Feels Like Home

by Beth Andrews

  Yvonne smiled thinly. “Oh, I can only imagine how helpful MaryAnn was.”

  Now that he thought about it, the other woman had sounded all too gleeful about filling him in on the details of how Yvonne and the groom had been discovered in the dressing room of the church, while the unsuspecting bride had been two doors down.

  “What happened at that wedding, Yvonne?”

  She crossed her arms. “I found myself trapped in a very small space with a very drunk groom who thought the best way to handle his unhappiness about marrying his very pregnant fiancée would be to make a pass at me. Just as I was about to lift my knee, and hopefully, put to rest any worry of him impregnating anyone ever again, the bride walked in.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Aidan tossed the loppers onto the ground. “Did he hurt you?” He snatched her wrist and tugged her toward him. “Did he?”

  “He embarrassed me. He lied about me and what was going on, but thankfully, one of the caterers stepped forward. Seemed he’d cornered her in the kitchen. But it wasn’t until the maid of honor admitted he’d done the same to her at the rehearsal dinner that the bride realized her Prince Charming was anything but.” She tugged, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “No. He didn’t hurt me.”

  Aidan pressed his lips together.

  She was right. He was a liar.

  “I apologize,” he said with difficulty, his thumb lightly rubbing over her racing pulse before he dropped her hand.

  Being this close to her was messing with his mind. Making his body hard. But that was only because she was so beautiful, her features perfect except for the pencil-eraser-size chicken pox scar high up on her left cheek.

  It had always been one of his favorite things.

  And he couldn’t stop himself from tracing his fingertip over it. She stiffened. Her eyes widened. She shouldn’t be this…warm, he thought irritably. Or soft.

  He trailed his fingers down her cheek. Ran his knuckles across the underside of her jaw. The wind blew that loose hair across his hand.

  He couldn’t look away from the sight of his dark skin against her pale complexion. His rough hand against the delicate line of her throat.

  “Don’t,” she breathed.

  He raised his eyes. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t kiss me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  YVONNE’S PULSE DRUMMED in her ears. She couldn’t move. Aidan stepped closer and it took all she had not to yield to him. His warmth beckoned her to lean in. To trail her hands over his shoulders, his arms, to see if they were as solid as she remembered.

  She kept her arms straight at her sides, her palms pressed against her outer thighs.

  But she couldn’t look away from him. Didn’t push past him or move to the side or take the step or two back she needed in order to be able to breathe again.

  He bent his head and she stiffened, jerking her own away. He eased back but didn’t let go. Oh, no. He slid his hand around to the nape of her neck, his grip firm, his fingers tense in her hair.

  “It’s not true,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said desperately, having no idea what he was talking about. All she wanted was for him to stop touching her so gently. Stop looking at her with such hunger. Stop hurting her with his lingering anger and inability to forget their past.

  His refusal to forgive her.

  “I don’t hate you. I wanted to, tried to. This situation would be easier if I did.” His eyes on hers, he lowered his head again slowly, so slowly she had plenty of time to evade. She didn’t move. “I can’t,” he repeated, his breath washing across her lips before his mouth took hers.

  She tried to keep her eyes open, her thoughts focused. But he tasted so good, so male and familiar, and he kissed her with an intensity, a passion, that bordered on punishing. Her eyes drifted shut, her fingers curled, her nails scraping her skin through the thin material of her pants.

  And, God help her, she kissed him back.

  His fingers tightened on her scalp as his tongue swept between her lips to rasp against hers. It was as if she’d been thrust back in time, the years blurring so that she wasn’t sure what was real and what was memory.

  She didn’t want to be sucked into what had been. She couldn’t regret leaving him.

  Tearing her mouth from his, she pressed against the solid planes of his chest only to snatch her hands back when she felt the strong, steady beat of his heart.

  “I’d appreciate…” Because she sounded like a cartoon chipmunk, she stopped and cleared her throat. “I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t touch me.”

