by Marina Adair
That was his plan, anyway, until he placed his hands on her waist, gently slid her from the window, and registered what she was wearing. The usually coiffed and primped prom queen was in a pair of butt-hugging cutoffs—which he assumed at one time had been jeans—a thin white shirt, and not much else. She was a big, rumpled, blonde mess, and by the hollowness he heard in her mumbled “thanks” when he set her on her feet, he’d bet it wasn’t just a physical thing. Odd, since she’d been the one to walk away from her marriage and Pairing, the upscale New York restaurant that she and Jeff had opened a few years back.
Then Lexi bent over and reached sideways through the window to grab an éclair off another table inside, angling her body just right so that he got a near-perfect view of her pairing, pink bra and all, and her failed marriage was the last thing on his mind.
He stood back and smiled, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t staring when she twisted farther to reach the treat, the movement tugging her shirt up and her shorts down low enough to prove she liked her lace matching. God, she was killing him.
“I’m guessing you’re okay then?”
“What?” She turned her head to look at him, those big green eyes wide in question. He merely dropped his gaze to her ass sticking up out of the window. “Oh, um, I’m fine. Just hungry.” She extracted herself from the window, sans the éclair, and straightened, pulling her too-long tee down.
Sad to lose his view but desperate to get out of such close proximity, Marc told her about the key under the gnome and turned. He was about to leave when her hands settled on his arm and—goddamned son of a bitch—her touch sent a hot sexual zing shooting through his entire body.
Marc liked women. All kinds of women. He liked the way they smelled, the way they felt, the way they sounded calling out his name. He especially liked the last part.
He just couldn’t like this woman, not in that way. Not in any way other than as a friend.
Ever.
Yeah, good luck with that, he told himself, remembering how he’d said those same exact words on graduation night, when he’d found her crying under the bleachers because Jeff, wanting to start college a free agent with open possibilities, had broken up with her. A week and some lame advice later, Lexi had left, following Jeff to New York with hopes of saving their relationship.
Lexi must have felt something too, because she jerked her hand back and eyed him cautiously. “You promised me earlier that we’d never talk about this again. Did you mean to anyone?”
Marc looked down the alley at Mrs. Lambert of Grapevine Prune and Clip and her partner in crime, Mrs. Kincaid—who, from the looks on their faces, had been watching the entire event unfold—and wondered how Lexi intended to keep her window fiasco a secret. St. Helena was a small town located in the heart of the Napa Valley, with two blocks of downtown, two gas stations, and only two commodities: wine and gossip. Now that two pairs of the loosest lips in the county were firsthand witnesses, those who hadn’t been there were bound to get a stellar reenactment by lunch.
Lexi ignored the women and stared up at him, pleading—and with one look at the anxious way she worried her lower lip, he understood. She wasn’t talking about the town; she was afraid this would get back to Jeff. Which made no sense at all.
Last he’d heard Lexi hadn’t given a rat’s ass about Jeff’s opinion, which was one of the reasons their restaurant had been foundering in the year or so leading up to the divorce. But if she wanted her morning kept a secret, who was he to ruin her day?
“Deal.”
“Thanks,” Lexi whispered.
Marc’s phone chirped. He didn’t move to answer it.
“I’ll let you get that and”—she paused and offered up a pathetic smile—“thanks.”
Marc should have taken the opportunity to get the hell out of there. Instead, he found himself sending the call to voice mail without even looking at the screen. “Look, when the rest of your stuff gets here, let me know and I can help you unload.”
He should be putting space between them, not offering to get all hot and sweaty in her room. Even if it was just from moving her boxes.
“Except for my dress, I already unloaded everything.” Marc looked at her gnat-sized car and frowned. As if reading his mind, she continued, “I got a really fair offer for the house as is, with the furniture, which worked for me. I bought everything to fit that house, and it meant less for me to move.”
