St. Helena Vineyard Series: Love So Sweet

  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Marina Adair. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original St. Helena Vineyard Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Marina Adair, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Love So Sweet

  Kelsey Browning

  It was only supposed to be a weekend fling…

  After the two steamy nights they spent together, Josie Jennings never wanted to see Trace Cowan again. After all, he’s from a prominent California wine family, and she’s spent her life trying to break free from Bitter Pecan, her dad’s failing Texas vineyard. Finally, her father has given Josie an out—discover the secret to Red Steel Cellar’s exclusive Reserve and he’ll never again ask her to inventory another case of subpar table wine. All she has to do is dupe the man she still dreams about at night.

  …but he can’t leave a woman like her behind…

  When pretty Josie—the woman who rocked his world during last year’s Texas Tasting Tour—walks into Red Steel’s tasting room, former Army Ranger Trace Cowan momentarily forgets his objective. Suddenly, earning his way back into his family’s wine business becomes a little less critical. But sweet talking Josie back into his bed—and his life—become Mission Imperative.

  …unless he discovers she’s the true enemy.

  When he finds out Josie’s less interested in his charms and more interested in his Cabernet, will Trace declare the mission a failure, or will he rescue his and Josie’s future?

  Dear Readers,

  Welcome to the St. Helena Vineyard’s Kindle World, where romance is waiting to be uncorked and authors from around the globe are invited to share their own stories of love and happily ever after. Set in the heart of wine country, this quaint town and its cast of quirky characters were the inspiration behind my St Helena Vineyard series, and the Hallmark Channel movie, AUTUMN IN THE VINEYARD. I want to thank these incredible authors for spending time in St. Helena, and all of you readers who are adventurous enough to take the journey with us.

  I hope you enjoy your time here as much as we have.

  Warmly,

  Marina Adair

  To Marina’s fans. I hope you love revisiting the St. Helena Vineyard world,

  this time with a slightly Texas twist.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  In the eight months since Josie had last laid eyes—and hands—on him, Trace Cowan hadn’t become a tiny bit less lethal. In fact, the first thing she noticed when she pushed open the door to the Red Steel Cellars tasting room was that the women inside outnumbered the men five to one. Trace was standing behind a bar pouring wine, and the women were swarming around him. Josie had a wicked suspicion the crowd was less interested in the Chardonnay than they were the man who resembled a dark-haired, green-eyed Bacchus.

  “I heard he used to be an Army Ranger and can kill a man with his bare hands,” a woman at a small two-top table stage-whispered to her friends.

  “He could do whatever he wanted to me with his bare hands,” her friend replied, her focus never straying from the six-foot-tall man who was smiling, talking, and laughing as he tipped tasting pours into glass after glass.

  A tight ball of jealousy formed in Josie’s midsection. These women were talking about Trace. Her Trace.

  No, he wasn’t hers in any way. Because she’d made it more than clear that the last thing she wanted was to get involved with a man who was in love with wine.

  After all, she already had one of those in her life. And he was the reason she’d flown out to St. Helena, California, to finagle information out of Trace.

  She’d thought seeing him again would be so simple. She’d convinced herself that the attraction and fascination she’d felt for him the one weekend they’d spent together wasn’t real, simply wishful thinking by a woman who’d too often put aside her own dreams.

  She’d told herself that she wouldn’t be moved by the sight of him.

  Ha. She could lie to herself all she wanted, but her body called BS. All her girlie goodies were plenty moved by him. So she crossed her arms over her breasts and eased her way into a corner where she could watch him unnoticed for a moment.

  The fitted shirt he wore with the Red Steel logo stitched on it bunched around his muscular biceps each time he reached for a wine bottle or glass. And his smile, that easygoing but devastating lift of his lips that had first drawn her to him, was out in full force. The women currently in his orbit were obviously just as taken by him, and if estrogen were visible, it would be hanging around him like a dense pink fog.

  Her own estrogen was all but batting eyelashes and waving a feather boa at the man, so how was she supposed to scope out this situation and come up with a plan of attack?

  On the flight from Austin to San José, she’d rolled some ideas around in her head, but between thoughts of how she could use him and how she could use him, she’d finally become so confused and worked up that she’d put in her earbuds and lost herself in a playlist of Sia songs. Clearly, that hadn’t been her smartest move because right now her brain sure wasn’t serving as an impartial referee between her loyalty and her libido.

  But that swirl of awareness inside her didn’t change the fact that she was here to screw Trace over.

  It was Saturday, so she should’ve known to expect a crowd at Red Steel’s tasting room. Just because that rarely happened at Bitter Pecan, her dad’s winery back in Texas, didn’t mean other places had the same problems.

  “He’s lickable, isn’t he?” A lady—probably somewhere in her late sixties based on her frosted hair, her Grandmas gotta get some too glitter-lettered sweatshirt, and the purple bifocals perched on her nose—reached over from a nearby table and patted Josie on the elbow. “I noticed you haven’t stopped staring since you walked in. It’s always like that the first time around. I come here at least once a week, and sometimes I’m still blinded by that smile.”

