Summer in Napa (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (22 page)

“You could bake a pork chop.”

“Not to perfection. But I’m more than willing to let you watch my culinary prowess. I am damn sexy in an apron.” When she didn’t so much as laugh, he reached out and put his hand on the back of her neck, kneading little circles in her tense muscles. “They haven’t made a final decision. This could still swing your way.”

She shook her head. “I should have listened to my instincts and you, but instead I got scared and went with safe. Which means I let down myself and my grandma too.” She lifted her head and, as though unable to meet his gaze, went back to studying the tops of her shoes. “I need to think about moving. Maybe Paris.”

Joke or not, Marc was surprised at how even the idea of her moving made him feel. Not good. “You got nervous and caved to a client. It happens to the best of us. And I don’t know what they’ll decide or what they’re judging this on,
but I do know that nothing could have happened that would be worthy of leaving the country.”

“Really?” Her head shot up. “Because Natasha knows Jeff cheated on me, I was late so I didn’t even get to present my plates right, then I may have implied that we are having sex, Jeffery’s mom announced to the room that he’d finally, after all these years, found true love, and my dessert course was disqualified because it was baked in a shop owned by a voting member of the DOP. Now tell me how it could have been worse?”

They were silent for a moment, and she raised a brow. “Marc?”

“I’m sorry, what? You lost me at the we’re-having-sex part.” He shrugged. “I think that it’s only fair that I be included in this implied sex, since I’ve already slept on your couch.”

“Are you serious? You know what? Never mind.” She stood in a huff, her hands flapping at her sides, that delectable ass swinging angrily.

Before she could storm off too far, Marc grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. Linking his arms around her waist and holding her secure, he lowered his voice. “Look, I was kidding. You’re really upset about this, and I don’t know how to make it better, and for some reason that bothers me.” More than he’d like to admit. “So I went for the cheap laugh.”

Lexi didn’t look amused.

“This whole boyfriend thing is new to me. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“
Fake
boyfriend,” she reminded him.

“Whatever.” He grinned, and thankfully she grinned back.

“You’re forgiven.”

“Really? Just like that? Because I acted like an ass, and I think you should come to my suite and teach me a lesson.”

She smacked his chest, but he noticed she didn’t try to move off his lap. Instead, she linked her hands around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. “What if I can’t do this, Marc?”

He ran a hand up her back and tangled his fingers in her hair. “I don’t believe that and neither do you. Because you and I both know that if you lose the Showdown, we’ll find another way. So what is this really about?”

Her arms tightened, and her face disappeared in the curve of his neck. “When I said we were dating, no one believed me. Not that we are, I mean, I know that we’re not, but to hear it, like they didn’t think I could get a guy like you…” He felt her shrug. “Silly or not, it really hurt.”

And in that moment, Marc regretted every one-night stand he’d ever had, every woman he’d led on, and every stupid decision he’d made. Because she wasn’t the half of the equation that came up short. He was. But Jeff had left her vulnerable, and Marc had made her an easy target for Natasha. It had never been his intention to make her life more complicated. He had only been trying to help.

Okay, and he wanted to spend time with her. She made him feel smart and real, and when she looked at him like she had the other night, he felt like one of the good guys. He’d never really been the good guy, and selfishly, he didn’t want that to stop.

“Hey,” Marc said, taking her face between his hands and raising it to his.

She took in a deep breath, opened those mossy-green eyes, and bam…he felt her slide into every cell of his body. Despite everything that he wanted to say, everything that he should say, he found it impossible to talk. Maybe if he was able to keep her around long enough, he’d figure out how to become that guy, the one that he was right now with her in his arms.

“Oh God,” she whispered, and he almost asked her if she was feeling the same thing. Then he noticed her face was pale and her lower lip was trembling. “No, no, no. Natasha and the junior league are coming out. And Mrs. Balldinger is right behind them.”

She tried to scramble off his lap, but he made it clear that that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Selfish intentions aside, he’d set out to help her, and that was what he was going to do.

“Marc,” she hissed, still jerking around on his lap. “What part of them making fun of me in front of my ex-mother-in-law don’t you get?”

