California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (50 page)

Her wantonness made her flush. Who was she? What had happened to the staid matron of thirty-eight? She was acting like the crazy schoolgirl she’d been, the one who hadn’t been able to keep her hands off of Joe.

Marcos slipped his fingers under her blouse. The cold touch of reality brought her back to her sense.

She pulled back. “I can’t. There’s … too much we don’t know … about each other.”

He studied her. “I know I want you.” He smiled. “And from the way you were acting, I think the feeling is mutual.” He paused and dropped his hands. “If you were another woman, Elizabeth, I would press to what we both want. But I want more than a night in bed with you.”

He kissed her lightly, slid his arm through hers and turned her back to the car. He opened her door and waited for her to slide into the driver’s seat. “I will see you tomorrow,
cara.
Our appointment is at one. Shall we leave around noon?”

All she could do was nod.

He closed the door, standing there until she started the car before turning back to the hotel.

She pulled out of the parking lot, aware of her swollen lips and hard nipples pressing against the soft cloth of her blouse.

Her mind whirled with only one question. What am I doing?

At eleven-thirty the next morning, Marcos flicked off his computer. What was Jacques doing? The yields from Marcos’ vineyard in France were even lower than his vineyard manager had projected.

A new thought occurred to him. Was Jacques stealing from him? He didn’t see how, the numbers all appeared to add up, but nothing else made sense. Maybe he should follow Elizabeth’s lead and lay the man off.

He smiled. Many years had passed since he wanted to risk opening up to a woman. And, of course, he picked one who lived half a world away and was afraid to take a chance.

He tapped his fingers on the hotel-room desk. The distance was obvious, but there was more going on. Their kiss had ended abruptly last night, as if a thought had made her afraid. Her desire had been obvious, although not as physically obvious as his. Was that what had scared her? His passion?

He shook his head. He didn’t think so. She was right. They didn’t know each other. Well, he’d just have to change that. He stuffed his keys in his pocket and left the room.

He waited outside the hotel lobby for Elizabeth. The sun glinted on the bay framing the colorful cottages nestled on the seashore. Seagulls swooped and lines of pelicans skimmed over the water in the distance. As a bright red sports car made its way up the long driveway to the hotel, his smile broadened.

A great day to be alive!

“
Buon giorno
, Elizabeth,” he said when she stepped out of the car. “It is going to be a beautiful day! Have you decided to let me drive your little car?”

She laughed and he thought of the legend of laughter creating fairies. If anyone’s laugh could create supernatural beings, it was Elizabeth’s.

“Not on your life,” she said. “Or mine either! The door is open.” She gestured to the passenger side.

“You do not trust me! You break my heart!” He laughed and took his place in the passenger seat. Laughter was a good way to begin any day.

The road took them up and out of town, past small bungalows and large ranches where horses grazed behind gleaming white fences.

“John lives there.” Elizabeth pointed to a green Victorian perched on a knoll. “He’s going out with my best friend, Annie.”

“It is a beautiful home. Very big.”

“Smaller than it looks. I think he bought it hoping Annie would someday move in.”

“And is that likely?”

“I think so, but she keeps telling me it’s too soon to tell.” Elizabeth smiled. “She’s as scared of romance as I am.”

Marcos cocked his head. “And why should you be scared of romance?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. She made a sharp turn to the left, narrowly avoiding a delivery truck and squealing her tires.

“And you were afraid to let me drive?” Marcos asked.

“Sorry.”

“I believe I have upset you again. But I really do want to know what you are afraid of. Because I don’t want to add to your fear.” Marcos relaxed his death grip on the armrest only slightly as the road began to twist and turn beneath tall redwoods.
How could someone have hurt Elizabeth?

“I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it,” she said.

“Perhaps later? Over dinner?”

“We’ll see.”

In his experience, “we’ll see” meant “no,” especially when a woman said it. But his curiosity was aroused. He would find a way around the “no.”

Elizabeth turned right onto an even narrower and darker road.

“There is a vineyard here?” he asked.

