At First Blush

by Marianne Rice

  Thoughts led to her bedroom where he’d been earlier, taking measurements and pictures. Yeah, they could have some fun in there. The space was cramped, barely big enough for her small bed, but they didn’t need much space. Just enough room for him to be on top of her.

  He pictured her getting dressed. For him. Sliding on a pair of black lace panties. No. Bright blue was more her color. Even though her outerwear was drab, he’d bet his latest contract with the Mueller firm that her undergarments were anything but boring.

  Alexis’s body promised to be supple and strong, soft and muscular. He already knew what she smelled like: grapes, earth, and honey.

  “This better be quick. I have an early start tomorrow.”

  Ben shifted on the couch, hoping to hide how happy he’d grown thinking of them in her bedroom, where he’d be anything but quick.

  He wanted to ask her why she didn’t continue to put up a fight and kick him to the curb, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Her simple attire of jeans and a navy sweatshirt didn’t fool him. She was all sex and soft skin underneath the layers.

  Alexis slid into a bulky coat, and he watched her zip it up, pull a hat on her head, and shove her hands into wool mittens. Even bundled and bulked up, he wanted the heck out of her.

  “Hello? Are you coming?”

  He shifted again and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Give me a sec.”

  “To do what?” She placed her hands on her hips and tapped her foot on the hardwood floor. “You’re not staying here. We’re going out.”

  He liked her spunkiness, but he missed their comfortable and causal conversation they had yesterday at brunch, and again at dinner. Hopefully the dinner would distract her from thinking about business and she could relax again.

  When he thought he could stand without an obvious tent in his pants, he pushed himself up from the sofa and tugged on his coat. “It’s not that cold out tonight,” he said, tapping her knit hat and holding up her gray mittens. Maybe it was, a little, but skin-to-skin contact would be better. “You don’t need these.” Ben slipped the mittens off her hands and tossed them on the counter, taking her bare hand in his. “Much better.”

  A bolt of heated energy flashed up his arms and down his torso. Alexis didn’t pull away, which was progress, but she didn’t seem happy about their hand-holding either.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The Sealand.”

  “Afraid the town’s folk will spit in your food when they find out you’re trying to industrialize us?”

  Tonight wasn’t about business, so he bit his tongue and ushered her down the steps and out the door to his SUV. He hated letting go of her hand, and Alexis didn’t seem in too much of a rush to pull away either. Progress.

  “Other than football in high school and wine now, what else do you like to do?” Ben asked as they drove away from the center of town.

  “Nothing.” She turned her head and stared out the window, her posture stiff and annoyed.

  “Did you play spring sports?”

  “Softball.”

  If she wasn’t going to participate in conversation, then he’d rattle off about himself. “I played baseball in high school as well. Thought about playing in college, but soccer was more my sport. Unfortunately, Berkley didn’t need me on their team, so I stuck to my studies and played on intramural teams.”

  Alexis turned toward him, tucking her left leg under. The roads were dark with no streetlights illuminating the inside of the car, but the light from the dash was just enough to reveal a wicked smile on her face.

  “Soccer?”

  “Yeah. Not to brag or anything, but I was pretty good.”

  “Why didn’t you play football?”

  “Because I liked soccer.”

  “Afraid to get knocked on your ass?”

  “No.” He laughed, enjoying the spark in her voice. “I preferred to play with my feet instead of my hands.”

  “Well, you know what they say…”

  Soccer was huge in his area; he was the popular jock in high school, so he didn’t know what they said, but he knew where she was going. Just for fun, he played ignorant.

  “Say about what?”

  “Soccer guys are the ones who can’t make the cut in football.”

  “If I never tried out, I didn’t not make a cut.”

  “Were you afraid of the bigger guys crushing you? It’s the little ones who play soccer. They’re typically faster, smarmier.”

  Instead of being offended, Ben laughed. He’d been a big guy in high school. He’d hit six feet by his sophomore year, and had plenty of bulk on him from working the fields year round. Ben was anything but the laughingstock in school.

  “Kind of funny coming from someone as little as you.” He flipped on his blinker and turned down Driftwood Lane. Memorizing numbers, words, lines, was easy for him. He’d looked at the directions before picking up Alexis and remembered every step of the way.

  “That’s the thing. The easy way out would have been for me to play soccer. Instead I worked hard and showed everyone that someone as small as me, and a girl nonetheless, could play football.”

  “And do fairly well, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Alexis liked to appear strong and confident, but he saw past the mask. She was trying to prove something. Even back in high school, working her pretty little fanny off to keep up and compete with the big guys. It wasn’t a case of looking for parental attention. Shane and Claudia seemed to be good, loving, supportive parents. And everything he’d heard around town about Alexis was positive as well.

  “John Miller only had nice things to say about you. He’d hoped you’d be his daughter-in-law some day.”

  “Yeah.” Alexis unfolded her knee and turned away.

  They rode in silence as he maneuvered down narrow roads, the trees silhouetted by the darkening sky. Ben turned into the parking lot and found a space in the third row. A little busier than the places in Crystal Cove.

