Can't Hurry Love (13 page)

She appeared harried as well, sweeping the floor of the tasting room with the kind of vigor usually reserved for scouring a sticky pot. Her pretty hair was caught in a lopsided ponytail that bobbed with every one of her overenergetic arm movements.

He pointed to the Tanti Baci logo painted onto the wooden surface. It was coated with polyurethane, fortunately. “I don’t think you’ll get that up.”

Letting out a shriek, she jumped, and the broom flew from her hand, its wooden handle crashing against the floor with a loud clack. Those summer eyes of hers went round. “You scared me,” she said, pressing her hand to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Lots of surprises around here this morning.”

She bent for the broom and he noticed the way her jeans clung to her butt. He remembered her shaking that cute little booty when she’d been rapping along with Sir Mix-a-Lot. Rubbing the back of his neck, he wondered if he could blame his behavior on the song. Maybe it had been some sort of incantation. A spell that caused him to want to seek her out. He suspected she had special powers, didn’t he?

She glanced at him through those reddish gold lashes as she straightened. “What’s going on out there?”

“Fingerprints have been collected and photographs taken. All that’s left is the cleanup.”

“Maybe I should . . . ?”

He could tell she didn’t want to and he didn’t blame her. The damage to the pretty place had bothered him, too. “It’s not as bad as you might imagine. A few lamps and windows bashed and the curtains and couch cushions will need to be replaced or repaired. Giuliana’s already making calls. The display case that held some of Anne and Alonzo’s things was broken, but the stuff is all there—including Anne’s diary.”

“That’s good.” She was back to sweeping again.

“I only wish I’d heard when it was happening.” So far no one had asked him what he’d been doing that he’d missed the sounds of destruction from the vineyard manager’s bungalow. Prevailing wisdom supposed it must have happened before midnight, when the two couples who were residing in the farmhouse were out to dinner and a movie. Likely they assumed Kohl had been out, too—which he had, in a sense. He’d broken his own rule about drinking alone and spent a lost evening with his friend, José Cuervo.

He thought he could quit the boozing, and he thought he would, from time to time, but the appropriate incentive had been lacking. Sometimes avoiding the present was just too tempting. One drink became four became six became . . .

A big ol’ chunk of blown time.

He shook his head. “I missed the whole damn thing.”

“I’m glad.” Grace propped the broom in a corner and then took up a cloth to dust the shelves of stemware. “You could have been hurt.”

“Me? I made it through a war. And if you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of a big guy.”

Her hand stilled. “I noticed.”

Okay, there she went again. Two words from her soft pink mouth and he was on his way closer to her, like a fish with a damn hook in its cheek. But smelling her on this summer morning suddenly seemed imperative, too, for whatever crazy reason.

Peaches. Today she smelled like peaches. Fruity, fresh, and cinnamon dusted. Her flesh would taste like that, he thought, a sexual fizz charging through his bloodstream. He could imagine peeling away those clothes, slow, just as he removed a peach’s fuzzy skin, before he took a big, juicy bite. His mouth watered, and below the waist, his penis started thinking about its own appetite.

“My ex is a big man, too.”

Her ex. Kohl moved back. Talk about a buzz kill. The woman had a big, violent ex-husband, which made her the exact wrong candidate to satisfy Kohl’s cravings. Worse, he would likely scare the hell out of her if she thought he was even thinking of her in those terms. Sure they’d kissed that one time, but he’d been careful it didn’t happen again.

He’d rescued her dog. He’d tended to her injuries when she was seven years old. Likely she considered him as some kind of vet-cum-EMT. Or a big safe teddy bear. Not a man.

Didn’t that just piss him off? “What the hell were you thinking to hitch yourself to a loser like that?”

Immediately, he regretted the question. He leapt toward her and grabbed her free hand. “Grace. I’m sorry, I—”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do. I’m a beast—”

“That’s why I brought Daniel up. I can recognize one of those beasts now, Kohl, and you’re not close to that category.”

Right, he thought, looking down at his feet. He was the pet and people rescuer, to her mind. Warm and fuzzy like a stuffed toy, he supposed. Remember? Not a man.

“I married him to get away from my father, of course. And because he was the only person who ever told me I was pretty.”

Kohl’s head jerked up. “What? The only . . .”

A clear wash of pink overlaid the cinnamon snowflakes on her cheeks. “The kids at school always teased me. One person said that people with red hair smell funny.”

