Falling For His Proper Mistress (2 page)

“We could've limited the number of speakers who gained complimentary entry.” Guy's brooding gaze settled on the woman whose arrival earlier had turned his hard-won peace on its head. Avery didn't look like she had a care in the world. But he would've breathed a lot easier without her here tonight.

“Dad always gave festival speakers free entry to the opening night cocktail party. Mom set the tradition.”

Blake's point hammered the final nail in the coffin. And Guy resisted the urge to argue that none of them had done what Don Jarrod wanted in life. So why the reverence for his opinion now that he was dead?

But the night of the official opening of the Food and Wine Gala was certainly not the time for friction with his twin.

Particularly not with Avery nearby. A sideways jerk of her head warned him she'd seen them. Guy edged closer to his brother. He fully intended to save his twin from Avery's irresistible advances tonight. And damn irresistible she was, too, in a dress the color of summer sunshine. Every time she moved diamond drop earrings sparkled through the pale gold feathers of her hair. Even in this celebrity-studded crowd she attracted attention.

After giving them a brief smile of greeting, Avery showed none of this morning's interest in Blake. From the corner of his eye Guy watched her intercept a tall, well-built stranger. His mouth twisted as she flung her arms around the man and kissed him on the cheek, before stepping away with a beaming smile.

It certainly hadn't taken her long to find company.

“Who's the man beside Avery Lancaster?” he demanded. His twin knew everyone worth knowing. Blake's networking skills and business acumen were unsurpassed.

“Looks familiar.” Blake frowned with concentration. He snapped his fingers. “Got it. A vintner. From California—I think. But I can't recall his name.”

“Which winery is he with? Does he grow good grapes?” It seemed important to establish a flaw in the stranger who stood too close to Avery for Guy's comfort.

Blake shook his head. “Can't remember. It will come to me. Why the interest?”

Guy refused to admit that he was fishing. Whoever Avery's quarry was, his highly polished Italian shoes and the avant-garde designer-label tuxedo he wore were a testimony to his wealth. It would be good to know that he had some weakness that could be exposed when needed. “Always good to know who's making the best wines.”

“Information always gives us an edge over the competition,” agreed Blake.

At that moment Avery threw her head back and laughed at something the Californian said. Her earrings danced and her eyes sparkled.

Unexpectedly, anger ignited in Guy's belly.

He swung away and told himself he should be relieved to be rid of a gold digger like Avery. So why the hell was he so damned annoyed? He'd always been easygoing about relationships, shrugging philosophically when they ended. And usually remaining friends with his former lovers.

But this time it was different.

Blake asked him something. He grunted his assent without any idea about what he'd agreed to. Then he told himself Avery had declared war by running out on him in New York without an explanation of why she'd seduced his business partner, his friend. He'd deserved to know.
She
might think it was over between them. But
he
wasn't through with her yet.

Not by a long shot.

No one betrayed him, then ran out on him…and Avery was about to learn that.

When Erica joined him and Blake, Guy shifted to get a clear view of Avery again as she accepted a glass of champagne that a waiter offered. She didn't take a sip.

A heartbeat later, Avery's head turned his way. Guy found himself blurting out to Erica that she'd done a great job with tonight's cocktail party before Avery could catch him staring
at her with puppy-dog eyes. He didn't even notice his half sister's flush of surprised pleasure or Blake glaring daggers at him, reflecting the uneasy relationship between the Jarrod brothers and their new-found half-sister.

Another furtive glance showed that Avery had set her untouched glass of champagne down on the edge of the table behind her and was talking, gesturing with both her hands to illustrate what she was saying. When her fingertips settled on her companion's jacket sleeve, anger stabbed deep in Guy's chest. Forgetting to pretend disinterest, he assessed the easy familiarity of the gesture through narrowed, bitter eyes.

Maybe not a stranger after all.

A former lover? Someone she'd been pursuing even while she passed time in his own bed?

Bile rose in the back of Guy's throat.

“What's wrong?”

Guy started. Erica was gazing at him with concerned eyes.

He glanced around.

“Don't worry, Blake's not here. He's gone to fetch me a glass of water. I'm hot and thirsty. It's been a long day.”

That made him feel curiously uncomfortable. He hadn't been aware of Erica's discomfort. Or his twin's departure. Because he'd been too damned busy devouring Avery with his eyes. Was he so transparent that even the half sister he barely knew could read him like a book? He pressed his lips together and glanced away without responding, discomforted by the sudden flush that heated his face.