  “Smile?” Another lady at Grandma’s table snorted. “Ida, I don’t have eyes for anything but that tush. In a second, he’ll turn around. Wait for it… Wait for it…”

  As if he’d heard the woman’s request, Trace pivoted and bent at the waist to reach for something under the opposite counter. Grandma sighed and fanned herself. “I swear that slice of mancake is enough to wake up my last hormone.”

  “I’d like to take a nibble of that.” Grandma’s friend continued to ogle Trace’s backside until he turned back to place several more wine bottles on the bar. “I mean the bread and olives they serve here are nice, but that is gourmet.”

  Josie wasn’t a liar, at least not usually, so it was easy for her to nod in agreement. Trace did have a delectable posterior, one she had up close and personal experience with. “Prime,” she agreed.

  Grandma peered at her over her glasses, her gaze more perceptive than Josie cared for. “You know him.”

  “I…ah…”

  “I’ve seen that look before. That’s the look of ownership. The look of a woman who’s had a taste and has no plans to share.”

  “I…just…well…uh…”

>   “And if you’ve had some of that bodacious buffet, then what in tarnation are you doing hiding out over here with us? You need to get that young man’s attention.” She hopped to her feet and waved her arms as if she were flagging down a rescue plane. “Yoo-hoo! Trace, a friend of yours is here.”

  He looked up from the big-haired brunette who’d been leaning on the bar flipping her curls at him, and his gaze immediately locked onto Josie. A flash of surprise arced across his face, but just that fast, it was gone. Replaced by the lazy, knee-weakening smile he’d first given her that fall afternoon on the Texas Tasting Tour.

  Doubt and awareness swept through her, setting her skin aflame. She wasn’t ready to face him. All the things she’d practiced saying on the way here seemed to get stuck in the back of her throat. She coughed and Grandma held out her glass. Without giving it thought, Josie took a healthy swallow.

  Ugh…Wine. She rarely drank it because the taste was usually so sour and sad on her tongue. But this white was almost…before she could define the flavor, Trace was at her side and took her by the arm, sending current through her skin that lit up her nerve endings. His scent—evergreen with a touch of citrus—brought back the memory of lying next to him, naked and comfortable after they’d made fun and playful love. The way he’d held her hand as they gazed out the window at a brilliant crescent moon hanging high in the Texas sky had felt as if they’d known one another forever.

  “Ladies, thank you for keeping my friend company while I was busy,” he said, breaking into Josie’s thoughts, “but I’ll take care of her now.”

  “I just bet he will.” Josie heard one of the women say behind them as they strolled away.

  Trace’s mouth quirked up, and the warmth in his eyes made it clear he was happy to see Josie. “This is a surprise. Want to tell me what brought you all the way out to California?”

  Not really. Because I’m pretty sure what brought me here was insanity. For a long time, she’d believed she was doing the right thing by staying and working at Bitter Pecan, her dad’s constantly struggling winery. She’d done it all these years out of love for him, but the wine business was slowly killing her soul. It was long past time for her to cut ties and focus solely on her art career.

  The thought of spending all her time painting, instead of plugging numbers into financial software, made her heart beat faster. She’d already sold half a dozen of her paintings to a gallery in Dallas and spoken with several more who were interested in her work. But to sell, she had to produce.

  And to produce, she had to leave Bitter Pecan.

  And to leave Bitter Pecan…

  Josie’s pulse downshifted, because to break free from her loyalty to one man, she had to mislead another. She had to deceive Trace. Now she could clearly see that she wasn’t up to the job. How could she seduce secrets out of a man like him without being seduced herself?

  It would be easy if he were an arrogant alpha asshole.

  Oh, he had plenty of self-assurance. But he wasn’t a my-way-or-the-highway guy. He was one of the good ones. A keeper, as her mom would say.

  On their way to the bar, a purse dropped off a table in front of Trace, spilling a suitcase worth of cosmetics and other girl stuff onto the plank floor, a few rolling under a rack of aprons with slogans like Well Red and You Had Me at Merlot. Trace hunkered down and scooped some errant items into his big palms. Lipstick, notepad, and a package of tissue.

  “Oh, I am so sorry about that,” the purse’s owner said, leaning down as if to help but merely tangling her hands with Trace’s.

  “No problem. I’ve got it,” he told her.

  On his next scoop, he came up with a perfume spritzer, a personalized ink pen—Darla Swift, fulfilling ALL your real estate needs—and a handful of condoms. And the woman rewarded him by placing her cleavage directly at his eye level.

  Josie glanced down at the crewneck T-shirt she’d worn. Obviously, she was no expert at the game of seduction. If she were, she would’ve worn something enticing and low-cut. It was easier to avoid a man’s questioning gaze when he was staring at your boobs.

  “You are too sweet,” Ms. Fulfill-Your-Needs cooed.

