A Taste of Bliss

by Adrian R. Hale

  A Taste of Bliss

  By

  Adrian R. Hale

  A Taste of Bliss

  Copyright © 2015 Adrian R. Hale

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Kari Ayasha at Cover to Cover Designs

  http://www.covertocoverdesigns.com

  Cover photography by AzulOx Visuals

  http://www.azulox.com

  Cover models Jennifer Lynn Larsen and David McKay

  Edited by Wendy Callahan

  http://www.wendylcallahan.com

  Formatted by Polgarus Studio

  http://www.polgarusstudio.com

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recorded, or otherwise) without the prior written permission from the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  For B, now and always.

  Chapter One

  I hate early mornings.

  Particularly early Saturday mornings.

  Unfortunately, they are inevitable in my line of work. Being a hair and makeup artist, I book a lot of weddings that require my services to start early enough to accommodate pre-ceremony photos. I had to get up at the ass-crack of dark o’clock this morning. I’m here to get another group of excited girls ready for what will hopefully be the best day of at least one of their lives.

  The saving grace for ridiculous early morning jobs is enjoyment of the work you are doing. That, I have in spades.

  I pull into the parking lot of Villa Sonoma Winery thinking it’s just another pretty vineyard in Sonoma Valley. That is, until I get a chance to really check it out as I lug my huge bag of tricks into the bridal room. The French doors open onto a balcony that overlooks the rolling hills lined with grape vines. The slight mist and the early sunshine cast a dreamy spell over the property, making me fall instantly in love with the place.

  And these digs. Most bridal rooms are bare-bones, no fuss. Hell, even fancy country clubs have me set up in freaking locker rooms, for crying out loud. This is nicer than most of the houses I frequent for on-location work.

  I gasp, rushing over to the long table and mirror set up along the far wall next to the French doors. I love those big round bulbs that frame the mirror. The table is big enough even for me to spread out on. Thank you, whoever designed this place. Villa Sonoma just won me over completely with a professionally lit makeup vanity.

  It’s a makeup artist’s dream.

  As I finish setting up my kit, the doors fling open and a gaggle of bridesmaids troop in.

  “Bliss!” Sheila, my bride, shouts. “Honey, we brought coff-ee,” she singsongs, holding up her travel container. She’s obviously already hit the happy juice if she’s this amped up at eight a.m. “Come and get you some. I need your eyes fully open before you get your hands on this group. I booked the most expensive photographer in the Bay Area, and he assured me you were the best. I don’t doubt your abilities, but I’m padding my chances just to be sure.” She shimmies over to me, the blinged out “bride” on her hoodie flashing in the light.

  Sheila cracks me up. My best friend, Finch Keaton, is her photographer today. He is truly awesome, and of course he recommends my services to any bride who books him. That’s why I pay him the big bucks. Just kidding, I have no bucks to give.

  I accept the steaming cup of caffeine from Sheila, filling it halfway with creamer and dumping in four sugars. I want dessert when I drink coffee. Otherwise, I can’t stand the stuff. I take a few tentative sips to appease Sheila and figure I’m good to go for now.

  Time to work.

  In addition to Sheila, there are four bridesmaids and the mothers of both the bride and the groom who want their hair and makeup done. I work for eight hours straight before I am finished. I work fast, but I can’t take breaks because I will mess up the timeline that is created for each wedding.

  Once Sheila is happy with everything and hugs are given all around, I leave the gorgeous bridal room. I am practically shaking with hunger as I cross the stunning courtyard, now free of mist and shadowed in dappled light from the sun shining through the trees. I head straight to the small cafe and tasting room I spotted when I drove onto the property, figuring I can grab something to eat before I head back to the city. At least over there I won’t be in the way of the wedding preparations that are going on all over the winery grounds.

  The tasting room and cafe are busy with groups on wine tasting tours or picking up food to take out to the beautiful grounds for a picnic. I look around the small cafe for an open table, but everything is occupied. I head to the tasting counter, tuck my kit under the bar, and hop on a stool. I’ll try my luck.

  “May I order food here? I’m starving and there’s no room in the rest of the cafe,” I ask the back of the bartender nearby. I swallow when he turns toward me. Can you say “hot bartender?” Because that’s all that’s going through my brain. It must be my lucky day. I feel my cheeks heat when he takes his time to scan me from head to waist, where the bar cuts off his visual tour. Walking over slowly and with purpose, he props his elbows on the bar, getting within a foot of me.

  “What can I get you, beautiful?” His smoky voice and the smile on his face could melt my panties right off.

  Ah, he’s one of those bartenders. I can totally play that game. I play it cool while I check him out right back. I can barely make it past the long lashes that match his short dark hair and rim his unusual eyes. They start out brown around the pupil but fade to a clear blue and finally a navy ring. I want to stare at his eyes for hours to figure out just where the delineation of color starts and ends. How can they be so mesmerizing?

