by Judy Duarte
While he removed the food from the sacks, Schuyler reached into her Chanel bag and pulled out several wipes. “Here. Now we can clean our hands.”
“Thanks.” He wondered what else she carried in that big bag. “Apparently you think of everything.”
“I try.”
He liked that about her. Hell, he liked too damn much about her. If pressed, he could probably create a list of things as long as the park bench on which they sat.
That ought to bother a man who’d made up his mind to keep his relationships simple and unencumbered, but that philosophy didn’t seem quite as ingrained in him as it was before he’d met Schuyler.
He glanced at the tabletop, where someone had carved initials. He traced the letters with his finger. B.K. Loves R.L.
Who had defaced the public property in the attempt to proclaim his or her affection? A starry-eyed teenager? Or someone old enough to know better?
When it came to love, Carlo had been there, done that and bought the souvenir shot glass. So he was certainly old enough to know better.
Or was he? Each time Schuyler smiled at him, flashing those cute little dimples, or whenever he caught the soft lilt of her laugh, he found himself wondering if...
Now that was troubling. What in the hell was Schuyler doing to him? It was as if he’d morphed into a guy he no longer knew.
He scanned the small grassy area where they ate, then glanced at the table again, at the turkey sandwiches, half-eaten and resting on paper napkins, at the two cans of soda pop—root beer and black cherry.
Carlo enjoyed fine wines and classy restaurants. He didn’t do parks or picnics. Yet here he was, listening to Schuyler tell a story about the time she and her beloved but eccentric grandmother made a trip to an animal shelter in Houston.
“Glammy told me she just wanted to look at the puppies and maybe play with the kitties in what she called the cat house. But when we entered the office and she spotted a three-legged cat and a one-eyed dog in the office, she was toast.”
“What’d she do? Adopt them and take them home?”
Schuyler nodded. “That’s exactly what she did. Their numbers were up, and they were going to be put to sleep at the end of the day. So Glammy adopted them herself. She called them Tripod and Pirate. I thought it was pretty cool, but my dad couldn’t understand why she’d want to pour her love and attention on a couple of old, defective animals. But I don’t think he ever really understood her need to make some kind of difference in the world. Instead, he only saw her as being different.”
Schuyler’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Carlo found himself sympathizing with the damaged pets, the quirky grandmother and the little girl who’d loved and admired her Glammy.
As a flood of compassion swept through his chest, he found himself smiling and admiring Glammy, too. “I wish I could have met her. It sounds like she had a lot of pluck, as well as a big heart.”
Schuyler gave a little laugh, one that sounded bittersweet. “She did. I wish you could have met her, too.”
“Whatever happened to Tripod and Pirate?”
Schuyler let out a sigh. “I wish I could tell you that there was a moral to the story.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, like on Facebook? When a family rescues a dog, then it eventually alerts them to a fire or a burglar or pulls their drowning toddler out of the pool?”
Carlo nodded, although he wasn’t a big Facebook fan. And on those rare occasions when he did check out his home page, he usually passed right over those kinds of posts.
“It would have been pretty cool to tell my dad that one of those pets saved Glammy’s life, but Tripod nearly broke her neck. One day she was bringing in her groceries from the car, and Tripod dashed out the door, tripping her and causing her to fall down. Before she could get up and chase after him, he was hit by a car.”
“Dang, that’s terrible.”
“I know. It was very sad, but he died instantly. And the vet insisted that he didn’t feel any pain.”
“And what about Pirate?”
Schuyler’s lips quirked into a crooked grin. “He spent a lot of time in the proverbial doghouse, but she finally found him a new home after he chewed up her vintage white go-go boots.”
“She booted the dog out?” Carlo asked. “No pun intended.”
“At first, she only scolded him and sent him out into the backyard to sleep. She had a soft heart and would have forgiven him by morning, but he howled like one of the hounds of hell, and she was afraid he’d wake the neighbors. So she brought him inside. The next day, she gave him to a friend who lived in the country and needed a watch dog.” Schuyler tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Still, you have to give Glammy credit for at least trying to give Pirate and Tripod a loving home and new leases on life.”
Carlo glanced at the frisky little puppies whose luck had changed the moment Schuyler spotted them.
Was Carlo’s luck about to change, too? He’d never thought he’d needed it to. Not after his and Cecily’s divorce was final and he’d picked himself up, dusted himself off and created a new philosophy on romance and dating, which meant that a helpmate was no longer in his future.
But something told him a change was in the wings. What kind of change, he really couldn’t say. And that possibility left him more than a little unbalanced.
* * *
Over the next week, Schuyler represented the Mendoza brand at several of Carlo’s special tastings and at an industry-wide event that was held last night in one of the downtown luxury hotels. She consistently brought in new orders that increased business, and the entire Mendoza clan not only thanked her, they raved about the amazing job she was doing for them.
Yet it was Carlo’s praise that pleased her the most. He always made a point of complimenting her efforts at the wrap-up of each event, but he really didn’t need to say a word. While he observed her from the sidelines, she could read his appreciation in his supportive stance, in the tilt of his smile and in the intensity of his gaze as it focused on her every move. And that pretty much said it all.