  Don’t touch me. Don’t kiss me. Don’t make me remember how things used to be between us.

  One side of his mouth quirked. “Anything you say, princess. Anything you want. Isn’t that how it goes?”

  She bristled. “I have every right to decide whose hands I want on me.”

  “Absolutely. But let me give you some advice,” he said with an all too cocky grin on his all too handsome face. “If you don’t want my hands on you—” he lowered his voice as if imparting a secret “—don’t kiss me like you do.” Then he whistled, said, “Come on, girl,” to his damn dog and walked away.

  Which was a good thing, since if he’d stayed, she might have slapped him.

  She walked back to her car with as much dignity as she could muster. It wasn’t until she was sure he wasn’t going to look back that she kicked the ground.

  Resulting in a scuff mark on her shoe and a sore toe.

  And they were both Aidan’s fault.

  Why had he told his brothers about what had happened with Chad Webster? Now she had to somehow hold her head up and do her job, knowing that the family she’d once so desperately wanted to be a part of were looking down on her.

  Unless Aidan told them the truth.

  That was doubtful. She wasn’t even sure he believed her version of events—no matter that they were the truth.

  And now she had to face the fact that she wasn’t as over Aidan as she’d tried to convince herself all these years.

  As the sound of an engine reached her, she turned to see a white truck barreling down the road. A minute later, Connie pulled into the parking lot—and headed straight toward Yvonne. Or at least, the parking spot where she stood.

  She pressed her back against her car, her heart racing as the truck slammed to a stop. The passenger side door opened and Connie leaned over the bucket seat. “Well?”

  Exhaust blew into Yvonne’s face. She coughed. “Well what?”

  “Are you getting in or not?”

  “That depends on whether you plan to actually work with me for the promised hour. Or if you’re going to leave my lifeless body in the woods where it’ll never be found.”

  Connie’s dark blue eyes lit with humor, but her mouth remained serious. “I didn’t realize I had a choice. Can I get back to you on that? At least until after I figure out a way to off you without getting any blood on the truck seat. It was just reupholstered.”

  Yvonne glanced at the ugly brown covering. “Blood may actually be an improvement.”

  “Look, if the truck’s not good enough to haul your fancy ass around, fine. But I’m going to count to ten and then I’m leaving, whether you’re in this truck or not.”

  Yvonne laughed. “I hardly think that’s—”

  “One,” Connie said. “Two.”

  Yvonne yanked open the door to the backseat of her Lexus, but then hesitated. What should she take? Connie had said something at lunch about pruning, so obviously they were going into the vineyard.

  “Three,” Connie said. “Four. Six.” Yvonne whirled around to glare at her, and she grinned. “Just seeing if you were paying attention.”

  Okay, no laptop. With her knee on the backseat, Yvonne reached up front for her keys and sunglasses, tossed them into her purse and backed out of the car. By the time she’d shut her door and climbed into the truck, Connie had reached nine.

  “Buckle up,” she said, then shifted into reverse
and peeled out of the parking lot before Yvonne had clicked her belt into place. “Your hour starts now, by the way.”

  She didn’t slow as they reached the road, but took a hard left that pressed Yvonne up against the door. “I may not live that long,” she muttered as they turned off the pavement onto a wide, bumpy dirt road between two rows of brown vines. In case she did survive, she dug her BlackBerry out. “Tell me, what all have you—and by you, I mean the Diamond Dust, of course—done as far as event hosting?”

  “We—and by we, I mean us—decided to start offering to host events here.”

  They passed Aidan and Lily, and Yvonne’s heart stopped. Thankfully, Connie didn’t offer him a ride.

  When her heart resumed its normal pace, Yvonne asked, “That’s all?”

  “Yep.”

  She bit back her frustration. “So you haven’t done…anything? Made a list of possible preferred vendors? Scheduled cleanup at the carriage house or looked into any permits or special licenses you may need?”

