St. Helena Vineyard Series: Love So Sweet Read online

  For most of his life, he’d been the one people turned to, the one who they thought had the gut instinct to sniff out trouble. Only the people closest to him—his family and his Ranger squad—

  knew the truth. He could literally smell when a situation wasn’t right.

  At least he’d been able to at one time. But after he hadn’t sensed the attack coming that ultimately ended his friend Dax’s Army career, he didn’t trust himself anymore.

  Still, he leaned in to Josie and inhaled. Just almond and faintly of wax. Nothing like the acrid scent of subterfuge.

  Maybe the tart edge of nerves, but he was looming over her. It was hard to blame her for being slightly freaked out. Even though he’d felt like he’d found the woman of his dreams when he first met her, she obviously hadn’t felt the same. He’d only been a weekend fling to her. Little better than a stranger.

  She glanced down and away, then swept her gaze up to his again. “Okay, you’re right. Coming to the tasting room to see you was an impulse. I’m actually in St. Helena because I have meetings with a couple of gallery owners.”

  Even though he’d known her sudden appearance was too good to be true, a piece of Trace’s heart shrank at her honesty. Of course, she’d stop by to see him when he was the only person she knew in this small town.

  Although disappointed for himself, he was filled with pride for her. If she was talking with gallery managers, then she’d taken the next step in her painting career. The weekend they spent together, she’d taken him to the temperature-controlled storage room where all her finished artwork was stored. Before meeting Josie, he’d never heard of encaustic paints, but her work was an incredible tableau of bold color and wax. “Talking with galleries means you’ve made the break from your dad’s business, right?”

  “Soon,” she said, “very soon.”

  Maybe it was egocentric of him, but he wanted to believe he was a part of her decision. When he and Josie had been wrapped up in a thick quilt at the B&B where he’d stayed in Texas, she’d confided in him about her art, about her hopes, and about why she’d put her dad’s vineyard before her own dreams. Trace had encouraged her to pursue what she really loved, instead of spending all her time paying invoices and punching numbers into accounting software.

  Although his parents hadn’t been shit-fire happy about him joining the Army, they’d understood it was important to him, and they’d let him go without pressure and guilt.

  Granted, now that decision was costing him. They didn’t trust that he truly wanted to be a part of the family business again when all he wanted was to go home and take his place at Sweet Ficus Vineyard.

  A buzzing sound came from somewhere on Josie’s body, and she reached behind her. The movement pulled the fabric of her T-shirt taut across her breasts, and Trace couldn’t help but look. By the outline underneath, she was wearing a lacy bra.

  If their one and only weekend was any indication, bold colors trimmed in lace was her normal MO.

  He vividly remembered peeling her out of her clothes only to find what she wore underneath was a sexy, sassy bra and panty set. Red and white stripes with black lace trim.

  He wanted to know what she was wearing tonight. Purple? Pink? Purple with pink stripes?

  But he caught sight of the way her forehead was furrowed as she stared down at her phone, obviously trying to decide whether or not to answer it. Rather than displaying a person’s face, the picture on her phone was of a cracked pecan shell.

  “You need to get that?”

  “Huh?”

  “Shouldn’t you pick up?”

  One a final scowl at her poor innocent phone and she shoved it—still buzzing—back into her pocket. “Nope.”

  Not ten seconds later, her ass erupted with the sounds of an old Madonna song his aunt had listened to nonstop when she used to babysit him. “Papa Don’t Preach.”

  “Sounds like it’s urgent.”

  Instead of answering him or her phone, she placed a palm on his chest and smiled up at him, the expression on her face mysteriously coy.

  Mysterious didn’t fit the Josie he’d met months ago.

  She’d been friendly, had flirted a little, but she wasn’t the kind of woman to mind-fuck a guy.

  Was she?

  “So,” she said in a throaty voice, “what’s a girl gotta do to get a tour of this place?”

  “She has to come back at four tomorrow afternoon.”