They smelled good. Kohl took in another breath of her peachy scent and squeezed her hand. Oh. His gaze jumped from her face to their fingers. They were still holding hands.

Another woman with her background probably would have run screaming if a rough guy like Kohl had his hold on her. But she trusted him, and that . . . that felt good. Even as his blood started zinging around his body again, Kohl tried looking cuddly instead of bulky and brutish.

Grace’s brows drew together, her expression slightly alarmed. “Do you feel okay?”

The alarm registered. Clearly cuddly wasn’t working for shit. He dropped her hand and moved a decent distance away. “I should leave you alone.” Why wouldn’t this sink into his brain?

She made a little movement of her shoulder. One of those “I don’t care” gestures that meant she really
did
care. He sighed. “Are you afraid to be alone? I’m sure the vandal is long gone now, but if you need me to hang around . . . ?”

Her smile had a little sad in it. “You’re a very nice man, Kohl.”

Uh! Enough of that! He found himself beside her again. This time he grasped her shoulders and spun her to face him fully. “I’m not some freakin’ saint, Grace. As a matter of fact, I—”

Brain cells sizzled then smoked as he looked into her beautiful eyes. There was something in them, something he couldn’t quite decipher but that destroyed his ability to tell her just exactly how demonic he’d become. Demon enough to want to have sex with a woman who had very strong reasons to be suspicious of men.

“You’re so lovely,” he heard himself say instead. His hand reached for her cockeyed ponytail and he pulled the elastic band confining it free, so that her rose gold hair fell around her shoulders. He took it in his hands, letting the silky locks slide through his fingers. They caught on his calluses and he worked them gently free. “So damn lovely.”

That clear, watercolor pink washed over her face again. “I wish you wouldn’t have said that—though I suppose it seems as if I was asking for it.”

He frowned. “Huh?”

Her blush brightened. “Just because I told you I didn’t get a lot of compliments growing up, I wasn’t fishing for fake ones, okay?”

His smoking brain was still struggling to catch up. “Huh?”

“Fake compliments . . . you know. As in, not true.”

She thought he was bullshitting her, Kohl realized. He blinked, trying to imagine a world where anyone would imagine him capable of that kind of pretense. For God’s sake, it was his personal brand of hot-headed honesty that had gotten him into barroom brawls with bad men and kicked out of the beds of good women.

Grasping her by the shoulders, he shook her a little. “I’m truthful to a fault, my friend.”

She made a little face. “As if we were friends, either.”

Well, hell, what could he say to that? He didn’t want to be her friend any more than he wanted to be her teddy bear. So he avoided that subject altogether. “Let’s get this looks thing settled, all right? I don’t know what people saw when you were a kid—I know I went through a phase when my neck was longer than my legs and my Adam’s apple seemed to be the size of a soccer ball—but now . . . now you’re just what I said. Lovely.”

“Kohl . . .” Again with that little face.

Frustrated, he looked around. “Here,” he said, spotting a small display of coasters. There were cork ones in the shape of grape leaves, square ones that depicted labels from local wineries, and round ones that were, in essence, silver-framed mirrors. With one in hand, he spun Grace around so her back was to his front. Then he held it so her reflection filled the glass.

“Here’s what I see.” He slid his hand through her “red” hair again. “A color like gold and rubies melted together.”

She straightened, her sharp shoulder blades poking his chest.

“No BS, Grace,” he said, guessing that would be her first response. He brushed his thumb over the soft arch of one brow. “Shall I talk about your eyes? They put the sky to shame.”

She was leaning slightly against him now and he tried ignoring how the warmth of her body made a fire inside of his.

“And this nose?” His fingertip followed its straight line. “Not much to talk about, truthfully, except that it leads to such a pouty, kissable mouth.”

Her breath exhaled on his hand as he pressed against the center of her lips. “Kohl—”

“Shh. This is about what
I
say, what
I
see.” He let his hand fall. Touching her was torture. “As for your creamy skin and its—”

“Creamy!”

“Milky, then. Milk with cinnamon sugar floating on top.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear, “You know what those freckles do? They make a man want to spend a lifetime trying to taste each and every one.”

A trill of nervous laughter broke from her then, and she stepped away. She wrapped her arms around herself, not looking at him.

Kohl lifted an eyebrow. “Do I have to go on about your body?”

Grace glanced at him, glanced away. “P-please don’t.”

