her besides desire. In dry clothes, including yet another Build Me Up! T-shirt, he sprawled on a chair pulled up to the farmhouse table in her dining room, looking as if he had no memory of the steamy kiss they’d shared an hour before on the streets of Edenville.
That he could dismiss that—dismiss her—so easily heated her temper and totally turned her off. One moment they’d been pressed as close as label to glass, and the next he’d pushed her away, to grab her wrist and tow her in the direction of the town square. “Your sisters are looking for you. We all have a meeting to get to.”
This meeting. She hadn’t appreciated the reminder then, and she didn’t appreciate the reality of it now. Liam and Seth were seated at the table, too, as well as Giuliana and Stevie. Everyone but Penn was looking at her with a peculiar light in their eyes.
A chill washed over her. This was not good.
“Sit down, Allie,” her oldest sister said, nudging out the chair beside hers.
“We need beverages,” she countered, scurrying toward the built-in buffet at the back of the room. She pulled wine-glasses from an upper cabinet. Three stems in each hand, she walked back to the table, her shaky nerves causing the glass bowls to click against each other like chattering teeth.
Penn shot up and grabbed the glasses from her, his warm fingers brushing over her cold ones. Back in his seat, he played Wild West saloonkeeper and passed the goblets by sliding them along the polished table.
“Pinot noir,” Alessandra decided aloud. She drew a couple of bottles from the wine rack on the buffet. “Russian River Valley.” That particular wine-growing region in nearby Sonoma County was known for producing the light-bodied red with its subtle fruity-spicy taste.
When the others remained silent, her nerves jumped again, and she fumbled with the wine opener. Penn rose once more. “I’ve got that,” he said. She watched him remove the corks and set the bottles on the table.
Next, he steered her toward the free chair beside his. Resisting occurred to her, but she decided his seat choice was safer than the one next to Giuliana. The serious expression on her sister’s face was not reassuring. It caused her to reach for the nearest bottle the minute she settled. Wine glugged into her glass and then she tossed back a mouthful.
Penn shifted closer as he reached for the pinot himself. “Wow, little nun, you’re in a rush for all kinds of . . . rushes.” His voice was soft.
Her face burned. Damn the man for reminding her of how quickly she’d reacted to him in her office. Sending him a barbed look, she took another swallow of wine.
He laughed, the rumble rolling down her back and stretching her already-taut nerves. Just like that, the stupid, silly craving for him was back. Damn the man. She put her glass very carefully on the table, and just as carefully didn’t look at him again, ignoring his second laugh.
When everyone else had wine in their glasses, Seth cleared his throat, causing Alessandra to brace herself. When the lawyer was going to take the floor, it couldn’t be good news. “I’ve taken a thorough look at Tanti Baci’s books,” he said.
“We already know there’s problems, mostly due to the outlay for the caves four years ago,” Alessandra put in, desperate to get this part over with. “But the new plans—”
“I’ve taken a thorough look at those, too, Allie.” Seth hesitated.
She stared back at him. Another handsome Bennett, but at the momen
t he didn’t have the smooth assurance that epitomized Penn. This man wasn’t happy about whatever he had to say, and that was enough to put an ache in her throat and the sting of tears in her eyes.
“Shit,” Seth muttered, then lifted his wine and took a long drink. “Can’t I just go find some puppies to kick, people?”
Penn slammed down his own glass, drawing startled looks from around the table. “For God’s sake! Look, Alessandra’s not fragile and she’s not a child. Take the gloves off and treat her like a grown woman.”
Alessandra glared at him, incipient tears evaporating. “You look, Mr. Hard-Ass. Not everyone has your lack of consideration.”
“Oh, come now, little nun. You know that I can be quite considerate in the right setting . . . say, in an office?”
That cemented it. She really did detest the man. While she felt awkward and . . . okay, aroused . . . in his company, he appeared unperturbed. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right and she was going to prove somehow, some way, that she could be just as unflappable as him.
But this meeting came first. She directed her attention to the other end of the table. “What is it, Seth?” she demanded. “What is it you’re trying to say?”