  “No to all of the above. And before you ask any more questions, let me just make it clear that this idea was given the green light only four days ago. One day ago we learned that our schedule for the launch of this venture would be in six weeks.”

  “Okay.” Yvonne cleared her throat and studied her phone’s screen. “That’s okay. Everything will work out fine.” If she repeated it often enough, it was sure to come true, right? “It’s…disconcerting…all the work to be done.”

  She pulled her shoulders back. It’s not the end of the world, she assured herself. She didn’t have much time or—she glanced at Connie—much help to do all the work she’d have to do to make the Diamond Dust the best wedding site in the state. But she’d manage. And her success would be all that much sweeter because it happened here.

  Connie pulled to a stop in a field at the end of the rows. There was another white company truck, a black Jeep with a soft top and two four-wheeled, all-terrain vehicles. Without a word, she opened her door and jumped to the ground before reaching back for a faded blue ball cap that was so dusty, Yvonne grimaced when the other woman put it on.

  Having no other choice, Yvonne climbed down from the truck, her heels sinking into the damp earth. Through the tangled branches, she spied people working a few rows away. The quiet was punctuated with an occasional laugh or shout.

  At the back of the truck, Connie reached into the bed for a tool exactly like Aidan had carried—it looked like supersize pruning shears—a pair of regular pruners and a hacksaw. She laid them on the open tailgate.

  “Here,” she said, holding out a pair of worn sneakers.

  Yvonne didn’t move. “What are those?”

  Connie rolled her eyes. “Do you always have to use that prissy tone? Can’t you speak like a normal person?”

  “I’m so sorry.” Yvonne made her accent heavier, her voice prissier. “But this happens to be the only tone I have.”

  “Lucky for me I get to listen to it, then.” She shook the shoes. Specks of mud fell from the soles. “They’re sneakers. Trust me, you’re going to want to put them on. Unless you don’t mind getting mud on those…Choo Choos or whatever they are.”

  “Actually,” she said, admiring one gorgeous pump, “they’re Valentino.”

  “Whoop-de-do.” Connie circled a finger in the air.

  A bubble of laughter rose in Yvonne’s throat. She swallowed it back as she took the proffered sneakers. They were…well…she assumed at one time they’d been white. “Thank you.”

  Quickly changing shoes, she set her heels in the back of the truck. “And…thank you.” She forced out the words. “For what you said to Aidan back at the house.”

  When she’d called him a prick.

  “Oh, hold on, now. Don’t get the wrong idea about that.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Connie crossed her arms. “The idea might be that I was sticking up for you or something. Because that’s not what that was about. Just because I called him out on being a jerk didn’t mean I was doing it for you. I don’t even like you.”

  That admission, so heartfelt, made Yvonne want to smile. “I’m shocked. Truly. You hide your antagonism so well.”

  “I’m not interested in hiding anything,” Connie muttered as she picked up the tools. But Yvonne could’ve sworn she saw the other woman’s lips twitch. “I don’t like you and you don’t like me. I see no reason to pretend otherwise. And let me tell you another thing—”

  “As if I have a choice,” Yvonne murmured.

  “I’ll work with you, but I won’t stand by and let you hurt Aidan. Not again.”

  Yvonne could only stare as Connie flounced away.

  Unable to follow, needing to get her emotions under control, she paced the length of the truck, her feet sliding inside the shoes, which were too big. She’d hurt Aidan? Was that honestly what people thought? That her leaving had somehow…what? Crushed him?

  More like bruised his ego and his pride.

  Because when she’d finally gathered the courage to confront him, to tell him she was leaving, he certainly hadn’t acted hurt. More like angry. He’d just stared at her with those cool eyes of his and asked if she was sure leaving was really what she wanted.

  When she’d assured him it was, he’d stepped aside and watched her leave.

  She’d never regretted it.

