Summer in Napa (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel)

by Marina Adair

  “Oh, you do.” Her hands cupped his shoulders and slid forward until her fingers interlaced at his collarbone and her breasts were pressed against his back. “I dare you to finish what you started the other night at the town hall.”

  “Lexi,” he groaned, closing his eyes.

  “You promised me a lesson in kissing that was supposed to take me to second base, but I distinctly remember being interrupted before we rounded first.”

  He rested his hands on top of hers. Denying her this was going to be the hardest thing he ever had to do, but he knew if he touched her he wouldn’t be able to stop. Ridiculous as it might sound, kissing her in front of everyone didn’t seem like the betrayal that kissing her like this would be. He didn’t want to be that guy.

  “Lexi, we can’t.”

  She scooted around until she was kneeling in front of him, her legs tucked up under her dress and her face inches from his. “It’s a dare. You have to.”

  “I’m not going to betray a lifelong friendship on a dare.”

  He saw the hurt flash in her eyes. “You already kissed me.”

  “I know.” That was the problem. When he was with her, everything felt so right. But being with her challenged everything he’d based his relationships on. All because when he was fourteen, his buddy had called shotgun first. How fucked up was that?

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “Jeffery is your best friend. He was my first love. We dated, married, and he left me for another woman. This wouldn’t be a betrayal. I’m ready to move on. And I have a divorce decree and a pair of red silk panties that trumps man law.”

  “Does the bra match?” he asked, feeling a boyish grin kicking up the side of his lips, as though her answer could change his entire world.

  “Yes. But I agree kissing because of a dare is stupid. If you kiss me, kiss me because you want to.”

  “Oh, I want—” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. Because if he didn’t, he would tell Lexi that it wasn’t the betrayal of Jeff he was worried about. It was the thought of betraying her.

  The kiss started out gentle, sweet. It was the kind of kiss he’d imagined giving to her when they were teenagers. The kind of kiss that a woman like Lexi deserved. Slow and thorough, with enough heat to let her feel how special she was, how much he wanted her—how much he’d always wanted her.

  He pulled back slightly and trailed kisses across her cheek to her ear, lingering for a moment and paying special attention to the little soft spot behind it, loving how her breath caught and she arched her back slightly. Brushing his mouth over her earlobe, he gave a sharp little bite to its curve before making his way back to her mouth. And Christ, that mouth of hers was addictive.

  “Only second base, Lexi,” he said, more for himself than her. If he ventured past simple touching, they would wind up having sex. All damn night. On the cold pantry floor.

  “Okay,” she breathed, but when she looked up at him through her lashes, her eyes dazed with hunger, Marc knew this was a bad move.

  To prove it, he kissed her again. Only this time he didn’t take it slow. He couldn’t. He was too busy reaching for the zipper on her dress, her hands were busy clawing at his chest, and before he knew what was happening, she was straddling him. Her zipper was stuck, his shirt was on the floor, and they were about to get busy. Down and dirty.

  She tilted her head to the side and the kiss deepened, taking the moment from high school necking to unadulterated foreplay. Her hands sank into his hair, his sank into her ass, and he molded his palms around the perfect globes and pulled her tightly against his erection.

  She purred into his mouth and slid her tongue against his in a way that asked for a whole hell of a lot more than second base. Wrapping her legs securely around his waist, their bare skin heating at the contact, she squeezed, rolling her hips forward to bring all of her good parts in seriously hard contact with his. As if her grinding against his body wasn’t temptation enough, Lexi had to go and arch her back, thrusting those perfect tens of hers right in range, with their nipples jutting prettily under the soft cotton of her dress.

  “Damn,” he whispered, his eyes riveted to her breasts. He ran his hands up her sides, rib by rib, his heart slamming against his chest with every inch gained, until he stopped just below what he’d been fantasizing about for fifteen years. And holy hell, he wanted to see her naked.

