Crazy in Love (8 page)

She spun, leaning back against the counter. Had someone told him?

“I’m working on it, actually,” she said, and her gaze landed on his empty plate. “Do you want more?”

“God, no.” He put his hands on his stomach and arched back, the chair creaking beneath him. “If I eat any more I won’t be able to play tonight.”

She checked the clock on the wall. Eight a.m. Did he not plan on eating until the show? Didn’t they have dinner plans with Lucy? Not that she’d been looking forward to them or anything.

“Do you own it?” he asked.

“What?”

“The building out back.” He drank his coffee slowly, eyeing her over the top of the mug. “Is it yours?”

“Yeah, I’ve owned it for years.” As she finished cleaning the kitchen, she glanced out the front window. A black Tahoe pulled up to the curb. “But I’ve been stuck in Remodel Hell.”

“What’s the problem?”

The doorbell went off.

“It’s nearly finished, but I haven’t had the funds to furnish it the way I want,” she said, walking into the dining room. “Until you showed up and rented every room for quadruple what I’d normally charge.”

“Glad I could help.” He followed her through the dining room, winding around tables. “Have you ever thought about renting out that building and keeping the inn for yourself?”

Forcing out a laugh, she strode through the living room and paused before opening the door. “There are nine rooms in this building. What would I do with that much space?

“I don’t know.” He shrugged those big, strong shoulders. “You and your husband could stay in one, you could have an office, a guest room, and plenty of room for children.”

“Children?” she squeaked.

“Don’t you want kids?”

The doorbell dinged again.

“Absolutely.” She grabbed the handle. “Eventually. Right now that’s nothing but a dream on the horizon.”

“You could have that dream sooner than you think.” He grabbed the handle, his hand over hers. His touch was warm, soft and consuming. For a second, she thought he might’ve leaned down and kissed her. “You could have any guy in this town.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” She ripped her hand from beneath his. “I need to give Joey a call.”

She left the room as Rita Flint and Cole Turner’s entire crew burst through the door. On her way up the stairs, she turned and glanced back. Cole stood beside Rita, hands on his hips, a pissed-off scowl on his face. He looked like he wasn’t listening to whatever she rambled about. He looked angry. Torn about something.

She whistled the tune she’d heard him play earlier, all the way to her room.

Chapter Ten

“I’m so excited, I could wet myself.” Lucy stood in front of the mirror hanging in the entryway and yanked down her black shirt.

“You act like you’ve never met a musician before,” Rachael said from the couch. “Didn’t Ricky Waters play at StoneMill last weekend?”

Lucy gaped. “You’re comparing Ricky Waters to Cole Turner? Not even close! Cole’s got that charisma, you know?” She snapped. “He’s got that
thing
.”

Oh, he had
that thing
all right. She’d seen it and couldn’t erase the image from her mind. She’d tasted him, and couldn’t scrape the yumminess from her tongue.

“Do I look like someone who likes rock music?” Widening her stance, Lucy stuck out her tongue and gave the “I-L-U” sign with her fingers. Or was that the “party hard” sign? Crimson-red curls framed her face. Leather pants stretched tight around her thighs, and black rubber bracelets circled her wrist. “What do you think?”

Lucy was the youngest and wildest entrepreneur Rachael knew. Looking at all she’d done with her life and the weight of the responsibility she bore, it was easy for Rachael to forget that Lucy was only twenty-one when she took over StoneMill after her parents’ passing. She’d always been crazy, a little wild and off-kilter. Owning a successful winery hadn’t changed the person she was at the core, thank goodness.

“If you’re trying to look like a Billy Idol groupie,” Rachael said, sifting through the contents of her purse. “You’re there.”

“Mission accomplished. What are you digging around in there for, anyway?” Lucy lined her lips with glossy pink lipstick and gave an overenthusiastic pucker.

“Nothing.” Rachael pulled out her wallet, opened it up and separated her ID and VISA from her other cards. “I’m getting ready.”

“Aren’t you taking your bag?”

“And risk getting it stolen?”

Lucy spun, glaring. “You honestly think someone’s going to snatch and run at my winery? You know how much I pay for security, and if you don’t, let me tell you it’s an arm and a leg.”