He might not understand what was happening between him and Lexi, but he got women. And the best way to shut one up was with a kiss.

“Trust me?” he whispered, fisting his hands in the front of her jacket and dragging her up against him.

She stared at him for a minute and then nodded, her eyes wide and full of trust, and just like that, Marc knew he was fucked.

“Thank God,” he mumbled before he captured her sweet lips and dropped one hell of a kiss on her. He felt her breath catch and her mouth stiffen under his.

“Play along with me here, cream puff,” he said against her lips. “If you don’t start acting like you want me, my delicate man feelings might get hurt.”

“I’m not good at this,” she said, turning her head slightly.

“At kissing?” Marc almost laughed, then realized she was serious.

“At, well, all of it, I guess,” she whispered, the tears finally filling her eyes, and Marc wanted to beat the crap out of Jeff.

“I think you just haven’t had the right partner.” He framed her face between his palms and dropped a gentle kiss on her lips. “Lucky for us, sugar, I’ve been told I’m a great teacher. So let’s start with the basics, and we’ll work up to second base by the time the crowd gets to us.”

“That’s fast.”

“No, I’m that good.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes dropped to his lips. Hot need slowly filled his chest and sank down to settle in his groin.

“Oh yeah. Just relax your lips.” He gave a little nip, and she nipped back.

“Like that?”

“Just like that and—”

That was all he got out before her lips started moving against his, and hot damn was she incredible. She was sweet and trusting and sexy as hell. Her lips could drive a man insane. Add to that the way she was pressing her body up to him like shrink-wrap, or the little moans she released when he got it right, but when she opened her mouth and made the first incredible pass with her tongue across his lips he was lost.

Realizing that this might be his only chance, Marc gave it everything he had.

Somewhere between her nails clawing though his scalp and her thigh rubbing up against his dick, Marc forgot that this was a game. Apparently so did Lexi, because when ChiChi cleared her throat, Lexi jumped. She blinked up at the crowd that had gathered and then back to him.

“See,” he whispered, tucking a handful of hair that had come out of her braid behind her ear. “I’m good.”

“Well, if you’re done groping that poor girl in public, Marco, I’d like to give her the good news.”

“Good news?” Lexi sprang off of his lap, but not before straightening her jacket and smoothing down her hair, which was a colossal waste of time. She looked like she’d just been caught making out behind the bleachers.

Marc smiled. She had.

“Well, yes. It seems we are at an impasse.” ChiChi took a deep breath, her bell hat bobbing with anger as she shot a gaze at Mrs. Balldinger—whose smug smile left no doubt about who had voted against Lexi. “So as the rules stipulate, there must be a tiebreaker. You and Natasha will both be asked to present a new dish a week from Saturday.”

“And what if there’s another tie?” Marc asked.

“There can’t be,” ChiChi said with a smile that sent his every instinct into red alert. If the board couldn’t decide on a chef, which seemed like a good possibility, then the power would default back to the customer. “Because we won’t be deciding, dear. You will.”

A
re you done eye-fucking the neighbor girl? Or do you need another moment?”

Marc didn’t move, but he stopped staring at Lexi, who was cooking away in her kitchen, wearing that tiny lavender apron and cutoff shorts. He knew the apron well. It had played a starring role in his dreams lately, and when she stood at just the right angle, and he squinted a little, she looked like she was in nothing but the apron. And it was a damn better sight than the e-mail sitting on his desktop.

Forcing himself to focus, Marc took one last look and turned. His two oldest brothers stood in his office doorway, and by the way Gabe was shaking his head and mumbling threats, they were doing their best to remind him that he was a screwup. And in this case he knew it was true.

“Where’s Trey?” Marc asked. He’d called his brothers earlier that morning as soon as he’d seen the e-mail.

“Trey is in New York. Last-minute meeting,” Nate said, calmly sitting in one of Marc’s leather barrel chairs, while
Gabe plopped down, elbows on knees, eyes hard, looking slightly harassed and completely exhausted.

“One that didn’t exist until this happened,” Gabe said, flapping a rolled-up newspaper a few times before smacking it against his palm with a reprimanding thwack.