“You sold your place in New York?” That surprised him. Every time he went back east to visit, Lexi was remodeling or decorating or refinishing some part of that house. It was a cozy little brownstone with a tiny backyard in one of the more family-centric boroughs. And Lexi had loved it. Jeff, on the other hand, had been pulling for a plush loft uptown near their restaurant.
“Hard to start over when you’re dragging the past with you. Plus—”
Marc’s phone rang. Again.
“You should probably get that,” she said, already backing away.
Marc looked down at the screen and groaned. Wingman growled. It read “Natasha Duval.” It also said that he’d missed three calls from the very same.
Shit.
He’d been playing phone tag with Natasha all week. Okay, maybe he was avoiding her calls. He hadn’t spoken to her since, well, the week before Valentine’s Day, when they’d run into each other at a party she was catering. Natasha had been wearing a tight red dress held together by a single scrap of ribbon that she made clear she wanted him to untie, so he brought her back to his suite at the hotel and diligently unwrapped her. At the time it had seemed like the perfect arrangement.
She wasn’t looking for serious, a good thing, since he didn’t do serious. Ever. He’d made that clear.
Apparently not clear enough, because the phone rang again and Wingman instinctively curled up on Marc’s feet and whimpered. Another reason to send her to voice mail: Natasha didn’t do dogs.
“When are you going to learn?” Lexi lectured from beside him. “You can’t just keep ignoring women and hope they’ll go away.”
“You know what? You’re absolutely right.” He handed her the phone. “Here.”
She shook her head while backing away. “What are we, in high school? No way. I stopped being your winggirl when Bethany Jones called me crying about how you were her soul mate and I had to tell her that you were gay.”
“I still can’t believe you said that.” Or that Bethany had bought it. Marc rested his palm on the brick wall, sending a flirty wink at a brunette wearing a push-up bra who passed by the alley. Push-up flushed and looked away.
Gay, my ass.
“Come on. One last call,” Marc heard himself beg. “Then we’ll be even.”
“Even? You said we wouldn’t ever talk about this.” She gestured vaguely to the window.
The phone rang, louder and more obnoxious than the last time. Marc felt his left eye twitch.
“Doesn’t mean that we both won’t know you still owe me one.” Marc hated pulling that. He had no intention of holding Lexi’s inability to climb through a window over her head. But he also had no intention of dealing with Natasha right now.
Not before his morning coffee and chocolate croissant. Not when Marc was trying to prove to himself—and his brothers—that bowing out of the family wine business and dumping every cent he had into renovating an old hotel, which was becoming a serious money pit, was a smart move. And not when the most prestigious blind wine tasting in the country, the St. Helena Summer Wine Showdown, was just six weeks away and being held in his hotel. He couldn’t afford any distractions.
He couldn’t afford to fuck this up.
The phone gave one final ring and went silent. Marc exhaled and, after making sure the phone hadn’t somehow connected, sagged against the brick wall, relieved.
It immediately rang again.
Marc rolled his head so he was looking at Lexi, making sure to turn on the charm. “Come on, cream puff.”
“Don’t aim that at me.” She pointed
to his face. “I’m immune.” Didn’t he know it. The one woman who couldn’t be charmed was the only one who mattered.
Forcing an unaffected smile, one that he’d mastered after fifteen years of watching Lexi and Jeff together, he played his winning card. It was a crappy card to play, but suddenly this wasn’t about avoiding Natasha as much as it was about getting back to where he and Lexi used to be.
“You don’t have thirty seconds to help an old friend out?”
Something painful flickered in Lexi’s expression. Marc didn’t know why he suddenly felt like shit, but his gut got that squirrelly feeling he hated. The one that came when he knew he’d screwed up. Before he could figure out what he’d done, Lexi held out her hand.
“Fine. I’ll do it. But then we’re even. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
He handed her the phone. She didn’t take it. “But I’m not pretending to be your spiritual life coach.”
“All right.”
