Wine & Roses (4 page)

Heeding a sudden compulsion to put space between them, Abby took a breath and dove under the water, swimming back toward the shallow end of the pool. Emerging, she wiped her eyes and glanced around her hazy surroundings, having lost track of her companion.

Turning to look for him, Abby bumped her shoulder against something warm and solid, realizing quickly that it was Jason she’d collided with. He caught her arm to steady her.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” she said, still catching her breath.

“It’s all right. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“No harm done.” As she stood on the bottom of the pool, the water lapped around her midsection, leaving her more exposed now than she had been in the deep end. And Jason was so close to her now that his warm breath tickled her forehead. “Well, it’s getting late.” Her gaze flickered down to observe the water droplets trickling over the smooth curves of his shoulders and chest.

“Were you thinking of leaving?”

“Maybe I should.” But she didn’t move, compelled to remain right where she was even as she longed for the safe cover of her clothes.

“Stay a little longer, Abby.” Under the water, Jason’s arms drifted around her waist and drew her gently to him. Surprised, she pressed her hands to his chest, damp but warm and pleasingly firm under her palms.

Abby had no chance to reply. Bending his head, he pressed his mouth to hers, his lips moist and soft as they explored hers, and at once any protest that might have formed in her mind fell away. She welcomed his slow, deepening kisses, succumbing to the sweet desire that flared through her body. His hold on her tightened as her hands slid, seemingly of their own accord, to caress the enticing planes of his firm shoulders and biceps, the rigid set of his muscles a testament to his mounting passion. Abby felt both amazed and elated by the deep, quivering need blooming within her. She hadn’t experienced such urgent desire in so many years, she hadn’t thought these feelings still resided somewhere within her.

As Jason continued to assail her mouth with luxuriant kisses, his hand rose to cup her breast, his thumb stroking the tip through the wet fabric of her slip, sending shocks of hot excitement through her body. A soft groan of pleasure escaped her throat, and she tilted her head back, allowing his mouth to graze her jaw and the sensitive hollow of her neck. Further aroused by her excitement, he eased his knee between her thighs and slid his other hand under her bottom to hold her firmly against him.

Dimly aware of the water slapping gently against their backs, and the mingled, ragged sound of their quickening breath, Abby grasped at the few remaining threads of rational thought in her brain; for a dizzying moment her need was so strong that she contemplated peeling off her slip and discarding it, allowing it to slide into the pool’s dark depths.

Would it be so wrong to let him take her right here and now? It had been so long since she’d felt this vibrant, consumed with heady desire, and he wanted her just as badly.

Seizing the last strands of her willpower, Abby reminded herself that despite her intense attraction to Jason Brinleigh, she hardly knew the man, and any reckless action she took now might seem very different in the morning. With considerable effort she broke away from the kiss.

“Jason, I really should go.” Breathless, she eased away from him.

“Right now?” He held fast to her, continuing to press tantalizing kisses to her throat.

“If I stay any longer things might go a bit farther than they should.” Her body aching with need, Abby knew it would be easy for him to persuade her to stay. But he didn’t insist.

“You’re probably right.” He released her slowly. “When will I see you again?”

“On the twenty-first for The Roses’ opening, right?”

Jason nodded once, his gaze still aglow with simmering heat. “Of course. I’ll see you then.”

Moving swiftly before her resolve melted again, Abby hurried up the pool steps to collect her glasses, and then across the deck to the changeroom. Latching the door, she pulled her wet slip over her head and grabbed a towel from a nearby rack to dry herself.

As she slid into her dress, Abby smiled to herself. Her senses remained afire, her nerves still buzzing from her fingertips down to her toes. Though her need for Jason may not have been sated, she felt satisfied nonetheless, thrilled with the knowledge that perhaps it wasn’t too late, after all, to find the passion she’d been denied in her marriage—and only now realized how much she still craved.

* * *

“You did
what
?” Marguerite stared at Abby in astonishment.

“I know, it was insane, so impulsive. But it was the most incredible feeling of my life.” Abby felt a smile creep over her face as her limbs turned warm and weak at the memory of her encounter with Jason in the pool.

Marguerite crossed her arms over her chest, one of her shaped eyebrows arching. “No doubt. Jason Brinleigh is a dead-sexy specimen of a man. I probably would’ve done the same thing, if I was single.”

Abby scooped her teacup off the coffee table, a little embarrassed to have shared the intimate details of her evening. She couldn’t help herself; it had been years since she’d had a tale this scintillating to tell, and she valued her best friend’s opinion. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“Not at all. Just a bit naïve, maybe.”

Abby frowned.
“What do you mean?”

Marguerite hooked her arm casually over the sofa cushion, twirling a lock of her blonde hair around one slender finger. “Abby, think about it. This guy came to find you because he wanted to buy your inn. Next thing you know, he’s plying you with wine and a half-naked swim in his pool, and he’s got his hands all over you. You don’t find that a trifle suspicious?”

“He didn’t mention buying the inn all evening,” Abby pointed out. Though they had talked about The Roses, not once had he prodded her about selling it to him.

“He was playing you, Abby. Softening you up.”

“Marguerite, that’s not what this was about.” Annoyed, Abby leapt up from the sofa and strode to the kitchen counter, where she’d left the teapot, to refill her cup. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised; now with her third husband, Marguerite considered herself an expert on the enigmatic inner workings of the male mind, with a definite bent toward cynicism.

“So you figure he’s really interested in you?”

“Why not? I’m not a withered old crone quite yet.” Abby stirred milk into her tea with vigorous strokes. She didn’t mean to react with such a sour tone, but Marguerite had hit a particularly sensitive nerve. Abby would never forget Colin’s reaction once word reached him that she’d been seen flirting with Jason at her birthday party. In a jealous rage Colin had derided her for embarrassing both him and herself, and scoffed at the ridiculous notion that any man as young, successful and handsome as Jason Brinleigh would look twice at a middle-aged woman whose physical appeal was in rapid decline.

