Summer in Napa (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (15 page)

So when she added, “They’re deciding who gets to cater the Showdown, and if they like my food it will be me,” Marc took her by the shoulders and nudged her back a little so that they were no longer touching.

“That’s incredible. Do you realize how much press you could get out of that?”

“That’s what Abby said.” Her lower lip quivered. “But they want me to serve salmon,” she cried. “On a bed of asparagus! How can I make the most boring dish ever and impress them? I mean—”

She froze, her big green eyes large and wet. “Oh God.” She doubled over and covered her face with her hands as though embarrassed for him to see her break down. Her
back shook with emotion, and she was making these little mewling sounds that damn near broke his heart.

Marc squatted in front of her, tucking her hair behind her shoulder, and whispered, “Aw, honey, don’t cry anymore, you’re killing me. We’ll figure this out. You and me. I promise. Hey,” he coaxed when she just kept convulsing. He pulled his shirt out and offered it up. “Give a good blow, wipe your tears, and then I’ll take you home. We can talk about this in the morning. Okay?”

Lexi lifted her head slightly, looked up at him with those incredible eyes, and then, for the first time since she’d been served, she reminded him of the girl he knew and loved. She moved her hands and threw up all over his shirt.

A
clicking sounded in the distance. It echoed through her head, pounding over and over. Lexi groaned, and even that hurt.

Pulling the covers tighter to her, she squeezed her eyes, trying to convince her brain to reattach to her skull. The clicking stopped, and she felt a hand slide into her hair, then rub tiny, moan-worthy circles at the base of her skull. Snuggling in deeper, she melted around the warm body she was holding and felt herself lulled back toward sleepiness. She also felt something wet on her pillow.

Lexi froze. The heavenly fingers stopped and then disappeared. The clicking started up again, and every detail from last night came rushing back in HD. Unfortunately, she’d not only lost her dinner all over Marc’s shirt, she’d also lost signal somewhere around the time Marc slung her over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs to her apartment.

Desperate not to wake up her bedmate, Lexi gently slid her left hand—the other was stuck beneath his body—under
the covers and did a quick walk-of-shame pat-down. She’d never done the walk of shame, hard to do when you’d only ever been with one man, but secretly she’d fantasized about it once or twice.

Yup, completely naked except for a bra.

Abby would be so proud…until she heard that the shame in question was her brother.

Eyes closed, she took stock. She was practically naked, her arm asleep and trapped between the mattress and her ex’s best bro, and the room spun so fast she was pretty sure she was still drunk.

Had she really slept with Marc DeLuca? And if so, why couldn’t she have been sober enough to remember the experience? For the first time in her life she had done something wild and irresponsible, and she hadn’t even been present for the main event. Worse still, she was trapped and would have to face him not knowing if she was even any good.

She was such a failure.

Slowly she tried to slide her arm out. When he didn’t budge except to grunt and roll closer, she threw the covers over her head and decided to feign sleep until he got bored and left.

“Unless you’re willing to chew through your arm, I’m pretty sure he’ll outwait you.”

Lexi pulled back the covers and immediately threw them over her head again. Her eyes were dry and irritated, and she didn’t know what made her feel worse, the sun piercing her brain through her retinas or the sight of big brown eyes staring back at her.

“Rise and shine, cream puff.” Marc ripped the sheets back, and Lexi gasped.

She was lying in a puddle of drool, next to a man who was very much dressed in shorts and a tee and sitting on top of the covers, while she was spooning his dog for all she was worth. She grabbed the sheets back from Marc and covered herself.

Wait! He was in different clothes. Maybe they did…

“Why are you dressed in”—sheets to chin, she eyed his new clothes—“
those
?”

Marc looked up from his laptop, and the clicking stopped. “I could take them off, but I think Wingman might get a little jealous. He’s not really into sharing. We’re working on that though, huh, boy?”

Boy
barked, his tail thumping the mattress.

“No, I mean, where are your shirt and pants?”

“In the dryer. They got a little dirty last night, so I went to my place and grabbed a few things after you passed out.”

She groaned, remembering just how his pants got
dirty.
Turning her head back to look at Wingman, who was panting happily in her face, she asked Marc, “What are you even doing here?”