  Her flirty expression faded into disappointment. But was it real or an act to throw him off balance? Because if she’d wanted to see him again, why hadn’t she reached out before now? He wanted to take her visit at face value, but something was telling him to be cautious.

  Thankfully, Frankie poked her head around one of the box towers, giving him a little time to weigh his options with Josie. “Hey, Trace, I need a hand with…” She looked from him to Josie and back again, giving him a subtle eyebrow raise.

  Yeah, Frankie knew as much about this situation as he did, but he would not let Josie leave town without him seeing her again, that was for damn sure.

  “Give me a minute and I’ll be back out there,” he said, then turned back to Josie. “How long are you in town?”

  “Until Monday. My flight leaves that evening.”

  Two days. He had two days to figure out if he had anything to do with why Josie had come to California. And so far, this evening was a total bust.

  But he was a man who knew that sometimes having less time to prepare for an op made a soldier more creative. More aggressive and less hesitant. And that often meant doing what would most surprise the enemy.

  So he moved in, crowding Josie until her back bumped the boxes behind her. Then he leaned down and covered her mouth with his.

  Her gasp pulled breath from him and quickened his blood. God, her lips were sweet, but he needed to really taste her. Preferably all of her, but he’d settle for her mouth for now. He coaxed her to open for him, which she did with a sexy little moan that reverberated through his body, setting off a domino effect of lust—lips, tongue, chest, belly, and further south.

  He’d only meant to tip her off balance, but his plan had backfired. When her tongue touched his, his brain emptied, simply opened itself up and let every good intention spill out.

  With one hand, he grabbed a palm full of her butt. With the other, he slid his fingers into her hair. Then he pulled her against him and proceeded to invade.

  The kiss was hot, wild, and straining with what felt strangely like desperation. Different from the sweet, lazy lovemaking they’d shared before. He’d never in his life had the need to get inside someone else’s skin, but he wanted inside Josie’s.

  Wanted something he couldn’t quite touch. Wasn’t sure if he should even try.

  Uncertainty rushed over him, making him unsteady.

  No, this was simple, if strong, physical attraction. Not surprising since he’d dreamed about her—almost nightly—since they met. But he’d written that off as the preoccupation of a man who hadn’t had sex for several months. Since he’d been with Josie. Of course she’d snuck her way into his dreams.

  She wrapped one hand around his biceps, squeezing until her nails bit into his skin. And the sounds she was making deep in her throat were ones he’d heard before. Josie didn’t hold back when she made love. When she came.

  And he wanted to hear it here and now. He wanted to put his mouth and his hands all over—

  Shit. What was he doing?

  He was not about to work her over behind cases of Cabernet when a roomful of people were mere feet away from them. When he had Josie again, they would have plenty of time and privacy. And he would tire her out so good that she couldn’t move, much less bolt before the sun came up.

  He slid his hand from her hair and caressed her cheek before ending the kiss, their lips slowly parting. Her breath was coming fast and shallow, her breasts brushing his chest, tempting him to say the hell with the crowd in the tasting room and finish what he’d started.

&
nbsp; “Trace, I didn’t mean…this isn’t why…I didn’t think…”

  “Apparently you didn’t think. Because if you had, you would’ve remembered how good it was between us. It’s cruel to come all this way and pretend we’re just friends. I wanted you then. And I damn well want you now. So take tonight and give that a little thought.”

  Chapter Three

  That heart-and-other-parts-exploding kiss was all Josie could think about. When she returned to the Napa Grand Hotel on St. Helena’s main street, her hands still weren’t steady and her knees weren’t doing any better. Taking the stairs to the second floor had been difficult at best, hazardous at worst.

  She had lost her ever lovin’ mind thinking she could play a spy game with a man like Trace and come out on top. Slightly hysterical laughter backed up in her throat at the thought.

  Based on the way he’d kissed the living daylights out of her, he’d made it clear he’d gladly let her be on top. Top, bottom, under, around, and any other positional preposition she could think of. And it would be good. Great. Frickin’ amazing.

