Summer in Napa (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel)

by Marina Adair

  Gabe was the last person he wanted to engage in a conversation about women, since it would most likely lead to a lecture on when he was going to grow the hell up. After their dad died, Gabe became more like a father than a brother, and Marc went off the deep end for a few years, partying too hard and taking nothing too seriously.

  Problem was, Gabe still viewed Marc as that screwup with the attention span of a gnat, and Marc was sick of Gabe shoving all his big-brother crap in his face. But big-brother complex or not, Gabe was the only DeLuca who had managed to maintain a healthy relationship with someone of the opposite sex. The guy had not only convinced a woman who despised him to walk down the aisle, he’d also gotten Regan pregnant, proof that they still had sex after the I dos.

  As Marc figured it, his brother must be doing something right, since he was pretty sure, pregnant wife and all, Gabe was still getting laid on a regular basis. Because the guy smiled—all the freaking time. Whereas Marc had been couched in the first ten minutes of boyfriend bliss and spent his Sunday morning half hard and wholly frustrated.

  “I was thinking a walk in the park. Maybe a picnic. Holly could play in the sand, and the walk would do Regan good. Her back has started hurting her.”

  “That’s it?” It seemed way too easy. “Just a walk?”

  “Yeah, playboy, just a walk,” Gabe laughed. “Regan isn’t one of your women who wants a five-star meal and bragging rights to the St. Helena Stud.”

  “Christ, Gabe, I wasn’t judging you.” Although Gabe apparently wasn’t above judging him. Nothing new, Marc thought, but the embarrassment that came with the barb was. Was that really how people saw him? “I was just worried and wanted to make sure she was handling the pregnancy okay. You know what, never mind, okay?”

  There was a long pause. “Sorry, it’s just you haven’t seemed all that interested in Regan’s health or the pregnancy. I thought…”

  Gabe trailed off, and Marc was happy that he didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t want to know what his family thought about him. Sure, he wasn’t as involved in the day-to-day running of their business, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care about them.

  “If you want, I can take Holly tonight so that you and Regan can go on a date,” Marc offered, knowing he was setting himself up for a blow. “After the family time at the park, of course.”

  The silence hurt.

  “Um, thanks,” Gabe finally said. “But ChiChi already offered to take Holly tonight. Something about helping the grannies bake cakes for the farmers’ market tomorrow. She had the same thought as you, that Regan and I need a date night. I’m planning to barbecue for dinner. Lately the smell of raw meat makes Regan sick, and I’ll be damned if she decides that steak isn’t good for the baby.” But Marc could tell by the way Gabe spoke, it wasn’t about a steak-free pregnancy—although that would suck—but that he genuinely wanted to make Regan’s life easier. And if him cooking made her day, then that made Gabe a happy man.

  “Maybe next week then,” Marc offered, rolling his eyes when Gabe hesitated.

  How hard could one little girl be, Marc wanted to ask. Holly was cute, female, and liked dogs.

  Then again, so did Lexi, and she was the hardest damn person on the planet to charm. But he wasn’t giving up, because while most of his friends were still eating worms and playing kickball, Marc had already mastered charming females. First out of their lunches, then into their pants.

  Ah, hell. Marc stopped short. He’d been going about this whole Lexi issue in the wrong way. He wasn’t looking to charm her into his bed, although parts of his anatomy would disagree; he was supposed to be making her life easier so she could get the bistro open.

  Since the goal was different, he needed a different strategy.

  The sun was barely up when Marc’s alarm went off. He rolled out of bed and, ignoring the annoying hard-on that had greeted him every morning since he’d helped Lexi out of that window, laced up his running shoes.

  He clicked on Wingman’s collar and gave a sharp tug when the lazy mutt stretched out to take up Marc’s half of the bed.

  “Oh no you don’t. You and I have a date. With Lexi. So get up.”

  Wingman opened one eye and immediately closed it.

  “I was thinking that a run—”

  Marc was about to drag all ninety pounds of dog out of the bed when Wingman’s ears perked up at the mention of his favorite word—well, second favorite, right behind custard. Before Marc could grab his iPod or even a couple bottles of water, Wingman leaped off the bed, his tail catching the side table on the way down and sending two books, a glass of water, and the reading lamp crashing to the floor.