  When Marc had discovered boobs, he’d had one goal: to touch as many as possible. But once he’d seen Lexi in that little white bikini she used to prance around in during summer break, all he’d cared about was touching hers. They had become an obsession.

  Apparently an obsession he’d never outgrown.

  His breathing nonexistent, he teased his thumbs higher up the dress, over the hard nipples, and he damn near embarrassed himself. God, he was acting like he’d never been with a woman before. His hands were shaking, his forehead was sweaty, and he was so hard that one more of her cute little hip rolls and he’d go off like a cannon.

  “Just second base,” he repeated, running his fingertip along the edge of her dress, tracing the gentle swell of her cleavage, savoring how soft she felt.

  She moved restlessly against him, rocking her hips and letting out a little moan at the contact. She was hot and ready. He could feel her body coiling tighter by the second.

  “Just a minute. I just need a minute,” he whispered.

  She said nothing, just moved closer, pushing her breasts into his palms. He felt her nipples scrape against his flesh and changed his mind. Touching them wasn’t going to be enough. He had to taste her.

  “Just a little taste,” he mumbled to himself.

  Gripping her waist, he dipped his head. Starting at the hollow of her throat, he worked his way down, pressing openmouthed kisses against her heated skin, over the trim of her dress, and pulling her into his mouth and sucking her though the cotton.

  “You said second base,” she reminded him.

  “This is second.” He pulled her breast deeper into his mouth.

  “Second involves hands,” she whispered, resting her palms on his knees and dropping her head back. The movement caused her hair to spill over her shoulder and onto his arm that supported her lower back.

  “You’re right. Hands.”

  His mouth never let up as he lowered his palm to her knee, slowly working the hem of her dress up her smooth legs, over her thigh and under her panties so he could cup her bare ass. And what an ass it was. Soft and firm and a perfect handful.

  She gave a low, sexy gasp. “What are you doing?”

  “Using my hands.” His fingers worked their way around the front. He slid a single finger up the center of her silk panties. He made another pass, this time using his entire hand. “Just a little. Okay?”

  She nodded, relaxing her legs to give him more room and whispering, “Just a little,” before pressing down on his hand.

  He wanted to explore, take his time. If second base with an attempt at stealing third was all he was going to allow himself, then he wanted this to last. His hand went under the panties, and Marc followed the curve of her amazing ass down and around, then slipped in from behind.

  She moaned something that sounded like “Oh God, yes,” with her eyes wide and so full of want that his whole body went into overdrive. “Just a little,” she repeated. “Right”—she rose up and then sank back down, impaling herself on his hand—“there.”

  “You are so wet, sugar.”

  “I have been ever since I saw you watching me from your office,” she admitted.

  He wondered exactly which time she was referring to.

  “Then it seems I have been slacking on my boyfriend duties.” He slowly withdrew his finger, sliding two in its place. “I say we fix that, immediately.”

  She gasped. “Fake boyfriend duties.”

  “Oh no, sugar.” He stroked ever so slowly, bringing her as close to the edge as he could get without going over. “We do this and there won’t be faking of any kind.”
>
  He waited until she nodded, then picked up the pace, applying more friction and gently building the pressure. He wanted her to enjoy this, to make it last. But she wasn’t making it easy. Her mouth was on his, hungry and raw, as her body vibrated with need. She was so primed all he had to do was curl his fingers, just like so and—

  “Oh God,” she moaned, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in the curve of his neck. She held on tight as her whole body shook with release.

  Breathing heavily, they sat there, on the pantry floor, clutching onto one another as she rode out her orgasm.

  When was the last time he’d made a woman come and she’d still been fully clothed? He realized, with a grin, that this was his first. Alexis Moreau was his first.

  Not that he hadn’t wished he’d at least pulled the straps of her dress down so he could see that red bra she was bragging about. In fact, being with Lexi like this, and knowing that he wasn’t going to get his and that he was still smiling like a fool, should have made him run. But honestly, right now, there was nowhere else his feet wanted to take him. And that was okay.

