by Judy Duarte
“Yeah, well...I was married once, but it didn’t work out. I’ve come to believe that I’d be better off not making serious commitments.”
Musical chords sounded in the background, followed by a microphone sound check. Schuyler glanced across the room, where a long-haired musician with a guitar and another with a keyboard were setting up so they could entertain people in the bar. But she was more interested in the handsome Latino who’d proved to be both generous and thoughtful.
He’d admitted to being married before, and if he’d decided not to make that mistake again, he must have been hurt by it. “I take it your divorce was painful.”
“Actually, it was more disappointing than anything. I’d never failed at anything in my life, so it was a hard pill to swallow. But then again, my parents didn’t have a good marriage, either. So you can’t blame me for being realistic about people not following through on those kinds of promises.”
“Tell me about her.”
“Who? Cecily? What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you feel like sharing. I’m curious about the woman who stole your heart.”
“I don’t know about that. I mean, I thought I loved her at the time, but in retrospect it was probably just lust. In the bedroom, things were good. But outside? There were problems from the start.”
“Why’s that?”
“I was only twenty-four, and she was two years younger. We were both headstrong and naive, and within a year, we were divorced.”
“You don’t think you could have worked things out, even with counseling?”
He shrugged a single shoulder. “I doubt it. To make matters worse, Cecily wanted babies right away and I wasn’t ready. Besides, I didn’t think we knew each other well enough.”
“Maybe you didn’t ask yourselves the right questions.”
“That’s possible.” He grew solemn for a moment, then glanced at his nearly empty wineglass. When he looked up, he slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. I have friends—good ones back in Miami—and I never shared any of the details with them.”
“I’m easy to talk to, I suppose.” That was probably why Glammy had told Schuyler more details about her love affair with Julius than she’d told her other grandchildren.
As one of the musicians sang the Otis Redding hit “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay,” Carlo reached out his hand. “Dance with me. This song reminds me of the ocean and my old stomping grounds.”
He didn’t have to ask her twice. She’d always loved this song. So she took his hand and let him lead her to the dance floor. He opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace, swaying to the sultry tune.
The scent of Carlo’s unique cologne reminded her of late-afternoon walks in Galveston, where she and Glammy had sometimes slipped away for what they called “girl time.”
But as Schuyler rested her head against Carlo’s shoulder as they moved to the sensuous beat, she wasn’t having thoughts about afternoons on the bay. She was thinking about nighttime in an Austin hotel.
But that was crazy. It was too early, too soon to have thoughts like that. And as impulsive as she could be at times, making love with a man she’d met only a couple of days ago was sure to be a mistake.
When the song ended, and Carlo released her, she nearly swooned. She blamed it on the long drive and on that glass of wine that had gone right to her head, giving her romantic thoughts she didn’t dare trust.
“I hope you don’t mind if I call it a night,” she said.
“No, I understand.”
They stood on the dance floor for a moment, which only gave her second thoughts about saying good-night. He’d said that since his divorce, he’d been avoiding serious commitments. That ought to make her feel better about having a short-term affair with him.
But for some reason, she wasn’t opposed to striking up a relationship that might last a little longer. Because a man who’d gone out of his way to find her a pair of bunny slippers just might turn out to be a keeper.
She placed her hand on his chiseled jaw and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you so much for the slippers.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
That was her cue to leave, but she found herself vacillating. She was tempted to hang out for another glass of wine and one last dance. Either that or she could take him by the hand and lead him to the elevator.
She wasn’t that buzzed. If and when she invited Carlo to her room, she didn’t want her thoughts distorted by alcohol, lack of sleep or starry eyes.
“I’ll make this up to you,” she said.
“You already did.”
He probably thought she meant her appreciation of his thoughtfulness and generosity, but it went beyond that.
“I’ll see you on Thursday,” she said. “And don’t worry. I’ll be there early, fully rested and prepared with my A game.”
He gave her a dazzling smile that nearly stole her breath away. Then she walked back to the table and retrieved her purse and the gift bag. After taking one last glance at Carlo, she turned and headed for the elevator—alone. And wondering if she’d just made a big mistake.
* * *
True to her word, Schuyler arrived at the winery on Thursday afternoon an hour early and wearing a stylish red dress. On another woman, Carlo might have considered it a classic. But on Schuyler, it looked downright sexy. Talk about bringing her A game.
“You look great,” he said. “Apparently you had a successful shopping trip yesterday.”
“I certainly did.” She gave a little twirl. “Will this do?”
He admired the red dress that hugged her curves. “It’s perfect. Red is my new favorite color.”
She laughed. “Oh yeah? What color used to be your favorite?”
“When we were at the Monarch Hotel, it was black.”
“Great line, Carlo. But then again, I’m sure you’ve had a lot of practice charming the ladies.”
True. But he hadn’t been trying to charm Schuyler. That compliment was genuine and had just rolled off his tongue.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you how we’ve got things set up for this event.”