  “Sit,” Marc yelled, and like everyone else in his life, Wingman ignored his authority and headed for the front door.

  “Damn it, Wingman. I said sit.” Marc managed to clip the leash on right as Wingman barreled through the suite and down the hallway toward the elevator, barking excitedly. And most likely waking up every hotel guest on the top floor.

  He managed to make it through the hotel lobby without anyone asking him for anything, which was why, he told himself, he was smiling like an idiot.

  After Wingman sniffed every corner and peed on every tree, plant, and car tire on Main Street, they headed down the alley, giving a light knock when they came to her back door.

  When no answer came, he stood back and looked up. Light poured through the back window. She was home…and awake.

  After a long moment of silence from inside, he knocked again—this time louder. Wingman barked his good morning. Several times. Until Marc told him to quiet down. Then the two males took their place on the porch and waited.

  Marc had come over here merely to do his job as her friend, to make sure she got out of the house and breathed in air that wasn’t laced with cumin or paprika. He also told himself he was a terrible liar. Marc had never liked mixing his morning run with a woman. They talked too much and complained about the sweat until the run became a leisurely walk through the park. And they insisted on wearing those skimpy shorts that were totally ineffective for working out, since all they inspired was a hard-on.

  The door opened, and Marc was rendered stupid. He didn’t know why. There was nothing skimpy about the men’s striped pajama bottoms or pink tank top she wore, but they were effective as hell. Her golden hair was in complete disarray, her shirt stained, and her face was flushed and soft with sleep. Any other woman looking like a rumpled mess would have been a turnoff, but Lexi’s dazed eyes and just-rolled-out-of-bed expression made him want to take her back to bed—and crawl in beside her.

  “What are you doing here?” she yawned, obviously not nearly as affected as he was.

  “Picking you up for a leisurely morning walk in the park.” Wingman barked and tugged on the leash. “Well, more of a leisurely”—he paused, looking down at Wingman, who was looking back, waiting for him to say it so he could go batshit crazy—“r-u-n.”

  She rubbed at her eyes. “What time is it?’

  “Seven fifteen.” Marc guessed that Gabe didn’t roll Regan out of bed for their walk. Shit. “I saw the light on and thought you were up.”

  “I was on baking duty today for the bakery. I finally got to sleep around six. And why would you think I’d want to go on a ru—?”

  Marc shook his head in warning while he placed a single finger over Lexi’s lips, noticing how soft and full they were. She must have noticed something too, because her breathing stopped and her eyes went big. And damn if all Marc could picture was her naked.

  “Because you’re my girlfriend. And walks are something that couples do together. In the park. With their dog. So go get dressed.” His eyes dropped to her chest. If he looked hard enough, he could make out the outline of her nipples through her shirt. God, she had great breasts. “Or not.”

  Lexi crossed her arms, covering the best view he’d had all morning, and glared. “Then you need to find a girlfriend who doesn’t despise mornings.” Yeah, he’d forgotten about that.
“It’s why I’m a chef and not a baker. Night owl. And should a real boyfriend show up at this god-awful hour, he’d have brought coffee.”

  “Ah, cream puff, are you asking me out on a coffee date? I’m flattered.” Marc leaned against the doorframe, crossing one ankle over the other. “We can go after our walk. Maybe then do a little post-morning spooning.”

  “No. And no. Part of the reason I agreed to this”—she motioned between them—“was because I would get time in the kitchen. Uninterrupted time.”

  Marc ran a hand though his hair. Natasha would have said yes in a heartbeat, and so would nearly every single lady in St. Helena. Not this woman. She was stubborn, and confusing, and never did anything that Marc wanted her to. And he liked it. How sick was that?

  “Fine, we’ll skip the coffee, go straight to the spooning. Although if we want any alone time, he”—Marc jerked his chin toward Wingman—“will do better if we get the r-u-n in.”

  He leaned closer to whisper in her ear and felt her shiver. “He’ll sleep through just about anything after he’s had his walk and breakfast.”