  CHAPTER 13

  Sweet baby Jesus, Lexi thought when she looked through the peephole. Marc was hot.

  Still staring her fill, and reminding herself that drooling was not her best look, she smoothed down her dress—her Neiman dress that made her butt look a size smaller and her boobs two sizes bigger. It was a silky green and matched her eyes, had cost Jeffery a pretty penny, and she had been dying to wear it since she came back to town. It was her charge-it-to-my-husband’s-account, Alexis-Moreau-is-back, you’re-going-to-get-lucky-tonight dress. She’d bought it to impress the town, but tonight she only hoped to wow the bad boy next door.

  The boy next door, who happened to be leaning against her porch rail, arms crossed, badass smile in place. Then there was the way his too-tempting pair of low-hung button-fly jeans hugged his thighs and how those dark eyes of his seemed to be staring right at her, which was impossible, since the door was closed.

  “I know I’m pretty damn sexy, but could you speed up the gawking? Although flattering, it’s hot out here,” Marc said, smiling.

  Lexi jumped back, her hand over her mouth. There was no way he could see her. First because the hole was tiny, and second, that would be way too embarrassing.

  Cautious not to make a sound, she looked through the hole again. Maybe he was just making a lucky guess.

  His smile widened, and he gave her a wink. “I can see you through the peephole, cream puff.”

  Taking three steps back, she turned toward the stairs and yelled, “Coming,” hoping that it would sound like she was upstairs. “Just getting my—” She looked down. She was fully dressed, so she slipped off a heel. “Shoes. Just getting my shoes.”

  Stomping on the lower stairs a few times, each louder than the next, she opened the door and made a big deal of hopping on one foot while she slid on her shoe—for the second time that night. Securely in place, she looked up and smiled. Problem was, Marc was smiling back. Correction, smirking. Marc was smirking back.

  “What?” she challenged. There was no way that he could prove she had been gawking.

  “I watched you put your shoes on twenty minutes ago.”

  She didn’t know why, but his admission made her stomach flutter. Still, she wasn’t about to admit that she had been watching him.

  “I changed them.” Her voice went higher with each lie she uttered.

  Marc dropped his gaze to her feet. “If you say so.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the paper bag in his hand and hoping he’d drop the subject.

  “For you.” He held it up, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

  Oh boy, Marc was nervous—and blushing. Not good. In fact, the knowledge made breathing difficult. It also made her palms sweat.

  When she didn’t take it right away and his hands started fidgeting with the paper bag, the awkwardness level increased until Lexi considered shutting the door and calling off the date. Her being nervous was one thing. Him being nervous was a sign that they should put a stop to the whole situation, because it told her that tonight’s date meant something to him. Which made it okay for her to admit what she’d known all day: this date also meant something to her—a big something.

  “Open it,” he forced out, handing her the bag.

  Lexi took the bag and did as he asked, peeking inside. At the bottom sat a parcel wrapped in butcher paper. “What’s this?”

  Marc shoved his hands in his pockets. “Um, boar loin.”

  Lexi smiled. Not flowers. Not chocolates. But boar. Wild boar.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Actually, she did. But admitting that raw meat was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given her made her love life sound pathetic. Or maybe—she thought back to Mrs. DeLuca and her spaghetti-splattered apron—this was real romance.

  “Mr. Craver mentioned that back in the day they served wild boar at the Showdown,” he said, shifting his weight. “But that over the years it had been modernized to pork chops.”

  “Is that what you were asking him about at the farmers’ market?”

  “I ordered it that day. If you like it, he can order as much as you need.”

  Lexi had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to figure out what her rolled pork loin was missing. Boar would give it a gamy quality that would set her dish apart while still remaining true to the spirit of the event.

  Clutching the boar to her chest, Lexi wrapped her free arm around Marc’s neck and pulled him down to meet her mouth. “Thank you,” she mumbled against his lips before delivering a series of soft, lingering kisses.

