Cupcakes & Chardonnay (9 page)

At least he had scared off Noelle for him. It hadn't occurred to Noelle that his wife might have a big bad protector lurking in the crowd. Of course, it hadn't occurred to Daryle either.

"All right," Daryle said after Brent was gone. "Let's go find some food and somewhere to sit down. I've been on my feet all day."

The museum's cafe was open for reception seating and they grabbed a table by the large windows overlooking the street, away from the other reception attendees.

"Look, I'm sorry—" Daryle began.

"
Now
you're sorry."

A short, sputtering laugh came from Daryle. "Yes, according to Brent, I am sorry. Very sorry, indeed." He took a bite of crab puff pastry, to buy him some time while he gathered his thoughts. He'd already screwed up once tonight, he wanted to get back on the right footing. "I didn't know Noelle was going to be here."

"And just who is Noelle? Your old girlfriend? The one your mother wouldn't let you marry? Hard to believe it was just a week ago that you were telling me that we needed to put up a convincing front here."

"Yes, she is an old girlfriend. She was a little surprised by our wedding. You can maybe have some sympathy for her on that front?"

Suzanne shrugged in half-hearted agreement. Noelle had gotten tossed out by Iris Catterton just as quickly as Suzanne had gotten roped in. "Are you ... are you still seeing her?"

"No. No!" Daryle set down his fork, a little too forcefully. "Of course not. Actually, I'm glad the wedding ended all that. I was never in love with her."

"Well, that's hardly a prerequisite, is it?"

It was after eleven when they finally made their goodbyes to Alanna and left the reception. Inside Daryle's car, Suzanne closed her eyes and let her weight sink into the seat. How could something that should have been so simple—attending a reception for his sister—collapse into such a disaster? It had always been that way between them, she thought. Nothing had ever been simple. Maybe if she had made more of an effort to get to know his mother back then, Iris would have known that a marriage, even a fake one, was never going to work.

The only way Suzanne could see the two of them—and their respective businesses—surviving this was if they just didn't see each other unless it was absolutely, unavoidably necessary. Take tonight, for example. No one would have noticed if she hadn't been there. Daryle could simply have said she was working or not feeling well—and Suzanne could always say the same about him.

Oh well. That was not a conversation to be had tonight.

The reception had been a rousing success for Alanna, though, and that was what was important about the evening. The museum had been packed and Suzanne had heard plenty of positive comments about her sister-in-law's paintings. She was glad, too, that Alanna had requested her cupcakes and that she had introduced Suzanne as the owner of The Cupcakery and not just her brother's wife. She didn't know Alanna well—probably never would, given the projected shelf life of her marriage—but she seemed like a genuinely nice person. Not one of those tortured, angst-ridden artists. Funny how two siblings could be raised together, in the same environment and by the same people and turn out like night and day.

Suzanne let her own mind become a blank canvas for awhile, thinking about nothing, just feeling in her limbs the rhythm of the car moving and changing lanes, curving around corners, braking and accelerating. She was completely zoned out when Daryle suddenly stomped on the brakes, throwing her body violently forward. Her head whipped back and the seatbelt tightened instantly against her throat.

"Daryle!" she cried out in fear, then anger, when she noticed how close they were to the car in front of them. So close, she couldn't even see the brake lights on the car. Daryle had nearly rear-ended a large SUV at a stoplight.

"What were you—" she said then stopped as she looked over at him. His head was in his hands, his forehead resting on the steering wheel. He was exhausted. That was plain to see.

"Out," she said. "I'm driving. Chinese fire drill." He switched places with her without complaint, offering a mumbled, barely-audible "thanks."

Luckily, Suzanne found a parking space less than half a block from her apartment. She got out of the car, went around to the passenger side and opened the door. "You're staying here tonight. You're too tired to drive all the way back to Napa."

