Summer in Napa

chapter 7

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 f*cking 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.

“I’m being serious, Marc.” When he went back to pushing buttons, she faked as though she was giving up, walking away, then spun and jumped for it. Even though she was taller than average, her five eight was useless when paired against his six three. He was also a whole lot faster than she, and snaked his free arm around her neck to hold her down. She folded at the waist, the pressure bending her until her shoulder was pinned to his hip. All he needed to do was add a noogie and it would be just like old times.

With a frustrated grunt, she stopped struggling, gave a firm elbow up to the ribs, and he released her. She stepped back.

“Fine. Play your stupid games, but realize that in about two hours everyone in town is going to hear that you were at my house this morning wearing last night’s stubble”—which he wore incredibly well—“and think that we are really a thing.”

“Cream puff, we are a thing, and I give it ten minutes, since your Facebook status says you’re in a relationship.” Marc handed her the phone, and she looked at the screen. Sure enough, he had updated her status on Facebook. He had also posted a comment from his account to her wall reading: “Lexi, make me the happiest man in the valley and allow me to be your Mr. Every Day.”

There were already seven comments: five urging her to say yes, one from her grandmother reminding her that handwritten cards to her remaining bachelors would be correct etiquette, and a nasty one from Natasha citing how hacking into another person’s account and posting on their behalf was illegal.

Thirty seconds and people were already talking.

Her stomach fell to her toes, making her hangover that much worse. How could he do this? Everyone in town would soon figure out that it was a stupid prank, and she would look even more pathetic than the girl whose dates were grandma-approved.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No joke, Lexi. And before you type in no and break my heart in front of the world, just think about—”

He stopped talking, and she wondered if he was actually giving her time to think about it, which wasn’t a good idea, because all she could think about was finding her straw and some toilet paper.

Then she realized that his lack of verbs and articles was due to a severe lack of terry cloth on her end. His eyes were glued to the front of her robe, which had come open during their tussle and was showing off quite a lot of skin and red lace. And the way he was looking at her, as though he found her sexy and beautiful, made her stomach do a silly flip. Just a little one.

Lexi had forgotten how good it felt to have a man look at her like she was a desirable woman, like all she had to do was nod her head and he would take her against the wall, hangover and all. Lord knew Jeffery hadn’t looked at her as more than a roommate and head chef in years. She took her time adjusting her robe and tightening the belt.

Even after it was securely closed, Marc took a while to look up. And when he did, instead of the same stupid line or that little wink she’d seen him give hundreds of girls, he cleared his throat, and if Lexi wasn’t mistaken, his ears were tinted slightly pinker than normal.

“Think about it, Lexi,” he said, sounding so unaffected it made her wonder if she had, in her need to feel special and beautiful, imagined the entire moment. “It’s a great setup. You pretend I’m your boyfriend, and you don’t have to go on any more dates. No more dates means you get to focus completely on the bistro and creating a menu.”

“I don’t need a pretend boyfriend,” she said. Now those silly little flutters from a moment ago left her feeling just silly. And defensive. Why did everyone assume she needed help in the man department? “If I wanted one, I could get him on my own. And as for my dates, I have everything under control.”

As though on cue, her phone rang. She looked at the screen and groaned. It was Mr. Wednesday Morning, probably calling about his mom’s Tupperware party. She’d meant to call him, explain about the Daughters of the Prohibition tasting and hope he’d understand. No way could she come up with a unique way to serve salmon on asparagus if her last night to experiment was spent burping lids and touring his Velcro collection.

Before she could answer, Marc had her phone. “Hello?”

Lexi frowned.

Marc winked.

“Oh, Corbin. Yeah, it’s Marco.” A long silence. “Yeah, Mr. Every Day. I’m still waiting. You know women, they like the chase.” After Marc uh-huhed and yupped the call to death, he said, “You got it. Yeah, you too.”

He hung up. “That was Corbin. His mom invited the minister’s wife to her Tupperware party, and she was concerned that Corbin was bringing a taken woman.”

“Will you stop meddling?” She grabbed her phone back. “I have this handled.”

“Really? Because you’re so worried about being rude that Corbin would have been down on one knee before he realized you were just being polite.”