He hesitated again.
“Go ahead,” she urged.
“I can’t see this wedding business saving the day,” Seth answered bluntly.
Her breath caught, but she didn’t let that stop her from arguing. “It’s not meant to be the sole means of digging us out of the hole. The intent is to get our cash flow up, to renew interest in our wedding wine, and to convince the bank to extend our line of credit in the fall . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed Giuliana was shaking her head.
“We won’t achieve that with just a few weddings between now and harvest,” her oldest sister said. “And I talked to the Latisse twins tonight. They’ve decided to do their double wedding in Maui instead of at Tanti Baci.”
Alessandra drooped in her chair. “I was sure they would decide to book with us.” The defection meant they’d lost a double site fee in one fell swoop.
With a shrug, Giuliana drew her wineglass closer. “They never had any taste. They’ve decided to dress as sea sirens and get married in the surf in Maui.”
They all took a moment to contemplate that, then Penn glanced at Liam. “Which means an interesting wedding night, don’t you think? I’ve always wondered how you make it with a mermaid. Think about it . . . the tail’s in the way of the good stuff.”
Liam, usually so somber, released a bark of sudden laughter. “Jesus, Penn.”
The other man’s infectious grin blinked on. He brought his wineglass to his mouth again. “Just sayin’.”
His “just sayin’ ” seemed to release the strain at the table. For a few minutes everyone enjoyed their wine and debated whether the “sea siren” theme also meant the tone-deaf Larisse twins were going to sing. Even Liam and Giuliana exchanged a few nonbarbed remarks.
As the warm glow of the wine slid into her belly, Alessandra relaxed. Hope was still alive.
Until Liam turned to her. The oldest of them all, he was the one whose opinion would hold the most sway with the rest. She braced again, unable to blame her dry mouth on the pinot’s tannin.
“Allie,” he said, his voice kind, “in a nutshell, we don’t think that your talk of legends and love stories can garner enough attention and enough bookings to achieve what the winery needs to stay afloat.”
Her hand tightened on the stem of her glass. “Again, I don’t expect it to—”
Under the table, a warm palm clamped her thigh. She jumped, the ruby liquid in her glass rising like a tsunami. Sexual heat shot over her skin.
“I think you’re not giving Alessandra enough credit,” Penn said. “I’ve seen her at work, sharing her vision of what a Tanti Baci wedding can offer.”
Stevie made a face. “I don’t know, Penn.”
“But I know,” he answered. “This is what I do, create an image, make it appealing, make people believe.”
Alessandra twitched again as Penn’s words sank in. He was siding with her! Pleading her case!
“And it’s all the more compelling,” he added, his hand stroking her leg beneath the table, “because Alessandra herself believes. I watched her nail down a booking simply by sharing her faith in happy endings.”
Well, she’d actually thought it was the power of his sex appeal that had done that, but she kept it to herself. Through the shield of her eyelashes, she watched the expressions of the five others gathered around the table. From the oldest Bennett to Stevie, they all—including Penn—gazed on her like she was a sweet six-year-old who still believed in Santa. But she’d hang her stocking every Christmas Eve if it meant they’d support her plan and continue to give Tanti Baci the chance of recovery.
Then Liam cut his eyes away. “Allie . . .”
Her belly quivered. His opinion was the one that mattered most. Unless . . . She lifted her chin, turning her face toward Giuliana. Maybe her sister’s feud with Big Brother Bennett would work here. In most instances, if Liam said “black,” Giuliana would snap “white.”
Except Jules didn’t appear to be paying attention to Liam or anything else right now. Her gaze was absently trained on the wine in her glass, as if she was already back in L.A., the family land gone forever.
“No,” Alessandra whispered, her body stiffening.
Penn caressed her again, but if it was meant to be soothing, she was too sensitized to his touch. She shivered and detested herself for it. “No,” she said again, this time looking at him. Her hand reached for his, but he caught her fingers before she could move his away.