  Alexis unlatched her seatbelt and hopped out of the SUV before he could get to her. She jerked away when he tried to join their hands, but he didn’t let her escape his touch so easily. He settled for his hand on her lower back and guided her through the front door.

  “A reservation for Martelli,” he told the hostess and they followed her to the back corner of the dining room.

  Miller was right. The restaurant was charming with its nautical theme without being overdone. Sophisticated blue and white walls, fake starfish, a giant captain’s wheel on the wall. Other than that, the decor was simple. Their table was by a window and Ben could barely make out the ships tied up on the docks as the sun had already set behind them.

  In California it never got truly dark, not like here in rural Maine. Even flying into San Fran at midnight and driving up the freeways, or taking the back roads, the car was always lit up from traffic lights, street lamps, or businesses.

  The only place he could see the evening stars was at the vineyard. It’s where he found peace and serenity. Kind of like this corner of the map.

  “Would you like to see our wine menu?” the hostess asked.

  Alexis didn’t need to look and ordered a glass of Le Blanc red.

  Wine would remind him of work so he opted for his other go-to beverage. “I’ll have a pale ale if you have one on tap.”

  When the waitress left, Alexis placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Is our wine not good enough for you?”

  Of course she would spin it that way. “I love your family’s wine. In fact, I ordered a case to be shipped to my house.”

  “Oh.” Alexis sat back in her chair, an air of defeat on her face.

  “Can tonight be about you and me and nothing else?”

  “There is no you and me.”

  Ben leaned forward and pinned her with his gaze. “Yes, there is, Alexis. There’s something big going on between us and it annoys the hell out of you. You can
hate why I’m here, but you can’t deny the chemistry between us.” Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t argue with him.

  The waitress returned with their beverages and took their order. Needing to break the tension again, when the waitress left he picked up where they left off in the car.

  “So, you and Brandon Miller? Why aren’t you the doctor’s wife?”

  Alexis snorted. “Can you really see me as a doctor’s wife?”

  “Why not?”

  She sipped her wine and set her glass down on the table so she could lean forward. Ben liked it when she did that, not only because it pulled her knit top tight against her breasts, but because she was that much closer to him.

  “I’m not the refined type. I’ve always been a blunt, straight-to-the-point kind of girl. I like crude humor and am so not PC.”

  “Crude humor?” Ben grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

  “I don’t get offended easily.”

  “Really?” It was Ben’s turn to snort. “I seem to offend you with everything I say.”

  “No. Big difference. You’ve done nothing to offend me. You,” she said with a smile, “piss me off.”

  Damn, he was fun to play with. Most men would tease and flirt casually with her, but never had their irises darkened or their tongue darted out to lick their lips. And never did they shift in their seat so much in front of her. It was empowering. Intoxicating.

  And totally scary.

  Alexis cut into her balsamic chicken and nearly moaned at the sweet and rich flavors that took over her mouth. A hint of basil, and maybe a tang of clove? Inspiration hit and she dug in her pocket for her cell phone, typing in her notes.

  “It’s never a good sign when your date takes out her phone halfway into dinner and sends a text.”

  “I’m not your date,” she said without looking up. “And I’m not texting.”

  “Googling me?”

  “Did that already.” She finished her notes and slid her cell back in her pocket.

  “Find anything good?”

  “Nope. All bad,” she lied, only finding the highest accolades about him and his company, and his family’s vineyard. Alexis held up her wine glass in a mock cheer and sipped. Moonlight Red would always be her favorite with hints of pepper and cinnamon, but clove would add a little something extra. They could call it Sunset Red? She’d play around with flavors tomorrow.

  “Playing hard to get still, I guess.” Ben mutilated his lobster tail, juices flying every which way.

  “I don’t play games.” Alexis blotted the wet spots on the table with her napkin and took the lobster tail from him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m forthright with how I feel.” With expert precision she squeezed the tail in her fist and then turned it outward, revealing a beautiful lobster tail. “You suck at this.”

  “I’ve never cracked open a lobster before.”

  “Obviously.” Alexis tossed the shell in the discard bowl, placed the fresh lobster meat on his plate and picked up one of the claws. “Claw in this hand. Cracker in the other.” She held the lobster cracker in her right hand and slid it over the claw. “Squeeze.” She waited for the crack of the shell and grinned in satisfaction.

  “You’re an expert.”

  “I’m a Mainer. It’s kinda the law around here. You’ll get picked on and pointed out as an outsider if you can’t crack your own lobster.”

  “I’m that obvious then?”

  “Ha!” Alexis handed him the tool and motioned for him to do the other claw while she picked the meat out and tossed the shell aside.

  Alexis watched him study the red crustacean, turning the claw over in his hand. He slid the cracker tool over the shell and looked up at her for her approval. She nodded and he crunched the claw, containing any fly away juices, in his palm.

  “I did it.” Ben’s smile was that of a boy hitting his first little league home run. So stinkin’ cute, this guy.

  “Nice work for an Italian.”

  He wiped his hands on a napkin and dipped his lobster in the bowl of melted butter. “Wow.” He closed his eyes, his long, dark eyelashes forming upside down rainbows under his lids. The man was classically beautiful with his dark, Italian brows and hair, and when he opened his eyes and the bright blues twinkled back at her…holy lobster bait.