That break in her voice told him he’d gone too far. Damn! Wary Grace Hatch didn’t need a man telling her how drool-worthy she was. “Hey,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

She shook her head wildly. “No, no! I . . .” Her hand gesture told him nothing. “Like I said. Kohl Friday, you are a very nice man.”

Back to the teddy bear!

Like that, the anger came over him again. He wanted to hit something, no, hit someone. Grace’s ex, or her father, or maybe even himself, who couldn’t settle for being her soft and gentle comfort object.

“I am not a nice man,” he bit out.

“Kohl.”

“A nice man wouldn’t be thinking about you when I’m in bed at night. A nice man wouldn’t be thinking of you when I’m brushing my teeth. A nice man wouldn’t be thinking of you even when my cock aches so damn bad that I want to break it off and beat myself with it . . . so I have to beat off instead.”

She was staring at him, that ordinary nose of hers flaring, but he didn’t regret sounding crude and rude. Hell, he
was
crude and rude.

“I’ve been thinking of you, Grace. I’ve been thinking of those freckles and wondering where they stop. Do you have them on your breasts? On the tops of your thighs? Are they sprinkled on the backs of your knees?”

She was still just staring at him.

“Tell me to stop, Grace. Tell me to go away and stay very far away from you.”

“No.” Her chest moved in and out with quick breaths. “I don’t want you to go away. To stay away.”

Shocked to the core of his dark heart, Kohl stared at her. What? There was a look on her face, it had been in her eyes before and he was certain he couldn’t interpret it. Because it couldn’t mean, she didn’t mean . . . She wanted him. That’s what his gut was telling him, but his head just couldn’t wrap around the thought. Wary Grace Hatch wasn’t looking at bad-ass Kohl Friday as if he was a gentle friend . . . but as a lover, a man she wanted.

And because he had no idea what to do about that, he did exactly what she didn’t want. He rushed away from her just as quickly as he’d rushed to her. And didn’t understand why he did that, either.

12

When Liam opened the door that evening to Giuliana’s sisters, he had to agree with Penn’s oft-spoken assessment: the Baci women were scary. Taking a step back before they plowed him over, he gestured them inside. “She’s taking a shower,” he said. “You might want to go easy on her. It’s been a long day.”

“We’ll wait for her in the living room,” Stevie said.

He pulled two bottles from the fridge, a sparkling water and a New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Along with the beverages, he brought some wineglasses and a bowl of nuts to the table that sat in front of the couch where the young women had taken a seat. When he caught a look at their expressions, he frowned and raised a brow.

“Why are you giving me the stink eye?”

“Stink eye.” A reluctant dimple dug itself into Allie’s cheek. “I haven’t heard that in a billion years.”

Liam had known the Baci sisters for a billion and one. His parents had discouraged contact with the Italian family—and now that he knew of his father’s feelings for their mother, he figured he finally understood why. Still, living in a small-town rural setting, they’d been childhood playmates. With his mother most often in a darkened room with a migraine headache and his father pursuing pretty young things far and wide, Liam and Seth had often found their amusement next door at Tanti Baci.

Stevie had made a damn good pirate. Alessandra could always be counted on to play the damsel in distress—her easy tears legend even then. Giuliana . . . Giuliana had been as good as he at organizing and planning, whether it was an elaborate game of cops and robbers, keep-away, or flashlight tag.

Which made him realize she wouldn’t appreciate being blindsided by her siblings like this.

He glanced toward the stairway. “Perhaps I should let her know you’re here.”

Stevie’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you should tell us what you’re after with her first.”

He tried giving her the I’m-older-and-I-know-best stare, but she only drummed her fingertips on the opposite arm she had crossed over her chest. Hell. All the Baci girls were harder to deal with now that they’d grown up.

“I’m waiting,” Stevie said.

“I’m thinking,” he countered. The fact was, Giuliana’s sisters had practically rolled her into his house by wheelbarrow. Once the truth was out about the marriage, they could have encouraged a quickie divorce, but instead they’d played the save-the-winery card. He knew that was important to them—but more important than their older sister’s welfare?

“Don’t drive her away again,” Allie said softly. “Please, Liam.”

That wasn’t what he was after! He’d forced her into his house and seduced her into his bed in order to drive her out of his head—not out of town. Somehow they needed to unfasten the tether they’d recklessly tied between them when they’d tied the knot in Reno. Maybe this stab at cohabitation wasn’t the best way to go about it, but he’d been desperate.