  “I would be sleeping through all of this if you hadn’t pounded on my door.” She yawned—wider this time. “Between mornings in the kitchen, the tasting, and prepping for the farmers’ market tomorrow, I’m beat.”

  “Maybe you should hire another baker.”

  “Trust me, it’s on my long list of things to do. First I have to figure out if the bakery can even afford it.” She shrugged. “Pricilla’s books are a huge mess, and I can’t make sense of anything. The numbers she sent me when I came up with the budget for the bistro are totally different from the ones I found stashed in her office. Plus, she’s been shorting her customers and canceling events for months. For all I know, I have to get the bistro open and start turning a profit before I can even afford to hire kitchen staff.”

  Marc might suck at relationships, but he was incredible with numbers. It was why, even after he walked away from DeLuca Wines, he continued to handle all of the family’s books. If he could help smooth Lexi’s transition from chef to restaurateur, then he was game. The extra time they’d spend together, alone, had absolutely nothing to do with his desire to help.

  “I can take a look at them if you want. See what’s going on and get a feel for where the bakery really is. I can also help you figure out a system that works for you. Maybe come up with a realistic plan.”

  She blinked up at him, and something warm and unfamiliar slid through his body. She was looking at him like he had just made her day, hell, her world. He was used to hormones and chemistry and raw sexual heat with women. But this was something altogether different, and suddenly this seemed like a really bad idea.

  “I mean, if you don’t want me to, I understand,” he backpedaled.

  “No. That would be great.” She blushed, actually blushed, and he felt like a freaking hero.

  Shit. Marc took a step back, pulling the leash as he went. “Well, we didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Lexi rested her hand on the door, looking ready to give another excuse to turn down his offer, one that he would happily accept, when Wingman went to work. He waddled over and dropped himself on Lexi’s foot, his tail slapping her shin. He looked up at her with those big brown eyes and panted a little harder for added effect.

  Everything in Marc stilled. He could tell by the way Lexi ruffled Wingman behind the ears that she was going to give in and he would get that walk through the park. And when it was over he’d be in deep shit, because Marc finally understood why Gabe would blow off a day of beer and football to go for a walk in the park with his wife.

  “I guess fresh air would help me focus. Wake me up. Plus, I had four éclairs this morning.” She smiled, but Marc couldn’t smile back. He was too busy holding his breath. “To be clear, though, I don’t walk, I don’t dally, and I don’t like talking while pounding the pavement. If we are doing this, it’s a flat-out run—”

  On cue, Wingman lost it. He started barking and jumped right for Lexi, yanking the leash out of Marc’s hand. He was pretty sure the dog was going to take Lexi down and made a move to grab for her when she held out her palms and simply said, “Sit.”

  And wouldn’t you know it, the damn dog sat. Completely still, except for the quivering tip of his tail, he stared at his new mistress, awaiting her next command.

  But the command that came out was directed at Marc. “Five miles. No coffee, and you have to help me cart all of my stuff over to the tasting on Wednesday night.”

  And like any obedient mutt, Marc agreed. Both he and Wingman watched in awe as Lexi made her way up the stairs, that perfect ass swaying saucily with every step she took.

  “Give me five,” Marc said to Wingman after Lexi disappeared around the corner. Wingman sat back on his haunches and pawed Marc’s palm. “We got us a girlfriend and a date.”

  “Are you dating my brother?” Abby accused by way of greeting. She said it loud enough that it carried to every customer within a three-booth radius. And since it was prime time at the farmers’ market, it reached the maximum number of listeners.

  “Classic French pastry?” Lexi said loudly, forcing a salesgirl smile.

  She strategically avoided her friend’s glare, instead paying particular attention to the arrangement of mouthwatering éclairs, fluffy and custard filled and drizzled with enough chocolate to make her forget that it was only eight in the morning, on a Tuesday, and she had already been up for more than four hours.

  “Two for five dollars,” she said, licking a glob of filling from her finger. As heavenly as it was, it wasn’t going to save her from an inquisition.

