Wine, Tarts & Sex Read online

  The venture he had in mind had nothing to do with restaurants. “Why don’t you give your friends a call,” he said, his smile as polite as hers. “Tell them you’ll be a little late.”

  She sucked in her breath. Obviously, she’d been in the convent too long when she was interpreting bland statements like that as sexually explicit invitations. He was probably just talking about wine tasting.

  “Stay awhile,” he murmured, holding her gaze for a provocative moment, her little sucked-in breath having kicked his libido into overdrive. “Fill me in on the local scene or”-his voice lowered-“say… your vineyard… or whatever.”

  Okaaay-that wasn’t about wine tasting or, for that matter, about actual conversation. It was pretty much about sex.

  So now what?

  It wasn’t as though she was completely averse to impulsive sexual encounters. And it wasn’t as though Jake Chambers was a complete stranger. Although she didn’t know how much that mattered in her current lecherous mood.

  So-cool reason or rash impulse? What would it be?

  “I’d better not,” she said, telling herself that self-denial was a virtue. “But thanks for the invitation.” Then, turning, she walked away while she still could.

  Four

  As the kitchen door shut behind her, Jake offered up a small prayer of thanks to whatever Zen spirits had saved him from his own stupidity. A couple of hours from now he would have been wondering how the hell to get some woman he didn’t know out of his bed.

  Remember dude, you’re the guy who is going to live a hermit’s life for a while.

  After years in the celebrity glare that included the usual celebrity groupies, he was on a self-imposed rest cure, looking for that something different in his life. And let’s face it, a woman like Liv Bell, ex-model and vineyard owner in a state that had snow on the ground five months of the year, did not exactly qualify. She would have been more of the same-just another beautiful blonde. And sometimes too much of a good thing was too much of a good thing.

  So get a grip.

  Don’t let your libido call the shots.

  Stick to business.

  Which, now that his brain was back in charge, meant getting the River Joint off the ground. Glancing at the two cases of wine on the counter, he debated how best to get rid of them.

  Did homeless shelters take wine donations?

  Turning the key in her truck ignition, Liv found the sound of the engine coming to life audible evidence that she could persevere in the face of temptation. Putting her truck in gear, she drove away from a very close call. Whether it had been mature judgment or saved-by-the-skin-of-her-teeth impulse, she was damned glad she’d walked away. Jake Chambers was exactly the kind of man she’d seen once too often in her career as a model. Rich, good-looking, successful, fawned over by one and all-and, unfortunately, convinced they deserved the kudos.

  In other words, an egomaniac.

  Definitely not her cup of tea.

  Not that she knew what manner of man that might be.

  But she’d know when he came along.

  And in the meantime, her life was about as good as it got.

  Twenty minutes later she was parking behind an uptown restaurant and looking forward to meeting her friends.

  The three women had known each other since grade school, and whenever their schedules allowed, they met for lunch or dinner. Shelly was divorced, no children, Zoe was married with children; Shelly was a futures trader; Zoe had been a public defender before marrying and having kids.

  “You’re late,” they said in unison as Liv reached their table.

  Liv grinned. “I almost didn’t show up. Had my better judgment not kicked in, I wouldn’t have. The Jake Chambers is in town. He bought a restaurant on the river where I deliver wines. And he hit on me.”

  “Everyone hits on you,” Shelly said with a grin. “But hey-we would have understood if you’d bailed. He’s definitely studly.”

  Zoe held up her hand. “Maybe not. I saw in the National Enquirer that his last girlfriend left him for a woman.”

  “You can’t believe anything in the National Enquirer,” Shelly said. “Facts, babe, not gossip; that’s the bottom line.”

  “I don’t know. It was that movie star, what’s her name, the real quirky one with the blonde frizzy hair.” Zoe lifted her brows. “Everything is not as it seems in Hollywood.”