“Look. I—” But hell, he didn’t think it would make sense to them if he said it out loud.

“What’s going on?”

His head whipped toward the stairs. Giuliana was peering over the balustrade, a sleeveless, lacy white top cut low across her breasts. Her hair wasn’t styled in that sleek fall that he thought of as her LA look. It appeared shorter now, with the natural bouncy waves curling around her face. She might as well be seventeen again, and lust grabbed him around the throat with the same intensity that had driven him to marry her the minute she’d been old enough to sign the paper.

“Allie? Stevie?” As she walked into the living room, her bare feet and jeans only sharpened his memories of those young years. Giuliana, her mouth reddened by his kisses, her nipples the same dark blush as he’d unfastened her bra and then pulled denim free of her legs. She’d had a pair of panties—

“Liam?”

Her voice jerked him back to the present. “They just showed up,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do.”

Giuliana switched her attention back to her sisters and there was an edge of anxiety in her voice. “You’re okay? Everyone’s okay?”

“We don’t need a mother hen,” Stevie said, in her usual direct fashion. “We came here to make that clear to you, Jules.”

The oldest Baci slowly approached the high-backed chair across the table from her sisters. When she sank down on it, Liam moved forward to pour her a glass of wine and put it in her hand. She swallowed down a gulp. “What exactly has your hackles up, Steve?”

Allie scooted forward on her cushion. “You should have called us right away when you discovered the vandalism.”

“It was early. You guys—”

“That’s exactly our point, Jules!” Stevie put in. “
You
decide it’s too early.
You
decide we shouldn’t see the full extent of the damage.
You
try to direct everything and everyone and it’s got to stop.”

Allie was nodding. “We’re partners. We’re in this together.”

“And you’re wearing yourself to nothing by holding on to all the worries and responsibilities. Yeah, Allie and I work hard, too, but you won’t share where your head is, and it’s not in a good place, Giuliana. We can all see that.”

Whoa. These sisters were rough, Liam thought. They wanted to haul out all the evidence and then examine it in public. He preferred the way he and Seth handled their differences—in silence, until whoever was angry had their ire bundled into a tidy package that could be stuffed into a remote closet.

Giuliana took another quaff of her wine. “I look so bad?”

“Don’t take it like that.” Stevie rolled her eyes. “You look beautiful, you always do, but to be honest, you could probably do with a month’s worth of meals and maybe a funny movie or two.”

“Some time off,” Allie added.

“When we’re done with the Vow-Over Weekend,” Giuliana said quickly. “There’ll be freedom then. For all of us.”

Liam cocked his head.
There’ll be freedom?

“We don’t want freedom, Jules.” Allie set down her wineglass. “You’re not getting what we’re talking about. When something happens like that vandalism today—or when a decision needs to be made—like who to call about the curtains and the cushions—we need to be consulted. Together we can divvy up the tasks instead of you taking them all on yourself.”

Anger sparked in Giuliana’s eyes. “Sort of like how you consulted me about leaking the no-divorces story?”

Allie flushed. “I’m the PR person. Getting us press attention is actually part of my job.”

“But according to you, you should have consult—”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse,” Stevie said. “We’re
worried
about you.”

“And I’m worried about the two of you, but that makes me interfering and overbearing and—”

“Ah!” Stevie leapt to her feet and pulled on the ends of her hair. “You’re not listening!”

Liam froze, not sure whether he should interfere or not. He suddenly remembered the flameouts the two oldest Bacis had engaged in when young. He would have let them at it again, but there was something—something almost frantic—in the expression on Giuliana’s face. It drew him close enough so that he could sit on the arm of her chair. He laid a hand on her tense shoulder.

Allie tugged on her pregnant sister’s arm until the other woman sat down again. “Jules, we’re just saying that Tanti Baci belongs to all of us.”

“Not the land.” Giuliana’s body vibrated beneath Liam’s hand. “Don’t forget that the land is mine.”

Oh, God. Not a good time to bring that up, he thought, noting Stevie’s answering glower. Though it was true, that in usual Baci style, the inheritance matters were snarled. He wasn’t sure he had all the details straight—or if anyone did—but the vineyard acres were in Giuliana’s name alone, while other parts of the holdings were split between the sisters . . . with the Bennetts thrown into the mix as well.

“The land is mine,” Giuliana repeated, her voice softer now.

