Keep reading for a preview of the next book in the Three Kisses series from Christie Ridgway
Then He Kissed Me
Coming January 2011 from Berkley Sensation!
Leaning against the driver’s door of a black stretch Cadillac, Stephania Baci crossed her arms over her pin-tucked white shirt and practiced pleading her case to a stern-faced judge wearing robes as dark as her own jacket and tailored trousers. “Put yourself in my shoes,” she murmured, glancing down at her stiletto-heeled half-boots, ego-boosters bought for just this occasion. “Who wouldn’t commit a crime when faced with chauffeuring an ex and his new fiancée on New Year’s Eve?”
Forty feet away, the double doors to the Valley Ridge Resort opened. Even as her heart took an elevator-plunge, she shot up straight from her slouch. It wouldn’t do for her posture to telegraph her low mood. The calm mask she’d donned tonight along with her limo driver’s uniform was supposed to camouflage messy emotions—and hopefully smother any stray compulsion to carry out a high crime or misdemeanor.
A lone figure swept onto the portico, his long black overcoat swirling around his calves as he moved into a shadowy corner. Though her nerves were still jitterbugging, this wasn’t the male half of the pair she was contracted to drive this evening. The tall man whose outline she could barely make out was wholly unfamiliar.
She ducked her head and studied him through the screen of her lashes, for some inexplicable reason intrigued. But the broad-shouldered silhouette didn’t surrender any secrets. When a breeze kicked up, the only new information she established was the length of his hair: Long enough to be ruffled.
Nothing to pique her interest. No excuse for her still-chattering pulse, unless it was that faint note of expensive cologne that reached her on the next gust of air.
Stevie and rich men didn’t mix with success.
The resort’s doors opened once more, pulling her attention away from the stranger. Again, it was not the couple she was anticipating that strolled onto the covered porch. As this pair came closer, Stevie responded with an automatic smile.
“Rex and Janice!” Contemporaries of her late father’s, she’d known the husband and wife all her life. “Happy New Year.”
Rex beamed. “Back at you, Stevie. I take it the boss has to work the New Year’s shift tonight?”
“Right.” She didn’t add that with the holidays nearly over and winter being the wine country’s off season, there was little work for herself or her part-time, as-needed-only employees of Napa Princess Limousine. The two would guess as much. Their town of Edenville, in northern Napa Valley, was populated by just over six thousand friendly—read: nosy—souls.
“I heard about your sister,” Janice said next, as if to prove Stevie’s last thought. “Allie broke her foot?”
“This morning. She had surgery this afternoon.” Stevie glanced over at the shadow in the corner, wondering if she imagined his attentiveness to their conversation. “Penn’s keeping her in Malibu for the next few weeks. She’ll be close to the surgeon and, unlike the Baci farmhouse at the winery, their beach place is a single story.”
Rex and Janice made sympathetic noises. “That means you and Giuliana will have to pick up the slack, I suppose. Besides her PR duties, doesn’t Allie handle all the details for the Tanti Baci weddings?”
“Mmm-hmm.” The comment barely registered as Stevie couldn’t shake the odd sense that Mystery Man continued to focus on them. The frowning glance she shot his phantomlike presence could neither confirm nor deny the feeling—yet it corroborated that odd awareness she had of him. She could swear she felt the intent of his return gaze, and the back of her neck prickled as a fight-or-flight spike of adrenaline kicked in.
The consequence of too much vampire fiction, she thought, suppressing the urge to cross herself as she waved Rex and Janice on their way. Not that she really believed in such dark creatures. No man could pierce one of Stevie Baci’s veins and suck her blood.
The doors to the resort opened again, and the two now walking through made that statement fact. It was Emerson Platt and the woman who wore his ring on her finger. Given how he’d broken off his two-year relationship with Stevie—the why and the words that he’d used to do so—she should have been mortally wounded. Instead, she was still breathing, wasn’t she? Her heart still beat.