She fell into step beside him, and he took her inside the winery and to the tasting room, where they’d placed a sign on the large, rough-hewn wooden door that read: CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY FROM 3 PM to 5 PM. PLEASE COME AGAIN.
Carlo reached for the brass handle and pulled open the door for her. Once she’d entered the reception area, he walked her to the marble-topped tasting bar, where she would be posted for the next two hours. Behind her was a tall linen-draped cocktail table holding an array of wineglasses, and a shelf with the corked bottles she would serve this afternoon.
“When it gets closer to three, the chef will send out a variety of gourmet crackers and cheeses, as well as sliced baguettes and fruit on that wooden trestle table.”
“Is there anything else I need to know?” she asked.
“You certainly don’t need instructions on how to be a hostess. Just do what you did the other night.”
“Will do. But just so you know, I’m going to try and break my last sales record.”
“Maybe I should pipe in music to set the mood. Something like ‘Lady in Red’ would be perfect.”
“Hey. Are you trying to sell me or the wine?”
Actually, the thought of any other men ogling her and having romantic ideas didn’t sit very well. But then again, he didn’t have a claim on her. So he shook off the momentary jealousy and smiled. “You don’t need any props, honey.”
“Neither do you.” If his term of endearment surprised or bothered her, she didn’t let on.
He nodded toward the door. “Do you want a snack before the bus gets here?”
Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Why? Do you want to raid the chef’s fridge again?�
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“No, we’ll have to ask what he can spare. He’s already back there, preparing for dinner.”
“Cool,” she said. “I’d like to meet him.”
For a moment, Carlo’s gut clenched. Bernardo Santos, the new chef he’d hired, was in his mid-thirties and had an eye for the ladies. Not that it mattered, he supposed. Schuyler was free to date anyone she wanted.
“Then come on. I’ll introduce you.” Carlo placed his hand on Schuyler’s back and ushered her out of the tasting room and toward the kitchen. He could have walked next to her, his arms at his sides, but oddly enough, he didn’t let go.
Instead, as their shoes clicked upon the tiled floor, he let his hand linger on her lower back as if staking his claim.
* * *
The tasting was in full swing, and the software execs seemed to be enjoying the wine Schuyler served them. She had to admit, they weren’t the nerdy and boring group she’d expected them to be. Some of them were actually bright and witty.
Of course, there was usually one in every crowd that proved to be a jerk. And the guy wearing a ninja T-shirt and a black sports jacket was no exception. One of the others mentioned that Ninja Guy had been downing tequila shots at the restaurant where they’d had lunch.
With each sip of wine he took, Ninja Guy grew louder and more political. But it was impossible to decide whether he leaned to the left or right, because he voiced a loud and contrary response to any opinion.
“So how ’bout those Broncos?” he asked, switching from politics to sports. “Are you into football, pretty lady?”
“I’m not a huge fan, but I’ll probably watch the Super Bowl on Sunday.”
“I’ve got tickets to the company skybox,” Ninja Guy said. “Let me show you how the rich and famous watch the game.”
A couple of the others at the table rolled their eyes. Schuyler was half tempted to do the same thing, but she’d promised Carlo she’d be a professional this afternoon.
In the meantime, she was cutting off Ninja Guy. He’d had way more than his share of wine, not to mention the tequila buzz he’d had when he arrived.
Carlo, who’d stepped out of the tasting room to write up several orders, returned to announce that dinner was being served in the main dining room. Those lingering in the tasting room began to file out the door. But not Ninja Guy.
He sidled up to Schuyler as she was replacing the cork in an open bottle. “Hey, sweetie. Why don’t I help you clean up, then you can join me for dinner.”
Carlo stiffened, but he clamped his mouth shut. She suspected he was tempted to speak up, to put the guy in his place. But he couldn’t very well make a scene, especially when Ninja Guy had ordered several cases of the Lone Star, as well as the Red River. Why set him off?
“Thanks for the offer,” she said, “but I’ve already eaten. So you go on to La Viña without me.”
“Then join me in there for a drink. We can talk about watching the Super Bowl in that skybox.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I already have plans to watch the game with friends.”
“You gotta be kidding me.” He reached across the marble-topped bar and grabbed her hand.
The moment he touched her, Carlo moved across the room, no doubt planning to come to her rescue. But he didn’t know Schuyler very well. She was capable of taking care of herself.
She jerked her hand away and pointed her index finger at Ninja Guy, jabbing it at his chest. “Listen, jerk. I don’t like to show off, but I’ve had years of karate training and have a black belt. You wouldn’t want to limp back into the restaurant, sporting broken ribs, would you? I’d think that would embarrass you in front of your colleagues.”
“Sheesh,” he said, taking a step back. “I had no idea you were so temperamental.”
Okay, so she’d lied and claimed to have a black belt, when she’d gotten only as high as green before telling her parents she was done with sports and had moved on to country line dancing.
“Mr. Layton,” Carlo said. “Your friends are looking for you.”
