Crush on You (25 page)

On the way home from the bridal shower, Alessandra decided the only prescription for her own unhealthy preoccupation with Penn was a good night’s sleep. But that plan got off the rails almost immediately. Climbing the steps to the farmhouse’s front door, she noticed a dim glow coming from the cottage. “Damn it,” she muttered, immediately reversing direction.

Whoever was in there—lovers or treasure seekers—she was in a mood to escort them out with a good swift kick to the butt. Upon reaching the cottage’s porch, she noticed the yellow hazard tape crisscrossing the open doorway—obviously an ineffectual barrier. Damn kids, she thought again, preparing to step over. Then caution asserted itself.

She couldn’t be sure the intruders were harmless, could she? So instead of marching straight inside, she opted for a more wary approach. With quiet footsteps, she walked around the outside of the structure toward the windows of the bridal boudoir. The light was coming from that room. She peeked through the glass, then swallowed her groan.

Why hadn’t she guessed? The man who’d been trespassing through her mind all evening was now at her winery without her permission.

Through the window she saw Penn lying on a thick sleeping bag, his hands behind his head, a small camp lantern emitting a pale yellow beam that barely penetrated the gloom. It washed color across his face, the masculine angles of it creating deep shadows that gave away his mood.

Somber. Sad, even.

When she’d spied that exact same expression on Gil earlier in the evening, an empathetic ache had filled her chest. But now, seeing Penn in a similar state, it wasn’t compassion that was surging inside her. Because to start, couldn’t he have seen just by looking at her blond perfection and scant hemline that Lana Lang was a bad bet? And second, what kind of man told another woman their horizontal tango was inevitable when he was really in love with someone else?

He wasn’t merely a rat. He was a dog. A dog who should pay for all the baloney he’d thrown her way, she decided, shifting as an itch of annoyance crawled over her skin. The sole of her shoe slipped on the soft dirt at the edge of the cottage and she had to catch herself against the rough adobe, producing a muted thump that caught Penn’s attention.

He jackknifed up, peering into the darkness around him as if he was looking for . . . ghosts.

Which gave her an idea. Though it might not settle the score between them, it just might be enough to settle her mood so she could go back to her bed and get that good night’s sleep.

As silently as she could, Alessandra tiptoed toward the cottage’s entrance. Stacked on the porch were some old sheets she’d brought down from the house to use as drop cloths. Still clutching her purse, she ducked between the hazard tape then yanked a sheet inside after her.

She hesitated a moment. Okay, maybe her intention was a bit silly, but if it caused Penn a momentary jolt, she’d be satisfied. After all, he
had
scoffed at the Anne and Alonzo story.

The sheet covered her from head to ankles, but through the worn material she could see a glimmer of the light in the bridal boudoir. Crossing the floor of the main room, she headed toward it, jiggling her purse instead of rattling a spectral chain.

Sudden laughter welled up inside her. It might be the dumbest idea she ever had, but this small taste of revenge was going to go down very sweet. Breathless with anticipation of his frightened reaction, she stretched her free hand forward—and was swept off her feet from behind.

She shrieked.

A dark voice edged with irony spoke against her sheet-covered ear. “
Now
she screams.”

Air passed below her dangling shoes for another moment, and then she was on her behind on Penn’s pallet. He flipped the sheet over her head and gazed down at her. “What the hell are you doing?” he inquired, clearly displeased.

Huh?
He
was displeased? That rankled even more, though she was almost as mad at herself for finding him still so damn attractive. Shirtless, with his jeans slung low on his belly, the lantern shadowed the ridges of his hard abs. She ran her gaze over his muscled arms and wondered why it thrilled her to recall how effortlessly he’d picked her up.
Good God
, she thought,
I’m easy.

“Well? What are you doing here?” he repeated.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, knowing she sounded sulky.

His brows rose at her tone. “I stopped by the farmhouse to let you know, but I guess you were out.”

“I had a date.” With twenty-five women and her cousin.

He shrugged, as if he couldn’t care less with whom she spent her evenings. “Since the doors are still a no-show, I thought I better stay here until we can secure this place.”

Her displeasure upped a notch. Why couldn’t he have some nefarious purpose? Now she supposed he expected her appreciation—which good manners predicated she should feel, unless . . . Her gaze narrowed at him. “Or are you here to meet someone?”

Think about it. He could easily have made an assignation with ex-lover Lana.

“Huh?” Penn seemed surprised. “What are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, feeling huffy all over again. She got to her feet, fumbling with her purse. It crashed to the ground, the latch popping so that the contents spilled across the floor and sleeping bag. She glared at Penn, aware placing the blame on him wasn’t fair. “Look what you made me do,” she said anyway.

He was staring at the items on the floor. Then his gaze lifted to hers. “You have handcuffs?”

She made a face. The gag gifts from the shower were strewn about. She bent down to swipe up the soft pair. “These little ol’ things?” she said, tossing her hair behind her back. “Just something I carry for emergencies.”

He was pointing at something else. “And is that . . . ? No. No, no, no.”

Hah. Here was the jolt she’d been hoping for. Holding back her smile, she retrieved the next item. “A gift from . . . a friend.” Which was the truth, right? “Anatomical candy.”

“Your friend gave you . . .”

“Let’s see.” She half-bent toward the lantern so she could read the label on the plastic-wrapped treat. “It says it’s a ‘Pecker Sucker.’ ”

He just stared as she stowed it back in her purse.

The next object she picked up had attached leather strips that she waved in the air. “And then there’s this whip key-chain.” She contemplated it for a moment. “Hey, it might actually be practical. It could be a deterrent, you know, like pepper spray or something, if a bad guy comes up to me on a dark street and—”

“No,” Penn choked out. “Thinking of you and a flogger . . . not a deterrent.”