Marc couldn’t see what was on the paper, it was moving too fast, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out from Gabe’s intense expression and the fact that Trey was missing that this was about one of two things: the Showdown or the Monte deal. Either way it had to be bad, because when there was family drama, Trey ran. He’d started when their parents died and made a habit of it after Abby’s marriage crumbled.

“Will he be back in time for the Showdown?”

“Depends if Abby stops running these.” Gabe tossed the latest issue of the
St. Helena Sentinel
on the desk.

Marc didn’t need any more bad news right now, but he walked over to his desk, spun the paper around, and—“Shit.”

There on the front page, nestled between “DOP Calls Tie in Taste-Off” and the ad for the Showdown, was a full-color and full-sized photo of Richard with a “My Dick Is Still Missing” headline plastered above his head.

“I’m happy she’s finally divorcing the tool and moving on. But front page? The Showdown is next week. What the hell was she thinking?” Abby was a sweetheart, but when riled she had a mean streak as wide as the valley.

“According to her, she didn’t do it,” Nate said, and Marc raised a disbelieving brow. “She copped to the headline, but swears she only paid for a small ad in the wanted section.”

“Under missing pets,” Gabe said seriously. “And don’t you dare laugh.”

Marc couldn’t help it. His sister could be a pain in the ass, and these ads running at the same time he was trying to convince people to drop a thousand dollars a pop for an “elegant and exclusive” event only made his job a whole lot harder, but the girl had spunk.

“Okay, dick jokes aside, if she paid for back page, why is she getting headline service?”

“Three months ago Kimberly Meyer was promoted from advertising manager at the
Sentinel
to editor-in-chief,” Nate said, not needing to point out that Kimberly Meyer used to be known as Keg-Stand Kim: dance-team captain, all-around party girl, and Marc’s homecoming date. Her name also used to be Baudouin.

“Wait, that was right after they announced that the Showdown was going to be at the hotel.”

“And right after Charles threw a fit about it being held at a DeLuca property,” Gabe said.

“It was also right after he became a silent partner in the paper,” Nate added.

“Which explains all of the odd timing with articles about the family, placing the Showdown ads next to Abby’s mess of a divorce. He’s pissed that the committee picked you.”

“It’s pretty incredible that old man Baudouin is still this hung up on a feud that involves a dead man and a seventy-nine-year-old grandmother.”

Gabe laughed. “Have you met ChiChi?”

He had a point.

“Getting back at us is one thing. But if he ruins the Showdown, it will hurt the whole town.” Marc shook his head. “There is no way he would be willing to do that. What could he possibly gain besides a town boycott of his wine?”

“I have no idea, but a man who lost the love of his life and his best friend on the same day when his only crime was being honest?” Gabe gave a low whistle. “Yeah, I don’t think he needs much more of a motive.”

“If you didn’t know about the ad, then why did you call?” Nate said, looking at Marc.

Because I didn’t want to admit that I screwed up—again—over the phone.

Marc ran a hand through his hair and shifted in his seat. He didn’t know why, but he had the sudden urge to see Lexi, even if only through the window. A little smile or her cute wave sounded nice. Only she wasn’t there.

He turned back around. “I got an e-mail this morning from Bo Brock’s manager.”

“Ah, shit.” Gabe leaned back in his chair.

“It was to inform me that Mr. Brock must regretfully decline to participate in the Tasting Tribunal.”

“Christ, Marc. Do you have any idea how screwed we are?” Trey said from the doorway, looking both constipated and like he needed to punch someone. And from his pointed glare that someone was Marc. “Without a celebrity judge, the Tasting Tribunal will be—”

“Yeah, I get it.” Marc let out a breath. “No celebrity judge, no panel. No panel, no Showdown. You don’t need to explain, Trey. Plus, I thought you were on your way to New York.”

“And I thought you were handling your shit.”

“I am,” Marc grumbled.

“Yeah? Well, then, explain to me how a guy who signed a contract would bail at the last minute,” Trey challenged, taking an aggressive step forward.

Marc had been trying to figure that out for himself. The e-mail gave no concrete reason for why Mr. Brock wanted out, just a few lame lines about a serious man with serious commitments who took his job seriously.