Twice in a Blue Moon (15 page)

Her mind awoke from its stupor, yanking her back to reality. She broke the kiss and the contact, almost jumping from his arms.

What the hell just happened?
She wasn't sure if she was talking to her mind or her body—probably both, since there was obviously a conspiracy afoot here. “I'm sorry. I feel like I'm giving you mixed messages. I'm—I can't—” Her words came out in breathless pants.

“I know.” He let go and backed up a step. “And I've got my own stuff to work through.” Voice gruff, he ran a hand through his hair. “I like you, Indigo Blue. I want you. And I think you feel something for me. That gives us both conflict, but there it is.”

He took her hand. “But just so we're clear, that
was
a date.” He smiled. “And when you're ready, we'll do it again.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers, a courtly gesture that touched the damaged parts of her heart. “Okay?”

She stood a moment, fighting a war in her head that she wanted to lose. “Okay. For now.” She retrieved her hand. “I think.”

* * *

I
N
SPITE
OF
the dress, Indigo couldn't pass the vines without stooping to check the soil and admire the grape inflorescences.
You've been reading too many of Danovan's textbooks. They're flowers.

She ran her fingers over the kelly-green leaves. “You guys keep up the good work. You're doing a great job, and I'm proud of you.” If someone heard her talking to the vines, she'd be mortified. After all, this was a business. But the vines were living things, and wine making was art as much as science. Who was to say encouragement didn't help? She straightened. “Come, Barney, no time to explore today.”

Barney's collar jingled as he trotted toward her, his ears and jowls swaying with his awkward gait.

“You don't want to get dirty before the party.” She bent to pet his velvety head. Much as he'd hated it, she'd given him a bath last night, then lit a fire so he could flop next to it. “You're going to be a star today.” She clipped the lead on his green collar that matched the company colors. “Let's go. We have a lot to do before the crowd shows up.”

I hope a crowd shows up.

Her dressy flats clicked on the asphalt on their walk down the drive to the winery. She'd have liked to wear heels, but they wouldn't be practical. She'd agonized over what to wear, wanting to look professional, since this was her debut event as the owner of The Tippling Widow. But she also wanted to look attractive. After all, they were selling wine, not hardware.

And she sure didn't want Sondra outclassing her.

The butterflies took flight again, brushing the walls of her stomach. Didn't those damned things ever get tired?

Just pretend. Act like an owner, and someday you'll feel like one.

That's what they said, anyway. She touched the back of her neck to be sure the hairpins were holding. From the front, her smooth coif looked all business. From the back, the curl cascade showed a different side. A soft side that she hoped would catch Danovan's attention. Of course, that had nothing to do with why it took her two hours to get ready. She smoothed her bangs and smiled.

There hadn't been time for more than flirting over the past two weeks in the hustle to prepare for today. She was relieved. The hiatus took the pressure off, giving her time to ease into the idea of possibly dating again. She'd never expected to find another man she'd want, after Harry.

And you still don't know that you have.
She remembered the man from the wine exhibit, and his abbreviated comment before Danovan pulled her away.

She shook her head. She knew better, didn't she? Danovan was a master at his job, accommodating, sweet and entirely too good-looking. She was aware of being lulled by his charm and his eyes. But beneath that, deeper, she sensed good in him. Her gut told her to trust him.

So, of course, she couldn't.

But at the same time, pressure built between them. She found herself losing the thread of a business discussion, watching his lips move. Several times, she'd caught him staring at her with a hungry-wolf look that made her shiver—though with dread or excitement, she couldn't have said.

And he'd touched her. Small, seemingly accidental touches. A brush of the back of his hand as they walked side-by-side. When he took her elbow across rough ground. All easily explained, except for the tingle that lingered too long where he'd touched.

She ran a hand over her skirt, hoping that this dress would knock him on his ass. A halter summer sundress, yet conservative, it looked like something Jackie Onassis would have worn—stiff ivory material scattered with yellow cabbage roses. A broad business-suit collar with ivory piping showed off her bare shoulders, tapering to a tightly fitted waist, with a wide belt and a full skirt that brushed her knees.