“Or your nonna, sister, stalker, or any other woman who has possession issues.” Marc nodded. “You have fifteen seconds to explain the logistics of this latest conquest. Go.”
“Fine. We spent a few nights together. She wanted more. I said no, too busy focusing on my hotel and the Summer Wine Showdown. We parted friends. Now she’s calling again.”
“That’s all of the story.”
“Yup.”
She reached over and, instead of taking the phone like he’d expected, hit speakerphone. “Marco DeLuca’s office, how may I help you?”
The phone remained silent.
“Hello?” Lexi prompted.
“Um…yes.” Natasha’s voice sounded through the phone. It was pinched and pissed and, unless Marc was mistaken, jealous. It also was nasal and annoying, something he’d never noticed before today. “I’m calling for Marco.”
Lexi gave Marc a where-do-you-find-these-women roll of the eyes. “Unfortunately, he’s in a meeting right now. Can I take a message?”
“A meeting?” Natasha’s tone all but said liar, liar. “Well, when he’s done with his meeting, make sure he closes the window. I would hate for someone to sneak into the bakery and steal your secret recipes.”
The phone went silent.
Lexi blinked at the phone and then him. “Why do I get the feeling that there is so much more to the story than you are letting on?”
“When have I ever lied to you?” Well, besides the time you asked me if following Jeff to New York was a good idea and I said yes.
“Never.” She frowned. “But I still don’t believe that this woman spent just a few nights with you and now she’s all stalker.”
“Believe it.” Marc smiled. “I’m that good.”
“She’s watching you. She threatened to steal my grandmother’s recipes! What kind of women are you dating?” She stopped, raising a hand. “You know what, never mind. I don’t care. I am so over men and their choices in women.”
Someone cleared her throat—loudly. Lexi jumped at the sound and let out a yelp when she turned and saw Natasha smiling at her from the end of the alley.
Lexi slowly turned back to face him, her mouth gaping open, her eyes forming two pissed-off slits. “You. Slept. With. Natasha. Duval?”
Marc shrugged, feeling way more anxious that he was letting on. “I was clear with her, nothing serious.”
“She’s been trying to corner you into serious since sophomore year.” Oh yeah, he’d forgotten that. “When you made me break up with her for you. Twice.” Lexi looked down the alley and gave a little wiggle of her fingers and shouted, “Hey, Natasha. Long time no see.”
Natasha gave an eat-shit smile in return. No wave.
Lexi turned back to Marc. “Make that three times. And she’s still here. Like that freaky cat off Pet Sematary.”
“I can hear you,” Natasha said, pointing to her wireless earpiece with her long red nails. They looked like claws. Sharp, red claws made for sinking into a man and never letting go. Marc shivered.
Natasha pocketed her phone and swished her way toward them, her hips working double time, then plastered herself to Marc in a hug when she got close enough.
“Hey, Marc,” she said too sweetly, finally pulling back from the hug.
“Hey, Natasha,” he began, stepping away from her. To avoid saying something stupid, like agreeing to another date, he focused on her eyes and away from her cleavage. She subtly shifted, crossing her arms and smashing her breasts together, and “Sorry about not getting back to you” came sputtering out of his mouth.
“That’s okay, I get it. The Showdown is next month, and I know you’ve been swamped with trying to get your celebrity judge and a new caterer”—her eyes flickered to Lexi, and Marc felt his heart literally slam into his chest—“which is why I was trying to set up a time to chat. There’s a guy I cater for sometimes, anyway he’s an editor at Martha Stewart Living. I told him he should do a spread on your hotel for their summer-getaway issue.”
Natasha was positioning herself and trying to use their history and her connections to lock down the Showdown catering gig, which pissed him off even further, but he was willing to agree to anything if it meant getting rid of her before she said something that would make Lexi’s homecoming even worse.
“That’s great. How about dinner?”