  “My pleasure.” Trace shot her a friendly, but not too friendly smile, grabbed Josie’s hand, and angled back toward the bar. As easily as if they did this all the time, he led her behind the countertop and motioned her toward a barstool. “If I’d known you were coming,” he said in a low voice, “I would’ve set aside a table for you. Saturdays are pretty busy and I’m working until ten. But after that—”

  She took a couple of shuffle steps, hoping to escape so she could get her shit together. “I can come back later.”

  The look Trace shot her wasn’t nearly as easygoing as the one he’d given to the lady who knocked over her purse. This expression didn’t say Accidents happen, even if they’re not really accidents. This one hollered I don’t think so, sweetheart. “Josie, why are you here?”

  Her mouth suddenly dry, she asked, “Could I have some water?”

  His movements jerky, he turned to the nearby faucet and filled a goblet to the top. “I would offer you wine, but I know you don’t care for—”

  “This is fine. Great. I love water. Best drink on the planet.” To halt the rambling nonsense coming from her mouth, she put the glass to her lips and drained it. And if her hand was shaking when she set the glass on the counter, so what? She was the only one who would notice her nerves.

  Except Trace was staring at her fingers clutching the glass’s stem, his forehead creased in what looked like suspicious confusion. But before he could ask more questions, a woman strode up to the bar carrying a box and slid it to the countertop. The blue-eyed, black-haired, well-endowed knockout gave Josie a curious look over the cardboard and bumped Trace with her hip. “Didn’t know you were expecting a friend.”

  The water Josie had gulped down turned to crude oil in her stomach. Oh, no. She hadn’t considered that Trace might have a girlfriend, which was a serious miscalculation.

  Then the woman reached over to shake Josie’s hand and said, “I’m Frankie DeLuca.”

  Recognizing Frankie as the owner of Red Steel, Josie almost slumped against the bar in sheer relief, but she pulled herself together and held out a hand. “Josie Jennings. I just stopped by to say hello. I can’t stay.” She couldn’t afford to get Trace in trouble with his boss, not when Frankie DeLuca’s wine was the core reason Josie was in St. Helena.

  Frankie checked her wrist. “Looks like you’re due for a break,” she said to Trace. “If you want to take a few minutes and show Josie around, be my guest.”

  For the first time since she’d walked in, Josie felt lighter. Oh my God, this was perfect. She would get her own private tour of Red Steel Cellars and quickly find out the details her dad wanted—needed—so badly. He was convinced there was a secret to Red Steel’s fermentation process that he could replicate back home or a subtle ingredient he could add to his own wine.

  So even though Josie was half-nauseous at the prospect of using Trace, she flashed him a peppy smile and cheerfully said, “I would absolutely love a tour!”

  Maybe she’d injected too much pep and cheer by the way Trace’s eyes narrowed, but his voice was pleasantly even when he said, “Thanks, Frankie.”

  It wasn’t until Josie and Trace were away from the bar and he’d trapped her between three walls of towering boxes that he said, “Now, what the hell are you really doing here?”

  Chapter Two

  Of all the people he’d expected to walk into his tasting room tonight, Josie Jennings was dead last on his list. After all, she’d made it clear the last time—okay, the only time—they were together that she had no interest in becoming involved with a man who was involved in the wine business.

  But damn, he sure was glad to see her. There was just something about her that did it for him. She wore a long-sleeve t-shirt and jeans like nobody’s business. Her waterfall of hair—ranging from the color of a well-aged Cabernet down to Cha
rdonnay tips—hung down her back and flirted with the curve of her butt.

  Standing there looking up at him with her beautiful brown eyes, she blinked and pursed her lips as if she wasn’t sure how to answer his question.

  It took all the self-control and sacrifice he’d learned in the military to keep him from yanking her to his chest and kissing her until she was truly confused. But he didn’t, because he knew getting too close to the unknown could get a man killed.

  And Josie, although he’d thought about her every day since they last saw one another, was very much an unknown.

  “I was…”

  “…in the neighborhood?” Unlikely since she lived some eighteen hundred miles away. He knew because he’d Google mapped it when he returned from his trip to Texas last fall. When he’d still been holding out some deranged hope that she didn’t mean what she’d said about not wanting to see him again.

  But he wasn’t a stupid man, and even hope couldn’t hold out against absolutely zero communication—no PM on Facebook, no text, no freaking silent hand signal—after he woke up to an empty bed in Texas.

  “You made Red Steel Cellars sound so amazing. I wanted to come out and see for myself.”

  “So you flew to California without letting me know you were coming? Josie, it’s not like we’ve been doing the flirty, guy-girl thing these past few months. You left me asleep in that bed, wrote a brush-off note, and went radio silent. Which told me that no matter what I wanted, a helluva lot more time with you, you didn’t want to see me again. I tried to respect that. Now you show up out of nowhere? Doesn’t make sense.”

  Not a damn bit.

  And when that was the case, it meant something was off. Of anyone, Trace knew how shitty things could go when the situation didn’t make sense.