By the time they walked into the parking lot, Barney was panting. She tied him to the porch railing in the grassy shade. “I'll be right back.” She walked into the tasting room.

They weren't opening until noon, when the barbecue began. She admired the custom-made green banners with The Widow's logo in gold hanging from the rafter timbers. Natalie had found the idea online and custom-ordered them. She'd also done a wonderful job revamping the gift shop. The gift basket on the endcap was bound to catch shoppers' interest: a Queen for the Day basket, complete with a tiara and scepter, all done up in pink cellophane and a bow.

Sondra glided over in heels, her navy dress concealed by an apron.
The
apron. “Well, this day has finally arrived.”

“You look—nice, Sondra.” Surprise leaked into Indigo's considered words, ruining the effect.

“This is practical.” Sondra sniffed, but pink stained her cheeks. “I didn't want my dress to be soiled. The minute we're done with the preparations, I'm taking it off.”

Indigo wasn't about to kick a gift horse in the mouth. “We're all representing the winery today. I'd really rather you wear it.”

“Well, if we're trying to make a good impression...” She shot a look around to be sure she wouldn't be overheard. “You didn't bring that dog, did you?”

This was Sondra, after all. “Of course I did. If you'll excuse me, I need to get him a bowl of water.”

They both turned at the sound of a diesel engine. Through the plate glass, they could see a white panel truck pulling up with Peter's Party Supply emblazoned on the side.

Sondra clapped her hands. “Ladies, look lively. The bar and tables are here.”

Indigo pushed through the door to the hall. Danovan's apartment door opened. He wore fitted dress slacks, a butter-yellow dress shirt and, when he saw her, a huge smile.

“And who is this?” He took three steps to where she stood, held by his tractor-beam of interest. “She looks a bit like our vineyard rat, but surely I'm mistaken.” His gaze took a long, slow tour of her body. “
This
is a woman.”

A furnace clicked on inside her, heat spreading where his eyes touched.

His dark, wavy hair was combed back from his broad forehead, and a two-day growth of beard darkened his jawline, tailored by a razor-line shave that accentuated his full lips.

It should be against the law for a man to look that sexy.

He took another step, bringing him close, but not close enough. When he leaned in, his hair brushed her cheek. His lips hovering at the hollow of her neck, he inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “You even smell fabulous.”

She took a breath. “As do you.” She closed her eyes. The smell of his soap conjured an image of Danovan naked, warm water running over smooth skin.

His fingers slid down her palms to lace lightly with her fingers. He raised his lips to her ear, so close, but not touching. “Go out with me tomorrow night.”

At the brush of his breath in her ear, she shivered. The furnace was now between her legs, the flush spreading upward. “Yes,” she said on a breath, agreeing to whatever he might be implying.

He held himself motionless, a heartbeat from her skin.

The vacuum in her chest made her want to lean in to him—on him. She swayed, fighting her own need. When she thought she'd burst with the wanting, he whispered, “Tomorrow,
mia cara
,” and stepped away.

She could breathe again.

Fingers still laced with hers, he lifted her hands from her sides. His gaze took one more lingering tour. “
Sei bellissima
.”

She bowed her head, not yet trusting her voice.

He released her hands, breaking the spell.

“I have to...” She waved a hand at the door. “Barney...” She walked on shaking knees to her office.

Behind her, Danovan stepped through the door to the tasting room, whistling what sounded like opera music.

Two hours later, she strolled at the edge of the lawn, a glass of wine in hand—a prop to make her look owner-like and give her something to talk about. She relaxed a moment, letting the crowd noise wash over her. Jesse's husband, Carl, manned a half-barrel barbecue dressed with chicken breasts, hamburgers and brats. The line snaked a good five feet into the parking lot, which had been roped off to traffic. Cars lined the drive and as far down the road as she could see through the oaks.