Though it still hurt to remember his words, Abby had taken a measure of satisfaction from the previous night’s confirmation that Colin’s theory was entirely wrong.

“Of course not,” Marguerite said. “You’re a very attractive woman. But you are nearly a decade older than Jason. If you’re looking for a fling, then I’d say go for it. But I know you, Abby, and you’re the type who’s sure to get emotionally attached. And the fact is that for the long term, a single guy in his early thirties is looking for someone his age or younger—someone whose biological clock isn’t headed toward the stroke of midnight.”

Abby gave her friend a sharp look, wishing she hadn’t mentioned the escapade with Jason to her at all. “Are you trying to be cruel?”

“I’m just trying to save you from being hurt, Abby, because I care about you.”

Settling back onto the sofa, Abby paused to sip her hot tea. She had no intention of getting hurt, and every intention of keeping her expectations at a reasonable level. Falling in love wasn’t part of her plan at this point in her life, and though she enjoyed Jason’s company a great deal, she was hardly emotionally attached to him. Living alone in this house, lonely as it was at times, gave her the solitude and quiet she needed to write. After Colin died she chose to stay on the peaceful tree-lined street where they had lived together, unwilling to leave behind the gorgeous view of the vast waters of Lake Ontario stretching beyond the horizon.

“Do you really think he’s only after the inn?” she wondered, casting her mind back to the subtleties of her conversations with Jason.

“It’s not for me to say,” Marguerite said airily, having already planted the seed of doubt in Abby’s mind. “But it’s something to keep an eye on if you plan on seeing him again.”

“It’s not like I’ve fallen head over heels in love with him,” Abby pointed out. “We’re both happy being single. It’s just nice to be with someone again. Someone who finds me desirable.” She knew Marguerite understood her intimation without having to add:
unlike Colin
.

Marguerite offered a warm smile of compassion. “Well, then, I can’t wait to hear what happens next.”

“I’m quite keen to see myself,” Abby replied, though her enthusiasm had been somewhat tempered by Marguerite’s remarks. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but she realized it was wise advice despite the discomfort it caused.

What
would
happen next? Abby wished she knew. She wasn’t sure whether to expect Jason to call her, since she hadn’t asked him to. Having been out of the dating game so long, she had no idea what the protocols were now.

As Marguerite chattered on about problems she was having with her housekeeper, Abby nodded sympathetically, though she was only half-listening, her mind preoccupied with speculating whether her friend might be right about Jason.

Before long a solution came to her: the simple way to find out was to decline to sell him the inn. His reaction would make his motives clear.

Chapter Four

Inside The Roses, Jason had to shoulder his way through a mass of people to make his way to the bar. The pub was crowded nearly to capacity, with customers lined up along the bar ordering drinks, and waitresses hurrying to and from the tables with trays of food. The clamour of jovial talk and laugher reminded him of the atmosphere of the inn when his father had owned it, back when Jason was a young boy, and to see the place revived this way caused a hitch of emotion in his chest.

He caught sight of Abby at the other end of the bar, chatting with the bartender, her elegant hands in motion as she explained something to him. Pink-cheeked and beaming, she looked pleased that her hard work had paid off in a triumphant opening night.

Then her gaze caught Jason’s and held it a moment, her smile slowly broadening, and the catch in his chest bloomed into a warm rush. He returned her smile, releasing a slow breath. He’d come here with no idea what to expect, from the inn’s opening or from Abby. His plan, after all, had fallen apart irrevocably; though he’d been determined to steer clear of physical involvement, the last time he saw her she’d pried herself out of his arms, with obvious reluctance. Not that he’d been entirely responsible for what happened—he’d suggested a swim, but she’d volunteered to go into the pool in that clingy transparent slip.

Abby made her way toward him along the inside of the bar, maneuvering around the harried bartender. “Jason, I’m so glad you came.” The colour in her face deepened as she approached him.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

An awkward silence fell between them, as Jason tried to decide whether it was appropriate to lean over the bar-top and kiss her in greeting, or perhaps shake her hand; the options seemed either too familiar or too formal. He couldn’t help recalling how her warm, supple lips had felt pressed to his, the enticing taste of her mouth mingled with the familiar, spicy tang of Pinot noir.

All at once he remembered the gift he’d brought with him, tucked under his arm. Thankful for the distraction, he set it on the bar-top. “This is for you.”

Abby gazed down at the small framed portrait of a woman in a blue ruffled gown, her dark hair fastened atop her head with a spray of white flowers. Young and strikingly pretty, she stared up from the canvas with wide blue eyes, her pink bow lips curved into a gentle smile.

“It’s stunning. Is this Rebecca?” Abby asked, her voice breathless as she looked up at him.

“Yes, from 1810, when she was nineteen years old. This is a copy, but the original has been passed down through the generations in my family. You said you’d like to hang it here.”

“Very much. Thank you.” Abby hugged the portrait to her chest, clearly delighted. “I saved a table for you, though it hasn’t been easy.”

Jason gazed around at the ever-shifting crowd. “I can see that opening night is a big success.”

“Yes, people were lined up outside an hour before we opened. It’s fantastic.” Her eyes examined his briefly, uncertainty flickering through them. “Would you like a drink?”

“A beer, please.”

“I’ll have Lila bring you one. Let me put this portrait someplace safe, and I’ll show you to your table.”

“Will you join me?” he asked.

Abby’s eyes darted sideways in an endearing moment of shyness, her cheeks again glowing. “Sure, for a few minutes.” She showed Jason to his table and, once the portrait was safely stowed away, joined him in the chair opposite his.