  Shelly frowned. “Don’t start on the Tom Cruise thing again, pul-ease. I like his movies. Who cares about the rumors? ”

  “Well, rumors aside on this one,” Liv said, signaling the waiter for a drink. “If Jake Chambers can’t please a woman in bed, I’d be real surprised. He practically oozes sex appeal. ”

  “So why did you show up here?” Shelly asked, brows raised. “Seriously, it’s not as though you’ve found your one and only yet.”

  “Unlike you, darling, I haven’t been looking.” Shelly had been dating with the same take-no-prisoners determination she gave to the futures market.

  “That’s your problem. You actually think Mr. Wonderful is going to walk through your door someday and sweep you off your feet. Ha!”

  “Hey, it worked for Cinderella. And Anna Karenina- although stupid Tolstoy had to do one of those nineteenth-century male chauvinist morality tale endings. Idiot. But whatever-I’m not in a rush. I’m happy. I haven’t had to split up my holdings with an ex”-she dipped her head- “no offense, but I’ve heard that can be real pricey,” she said with a grin. “And remember, I’ve dated so much I’ve reached the picky stage.”

  “Picky or not, Jake Chambers would top anyone’s list. You should have given him a shot.”

  “Nah. The Jake Chamberses of the world don’t fit in my game plan. Maybe an organic farmer would appeal, or better yet another vintner. Or if I don’t find that perfect man, I’m good. I have two aunts who never married, and they’re happy as clams. No stress, no grief-I figure they’ll live till they’re a hundred and ten.”

  “I don’t know… Jake Chambers’s kind of stress might be worth a try. Think of him like a box of truffles-just a sinfully delicious treat. And when the last truffle is gone, it’s gone. Then it’s back to health food and the responsibilities of life.”

  “If you’re so hot for him, Shelly, you go out with him. I’m sure he’s available.”

  “Shelly’s lusting after Jim Balfour,” Zoe said with a wink. “He’s won her admiration for his studly way with the futures market. He pulled in a million in commissions last week, and apparently that’s Shelly’s aphrodisiac of choice.”

  Shelly made a face. “Very funny. Not that money isn’t a turn-on, but Jim’s cute, too.”

  Zoe grinned. “How cute exactly?”

  Here’s where the ladies reverted to form, dissecting what most appealed to them in the male species. Liv sat back with her French martini the waiter had just delivered and listened with half an ear to the conversation. Her concentration kept slipping away to those male qualities in Jake Chambers that were still rattling her cage. There was something about him: a brute virility, a ruggedness not often seen in the world of the rich and famous, the challenging look of a man who hadn’t been housebroken and might never be. Jeez, snap out of it, she silently chided herself. Since when was she interested in whipping a man into shape?

  Since never, that’s when.

  And bottom line, if Jake Chambers didn’t want to be housebroken, he wasn’t going to be, no way no how.

  Don’t even think about it.

  He was a customer. No more. No less.

  Zoe was talking about her oldest daughter, who could play the piano with considerable skill at age six. Liv concentrated her attention on the merits of a Montessori education that were being extolled and ordered another drink.

  Five

  In the course of the next week, both Jake and Liv were busy enough to relegate heated memories to the discard bin.

  But on Monday when Liv was making her usual deliveries, she found herself experiencing a heightened disqu
iet on a couple levels as she turned into the alley behind Chaz’s restaurant.

  First, sales weren’t her strong suit, and whenever she had to pitch her wines, she was nervous. While Jake Chambers hadn’t refused the bottles Chaz had ordered last week, she wasn’t sure he would remain a customer. There were lots of wines out there and even more wine merchants. He didn’t have to buy hers.

  Secondly, she had to admit, his image had popped into her thoughts once or twice in the course of the week. He had killer sex appeal, there was no denying it. So it would be a matter of keeping her cool and remembering this was a business call. And also remembering that men like Jake Chambers weren’t on her wish list.

  When she walked through the door into the kitchen, she saw him in the back, seated at Louie’s desk, a phone to his ear.