She looked at the screen, which was conveniently open to her Facebook wall, showing nine more comments, including one from the minister’s wife and three of her bachelors asking if they were still on next week. “And if I type yes, then what?”

“Corbin finds a new date, and you have tomorrow night free to cook us salmon eleven different ways. Plus, he kind of has a thing for the cute new pharmacist over at Bottles and Bottles, who his mom also invited.”

God, it would be so easy. Three little letters sent into cyberspace would release her from any more get-to-know-you coffees and want-to-invite-me-in wines. She’d already had to answer so many questions about why she got divorced, if she was over Jeffery, was she ready to find love again, or, the worst, was she looking for a little rebound action. It was a simple solution and oh so tempting. It was also scary to think of placing her trust in another man…a man whose smile alone had the ability to melt the panties off women everywhere.

Marc loved women and sex—simultaneously and in excess. Lexi didn’t multitask all that well, and she wasn’t all that sure that she was even any good at sex. Not that it was on the table. Plus, having your husband cheat on you was bad enough. Having the town know that your fake boyfriend spent his nights with other women would be humiliating. Not that they would know he was fake, but if she couldn’t even keep a family guy like Jeffery satisfied, there was no way people would believe she could catch and hold the St. Helena Stud.

No, Lexi had learned the hard way what could happen if you didn’t clarify the other person’s expectations in an arrangement. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Okay, hypothetically, I say yes. How would this even work?”

He looked surprised that she was even considering this. “You say yes, we see each other in public a few times, and the town thinks we’re dating. Your grandma and the bachelors lay off, and you get to focus on work.”

“Dating defeats the purpose. I need time to cook.”

“After a few public lunches and taking Wingman to the park—” A bark of agreement erupted, and Lexi patted the dog’s head. “People will get the point. Then when you disappear for days on end in your apartment to cook, I’ll be working on the Summer Wine Showdown. Everyone will just assume we are in the honeymoon phase and can’t keep our hands off each other.”

“They’ll think we are sleeping together,” Lexi said, her voice going a little shrill.

“Sleeping will be the last thing they’ll think we are doing,” he said in a low, seductive voice that sent chills all over her body. She didn’t like that her heart kicked in at the idea. Or that her panties might have gone a little wet.

“I want to be able to cook and experiment”—she held up a silencing hand—“man free. Not have everyone think that I’m another one of your many women. I mean, what happens when you get caught with Cindy or Mandy?” Or Cindy and Mandy. “Would I have to break up with myself for you?”

“First off,” he said, taking a step forward and looking really pissed and a bit hurt, “when I am in a relationship, I don’t cheat. Period.”

Marc took another step closer. Lexi took one backward.

“How would you know? You’ve never been in a relationship.”

“I just know.” Marc was so close that she took a final step back. As her heels rammed into the bottom stair, she tipped backward and should have landed with a boom. But when she opened her eyes she found herself upright, pressed between the entry wall and one surly Italian.

“Um, okay.” She swallowed, trying to casually lean back against the wall and failing dismally.

“After the bistro is open and the Showdown is over, we’ll go our own ways, just tell people it was an amicable parting,” he clarified.

“That didn’t work so well for me before.”

“Okay, you do the breaking up, then. Just don’t make me look like a total ass.” His hands went to her waist, and he splayed his fingers low over her hipbones. “I blew it, okay. When Jeff told me he’d moved out, I didn’t know what to do, how to help you, so I did nothing. And I hate that. You’re my friend, separate of Jeff. I can help this time if you’ll just let me, Alexis.”

He’d never called her by her full name before, so she’d never known how incredibly hypnotic it would sound falling from his lips. Nor did she anticipate the quiet pride she felt at his reminder of who she was…who she wanted to become again. Which was why she forced herself to ask, “So is this like a pity relationship?”

“No pity, Lexi.”

“And what about Jeffery? What will we tell him?”

“Let me handle Jeff. And this isn’t about him or your grandma or the bachelors. This is about you and your business, and dating me gives you a polite way out, lets you focus.” He cupped her cheek, running the pad on his thumb across her cheekbone. “You were my wingman for years. Let me be yours. Then we’ll be even, I promise.”