“Yet you still seem to have both of yours.“ Grinning, Rachael slid the cards into her front pocket. “I still can’t believe you’re here. It’s not like you to hand off your duties to Skylie.”

Skylie Evans was Lucy’s operating manager, and the only one she’d found who she could trust to run things when she was out. Even though Skylie had been on staff for over a year, tonight was the first weekend Lucy had ever taken off, leaving things in Skylie’s care.

“It’s not every day you get invited to dinner by a rock star.” Lucy’s eyebrows waggled. “There’s a benefit to stressing about the grapes, you know. For four months of the year, the weather warms up and I can invite whomever I want to play at the amphitheater. Cole Turner’s one of my favorites. If you think I’m going to work the night of his concert, you’re nuts.”

“You’ll still be working,” Rachael argued, grabbing her coat. “You’ll be running around making sure everyone’s doing their job.”

“You know me so well.”

Honk!

Lucy squealed. “That’s him!”

“Nah, it’s someone from his crew. Cole’s been at the winery for hours.”

He’d left shortly after breakfast (without saying a word), and had sent the car back at two o’clock to pick up three bags and two guitar cases. Not that she’d been paying attention or anything. She’d had plenty to do through the afternoon to keep her busy. She’d cleaned the inn top to bottom, baseboards to ceiling. She’d tried to hold her breath when she cleaned Cole’s room and told herself it was from the bleach fumes in the bathroom.

“Didn’t you see him there earlier?” Rachael said, picking a glob of wax off the pad of her finger.

“Of course! I don’t mean it’s him, I mean it’s
him
. His
people
.” Running to the door, Lucy crossed her purse over her body and onto her shoulder. “Ready?”

Rachael got the feeling if she weren’t ready, Lucy would leave her behind.

“As I’ll ever be,” Rachael said and opened the door.

“Oh. My.” Lucy gasped. “Limo!”

The thing was black and stretched longer than the width of the inn. People walking the street stopped and ogled; wasn’t every day a limo cruised into Blue Lake. Cars denied the space to pass on the opposite side of the narrow road lined up behind them. The driver stepped onto the curb and opened the rear door.

“Ms. Stone and Ms. McCoy, I presume?” he said.

Lucy dove through the door, like Alice jumping through the limousine’s rabbit hole. “Get your behind in her, Rach! There’s champagne!”

They drove west, out of town and toward the winery. At the last second, before the exit for StoneMill, the driver veered left off the freeway.

There was nothing this way but old gold-mining sites.

The driver parked not far off the road, in the middle of an empty gravel lot. He killed the engine and strode around the back end of the car to open the door. Lucy got out first.

“Where is he?” she asked, spinning around.

Rachael stepped out, and gazed over the grape vineyards below. StoneMill was to the right, over the freeway, but the grassy rows of the amphitheater stood out in the distance.

“Down here,” Cole said.

The deep rumble in his voice sparked something in her belly. How could he elicit that kind of a response so easily?

They walked to the edge of the lot and gazed down the gentle slope of the mountain. On a raised wooden platform that had once been used for some kind of gold-mining contraption, a table and three chairs had been set up. White lights dangled down from the edges. Candlelight flickered over the table. Cole stood in the center of it all, lifting his arms from his sides.

“Welcome to our private dinner party.” He strode to the edge, and kicked his foot on the ladder. “Come on up. There’s a kick ass view from up here!”

Lucy took off first, nearly running down the path. Rachael followed, and climbed up the ladder after her friend. Cole helped her once she reached the top, extending his hand for her to grab ahold of.

But when Rachael reached the top, he said, “Do you got it?”

Of course she did. Would she have liked help? Wouldn’t have freaking hurt.

As she climbed onto the platform and straightened, she couldn’t believe the view. It was breathtaking, with vineyards and rolling mountains as far as the eye could see. Pinks, reds, and oranges streaked across the baby-blue sky as if someone had taken a heavenly paintbrush and smeared the colors together. The air smelled of roses and grapes, sweet and sour. And in the distance, Rachael picked up the soft humming of StoneMill’s speaker system.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Cole said, pulling out Lucy’s chair.

She smiled in that coy, flirty way she’d mastered so well. “Absolutely my pleasure.”

Oh, boy.