“Okay, I’m going.” He nodded toward Schuyler and told Carlo, “Watch out for that one. She might be pretty, but she’s got a mean streak.”
As he shuffled out of the room, listing to one side, Schuyler looked at Carlo, who was shooting daggers at the drunk. His glare offered a warning that was as tough as any bouncer she’d ever watched in action.
When the door clicked shut, Carlo’s expression softened. “I’m sorry about that. Usually, the people who come to our tastings are classy and don’t arrive already liquored up.”
“Don’t worry about it. No harm, no foul.”
Carlo slowly shook his head. “It took all I had not to kick his butt all the way to the bus that brought him here.”
“Maybe it’ll do him good to get some food in his belly.”
“Speaking of food, let’s go get something to eat.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hesitant.
It’s best to keep a man guessing, Glammy used to say. And in this case, maybe it was.
“Actually,” she said, “I was thinking about heading back to the hotel. I’d rather not have to cross paths with Ninja Guy again. Otherwise, I might have to prove my skill at karate.”
“Were you serious about being a black belt?”
“I’m afraid I was really stretching the truth. Not that I don’t know some defensive moves I could have used on him.”
A slow smile stretched across Carlo’s face, creating boyish dimples in his cheeks.
“Just so you know,” she said, “I can take care of myself. You wouldn’t have had to kick his butt.”
“I’ll make a note of that.” He nodded toward the door. “If you’re dead set on heading back to the hotel, I’ll walk you to your car.”
“That’s nice, but again, I’m not afraid of that guy.”
“I didn’t make the offer to protect you, although I’m definitely willing. But my mom insisted that I respect women, whether they have black belts or wear sexy red dresses.”
“Aren’t you a charmer.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“No, actually I’m a bit in awe of it.” Then she reached out and slipped her arm through his. “Let’s go.”
As they stepped outside, the sun was setting, taking what little warmth it had provided earlier, and a crisp winter chill filled the air. Schuyler leaned into Carlo, absorbing some of his body heat and savoring his ocean-fresh scent.
She had half a notion to change her mind, to tell him she’d stick around after all. It wasn’t like Glammy had been an expert on men or romance.
Did Carlo have any idea how appealing Schuyler found him? And not just as a person or a boss. But as a man. The guy was smart and personable. Generous and thoughtful, too. Who else would have thought to give her bunny slippers?
When they reached her car, she kept her arm in his, unwilling to let go yet. Apparently, he wasn’t in any hurry, either, because they remained like that for a while.
“What do you have planned tomorrow?” he asked.
So he wanted to see her again? That was a good sign. At least, they seemed to be on the same page. “Not much. I got some shopping done yesterday. Did you need me to hostess another tasting?”
“Actually, I plan to scout around the downtown area and check out a few properties that are for sale. We plan to open a nightclub later this year, and there’s a board meeting next week, so I’d like to have a few ideas to report, as well as some numbers. I realize you’re not interested in real estate, but I thought I’d tap into your artistic and creative side.”
It wasn’t often that someone asked her opinion, especially when it came to business deals, especially real estate ventures. And the fact that Carlo had—and that he acknowledged her creativity—made her heart swell. “I’d love to go with y
ou.”
“Even to check out properties that are for lease or sale?”
“Believe it or not, that sounds like fun.”
Carlo laughed. “Does anything not sound fun to you?”
“I’m not big on root canals—or dental visits in general.”
“I’ll make a mental note.”
She turned to face him, still reluctant to get in her car and leave. As their gazes met, something passed between them. Something too big and powerful to ignore.
Carlo must have felt it, too, because he slipped his arms around her and drew her close. She suspected he intended to kiss her, which sounded a lot more fun than anything else he’d ever suggested.
When he lowered his mouth to hers, she closed her eyes and held on for what she suspected would be the ride of her life.
Chapter Six
Over the years, Carlo had experienced plenty of kisses, but he’d never had one quite like this. It began slowly and shyly, as he and Schuyler tested the sexual waters. But within a couple of heartbeats, it deepened and exploded with passion.
Schuyler leaned into him, and he pulled her close. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t seem to get her close enough. While his hands caressed her back, exploring her curves and the slope of her hips, he relished her sweet taste, the floral scent of her shampoo and the feel of her in his arms.
He was never going to be content just spending the cocktail hour or a romantic dinner with her. Somehow, some way, he had to convince her that they had to take this newfound relationship to a deeper, more intimate level.
Of course, with the way she was kissing him back, convincing her wasn’t going to take much effort on his part. Their mating tongues had kicked things up more than a notch already.
A car door opened and shut, bringing Carlo back to reality—if not his senses. He didn’t especially care who’d caught them wrapped in a heated embrace, only that they’d been forced to stop.
With reluctance, he withdrew his lips from hers, glanced over his shoulder and spotted his father getting out of his car. Even in the waning light, he clearly saw the grin on his old man’s face, one that shouted, Attaboy, Carlo.