“Really?” Natasha sounded way too happy for a no-strings former fuck buddy. “I can’t wait. Plus, I want to hear all about your trip to New York.” She emphasized the last words with a pointed glare. At Lexi. Whose lower lip trembled. Ah, shit! “That is, if you’re done with your meeting.”
“Oh, we’re done,” Lexi said.
CHAPTER 2
Done was such an understatement, Lexi thought as she took off down the alley toward Main Street.
“Screw the dress.” And screw her homecoming.
Lexis tugged her T-shirt farther down her thighs, turned right on Main Street, and stormed toward her grandmother’s shop. It was the one place in her world where Lexi had always felt safe. And all she wanted to do was crawl into her grandmère’s arms and settle in for a good cry—and maybe some homemade fudge.
“Hold up, will ya?” Marc yelled after her.
Lexi kept right on going, even though Marc had no trouble keeping up. With his long legs, she had to take two steps for his every one to ensure she made it inside before he got to her.
“I see you still walk fast when you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad,” she said truthfully.
She was livid, and she didn’t understand why. Lexi knew why Marc had gone to New York recently, and apparently so did Natasha. It wasn’t as though she’d expected Marc not to go to Jeffery and Sara’s wedding. Since Marc was Jeffery’s oldest friend, she assumed he’d be the best man—just like he had been for their wedding.
The problem was that the divorce had only been finalized Friday, the same day as Jeff’s rehearsal dinner. The rat bastard couldn’t even wait a day to move on with his life, to erase almost fifteen years of memories from his mind. And the knowing glance Natasha shot her meant everybody in town already knew. It also meant that, although Jeffery had promised no one back home knew about the affair, there was the distinct possibility that he’d lied.
Big shocker there.
Lexi reached for the door handle and heard the familiar jingle of the bells on the other side, welcoming her home, when Marc’s hand covered hers. “Really? Then why do you look like you want to hit me?”
It wasn’t his hold that had her halting in her tracks, or even his smart mouth, it was the softness in his voice and the way his thumb traced gently over her bare finger.
“Look, Jeff called and asked me to be in the wedding. He’s been my best friend since preschool.” The word friend made her heart ache. At one time she’d considered Marc her friend, even through all of the teasing and pranks—but friends didn’t just disappear. “I couldn’t say no.”
“I never expected you to.” But she had expected him to check in on her, even if it
was just a phone call to make sure she was okay—which she hadn’t been. She had been scared and hurt and heartbroken. And since all of her friends in New York were somehow connected to the restaurant—and Jeffery—she had also been completely alone.
To an extent, she understood. Divorces were messy, awkward for everyone involved. But Lexi hadn’t been the one to cheat, and yet she had lost everything. Looking back on the past six months, she realized that Marc’s silence had hurt the worst. “Thanks for the help, but I can take it from here.”
“Look, it’s obvious you had a rough night.”
Lexi looked down at her clothes. Did she really look that bad? Marc’s grimace said she did.
“How about you come back to the hotel with me—” Before she could even roll her eyes at his cheesy line, he put his hands up in a show of innocence. “Just for a nap and to get something other than chocolate and sugar in your system.”
Lexi looked down Main toward the Napa Grand and couldn’t help but smile. The once-dilapidated hotel stood elegant and proud. The windows, no longer boarded over, were framed with beautifully handcrafted edging, and ornate marble casings hugged the corners of the building. Even the original stained-glass panes over the circular entry had been painstakingly recreated. It was incredible.
The first time she’d gone inside the hotel, Marc had convinced her that it was haunted. They had snuck in the through the broken window in the back by the loading dock. Even at fourteen, Lexi had been pretty certain that he just wanted to charm his way into her panties, but confident that her panties weren’t easily charmed, she’d agreed. To her surprise, instead of making his move, Marc had taken her by the hand and led her around the place, explaining the history of the hotel and how it had, at one time, been an important asset to the Napa Valley. Then, after swearing her to secrecy, he’d explained how one day he was going to buy the building and restore it to its original state.