Rachael pulled out her own chair and sat, draping the napkin over her lap. Dinner had already been served: penne pasta with chicken and broccoli. StoneMill Pinot Grigio and French bread. Out of instinct, Rachael checked the temperature of the plate with the side of her hand. Still warm.

Cole must’ve asked Rita to plan dinner so it’d be ready exactly when the limo pulled up. Where was Rita now? Hiding in the bushes around the base of the platform?

“Are you ready for tonight?” Lucy asked, folding her hands over her plate. “I bet you get nervous before a show.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m nervous.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s more like that anxious, excited feeling you get before you have sex with someone for the first time.”

The air whooshed out of Rachael’s lungs. She knew exactly the feeling he spoke of…she’d felt it last night. Those tingly jolts of anticipation still buzzed through her legs.

“What about you?” he asked Lucy. “Are you nervous?”

“Me?” she squeaked.

“You’ve got a lot riding on this too, don’t you?”

Eyes rolling, Rachael dug in to dinner, chomping into the French bread. Cole and Lucy gabbed for a good ten minutes. Rachael was half-finished with her penne when Lucy finally included her in the conversation.

“Rachael had her first kiss under the amphitheater stage,” Lucy blabbed, “though it wasn’t a stage back then. It was a massive Oak tree in the center of the vineyard.”

“Uh-na,” Rachael mumbled, cheeks full. “Dnotalkinboutthat.”

“Really?” Cole leaned over the table. “Now this is getting interesting.”

Swallow. Don’t choke. Chewchewchew. Swallow.

“She kissed the guy who plows the roads.” Lucy matched Cole’s distance across the table. “Though he was much hotter then than he is now.”

“Dom?” Cole’s voice pitched. “The guy from the bar?”

Chew. Swallow. Chew.

Why’d she take such a damn big bite of bread?

“You met Dom?” Lucy laughed. “Then you know how funny it is to picture them together! He’s not much of a looker now, but back in school, he was hot stuff. Rachael was too.”

“Still is, in my book.” Cole met her gaze for the first time of the night. His eyes were slightly narrowed, his chin angled down, the perfect come-hither-glare.

God, she wished he wouldn’t look at her that way. She got shaky all over, edgy and unsure. The food clumped down her throat, but it was too late. They’d already moved on to talking about something else.

“What do you say we dance?” Cole said, extending his hand to Lucy. “Seeing as how you and I aren’t eating.”

Rachael eyed their full and barely-touched plates. Sighing, she dropped her fork, wrinkled her napkin and pushed away from the table.

“Why’d you invite us to dinner if you aren’t going to eat?” Rachael asked.

“Because that’s what you do when you wine and dine a beautiful woman. You eat, and then you dance.” He stood. “What do you say, Ms. Stone.”

Smiling like she’d been pronounced Mrs. Turner, Lucy put her hand in his and let him swing her to the far end of the platform.

How would they dance without—

On cue, music flowed from the limo. It was slow and sultry. Etta James’s
At Last
. The limo driver had opened the doors and rolled down the windows. The radio must’ve been on full-blast.

Rachael tried not to stare as Cole held Lucy against him and spun her around, but she couldn’t help it. She tried to ignore the pinch in her side, and the distaste in her mouth, but the penne was cooked to perfection and her clothes were smooth on the inside. There was no logical reason for her to be experiencing either.

Hands in her lap, Rachael stared out over the vineyard toward the direction of the amphitheater. The wind picked up, bringing with it rumble of passing cars. People were already arriving at the winery to snag a seat.

“You’re up.” Lucy shook Rachael’s shoulder. “I’d love to hog him all night, but what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t give you a turn?”

Rachael caught Cole’s stoic expression over Lucy’s shoulder. His arms may’ve been relaxed at his sides, and his shoulders may’ve rounded forward slightly, but his jaw was clenched tight and a storm raged in his honey-brown eyes.

“It’s all right.” Rachael took a huge gulp of water and chomped on the ice. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“One dance,” he said, extending his hand.

How could she say no?

As
Kiss Me
from Ed Sheeran resounded from the limo’s speakers, Rachael sighed, and then took Cole’s hand. It was cold and rough, though his hands had been soft last night…

He spun her around and hugged her against him. Keeping her back rigid, Rachael stared over the grapes. When did they prune? How many varieties were there? How many people had already arrived to see Cole’s show?