  And now she was supposed to feel guilty? She didn’t believe for one second that her leaving had caused him pain. But she’d suffered, coming to that decision to leave. Had faced doubts during their marriage, spent sleepless nights trying to figure out how to fix what was broken between them. In the end, her only recourse had been to admit they’d made a mistake—that they as a couple were a mistake.

  No, walking away from him hadn’t been easy.

  But it had given her freedom.

  THOUGH IT’D BEEN almost half an hour since Aidan had kissed Yvonne, his body was still tense, his frustration threatening to boil over. He could still feel her mouth against his, still taste her surprise, her reaction to him. How her lips had softened and warmed under his, whisking him back in time to when he’d had every right to kiss her, to touch her. When she’d wanted him to.

  I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t touch me.

  He viciously snipped off an old spur from the arm of a vine that had no one-year-old wood. Each of the winery’s full-time staff had taken a row, along with one of the seasonal workers they’d brought on a few days ago. Aidan had chosen the row farthest from Connie, figuring he could get through an hour’s worth of work even if Yvonne was around. But now he wasn’t so sure.

  Not when she was still there, typing notes into her phone as Connie continued to prune her vines. Every once in a while Connie would stop to help the new kid, a twenty-year-old from Danville who’d never worked in a vineyard before. She’d also, Aidan had noticed, had to prod the kid more than a few times to stop staring at Yvonne and get back to work.

  Wherever Yvonne went, she caused men to act like fools.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Aidan saw Matt approach. “I’ll take over here,” he told Cody, the college worker who’d been with them the past three years. “Why don’t you go help Brady? He’s two rows over.”

  Matt took the kid’s spot, pulling cut wood that had become tangled in the trellis wire, and tossing it into the middle of the row.

  “Brady need help?” Aidan asked, moving on to the next vine.

  “He’s farther behind than the rest of us but keeping a steady pace. I still think he should be on the tractor.”

  They trained their vines to a cordon with two arms extending from the main trunk. Out of those arms grew the spurs, and from those, shoots that were now a few feet long. During pruning, they went through and cut back those shoots—one-year-old pieces of wood—leaving two buds on each.

  Aidan came to a spot that had two pieces of wood. He cut the thinner one down to the arm and pruned the healthier one. “Driving the tractor’s too hard on Brady
’s knee,” he said, not pausing in his work. He’d been doing this since he was ten years old. “We’ll let him go another hour, then I’ll send him to the gift store to work inventory with Pam.”

  Brady had come a long way since being injured in Afghanistan almost a year ago, but he still wasn’t one hundred percent. He probably never would be.

  “So,” Matt said, “looks like Yvonne’s hour with Connie has been going well.”

  His cheerful tone set Aidan’s teeth on edge. “Looks that way.”

  “Wonder what they’re talking about.”

  The sun warmed him. A bead of sweat trailed down his spine. “The winery hosting events. What else would they talk about?”

  Matt tucked his pruners in his front pocket, then tied a red bandanna around his forehead. “Who knows what women discuss? That’s why I asked you.”

  “You know my favorite part about working with Cody?” Aidan asked. Matt shrugged. “He keeps his mouth shut.”

  His brother held up his hands. “I just thought you’d like company from a guy who understands what you’re going through with Mom and her penchant for sticking her nose into her kids’ lives. I’ve been there, man.”

  Aidan turned away from the pity in his eyes. “I’m handling it,” he said shortly.

  “Not very well.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he raised an eyebrow. “And you did so much better?”

  Lily ran up to them with a stick in her mouth. She dropped it at Matt’s feet. He winged it through the air and the dog gave chase. “I had more to lose than you do.”

  Right. Because Aidan had already given up his own plans, had lost his marriage, while Matt had to decide between chasing after his dreams or staying at the Diamond Dust.

  “Seems to me you wound up with the better end of the deal,” Aidan said. “As usual.”

  Matt’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You took off after high school and refused to come back just so you could hold on to your pride and some idiotic, immature grudge against Dad. And yet you still wind up with a full partnership in the winery.”