He’d watched her the same way today, during an afternoon tasting at the winery. Then he’d slipped out of the room with the last of the guests, leaving her alone.
Outside, Fluff and Stuff frolicked on the grass. She could see them through the big bay window that looked out at the sculpture garden, where they rolled around, nipping at each other. It was a game they liked to play.
She supposed she should take them home now, but she decided to first wipe up a small spill that had splashed on the bar. So she bent to retrieve a dampened cloth she kept on one of the shelves underneath.
Before she could straighten, a familiar male voice called out, “Hey.”
She glanced up to see Carlo entering the room wearing a sexy grin, and her heart rumbled in her chest. She tamped down the sudden thrill at his return, offered him a breezy smile and called out a “Hey” right back to him.
“Thanks for another successful day,” he said. “That group just placed over two thousand dollars in orders. Good job.”
“You’re welcome.” It wasn’t often that people took Schuyler seriously, so she appreciated it when someone did. Especially this particular someone.
Silence filled the room. Sometimes, when they faced each other like this—neither of them saying a word, his praise stoking her pride—they seemed to be tiptoeing around... What exactly? She didn’t know for sure, and it was probably best that she not put too much thought into it. So she broke eye contact and wiped down the marble-topped bar, even though it no longer needed it.
Still, she couldn’t keep the thoughts from churning in her mind. They’d talked about making love. At least, they’d done so indirectly. But so far they’d shared only a few heated kisses.
Sure, they flirted with each other when no one was around, but they’d yet
to take that extra step. She was ready, though. She just hadn’t done anything to instigate it.
And why was that? She’d never had trouble taking a bold step before. She’d never sat on the sidelines when something needed to be done. But she’d never actually made a brazen sexual move.
Schuyler might be quick to react at times, but for some reason, she was more cautious with Carlo. And there was good reason for it. He was a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor who only played at romance, and she knew better than to expect any more from him than fun and games.
Still, wasn’t that what she’d wanted? A lighthearted fling while she was in Austin?
“You don’t need to clean up,” Carlo said, as he approached the bar where she worked. “The janitor will be here this evening.”
“I know. I just want to wipe up a few splatters of spilled wine.”
As he leaned against the bar, coming dangerously close as far as her hormones were concerned, she caught a whiff of his sea-breeze scent. Her heart rate, which was already escalated, slipped into overdrive. Dang, the guy did something to her. Something that made her hands tremble. But she’d be darned if she’d let the sexy Latino know that.
Attempting an unaffected pose, she reached under the bar, where she kept her purse, pulled out a pack of breath mints and held it out to him. “Would you like one?”
“No, thanks. I’m still enjoying the taste of the chocolate truffle I just stole from the kitchen.”
“And you didn’t think to bring one to me?”
“That was pretty thoughtless, huh?”
She chuckled. “Chef Bernardo ought to ban you from his territory for snatching so many snacks.” She popped one peppermint mint into her mouth and replaced the rest in her bag.
Focus, she told herself. But that was hard to do when rebellious hormones were telling her brain to stand down.
As she retrieved the damp cloth she’d been using and swept it across the marble top one last time, her elbow brushed against a stack of paper cocktail napkins, causing them to flutter to the floor. “Oops.”
She and Carlo bent at the same time to pick them up, and their hands met. Their fingers touched. Their gazes met and locked, setting off a flurry of pheromones that darn near knocked her for a loop.
Was she ready for this?
Yes, but what if things turned serious for her? It certainly wouldn’t for him.
She really ought to laugh off their obvious attraction—or at least ignore it, like she’d been doing this past week.
Instead, she placed her hand on his jaw, felt the light bristle on his cheek, and common sense turned to mush. Without any thought to the consequences, she drew his mouth to hers.
Chapter Eight
Carlo didn’t know how many more heated kisses he could share with Schuyler before he completely lost his head and said something stupid, promised something he couldn’t give her. But right now, all he could think to do was to wrap her in his arms and take each moment as it came.
So they knelt on the tasting room floor, hands caressing, tongues mating, breaths mingling. Yet the only tasting going on right now had uncovered a tantalizing blend of peppermint and chocolate. It was enough to make him want to eat her up, if not feel her up. And try as he might, he couldn’t seem to get enough of this amazing woman.
As the kiss intensified, he wondered where they could steal away for a more private sexual exploration. Before he could rack his brain for options, the door creaked open.
Dammit. Who’d caught them this time?
He slowly pulled his mouth away and turned to the doorway, where his father stood, that atta-boy grin lighting his eyes once again and shaving twenty years off his face.
“Apparently,” Esteban said, “I’ve done it again. You must think I have lousy timing.”
He had that right. Carlo might be frustrated by the interruption, but he certainly wasn’t embarrassed by it. His old man wasn’t, either. And judging by that twinkle in his eyes, he was getting a big kick out of it.
Too big, it seemed. Word of this was soon to hit the Mendoza rumor mill.
