The Marriage Mistake (7 page)

Becoming his father.

He never talked about him, but the wound of being abandoned as a baby never truly healed. He’d set himself up to impossible standards in order to protect himself from ever making the same mistake. Losing his honor. Abandoning the people he loved. The easy fix was evident—he refused to take a chance on anyone.

She reached up and touched his face. The rough stubble scraped against her fingers, and the delicious scent of male heat and sweat and musk rose to her nostrils.

“You’re nothing like your father, Max.” He jerked back. Shock filled his eyes, but she gave him no time to process her statement, or catalogue her weakness for him. “I appreciate the beer and the help. But I really need to get to work. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

This time, she deliberately turned her back on him. Seconds ticked by. Then she heard the clink of the glass on the table and the door shut behind her.

Carina sagged with relief. She’d never walk that path again. She’d never be the woman to save him, and he’d
never love her the way she needed. But there was a whole new world out there that opened in possibility, and she’d be a fool not to take advantage. Starting with her date.

Carina plucked her iPod from her purse, slid up the volume, and got to work.

•   •   •

The Farmers Craft Festival attracted a huge crowd in the Hudson Valley. Max made his way through the field of tents stretched out over acres of fairgrounds and stopped occasionally to examine local artists’ wares. Tables held a delightful array of unique items, from carved pottery to hand-painted birdhouses to watercolor canvases. Local businesses rolled out the red carpet for the event and held various demonstrations to entice guests; there were local charities, police and fire houses, karate and yoga schools. May bestowed the gift of sun and heat, and everyone ran around in shorts and tank tops, ready for an early summer.

Max breathed in the scents of grease and sugar, grabbed a homemade lemonade, and headed toward their tent. The screams of children from the bouncy tent echoed in the air, and a sense of peace settled over him. It was interesting how he’d adopted upstate New York as his second home without a bump. The majestic mountain peaks shimmered in the distance and reminded him they remained king, squeezing the Hudson River within their grip. He loved the familiarity of the locals without the usual snobbiness reserved for outsiders. Here, they were
all family, welcomed the moment one decided to adopt a local town as his own.

Max took a hard right, stopping occasionally to chat with various business owners, and kept a lookout for the big sign. He hadn’t been able to oversee this event, but he trusted David to wow him. He worked well with the chef at their new store, and the samples they decided on were a winning combination. Thank God he’d vetoed the chocolate—it would have been a melty mess on a hot day like this.

His gaze snagged on the huge banner and the crowd squeezed around the table.
Yes
. Their desserts were a huge hit if the line was any indication. A flash of white moved in and out, and a familiar husky laugh raked his ears in a caress.

Then he saw her.

Definitely not David.

She wore tiny little white shorts that did nothing to hide her magnificent ass. Her top should have been conservative enough since the fabric covered everything, but the bright yellow only directed attention to the thrust of her breasts. Her hair was bunched up underneath a ball cap with
LA DOLCE MAGGIE
spelled out in black lettering, and flirty gold hoops swung on her earlobes. His gaze automatically took in those tanned muscled legs to her feet. Just as he thought. With every other woman wearing flip-flops, she stood out in three-inch yellow sandals that were impractical, ridiculous, and sexy as hell.

What the hell was she doing here?

He pushed his way toward the front of the table but she still didn’t notice him. She flew back and forth with samples of
cassata
—a sponge cake plump with cannoli cream and soaked in liqueur. Bite-size pieces of
tort di treviglio
looked fresh and tempting, and the honey biscotti seemed a big hit with the children. Juggling conversation and glasses of iced mocha coffee, Carina chatted, laughed, and handed out a dizzying array of flyers. Her face gleamed with sweat but she never faltered. The two interns played back up, but even Max could see they were out of their element. Rushing back and forth on lanky legs, they seemed unable to properly work the espresso machine and used their time to gape at their gorgeous female boss.

As if she finally sensed his gaze, Carina stopped mid-flight and turned her head.

Something weird squeezed his chest—an uncomfortable tightness he never experienced. The odd urge to take her in his arms flooded him and he took a step forward. Thank God he didn’t finish the movement. With a casual wave, she smiled and went back to her job as if he’d never appeared.