  A straight nose, full lips, and a strong jaw covered in at least a few days’ worth of stubble completes his perfect face. I want to rub my hand over his cheeks to see if the scruff is softer than it looks. Following the lines of his neck, I take in his broad shoulders that fill out the simple black button down he is wearing. I love that he has the sleeves rolled up to expose toned forearms. They beg to be touched, but I keep my hands to myself. His hands are idly twisting a bar towel as he waits for me to answer.

  Uh, yes, I’ll take one of you, please and thank you.

  “What do you have?” I give him a flirtatious smile and bat my lashes. I can just tell he would be the kind of guy that would bump me into walls as he tore off my clothes in unfettered passion. He could totally be a real life romantic comedy guy. And I don’t even believe in that kind of guy.

  “How about you look at this menu, and I’ll take your order when you’re ready.” He slides a menu toward me before patting the bar and heading off to pour wine for a few people doing a tasting.

  Wait, what? I twist my pink streaked hair around my finger. How did I read that interaction so wrong? I totally thought he was checking me out and flirting by calling me beautiful. He just brushed me off like it was nothing. A cold dose of reality douses my internal inferno of lust.

  Duh. He’s a freaking bartender. They flirt with everyone to get better tips. Complimenting a girl is standard for him. I smack my forehead and wonder where my brain has taken off to. Clearly, I am running on too little sleep and not enough calories. I take a look at the menu Mr. Schmoozy bartender gave me and figure a sandwich will do a world of good for my brain power.

  “So beautiful, what will it be?” Oh, he’s back and dishing out the charm again. This time I’m not falling for it.

  “I�
�ll have a turkey and goat cheese sandwich and a big glass of water, please.” I’m thankful my voice has lost the breathy flirtatiousness and sounds normal again. I won’t let him get me all riled up for nothing.

  “That sandwich would go great with one of our whites. The slight sweetness of our Riesling really complements the turkey.” He gives me an easy smile while leaning on the bar. I like him close by. I can smell his clean, earthy scent over the pungent fragrance of wine.

  “Sure, let me try a glass of that, I guess.” Hopefully he’ll take his super sexy superior wine knowledge and go put my food order in.

  “I’ll need to see your ID. You look a little young. I want to make sure this establishment isn’t serving minors.” His smile is smug. I still want to lick him.

  I laugh at my own thoughts and reach for my wallet so I can show him my ID, which indeed proves I am of drinking age. Barely. “Happy now?” I ask him when he hands my license back after some serious study.

  “A little. Now I know that your name is Bellissima and you live in San Francisco. And you happen to have a January birthday, like me.”

  “Bliss.” I stuff my license back in my purse and try not to think he paid extra attention to my information, but was actually doing his job.

  “Bliss? What do you mean?” He cocks his head in a confused manner that is quite sexy. I kind of want to pet him as much as lick him now.

  “My name. I go by Bliss, not Bellissima.”

  “Hmm, Bliss.” The gravelly way he rolls my name around his tongue sounds explicit. He just fucked my name, and it sounded like screaming orgasms. “That’s appropriate. I can just imagine that your name is exactly what it would be like to be with you.”

  His eyes are focused on my mouth as he speaks. I lick my pink glossed lips and catch his pupils dilating in response. Sucker.

  “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Bliss. I’m Talan.” He extends his hand over the bar for me to shake. I don’t reach out right away, as I am still processing his comment about my name. I mean, flirty bartenders don’t really say shit like that, do they? So, flirty bartender or interested guy?

  I finally take his hand and just go with flirty bartender. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Talan. Now, is your name a reflection of you? Are you sharp? Maybe you’re a little dangerous?” I opt to play his game as I tickle his wrist with my fingertips and give him a sly smile.

  He continues holding my hand as he considers my question. “Sharp mind, certainly. I wouldn’t say dangerous so much as…mysterious, maybe. But I can make whatever you want happen.” He shrugs. “You will just have to get to know me and decide for yourself, Bliss.” He winks at me, playing right along with my fun and games.

  Small warning bells ring in my brain. This guy is way too smooth. Typical bartender, knowing all the right things to say. I’m willing to keep playing his game. There’s no problem with enjoying his company while I eat. He’s fun, and I love fun.

  “Show me what you got for the next hour or so and I’ll give you my verdict. But I need that sandwich first, or all bets are off. My brain won’t be of any use running on empty with so little sleep. Remember, I told you I was hungry?”

  Talan releases my hand and ducks under the bar for a second. When he returns, it’s with a bottle of white wine that he expertly uncorks and pours.

  “Start with the Riesling while you’re waiting on your food. It’s on the house, to soften your disposition in judging my character.” Talan throws me a cheeky grin before he heads off to the cafe to place my order.

  I sip the crisp wine and laugh quietly as the fruity scent tickles my nose. I like this Talan guy as much as I like the wine. Unlike Talan’s dark and sensual vibe, the wine is just barely sweet and crisp. Both are exactly what I like. The wine is easy to drink too much of, making him the kind of guy that I’d take home for one night of hedonistic pleasure. I guess I will just settle for taking a bottle home. Hopefully this brand isn’t too expensive, as I have zero extra cash to waste on wine, no matter how tasty. Apparently, I also have low standards for flirting. A few well-placed “beautifuls” and panty-scorching smiles during a minute of flirting is all it takes to put me in the best mood I’ve been in all week.