She glanced toward the portico’s corner again. It was pumping weirdly hard, as a matter of fact.
“Stevie.” In a stylish tuxedo, the golden child of U.S. Senator Lois Platt moved down the portico steps, his fiancée’s hand clasped in his. “You’re already here.”
“Can’t keep the customer waiting,” she replied, switching her focus to a spot just left of Emerson’s elbow. As tempting as some misdeed tonight might be, she knew that maintaining an unruffled façade was in her own best interest.
Why give her ex the satisfaction of knowing he’d dented Stevie’s psyche and battered her self-esteem? To that end, she’d created a mental picture of the bride-to-be, complete with wart on her nose, receding chin, and sausagelike cankles. Just in case her image didn’t actually match the original, she’d decided against even passing her gaze over the other woman.
Spinning on her dominatrix boot heels, Stevie reached for the passenger door handle. It was cold under her fingers. Locked.
An anxious heat rose on her neck as she drew the remote from her pocket. “Just a moment,” she murmured, fumbling with the buttons.
Bleeps. Clicks. Double bleeps. The lock stayed stubbornly seated.
The burn on her face intensified. She felt eyes on her: Emerson’s, the warted bride’s, and especially those of Mystery Man, which only made her fingers more clumsy. “In a second,” she said, her voice tight, “I’ll have you out of the cold.”
She didn’t need to see Emerson to hear the tender concern that entered his voice. “It is really cold,” he said. “Roxanne, sweetheart, will you get too chilled on a winery crawl tonight?”
When he’d been with Stevie, icy temperatures would have had him exhorting her to man up and deal. But with Roxanne . . . what? Was he afraid his darling’s endearing wart would freeze and fall off?
Emerson’s shoes scraped on the pavement. “Did you say something, Stevie?”
Oh, God. Had she said that out loud? Her head swung around in order to deny the charge—and only at the last second did she remember her vow not to look upon the other woman. She turned away from the glimpse of silver-spangled skirt and breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the telltale snap of the limo’s locks releasing.
With a professional flourish, she opened the door, making a last-minute inspection of the interior. Low lights, miles of leather cushions, two miniature crystal bud vases holding tiny white roses, a bottle chilling in a bucket. Harry Connick, Jr., crooned through the speakers.
Emerson and Roxanne would have their romantic New Year’s Eve.
And Stevie, once seated behind the wheel with the privacy screen secure, would have her dignity intact and her cool façade unthreatened. After tonight, she’d make sure there was no reason that their path and hers ever crossed again.
“Go ahead,” she urged the couple with a gesture. “Please get in.”
A pair of glittery silver pumps paused beside her black boots. A light touch brushed the sleeve of her coat.
“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” the other woman said.
Stevie stared at the diamond flashing on the slender hand touching her arm but didn’t look up as Emerson cleared his throat. “That’s right,” he said. “Stevie—Stephania Baci, this is . . . uh, Roxanne.”
“Princess Roxanne,” Stevie corrected. Princess Roxanne Karina Marie Parini of Ardenia, a constitutional monarchy that rubbed shoulders—geographically speaking—with its cousin in style and language, Luxembourg. Stevie’s ex hadn’t dropped her for some generic other woman, but instead for European royalty—of a microstate, yes, but European royalty all the same.
She’d better have a wart.
Startled, Stevie forgot her promise and looked up into a pretty face surrounded by honey-gold hair. “Huh?”
“On the wedding.”
“Huh?” Stevie said again. “What . . . what are you talking about?”
“Giuliana called us this afternoon,” Emerson explained, in that hearty tone she remembered him using for breaking dates and conveying other bad news. “She wanted to be the first to tell us about Allie.”
“She had surgery,” Stevie said, still puzzled.
“Yes.” More Mr. Hearty. “And Jules assured us that our wedding at the Tanti Baci winery—your family winery—at the end of the month will not be affected.”