“Who is she?”

“Nobody,” Guy bit out.

Erica blinked. “Hey, I only wanted to help. You looked…unhappy.”

Unhappy? Not at all. Instantly Guy forced a smile. “I'm fine.”

She didn't look convinced.

“Truly, I am.”

“Okay, I'll butt out.” A smile softened the words.

His own smile widened into a relieved grin. “Thanks.”

The lines of strain around her eyes eased, and a wave of remorse flooded him. It was time to cut Erica some slack. She'd done a damn fine job with the festival so far. Yet before he could offer an olive branch he caught sight of Avery and her companion heading for the exit. The tension that had been winding tighter ratcheted up another notch.

She wasn't ending up in the other man's bed tonight. Not under his nose, on his turf.

A well-known food writer stepped forward to greet Avery's companion, causing him to pause. Guy made his move.

“Excuse me,” he murmured to Erica, before rapidly shouldering his way through the throng, unaware that his half sister watched him go, a bemused look on her face. His sole focus was on Avery.

“I want to speak to you.” He cut Avery away from her partner as neatly as a wrangler.

“Guy! What are you doing?”

Placing his arm around her, he bent his head toward her. To an onlooker it would have appeared intimate. Even cozy. But his growled warning was anything but lover-like. “Now's not the time for a scene, Avery.”

“Scene? I'm not making a scene—you are,” she objected, her voice rising as he swept her along with him.
“Let go of me.”

He leaned closer still—and instantly her sweetly sexy floral scent surrounded him. Savagely fighting the sudden blast of raw desire, Guy lowered his voice and murmured into her ear, “Hush. I have no intention of kidnapping you.”

A
very wasn't so sure.

It only took one glance to reveal that there was a determined—even ruthless—set to Guy's jaw that she didn't recognize. His arm, heavy and unwelcome, tightened around her waist. She would've given anything not to be so spine-tinglingly aware of his proximity as he hurried her away from Matt.

She'd known this confrontation was coming from the moment he'd realized she was here to speak in Uncle Art's place. She'd tensed, waiting for the outburst that had never come.

If she'd realized that
her
Guy Jarrod was one of the Aspen Jarrods she'd have done whatever she could've to avoid coming here. Heck, even though it would've meant breaking her word to her uncle, she'd pleaded with Matt this afternoon to take his dad's spot so that she could catch the first flight
out. But Matt had to be back in Napa Valley by tomorrow. And not even her desperate pleas had swayed him.

As she shot her nemesis a sideways glance, her breath snagged in her throat. From the opposite end of the grand marquee he'd been eye-catching, but up close Guy Jarrod was utterly devastating. His six-foot plus height suited the tailored tuxedo, the broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, while the white dress shirt only emphasized the masculine perfection of his handsome profile.

I should hate him…he deserves it.

To hide the humiliating effect his body had on her, she wrinkled her brow, hoping she looked convincingly puzzled. “What did you want to talk about?”

Guy clearly wasn't fooled. His lips firmed into an impatient line as he stopped in the back corner of the marquee beside a table laden with trays of oysters. He turned to face her. “You taking Art's place.”

“Is it a problem?”

Of course it was. His reaction earlier had shown that. What she couldn't work out was why he didn't want her speaking at the Food and Wine Gala. Well, she was no doubt about to learn.

Avery forced herself to smile faintly—and very politely—at him before helping herself to a glass from a passing waiter to give her hands something to do. She took a delicate sip of the pale liquid and pretended to savor the crisp dryness on her tongue.

Guy's gaze dipped to her mouth. The eyes that met hers a moment later had gone dark. In the past he'd sometimes poured a glass of champagne for them to share after—

No! She wasn't thinking of the countless abandoned glasses of untouched champagne or the passionate encounters that had followed.

Her lashes fell, and Avery fixed her attention on the square
black snaps of his dress shirt. She recognized those snaps…one evening she'd yanked them all loose—

Oh, heavens!

She jerked her head back and focused on his jaw instead. It was a hard jaw, a determined j—

“You're not listening.”

“Of course I'm listening.” Please don't let him ask her to repeat whatever he'd just said.

“You're not even interested.”

“Not in you,” she muttered rebelliously.

Only a few inches separated his mouth from the area of jaw line she'd been examining, and she watched his beautiful lips flatten into a hard line. To her exasperation, her heartbeat kicked up. This close he smelled so familiar. Of sandalwood soap, a green hint of moss…and man. But this recklessly rash awareness of the man didn't alter the fact that he was a first-class bastard.