Ego slapped down to size, he cleared his throat and tried to get a grip.

He pushed his way forward and glared. “What’s going on? Where’s David?”

She never broke stride and took her time to answer. “Wasn’t able to make it. I’m covering.”

Max smothered a curse. “Why?”

She shrugged. “His wife’s pregnant. He was in the ER last night with her—she had false contractions.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, but he was exhausted and wanted to stay with her.”

“What about Edward or Tom? They’re supposed to play backup.”

She smiled and doled out a biscotti. “They had plans. I told them I’d take over.”

This time the curse escaped. Her management skills were nonexistent when it came to playing the hard-ass. She let the employees get away with ridiculous stunts they’d never to think to pull on him. She was smart, savvy, and a complete pushover. Her heart got her in trouble every time. “You should have called me, Carina.
Dio,
I’m going to slaughter my sales force on Monday.”

Her eyes snapped with temper. “Don’t you dare. Besides, I want to be here. I needed to learn the desserts, what sells and what doesn’t. I learned more in the last few hours than I ever did in the office. Get over it.”

The two teenagers took a break from the machine hissing in crankiness and walked over. “Hi, Mr. Gray,” they greeted in unison.

He nodded and tried not to seem like a mean old man. “Hi, guys.”

“Umm, Carina, we’re having trouble keeping up with the espresso. I can’t seem to get it to work right.”

“Okay, Carl, I’ll check it. Here, do the pastries for now. Don’t forget the flyers.”

“Got it.”

Max eased his way toward the side of the L-shaped table where the professional espresso maker loomed with monstrous proportions. She fanned herself and attacked the shiny robotic levers. “You’re management, Carina. The staff is playing you big-time. You moved yesterday and have to be exhausted.”

She gave him a smile full of sass. “Speak for yourself. I’m eight years younger than you. Stamina is not my problem.”

He had a sudden urge to tear off her clothes, tumble her in the field, and teach her about real stamina. The image of her naked and moaning under him assaulted his vision. “Watch out, little girl. I may have to prove you wrong.”

Instead of backing down, she hooted with laughter. “Are you kidding? The only type of stamina I need right now is a man who can make a hundred cups of coffee in record time. I bet you don’t even know how to make a decent espresso.”

He placed his lemonade down on the table and stared in disbelief. “You did not just say that to me. I’m Italian. I’ve been making homemade espresso my entire life.”

She snorted and finally tamed the machine. A trickle of dark liquid poured into the cup, and the scent of rich roasted beans hit his nostrils. “Sure, in your nice shiny kitchen with your gourmet equipment. Why don’t you get your hands dirty, boss, and show me what you got?”

“Are you challenging me?”

Carina shrugged. “Forget it. Wouldn’t want to ruin your fancy clothes.”

He muttered a curse, tossed his lemonade in the trash, and stalked behind the table. With efficient motions, he donned a pair of gloves, snatched an extra ball cap, and grabbed her shoulders. Her startled jump matched his own as the sexual electricity zinged between them. He moved her out of the way. The machine spit out a billow of steam as if their sudden intimate moment pissed it off.

He yanked back his hands and covered it up with a growl. “Step aside.”

Her pupils dilated as if recognizing and responding to the command in his voice. Max grew hot, and it had nothing to do with the weather or the coffee. Something about the awareness in her dark eyes hit him where it hurt. Right in his dick.

“Time me.”

Max knew there were certain rules in perfecting a great cup of espresso. Ingredients were primary—pure arabica beans medium roasted and not toasted, fresh water without any lingering chemicals to dilute the taste, and
the proper machine. The rest was skill, especially the right amount of pressure used in the tamping process, which could make or break the balance. He fell into the rhythm perfected from years of impressing women and his own mother. Remove filter holder. Add fresh-ground coffee. Tamp while holding filter holder off to the side. Polish. Pour. Serve. Repeat.

Max felt her gaze on him but refused to break his meditative trance and engage in banter. How dare the woman insult his skill?

Carl whistled as he twisted and served four cups at once. “Damn, Mr. Gray, that’s some serious moves you got.”