Flogger? She shot him her own surprised look—what else did he know that she didn’t? Then she dumped the rest of her haul back in her purse one by one: the glow-in-the-dark massage lotion, the edible body paint, the vibrating lipstick.

“What kind of thanks did you give your ‘friend’ for that stuff?” he asked, his voice suddenly gritty.

Ignoring the question, she slung her purse’s strap over her shoulder. “I’m going to bed now.” Finally. For that good night’s sleep.

As she moved past him, he caught her arm. “What the hell is that in your hair?”

Oh, sheesh. She’d forgotten one of the party favors, something that Stevie had experimented with at the end of the night. Clare had insisted she try them, announcing to all in her slightly drunken state that the ornament matched Alessandra’s nude-colored slip dress.

Now her fingers went to work on the elastic band, the ponytail holder no different than what they’d had as kids, except instead of winding the elastic band around plastic flowers or colored balls, this had two thumb-sized rubber penises. Tacky, true, but the bachelorettes had laughed until some cried and others ran to the bathroom.

Penn didn’t appear to find anything funny about it. “You were out with a ‘friend’ with that in your hair?”

“All night long,” she lied. She pulled the elastic band free and combed her fingers through the wavy mass, pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel. Her insides were jittering.

Because that weird chemistry thing was back, this time floating in the air between them like smoke. It was thick and hot and it tickled her skin. She felt roughed up a little, like a cat with its fur stroked in the wrong direction.

“I should get going,” she said. Her feet didn’t move.

Penn wrapped his other hand around her free arm. “You didn’t answer my question. How did you thank your friend?”

It was a ridiculous question and she didn’t know why he asked it in that harsh tone of voice. Easygoing Penn was gone, but it didn’t change one whit of his appeal. Nor her need not to fall prey to it again.

She flung her hair behind her shoulder. “Maybe it was how my friend thanked
me
.”

His nostrils flared as he pulled her closer, until her body was a breath from his. One inhale and he’d feel her hard nipples against his bare chest. “How was that then? How did your friend thank you?”

She and Karen, the bridesmaid in charge of party favors, had bussed each other on the cheek at the end of the evening. Alessandra curled her fingers into her palms, trying to resist the temptation to tease the man who smelled, as always, like delicious sin. She stared at his throat, at the pulse pounding there, then jerked up her chin, her gaze going only as high as his mouth. Her belly clenched, her womb, too, as a shiver skittered down both thighs.

Don’t
, she told herself.
Don’t say it.

“A kiss,” she heard herself whisper.

His mouth descended—as she’d known it would—and her muscles tightened to the point of pain. Her skin tingled in aching anticipation.

His lips touched down. She controlled the sudden twitch of her body. His hands moved from her arms to her hips and he yanked her against him as his tongue plunged inside her mouth. Oh.
Oh.
Heat flushed over her as she swallowed down a moan.

Penn jerked back from her mouth. “Damn it,” he said, his voice thick. “You don’t do this right.”

Embarrassment followed the same path as the sexual heat. She remembered Stevie.
Your sex life is the worst in the entire valley.
She’d had very little practice.

As she tried to shuffle back, he hung on. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her mind tumbling. “Is it the way I kiss? Is it the bare . . .” The words died and she did a little, too.

“I
love
the bare.” He gave her a little shake. “I hate that you’re so damn quiet. Like you’re in church, for God’s sake. You’re not really a nun, you know.”

Is that what was bothering him? A giddy laugh escaped her. “I—” Then another. “I was a teenager the last time I was . . .
with
someone. Quiet was kind of SOP.”

“Not standard operating procedure for adults, honey. We get to be loud. Passionate.”

Penn ran his mouth over her cheek, down her throat, and chill bumps chased the hot tingle. Her head fell back, leaving herself open to the burn of his mouth, the warm wet stroke of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth. She shuddered and released the tiniest of moans.

“Yeah. Like that.” He bit her again.

The sting made her shake. “Penn . . .” There was something she was supposed to be remembering. Some reason not to surrender to the inferno inside her belly and the sensual smoke teasing over her flesh.

He was in love with someone else.

That’s right. She should stop all this. Men might be able to compartmentalize, especially men like Penn, who were charming and playful and who were wanted by hundreds of women.

But Alessandra Baci, the Nun of Napa . . .

“I should go,” she said, even as she shuddered against the thumb teasing her breast. “I should go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Penn said. “I definitely think it’s time for bed, too.”

Alessandra found herself on the soft sleeping bag, Penn’s mouth still exploring her skin, his body weight a pleasure against her. Damn him. Damn her traitorous bones for jellifying just when she needed them.

“You don’t want to do this,” she murmured to herself.

“Oh, yes I do,” Penn answered, leaning on his elbows to look down at her. “All night long.”

The promise shivered across her skin like another touch.
All night long.

“But . . . but . . .” There were reasons, good reasons. “It’s late.”

“Adults don’t have curfews, honey.” Penn’s hand slid up the outside of her thigh, under the chiffon material of her dress. “We get to stay up all night making love.”

Adults got to stay up late and make passionate noise. His fingers curled around the elastic waist of her bikinis and his callused fingertips caused her belly muscles to spasm, her womb contracting along with them. Oh, God, how could she, knowing his heart was with someone else?

The fact was, she’d used up her shallow well of sexual sangfroid when he’d tucked her skirt in her waistband and made her walk up the stairs in front of him. All her daring had been exhausted when she’d ordered him onto the bed, out of his clothes, and then into her body that night in her room.