When he put it like that, so simple and honest, it was impossible to resist. She found herself not wanting to resist, so she snuggled a little closer. “What do you get out of this? I mean, besides making it even?”

He sighed, bringing her into a full embrace to rest his cheek on top of her head. “Is this just between us?”

She did some sighing of her own, melting into his warm, naked chest. He smelled like sexy morning man and felt even better. Unable to stop herself, she wrapped her arms around his middle and whispered, “If this is going to work, everything has to stay between us.”

He was silent for a moment. They both knew that her words were part statement and part question. Trust was a two-way thing, and she was giving him hers and asking for his in return.

After a moment, his hand swept up her back to tangle in her hair. “My brothers were right.” She knew how hard that must have been for him to admit. He hated being wrong, especially if that meant his brothers were right. “I’m in over my head. The Showdown is a mess. I have a dog as a wine expert, might be short one celebrity taster, and if Abby doesn’t stop running those ‘dick’ ads, people will start asking for refunds and we won’t even get any attendees.”

“You’ll figure it out,” she said, placing a hand on his forearm. “It’s what you do.”

He laughed. “I have no idea what the hell I am doing or how the hell I can fix this. This event means a lot to St. Helena and to my family. I need to focus.”

She’d meant what she’d said; he would pull it off, of that she had no doubt. He was born for this job. But what she couldn’t grasp was how their fake relationship would benefit him.

She tilted her head back and stared up into those dark mahogany eyes. She must have looked as confused as she felt, because he flashed her a badass smile and added, “You’re not the only one with admirers who are distracting, cream puff.” Oh, right, Natasha. And probably countless others who were sex-on-a-stick with enormous boobs. How could she forget? “I need time to work this out and a date for all the events that don’t require work.”

His words hit home—hard and painful. He wanted someone who wasn’t a distraction as a front while he saved the Showdown and a date that he didn’t have to worry about mixed feelings with while mingling at the events. In a way she was using him too, so it shouldn’t have hurt that he would have to fake the romance in their fauxmance, but it did. Because she wouldn’t have to pretend. What woman would? Marc was sexy and smart and funny and so far out of her league. He always had been, and this was a clear reminder.

Ohmigod! She froze, her hands started sweating, and her face burned red. She would be his beard—and he wasn’t even gay. Alexis Moreau had gone from prom queen to divorcée to a straight man’s beard. How pathetic was that?

She detangled herself from his warmth and stepped around him. Plastering a fake smile on her face, she typed “YES” to their fake relationship.

“Good girl. Now come here and give your boyfriend a kiss.”

“Fake boyfriend,” she corrected.

He tapped his cheek with a single finger. “Make it official.”

She rolled her eyes and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Before she could move out of arm’s reach, he grabbed her face and planted a big smacker on her lips. “You’re welcome.”

“Congratulations, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend. Now just don’t go getting all clingy on me.”

She meant it as a joke, but when he answered, “I’ll try,” as though it wouldn’t take much effort on his part to stay detached, she forgot to laugh. She did let out a yelp, though, when he dropped his hand and gave her a swift smack on the ass, saying, “Now go on up and make your man a nice big breakfast.”

“I’m going back to bed,” she said, walking up the stairs to her apartment, swaying her hips a little more than usual and making the hem of her robe swish higher up her thighs. Since Marc was below her on the stairs, she was sure he was getting a pretty good view. Sex wasn’t going to happen between them, but she’d be damned if her fake boyfriend didn’t think she was distraction worthy.

Marc groaned. “Even better idea. Let’s go, boy.” He whistled for Wingman, who loped up the stairs and down the hall behind them.

“Alone,” she clarified when she got to the bedroom door. She took one look at Marc, who wasn’t smiling anymore. The man was all but pouting. Even Wingman let out a little whimper when she slammed the door.

“Come on, boy,” she heard him say through the door. “Day one and we’re already couching it.”

Great. Now she felt terrible.

“You know what?” She opened the door, and both boys whipped around to face her. “Maybe some company wouldn’t be so bad.”

She let out a quick whistle, and Wingman barreled toward her and into the bedroom.

“Traitor!” Marc grumbled. Lexi stifled a smile and shut the door.