Stevie was back on her feet, clearly frustrated. “I can’t talk to you right now.” She headed for the foyer, Allie trailing behind. Manners made Liam follow, and he saw them out the door and then sighed. Maybe Penn or Jack could be interested in heading out for a beer about now.

No. The doting newlyweds would likely be busy soothing their spouses after the altercation with their sister. With another sigh, he headed back to the living room and was relieved to see that Giuliana wasn’t in sight. He liked licking his wounds alone as well. But then his gaze caught on her figure. She’d retreated to the adjoining terrace and was standing there looking out over the Bennett vineyards in the direction of Tanti Baci. He sighed again, supposing he couldn’t leave her looking so sad like that.

With the bottle and his own glass in hand, he joined her. Silent, he topped off her wine, then set the remainder on a nearby ledge. He sniffed, swirled, took a sip that he pulled through his teeth. “A bright little upstart, perhaps lacking in character, even shallow can we say, but the flinty finish gives it more finesse,” he said, impersonating one of the snobby—and often nonsensical—wine critics that they used to laugh about when they were young. “Has a grassy nose, with maybe just a hint of petunias and new pennies.”

She didn’t even smile. She didn’t even seem to notice his performance at all. “Did I screw up? Today, in terms of my sisters, did I screw up?”

His gaze ran over her bouncing hair and tense body. “It depends on who you ask. I get that it’s not easy to go to them—you’re used to being the one they go to.”

Her gaze flicked down to her glass. “Allie, anyway, though she held a lot inside after Tommy died. Stevie’s always been more independent.”

“And you’ve never been completely honest with them, have you?”

She slid him a look that said,
Uh, secret marriage?

And of course there was yet another secret. Hell, he thought. He didn’t blame her for keeping some things private. “You want to protect them. I get that, Jules.”

“You’re close to your brother, Seth. Now Penn, too. Are there things you’ve kept from them that they might believe they deserve to know?”

He hesitated, then found himself telling the truth. “Big things.”

Her eyes went wide and she stared at him. “Liam?”

He stayed silent.

“Liam?” she asked again. “Big things like . . . what?” There was doubt in her eyes. “Your dad fathering illegitimate children has been out since the will was read.”

Shame made him shift his gaze from her face. “I . . . uh . . .” He was regretting like hell he’d even said anything. But it had popped out and he didn’t know how to stuff those “big things” back.

He cleared his throat. “I knew about my father’s affairs long before he died. I kept them a secret. He used me as an excuse—‘Liam needs some sessions at the batting cages’—and his alibi—‘Liam and I are going to the movies’—on many occasions.”

He heard her quick indrawn breath. “Oh.”

“The first time, I was ten.”

“Oh.” She sounded strangled.

“He insisted I not tell my mother. And how could I? It would have humiliated her and broken up the family—he told me that, too. I don’t know how many times I lied for him, all to keep Mom from finding out and Seth from learning the ugly truth. Which they eventually both did, of course, but I never want any of them, including Penn, to know . . .”

“That your father blackmailed a little boy. His own little boy.”

He’d blackmailed his grown-up son, too, but Liam couldn’t confess that without getting into darker territory he didn’t want to travel to tonight . . . or ever.

Then she had her hand on his arm. “Come over here.” With the wine bottle in the crook of her elbow, she pulled him toward a wide chaise lounge that was similar to the one they’d made love on the day before. But she didn’t look like she had sex on her mind, even though she stretched out on the cushions and patted the space beside her.

He settled in, unable to resist the invitation.

She was quiet a minute, then she took a sip from her glass. “A surprisingly long wine. I agree on the copper undertones but can’t get behind the petunias at all. Maybe a little . . . pea gravel?”

His smile felt good. He knew he didn’t do it all that often these days. But for the first time since she’d returned from Southern California, he felt that he and Giuliana had found a small measure of peace between them. They understood each other on this level, because they both felt fierce protectiveness and deep responsibility.

He slid his arm beneath her head and she leaned against him, a little sigh traveling through her body. No matter what happened in the future, no amount of drama, no bout of fiery sex could affect this very real connection they had. They shared a past as well as a loyalty to their families and to their land in the Napa Valley.

An errant snippet of conversation whispered again through Liam’s head:
When we’re done with the Vow-Over Weekend, there’ll be freedom.
But he packed the worry away with all the other baggage he had in that subterranean storage area at the back of his mind.

As he’d said, it had been a long day and they both deserved a little peace.