“Thanks. Come over here and let me show you. One day you’ll get one of these bad boys and impress the heck out of some girl.” He winked. “Maybe even close the deal.”

The kid’s eyes widened. “Hell, yeah. Bring it.”

Max tutored the interns in the fine art of seduction via coffee. Carina reached past him to grab the cinnamon. “Why do men turn everything into a way to score women?” The side of her breast brushed his shoulder and his hand slipped on the lever. The machine spit in fury.

“Damn, you broke my rhythm. And the answer is simple. Men have only two things they ever think about: food and women.”

“Sometimes sports,” Carl said seriously.

Carina sighed.

The next few hours flew by in a whirl of activity until every bone in Max’s body ached. Still, there was something about them working together that fit, until each motion seemed coordinated. The back-and-forth banter between them made the work fun. Max realized he had the tendency to be a bit too serious, and her playful quips fascinated the interns, who always saw him as stuffy.

He also noticed the long line of men coming up for seconds and peering around the table to get a glimpse of bare skin exposed from the tiny white shorts. Carina seemed to sense the attention and play it up. Each man left the booth looking a bit bedazzled, which only pissed him off. Were men that simpleminded that a saucy wink or swing of the hips caused them to lose brain function?

Yes.

Especially with Carina. Her body was killer, but it was her ability to laugh and be open that grabbed a male’s full attention. She made them crave to be in the spotlight. Her spotlight. Max shoved a cup at the nerd gaping in front of him a little too firmly. The liquid sloshed over the rim and he yelped.

“You should’ve worn the sales uniform,” he said. “That outfit’s a bit too eye-catching.”

She rolled her eyes like he was an older uncle. “Sure, a black pantsuit would really make me fit in. It’s almost eighty degrees.”

“We need to retain a professional image.”

Her laugh did bad things to his gut. “Oh, Max, you’re a hoot. Why do you think I wore these shorts?” The naughty wink stole his breath and made him feel like a fool. “You taught me well. No reason not to use your body, charm,
and
brain to step things up a bit, hmmm?”

For the first time, Max was rendered speechless by a slip of a girl who had turned into a challenger worthy of any man. She seemed to sense her victory and, with a tiny smirk, served the last of the customers.

C
arina stared at herself in the full-length mirror.

She looked hot.

Pleasure rolled through her as she turned and watched the long skirt swish past her legs. The royal blue fabric emphasized her golden brown skin and dark hair. Definitely a long way from her old wardrobe and desire to hide. Nope, this dress screamed “I am here,” and she loved it.

The bodice was snug and covered her properly but the back was the real eye opener. She thought about twisting herself into one of those awful female contraptions to hold her bust in, then decided to skip the bra. Just the barest hint of her nipples showed—a tease rather than a full-out display. It made her feel sexy and naked under the fabric.
Naughty.

Exactly what she needed to get ready for her date.

The strains of Flo Rida pumped through the room and she shook her hips to the grinding notes as she applied her makeup. Hopefully, Edward would find her outfit just as tempting, and the chemistry would fly between them. She imagined his hand sliding under her bodice to play with her bare breasts, twisting the hard nub between his fingers while she arched up, parted her legs and—

An image of Max’s face flashed before her.

She paused in applying the kohl to her eyes and scowled at herself in the mirror. Damn him. Why did he have to be so frikkin sexy all the time? She’d never thought he’d join her at the fair in the booth. He looked all cool and elegant in his proper green knit shirt, khakis, and leather loafers. Perfectly tousled hair blowing in the breeze, that aristocratic nose held in the air while he berated her, she couldn’t help but taunt him, never believing he’d take the dare. The man was in charge of the whole company, yet he worked the espresso machine like a master and even charmed her two interns into thinking he was a cool dude.

Carina shivered at the memory. He had some serious skills. Those elegant fingers skimmed across buttons and levers like a lover, coaxing the best from the machine. After the first hour, he actually relaxed and seemed to be having fun. Those white teeth flashed as he smiled and engaged with the crowd, his muscles bunching and rippling with each twist and turn of his body. She found herself
staring at his ass way too much—the soft fabric cupping his rear and making her want things. Bad things. With Max.