  Today the DeLuca Darling wore distressed snug-fit jeans, a bright-teal top, and enough accusation to fill three churches. She also wore a slicked-up ponytail, minimal makeup, and a glare that cut through her designer sunglasses. Abby might look like an innocent coed, but even at five foot one she could be intimidating as hell. “Are. You. Dating. My. Brother? Yes or no.”

  “No. Yes.” Lexi sucked her lips inside her mouth to keep from saying anything else. She’d promised Marc that their relationship would stay a secret, well, the pretend part, anyway. She’d also made a blood oath with Abby senior year, after daring Abby to steal the school mascot and blame it on the rival high school’s quarterback, promising her that no one would find out, only to have photographic proof of Abby’s crime end up on the front page of the school paper, that she would never lie to her again. And she hadn’t. Ever. And she didn’t want to start now.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s a Facebook status, not an answer. Is. Marco. Your boyfriend?”

  They stared at each other for a tense moment, neither willing to cave. One night, in the tenth grade, they had had a heated discussion over which was the hottest boy band. Neither had been willing to concede, so they’d glared at each other until the sun came up.

  “Fine, he’s my boyfriend,” Lexi started, then corrected herself. “But not my boyfriend.”

  “What does that even mean?” Abby threw her hands up in frustration and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out—except for a high gasp.

  Clasping her cheeks as though it would keep her head from shaking back and forth, Abby took a step backward with every word. “No. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. You’re the only friend I’ve ever had who doesn’t go stupid around my brothers.”

  Lexi rolled her eyes. “I’m not going stupid. And we aren’t even dating…really.”

  “Wow, thanks, Lex. That clarifies things. Really, it does. So clear, in fact, that next time Natasha corners me at Picker’s Produce demanding to know if you’re sleeping with one of my brothers, I’ll know exactly how to answer.”

  Three ladies in neon sun visors and armed with big canvas bags looked up from the stand one over. The pudgiest of the group, who just so happened to be Nora Kincaid, set down the locally grown honey and moved on to inspect the baskets of organic squash. Not because she had a sudden cra
ving for zucchini bread, Lexi mused, but because it was as close as she could get to eavesdrop without looking too obvious.

  “Will you please lower your voice,” Lexi hissed. She grabbed Abby’s arm and dragged her around the table. After shoving Abby into a plastic chair and taking the closest metal folding one, Lexi leaned in and whispered, “She asked that? Really? When?”

  “Yes. Ten minutes ago. While my nonna was two feet away trying to barter for a better price on the fava beans.” Abby did not whisper.

  Nora leaned closer and pulled out her smartphone, elbowing an eggplant in the process and sending it crashing to the sidewalk.

  Lexi waved politely and then turned so that her back was to the pedestrian-filled street. In St. Helena, farmers’ markets were serious business, and if Lexi wanted to discuss her business without it becoming the town’s business or winding up on YouTube, then she had to keep it down. “Wait. What were you doing at Picker’s? You’re supposed to be supervising the remodel.”

  Lexi looked behind her, squinting through the back flap of the white farmers’ market tent toward the bakery. Over the heads of a group soccer moms whose faces were pressed against the windows, Lexi could just about make out some scaffolding and a ladder. What she couldn’t miss were the sounds of hammers and drills that had started up when the sun rose.

  “I am,” Abby defended. “I went to get breakfast for the crew.”

  “They’re installing a second kitchen in a bakery. Why didn’t they just eat danish and muffins?”

  “Because I needed space, okay.” Now Abby was whispering. She stole a glance toward the bakery right as Hard-Hammer Tanner slung a two-by-four over his shoulder and happened to look out the window—and directly at them. The soccer moms waved. Abby gasped, then ducked, then gasped again. She was so bent over in the chair she was practically hugging her knees. “Crap, crap, crap. Did he see me? Is he still looking?”

  Yup, Lexi wanted to say as she waved at a smiling Tanner, who, ignoring his adoring fans, waved back. The man was enormous. She had always thought Marc was tall and built like a god, but Tanner looked a good two inches taller than Marc with at least thirty more pounds of solid muscle on him—and all in the right places. What also surprised her was how graceful he was for such a big guy.