Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (2 page)

Which didn’t make sense. Trey had been around a lot of beautiful women. Spent the past few years traveling the world and getting up close and personal with a good number of them. Women who were stilettoed, stacked, smoking hot, and satisfied with one night. This woman was maybe five-two with bouncy brown hair, girl-next-door freckles, and a pair of no-nonsense shoes that were definitely more Mary Ann than Ginger. And he was a Ginger kind of guy. Always had been.

Nothing about her said simple, short term, or easily impressed, so why then was he having a hard time breathing?

Dry spell. That was it.
The main reason he was staring at Polly
anna had nothing to do with the way those big brown eyes seemed to look right through all of his bullshit, or the way her sweet kiss-me mouth curved up into a smile that made his pulse pound. Nope, the simple truth was, it had been way too long since he’d gotten laid.

“Isn’t this interesting?” ChiChi murmured, patting Trey on the back, no doubt already picking out great-grandbaby names. “Sara, this gentleman here is my grandson. My
favorite
grandson.”

“Thank you,
favorite grandson
.” Sara smiled, two little dimples winking his way. He’d never been into dimples, but on her they worked.

“My pleasure,” Trey said, wondering what kind of dance she taught and if she would be open to a private lesson—of the tangled-sheets variety.

He flashed her that smile he knew women loved, because why the hell not? Flirting with a pretty woman seemed like a much better way to spend his evening than arguing with his brothers or making funeral arrangements.

She tried not to smile, but one slipped out and—
hello sunshine
—it even lit up her eyes, which had little flecks of gold and green in them, making them distinctly hazel.

“Shouldn’t you two exchange information?” ChiChi nudged.

Right. The minivan. “It seems silly since I’ve already helped you undress, but I guess we’ve reached the information portion of the evening where I ask for your name, number, and if there is anyone at home you can call?”

“Information? Okay, um, no there is no one at home.” A hint of pink tinted her ears, which he found oddly endearing, and she wiggled a naked ring finger. Before Trey could clarify the reason behind his questions, she pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “My number is on there and…” Trey shot her an amused look, “what?”

“Bolder Holder?” He read the frequent buyer card she’d handed him. He was right—a 32B. “Your local lingerie pusher-upper.”

“Oh, God.” She snatched it back and produced another card. Still not the insurance card he expected, but before he could explain, she looked around at the room of students who were all smiling back, then to him, and damn if her entire face wasn’t glowing with embarrassment. “I’m Sara Reed and as you can tell I’m not really good at this.”

Even her name was sweet. And flirting disaster would be putting it mildly. Not that he minded. There was something about her shy interest that got to him.

“Trey DeLuca,” he said. She placed her hand in his extended one. Her skin was soft and a bit chilled—and packed one hell of a punch. “I’m the asshole who ate your bumper.”

And wasn’t that just her luck. For the first time in twenty-two months and eleven days, Sara Reed had felt a small flicker of interest. Nothing big or life altering, just that tiny zing of attraction reminding her that she was, indeed, still a woman. So what did she do?

Hit his car.

Then hit on him.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. About the car and the really embarrassing…moment we just shared that everyone here witnessed.”

In her defense, she hadn’t been on a date or so much as flirted with a man since her husband died. Something she absolutely did not want to think about while staring up at an extremely sexy—and if she wasn’t mistaken—interested man who was standing less than a foot away, smiling down at her with the most perfect set of teeth on the most perfect face she’d ever seen.

“I did try to leave a note,” she explained. “But the wind—”

“You said. And that was very
sweet
of you.”

Ouch. Last she’d heard,
“
sweet
”
wasn’t on the list of requirements for hot and sweaty hookups. Not that she was looking for a hot and sweaty hookup. Between renovating her new house, getting her dance school in the black, and raising her son, there wasn’t room for another man in her life. Although a coffee or maybe a casual lunch sounded nice.

Then again, maybe this moment was the universe’s way of telling her that it was still too soon. But throwing a charming, underwear-model look-alike in her way as a reminder that she wasn’t ready to start dating again was a little cruel.

“Do you want me to call Stan so he can tow your car to his shop?”

Realizing she was staring at his mouth, she looked up. “No, really, it’s only the front bumper and your car is fine.”

“Why don’t we go check it out and see?”

“It’s pouring and you already look…”
edible
she almost said as she took in his dark hair, moist and slightly disheveled, his black peacoat that did little to conceal the broad chest beneath, and a pair of slacks that looked spectacular on him.

He cleared his throat.

“Wet,” she said.

“Wet?”

“Yes, wet.” She nodded confidently as though she hadn’t been caught checking out his goods. “And if you have someplace to be, I don’t want to keep you any longer. Plus the bumper is gone, poof, just fell off, so it’s not like I’d be dragging it around town.”

He raised a brow. “Is there a reason you are so determined to not let me see the damage?”

“No!” she shot out and,
wow
, that sounded guilty. Trey must have thought the same thing because he just waited, watching her, his lips curled in amusement.

“Good, because I want to make sure you won’t be stranded here. And,” he leaned in and whispered, the twinkle in his eyes turned to full, “the thought of wrestling you back into that raincoat sounds almost as fun as it was wrestling you out.”

She laughed and felt an absurd rush of heat—to her face and other more southerly places. Maybe her guy-dar wasn’t as off as she’d originally thought. She knew that smile, had seen it before, and when combined with the wink he was currently sending her, it wasn’t just a playful grin. It was an invitation.

“He’s right, child,” ChiChi said, collecting Sara’s things and shoving them into her hands and
them
toward the door. “We can’t have you driving around in a car that might not be safe. Not in this storm. Why don’t you head home?”