“Holding your hair while you went to church for most of the night. Listening to you snore for the rest of it. I brought you some coffee. It’s on the nightstand.”

“I don’t snore. And”—she sniffed hazelnut and vanilla—“thank you.”

“Then there was the moment when you decided your jeans were too tight. That was a highlight. Almost as good as when the shirt went flying. But my favorite part”—Marc set his laptop aside and leaned in close, his lips grazing her ear when he whispered—“was when you shimmied out of that red thong.”

“I did not!”

“Really?” He held up his hand. A pair of red-lace panties dangled from his finger.

“Give those back!” She grabbed the panties and, shoving them under the sheet, slid them on. He might not be able to see under there, but she wasn’t taking any chances. “Now go away.”

A knock sounded at the front door.

Lexi shot up, taking the blankets with her and sending Wingman flying off the edge of the bed. He landed in a tangled heap of paws and tail and looked around, his big doggie eyes wary and confused.

“Expecting company?” Marc asked with an amused smile.

“No, and why are you smiling like that? What if it’s our grandmas? They come over sometimes on Saturday for breakfast. One look at us and—”

There was another knock.

Lexi scurried to grab her robe and put it on, checking the time on her cell before shoving it into the terry-cloth pocket. Marc, on the other hand, stretched and leisurely got out of bed. They reached the door at the same time, Wingman barking excitedly at their feet.

She shoved Marc back. “Are you crazy? One look at you and the whole ‘We are good, God-fearing people’ speech will begin. By afternoon ChiChi will be at the chapel picking dates and Pricilla will be baking our wedding cake. So stay here. And no matter who is at the door,
don’t
come out. Understand?”

Marc just nodded, awfully calm for someone who was usually paralyzed by the threat of forced commitment. Which was good for Lexi, because although she doubted it was the
grannies on her doorstep—they would have just let themselves in through the bakery’s stairs—she didn’t want her bachelors getting the wrong idea about sleeping arrangements. And if Marc was seen leaving her place in the morning, rumors would fly—guaranteed.

“Coming,” she yelled, rushing down the steps as she tightened the belt of her robe and answered the door. And froze. Because there, on her porch stoop with a single red rose and a lecherous smile, stood St. Helena High’s reigning panty peeper. “Chad?”

Chad swooped in for a kiss. He went for the lips, but she managed to deflect him to the cheek.

“Morning, beautiful.” His smile faded a little when he took in her attire. He shot a glance at his watch. “Am I early?”

“Early?”

“For our date.”

Had he seriously thought that she would go on a picnic with the man who served her? She took in the red-and-white-checkered picnic basket and convertible running idle and realized he had.

“I called you last night to confirm. I left a message. We have a busy day planned. You and me, a little driving, wine tasting on the way to the lake. I even have reservations at that new Italian place in the hills. How fast can you get ready?”

“I am so sorry that—” She paused. Because she realized that was a lie. She wasn’t sorry. Although he didn’t seem so creepy right now, bouncing on his toes and holding the flower and acting all excited about their date, he had
served
her. He had helped Jeffery screw her out of her recipes and then acted like he’d done nothing wrong. She hated people like Chad—almost as much as she hated roses. “This date
isn’t going to happen. Ever. I should have called to cancel, but it slipped my mind.”

“Why?” One word, but there was one heck of an accusation behind it.

“Um, why can’t I go out with you? Or why did it slip my mind?”

Chad just raised an angry brow.

“Do I really need to explain? You represented my ex-husband in a claim that cost me my recipes.”

“But it’s Saturday,” he said, petulantly. She was surprised he didn’t stomp his foot.

He took a step inside the door. Lexi tried to hold her ground, but it happened so fast. One minute he was on her stoop and the next he was in her apartment.

“And your stupid client nearly cost me my bistro.”

“Nearly? You’re still opening the café?” He was back to smiling again. “Good. Jeff will be happy. He wants you to open it. So do I. See, it all worked out.”

“Bistro. And wait!” She must have misunderstood him. “You talked to Jeffery? About me?”

“Of course, you were the defendant in our case.” This was getting way too weird. “I also told him we had a date.”

“And he encouraged this?”

“Yeah.” Chad looked suddenly lost. “He said it was good for you to get out. Told me to bring you this.” He stuck the rose out. “For you.”