“Quite an old one, as a matter of fact. About the same age as the one we saw on Stargold.” She veered onto a steep gravel drive. They emerged into the sunlight and Marcos took in a breath. Cordoned vines stretched down a small hill, with dense purple-ink clusters of berries nestled in fading leaves. Pinot Noir, the holy grail of the Santa Cruz Mountains.

The gravel road angled back down the ridge and around to a ramshackle building made of stained and aging plywood.

“Is there a prosperous vineyard in these mountains?” he asked.

She smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “It’s an eclectic area.”

“Yes, I see.”

She pulled up next to the vineyard building and parked.

As they walked up the steps to what Marcos supposed was the front door, he kept his eye on the stairs, which were uneven and cracked. The treads were sturdy, though. Perhaps looks could be deceiving in the mountains.

Their knock was answered by a bellowed, “Come in!”

Marcos pushed open the door and ushered Elizabeth up the stairs in front of him, admiring the curve of her bottom as she climbed to the upper floor. Inaudibly, he sighed. Somehow he had to break through her reserve. Not only did he want a deepening relationship with the woman, his physical desire for her grew daily.

The aging office chair creaked as a large man in blue jeans, a green flannel shirt and suspenders rose from it. His handlebar mustache quivered with the grin that wreathed his face. “Welcome! I’m Henry!”

Marcos hid his wince as Henry pumped his hand vigorously.

“How nice to see you again, Elizabeth.” Henry enveloped her in a bear hug.

“I didn’t realize you were selling, Henry,” Elizabeth said. She smiled at the older man and turned to Marcos. “Henry’s been around forever. Rumor has it he was found as a baby in a basket of vines.”

Henry laughed a belly laugh.

“Why are you selling?” she asked.

His grin got wider. “I fell in love. She likes to travel. I’ve been here for thirty years. ’Bout time I moved on.” Henry’s sharp gaze fell on Marcos. “And who’s your young man?”

“He’s not — ”

“Marcos Gamari. I’m thinking of buying a California vineyard.”

“Not enough vineyards in Italy? Or you want to have vineyards all over the world?”

Marcos shrugged. “I think it could be a smart move. Different regions, different grapes. Or the same grapes with subtle nuances due to climate.” He wasn’t sure what to make of the man. He blustered like a country hick, but his eyes were sharp and Marcos suspected he didn’t miss much.

“Ah … the search for the elusive
terroir
.” Henry settled back into his chair and gestured toward a brown couch against the wall. “Have a seat. Lumpy,” he added when Elizabeth looked at the couch and back at him. “But sturdy.”

Gingerly, Elizabeth and Marcos sat down. The legs of the couch held, but the cushions sagged, tilting them both toward the center. Marcos almost laughed out loud when he noticed Elizabeth efforts to sit up straight and keep a distance between them.

“This is the best area for Pinot Noir in the mountains,” Henry said. “Bought it in the 70s. I was going to give it a pass, but then I came back up here at sunset with a bottle of the best Burgundy France had to offer. By the time the sun settled into the ocean, the land and I were one. It took me ten years to learn how to farm it and another twenty to learn how to make decent wine.”

Marcos relaxed. Henry was a man who’d had a dream, like he did. They both understood that the cost of making wine wasn’t the money you put into land, grapes and equipment, the true investment was your life. Only marriage required the same commitment. Many people failed at both.

“Let me show you the facility.” Henry rose and the chair protested again.

Marcos stood and gave Elizabeth a hand and the same electric charge went through his fingers. She looked up at him wide-eyed, with a tremulous smile.

He followed Henry into the low-ceilinged, webby and musty cellar, guiding Elizabeth behind him. Dust-covered bottles lay on hand-made wine racks.

“I have five bottles from every year I’ve been doing this.” Henry chuckled. “Some of them I’d have to be desperate to drink.”

Henry pointed out the gravity-fed fermentation tanks and talked about his winemaking methods: traditional and labor-intensive. No wonder the man needed a break.

“Can we take a look at the vineyard?” Marcos asked.

“Sure.” Henry led the way from the cellar darkness to the bright light of California sun. They climbed the short, but steep, path to the vineyard. The air was redolent with the heavy sweetness of ripened grapes. Crows protested the netting on the vines.

Marcos knelt to examine the trunks and leaves.

