by Kim Karr
Copyright © 2018 by Kim Karr
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
All characters are 18 + years of age and all sexual acts are consensual. Reader discretion advised.
www.authorkimkarr.com
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Cover designer:
By Hang Le
Cover model:
Colton B
Photographer:
Wander Aguiar Photography
Editing:
Insight Editing Services
Formatting:
Type A Formatting
Contents
REWINED VOL II
About the Book
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
ReWined Vol III Sneak Peek
Don't Forget to Pick Up
Also by Kim Karr
About the Author
“One holds a bottle of red wine by the neck, a woman by the waist, and a bottle of champagne by the derriere.” ~Mark Twain
This dirty little enemies-to-lovers romp continues . . .
How to make a reluctant fiancée happy:
Buy her a huge-ass diamond ring. √
Throw a balls-out engagement party. √
Make the wedding a quickie. √
Every girl dreams of getting married.
Right?
Not Paris Elizabeth Hollis Fairchild.
And especially not to me.
She says this party boy is anything but husband material.
Cocky. Arrogant. Presumptuous. And even manipulative.
Hey, those are all perfectly acceptable traits.
When it turns out she doesn’t have a choice, the arranged nuptials dear old granny insisted on go off without a hitch.
But that doesn’t mean we’re riding off into the sunset anytime soon.
With both of our failing wineries merging and a contract that states only one family business can survive, we’re spending a lot of time negotiating. And not the kind I prefer. The truth is it’s just a matter of who will come out on top, her or me? I wish I meant that literally.
In the meantime she demands separate bedrooms.
I insist we break in our new bed.
She says she hates me.
I think it’s love.
She believes our marriage won’t last.
I know it will.
She tells me not to bother popping the champagne.
I disagree.
In fact, I think it’s time to get this party started.
10 Years Ago
Paris Fairchild
I WAS THE replacement. And the thing about replacements was they were always being compared to the original and never quite as good.
You see, I had a sister I never knew who died in a car accident at the age of nineteen.
Tragic.
She was taken way too young, and she left our parents with a loss neither of them ever recovered from.
Apparently, she was everything I was not. Scholarly. Philanthropic. Musically talented. Polite. Driven. The bell of the ball and the apple of Daddy’s eye.
Blah, blah, blah.
Oh, and she wasn’t a murderer, either. My mother had the easiest pregnancy with my sister but then died giving birth to me twenty years later.
Yes, London Mavis Hollis Fairchild was the perfect daughter. Me, I was anything but, and there was no reason to change that now, which was why I was here.
Taking a deep breath, I glanced in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs.
All the people at this kick-off to our senior year party didn’t see me as the replacement, they saw me as the new party girl.
It was the way I wanted them to see me.
They also saw what I didn’t want them to. The red hair that couldn’t be tamed. The quirky girl that shopped at thrift stores because she refused to dress like them. The truth was I couldn’t with the small allowance I received.
But did it really matter?
I squared my shoulders and glanced around the party at Tyler Holiday’s house.
People were everywhere and the place was a haze of smoke, body heat, and blasting music. There were bottles of wine and liquor lining every surface and a million bags of chips scattered everywhere.
It was a shame the house had been turned upside down because it was beautiful with its travertine floors, high ceilings, comfortable furniture, colorful area rugs, and crystal chandeliers. Almost welcoming despite the chaos.
Too bad I wasn’t supposed to be here. In fact, I wasn’t supposed to get anywhere near the Holidays. Ever. I had no idea why, other than some family feud. I’d asked once and was sent away for a year. I never asked again.
After getting myself purposely kicked out of the last boarding school I could get into, my father had no choice but to allow me to come back to St. Helena.
Notice I didn’t say home.
That’s because nowhere felt like home.
Still, I hated the rules and regimens of boarding school. This had to be better. I just wanted a normal life, or as normal of a life as I could have with a grumpy old man for a father.
More than likely going to the Jane Whitmore School for Girls wasn’t going to give me that. But, come on, it had to be better than where I came from.
The girls who went to that school were almost as privileged and stuck-up as those abroad except they didn’t have nearly as much money to top them.
Still, you name it, these girls had it.
Boob jobs.
Nose jobs.
Lip injections.
Hair extensions.
Stylists.
Oh, let’s not forget the Kegel therapy to keep their vaginas tight and their virginity seemingly intact.
Honestly, it would have been laughable if it wasn’t so sad. These girls minds were set on marrying a guy from the prestigious St. John’s School for Boys, and fake enhancements were how they thought they could land their Prince Charming.
Whatever.