“But what about class? The Gala is only a month away.”

“Missing one lesson won’t kill us,” ChiChi said, then stiffened, going dead serious. “As long as you aren’t giving that Deidra Potter extra lessons on the side.”

“I’m not giving her extra lessons, ChiChi.” Sara tried not to roll her eyes, but it was nearly impossible. She had no idea what went down between the two older ladies, but bad blood would be an understatement.

“Enough, Nonna.” Trey’s stern tone was in direct contrast with the gentle kiss he pressed to his grandmother’s cheek. “And we’ll talk about
this
later.”

“Looking forward to it, dear.” Now it was Trey’s turn to roll his eyes. “And Sara, don’t you worry about a thing. Pricilla and I can handle class tonight while Trey takes a look at things and you two work out…” ChiChi waved a regal hand between the two of them, “whatever it is you need to work out.”

“It’s probably best to get out of here so we can get this
thing
worked out,” he joked quietly, placing his hand at the small of her back and making her breath catch. It felt possessive and warm and in no way like a joke. In fact, it felt exciting.

Safe.

Tingly.

Things
she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since her husband’s commanding officer had shown up on her doorstep holding a Silver Star for gallantry in action, and a Just in Case letter her husband had written—because the worst “just in case” imaginable had happened.

In the letter, Garrett reminded her that life was a series of adventures. Since theirs had come to an end, it was her job to live twice as hard, take twice as many risks, and love their son enough for the both of them.

Sara promised herself that she would live her life balls out—as Garrett used to say—and be open to life’s adventures. Easier said than done for a single mom with control issues, but she was trying.

She had already shared the greatest love two people could share, knew how hard it was to find, and didn’t expect to get that lucky again. But she was open to finding a love built on friendship and respect.

Not now. Maybe someday. And she wasn’t saying that this was love. But there were enough warm fuzzies from the simple contact of his hand on her back to let her know that she was ready. Ready to put herself out there again and slowly recapture the part of her that she’d buried. Ready to ask a charming man out for coffee, because that was what her sister-in-law said single people did these days.

“You ready?” Trey asked when they stepped out of the room.

They took the elevator to the bottom floor, and she couldn’t help snatch a few peeks at him—only every time she looked over, she found him already looking back. Only he didn’t go red and quickly turn away.

The doors opened and he led them through the main lobby toward the emergency room, stopping at the double doors.

Taking the jacket from her hands, he unbuttoned it and held it open.

“I’ll pass,” she said.

He dropped his gaze to her legs and raised a brow. She knew what he saw. She hadn’t dressed for the weather. Her dance pants and tank, which now seemed way too skimpy and clingy, would be as effective as tissue paper in the rain.

“I don’t want to get stuck again,” she admitted.

Trey raised his right hand. “I solemnly swear to help you get out of your clothes. Anytime. Anywhere. All you have to do is ask.”

She shouldn’t have laughed. It was obviously some lame pick-up line. And if his delivery had felt even the least bit threatening, she wouldn’t have. But his eyes were crinkled with humor and he made the offer seem so charming, she couldn’t help herself. Flirting with him was easy, and kind of fun. Two things she needed more of in her life.

“Fine,” she agreed and let him help her into her coat. She watched as he buttoned it with ease, his fingers getting higher and higher until he reached the one between her breasts and she heard a small groan. And damn if it wasn’t her. This was what two years without a battery-assisted orgasm got her.

Trey stilled, then delivered a smile that registered a solid
oh my
on the panty-melting scale. “Should I stop?”

Sara shook her head and, channeling some balls-out confidence, said, “Only if you promise to let me buy you a hot cup of coffee afterward.”

His fingers were hovering over that button and a cute little frown split his forehead. “So I have the choice between coffee or disrobing you?”

That
wasn’t what she meant. And she couldn’t tell if Trey was joking or serious. Even worse, she didn’t know what to say, because neither was slow or safe or easing her way into anything—other than his bed. Which meant that she must have hit his car harder than she thought because coffee was no longer what she wanted, and option B didn’t seem as scary as it had a minute ago. In fact, her lady parts were already sighing at the mere idea.

“I’m kind of new to this whole dating thing, but if you want—”

“Trey?” a woman said coming out from the employees’ room. “Perfect timing. I just clocked out and was waiting for you.”

Her voice was low, in that gravelly, nine-hundred-number-operator kind of way that was part purr, part proposition, and—
holy God
—the woman had legs to her neck. And that wasn’t even the sexiest thing about her. She oozed attitude, which worked well in the painted-on jeans and body-hugging sweater she was sporting. She had blonde hair and big blue eyes, which were almost as big as her boobs. In a nutshell, she was Florence Nightingale gone Playboy Playmate.

“Hey, Kayla,” Trey said, his eyes on Sexy Nurse as she swished her womanly curves over and wrapped herself around him in a hug.

To his credit, Trey looked more uncomfortable than anything. Then again, Sara had just asked him to coffee. Safe, boring coffee.

“Do you know Sara?”

“You own the Tap and Barre School of Dance, right?” Kayla asked and then before Sara could even answer she went on, “My niece takes ballet from you.”

Translation: I am at least five years, one kid, and a major broken heart younger than you.

“I was just heading out to check on Sara’s car. It was great seeing you again, Kayla,” Trey said.

“Oh, but I was hoping we could go grab a drink.” Her perfectly manicured hands wrapped around Trey’s arm and that’s when Sara saw it. Trey and Kayla
knew
each other—in the biblical sense. “And catch up.”