"I can't, Suzanne," he protested. "I have to get back to the winery to—"

She cut him off. "Our contract doesn't have a contingency for you getting killed in a car accident, does it? I guess I might inherit Iris Vineyards in that event but, frankly, running a winery is probably not my cup of tea."

Daryle rubbed his eyes, then raked a hand through his thick hair. "I suppose you're right."

It had been years since he'd been in her apartment. He was too tired to look around and see if everything looked the same, if there was evidence of someone else who had been there recently. He could barely keep his eyes open.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Suzanne offered.

"No," he replied. "I'll sleep on the couch. It's your place." He remembered a time when it had felt like his place, too, when he had kept clothes and a toothbrush here. A vision stirred in his mind, of Suzanne padding around
the apartment in the morning, wearing nothing but his shirt. Glancing at her face, he could tell she was remembering those times, too.

"I'll get you a blanket and pillow," Suzanne said. This was strange, she thought, strange and awkward as she walked to the tiny linen closet at the end of the hall. Daryle was the only man she'd ever had up to her apartment. It was a good thing she was so tired, too. She didn't want to lie awake all night fighting back the flood of memories his presence here was evoking.

When she came back to the living room, her arms piled high with blankets and her best guest pillow, she found Daryle already undressed and asleep on the sofa. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at that long, lean body in boxer shorts stretched out on the cushions. Oh go ahead, she told herself, it's been awhile since you've had the opportunity to look at a nearly naked man. She stood there for a long moment, her breathing becoming slower and heavier, just admiring his sleeping form. The way his chest rose and fell, one arm slumped to the floor, his face calm and relaxed in sleep.

God, he was so gorgeous. She wanted to touch him, just run a fingertip along the curve of his bicep or press her palm against that rock-hard abdomen. She wanted to feel that warm skin against hers. She felt her body being pulled toward his.

She stopped herself just in time, and shook her head. That was close, she thought. She took a deep breath, then gently lifted his head and slipped the pillow underneath. She draped  two blankets over his body, covering up all that glorious—dangerous—distraction. There! That was better, she thought, looking at him—no longer one sleek, sexy length of skin but now just a bundle of practical white cotton. She could handle that.

Daryle awoke slowly, sensing he was not at home but not entirely sure where he really was. The bed he was lying in felt different, softer than his at home, and the room was brighter. He squinted at the windows, bright morning sunshine leaking in through the miniblinds. He felt the mattress shift slightly and he looked to his left. What he saw there caused his eyes to open wider. He was fully awake now.

Ah, it was coming back to him. Last night. Alanna's reception. How he'd nearly rear-ended a car. Falling asleep on Suzanne's couch. Now he was in Suzanne's bed. He pulled his body up onto one elbow and watched her sleep. She looked peaceful and relaxed, the morning sun washing over her bare face. His gaze followed the line of her cheekbones to her jawline, then into the hollow of her neck and down to the gentle swell of her breasts beneath her thin pink cotton tank top. They rose and fell, rose and fell as she breathed.

Daryle was dizzy and he had to concentrate on breathing himself. It was disorienting, seeing Suzanne in the morning again, this close, this
intimately
, after all these years. How many lazy Saturday mornings had he begun just like this, quietly watching her sleep, then waking her up ...

He shifted his weight so he could slide his leg along hers, beneath the covers. She stirred, but didn't waken. He lightly brushed a lock of hair from her face. She wrinkled her nose, but still she remained sleeping. He was enjoying this, experimenting to see what would finally rouse her from whatever dream she was dreaming. He might have to up the ante.

He reached out and ran his finger lightly over the top of her breast, then down and around the side until his hand was cupped around the lower curve. Her nipple stiffened and poked at the cotton of her top, and he couldn't resist a smile. So she wasn't
entirely
immune to him.

Suzanne was resisting the pull toward wakefulness. She was having the most delicious dream, one that was making her body warm and tingly, causing her toes to curl. She could sense pale daylight on the other side of her eyelids, but she was going to fight this. Why did dreams always have to end just when things were getting good?