What did I know about tradition? It wasn’t like my father or mother attended either school. They were from the previous generation and the age of most of these kids’ grandparents.
After pondering the right direction, I just picked one and began to weave my way through the crowd.
The house was huge. Beautiful. And I looked around. The tour I’d just taken had been unintentional, but I’d needed a bathroom. Too much beer. And so what if the one I found was upstairs? And that I got to see the place that was off-limits on my way
to it?
Hey, I was curious. And yes, I knew what they said about curiosity—good thing I wasn’t a cat.
“What are you drinking?” This came from Lawson Brick. A guy everyone called Brick the Prick.
I tried to keep walking but he stopped by stepping in my path. “Nothing, thanks,” I said.
The bottle he held in his hand was vodka, and he raised it. “How about a Slow Screw?”
I wasn’t savvy when it came to mixed drinks, but even I knew that required more than vodka. I looked for some mixers and saw none.
He raised a seductive brow.
Right! I got it.
“No thank you,” I repeated.
“Whatever.” Brick the Prick shrugged and took a swig straight from the bottle.
Stepping around him, I kept walking and found the girls I’d come with. New friends, or maybe it was more like new acquaintances.
Their families had lived in Calistoga for generations. Wine. Wine and politics. Wine and finance. Wine and transportation. Wine and land.
Wine.
That’s what we all had in common.
Tabitha Perkins was a cute little blonde with a sparky personality and head cheerleader. Lane Barclay was no-nonsense with a persona to match. Her licorice-dark hair was smooth, perfect. Like her, I supposed. And Darcy Watkins was a wholesome, kind, nice girl. She had a short brunette bob haircut and wore glasses. She was always studying. She wanted to get on the pre-med track in college.
The three of them were sitting on the couches in the family room chatting away. I sat with them and watched the interaction between them. I was also looking for him. The boy I saw in the window when I first arrived.
“Want a hit?” Tabitha waved the joint at me, sending a cloud of fragrant smoke in my direction that tickled my nostrils.
Smoking wasn’t my thing, but my new reputation needed to be validated, so I took what was offered and drew deep. Handing it back to her, I coughed, destroying the illusion that I was a party girl. “That’s some strong stuff!” I tried to cover.
Tabitha went along with it, either that or she didn’t notice my faux pas. Either way, I was grateful.
Just as I was grateful for the invite.
Sneaking out wasn’t difficult. All I had to do was tell my father I was going to bed early. He preferred when I wasn’t disturbing him, so he accepted that easily enough. Honestly, the only time he paid attention to me was when I wasn’t following his rules. Which meant I was in trouble most of the time, because his rules were worse than those at boarding school.
No parties.
No drinking.
No smoking.
No driving.
And no boys.
Basically, no life, which was completely unacceptable.
Besides, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Tabitha passed the joint around a few more times and everything seemed a little more relaxed after that.
Sitting up, she tossed her bleached-blond hair over her shoulder. The sudden movement caused one of her new breasts to pop out of her silk top. “There’s Grayson Dane. Isn’t he cute?”
I pointed to her boob and then glanced over my shoulder.
Settling her joint in the crystal ashtray, she said, “Oops.”
The boy she was looking at was definitely more than a boy. With his chocolate brown hair pulled back and fixed into a bun and those dark, wandering eyes attached to that unbelievable body, he looked like a model that belonged on a billboard for Calvin Klein. “He is cute,” I told her, “and I think he’s looking at you.”
Having fixed her wardrobe malfunction, she practically jumped off the sofa. “Do I look okay?”
“Perfect,” I told her.
Darcy rolled her eyes. “You know he doesn’t care what you look like. Right? He only cares that you’ll let him get to third base.”
“Nice.” Lane laughed high fiving Darcy.
Tabitha lifted the hem of her designer shirt and flashed her black lace bra. “I’m not as much of a prude as you girls are, that’s for sure. I’ll let him get to second.”
“Who are you calling a prude?” Darcy’s hair bounced when she spoke. “I’ll have you know that I licked Christian’s dick this summer, and I did it like he was the best cherry popsicle I’d ever had.”
Tabitha’s mouth dropped and she covered it with her hand. “Slut.”
Lane got to her feet and stood beside Tabitha, and then whispered conspiratorially, “And I let Julian finger me in the movie theater just last weekend.”
Her eyes went wider and then the giggles that erupted made my ears ring.
“I really want a cupcake,” Tabitha drooled when the laugh-fest was over, rubbing her hand over her stomach.
Lane laughed. “I thought you were on a diet.”
“One cupcake won’t hurt.”