  Alexis crossed her legs to minimize the tingle she felt down there.

  “Tender.” Ben opened his eyes and licked his lips. “Sweet.” He quirked his lips. “Salty.” He speared another piece of lobster with his fork and held it up, keeping his intense gaze focused on Alexis. “Unique.”

  Sweat formed above Alexis’s lip and under her arms. Ben’s heated smile and gaze warmed her to her core, yet sent chills down her neck at the same time. Men weren’t supposed to have this effect on her. She’d been immune to them for years.

  Wait. She’d never been on the receiving end of their charming ways before. Only witnessed it from afar as the classically beautiful girls got all the attention. Like her sister.

  “How is everything?” their waitress asked, breaking the intense trance Ben had put her under.

  Alexis cleared her throat and reached for her water. “Fine. Delicious. Thank you.”

  “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

  “Thank you,” Ben responded. When the waitress left he went back to his lobster, eating and enjoying it like a connoisseur sips an exotic red, tasting each unique flavor the wine, or in this case, lobster, had to offer.

  She picked up her fork and continued with her meal, suddenly jealous of the lobster.

  “Tell me about your sister. Your parents said she’s studying abroad?”

  The sudden change in topic surprised her. Of course he’d want to learn about Grace. He’d probably seen her picture on Alexis’s fridge. She was way more his type. Tall, blonde, thin, perky.

  “That’s what my parents and sister like to call it.”

  “What do you call it?”

  “Avoiding responsibility.”

  “Let me guess. Younger sister?”

  “Are you telling me I look old?” She knew that’s not what he meant, but she couldn’t help the involuntary twitch that took over when someone mentioned her sister. Alexis missed her even though they were as opposite as could be, and Grace drove her bat shit crazy.

  “At least fifty. What’s your sister doing?”

  “Great question.” She placed her fork and knife on her empty plate and nudged it aside. “It was vineyard hopping in France. Then a liberal arts degree. Then fashion school. Now she’s working in a boutique and has been modeling on the side.”

  “Europe is the place for that.”

  “It started as research. Grape research, as she liked to call it. Our grapes are a hybrid of French and American, studied and researched in Minnesota, and now fully grown in Maine. Her trip started out as a vacation and turned into a permanent move, and a life that has nothing to do with wine. Well, the drinking of, I’m sure.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “As if.” Alexis crossed her arms on the table, manners be damned. “She’s wasting away her life, not accomplishing anything, leaving our family to work countless hours to barely make a living while she flutters from class to class, job to job, guy to guy, without a care for her family.”

  She missed her sister. Not the materialistic snob she was today, but the sister she used to work side-by-side with in the fields. The one she could complain about Mom and Dad with. The one who was her friend. Her only friend.

  “Your family means a lot to you.”

  “Of course they do. Grumpy—”

  “Grumpy?”

  “My grandfather. He took over when my great grandfather passed away. There was a wet summer and brutal winter that nearly took out all the vines. He started over with one grapevine, and then grew to twenty. He loved this land, raising my dad all on his own after his wife passed away. So while my great grandfather may have started the tradition of growing grapes, it was Grumpy who m
ade it into a vineyard and a winery.”

  “I read his story on your website. Sounds like he was a good man. Hardworking.”

  Alexis sipped her water. “He was. He taught me everything I know about winemaking. About keeping it real. It’s an art. True artists aren’t into their craft for the money. They care about their product. What they’re making.”

  “And you feel you owe it to him to keep the integrity of the winery and vineyard. Which is why you’re so set against my suggestion to modernize your equipment and facility. You want to keep your grandfather’s legacy going.”

  Alexis didn’t know if she liked Ben being so perceptive. “I wouldn’t call Grumpy a legacy. I promised him I would make him proud.”

  Pride. Integrity. Loyalty. Family. They meant everything to her, and she had no regards for anyone who stood for anything else. Which was why losing her sister to the glitz and glam of Europe hurt so much.

  They sat in silence as Ben finished his meal. She tried not to study him, to succumb to his beauty or his calm demeanor. His strong, tanned hands, the way his shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, the way his perfectly gelled hair accented his strong nose and cheekbones so well. He looked up, his baby blues making contact with her, and the unwanted twitching threatened to take over her belly again so she averted her gaze from his.

  “When was the last time you left Crystal Cove?”

  The question surprised her. “We’re in Rockland right now.”

  “Wow. That bad?” Ben dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin and reached across the table, twining his fingers with hers. She didn’t want his pity or his disapproval and tried to tug her hand away, but he didn’t let her escape.

  “There’s nothing bad about it. I like it here.”

  “Have you ever taken a vacation?”

  “I hardly do a thing in February. Most people don’t get an entire month off a year. I’m lucky.”

  “When was the last time you did anything for yourself?”

  “Look, Ben, I appreciate your concern, but I’m not like you and Grace. I don’t need to travel to California like my parents, or venture off to Europe like my sister. I really do love it here. Why do you think Maine is called Vacationland? There’s no need for me to go anywhere else.”