California Wine
Casey Dawes
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2012 by Casey Dawes
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6221-0
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6221-1
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6222-9
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6222-8
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
To my dear friend, Patricia Martin Fuentes, who inspired me to create Elizabeth.
Map © 2012 Pam B. Morris
Acknowledgments
The winery owners and winemakers of the Santa Cruz Mountains have taught me so much about their craft over the last decade. I thank them for their time and their amazing product!
My writing group, as always, pushes me to become the best writer I can and get the next book done! And to Pam B. Morris who created the beautiful map of Costanoa.
My husband is always there for me and willing to read the same story over and over until I get it right. Bless him.
Oh, my.
Elizabeth’s eyes locked with a pair of the most intense blue eyes she’d ever seen. They belonged to a man with thick black hair to his shoulders, a strong aquiline nose, and high cheekbones. His smile was warm; his straight white teeth a sharp contrast to his light olive skin.
Why did Italy produce such heart-breakingly handsome men?
She looked down at the restaurant table and then looked up again. He was still staring, the smile even broader.
Maybe her daughter Sarah was right. Elizabeth should dine out more often, especially if the scenery was going to be like this.
The waitress brought her a salad and Elizabeth looked at it morosely. Was it possible to eat salad and not get some stuck in her teeth when a gorgeous man was staring at her? Or worse, drop a huge leaf of oily lettuce on her blouse, calling his attention to her less than abundant breasts?
But the salad looked so good … tiny red cherry tomatoes interspersed with baby carrots and radishes on a bed of mixed greens. She sighed and stabbed the nearest tomato with her fork.
The red orb escaped her plate and went bouncing off the table to land on the floor, rolled to the center of an open space, and sat there for only a minute before being squished by a waitress’ black shoe.
“Such a tragic end for a little tomato.” A rich masculine voice spoke near her ear.
She looked up into the blue eyes of the man standing next to her.
“Perhaps if you had not stabbed at it so viciously, it might have survived,” he continued.
She had to grin at his mock seriousness.
“May I join you?” he asked his hand on the chair.
She considered him. She’d intended to eat her supper alone, go upstairs to her room, run a hot bath, and relax with a good book.
He waited for her answer.
Suddenly, her plan seemed a lonely way to spend one of her last days in Italy. “Sure.”
He sat down next to her and a frisson of heat zapped her body. For the first time since her mother had died, life stirred in her heart. She put down her fork.
“My name is Marcos,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Elizabeth.” She shook. His palm was smooth and cool, and the long fingers fit the rest of his lean body. His touch electrified her skin.
“American? Yes?”
She nodded.
He grinned, looking as if he’d guessed a game-show answer correctly. “Are you here on business? Pleasure? Traveling all by yourself or is your husband with you?”
She took a sip of wine. Her best friend Annie had told her not to reveal too much personal information about herself when she was traveling. What could she safely tell her new acquaintance, a man she knew nothing about, other than he exuded masculinity?
He must have seen the suspicion in her eyes because he waved his hand and gestured. The proprietress of the hotel came over to their table.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked, a frown creasing her forehead. “Marcos, are you being a bother?”
“Nothing like that. I was only trying to assist the lady with her vegetables. They seem to be escaping.” Marcos pointed to the stain on the floor.
The woman snapped her fingers at the nearest waitress and pointed. Then she turned back to Elizabeth. “I am so sorry. Would you like me to bring you another tomato?”
“Another tomato? No, no, I’m fine.” Elizabeth stifled a laugh. “It’s nothing, really.”
She glanced at Marcos, who was holding his hand over his mouth. His eyes were sparkling with laughter.
“And him,” the woman poked a long fingernail into Marcos’ shoulder. “Is my cousin annoying you?”
“Uh … ” Now was Elizabeth’s chance to get rid of him if she wanted.
Marcos’ eyes pleaded for a reprieve.
An impish spark rose in her soul. Why not have an adventure in the safe confines of the hotel dining room? Her trip was almost over anyway. Surely no harm could come from a little fun. Could it?
“No. He’s fine,” Elizabeth said.
“
Bueno
.” The hotel owner turned on her heel and left, muttering under her breath.
“Cousin?” Elizabeth asked. “She doesn’t seem at all like you. She’s very … ”
“Serious?” He shrugged. “The women in my family tend to be fire-breathing dragons.”
A waitress walking past the table glanced in his direction and blushed. He fired off rapid Italian to her with a smile that would make any woman’s heart melt.
The waitress’ blush deepened. She nodded and hurried off to the coffee bar.
My, he was a flirt.
She’d better tread carefully.