“Surely not,” Stevie agreed. Six months ago, at Allie’s instigation, they’d started offering the original founders’ cottage as a venue for couples to exchange their vows. They’d been desperate for any revenue stream to keep the ailing family business afloat—still were, as a matter of fact—and the nuptials had taken off in a modest manner thanks to her younger sister’s hard work and some well-timed TV promotion. “Your day will go as planned, I guarantee it.”
“Exactly what Giuliana said.” Emerson nodded. “Roxanne and I are sure you’ll step in and do a fine job as our event coordinator.”
“What?” Stevie’s eyes widened. Event coordinator? Of course she knew that Allie had assumed more control over details of the ceremonies and receptions as time went on, but . . .
A new male voice entered the discussion. “We all look forward to working with you.”
Stevie’s gaze jerked to the man who’d come to stand behind the princess. It was her pseudo-vampire, her Mystery Man, the shadow from the corner of the portico. In the light he held no more secrets. Now she saw him as thirtysomething and dark-haired with handsome, chiseled features. Under his overcoat—cashmere?—he wore a tuxedo three times more elegant than Emerson’s. He gazed on her with an attitude that struck her instantly as ten times more entitled.
There was no explaining it; no single precedent or simple reason for some man to, in an instant, make her feel as exposed as a raw nerve, but there it was. Everything about him rubbed her the wrong way, including his smile, set so clearly on charm.
Her hackles rose. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.
A shallow dimple scored one lean cheek. “Definitely going to be a fun time,” he murmured.
Underneath the starched cotton and black wool of her own clothes, a heat rash prickled her skin. “What’s your name?” she asked again.
“Jack.”
Still disliking the arrogant, amused gleam in his eyes, she raised a brow. “LaLanne? O’Lantern? In-the-Box?”
He had a husky laugh.
As it feathered down her spine, Stevie decided to ignore him and address the more salient issue. Turning back to Emerson, she attempted to force out the question. “Let’s get this straight. Are you . . .” But she couldn’t say it. She could barely think it. Hadn’t she just promised herself that after tonight she’d have nothing whatsoever to do with her ex again?
Curling one hand into a fist, she tried once more for clarity. “Are you certain that Jules told you that I . . . that I . . .”
“Yes.” It wasn’t Emerson who answered. The handsome stranger was looking at her again with those knowing, smiling eyes. “Your sister promised that it’s you who’ll handle each and every fine point of the upcoming Parini-Platt nuptials.”
With her clients inside their first stop of the evening, the Von Stroman winery, Stevie closed her eyes against the glare of the icicle lights dripping from its Alpine- inspired eaves. The back of her head bumped the cushioned rest and she tried visualizing herself removing the tension that clung to her spine like ivy climbing a trellis. She would never get coiled up like this again, she vowed.
New Year’s Resolution #1: Stay away from men. Because if she’d avoided the species from the very beginning—
The passenger door popped open. Her nervous heart jolted, and she slapped a palm over it as she swiveled right. A body dropped into the seat beside hers.
“Surprise!” Her friend Mari Friday grinned at her, smile the same white as the uniform shirt she wore, a twin to Stevie’s. “I’m parked right behind you.”
A glance back confirmed a second limo had pulled up to her rear bumper. Mari moonlighted with Stevie’s friendly competitor, Golden West Limousine, on occasion. “You scared me! I almost jumped out of my clothes.”
“Hah. I’d like to witness Emerson’s reaction to that.”
Stevie slid a look toward the winery entrance. “You saw him?”
“Oh, yeah. And I demand a simple answer to a simple question. Why the hell do you have your unworthy ex and his princess bride in your backseat?”
Stevie hesitated.
It caused her friend to roll her eyes. “I get it. You don’t want him to know he broke your heart.”
“He didn’t break my heart!” Stevie denied. Too loudly? “Look, Mari, if he wasn’t embarrassed to book my services, how could I possibly refuse to provide them?”
“By saying, ‘You’re a smarmy two-timer and I wouldn’t chauffeur your lying ass on a bet’?” the other woman suggested.