Lexi stared at the rose. She didn’t know what hurt more, Jeffery trying to set her up with another man or that after fifteen years he still didn’t know she hated roses. The one thing she was sure about was that if Jeffery was messing with her life, it was for his benefit only. “Look, thanks for the gesture, but—”

She broke off. Oh God, she was going to cry. Her head felt like it was about to explode, her ex-husband was playing matchmaker, and after she’d given all of her adult life to a man, he still didn’t know something as simple as what kind of flower she liked.

“Morning, sugar.” A strong hand slid around her waist, bypassing the lip of the robe and sliding home to caress her bare belly. Marc pulled her back against him, pressing his nose into her neck and delivering a wet kiss that had her thighs quaking.

Snappy retort ready, Lexi turned her head and looked up at Marc, who was looking back at her with an expression that was so innately male, her mouth went too dry to speak. His cocky posture, the possessive way he draped his arm around her—Marc was all but pissing on her apartment to show Chad exactly where the line was.

“Hey, Chad.” Marc extended his free hand. Chad reciprocated, and Marc used the solid hand-to-hand contact to shake Chad right back out on the porch stoop. “Oh man, I am so sorry. We forgot to call you. Didn’t we?” He looked at Lexi, who shot him a hard glare back.

She didn’t need a man setting her up, didn’t need a man guilting her into a date, and she most certainly did not need a man lying for her. In fact, she didn’t need a man, period.

Lexi opened her mouth to tell them exactly that when Marc’s fingers slid higher, right to the sensitive skin underneath her breast, tickled and then pinched. Lexi gasped and twisted, bringing her hand up to grab his, and her butt flush with his groin. To Chad, it would have looked like he was copping a feel, but she knew there would be a small bruise come tomorrow. The big jerk.

“Sorry, buddy, but Lexi and I are busy today. We have to cancel.”

“We?” Chad took in the possessive way Marc was holding her and how she wasn’t resisting him—yet. He looked as confused as Wingman had when he’d been tossed out of Lexi’s warm bed onto the cold floor. “But it’s Saturday. I’m Mr. Saturday.”

“Yeah,” Marc said, and Lexi could feel his chest puff up and smell the testosterone seeping into the air. “Well, I’m her every day.”

“Her what?”

“My what?” Lexi snapped, turning to face him, and every argument she had stuck in her throat.

Marc wasn’t just standing behind her. He was practically naked. Gone were the shirt and shorts from earlier, and in their place were black boxer-briefs, a bad case of bed head, and a whole lot of naked skin and impressive muscles. One muscle was particularly impressive, but she didn’t know if he was revved up by
her
or by the battle-of-bigger-dick syndrome. Either way, she found it hard not to lick her lips.

“Her Mr. Every Day.” He spoke as though Lexi wasn’t standing right there. “Meaning if it ends in fucking
day
, it’s mine, buddy.” And with that Marc slammed the door.

“What was that all about?” she snapped, shoving Marc, who moved a whole half inch. Sure, Chad was a jerk, but she had been handling it.

Marc didn’t answer. He just stood there in his underwear, looking slightly shocked and a whole lot baffled by his own behavior.

Afraid she’d be too tempted to stare at his nakedness, Lexi squinted through the peephole and watched as Chad
stormed across the parking lot to his car. He made a big deal of chucking the rose—and kicking it—before getting in and screeching away.

Chad was livid. It kind of made her smile to see him pout and stomp his foot, but Lexi kept her face stern when, hands on hips in her best intimidating pose, she asked, “What was the point of that?”

Laid-back Marc had returned and was scrolling through his phone, not even sparing her a glance. “That you didn’t want to go out with him, that if you did he would spend the day trying to cop a feel, and I don’t share well with others. Especially not my girlfriends.”

“You don’t do girlfriends.”

“I know. Which is why I think this possessive streak of mine is throwing us both a little. That’s okay, we’ll get past this.” He looked up from the phone, an irritating grin on his face.

“Hey, give it back,” Lexi said, realizing that it was her phone he was messing with. She grabbed for it, but he held it high over his head, out of her reach, still clicking away with that stupid grin on his lips. The one that used to drive her insane—still did, but in a totally different way now.