  For a few minutes, she’d believed she might be able to get in and out of town with the information she needed without manipulating Trace. If he’d been offering one more tour, maybe she could’ve tripped him up and discovered whatever, in her dad’s mind, made Red Steel Reserve so different, so delicious.

  Then she could’ve texted her dad the secret and walked away from Bitter Pecan forever. After, she might’ve gone up to Washington State and asked to stay in her mom’s garage apartment until she could get on her feet again, even if that meant leaving her beloved retro Airstream behind in Texas.

  But all that was one what-if after another.

  Because there had been no tour, only a kiss that left her feeling like a horrible person. A totally turned-on horrible person. So horrible she shouldn’t be allowed to feel turned on.

  So Josie pawed through her overnight bag and pulled out her comfy old Houston Hurricanes jersey. It dragged some other items with it, including a midnight blue babydoll nightie her friend Paige had insisted she bring.

  “Men can’t resist that combo of innocent and sexy,” Paige had said. “You put that on and he’ll be toast. Not lightly browned. I mean crank-it-up-to-ten-and-scorch-that-bread toast.”

  Somehow that had made packing lingerie for seductive spying seem a little less slutty. After all, there was nothing sexy about toast too burned to eat.

  Which reminded Josie that she hadn’t stopped for lunch or dinner. She’d come directly from the airport to the tasting room, hoping to get in, complete her unholy mission, and get out. But now she simply didn’t have the energy to wander around town looking for food, so she found a half-eaten bag of trail mix and made do while she stared at her phone.

  She should call her dad back or at least answer his texts. At least one of the thirty.

  But then she’d have to admit she’d accomplished nothing. That might prompt the conversation she’d faced more times than she cared to count.

  The one where she told her dad she was leaving Bitter Pecan to concentrate on her art, and he said, “Josie girl, this is the year I’m gonna do it. This is the year a Bitter Pecan wine will be the talk of the Texas Tasting Tour. Once that happens, I can afford to hire someone to replace you. If you’d just stay a few more months…”

  Every time, she nodded in acceptance, hoping he would finally make good on his promise.

  And every time, her heart broke a little more.

  Her phone rang and it did a shimmy that almost sent it tumbling off the bed, but she caught it before it took a header and checked the caller. “Hey, Mom,” she answered, infusing her voice with all the cheer she wasn’t feeling tonight.

  “Hi there, sugar.” Even after years outside her home state, Lena Anderson’s Texas twang was as strong as ever. “How’s everything at the Rancid Nut?”

  Lord, her mom was inappropriate, but she had a way about her. Which was probably the reason Josie’s dad had never totally recovered from their divorce. “Fabulous.”

  Her mom snorted. “I don’t know where the heck you got your talent for lying because you know your daddy’s gonna fight those damn grapes and that piece of Texas dirt until the day they lay him in it, and he won’t ever get a plug nickel back. Please tell me you’ve finally made plans to move on.”

  “Mama, he’s my dad.”

  “Your daddy, not your albatross. If that bull-headed man wants to spend the rest of his life trying to make second-rate wine, no one can stop him. But you don’t have to stay on a train that’s been jumping the tracks for over twenty years now.”

  This wasn’t an uncommon conversation between Josie and her mom. Usually Josie deflected and moved them to some other topic, but tonight she sighed. “I’m close.”

  “Close?” her mom’s voice went high. “What do you mean close?”

  “I’m in California doing one last thing for Daddy. After this favor, I’m hitching up my trailer and pulling out for parts unknown.”

  “You’re always welcome up here, you know that.”

  Even though she’d been thinking the same thing herself, it was high time Josie made a change because it was what she wanted, not because someone else was asking her to stay or offering help. So she just said, “It’s good to have parents who love me.”

  “You ask me, the way Dwight Jennings shows love is—”

  “Shh,” Josie told her. “The two of you don’t agree. Never have. Never will. But I’m an adult and what’s between the two of you doesn’t concern me anymore.”