  He swung around at the sound of the door opening, lifted one hand, fingers splayed, indicating five minutes, and then pointed at a table and chairs near the doorway into the dining room.

  Fucking a she looks good, he thought, wondering if she always made her deliveries in sexy dresses and spiky heels. But hey, it was a great sales tool. It was working for him; after a dutiful week of celibacy, it was really working. Cutting his conversation short, he told his supplier he’d get back to him.

  “Sorry,” he said, walking toward Liv a moment later. He jerked his thumb back toward the desk. “I’ve been on the phone or the computer nonstop ordering shit. I repeat,” he said with a smile, sitting down on the other side of the small table, “delivery people look a helluva lot better out here.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. I’m meeting friends for drinks. How are things going? Are you making progress?”

  “Yes and no,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Things never go smoothly on all counts. I’m used to it.”

  Trying to ignore the impressive width of his shoulders on display in his lounging pose, she nodded toward the two cases of her wine stacked under the counter. “I thought I’d stop by and check, but I’m guessing you’re not interested in any more of my wine.”

  Oh, Christ-he hadn’t moved them very far. “I’ve just been too busy to get back to you. Actually, I am interested.” In her, not her wines, particularly in that sunflower-yellow dress with those little ties on her shoulders that looked like they’d open real easily. “Why don’t I double Chaz’s order.” How could it hurt to have sex with another good-looking blonde? In this case, a blonde with big, lush breasts that he could reach out and touch if he was real stupid, he thought, flexing his fingers against the uncool impulse.

  “You don’t have to be nice just to be nice.” He obviously was, but for reasons that didn’t bear close scrutiny, she found herself willing to overlook his diplomatic reply.

  “No, really, it was an oversight. I’ve been busy as hell.” He smiled. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a lame-ass salesman?”

  “I know. Fortunately, I don’t have to actually make a living doing this.” She pushed her chair back, realizing she’d better leave before those hard muscles under his T-shirt got to her any more than they already had.

  “Why don’t I try your wines as long as you’re here,” he quickly suggested, his weeklong celibacy steamrolling over saner counsel. “You could give me some background on your operation.”

  She glanced at her watch, lied to herself that this was strictly business, and said, “Sure, why not. I have time.”

  The word time hung in the air for a flashing moment while two minds sent up word balloons rife with possibility and/or knotty complications.

  But man of action that he was or impelled by a libido that decided it would have no more of this ignominious abstinence, Jake quickly came to his feet and held out his hand. “Let’s sit in the dining room. The view is better.”

  His hand was large and strong, Liv thought when she shouldn’t. When, if this was just about a wine order, she wouldn’t have even noticed. As she rose and placed her fingers on his palm, as his hand closed over hers, even had she been concentrating with a laser-sharp focus on business, the seismic tremors that shook her would have been enough to blow any mission statement to kingdom come.

  Freaked out, she snatched her hand away. “I’ll get the wine,” she said, enunciating with special care to mitigate her breathiness. “Why don’t you find some glasses and a corkscrew.” Seriously, she didn’t want to be aware of his closeness, his formidable size, his heated gaze. For sure, she didn’t want to yield to her tumultuous desires. Not with a man like Jake, who could compete in the Guinness book of one-night stands. Not that she was necessarily against casual sex. She was just against casual sex with Jake Chambers, celebrity.

  Quickly pulling out a bottle of her red and one of white from the cartons, she deliberately preceded him into the dining room. Setting the bottles on a table near the windows, she sat down and gave herself a good talking to.

  “You’re right, the view is great,” she said in a normal tone of voice as he approached a few moments later. She was feeling better, more in control. She wasn’t fifteen. She could manage him.

  “I’ve had my eye on this place for a while. I’m glad the timing was right for Chaz.” Setting four glasses down, he opened the red wine first with a deftness that bespoke considerable experience. Pouring them each a glass, he sat down across from her and lifted his glass in salute. “To Liv Bell Wines.”