“There’s the best cupcake place downtown,” I chimed in. “We could go?”
Six narrowed eyes found me. “It shut down over the summer,” Lane reminded me.
“Right. I forgot.”
“A new one is opening soon, though.” Tabitha said, smiling, “And I can’t wait.”
Suddenly, Darcy was pointing her slender finger at me. “You’re trying to distract us, Paris. You haven’t shared. So, tell us, aside from getting yourself off in front of your professor, what else did you do with him?”
Lane chimed in. “Did you let him fuck you in the library stacks? Because that would be hot.”
I hated the blush that crept up my cheeks. I had touched myself in front of my creepy professor, but only to get him fired after he’d made a pass at me, and also so I’d be sent packing.
“Oh, my God,” Tabitha whisper yelled. The girls turned toward her and the attention was off of me. “Grayson just winked at me and then bobbed his head sideways before leaving the room.”
“Where’d he go?” Lane asked.
“I think that hallway leads to the pool,” Darcy answered for her.
Lane pushed Tabitha in his direction. “Go before he hits on someone else.”
“Come with me,” she begged, grabbing Lane’s hand. “I think Julian was with him.”
“I’m coming, too,” Darcy announced. “I saw Christian doing a bong outside earlier.”
And just like that, the three of them went scurrying off like mice and left me sitting alone.
A few minutes later, I got up and went in search of food. All that cupcake talk made me hungry. The music had been turned up super loud. Brick the Prick grabbed me when I past him and said, “Dance with me?”
I shook my head. “Sorry, punk rock isn’t my thing.”
“Figures you don’t like the Sex Pistols,” he muttered and started dancing all by himself. His middle fingers were flying high and he focused his anger on the lyrics, singing something like, “You better understand I’m in love with myself.”
Perfect.
Just perfect for him.
In no time at all, I found the kitchen, and there were at least two dozen boxes of pizza in there. Some were tossed haphazardly across the counter, apparently empty. However, the others were stacked neatly on the stove, and I was certain by the aroma wafting my way, they were not empty.
My stomach started rumbling when I breathed in the delicious scent of slowly simmered sauce, hearty pepperoni, and heavenly cheese.
I grabbed a plate from the table and was just sliding the top box off the stack when I saw the boy from the window across the room. He was standing along the back wall looking out the glass to the pool deck where the girls had just gone.
It was the plain white t-shirt that caught my eye. He was tipping a bottle of beer to his lips and turned to look in my direction at the same time I started to open the lid.
Like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, I let the lid fall back in place. Our eyes met at that moment, and he flashed me the cutest dimpled smirk I’d ever seen. It was strange, but I knew that moment would stamp itself into my mind forever.
His ey
es.
His lips.
His grin.
A splash of cold on the back of my leg as someone spilled their drink on me had me twisting around.
“Oh, I didn’t see you.” It was Sophie Barton and she was part of the click I referred to as the Mean Girls.
Very pretty in a slutty kind of way. Dark hair, streaked blonde. Tall, thin, and a cute upturned nose I heard she got last summer.
In other words—total bitch.
“It’s fine,” I told her.
As if I were invisible, she nabbed my plate, leaned across me to grab a napkin, and then began loading some pizza on my plate.
When I looked back toward the wall, the boy from the window was no longer looking at me, which was fine, because that meant I could stare all I wanted.
He took another sip of his beer and I imagined being the party girl everyone thought I was and walking across the room to take the bottle out of his hands. Put it to my mouth. Who knew, maybe even put him to my mouth.
“Try taking a picture, it might last longer.” Sophie’s thickly lined eyes looked frigid.
“Oh,” I said.” “I was just wondering who he was?”
She shoved the pizza boxes directly in front of my line of sight. “That’s Tyler Holiday, and he’s way out of your league, honey.”
Tyler Holiday.
Tyler Holiday.
A Holiday.
No freaking way.
I was staring at Tyler Holiday.
The boy I wasn’t supposed to get anywhere near. Warned to stay away from the minute I got off the plane.
The boy I’d come here to meet.
And he was drop dead gorgeous.
Crazy wild too, I’d heard. Drove his father’s motorcycle down a dirt road so fast he missed the curve and broke his leg right on the town line between Calistoga and St. Helena. Jumped off cliffs for the sport of it, scaled mountains for the thrill, and did God knew what else.
A Holiday.
A bad boy.
A true rebel without a cause.
Trouble.
My father would be so mad.
Ignoring her rude comment, I gave her a curt smile, and stepped aside so I could resume my vigil over him. I watched as his head bobbed to the beat, up and down, and then tipped back to sip his beer again.