  Breathless, Lexi pulled back, but Marc’s arms were around her waist, holding her to him, the boar trapped between their bodies.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered right before his mouth claimed hers. It was gentle, but the heat lingered long after he’d ended the kiss.

  “You’d better put that in the fridge so we can go.” His palms slid down her back, over the curve of her bottom, where they lingered for a long get-to-know-you moment before making their way back up to gently cup her face. “One more minute alone and we’ll end up naked. Here. In the hallway.”

  The drive over to his family’s house was silent and so full of sexual heat it was impossible to talk. So when Marc pulled up in the driveway and put the truck in park, his fingers gripping the wheel so tightly she was afraid he’d break either the steering column or his hand, she wondered if maybe they should have had a quickie before coming over. Every cell in her body hummed to the point of frustration, and one look at the tent in his pants said he was just as bad.

  “Marc—”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to face her.

  “Don’t be. I mean, we couldn’t be late for dinner.”

  “I wasn’t talking about that, but obviously it’s been on your mind,” he said, his lips curling up into a smile that had her girly parts giving a standing O. “We still have a few minutes.”

  “We’re parked in front of your family’s house,” she whispered.

  “No one’s out there. I promise.” He unbuckled his seat belt and started to reach for her.

  “Says the man who knew the pantry door was fixed.” She batted his hands away.

  He dodged her attempt and unbuckled her belt to pull her on his lap. He felt good. Too good. “You weren’t complaining last night.”

  No, she hadn’t. Not even when Marc, after staying true to his word of not sliding home, had turned the knob and then nonchalantly pushed open the pantry door. It seemed when he dropped by to talk with Tanner, the contractor had been installing a new lock.

  “Yeah, well, our grandmothers could be looking out the window.”

  “Then we better steam ours up real fast.”

  He dropped his lips to hers, but she shoved her hand in between their mouths. Undeterred, he moved to her neck instead.

  “It’s not going to happe
n, Marc,” she said, tilting her head to the side so he could get behind her ear to that sweet spot he was so good at teasing. “So going on will only make it harder on both of us.”

  Did she just moan or was that him?

  “Tell me about it,” he mumbled against her neck. His hand, which was halfway up her dress, tightened, pulling her firmly against his erection.

  “Tell me what you were apologizing for.”

  With a sigh, Marc’s lips stopped. He gave her one final nip on the lobe and then pulled back. “I’m apologizing for my family.”

  “Your family? What did they say?”

  “Nothing yet. But they will. They’re Italian,” he said by way of explanation. Lexi struggled to hide her grin. She didn’t do a very good job, because he added, “Laugh now, but you’ll see. They’re loud and opinionated and can’t help but shove their noses in everyone else’s business.”

  She gave his cheek a quick pat because he looked so serious. “I’ve met your family, Marc. Spent most of my high school years having sleepovers with Abby.”

  “Yeah, well, this is different. You aren’t having a sleepover with Abby. You’re having one with me.”

  If he hadn’t sounded so frustrated, she would have pointed out that they were just having dinner. The sleepover part, although definitely on the table, hadn’t been addressed. But then he ran a hand down his face and exhaled long and hard, and Lexi’s breath caught, and not in a good way.

  Was he regretting his decision to bring her?

  “Look, if you don’t want to do this, it’s not a big deal.” Although her heart was telling her the complete opposite. “I can just go home and—”

  He kissed her silent. His lips were strong and insistent and telling her he wasn’t going to stop until she agreed to let him finish. So she wrapped her arms around his neck and let him get in the last word.

  “I want you,” he breathed when he finally pulled back. “In my bed. My truck. The pantry. The kitchen.” He gave her another quick kiss. “Especially wearing that apron of yours. Hell, I even wanted you at the damn dog park. I want you, Lexi. And I want you here, tonight, by my side at my nonna’s table. Got it?”