Schuyler, who seemed a wee bit more bothered by Esteban’s arrival this time than last, leaned back and combed her fingers through her hair. Then she reached for a handful of napkins on the floor. “Carlo was helping me pick up the mess I made.”
“I can see that.” Esteban winked at Carlo. “I’ve taught my sons to always offer their assistance to a young lady in need.”
The innuendo didn’t go unnoticed, but there wasn’t much Carlo could say at this point. Besides, he was too stunned by his growing attraction to Schuyler—and his growing desire to take her to bed.
Now, there was an idea. Once a relationship turned sexual, his interest in the woman began to dissipate, and he’d pull back. So if he and Schuyler actually made love, they just might be able to put this blasted attraction behind them and move on.
Not that he was the least bit tired of her yet. Nor was he ready to put any distance between them. But he wasn’t at all comfortable with the skewed idea that kept cropping up. One that suggested he might actually be falling for her.
Schuyler hadn’t made any secret of the fact that she liked to have fun. And she was just the kind of woman he’d like to play around with.
But it wasn’t going to be the least bit fun if he let his feelings get in the way.
* * *
Esteban Mendoza couldn’t keep his mouth shut if it was covered in duct tape, especially when he had four sons and a nephew to entertain.
Carlo had no more than entered the winery yard after Schuyler drove off with the puppies in her Beamer, when all the good-hearted but unwelcome teasing began.
“Hey, bro,” Mark called out, a smirk plastered across his face. “Do I hear the sound of wedding bells in the distance?”
“Very funny,” Carlo said.
Rodrigo laughed. “That’s not the story we heard.”
That wasn’t surprising. His father had been connecting a lot of romantic dots that weren’t there. At least, there wasn’t anything going on until he and Schuyler actually addressed the issue—and pursued it.
“What pumped-up story did you hear?” Carlo asked his brother, although he had a darn good idea.
Rodrigo folded his arms across his chest, his grin rivaling that of the Cheshire cat. “Just that you and Schuyler were steaming up the windows in the tasting room.”
It was hard to argue that. Still, Carlo shot a thanks-for-nothing glance at his father, who was an irrepressible flirt and a natural-born ladies’ man.
“Better watch out,” Chaz said.
Carlo shook his head. “You guys are making something out of nothing.”
“That kiss on the tasting room floor wasn’t the first one I saw,” his father said. “And I damn sure wouldn’t call either of them ‘nothing.’”
“It’s not what you think.” At least, Carlo didn’t want them to make that assumption. He glanced toward the restaurant, where Chef Bernardo was prepping the waitstaff before the dining room opened for dinner. He ought to attend that meeting, which gave him the perfect excuse for a quick escape.
“I’m glad to hear that kiss didn’t mean a thing,” Stefan said. “I assume that means I’m free to hit on Schuyler. I’ve always been attracted to petite blondes, especially one with a great personality, big blue eyes and sexy curves. And if she’s free for the taking, I wouldn’t mind making a move.”
Carlo stiffened. He loved his brothers. He really did. But he didn’t want any of them staking a claim on Schuyler. Not yet, anyway. And maybe not ever.
“Okay,” he admitted. “There’s a little something brewing between us. But I’m not sure what it is. And just so you know, Schuyler feels the same way I do about marriage and commitment.”
“So it’s just a drive-by romance?” Chaz asked.
It certainly should
be. That was the plan.
“Hey,” Carlo said, “even if there might be a little more than that going on, Schuyler lives in Houston. So it couldn’t be more than a temporary thing.”
Chaz placed his hand on Carlo’s shoulder and gave it a brotherly squeeze. “For a divorced guy who swore off making any more romantic commitments, I’d say you’re playing with fire.”
There might be some truth to that statement. A part of him recognized that he could develop deep feelings for Schuyler, but he didn’t like the thought of becoming vulnerable. So he shrugged it off and addressed the elephant in the winery. “You can’t blame me for being gun-shy when it comes to long-term commitments.”
He knew they’d all assume he was talking about his failed marriage, which was a good reason in itself. But on top of that, Carlo and his four brothers had grown up in an unhappy household.
Their father had traveled for business, but even when he was home he spent a lot of evenings with his friends. He might be stone sober now, but he’d had a drinking problem back then. Still, that was no excuse for practically abandoning their mom and forcing her to raise the boys mainly on her own.
Needless to say, they’d fought a lot—over his absence, his drinking and, while it was just speculation on Carlo’s part, a little lipstick on Esteban’s collar had probably been an issue, too. After each blowup, they’d make up, only to start the cycle all over again.
Carlo, who’d been the oldest, had a front-row seat to the family drama. Sure, he’d known his parents had loved each other. They’d had moments of passion and affection interspersed with the arguing, but eventually his mom got tired of it and left his dad. Their divorce had taught Carlo a lesson about love.
“Just to keep the record straight,” Carlo said. “There won’t be any wedding bells for me.”
At that, his cousin Alejandro, who’d just returned from a weeklong seminar in California, stepped forward. “I know how you feel.”
Did he? Alejandro had recently married Olivia Fortune Robinson and was happier than he’d ever been.
“But you should give love a chance,” Alejandro said.