“It’s about thirty years old,” Henry said. “Not as vigorous as it was, but I swear the fruit gets sweeter every year. I have to watch or the sugar will get too high.”

Marcos studied the grafts of the vines onto rootstock and the texture of the leaves. He held one of the grapes and looked up at Henry. “May I?”

“Of course.”

Marcos plucked the grape and squished it between his fingers, which took some effort, since the grape was like a hard little berry. The seeds were light brown and the runoff of juice was minimal, but rich. He licked his fingers and his mouth exploded with potential textures of flavor.

He stood and brushed his fingers off on his jeans.

“Good, isn’t it?” Henry asked. “Be ready for harvest in a week or two.”

Marcos nodded. He stared at the redwood-covered hills rolling to the ocean. This was it. He could feel it in his bones.

“How much are you asking?”

Henry told him. The price was fair.

“I’ll discuss it with the agent.”

The men shook hands.

“You’ll both be happy here,” Henry said.

“We’re not … ” Elizabeth began.

“Uh-huh,” Henry turned and led the way back down toward the winery. “Glass of wine anyone?”

• • •

“Let’s go to dinner in Carmel,” Elizabeth said as they drove down the driveway of Henry’s winery. “It seems like the right place to celebrate the owner of a new vineyard.”

Marcos laughed. “I have not even put an offer in on the place. I have to call the realtor and get the process started. Because I am an Italian, the paper work will be brutal. Will you drop me off at my hotel and I can do some work? Then I can pick you up in my car and we can go to Carmel.”

“I don’t mind driving, really.”

Maybe it was time to push a little harder.
“I think you do mind giving up control.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “No. It’s just that I know the roads better.”

“
Cara.
Let me drive. Allow me the privilege of taking care of you a little bit.”

Her teeth dug into her lower lip.

He needed to pry the tiniest bit of her armor loose. He was tempted to add more pleas, but allowed the silence to linger instead.

“Okay.” It was a small whisper.

He touched her hand. “No harm will come.”

He’d do everything in his power to make sure it didn’t.

• • •

Marcos snapped his cell phone closed. Only the vision of the vineyard would keep him going though this deal. The realtor had been more difficult over the phone than she’d been in person. He shook his head. He never understood why people were uncooperative when they were going to be making a lot of money.

Ah, well. He shrugged. He had another woman to consider.

He picked up his brown dress jacket and left the room.

About ten minutes later, he stood in front of Elizabeth’s door. As he raised his hand to knock, it opened. Framed in the entryway, she looked like a womanly version of the season — a vision in a fall-colored dress with an accent of red.

“Beautiful,
cara
.”

She blushed.

He held out his hand. “Shall we go?”

She slipped her hand in his, the warmth of it spreading up his arm on a direct route to his heart.

He smiled and led her down the path to his dark black rental car. In a few minutes they were speeding south on Highway One.

“This is a much more civilized road than your Highway Seventeen,” he said.

“Yes,” she murmured and then stared out the window. Low-lying fields of strawberries and artichokes whirled past.

“Do you know Marilyn Monroe was queen of the Castroville artichoke parade?” she asked abruptly.

“No, I didn’t.” He fell silent. Soon they passed by power plant smokestacks towering over clanking fishing boats in the harbor. Seagulls whirled in the sky while prehistoric-looking pelicans lined the pilings. Egrets patrolled the marshes.

“It is a beautiful place to live,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to leave.”

He glanced at Elizabeth. She was staring out the window. “I don’t,” she said quietly.

And there was the problem. Why would she want to take up with a world-traveler who spent far too much of his life on airplanes when she had the beauty of the bay?

He took a deep breath. Time to change the subject. “I talked with the realtor.”

“And … ” Elizabeth turned her attention back to him.

“She’ll email the papers I need to review and sign.” He frowned. “She is not easy to do business with. I don’t think she’s ever dealt with a purchase from out of the country.”

“Oh, don’t let her fool you. Plenty of people from other places come to work in Silicon Valley and buy houses in Saratoga.”

“Then perhaps she hasn’t sold a vineyard. Or … ” he paused. “She doesn’t like Italians.”