  From the other end of the line, Josie heard clapping. Then her mom said, “Well done. I’ve been waiting years for you to get to this point. You don’t owe either of us a damn tootin’ thing. Go out and be your own woman, Josephine Leah Jennings.”

  “That’s exactly what I plan to do.” Right after she gave her dad one last shot at his dream. “G’night, Mama.”

  “G’night, sugar.”

  Josie tossed the phone on the side table and collapsed back onto the bed. Lord, after the day she’d had, she felt like she’d been whipped with a leather strap, slightly sore and still tingly from Trace’s touch.

  A good night’s sleep would give her clarity and strength of purpose. She would get the goods on Red Steel Cellars’ wine, and after that, she would absolutely be her own woman.

  Chapter Four

  It had taken every bit of Trace’s considerable skill at outwaiting the enemy not to march up to Josie’s door at the Napa Grand Hotel earlier today. And if he’d broken down and called around to the galleries to find out if she’d been in, that intel was completely on a need-to-know basis.

  He’d discovered she had dropped by one of the galleries, but she’d had no meetings scheduled before she arrived. Why would she lie about something like that?

  Maybe she didn’t know how to tell him she’d missed him, that she was sorry she hadn’t given them a chance. That was okay, he’d give her plenty of opportunity to come clean during the picnic he had planned for later.

  She should be here by now. The Sunday afternoon tasting tour would start in five minutes, and the room was already packed. And rather than continuing to scan the crowd of mostly women for Josie, he busied himself with drying wine glasses.

  “Handsome, you keep rubbing those things like that, and you’ll either polish clean through them or summon yourself a genie.”

  He looked up to find Ida Beamon, owner of Cork’d and Dipped, standing there grinning flirtatiously at him. Since the minute he’d moved to St. Helena, she and her gaggle of senior women had been trying to recruit him for their weekend man-nabbing parties. So far, working weekends at Red Steel had kept him off the hook. He’d heard from his friend Dax that those events were brutal.

  “Frankie likes the glasses spotless, and I’m here to make Frankie happy.” Actually, he was here to make his family happy, but he had to get past Frankie to do that. If she gave any of the Cowans the report that he’d been less than three-hundr
ed percent invested in the success of her winery, Trace would be sent on another so-called apprenticeship.

  A term that should’ve died with the Middle Ages.

  “From what I heard—” she did a hip shake and shoulder shimmy that made Trace want to break one of the glasses and poke his eye out with it, “—that Italian husband of hers makes Frankie plenty happy.”

  Trace just shook his head. Then he spotted a flash of burgundy-tinted hair near the front door and he leaned down to whispered to Ida, “I need a favor.”

  “Absolutely.” From the avaricious gleam in her eyes, he knew she’d come calling for payback at some point, but right now he didn’t give a damn.

  “That redhead you were talking with yesterday is over by the door. Well, she’s more of a maroon-to-blond.” Whatever you called that striped hair Josie had.

  “I think you mean ombre. And yeah, I saw you escort her around the boxes of Cabernet last night.”

  Great. He might as well have taken out a full-page ad in the St. Helena Sentinel. “That’s her. Would you mind bringing her over here?”

  “Back in two shakes of an alpaca’s tail, cutie.” Ida hopped off the stool she’d been commandeering and shot a warning look to the women who immediately eyed the vacant spot. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Before Trace could finish drying another glass, Ida returned with Josie in tow. Ida took a step back and surveyed Josie. Which gave him the perfect excuse to do the same. Today, she was wearing a green Western-style shirt, snug bootcut jeans, a tooled leather belt, and a pair of pointy-toed cowboy boots.

  Before Josie, he never would’ve guessed he would find the country girl look so hot. He wanted to order everyone out of the tasting room and boost her up on the bar. Then he’d lay her back and—

  “My husband Sam used to look at me that way,” Ida commented to Josie. “One time, when we were in the grocery store, I was wearing a skirt and wasn’t paying close enough attention. Needless to say, Sam had his hand up to my hooha right in front the freezer full of Cool Whip.”