Except Emerson hadn’t lied. He’d been honest—brutally—about why he’d broken it off with Stevie. The two-timing part wasn’t true either. He’d dumped her eight months before and weeks had gone by before he’d been spotted in the area wrapped around another woman. It had taken even more time for word to filter back to her that Emerson’s new honey had a “her highness” attached to her name.
The people of Edenville had wanted to protect her. They had a habit of that when it came to the Baci sisters, and it only made the situation more humiliating. By taking the job tonight she figured she’d shut down the pity party the whole town had kept going in her honor.
She was proving to them she didn’t need it. That nobody, no how, could upset Stephania Baci’s equilibrium. She was the brash Baci sister. The tomboy her mother had despaired about.
Stevie, where’s your hair ribbon?
Is that grease on your dress?
Boys want a girl who acts like a lady.
“So who’s the other guy?”
Once again, Mari gave Stevie a jolt. “Uh . . . other guy?”
“Tall, dark, and dashing?” her friend said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
She’d noticed. From the moment he’d stepped out of the resort. But tall, dark, and dashing didn’t make up for rich, self-important, and rude. “He’s haughty.”
“I’ll say,” Mari agreed. “My sister gave me a Hottie-of-the-Month calendar for Christmas and I bet he’s in there.”
Stevie frowned. “Haughty, not hottie.”
“That’s what I said.”
“I . . .” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
“Just tell me his name,” Mari urged. “I’ll find out his phone number myself.”
Another frown dug between Stevie’s brows. Her friend had a headful of blond spiral curls and a black book that rivaled any Hollywood bachelor’s. But it was Stevie who had spied tall, dark, and dashing first, and didn’t that give her . . .
No. Hottie, true. But the haughty got him permanently expunged from her own Bachelor Book, if she’d actually had one. And not to forget, there was that very recent resolution she’d just made. Men are off-limits.
“I think he’s with the princess,” Stevie said to her friend. When she’d told her clients they had to get moving or miss their tasting appointments, he’d climbed into the back with Emerson and his fiancée. “His name’s Jack.”
Mari gasped. “Jack! Of course! ‘Jack’ is Prince Jacques Christian Wilhelm Parini. I read about him in one of those magazines at the hairdresser’s—you know, the pulpy ones with papar
azzi pics of movie premieres and Euro trash boogeying down in flashy discotheques. He’s some kind of notorious playboy and the Princess Bride’s big brother.”
That made sense. He struck Stevie as a royal pain in the ass because he was a royal pain in the ass. She loved being right.
Though she should have made the Jacques-Jack connection on her own. Blame it on her ex-anxiety. She knew of the man, not from a magazine, but because he was college friends with the Bennett brothers, childhood neighbors and not-so-silent partners in the Tanti Baci winery. Liam and Seth, she recalled, knew Jack through the University of California Davis Viticulture and Enology program and had mentioned during one of their regular poker nights that their old buddy was coming for a visit.
“It’s a small world of wines,” Stevie murmured.
“Yeah, and—” Mari’s curls swung in an arc as her attention shifted to the side window. “Oops, gotta go. My peeps are coming out. Happy New Year!”
She was gone in a blast of chilled air, leaving Stevie alone once again. Mari wasn’t soothing company, but she missed her anyway, because now there was nothing else to think about besides that little threat she’d been putting off contemplating.
Your sister promised that it’s you who’ll handle each and every fine point of the upcoming Parini-Platt nuptials.
Closing her eyes, she groaned. Had Giuliana really made that guarantee? Could she actually expect Stevie to honor it?
The passenger door clicked open a second time. Stevie, eyes still shut, blessed her buddy and the distraction she’d prove to be. “Mari. Thank God, you’re back. I—”
Her throat closed as heat prickles took another dash across her flesh and that weird hyperawareness she’d experienced at the resort tightened her belly. Opening her eyes, she saw a long male body fold onto the seat beside her. “Jack,” she said.
Crush on You Page 27