His touch firm, he entwined their fingers and rested them on her thigh. “I have an idea. I think it will capitalize on everything Alessandra has established so far—and maybe take it to the next level. Do you know the new cable show Wedding Fever? It’s getting a lot of buzz.”
Five minutes later, Alessandra was as giddy as if she’d swilled both bottles of pinot all by herself. A debut-season sensation, each episode of Wedding Fever followed the real-life nuptials of one or two couples.
“A good friend is a producer of the show,” Penn said. “Someone who used to work on Build Me Up. I know they insert short pieces featuring a new trend or exotic wedding locale each week. If I call in a favor, I think we can get something on Tanti Baci slipped into an upcoming episode.”
Exhilarated by the possibility, her fingers squeezed Penn’s. “Do you . . . do you really believe you could make that happen?”
“As much as you believe in forever and ever, amen,” he promised.
With hope surging again, she looked back at the others. Seth took the lead once more, his gaze shifting to each face. Finally, he caught Alessandra’s eye, and nodded. “Okay. We’ll give it some more time.” Then he let out a long breath of air and grinned. “Whew, I feel like that time I dropped the Christmas angel from the top of the ladder, only to find out it bounced instead of broke.”
Christmas Angel, Nun of Napa, she didn’t care what anyone called her at the moment. Grinning too, she jumped from her seat to dole out a round of hugs: Stevie, Giuliana, Liam, Seth . . . Penn.
Who copped a feel of her bottom.
Even that couldn’t dim her mood.
“Who’s up for more wine?” she asked. And though her sisters and Liam and Seth begged off, she was still smiling as she showed everyone to the door and closed it behind them.
That’s when she realized Penn hadn’t headed out like everyone else. With an unpleasant bump, she fell from cloud nine back to planet earth. What did he want now?
Her shoulders against the door, she eyed him with sudden distrust. A person had to have doubts about a man who could kiss so hot and then turn so cool.
“What?” she asked. “You were just stringing me along, is that it? Getting my hopes up. You don’t know anyone at Wedding Fever. You can’t get Tanti Baci on that show.”
He blinked. “What? I wouldn’t do
that. Christ, Alessandra. As a matter of fact, I already called my buddy earlier in the week and he’s trying to free up a few days ASAP.”
Then he shook his head. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
Egotistical came to mind. Too beautiful for his own good. A playboy, a player, someone who’d stood her up then sexed her good. But he seemed to be serious now. Sincere. He really thought he could get Tanti Baci some air time.
But that didn’t make sense—not for the so-casual man she was certain had no conscience. And yet he was the one who had . . . who had . . .
Who had actually just given her—and Tanti Baci—a second chance—a real chance. She believed that now. And he’d done it for no other reason she could fathom except that he was—
Her hands came up to cover her mouth. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed, her eyes rounding in surprise. “Penn Bennett, you fraud.”
No wonder she never seemed to keep hold of her dislike for him. Because despite the front he put up, the truth was . . . “You’re nice. I just figured out that you’re a really nice man.”
“Nice?” Penn echoed. The word irritated him, especially the way the pretty little nun was looking when she said it. In a flippy hot pink skirt and a pale pink sleeveless top, she looked like she should be on her way to ballet lessons. That outfit and that word—nice!—made him want to put her on the back of the Harley he’d left garaged in L.A. He’d drive her to a biker bar he knew, where he’d make her quake by threatening to share her with his buddies in the motorcycle gang. Then she’d know what kind of man he was.
“Yep,” she said, nodding as if her diagnosis was confirmed. “Nice.”
It sounded like a taunt coming from her puffy, prim little doll-mouth. The baby bride didn’t understand who the hell she was teasing. “Stop.”
“Ni-ice,” she sang.
No, nice was some other man. Nice was Saint Tommy, the man Alessandra pined for, and the idea of her ghostly groom only made Penn more surly. “Take it back,” he ordered.
“Or what?” With one hand on her hip, she was taunting for real now, as if she didn’t care that she was toying with fire.
Crush on You Page 13