Suzie-Q,
she heard someone whisper softly. She felt a caress on her breast, then a hand slipped inside her top and pinched her erect nipple, lightly. She moaned. No, she did not want to wake up, not until this dream was over.
Suzie-Q.

She felt hot breath on her sternum, then the fabric of her top being slid aside. A pair of warm lips began to dot kisses on her breast, then—as she gasped—the lips settled over her nipple.

Suzie-Q. You're a hard woman to wake up.

She opened her eyes just as Daryle's tongue drew a slow, lazy circle around her nipple. She felt his hand grab her hip, his thumb slipping beneath the elastic of the boxer shorts she wore as pajamas. Her breath caught in her throat, a sound that made Daryle look up at her. His other hand took the place of his mouth on her breast, rolling her nipple beneath his thumb. Desire blazed in his eyes.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said.

Suzanne looked at him warily, remembering her dream—or what she thought had been a dream. "How long have you been in here?"

"Since the middle of the night."

"The middle of the night! You slept in here?"

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. That couch of yours isn't that comfortable, by the way. So I crawled into bed with you. You didn't seem to notice at the time." He looked down at her breasts, admiring them hungrily. "Although parts of you seem to be noticing now."

Suzanne ached for him to touch her again. It was all she could do not to arch her body up to meet his. But this was not a good idea, no matter how good it felt.

Daryle leaned in and brushed her lips with his, lightly, teasingly. "I know what you're thinking," he whispered. The caress of his warm breath against her lips sent a tingling ripple down her spine. "You're thinking this is a bad idea."

"Isn't it?" she replied and Daryle covered her mouth with his, kissing her possessively. She moaned and he filled her mouth with his tongue. She took it all in, her body finally pressing up to meet his. She felt his erection against her hip and Daryle groaned with pleasure.

"We
are
married," he said. "So one could say this is officially sanctioned."

She had to concede that he had a point. They were married. And it wasn't as though they had never done this before. Her body was letting her know that, loud and clear. Daryle kissed her again, deeply, tasting every curve of her lips, then gliding down to her jaw ... then the soft skin of her neck ...

Suzanne couldn't resist any longer. She slid her hands down the length of his body, closing her eyes so she could focus on just the sensation of his muscles beneath her palms. She felt his muscles tense beneath his skin as her hands reached the small of his back. He pressed his hardness into her.

"Suzanne, I want you. I can't help it. I'll apologize later." He looked down at her, his eyes heavy with passion. She felt herself dissolving in those eyes. More. She wanted more. She'd forgotten how good this felt, forgotten how much her body craved a man's touch. Craved Daryle's touch. No one had touched her body since they'd broken up.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've thought of you ... like this?" Daryle said. He pulled her tank top over her head. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are right now?" He leaned back on his heels and Suzanne lifted her hips so he could slide her shorts down her long smooth legs. "Look at you. Damn, I am lucky to be married to you." He bent his head and covered her breast with his mouth again.

Suzanne's body was on fire. She buried her fingers in his lush dark hair, then moved further down and pulled his hips into hers. If she moved just an inch or two, she could pull him inside her. She wanted him that close, as close as two people could be. She wanted it so badly she could barely breathe.

"Mmm, not yet," Daryle murmured.

"You're torturing me."

"And I'm not through torturing you either." His lips whispered against her skin, as he dropped kisses across her flat belly, flicked his tongue over the points of her hips, then gently pushed her legs open. Suzanne moaned at the first, light touch of his fingers. He slid his hands underneath her bottom as he began to kiss her intimately. Suzanne clutched at the pillow beneath her head, certain her body was about to explode from years of pent-up desire. Daryle was doing things to her, divine things, things that had every thought in her mind collapsing into chaos. The only clear thought she had was that she wanted him, wanted Daryle Catterton that very minute more than she'd ever wanted anything.