One she would be wise to avoid at all costs.

“How typical of a woman not to be able to separate her emotions from her work.”

What?
“That's not true—” Avery broke off. Or maybe it was. She'd made it personal by disavowing any interest in him. “Okay, I shouldn't have made that crack.” Especially when her reaction suggested it was patently, horrifyingly untrue.

She was pathetic.

Hadn't she learned what kind of scum Guy Jarrod was, despite the fancy French restaurant he owned in New York and his high-society family?

God help her….

He rocked back on his heels and the extra inches of space allowed her respite to breathe again without drowning in his scent. For an awful moment she thought he was going to pursue exactly how much of a lie her denial had been.

To her relief, he let it slide.

“No, you shouldn't have. And I'll accept that as an apology.”

She wouldn't have gone so far as to call it an apology. Annoyance made her bristle like a cat stroked the wrong way. “That's big of you.”

He expelled an impatient sigh. “You know, this isn't going to work. Go back to California—I'll find someone else to stand in for Art.”

Avery stared at him, aghast. This was what she'd wanted…but now that he was telling her to go, she knew there was no way she could ever tell Art she'd let him down. “I promised Art—”

Guy was shaking his head. “Art and I were scheduled to do two talks together,” he said, “and it's clear that you're not going to be able to cooperate.”

Oh, dear God, what had Art gotten her into? He'd muttered something about a panel on wine selection and a presentation about the importance of superior service in a world-class establishment but that had been all. There'd been no mention of a joint presentation with anyone, let alone Guy Jarrod.

She should never have come….

Uncle Art's pleading voice played through her head. She hadn't had a choice. To think she'd considered speaking at such a prestigious event, the opportunity of a lifetime. But this wasn't about her…it was about what she owed Uncle Art and Aunt Tilly.

She'd never lived up to Aunt Tilly's hopes. But Uncle Art was proud of her. He'd taken her in after his sister and brother-in-law had died in a sailing accident. He'd loved her, cherished her, supported her. For her uncle she would walk across burning embers—barefoot. Except he'd never asked that of her.

He'd run interference on her behalf with Aunt Tilly when
she'd refused to attend another beauty pageant or talent show. He'd supported her when she'd bailed out of drama school. He'd never asked anything of her. Until now.

Her shoulders sagged. “Of course I'll cooperate with you.” Within reason.
No sex with his friends and colleagues.
More to the point, no sex with Guy Jarrod. Period. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“Have an oyster.”

They'd decadently shared oysters in bed one memorable Monday when Baratin had been closed. They'd risen late. He'd fed them to her…interspersed with kisses…it had ended up in one of the most erotic encounters of her life. Surely he wasn't referring to that?

It took a moment for the shocked daze to clear and for Avery to realize he was holding out a platter where oysters on the half shell nestled between fat wedges of lemon and translucent ice cubes.

“They're perfectly shucked. I oversaw the preparation myself. No sand or broken shells. Just succulent flesh with a hint of juice.”

For a brief second she caught a glimpse of the Guy she'd thought she'd known so well. Wicked mirth sparkled in his gray-black eyes and warmed her.

Irresistible, damn him.

She resisted the charm with a toss of her head. “No, thanks. I'm quite sated.”

The laughter evaporated. “I'm sure you are.”

The platter disappeared into the hands of a hovering waiter. Avery searched Guy's face but could find no trace of the bitterness the words suggested. She must've imagined it.

“My schedule for the next couple of weeks of the festival is ferocious.” Guy continued as if they'd never shared that
crazy moment. “Art offered to do most of the work to put the first presentation together.”

That got her back on track. That's why he didn't want her speaking? He considered her too inept, did he? Believed she couldn't do what Art had undertaken to do? Avery suspected she was going to regret not leaping at the opportunity of escape Guy offered. Instead, her innate love for a challenge surged, and she found herself saying, “I can do that.”

He didn't look convinced. In fact, he looked downright dubious. “Not only was Art doing two talks with me, he had a solo presentation planned.”

“On the importance of superior service—I know.”

“And he was contracted to look over the resort's wine lists and compile a report of his findings about service levels,” Guy continued as though she hadn't interrupted. “It will have to wait until he's fit to come out here himself.”

“No, it won't. Art and I discussed this, I'll do it in his place. That won't be any problem at all.”

