Summer in Napa (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (16 page)

“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.