  “I confess to a certain prejudice. I hope you like it.”

  After a smell, a swirl, a taste, he said, polite as hell, “It’s excellent. My compliments. Tell me about your vineyard.” If she talked, he didn’t have to, particularly when it came to discussing her wine. While it was passable-not that he had expected more from the cold Midwest-he wouldn’t have been able to offer praise with any conviction.

  She told him a little of how she’d decided to get into the business, a brief, edited account short on the passions that motivated her. She talked about her various grape varieties, her small winery, several of the people who had influenced her decision to start a vineyard. He was surprised to discover she had a chemistry degree-so much for the blonde bimbo designation-and more surprised to hear that she’d worked in several of the really fine boutique vineyards in France. Too fucking bad she had chosen Minnesota to practice her craft.

  “I know Michel Chapoutier and Olivier Bernard, too. Nice places to learn your trade.”

  “And the weather is better than here.”

  So she knew and still had gone astray. Not that he said a word. “Let’s try the white,” he said instead.

  “It’s made from one of our locally hybridized grapes. It’s a blend of an ice wine and a table wine and not bad, if I do say so myself.”

  After tasting it, he offered his compliments and asked her some more questions about her vineyard.

  In turn she asked him about what had prompted him to become a chef, their conversation a variation on the what-sign -are-you getting-acquainted discussions. His account was even more abbreviated than hers; Cornell, the Culinary Institute, and apprenticeships in some of the better restaurants on the planet.

  “You’ve seen a lot of the world.”

  “I expect you have, too.”

  “More than enough, thank you. I’m in my Faustian stage now, and I’m pretty damned content.”

  “I guess I’m on that same search myself.” He lifted his glass. “To fulfillment.”

  She lifted her glass and smiled. “Amen.”

  She was interested, he could tell. He was a master at recognizing willingness in a female. Not that she was flirtatious as was normally the case with him. But Liv Bell didn’t have to press; not when she looked like she did. He expected she was more familiar with sitting back and waiting.

  It turned out he was wrong.

  Abruptly rising from her chair a few moments later, she said in a voice that was either crisp or taut or some equivocal register in between, “Thanks for the conversation. But my friends are waiting. I’d better go.”

  “Don’t go.”

  S
he opened her mouth to say, Why, but didn’t.

  “Forgive my bluntness,” he said, responding to the flush on her cheeks, coming to his feet with deliberate slowness in order not to frighten her off. “It’s just that you’ve been on my mind.” To her flaring gaze, he added, “Honestly,” not realizing the truth of his statement until he spoke.

  “I’d rather not be on your mind.” She half-lifted her hand. “No offense, but I’ve deliberately left that glitzy world behind.”

  “Me, too.”

  Her gaze narrowed as though assessing his authenticity.

  He smiled. “Word of honor.”

  He looked so artless for a moment, she couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, right.”

  “No shit. I have. Or I’m trying. You reach that stage-” He shrugged.

  “When you’ve seen and heard it all.”

  “Exactly. In fact, I was going to work on being a monk for a while.” He smiled. “But then you came along.”

  “I wouldn’t want to lure you from the path of righteousness. ” Even as she spoke, she was struggling with the vice versa part of that equation.

  “Please, lure away. You intrigue the hell out of me.”

  He was way too sexy and too beautiful, and she seriously hesitated for a moment. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she finally said, tamping down her willful carnal urges. “I just don’t see an upside. And my friends are waiting,” she added, perhaps to bolster her self-control more than for any other reason. “I’ll deliver your order next week.” Swinging around on her spiky heels, she walked away.

  “I’ll make you dinner afterward.”

  The soft, lush intonation drifted after her. She knew what afterward meant. She knew what before afterward entailed. She should keep walking. She should go through that door, get in her truck, and drive away. “What would you make?” she asked, turning back.