A waiter offered Guy a glass of champagne. Unconsciously Avery noted that the waiter's white jacket was pristine and carefully pressed, his handling of the tray deft. The resort staff were evidently well-trained.

Guy glanced at her still-full glass before helping himself from the proffered tray. “It's a pity I don't share your confidence,” he said in a clipped voice, and Avery's approving smile to the waiter froze.

She turned her full attention back to the man whose reappearance in her life had caused such inner turmoil, caused so many memories and emotions, which she'd thought she'd suppressed, to waken. “Oh?”

Avery cringed and dropped her gaze to stare at the bubbles rising merrily in the pale golden liquid in her own glass.
Oh?
Was that the best she could do? What had happened to her
intelligence? Her wit? Her sass? Was she going to let this arrogant jerk walk all over her?

She was the one with a problem, not him!

She
hated
him.

Blindly she set her glass down.

She would be professional. Reasonable. And blow him away with her expertise. “Look, I've overhauled plenty of wine lists, I've trained junior sommeliers and other staff, I've done lots of public speaking.” She jabbed her right index finger against the fingers of her left hand as she counted off the list. “I've taught, and I've even had my own TV show. That should boost your confidence a little.”

“The TV show lasted all of four episodes.”

Avery colored. The show had been axed. Because the ratings hadn't been good enough, she'd been told. She suspected there could have been more episodes—if she'd been prepared to sleep with the producer, when he'd made that suggestion. But that price had been too high. Avery had quit—despite Aunt Tilly's disappointment. And the producer had found another—more accommodating—sommelier. It hadn't surprised Avery when that show had ended in scandal and tears. Losing the program hadn't been the first time her sex-kitten looks had mucked up her life.

Even Guy was giving her the kind of once-over that left her enraged…and uncharacteristically flustered. But by the time his gaze came back to meet her own furious gaze, his was filled with contempt. And something else. Something that caused her heart to leap.

Avery resisted it.

There was no room for this…this…unwanted feeling. She was over Guy Jarrod. He was a bastard. And she had no intention of ever returning to the misery he'd caused her.

She could do this. She knew it. But first she had to convince him.

Lifting her chin a notch, she readied herself for a fight. “
Cuisine
stated that the new wine list at your New York restaurant had been put together ‘with artistry and sophisticated style'. I wouldn't deliver anything less here.”

“This isn't Baratin, Avery. Jarrod Ridge has four restaurants and six bars. The selection of wines, beers and alcoholic beverages served in each of those needs to be overhauled, as you put it. Don't forget I've read your résumé. You've never handled a project of this scope.”

He didn't blink as he delivered his verdict in a calm, controlled voice. Avery knew he didn't believe she was up for the task. She forced herself not to look away from that alarming scrutiny. “I'm sure I can discuss whether I'm capable of completing the task with whoever is in charge of overseeing the menus and service requirements.”

“That would be me.” His crooked smile held no amusement, even if it did cause two nearby women to give him admiring glances. “I'm looking at introducing new dishes, and the beverages need to be matched to give a perfect selection.”

“I'd be working with
you?
”

He nodded and raised his glass. “Do you want to toast to the success of our partnership?” The irony was acute.

Two could play that game. Avery reached for the glass on the table behind her and raised it with bravado. “To success!”

Champagne splashed out, almost landing on her yellow silk dress.

“Careful!” Guy gripped her wrist with his free hand and the crisis was averted.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I would've hated to have ruined this dress.”

“That didn't augur well.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Still want to stay?”

In truth, she was ready to run. She'd never admit that. Especially not to him.

“Of course.” She tilted up her chin. “You won't get rid of me that easily.”

A fierce and stormy emotion flickered across his face. Then his thumb moved against her wrist, and his hold eased a degree. The frisson of awareness that shot through her was as unwelcome as the knowledge that they'd be working together—far too closely for Avery's comfort—for the duration of her stay.

It would be an impossible situation.

She raised her hand, his fell away, and she took a gulp of champagne. Then sneezed. “Steady.”

Her eyes were streaming.

“The bubbles always make me sneeze.”

“How unfortunate for a sommelier!”

She wiped her tears away with her fingertips. “That's what my family thinks, too. It's one downside of the job.”

“That's why you've barely drunk any tonight—and why you never wanted champagne in the past.”

Arrested by his statement, Avery stared at him. He'd been watching her. For how long? And…why?