“So now that we have solved the great problem of the little tomato, we can get acquainted,” he said to Elizabeth. “I assume you are traveling alone, or you would not be here by yourself, attacking small, defenseless vegetables.”
She smiled in spite of her determination to keep him at a distance. “I’m here with my daughter.”
Marcos looked around the room. “And where is she?”
“With a friend from college. They went dancing.”
“Dancing. It is good. Do you like to dance?”
The young waitress placed a coffee on the table and stared at Marcos with adoring eyes.
Elizabeth ate a forkful of salad while he chatted with the server in Italian.
She did like to dance, but she didn’t want to leave the door open for any kind of invitation … even if he was attractive.
“Yes, I do,” she said once the waitress left.
That’s not what she meant to say.
He smiled at her. “Then we should do it!”
She shook her head. “No, we shouldn’t.”
“Ahh,” he said. “You don’t know me. Perhaps I can change that. Will you come to dinner some night so we can learn more about each other?”
She smiled and shook her head.
“We could go to a place quite near here. We’ll tell my cousin, the
dragon feroce
, where we are going. We can even walk there from the hotel so you don’t have to get into a car with a strange man. What do you say?”
“We’re leaving Italy in three days.” It was as good an excuse as any.
“Then I will have to work fast.
Say you will come.”
“But my daughter … ”
“I’m sure she can have dinner one night without you as you are already without her.”
Elizabeth took a sip of wine. A date with a charming Italian was tempting, especially since she’d spent the last twenty years of her life avoiding anything remotely risky.
Still, she hadn’t had a date since she broke up with Bobby three months ago. What could be safer than a date with someone she’d never see again? A simple dinner with no strings attached. Everything in control.
She glanced at Marcos. He certainly didn’t look like a mass murderer.
He smiled as if he knew what she was thinking, picked up his coffee, and sipped, his eyes never leaving hers.
Bad idea.
He was way too tempting. And the last time a man had made her forget her better judgment, she’d wound up giving up her lifelong dreams.
She shook her head. “So, other than accosting strange American women in your cousin’s dining room, what do you do for a living?”
“If it will convince you to come to dinner with me,” he said, “I will tell you more about myself, while you enjoy your food. That is, if you don’t mind me interrupting your lonely thoughts.”
She had a feeling he’d tell her about himself whether she gave him permission or not. But since she didn’t have anything better to do, she said. “It’s fine.”
The waitress came with Elizabeth’s dinner.
“I am a
negociant
,” he began. “I create my own wine blends for resale outside of Italy. I also have two small vineyards of my own — one here in Italy that has been in my family for generations. You should come see it! With your daughter! Yes … that would be good!”
She needed to derail that thought. “What kind of grapes do you grow?”
“In Italy,” Marcos said his voice more matter-of-fact. “I stick to two types of grapes — it’s a small vineyard — mainly for family. We grow sangiovese, what you call Chianti, and Pinot Grigio. Where do you live?”
“California.”
“Ah … California. I would like to buy a vineyard in California, but Napa is too dear. It must be nice for you to live near there.”
She shook her head. “I live down by Santa Cruz on the central coast. They have vineyards there, too. And not so expensive.”
“A good excuse to go to Santa Cruz, then.” Marcos smiled at her and held her eyes with his.
She could melt into those eyes.
But she wouldn’t let herself.
She broke her flaky fish up into little pieces as she asked, “Are you married?”
He frowned. “No. no longer.” He took a sip of his coffee. Then he smiled. “But I, too, have a wonderful daughter. She is in Milano.”
“How old is she?”
“Gina is twenty-one.”
“The same age as my daughter.”
“We have much in common then. You will need to come to dinner with me after all.”
She shook her head. “We leave for home in — ”
“ — three days,” he finished for her.
She nodded and took a bite of her fish. The silence lengthened as he sipped his coffee. She met his eyes once again and their warmth softened the mistrust within her.
He touched her hand, the tip of his fingers gentle and tentative. She was startled, but she didn’t pull away, even though she should. The gesture awoke a bit of life inside her that had been slumbering for a long time.
“Now that you know I am an honest hard-working man, will you please come to dinner with me tomorrow?”
Oh, she wanted to. The idea was insane — her mother wouldn’t have approved.
But her mother hadn’t approved of her since she’d become pregnant with Sarah.
It was only dinner, she told her mother’s inner voice. At thirty-eight, surely it was permissible to try something new. “Okay,” she said, almost in defiance.
“
Bueno
! You make me so happy, Elizabeth! Tomorrow then? I will meet you at the lobby at seven?”