  Today is turning out to be better than expected. It’s way better than yesterday. I had the worst non-date ever last night. Dillon, my occasional hook up, asked me to meet him for dinner, rather than our usual late night booty call, and completely hurt my feelings. He dissed my hair right off the bat, saying it was for teenagers and drop outs. I worked my ass off strategically hand painting the pink into perfect ribbons that start out skinny and wrap to larger sections at the ends. My natural light blonde hair now melts perfectly into pastel pink ends. I was so proud of my handiwork until he scoffed at the color. When we talked about our weekend plans, he laughed when I said I was working a wedding.

  “That’s not real work. It’s fucking easy shit girls like to do anyway. You’ve got it made not having to do anything.”

  I wanted to rip his tongue out of his mouth and slap him with it. We went our separate ways after dinner, when I told him he could go screw himself, because I wouldn’t anymore.

  I hate when people belittle my profession because it seems “fun”. I work hard in a physically demanding occupation. I have spent years training and perfecting my craft. I may make it look easy, but there is so much that goes into it.

  Whether behind the chair in the salon or on location, I am standing for hours on end, constantly moving, having to maintain friendly banter all the while. If you think your hairstylist loves not being able to sit down during a ten-hour day unless it’s to pee, or only managing to eat when they shove something into their mouth while they mix your color, you should try it yourself. You should really just thank us for managing to make you look pretty when you are the fourteenth person to sit in our chair that day and ask for “the same thing you did last time.”

  In all seriousness, I love my job. I wouldn’t deal with the bullshit if I didn’t. God knows the pay isn’t fantastic. At least not yet.

  While I wait for my food, I have the perfect place to watch Talan interact with customers. He has an easy-going attitude with most of them. I know better than to think this must be the easiest job in the world for him, but at least it looks like he enjoys it. He smiles freely and seems at home behind the bar, educating the guests on the wines they are drinking. He laughs with the tasting groups, and gives them all individual attention, but he never so much as overtly flirts with any of the ladies. He definitely isn’t checking IDs for any of the customers, young or old.

  The more I observe him, the more I get the sneaky suspicion that, despite his first brush off, he really was flirting with me because he wanted to. Maybe he wasn’t just working his bartender needing bigger tips angle.

  I’m busy watching a tasting group try the three wines in front of them when a plate is slid between my elbows that I have propped on the bar.

  “How about you take a break from people-watching and enjoy your late lunch.” I jump and laugh in surprise at hearing Talan’s low voice so close to me. He is less than a foot away now, leaning on the bar again.

  I look at the plate and see that it isn’t what I ordered. Instead of a sandwich, it’s a small cheese plate, with grapes, figs, and a few slices of prosciutto alongside a little pot of honey. I look at him, confused that he would bring me this tiny plate of food when I really want a giant sandwich. My stomach growls loudly, making my point before I even open my mouth to complain.

  “You got my order wrong, Talan. That’s minus points for the sharp category.”

  “I happen to think I got your order perfectly right. It’s just enough food to tide you over while I finish this shift, but not enough to fill you up before I take you to dinner.”

  Oh, that smooth bastard. I can’t even be mad at him for assuming I would go out with him. I totally would. But still.

  “You see, an hour is just not enough time to really gauge my character, so I figured you would do me
the favor of granting me more time to show you just how sharp, maybe dangerous, and mysterious I can be. Are you game, Bliss?” He throws down his offer like a challenge. I am not one to pass up challenges, and this is one I simply cannot refuse.

  “You’re on, Talan. Take me to dinner. I’ll give you more time to show me this character of yours. Maybe you’ll learn a few things about me in the process. Is that what you’re hoping for?”

  “Oh Bliss, you have no idea. There is so much I want to learn about you.” He tips my chin up with a finger, turning my face side to side, appraising me. He slides that finger along my jaw toward my ear, down my neck, and finally releases me from his touch. He walks backward down the bar, watching my reaction with a smile on his self-satisfied face. He knows the effect he has on me.

  I have chill bumps all along my arms from his touch, but I manage not to shiver visibly. I’m left without anything to say. That’s it. He’s the Jedi master of flirting. This is how he could throw me off so decidedly at first with his “this is not the bartender you are looking for” act. He has mastered that shit like Obi-Wan Kenobi.

  Chapter Two

  Talan was right, the cheese plate tides me over while I wait for him to finish his shift. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long. Twenty minutes later, another bartender shows up and thanks him profusely for covering his shift. Talan gets kindness points for helping his co-workers.

  I’m so busy watching the bartenders pour wine, I don't notice that Talan has made his way around behind me until he is brushing the hair off my neck with his big hand. The warmth and weight of it settling against my skin sends my pulse racing, and I jump a little.

  “You ready to go, or are you afraid I might be too mysterious for your taste?” His words purr across the back of my neck, raising goose bumps and making me think twice about agreeing to go out with him. He is offering more than dinner, but I’m not sure how much I’m willing to take.