Most of the round tables were occupied, and the gold tablecloths stirred in the slight breeze. Jesse's centerpieces were a perfect touch: berries, grape leaves and wineglasses. Thank goodness for the mild day. The almost-summer sun might be good for the vines, but it could wilt humans.

But the most gratifying sight was the line at the wine bar. Natalie dispensed complimentary wine while Sondra chatted with the people waiting. Danovan was off leading a group tour through the production facility. Even Barney was busy with public relations, lying on his back in the middle of a circle of kids, getting a belly rub.

The Tippling Widow's grand reopening looked to be a resounding success. She bounced on her toes once, then made herself stop. Owners didn't bounce with joy like a little kid at the gates to Disneyland.

Her yoga students sat at adjoining tables, Bina's bawdy laugh overriding the conversations. She'd brought her husband, Shiv, and at least ten doctors from the hospital where she worked as a child psychologist. Sam Pinelli and her husband, Nick, sat next to them. They'd made quite the entrance, roaring up on matching candy-apple-red motorcycles. Priss and her husband, Adam, had brought his mother, Olivia, who introduced Indigo to several women in her book group.

It looked like everyone had invited everyone they knew. And no one knew more people than Jesse. She stood amid a circle of people, blinding in white short-shorts, seeming to talk to most of them simultaneously.

Indigo wondered why people she'd only known for a short time would go out of their way to help a newcomer. This was more than her friends in Hollywood had ever done. Of course, those were the same
friends
she hadn't heard from since she'd left three months ago. She smiled, relaxing into the sweet acceptance that competed with the warmth of the sun on her skin.

“Indigo!” A man's fussy voice came from behind her.

Her stomach clenched, and before she could stop them, her shoulders rose to ear level. But it was too late to slink off. She forced her shoulders down, the corners of her mouth up and turned around. “Bernard!” She used her fake-happy Hollywood voice, trying not to shudder when he air-kissed her ear. “I'm so delighted you could come!”

Well, the winery owner part of me is, anyway.

“I would never miss a chance to visit Widow's Grove's most notorious resident.”

Her lips stiffened to a plastic smile.
Notorious?
She should have known the little worm would have a subscription to the
Hollywood Informer.
She tamped down the urge to advise him that comb-overs went out in the '60s and forced her hand to rest in the crook of his scrawny arm. If she'd survived a harpy like Brenda Stone, she could handle a harmless sycophant. “Bernard, I have someone you just
have
to meet.” She steered him across the grass to the wine bar. “This is Sondra, my tasting-room supervisor. I think you'll find you and she have a lot in common.”

She dumped Bernard with Sondra, who appeared both delighted at the introduction and stunned that Indigo knew him.

One more round of schmoozing, and then she would snatch a plate of food and sit awhile.

Just then Danovan walked around the corner of the building, trailing guests like the Pied Piper. When he laughed at something one of them said, his teeth flashed white against his olive skin. His face was that of a Roman senator, and he moved with the smooth grace of a dancer.

He scanned the crowd until his eyes stopped on her. The smile that began in his eyes broke over his face in a sunrise of happiness. He might have leading-man looks, but this smile wasn't for a camera. It was for her alone. It whispered a promise—of admiration, respect and hot kisses in the dark. She touched the dampness at the base of her throat that definitely wasn't from the sun at her back.

She spotted a woman standing on the driveway behind Danovan, obviously not a part of his tour group. She was slim, with long, black hair and ample cleavage. Her gaze flicked from Indigo to Danovan, then remained there. A prickle of unease skated across her skin.
Malice.
An odd word, but that was the one that popped into her mind.

“You have good taste. He looks yummy enough to eat in one bite.” Jesse stood beside Indigo, arms crossed, following her gaze.

“Don't be silly. I'm a widow.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Hon,
you
didn't die. Your husband did.” Her look softened the blunt words. “You're a vital, beautiful young woman and you deserve to be happy.”

Indigo squinted. “Have you been talking to my Harry?”